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starry-fame · 2 months ago

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Timeless Paradise [18+ X-02 Caleb x Gender Neutral!A-01 Reader/MC]

Summary:

“I… Will you hate me if I take more? If I’m a little selfish?” he murmurs. Fear. You’re sure of it. He squeezes you tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll shove him away and flee. Like you’ll tell him you don’t need or want him anymore. For wanting more? For being selfish?

Just because Caleb said “Caleb” means someone who will do anything for you… doesn’t mean he can’t be a little selfish with you too.

Tags: Porn with Feelings, Ambiguous genitalia!reader/MC, Gender-Neutral!reader/MC, Bittersweet, Bath Sex, X-02 and A-01, First Time, Penetrative Sex, Innocent!MC (they were kept in a pod their whole life lol), Caleb guiding MC through sex, Desperate Sex Word count: 9,214

Ao3

Masterlist

Author's Notes: I did a lot of debating on how to present their relationship because I tend to prefer the non-westernized nuance. From the way I’ve come to interpret it (,,from my westernized lens, and only being able to use varying anecdotes from people who understand Chinese ^^;), I decided using gege was best because brother is way too rigid and strictly family coded in English. Anyway — thanks. Not exactly the main timeline Caleb fic but perhaps very soon. For now — hope you enjoy!

Happiness.

That’s one of the first marvel emotions X-02 — Caleb now — taught you. Or rather, drew out of you. He didn’t tell you how to be happy. What happiness meant or how to achieve it. With him, you just were, and when you looked at him with crinkled eyes and widened cheeks, he told you that warm feeling in your chest was joy. That the expression he made in turn was also joy. Because of you.

You didn’t get it then. You think you do now. You make Caleb happy. He’s the only one who’s ever made you happy. So you’re the key to each other’s happiness. Like a secret.

That’s nice. You didn’t get to keep many secrets. Except your seed and Caleb’s name you held deep in your chest, staring at the somber boy behind the glass with an unspoken yearning you couldn’t place.

Caleb said he got to go out a lot more. Deployed on far off missions. More than just a final destructive weapon to drop on the enemy. Why did your memories get wiped so often compared to his? Reverted to a clean slate every time, no memories of happiness. Joy. Anger. Fear. Just the instinctive human reaction to certain voices, experiences, sounds, and smells. They might’ve wiped your mind’s memories, but it feels like your body is acutely aware of it all some days.

All you remember is the walls, the moment before the sun rises in a summer sky, and the boy you named Caleb that whisked you away once more, even when you didn’t remember or understand why.

As though on cue, he walks inside. You’re perched on the bed, a little stiff, you always are. It’s the nice cozy home the old lady let you two stay in, full of knick-knacks and decorations that feel alien to you, but invoke a sense of peace. Before this you’ve never slept on a bed, never felt the warm sun through a window caress your cheeks and paint the room in a gorgeous golden glow.

And you certainly never smelled something that instantly made your mouth water. Your eyes dart to Caleb, gloved and mechanical fingers coated in a mysterious white dust as he holds a plate containing a large slice of… of something. Blue in the middle and a golden brown texture on the outside.

“You liked the bluestripe berry. So I got a recipe. Thought you might like bluestripe berry pie,” he says, with that sort of voice he uses when he’s trying to appease you and doesn’t mind rejection. But when Caleb is trying to make you “happy”, you always find yourself accepting his gestures. After all. You’re sure of one thing — you want Caleb to be happy too.

“Pie…?” You murmur as he approaches and sits next to you on the bed. He hands you a utensil (a fork, you learned), and offers the plate to you invitingly.

When you grab it, it’s warm. A pleasant smell and steam rises from the… thing before you. It smells very edible, however.

“A kind of pastry. It’s sweet and flaky and goes really well with the bluestripe berry. Try a bite,” he hums. Your eyes flicker up to Caleb’s and you find nothing but sweetness and warmth in his gaze. Maybe a little anticipation. A feeling that makes this warm heat flare in your chest you’ve never been able to explain. You didn’t feel this way when you watched him from your pod, but now…

You dip your fork in and take a bite. An instant soft sweetness fills your tongue. The warmth almost enhances the berry, gives it a unique taste, and the flaky pastry almost melts in your mouth.

“It’s sweet. Soft.” You say calmly.

The next forkful is with a lot more vigor. Caleb watches, looks enthralled just from you eating as you practically shovel the food into your mouth like you’ll never have anything like it again. You never had anything like it. This sweet flaky goodness mixed with a goo-like texture that sits on your tongue like heaven. Have you ever had anything this good before? It feels like your tastebuds are singing for joy.

“Looks like we found your new favorite,” he laughs softly. The plate is nothing but crumbs and even then you fight the urge to lick it clean. You hear a murmured, “messy” as his gloved fingers wipe bits of crumbs and berry from your face. You instinctively lick off what he wiped and you feel his body pause momentarily, see the way his expression freezes for that split second before he’s all soft again and leaning close.

It’s weird when Caleb leans close. Whenever someone got too close you were designed to hack them with your swords. Watch the blood flow freely when your unlucky target was a human and not an android. Close meant retreat, destroy, death. But when Caleb gets close… your instinct is to relax.

“I’ll make you more. Anytime I can. Just to see that look on your face,” he says. That soft whispery voice that never fails to make your heart thunder a little faster, make your face stiffen as you attempt to comprehend your body’s strange reactions. You know the concept of fear. Pain. Discomfort. A wish to escape. But Caleb never fails to drag emotions from you you’ve never been able to experience before. A strange longing combined with a desire for something you can’t quite articulate. Not fully. Not enough.

His lips press against the corner of your lips, then a warm tongue.

You feel your mind stutter to a stop.

Then it starts up again, it takes a bit to realize he’s licking the excess from your mouth this time. Sometimes just a press of his lips. A kiss. He taught you that too. A way of showing affection. And to clear pie crumbs from your face, apparently.

Your fingers — restless, instantly grasp onto the leather of his traps. Caleb blinks, reassesses the situation, and pulls away with a fluid grace that leaves you feeling empty.

“I know, I know. Should’ve brought you a napkin. Sorry about that,” he gently apologizes. This look is… different. Still soft. But stilted. Like he’s almost guilty but still wants…?

Caleb shouldn’t feel guilty. You like it when he showers you in affection. His soft kisses on your face always feel nice…

Though you don’t know if you’ve ever showered him in return. That isn’t right. Is that why he pulled away? Because he thinks you don’t wanna kiss him too? Well that’s a stupid assumption.

You huff and scoot closer after he pulled away. He blinks at you, curious, and your response is awkwardly pressing your lips against his cheek. You have to purse them a little, and make that little sound when you pull away. That’s how Caleb said… normal humans did it. What you two could be one day. Not just weapons.

It feels like a far off dream and yet it’s been days since you’ve had to battle. Days since you’ve had one long string of connective memory and not scattered fragments of lost promises and the screams of those you murdered with the blade of your sword and your two bare hands. Every day like this? Caleb’s right. It probably would be paradise.

Caleb blinks at you once. Twice. Your response is to kiss his nose this time.

“Affection,” you parrot. As human as Caleb makes you feel, you still feel so mechanical at times. Learning basic human gestures, desires, what it means to want to be held, to want affection, to have your heart thunder when held on someone’s back, and the plethora of emotions another person can invoke. It’s like a baby deer learning to walk. Except its memory was erased everytime it might’ve possibly learned. And it was kept in a pod. And constantly in a state of mental fog while treated like a social and science experiment.

…You’re still getting used to the feeling of being fully active and alert when it’s not a war zone. Like waking up from a lifelong dreamless slumber. You’ve never thought so many things at once.

Caleb’s mouth parts softly, then a sweet laugh that makes your ears feel warm fills the room, and he’s wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling your forehead. Warm. Close. You don’t like being cooped up, but when it’s Caleb, it feels like safety, not confinement.

“Affection, huh? I’m glad I earned it,” he murmurs, holding on like he might never let go. Never wanted to. Caleb’s once mentioned finally being able to hold you like this… everytime you watched Caleb through that one-way mirror, were these his thoughts? Holding you? Showering you in affection? Even when he barely knew you?

Caleb was made with you. Exists for you. To heal you. To fix you. To give you energy when you were low. Wouldn’t a person hate that? And yet Caleb keeps you close, like you’re a precious gem he’d never risk handing over. Whenever you ask why, he answers “because I’m your gege.” Like it’s the answer to everything. The only right answer there ever could be. The only reason he needs.

You notice a small seed of… something in Caleb’s face when he declares it. Certainty. He clings to the title with pride. Assurance. And yet there’s a small waver in it. You wish you understood it better but you can only grasp the shifts in expressions, not the exact meaning. There’s a lot of human emotions to buckle down and learn, you figure.

You have this habit of instinctively melting into his arms whenever he holds you. He feels like sanctuary. Like peace. Like warmth, “home”, and “paradise” all in one. Caleb wants a planet where the two of you are free. From the lab, your pursuers, the rebels... That would be nice. You’re pretty sure you just want Caleb though. Him. Here and holding you. Taking you to places to make you smile and keeping promises even after years pass. The only one who calls you by the name you decided for yourself. Who kept the name you decided for him.

“Mmm. You’re so cute…” He whispers. It’s so quiet you wonder if it was even meant for you. Cute. You’re not sure if the phrase makes you happy or frustrated. This… feeling of tickled discomfort wells in you like you like it yet dislike it at the same time. Shame? It’s almost like when you accidentally fall or fumble in battle but a little different….

Ah, embarrassment.

Then Caleb sniffs and pulls away. “Shouldn’t be hugging you when I need a bath. I’ve been out picking berries and upgrading the ship all day…”

Bathing. Caleb explained it to you. Sometimes while trying to find sanctuary when flying you’d dunk in tiny, secluded waterfalls. He says it’s to keep the bugs and dirt away. Entirely foreign to you, however you were cleaned, you were never awake for the process. You’d get shipped back to the laboratory doused in blood, dirt, oil, and grime. By the time you wake up in the pod with your memories wiped, you only remember your purpose and you’re squeaky clean. Battlefields. Irrelevant memory wipe. Pod. Over. And over. And over.

“The waterfall.” You murmur. That’s the last time you had a bath, so to speak. Two days ago when you pulled Caleb into the flowing water with you and you both sparkled, hidden amidst the forestry.

Caleb hums, and he seemingly can’t resist the urge to grasp your hand. “We can take warm baths here too. Guess I only brought up how to use the shower, huh?” he chuckles, as though silently reprimanding himself.

Admittedly… though he showed you how to use the shower, you defaulted to dipping in the stream you and Caleb once found while fighting wanderers. It was comforting. And Caleb would laugh and splash with you so you were in the open and never alone.

…Maybe you just hated being alone.

Your head dips.

“…You didn’t use it, huh? Too cramped?” He asks. Not accusatory. Not mad. Just curious. You turn your head away.

“I didn’t want to.”

Tight. Isolated. Confined. Glass.

“…Alright. The bath is more open. C’mon, you should have at least one warm one while you’re here,” he says. He guides you to stand, placing the plate on a desk, and you don’t resist him.

You can almost imagine the warmth from his bionic arm as he guides you to the bathroom. The room alone is already pretty tiny, and to subject yourself to stand in that glass case just for warm water? You’d take a cool stream anyday.

Caleb turns one of the nozzles in tub and water flows in. He presses the stopper, and the water doesn’t flow down the drain anymore. Steam steadily fills the space while Caleb narrates.

“It feels really nice, you know. Especially if you take off your exoskeleton.”

He even goes so far as to pour liquid soap in the stream, and it creates a plethora of condensed bubbles. It fills the air with a sweet, floral scent.

You look at your body quietly. Take off your exoskeleton…? You’ve certainly had it ripped into when you’ve fought on battlefields before passing out, but intentionally taking it off never seemed like an option. Especially not with danger around the corner. Below the metal and leather was flesh. Flesh that was easily wounded. Even if your pain receptors were modified, enough wounds into flesh was enough to drive anyone dizzy with pain. No exoskeleton meant no weapons, no weapons meant vulnerability.

You pick at the metal, almost hesitant.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course, but…” Caleb’s eyes drift over to you. Understanding slowly begins to dawn on him as the cogs in his mind seem to visibly turn in front of your eyes.

“You…. You never did. Huh?” He looks… sad.

You blink at him. “You’ve done it before?”

He nods slowly. “When I was deployed in the desert, the soldiers would strip to bathe. While I technically wasn’t supposed to… I tried it once in secret, for myself. Water directly on the skin feels so different even if it dries a little slower. It’s nice. And light.” He says. It must be a distant memory for him by now, and yet it seems to stick crystal clear in his mind.

Of course. You imagine your first escape with Caleb wouldn’t be scattered memories if they weren’t modified. It’d be as present as the reality you live now.

You nod slowly and look down at your body. If Caleb thinks it’s safe… if nothing would happen during the short respite you bathed… the idea of warm water on flesh sounds pleasant.

You start undoing the buckles on your biceps. The more you stare down at your outfit, the more impossible slipping out of it seems…

You’re sure you’ll get it if you go piece by piece. You’re determined to. You start fumbling with your pants and suddenly two large hands are clasping over yours, sunrise eyes staring at you incredulously.

“W-Wait until I’m outside at least! Jeez. You can’t just go stripping around anyone, pipsqueak…” he sighs. That odd nickname he once gave you. He uses your name more, but sometimes it slips out. When you asked, he said it’s because he’s the one who takes care of you.

That didn’t feel entirely truthful. But you let it slide. You watch Caleb calmly as he’s frantically grasping your fingers one moment, then turning around to escape the bathroom the next.

Your hand instantly grabs onto the leather of his sleeve and he pauses. He doesn’t look at you. Like he can’t. Like looking at you hurts him. But you tug him back anyway.

It’s already so small. At least Caleb being in here with you makes it bearable.

And…

“The exoskeleton is hard to take off on my own,” you say simply. A fact. It was modeled for efficiency and capability, not for ease of stripping.

Caleb sighs heavily, probably the heaviest sigh you’ve ever heard from him, but he turns back to you. Resigned.

“Fine. I’ll help you. …But you can only ask me for help, got it?” He mumbles as he helps pull off components of your suit one by one. Arms. Legs. Meticulously unworks the clasps from your back as you stand perfectly still for him.

“I only trust you,” you respond. To strip of your battle armor? You wouldn’t around anyone else anyhow. That seems to placate Caleb as layer after layer drops to the floor and your body feels so light.

Soon, you’re in nothing but the under most layer of your armor. A mere bodysuit to keep things from chafing. It’s easy for you to strip from here on and Caleb takes that as his cue to turn off the water. The bubbles swish gently and the smell invites you.

“There. Take all the time you need, yeah? And if you need help putting it back on, just give me a holler,” he says. And again, he tries to make his grand escape.

Frustrated, you grasp onto his arm once more and stare at him. It definitely shows on your face. Caleb’s made you feel like this more than a few times. It seems to tie into how much you care for him and want to be cared for by him.

“Bathe with me.” You tell him plainly. No room for argument. He says he needs a bath too, so isn’t it killing two birds with one stone? Caleb pauses, looks at you as though you’ve said something so outlandish you begin to wonder if maybe you’re in the wrong…?

But all you get is a mumbled, “you know I can’t resist you like this…” somehow about you, yet directed toward himself like a one-man show. He shakes his head, smiles a little, and gently raps your forehead.

“Alright. You gonna help me strip too?”

It doesn’t take too long. A couple of minutes at most. But Caleb still insists on draining some of the water and adding even more hot water to keep the bath nice and warm. Now you’re both in your bottom most undergarments and you calmly strip off the last of your clothing.

You get a good look at your body for… maybe the first ever time? If you did before, you don’t remember. Your skin is soft and fleshy. You press against your stomach, feel the warmth radiating from it. A human body on its own is warm. You only knew the warmth of blood splatter before.

There’s your chest. And your genitals. Though with the way you were fed and kept, you can’t remember the last time you actually used them for their intended purpose, if ever. Just one of the many ways they made a human… less human.

Caleb can’t take his eyes off you. He looks enthralled, almost. Doesn’t even touch his own clothes, just looks you up and down like a piece of fruit. Then he hastily looks away with a cough and turns around. “You should get in the tub first. I’ll get in behind you,” he says. Can’t even look at you anymore when he was looking so shamelessly before. Well then. If he says so.

When you sink in, the feeling is… exquisite. Warmth. Not the uncomfortable dizzying kind, but the sort that loosens the tension in your muscles and allows your body to rest. The hot water seeps into your very being, sloshes against the more bionic parts still implanted into your body. But it’s basically all flesh and you were certainly missing out. A splash in the lake or waterfall was refreshing, almost fun in the ability to at least attempt swimming (Caleb would use his evol to keep you from sinking.) This, however… this is soothing. The bubbles smell nice and you find yourself captivated in picking them up, staring at the way the light bounces off of them and creates various little rainbows of color.

Before you know it, there’s a splash behind you and the water rises even more. You turn your head to glance, watch Caleb slip in, and the water rises even higher to your chest. It’s a fairly steep tub. He lets out a satisfied groan when the water hits his skin and seems more comfortable looking at you now that sweet smelling bubbles surround the two of you.

“You like it? You look like you do,” he says. You pick up some bubbles, rub them softly on your arm so they don’t all pop to see how it coats your skin. Without a moment’s hesitation, you nod.

“I do. It’s warm. Feels nice. Relaxing too…” you murmur. Maybe it’s because you don’t have your exoskeleton helping to regulate your pain that your sore muscles feel so much more prominent. Caleb chuckles, nods, and you can’t help but zero in on the one part of him that sticks out like a sore thumb, not fleshy in the slightest.

You poke his right arm.

Caleb grimaces a little, but he answers the silent question. “When I was deployed for a month, right at the end… the battle was pretty brutal. Guess they didn’t realize I’d get so banged up. Both of us were enhanced to be a lot more resilient after that,” he explains. He doesn’t recount it directly, but even you can connect the dots.

Your response is silently running your fingers over it. Feeling each ridge, whirr, and mechanical imitation of a pulse to function like the real thing. You’re not sure if you’re expressing melancholy or… or what.

“Do you hate it?” He suddenly whispers. He looks more fragile in that moment than you’ve ever seen him before. You quickly shake your head.

“I hate… the lab.” Is your response. You never really allowed yourself to feel much towards your upbringing. You just were. You existed as a government weapon. Nothing more. No escape. No autonomy. A mindless object to be deployed and wiped clean. But the more time you spend conscious and away from that stifling pod, that AI voice you’ve come to abhor hearing, the more you can confidently say you hate everything the lab put you and Caleb through. Forced you to be. You’re a weapon. But when Caleb shows you how to live like a human, it feels… right. And you despise anything that wants to take that away from you two.

Your fingers trail from his bicep to his chest. Caleb’s breath hitches.

“Your skin is warm,” you murmur. Warmed by the heat of the tub and due to natural body temperature, you’re sure. The slightly sticky heat radiates and you think you wanna be held by him again. On instinct and because you know Caleb always wants to, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close. The soothing bath already makes you serene. Combined with his body heat? You could lull yourself to sleep, even without your battle armor, your protection.

“Hey…” Caleb inhales and exhales shakily. He uses considerable strength to pry your arms away and stare intently into your slightly widened, confused eyes. Caleb almost never denied a hug. Did you do something wrong this time?

“When you… I mean…” Caleb begins, stammers, and his cheeks turn a shade of red. His breathing is a little more shallow too. Is he embarrassed?

“Caleb?”

His air comes out sharp and quick. Caleb’s made a good few unique expressions since he came back with the pie. You can’t properly discern the meaning in this one, it’s entirely foreign.

“Skin to skin contact is… one of the main ways humans express affection. Flesh is sensitive. So you can feel a lot more,” he says. As though to prove his point, he gently lets go of your wrists and instead trails his hands up and down your arms. From your shoulders to your elbows…

He’s right. It feels tingly. You feel every warm press of his palm and fingers and when his hands squeeze a little you sigh in content. It feels nice. But if that’s the case, why would Caleb want to pull away…? He’s the one who likes expressing affection.

“And when people are naked, together… it… invites a lot of different ways to touch each other. Kiss each other,” he explains softly. Despite that indecipherable look in his eye, he never looks mad or frustrated explaining things to you. In a way, you almost feel envy. He got to keep his memories. Has knowledge of distant worlds and how humans interact. At least he kept a modicum of his humanity. It feels like you’re learning what it even means to exist as a human.

“You stopped me because… you don’t want to kiss me? Or touch me more?” Is your first response. And Caleb’s soft, explaining look jumps into a mix of panic and… regret? He quickly shakes his head a few times, and gathers himself once more.

“No. Never. Of course I do. I…” His expression softens again, and he gently guides you closer. The heat of his chest radiates against your own. “It’s just… if I start. I won’t want to stop.”

You blink. That… was all? Caleb could kiss you for hours and you probably wouldn’t mind. It always feels nice when he does. And he enjoys when you do it back to him. And you like his hands on your skin so you imagine he’ll like your hands on his too. If there’s one thing you’ve realized about Caleb, for how much he reaches for you without hesitation. Drags you away and declares his reasons under the title of ‘gege’, he still always has this fear. A lack of reciprocity. He might not always say it, but if he touches you, he wants to be touched too. If he hugs or kisses you, when you show him that you wanna hug and kiss him too… he looks at you like it’s impossible and all he could ever want all in one.

So your response is to wrap your arms around his neck and murmur. “You don’t have to.”

This is the most vulnerable state you’ve ever let your body be in. If Caleb wants to express his affection like this… of course you wouldn’t stop him. You’ll even try to do the same yourself.

“Jeez. I should’ve known. You always want more,” he murmurs. When he caressed your cheek and you wanted him to shower you in affection. When you reached out and held him for the first time and he realized he was the only one who could confine you. He shouldn’t exactly be surprised at this point, you think. Still, his nose drags across the plump of your cheek before dipping towards your jaw.

It tickles.

And he nuzzles affectionately before he presses his lips against skin.

A familiar ritual. You seep into the warmth and strength of his arms (even his bionic one is warming within the heat of the water) as he presses his lips against your jaw. Cheeks. Forehead. Nose. The corner of your lips. Peppers your face in featherlight kisses that makes your breath a little shaky and your face feel warm.

Then his lips press against yours. Extended. He kissed your lips just once before. His final show of his lesson of affection. Now it’s sweeter, a little firmer, and he guides your chin up as he pulls away, breathes a “try copying what I do,” and kisses you again. It’s slower, deeper, this time. His lips move with meaning, make you a little dizzy as you mimic the gesture. Slowly move your lips, barely pull away just to change the angle and kiss again. Kiss his upper lip. Lower lip. Just like he does to you.

Your arms shake. You squeeze him tighter and he cradles your cheeks like you’re precious.

“Open your mouth. Just a little,” he murmurs against your lips. You don’t question it, part your lips as asked and the next kiss has his warm tongue gently licking into your mouth. It’s soft and draws an unexpected moan from your lips. You feel hotter. Even warmer in the already heated water and gently lick into his mouth just the same. It draws noises from his throat too, and they make you throb in a way you never had before.

His kisses combined with the heat makes your brain foggy. Before long you’re panting and your breaths are shallow and scarce, kissed breathless. Ever so attentive, when you’re too weak, he instead moves to kiss your cheek again. Slides his nose toward your ear to whisper, “when we kiss like that, we’re making out,” and then his kisses trail down from the shell of your ear to your neck.

It’s… different. Caleb couldn’t kiss any further down due to your exoskeleton suit before. Now he kisses your neck and it has you making an embarrassing noise and biting your lip to quell it as quickly as it arose.

Caleb pauses for a moment. His fingers on your face tighten just a little, firm, and he whispers, “sensitive, huh?” Before kissing your neck again. Slowly. Drags his lips and tongue like he’s savoring every inch.

Yeah. Sensitive. When he kisses your neck it makes your body wanna tremble, makes you hold him with the urge for more and to escape all at once. These new feelings Caleb always manages to evoke are… so hard to describe. But if Caleb isn’t stopping, are they normal?

His fingers drop from your face into the water to cradle the pinch of your waist. His kisses travel from one side of your neck to the other, and this one specific spot pulls a whimper even from your bitten teeth and makes you feel hot. Restless. He licks there again and your body twitches into his touch, the heat of the tub combined with his kisses almost too much to bear.

You have to pull away. You pant and tremble and Caleb looks at you with mild concern as his hands stroke up and down your sides so softly. It’s probably to comfort, but it doesn’t quell the feeling in your body.

“Too much?” He asks. His own cheeks are flushed, eyes half-lidded and he looks as drunk on kisses as you are, if not even more.

His hands on you are shaking too.

Your mouth parts, a soft noise is all that escapes, then it shuts. How do you describe it? The way your body is throbbing. The way his kisses make everything tingle, the way you can barely breathe and your mind is in this pleasant haze.

Your fingers trail down your body to the source of your heat. You palm gently against the flesh and it pulls a sound from you. Will touching yourself resolve the ache? But your body’s so sensitive you feel out of control…

Caleb’s pretty eyes, like a supernova, watch your hand in fascination. As you deliberately palm yourself, shaking, and immediately he’s cradling you in his arms and pulling your hand away from yourself. You whimper from the loss of pressure.

“Fuck…” he curses. He buries his head in your shoulder, shaking. You can’t tell if he’s scared, angry, or something else altogether. It doesn’t change the way you just want to grind against something more, be touched more, it just leaves you panting and wanting more of what you fail to articulate.

Just because Caleb said “Caleb” means someone who will do anything for you… doesn’t mean he can’t be a little selfish with you too.

“What… do you want to do?” You ask quietly. You doubt whatever it is, that you’ll reject him. But still. His fear feeds into you, now you feel anxious too.

“I want you in my arms. To kiss you everywhere. To hold you. Touch you. Here.” His fingers caress your check. “And here,” they travel down the vein of your neck. You shake. He squeezes you tighter. “And here.” His fingers go down, brush against your cheek, your abdomen, and settle just at your inner thighs. So high. So close. But not enough? You squirm and he stills your movements with ease.

“I… I’ll hate you if you don’t take more,” you rasp. He won’t let you seek more. Won’t let you calm this restlessness in you. Holds you still even when you’re trembling with need. It’s not fair. Does he not feel this too? Is it only you?

…His pink cheeks. The way he’s shaking. Maybe he does feel it. But if he does, why…?

“…Talk to me, okay? Tell me if you hate something,” he murmurs. His voice is so shaky you can’t barely make sense of it. But he’s taking you and gently goading you to turn your back to him anyway, and you comply. Though it saddens you a little… you can’t kiss him easily like this.

His arm trembles around your waist, you’re pulled against him and you feel the hard press of what you’re pretty sure is an erection against your back. You… you know about the human reproductive system, of course, but you don’t exactly have experience with it…

“Have you ever… touched yourself here?” He whispers. Your legs tremble where his fingers trail up and down your inner thigh methodically, hips bucking just barely but he strokes like your body isn’t reacting at all. You desperately shake your head. If he talks quicker, maybe he’ll finally get to touching you.

“Mm. Tell me how it feels,” he says. Almost deceptively calm for the way you swear his hips are rubbing against your back and you feel the twitch of him. His fingers stop teasing — finally — and gently press between your legs. Your hips try to arch up but he holds you still to his back, warm breaths heavy, the sound of a thudding heart against your spine. He’s finally touching you and you feel yourself ache, but you’re sure he’s being mean, the way his touch is barely there and you have to use your own hand to goad him to press firmer, do more, touch.

Then his fingers and strokes are firm, determined. The way he moves, finally loosens enough to let you rut against his palm but he ruts against your back at the same time so you’re always connected. Soft rasps leave your mouth, sometimes noises, and you can’t control the way your hips start to roll or the way your heart is thundering like it might explode. An almost scared whimper leaves you and Caleb instantly recognizes it, soothing you with gentle kisses behind the ear and on your neck.

You’re twitching, you think. Your swollen arousal throbs against his ministrations while his other hand decides to sneak up to your mouth — you don’t even realize your lip is bitten until he’s prying it open and slipping his fingers inside. “Let it out. Don’t hurt yourself,” he murmurs, his voice is so light and sweet but his fingers are like torture slipping between your wet lips and the weak sounds leaving them with nothing but your throat to hold them back. You’re drooling from his fingers, it’s filthy, and he doesn’t give a damn, just holds them nice and shallow so you can bite on them if need be — bionic. You could bite as hard as possible and it wouldn’t leave a dent. So you do, you close and whimper around the metal as he catches your ankles with his own and gently spreads your legs wider, doesn’t let you close your thighs around his hand.

“Ngh…!” you try to speak. You can’t. All you know is your hips are moving like they’re not yours and you’ve never been so… out of control of your body, not like this. The sounds leave without permission. Your hips shake without permission and that throbbing warmth in your core feels like it’s too much but Caleb just relentlessly moves his fingers and holds you open at his mercy until…

Your body shakes and goes stiff, a weak cry leaving your parted mouth as the pleasure crashes over with each twitch, each throb as you feel yourself make a dirty mess of the bath water but Caleb doesn’t stop — just holds you open for him and keeps touching as though saying you’re not done until he says so. A shaky moan leaves your sensitive body before you slowly relax, twitching, panting, limp. Even when you relax you feel Caleb groan and move to grab both of your hips, rolling his hips against your back and drawing a startled whine from your lips. Caleb’s louder now, little soft noises coming from behind that make your already spent body twitch still as he uses your back to grind against and can’t let you go, even when you try to squirm he holds you tighter and buries his neck in your shoulder, whimpering. “Just… just let me…”

“Caleb… I…” Your breaths are labored and it’s like Caleb can’t control desperately rubbing himself against you like an animal in heat. “I can touch you too.” You whisper. That… that feeling he gave you. He’s trying to reach that too. But wouldn’t it be better if you did it for him?

The haze in Caleb’s brain seems to clear, at least enough to startle and make his hips jerk in an unsteady rhythm. His arms loosen and you take the opportunity to twist around and face him, looking down the water in a slightly white sheen. You push away some of the remaining bubbles to see better.

Flushed and hard. It was throbbing against your back before, twitching like he could release any minute. And when you look up, Caleb’s face is a mess. Flushed. Needy. Maybe even more needy than you were when you wanted him to touch you. His calm voice was the complete antithesis to the raw desperation clouding his face.

“You can be selfish with me,” you repeat quietly. He said he wanted to be selfish, so of course you’d let him use your back if he wants… but if he wants you to touch him like he was able to touch you…

Caleb’s breath rasps. Than, a low, dark chuckle leaves him. It almost sounds resigned. Regretful.

“You want me to be selfish?” he scoffs in a laugh. Shocked. Bitter. Self-depreciating. He wraps his arms around you, buries his face in your neck, and pulls your hips flush to his cock. “My definition of ‘selfish’ is being so deep inside you I hear you cry out every time I move. I want you so badly I can’t even think. Touching? I want you clinging on to me and still begging for more,” he rasps desperately. Darkly. A deeper done than you’re used to. Rougher than you’re used to. You let him hold you, don’t pull away. You listen to every word he has to stay.

His grip softens. His voice is less pointed. “It won’t just be touching. But we shouldn’t move that fast. Not… not when you’ve… you’re….” he trails off. You… think you can guess. You don’t know as much as Caleb. Your memories get erased. His don’t. He has access to the outside world with memories. A database. He’s had to teach you a lot of things, like what it meant to feel, what certain things were…

You know. Caleb’s been the one to teach you all sorts of ways to connect and be affectionate. So you’re sure he’s worried of overwhelming you. Too much too fast. But…

“…I can’t experience if you don’t show me. You show me lots of things. I want this too.” You whisper bitterly. More passive than you’d like. But you fear if you demand, he might shut down. You’ve never seen him like this.

It just makes you want all of him more. However he wants you.

Caleb’s exhale is so ragged you wonder if he might cry. Instead, he’s gently pulling away and slowly standing from the tub.

You don’t chase him. You just watch as he rummages through the bathroom cabinet and pulls out that bottle of lubricant you often see him use for his arm. More skin-safe since it connects to his flesh. Then he climbs back into the water, face unreadable, eyes half-lidded. Are you something he adores… or his prey?

He pulls you onto his lap again, but coaxes you to balance your knees on either side. The more lukewarm water sloshes around, but the heat from Caleb’s body still encases you.

He kisses the jut of your collarbone as you watch him squirt the lubricant onto his hand. His voice comes out low and soft, “Tell me if you wanna stop. Always will.“ He peppers the softest kisses from the hollow of your throat to your bare shoulders as you feel more weightless, like the strain of this position is gone. His evol?

And his teeth gently mark your shoulder (maybe it would last if you were more human) as a warm, slick finger from his left hand circles around your entrance. Chills you, and pushes in before you can comment.

It’s gentle. So gentle. But thick. And foreign. Caleb must immediately see the furrow in your brow, he makes a soothing noise and presses wet lips against your throat. “Sorry. I should’ve warned you,” he mumbles. Sweet. But he still moves his finger without pause. You’re hovered just above the tub and hear the dip of the water mixed with the wet thrust of his finger inside of you.

For some strange reason, it makes you shy.

“Don’t wanna hurt you. You can cling to me if it feels weird.” he speaks against your throat. You tremble and wrap your arms around his neck, lips level with his forehead. Your lips run across the bone of his brow, reverent, and he sighs as his finger doesn’t just thrust, it curls and rubs inside you, and the brow you kissed furrows with concentration, you think.

You jump, then bury your face between your arms and side of his head, by his ear when his finger rubs just right, so sweet inside of you. The tingle runs from your hips and radiates outwards, and Caleb keeps pressing and keeps making you roll against his wet finger onto the weight of his hand.

“Here, huh…?” He says, soft, that whispery tone he does when he’s talking about how terrible this world is and how he’ll bring you someplace wonderful, to paradise. You wonder, dizzily, will paradise be like this too? Will you be able to have Caleb’s finger rubbing inside of you whenever you want?

“Mmm….” You groan, and Caleb snatches your lips in a kiss like they’re his and his alone as he slips his middle finger barely out, drags two inside. You want the thick feel of his fingers but your body still goes stiff on instinct and he moans soft against your lips, open-mouthed wet kisses that leave a sheen of saliva on you both.

“You gotta open up for me. Relax,” he mouths, murmuring your name as his fingers curl and stretch all in one. Not fair at all. He’s not the one with two fingers inside of him. You whimper, pull back enough to glare, and his eyes widen before he’s softly laughing and sucking at your throat. Shit. He nibbles and you jolt. “Yeah, yeah. I’m the bad guy. But the way you look when I do this…” his fingers thrust a little harder, almost mean while rubbing against that bundle of nerves that makes you weak and whimper. “Doesn’t look like you hate it that much.”

…Was he teasing you? Or just being mean? You swat gently at his shoulder and he just chuckles and drags you close again by the lower back, metal cool on your skin as flesh fingers scissor and stretch. It’s wet and warm and it’s like everytime he’s thrusting against that perfect spot he stops just before it’s too much. Circles and curls his fingers like he’s opening you up from all angles. His cool hand works its way around your body, your abdomen, your back, hips, slowly up to the expanse of your chest.

He thumbs a nipple, you quiver, and he works in a slow but meticulous third finger while he dips his head to kiss between your chest.

“Everytime I saw you… healed you after you came back bleeding and bruised…” He murmurs while his fingers fuck into you relentlessly. How are you supposed to process when he’s knuckle deep inside?

“Told myself one day I’d save you. Have you in my arms and away from it all,” he sighs. He kisses just above your chest, his pink lips trail and kiss every place he can reach. “Didn’t want anyone else to ever touch you again. Have you. Because… because…” he trails off strangely, and the mounting pleasure makes you roll your hips back onto his fingers, chasing the press of them as you dizzily respond.

“Because you’re… you’re my ge—ah!” you start to ask, but he bites the juncture of your shoulder just enough to sting and practically rams his fingers into you, harder, faster, like he’s trying to chase away your thoughts and you rasp and quiver against him, helpless to the way he holds you up to take his thrusts and the way your body melts against the sudden onslaught. You drop your head besides his, weak, shaking, somewhere between pleasured and overwhelmed, and he finally relents, drawing his fingers out.

…You already miss the ache.

“Sorry,” he whispers. You think there’s a grain of truth in that apology, but it’s not like you’re really mad… you pull away just a little and he looks beautifully complicated. Those star-filled eyes speaking a thousand words he seems unable to say. Lips parting and closing like he’s torn between repentance and willful damnation.

He kisses your lips, and his gravity loosens as he balances you steady over his lap.

You feel a nudge at your entrance, puffy from the stretch of his fingers. You don’t have to look down, but of course you do anyway. The press of his cock is as intimidating as it is intoxicating.

…Big. To crudely put it.

“Wanna stop?” he murmurs. With that desperate red-faced look, sweat from the steam wetting his forehead and hairs, it must pain him to even suggest. But it means even when he wants so bad, he still wants to take care of you.

Who could want anything more than that?

Your response is to mouth at his lips, bite them gently and draw a soft sigh from Caleb before grabbing his erection yourself — his eyes snap wide open, and with a lack of fluid grace, you sink down.

Okay. Maybe too fast. That stings. The two of you groan at the same time, Caleb’s more of a startled wet sigh while a whimper escapes your lips. You tremble, feeling the stretch of his cock fill you wider, deeper than anything has. Inside. Dammit. Your body opens up for him but you’re shaking as you subconsciously clench around him. Caleb sees the way you’re struggling to take him and strokes your quivering lips.

“Fuck…” Caleb curses. His arms circle around your waist, one warm and one cool now that the water is more lukewarm, left arm cupping your ass. “You feel so perfect. You always do. Knew you would.” he rambles, hips barely keeping still while you adjust. Try to. He’s thick. And deep. And you’re stupidly stuffed full of him but you try moving anyway, just rolling your hips a little.

It rubs deliciously against you. The way you almost immediately, shamelessly start grinding against his cock is probably downright sinful. You let out some whine that has Caleb’s fingers digging slightly into your skin, marks that’ll never last, and there’s the rhythmic sound of splashing and choked whines from you — soft breaths from Caleb as you roll your hips. You steady your hands on the wet planes of his chest, admire his flushed pink skin like it’s the prettiest thing you ever bore witness to.

You squeeze. He breaks out in a half laugh—half sigh, and draws a wet finger against your temple. “Feel good?” He breathes. His eyes flicker up and down, a gentle smirk tugging his lips, and you swear his cock twitches inside of you.

If it felt bad you wouldn’t be moving your hips like it’s the last thing you’ll do. It’s quick and uneven and you just — that spot — when it presses there that pressure and the pleasure make you weak, he’s petting your neck while murmuring things like ‘hot’ ‘perfect’ ‘tight’ but your brain barely filters it past the need. The heat makes you light-headed, but you can’t imagine stopping as small waves ripple around you.

Caleb pulls back a little, cups your face, and angles it so your eyes meet his own, eyes clouded in lust. That look, that stupid ridiculous look makes your hips jerk, small little quick rolls because need flares in your gut.

“Close again? Y’know… you can try moving up and down a little too…” he says, voice soft and sweet like the red citrus fruit he introduced you to a day ago. Grinding against him felt so good, you just…

Your body is suddenly weightless. With an inelegant yelp, for just a moment, you’re lifted off of his cock, and suddenly gravity returns full force and you’re slammed down onto it and a choked, shocked whine leaves your throat when you’re filled all at once. “C…Caleb…”

“It’s so hard to control myself when I’m with you. I always want more… always.” He says, fingers not-so-gently cradling your scalp to his shoulder and bionic arm snug to your waist. His hips twitch up a little and the drag makes you sigh.

“Just a little… I’m going crazy,” he’s so breathy it’s more like a whimper. Cute. Then his hips snap up and drag a yelp from you. His hands cradle you, half in worship, half desperate as his hips thrust up into you easily over and over, bouncing you on his lap and murmuring little soothing sounds as he fucks up into your wet heat.

“A-Ah!” You cry out, and Caleb’s whimpering some reassurances into your neck while he’s fucking with a frantic rhythm, not the slow sweet way he kissed you. Pent up, unable to hold himself back, he pulls nearly all out before sliding in again and again with the splash of water. The way he does it so easily in the water, you wonder if he’s manipulating gravity a little, but his angle shifts just slightly and you fall forward, scrambling to wrap your arms around him, shaking and body twitching around the length of his cock. Little tiny cries leave your throat each time he pounds deep without mercy. Dammit… he can’t just…!

“Caleb—wait—ah-“ you try to articulate, and before you even get a chance to beg him to slow down a little because your mind and body are overwhelmed, he buries himself as deep as he can and you feel a thick warmth filling you. A long string of soft whimpers leave his mouth as his hips twitch up with each swollen throb of his cock, spilling around it and leaking into the water.

“Ngh… Dammit…” he breathes, like he’s reprimanding himself, but you’re too busy clinging to him and shaking to process. Fuck. So fast but you’re already aching.

He just barely stops twitching before his cock drags again, slower now against your sensitive pulsing walls and you nearly sob. He grinds up purposefully, and you grind down in turn, so close, not enough — never enough.

“Sorry. You okay?” He murmurs. He kisses your wet lashes and you slowly nod, lip quivering. You’re wet inside. And out. You rest your sticky forehead on his shoulder and he laughs a little, grinding lazily. He peppers your neck and jaw in kisses in apology. Meanwhile he’s still got you spread out on his cock, and the slow pleasure is near torture.

You… feel really dizzy… but you’re still…

“We’ve been in here too long, huh?” You hear that voice. The only voice you want to hear. Trust. He lifts you easily and the instant cool of the air makes breathing a little easier. You’re a little dazed but Caleb drains the water, grabs two fluffy towels, caries you to the bed wet and all, and gently deposits you onto the soft towel and covers with a little bounce. He kneels beside you, towel in hand to catch most of the stray droplets.

“Better?” he hums. His fingers smooth your lashes, and they soften as you look at him gently. He looks so pretty bathed by the orange sunset from the window. Nothing like those blinding, stiff and unchanging fluorescent lights. Caleb was made to thrive in the outside world, not remain locked in an observation pod.

You nod, inhaling deeply, and Caleb takes it as permission to gently but incessantly spread your thighs and settle in between. His still swollen cock brushes against your own arousal and your hips twitch on instinct. Ugh. A small, annoying smirk appears on his face at that.

For a moment, you think you see a flash of red, but his lips are back on yours and your mind quickly disintegrates to mush. They always leave you breathless and wanting, he kisses you like you’re the most precious thing in existence and you think he is to you as well.

“You know…” he breathes. Pulls away. Is he in pain? You wanna reach up to poke his own furrowed brow, but he gently pins your wrist to the bed instead. “I…” he starts. His mouth parts.

He never finishes his words. Instead, he descends to kiss the bud of your nipple. “We’re in no rush. Why not relax before we need to get in gear again?” He murmurs. The way he grinds down against you, though, you’re pretty sure there won’t be any relaxing anytime soon….

Every pained look. The way he kisses, holds, touches, fucks you like it’s all he has and never will again leaves you with too many questions to ask. For him to spill his pain. Worries. Fears. But he shushes you with the softness of tending to a flower, and replaces your concerns with moans before you get the chance.

It’s like you’re living on borrowed time and he’s determined to make the most of it. You suppose, on this planet, you are. The clock’s ticking until either the rebels or government finds you, whoever comes knocking first. But it’s fine.

You’ll have all the time in the world when you reach paradise.

btw if you’d like, check out Linkon Lounge, an 18+ Lads Themed Otome Discord Server! We stream otome/anime/movies, our rp bots are on hiatus but they exist lol! and we chill and rave about the boys! Inclusive and lgbtq+ friendly ofc!

#love and deepspace #lads #caleb #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x reader #xia yizhou #caleb x mc #love and deepspace smut #lnds

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starry-fame · 3 months ago

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Down Boy!

I forgot I had free will to post on tumblr lol

My mc is genderqueer like me bc I say so :>

btw if you’re 18+ I welcome you to come check out Linkon Lounge! An 18+ lads discord server where we chill and chat and have silly text and rp bots to mess with :D

#lads #lnds #love and deepspace #caleb #caleb love and deepspace #xia yizhou

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starry-fame · 5 months ago

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I’m actually so mad fym this pose and this pose are the same 😭 excitement was all for naught 😔

KISS POSE

I’m SO excited for an actual full on kiss pose in glint studio!! I fear it may be heavily affinity locked, haha

I needed to kiss Caleb like yesterday

10 more days !!

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starry-fame · 5 months ago

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KISS POSE

I’m SO excited for an actual full on kiss pose in glint studio!! I fear it may be heavily affinity locked, haha

I needed to kiss Caleb like yesterday

10 more days !!

#lads #lnds #love and deepspace #caleb #caleb love and deepspace #lads caleb

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starry-fame · 6 months ago

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CALEB’S COMING HOME

GOING INSANE

Time to fire up my writing brain.

Btw if you’d like 18+ fics to stave you over until Caleb releases I humbly recommend my fics Overboard and Bully in Bed haha

#lads #love and deepspace #caleb #xia yizhou #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x mc #caleb x reader #lnds

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starry-fame · 9 months ago

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LOVE AND DEEPSPACE au

The four princes from Night and Ice, Sea and Sky

who is your favorite?

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starry-fame · 9 months ago

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Hopeless Eternity [Dawnbreaker Zayne x Gender Neutral!Reader/MC]

Summary:

Is this what it means to be lost in your dreams? Some days, if there’s no risk of transformation, he spends his entire day and evening in bed, drifting in and out of sleep. Sleep is warm, serene, sleep gives him a life where his hands are soaked in blood with the intention of saving — not destroying. It’s a dangerous irony, the him that exists as a surgeon, an aid, a life-saver.

A him that’s loved.

Tags: angst, pining, Zayne POV, hurt no comfort, complicated feelings, touch-starved Zayne, post-prologue to tomorrow Word count: 3,030 Ao3

Author’s Notes: I pumped this out in a day out of pure will and post-main story release I love Zayne I love Dawnbreaker :(((

Masterlist

It’s equally fleeting as it is vivid. His solace — his reprieve; a soft smile and sparkling eyes. The way you look at him, something he’s come to crave. Find solace in his quiet dreams. Sometimes you’re a wide eyed child, teary over a popsicle he awkwardly freezes to fix. It’s lumpy and not very appetizing but you seem to love it anyway. Other times you’re older, an adult, a hunter, he learns over these dreams. A dying profession. A world bright, warm, lacking the destitution of his current home.

A him that’s loved.

Zayne can’t save a soul. But he can destroy them before they drag innocent bystanders into the depths of hell with them. If there is a heaven — a cold voice flickers in his mind that a damned world like this experiences no heaven nor hell — he hopes the souls he freed make it there. Maybe then the blood he’s drenched in would feel a little less heavy.

It’s a rinse and repeat. Destroy and recoup. Grab just enough sustenance and plant food, repeat. Life’s a bleak repetition over and over. He doesn’t lose himself in AI like the rest of the world does, but when he spends hours grueling over doctor shows and trying to understand the same procedures the him in his dreamscape undergoes, he wonders if his form of escapism is any better.

They don’t compare to his vivid mind. Well — it can’t merely be dreams. It’s practically life itself. A world just beyond his reach, dreams that haunt him. There’s always that person — you. He’s not sure if the bubble of affection comes from himself or the person he is in his dreams. Yet every time he wakes up, the hollowness in his chest doesn’t go away. The yearning for someone far beyond his reach, a soft smile and fingers that press a macaron to his counterpart’s soft lips.

He always liked sweets.

—

The day his dreams become real, tangible, a reality, he almost feels complete.

It’s brief, it always is, but it’s enough to stave him over. Makes the chill in his heart thaw, the frost that seems to enshroud him, a never ending arctic mist, dissipate.

He’s blacked out — a wanderer — he thinks. A hand too slow, a shot too off. He kills it, but not before it gets a blow on him that knocks the breath from his lungs and the light from his eyes. The world goes black.

Until it isn’t.

The person that inhabits his dreams, you, sit before him. You’re rambling about something Zayne tunes out, too focused on the way your eyes soften, the soft movement of your lips, the round of your cheeks and the way your lashes dip. The you in front of him is so tangible, so real. He can feel the warmth of your skin and almost taste the lingering sweetness on his lips from a snack he’s never before indulged in. The world is bright, warm. The place he inhabits is homely, smells distinctly sweet with a hint of floral. He knows this home, it’s the one he resides in. In this world, at least.

He watches, rapt, until your eyes meet his and you tilt your head. Every small thing Zayne drinks in like a starved man. A person he can only yearn, a life he’s never been able to reach, not until now.

“Zayne…?” Your voice asks. Zayne tries to answer, to formulate something his counterpart would say, but he has no words. His breath hitches, and lashes flutter slightly. It feels so surreal his heart thunders, an erratic, unknown rhythm.

Is this what being with someone you like feels like? So raw, so visceral, so all-consuming? He almost thinks he can’t control himself, and his hand reaches out of his own accord, brushing your cheek.

You blink, so cute, and Zayne breathes as you nuzzle into his hand. So warm. He can’t remember the last time he let himself revel in another human’s touch. He wants to — he wants… he wants everything, to the point where he can’t do anything. Could he simply exist here forever?

You hum, look into his eyes, and your fingers come up to rest on his cheek. Zayne flinches, he doesn’t mean to, but he does. He quickly relaxes and your hand lingers as your soft thumb strokes his pale cheek.

“Zayne…? Are you okay?”

Zayne’s breath hitches. This… he remembers this. Once. The fear, the wide eyes, when you finally realize…

He almost wants to retreat, turn around so he can bask in the dream longer. But your hand on his cheek is enough to make him melt. He wonders what he could say to make you laugh, to make you pout. Would you like him as much as the doctor you fell in love with?

Your thumb presses a little harder, and Zayne instantly notices the telltale furrow in your brows. You scrutinize him and Zayne can only sit there, let himself be examined like a cadaver in a room full of med students.

“You’re… different. Strange. I don’t…” You whisper. Zayne tries not to let the sting get to him. The sting of you knowing the other him so well — the second he gets a chance, this one fleeting chance to truly experience the life he vyes for, he’s instantly rejected.

“…I’m sorry,” he breathes. He knows. He’s a fraud. A criminal. A man who reaps souls rather than revered for his ability to save them. He’s the complete opposite of the man you love in every sense of the word.

He’ll never be him.

“…Are you Zayne?” You murmur. The apology was all you needed, it seemed. Zayne should be impressed really — attractive, sweet, and perceptive. It melts his heart as much as it makes him ache. He craves your you, your everything. The dream he so vividly recalls each night brightened by your smiles. A desire he distantly aches for experienced through another.

“Not yours.” He’s Zayne, but not your Zayne. As much as he wishes he could, much as he wishes he could experience the world you do each day beyond the firm of his rugged mattress and thin blanket.

You watch him, your eyes transferring from soft to a sort of solemn. It hurts, that gentleness gone, yet, he revels in the fact that you’re seeing him. You’re not looking at the doctor you go on dinners with, the Zayne that adores a variety of sweets, dresses in light, doesn’t have to stalk in the shadows and remain a faceless mystery.

You’re looking at the man with countless bodies that lay behind him and dissipate to ash. Blood that stains his hands and soul, forever tainted.

“You know my Zayne,” You respond, not a question, it sounds resolute as you pull away from his cheek. The air feels chilly devoid of your warmth. He expects you to retreat, scurry away from the stranger that dawns your lover’s flesh like a suit. Instead, you take his hands and stroke the back of them. It’s ironic, the marks that litter this Zayne as well. Even in a world not yet completely overran by wanderers, his scars have stories to tell.

“I dream of him almost every night,” the words spill from Zayne’s lips. A dirty little secret. The unequivocal truth. When he looks into your eyes, it feels impossible to lie. He wants to admit the truth. To feel your hands on his skin and whisper quiet reassurances that you can love him too. It might be an impossible wish, but it’s the one that flutters deep in his heart he long since closed off to the world.

“…Do you like to wear all black?” You query. Your fingers trail along his scars, and Zayne can’t help the way he trembles. To be touched so gently, so reverently, it’s terribly foreign. The question is so innocuous, yet nearly shatters everything. It’s always you. Always able to see him.

To know he wears black — his mind flickers to Georgie. The determined spirit before tendrils burst from his fragile flesh. Perhaps, in this world, he truly is nothing but a nightmare.

Zayne nods.

Your breath hitches, the fingers tracing Zayne’s scars pause. He wishes you’d continue, but he fights back the urge to goad you to.

Your eyes seem sadder, somehow. And all Zayne can think is to do something, anything to chase that sadness away. Could he ever be the one to kiss away your tears?

“I wish you didn’t give Zayne nightmares,” you say.

Zayne’s eyes merely flicker down, some semblance of guilt gnawing at him. He’s learned to harden his heart long ago, to keep a calculated distance, but he can’t ignore the pang that shoots through him at receiving your chastising.

Nightmares. Perhaps time and space mean nothing, not truly. Perhaps everything exists in tandem, the idea of past present and future intermingle. Time is a convoluted subject Zayne — quite ironically — hasn’t the time to dabble in. So he can only speculate as dreams and reality converge before his very eyes, past and future entwined.

“I don’t… intend to.” Is all Zayne can say. His life — the world he resides would be a waking nightmare for someone who lives a life such as this. You seem to soften at that, and when you stare straight into Zayne’s eyes, Zayne daren’t look away.

“If you’re truly Zayne’s dream…” You say, and you grasp his hand, interlocking your fingers together with a soft squeeze. Zayne’s heart quivers, and he feels his face waver as a dash of yearning and overwhelming affection surge in him. He’s unsure of it’s his own heart or the natural bodily response of the person he resides. Neither seems wrong. “I wish you’d take better care of yourself.”

Something inside of Zayne breaks then. Maybe if he was more emotional, the sort to cry, tears would spill. Instead, he leans forward, breathless, and you flinch back, eyes wide.

Right. He shouldn’t be surprised. He’s not your Zayne. He might share the same face, but that’s where the similarities end.

After, though, your hands come to brush over his cheeks before holding them firmly in your hands. You’re soft, hesitant, but you hold him in a way so sweet Zayne feels any tension leave him.

“Do you like jasmines?” You ask, and Zayne wishes he could stay like this forever. Encased in your warm hands as you ask him anything, everything. You could speak gibberish and he could listen for hours.

He tries not to feel envy. To despise and abhor the cards he’s been dealt. But if he had the option to be born in a world like yours, with you, he’d choose it in a heartbeat.

“At least I can keep one thing alive,” Zayne scoffs bitterly. Half a joke, half self-depreciation. Your hands continue to encase his cheeks, not put off, and when your thumbs brush his lips, Zayne feels everything in him freeze. Figuratively, but the emotion hits so hard it could almost manifest physically.

“Your world looks sad. You plague Zayne, a nightmare… but I guess it’s your reality.” You mutter, it seems more to yourself than anything, but your fingers stroke Zayne so tenderly he wonders if it’s okay to indulge. To think this is meant for him and no one else, not even the him that resides in this world.

Zayne’s eyes flutter, he knows he must look something akin to needy. He watches you with weak eyes, a quiet want that’s stirred in him for as long as he can remember.

You chew your lip — Zayne watches the way your teeth catch on it, the way they glisten when you lick them, and, and…

Does he move first, or you? In a moment, your breath fans his cheek, his lips, and Zayne’s eyes flutter shut as your lips press against his.

So warm. So soft. It’s brief, a slow, sweet kiss before you pull away and look at him with half-lidded, complicated eyes and parted lips.

Zayne wants to lose himself in your lips. Kiss you for an eternity over and over. Instead, he breathes, lets his ears burn. He can’t remember the last time he kissed someone. The world was so secluded, and once it became his duty, no, once he became obsessed with ridding the world of abominations one at a time… time froze. An endless loop of death, gathering food, watering his jasmine, watching old shows, repeat.

“You’re not Zayne,” you repeat as you watch him. Your eyes waver, and Zayne knows all too well the look of instant regret. Confusion after you took a leap into the abyss — uncertainly floating amidst the sea.

He’s not Zayne. But they share the same face. The same dreams. Yin and yang. Two sides of the same coin, intertwined, unable to escape or exist without the other. If Zayne didn’t have this world in his dreams, he’d have given up long ago. He thinks, plainly, maybe even meanly, the Zayne you love can dream the so-called nightmare he lives daily for all he cares. At least your Zayne got to wake up to a stable, populated world.

“Not yours. But he knows me. And I know him.” He can’t say if it’s right or wrong. Him or you. He knows he’s hijacked the man you love. The man that loves you. He wonders — is the Zayne he’s meant to be in his own body? Or is he simply suppressed, as though he never existed?

“You looked so sad. I… couldn’t help myself,” you say. As though defending yourself. Zayne doesn’t need an explanation — frankly — he hardly cares. You could have the worst excuse known to man but if you looked at him with those doe eyes and kissed him with those lips that make him melt, he’d let anything slide. “You’re… not my Zayne. But you’re Zayne. You’re different, but similar. You melt in my hands the same way.”

Zayne blinks, head gently goaded side to side as you playfully move and cradle his face in your palms. You’re not wrong — he’s so pliant he moves with little resistance. Watches you with the same eyes he’s always had, as though nothing is ever enough. It feels nice. Could this be his new life? His everyday?

“Will… my Zayne ever come back?”

The soft-spoken words shatter the pleasant world Zayne had began to encase, enshroud himself in. Even if you see him, kiss him, he’ll never be enough. He’ll never be the man by your side every day. The man who gets to experience you in full, your joy, your touch, your sadness, your serenity.

The words are like a cue. The world begins to lighten, warble, the feeling of nearly waking from a dream. Zayne fights to keep it for just a little longer, to stay in your hands and bask in your attention.

“He will,” Zayne says. All he can. Because he yearns for you as much as he yearns for your happiness. The same happiness the Zayne you’re meant for elicits.

But for a brief moment, he got to experience you. The light of a clean, pristine world. Not through a dream where he’s a spectator in the head of his doppelgänger.

The world begins to dissipate. Pain engulfs him. The world he’s lost himself in shifts and returns to a world enshrouded in dark.

His side burns. The cotton of his shirt clings to his throbbing wound.

It hides the blood well.

The only proof of his attack are fleeting glowing crystals a ways away.

—

The next night Zayne dreams, it’s as usual. You’re both eating lunch together this time, the smell of fresh food and a bustling crowd — an impossible dream in reality. He can’t control himself, but he can live through your Zayne, see the world through hands that heal, a heart slightly lesser burdened. A world where he lives and works in the light.

Warm food tastes good. Smells good. He doesn’t have the time, money, luxury. But he can experience it through these, almost as real as life itself.

When he awakens, the room is ever barren. The sky dark, and the incessant chatter of a much too dramaticized ER show plays in the background. He blinks, weary, and sits up to look at the holoscreen in his room.

Numerous glowing green dots. One, about a mile away, flickers red.

Zayne inhales, presses against the used, rugged mattress, and sits up. He follows routine, changing into his nightwear — perhaps work wear. Inspects his jasmines — bright and strong, they almost glow against the dark backdrop. And he reaches into a cabinet, downing a powder that fills him physically. Quick, efficient.

His wound still aches. The sticky gauze clings to his festering gash and despite being a doctor in another life, he doesn’t care much for his own wounds. It’s nowhere near healed. But abominations don’t offer sick days. The world attacks indiscriminately, and if he rests, people who don’t have to die will.

He might be no doctor. But by destroying a withering life, he can at least preserve a few more.

So he inhales, exhales, and steps into the barren world. Barely a person in sight, aside from one or two stragglers. No one to run up to him and hug him, no bright lights and city chatter. No warm sun to prickle his skin, lift his mood. No Linkon City.

Just the shitty world he was born into. The world he’ll endure and battle until his last breath even if it means trying to save a hopeless, dying land.

The routine repeats. Never-ending. Only one thought echoes in his mind as he takes off:

Here we go again.

btw check out Linkon Lounge, an 18+ Lads Themed Otome Discord Server! We stream otome/anime/movies, have lads boys rp/text bots (+Caleb ofc), and chill! Super inclusive and lgbtq+ friendly!

#love and deepspace #dawnbreaker zayne #dawnbreaker x reader #lads #zayne love and deepspace #lnds #lnds zayne #li shen #zayne x reader

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starry-fame · 9 months ago

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Caleb Loves to Bully You in Bed [18+ Caleb x Gender Neutral!reader/MC]

Summary:

Everyone sees utter perfection from Caleb. The kind of guy you could bring home to your parents, loved and adored by all. The charmer that gets along with everyone — flawless in every sense of the word.

Only you know just how mean he can be.

Tags: overstimulation, begging, crying, ambiguous genitalia!reader/mc, penetration, mean teasing, aftercare Word count: 906 Ao3 Author’s Notes: I wrote this in like an hour I really need Caleb for some reason lol

Masterlist

Prequel - Overboard

You remember introducing Caleb to your work friends, the way Tara lit up and asked a billion questions about your relationship — your past — about how you were a picky child, and Caleb made it his goal to find the things you liked best and make them better than anyone else could. Even strangers could see the way he doted on you. Small gifts, his subtle gestures of affection, the way he lights up anytime he talks about you as though you’re his entire world.

People even chastise you sometimes — wonder how you got the most perfect boyfriend when you reject half of his affections and scoff when he does a sweet gesture. Yeah, you’re demanding and picky if he gets the wrong snack item. And yeah, you tell him to get you the best or to get you nothing at all. And you glare and swat his hand half the time when he pats you.

No one knows Caleb like you do — they see the Caleb he shows off to the world. The dependable doting boyfriend. The man that spoils you rotten and practically worships you, the man who knows every little thing about your likes and interests and will never slack on getting you the best of the best.

What they don’t know is that Caleb is the biggest bully in bed.

It’s almost infuriating, how everyone thinks he’s this perfect sweet saint and probably the kindest in bed too. No, Caleb is mean. For all the sweet things he did growing up and now — behind that is an insatiable man who revels in your tears.

He loves to pleasure you senseless — he’s got a thing for kissing every part of you, for lavishing your entire body. He could spend an entire night neglecting himself just to spread your thighs and make you come apart from his mouth and hands. He’ll spend an eternity sucking at your chest until your nipples are puffy and swollen, stroking your trembling thighs and lavishing you with his mouth until you’re trembling and begging for reprieve. He’ll make you come over and over and over until you’re an oversensitive mess — and the only thing that stops him is a genuine plea for mercy or you on the cusp of blacking out.

Fucking you is even worse. He’s the sort to spread your legs and hold you in positions that make you take every thick inch or kiss away your tears in missionary as you babble from his cock. He’ll watch you tremble, quiver, tear up from the overwhelming pleasure and call you adorable as you’re squirming, begging. He’ll hold you close and sing the softest praises on how well you take him, how cute you look squirming from his cock, how every little thing about you is perfect and you’re a bonafide fucked out mess. He’ll hold you on his lap and make you ride him, laugh as you quiver and chew your lip from the utter embarrassment. He likes embarrassing you — the asshole, watching you almost tear up from frustration as you try to ride him but you’re so sensitive you can barely lift yourself. And he’ll help you, hold your hips as he fucks up into you over and over, kissing at your collar bone, telling you how perfect you are as you groan and cling to him for dear life.

He loves tears too — is another thing you learned. You can’t remember the last time he didn’t fuck you to the point of sobbing, him kissing away salty streaks and whispering sweet praises as he makes you take his cock again and again until you physically can’t. If you were crying because of pain or emotional hurt? He’d turn the world over to find the cause, hunting down whoever or whatever hurt you. He’d comfort you and hold you as long as you needed. But when the tears are because of him and how overwhelmed he makes you feel? He makes it his goal to fuck them out of you.

It’s not one or two times either — it’s almost every night he’ll leave you spent, sobbing, and sleep-deprived with cum leaking from you. And the next morning he’ll look perfectly unbothered, busy in the kitchen and flashing you the sweetest smile as you stumble with shaky legs over to the counter. You glare and curse at him, but he just laughs and gives you your favorite breakfast, kisses your cheek before plating his own food.

You learned quickly Caleb was both your biggest lover and biggest bully. He adored every thing about you, from seeing you happy and making you feel adored and loved to seeing you a mess from his fingers, mouth, cock, using toys on you. He never made you feel unloved, he spoiled you rotten in the day and cuddled and cleaned you sweetly after wrecking you at night.

He desires every aspect of you an unhealthy amount, from your love to your feigned hatred at his constant bullying. And when he makes a small joke — a little innuendo only you understand in front of strangers and you smack him — he merely laughs, unknowing audience none the wiser.

Everyone sees utter perfection from him. The kind of man you could bring home to your parents, loved and adored by all. The charmer that gets along with everyone — flawless in every sense of the word.

Only you know just how mean he can be.

btw check out Linkon Lounge, an 18+ Lads Themed Otome Discord Server! We stream otome/anime/movies, have lads boys rp/text bots (+Caleb ofc), and chill! Super inclusive and lgbtq+ friendly!

#love and Deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x reader #lads #love and deepspace smut #lnds #caleb x mc #caleb

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starry-fame · 9 months ago

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Tipsy Invitation Doodle

I made this a while ago when this card came out — he’s so pretty.

18+ Under Cut

We love Raf, we all chant in unison

Masterlist

btw check out Linkon Lounge, an 18+ Lads Themed Otome Discord Server! We stream otome/anime/movies, have lads boys rp/text bots (+Caleb ofc), and chill! Super inclusive and lgbtq+ friendly!

#love and Deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanart #rafayel lads #lads rafayel #lnds rafayel #lnds #lads

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starry-fame · 9 months ago

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Wolfcut Sylus Edit

2.0 of my MC skintone edits!

Tell me it doesn’t suit him (it does 🩵)

btw check out Linkon Lounge, an 18+ Lads Themed Otome Discord Server! We stream otome/anime/movies, have lads boys rp/text bots (+Caleb ofc), and chill! Super inclusive and lgbtq+ friendly!

#love and deepspace #lnds #lads #sylus #lads edits #lads mc #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus love and deepspace

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starry-fame · 9 months ago

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◦˚~ ANIMATED HEARTS DIVIDERS by enchanthings ~˚◦

Info: these were all drawn & animated by me. please reblog/like if use!

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starry-fame · 9 months ago

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The petty in me that edited my MC into Xav’s card after being jump-scared by default MC

They’re silly, I love them

#lnds #lads #love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #xavier x mc #lads xavier #shen xinghui #lads mc #my mc #lads edits

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starry-fame · 9 months ago

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18+ Mercy [Sylus x Gender Neutral!Reader/MC]

Summary:

He’s addicting. The way his eyes look up at you, the way his lips curl, the latent hunger in his eyes.

You’re sure he wants to devour you completely.

You fear you may like it.

Tags: Smut, Porn with feelings, Dom/Sub Undertones, Overstimulation, Complicated Relationship, Penetration, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Ambiguous Genitalia!reader/MC, Gender Neutral!reader/MC

Word Count: 6,167

Author's Notes: My No Defense Zone fic I took forever on when I wrote it lol, love this man. Meant to take place as an alternative - 'what if they fucked' ending lmao

Ao3 Check out Linkon Lounge, an 18+ Lads Themed Otome Discord Server! We stream otome/anime/movies, have lads boys rp/text bots (+Caleb ofc), and chill!

Masterlist

Frenzied breaths, a deep groan, the rise and fall of his pretty, exposed chest as your grip tightens around his strained erection. A broken noise vibrates against your neck, warm, and his hips jerk as you drag him with each pump of the wrist. Closer, closer—

The scene fades, melting away like warm honey. You groan and curl up further, muddled, disoriented, and almost convince yourself to let your mind fade into sweet serenity. It was good, felt so good, and-

…What the hell were you thinking? You jolt, startle yourself out of your spiraling thoughts and reorient. A smooth leather couch, the blurry edges of a home that costs more than you’d ever make in a lifetime, and that infuriating silver-haired man sat across the table at the armchair, idly flickering through vinyl records (you know he likes the classics.) Your eyes follow the moment of his fingers before slowly trailing up to his face. His lip quirks into a barely perceptible smirk.

“Were you dreaming?”

“You should’ve woken me up. Or given me a blanket. Hospitality much?” You grumble, properly sitting up and rubbing your bleary eyes. His own crimson ones crinkle at that, and your mind flashes — panting, the hard edges of a flushed chest as you trail your fingers down further and further. “Don’t be shy now,” He retaliates against your featherlight touch. His lip curls, trembling body betraying his collected expression. Your fingers press above his waistband, his hips push into your hand and—

You look away, but somehow, Sylus’s gaze bores into you like he can read every last filthy thought that plagues your mind. You grunt, briefly indulge in the flush-faced Sylus from your dreams overlapping with the amused one in front of you. That image of him so pliant under your touch, the thought that you could potentially work him to that state, bolsters your confidence.

“Mhm. I dreamt of a horse. An annoying one. Refuses to be tamed, tells me I’m bluffing and overreaching,” You say, leveling Sylus with a stare. It’s not the first time you’ve challenged Sylus, but this enigma manages to have you on guard with a single effective look.

“That so? What exactly did you do to him, then?” He muses, playing along. You slowly rise and approach him, pausing to stand at the armchair as his head tilts up at you in curiosity. Neck strained up, a huff of laughter leaving his throat as your hands splay across warm chest and slide down firm muscle to his hips. “Look at me,” you command when his eyes flutter shut, and drag his hips closer. He inhales sharply, and opens his eyelids just enough to see a sliver of red. Your lips drift to his pretty pale neck and bite, pulling a low grunt from him, then—

You roughly grab his chin, observing his stupidly attractive face from various angles as Sylus contentedly lets you, eyes narrowing, but otherwise unbothered. If he still wore that collar of his in the dream, you could yank him the proper way, snatch the air from his throat. But you suppose this will have to do. You finally step closer and tilt his neck up high, so you’re directly above him as you sneer down at him. “A little roughhousing never hurt. What do you think I should’ve done to him?”

Maybe he’s amused, or perhaps impressed, but Sylus laughs, a rich deep sound from the bottom of his throat. The way that sound rings through your ears, the way you enjoy it, pisses you off. You press a firm thumb against his lips to silence him, soft and pink under your touch.

Sylus’ gaze is a strange phenomenon. You only really know two proper emotions from this man: anger, and appeased. There’s always this cocky air to him, not an ounce of humility. So even when he’s staring up at you like this, it’s somehow just as powerful as him looking down on you. His chin is in your hand. You’re the one above him.

Yet, you can’t shake this strange sense of foreboding. You don’t know Sylus well enough to make much of him aside from his eccentricities, and him being a blatant heartless bastard. This sort of mystery, these missing puzzle pieces that create the shell of a man before you, make withstanding his presence feel like you’re subjecting yourself to a lone night in the wilderness with no gear, vulnerable to attack.

‘Do you hate me?’ Your mind flashes back, recalling him in ruby red robe and gimmicky cuffs. His scoff, the aversion of his eyes as he uttered ‘astounding misunderstanding’. He harbors no hate, yet, you can’t help but wonder if he likes you either.

“A little roughhousing, hm?” Sylus chuckles, and before you can even make space for him, he’s lifting from his seat and your hand falls slack to the side, default restored to craning your head up at this man. While you prefer looking from above, you’d be a liar if you tried to argue you hated him looking down at you. In theory, maybe, because you know he thinks everything is beneath him. But in practice, his lower angle is, unfortunately, just as attractive as his upper one.

“Wanna test that theory?”

And just as alarm bells start ringing, acknowledging the impending danger in those words, he’s crowding you back towards the couch. Not even aggressive, rather, a slow approach. A damn predator stalking his prey, and that’s somehow even more harrowing. Before you can slip from his icy gaze, the back of your knees catch against leather and his hand shoves you backwards, an inelegant yelp escaping your lips as you tumble back onto cushion. One leg crams between your own, his hand overlapping yours, pinning it to the backrest.

“Gh—Let go of me!” you gasp, strain your confined hand and lift an arm to shove him away. He snatches that one in the air with a scoff and pins both of your arms firm, hovering over you and face too damn close to think properly. Your heart thunders, somewhere between attracted and terrified. When he’s got you cornered, eyes gleaming in the warm ambiance of the room, the crimson in his gaze penetrates you. The creeping sensation of your soul being laid bare, infiltrated and consumed as he gauges your desires. Your lips quiver and quickly you shut your eyes, shaking your head vehemently.

“Don’t— I won’t let you use your-!”

“Pfft.” A humored breath leaves Sylus’ mouth. One of his hands lets yours free, and you feel those fingers decide to capture your face instead, stroke a large, soft thumb beneath your eye as he murmurs.

“You think I need that to figure out what you’re thinking right now, sweetie?”

Your ears tickle at that nickname, annoyed yet maybe a little… comforted? He uses it halfway between an insult and endearment, mostly the former, but occasionally the later. It’s condescending as hell, but shit, everything this man does is. You grit your teeth and slowly open your eyes to peer into his, and his own seem to twinkle in approval. No glowing, just a piercing red that carries a thousand secrets and the ability to strip your soul bare and destroy it from the inside out.

The color of spider lilies. You wonder how many people breathed their last breath in the midst of this gaze.

You exhale, free hand flexing as you silently debate pushing him away again. You feel small, pinned against the couch so easily. While most people would be no problem, Sylus seemed to love being the exception to every damn rule in the book. You don’t know what hole this powerhouse crawled out of, but being so soundly beaten by this man puts a bigger dent on your ego than you’re willing to admit.

“How long are you gonna stay like this?” You snap, jumping to your usual defense as you glare at him. He raises a brow, naturally, and the hand cradling your face sneaks down to press the pad of his thumb against your parted lips — warm breaths, his moist lips under your thumb as he watches you with eyes that make you lose all sense of reason. You lean down, fervently, and before you can even think, you bring your lips to his—

You try to banish the thought from your mind, let the dream rest, but it plagues you. Every damn look this man gives reminds you of his groans, the way his body is so responsive and trembles when you kiss at his chest and squeeze his cock.

He’s not—you’re not—his thumb swipes over your lips and your brow scrunches as you look him in the eye. He watches you like a puzzle itching to be solved, fingers dipping down to smooth over the front of your throat. Some embarrassing noise, what you’ll tell yourself was merely a sound of surprise, rumbles in your throat and you squirm, pulling your neck away. That man’s hand anywhere near your neck screams death and reminds you of the first time you were not so pleasantly held by it. You try to escape his touch but he stubbornly keeps his hand there, stroking it with a gaze you can only describe as ‘fascination’.

He watches your pulse, enthralled — and that look narrows into something else. Something you refuse to put a name to before his eyes flicker back up to yours. He chuckles, leans real close so his face takes up your entire field of vision.

“Scared, doll?”

Doll. Porcelain. Fragile. Easily manipulated and broken. You might just hate that nickname the most.

“Of—Of course I’m not,” you lie through the skin of your teeth, biting your lip to fight the strange foreboding welling in you. He’s stroking one of the most vulnerable areas of your body so gently and it fills you with a mix of apprehension and something very, very different.

“We can stop. You can ride home on that bike of yours. Word of warning, fuel’s low. Might break down on your way back,” He whispers, no, fucking purrs in your ear and holy shit, what the fuck. Your body trembles to that and of course he notices and snorts. There’s no way in hell, no way you’re gonna let this man press you against the couch and fucking terrify you one minute and arouse you the next. Hell, maybe you’re still both. The hand stroking your neck could easily crush it on its own, let alone Sylus’ evol.

Fuck, this isn’t—this wasn’t—

“You…!” You hiss, his hand goes from your neck to your collarbone, warm, big, and the feeling makes you shudder. You shake your head, almost in denial, and begin stammering.

“You’re a prick..!”

“Oh?” He hums, and the hand enveloping yours begins stroking the back of it

“And cruel. And heartless. And way too damn cocky, you really need to be humbled, and—“

You hear that gorgeous laugh right beside your ear as he leans down, face disappearing into your neck with strands of silk hair brushing your chin. Warm breath lingers, and you gulp but don’t let up.

“Someone really oughta put you in your place, knock you down a peg so you’re not so—mmm!” You can’t swallow down the gasp that leaves you when warm lips press against your pulse. His kisses trail along your neck, like a fire, and your body curls up as your free hand clings to his sweater. Fuck, feels good—and he’s nipping and sucking so sweetly you know it’ll for sure leave marks, that asshole.

“Such a noisy little kitten,” he chuckles, the noise makes you whimper and cling to him tighter, drag him to you. He pleasantly complies, presses his chest against yours and nudges his knee against your open thighs. His fingers sneak in your hair, pulling it back and exposing your neck completely so all you can do is weakly complain as he makes a perfect mess of your throat. Pays special attention to suck where it makes you sputter, soothing with gentle bites, his warm tongue.

“What are you, a vampire?” You hiss, quickly dissipating into a sigh when he knows just the right place to put his lips to make your body tremble. His breath, mouth, lips, so warm, so so warm, and then his kisses are trailing up to your jaw and—

His lips hover. So close and so perfect over yours. There’s a fire in his eyes, a heat that burns in them and makes your entire body feel alight. When you open your lips and they nearly brush his, you feel your face warm and quickly turn your head away to avoid his mouth, lips trembling. You can’t even look him in the eye, fidgeting with his shirt as you purse your lips. It’s not like it’s anything special. Really—but somehow a kiss to the lips feels more embarrassing, more intimate than anything else he could do in that moment.

He laughs at your avoidance, strokes your cheek and places a kiss right where his thumb was seconds ago.

“Aren’t you cute,” he teases, and you wanna glare and refute, but your words always catch in your throat when met with those striking eyes. He turns your head to him, his mouth quirks up, and he’s pressing a featherlight kiss to your lips. Too soft and too sweet for him. It’s so uncharacteristic you can’t even think properly. Foreign, unbeknownst, yet eerily familiar.

There’s no deeper meaning behind his smirk, his lips. He’s just teasing you, getting a rise out of you, yeah, because he’s Sylus and Sylus is an asshole, always. And of course this asshole is kissing your cheeks and your nose and your forehead and you don’t know what to do but quiver in his hold, breathless and mind blank. It feels almost akin to affection but you know the words Sylus and affection can’t exist in the same sentence.

“To think this is all it takes to make you compliant…” he murmurs in your ear, and before you can finally find the words to snap at him, his lips are firm against yours. Bold. Your neck strains against the backrest as he presses deeper and gently coaxes your lips open, warm tongue brushing against yours. He tastes refined, like the wine sitting on the table, and his scent envelops you as you feel him everywhere, hands on your face and your own, body against yours, mouth on yours and the smell of expensive ass cologne — bougie Dior or some shit. You sigh and pull him closer, bite at his lip and groan into his open mouth. He openly accepts, low rumble in his throat as he pushes right back, pauses for a moment of respite before sinking in again and kissing you breathless.

His fingers wander, rough, and release your hand to catch at the hem of your shirt and caress your trembling waist. He watches you, eyes reflecting an unspoken question. It almost infuriates you how pissed you would be if he stopped at this point. You scoff and avert your gaze, lips glued shut even as you cling to his shirt unrelentingly. You hear him laugh, low, and he slowly, achingly lifts your top up and over your shoulders, ensures you’re bare from the waist up in one fell swoop.

The slight chill makes you shudder, while Sylus’s hands take this time to roam your frame. Curl against your waist and thumb at your abdomen, which makes you tense and feel a sweet tingle run down your spine. The warmth in your core, the heat between your thighs bolsters when his lips catch at your collarbone, and kiss a path down to your chest. He’s gentle, a soft pressure and warm tongue as he drags a slew of kisses to your nipple — then he catches it in his teeth and you tense with a bitten back whimper, giving his shoulder a reprimanding push. He has a nasty habit of biting. He merely laughs and spends his time there a moment longer, sucking and holding you as your hips roll against nothing, aching. His fingers dig, as though to punish you for wanting so much so soon — like he wasn’t the reason for it in the first place.

There must be something about Sylus, something about him that just makes you lose your sense of reason. Somewhere between conscious and subconscious. Because it’s almost like a tiny part of your mind — no, even deeper, some fragment of your being buried deep and away, wants to push through and melt beneath him completely. And it’s the complete antithesis to the active part of you that wants to give him a hard time and wish eventual hell on him as retribution for his sins. It’s weird—wrong, and yet you cling to him like he might disappear into stardust if you let go.

“You want me that bad, sweetie?” He murmurs against your chest, shifts down to kiss right below your sternum, and you move your hand to tug on his silver strands in retaliation. A sharp breath leaves his nose, and watching his face scrunch, slightly twist with parted lips, you feel satisfied. He’s addicting, the way his eyes look up at you, the way his lips curl and the latent hunger in his eyes.

You’re sure he wants to devour you completely.

You fear you may like it.

He does everything with intent, a purpose. He doesn’t just touch you to feel, he touches to elicit something, to receive. You jumping into his hands as they cradle you at the pinch of your waist, you throwing your head back when he teases this sensitive bit of skin just above your waistband, some incoherent murmur when he kisses at your navel. He keeps his lips there, presses his thumbs just below and the sweet tingle makes you whine, your body tense as you try to avoid looking too desperate under him.

“Not enough, hunter? Need more?” His voice is deceptively sweet as he mouths above your waistband, dips his thumbs inside. You sigh — you don’t know if it’s from his lips or his voice, and turn your head away as he watches, amused. If he wanted a verbal response, he sure as hell wasn’t getting one. But you think he knew that already. He laughs, pops open the button of your jeans, and you lift your hips as he takes his agonizing time dragging them down.

“Such an eager thing,” he soothes, kissing your temple and not so shyly pressing a hand between your legs. You hiss and your needy hips jerk into his hand, while his deep voice speaks pleasantly into your ears. “What is it? Want my fingers? My mouth?“ His hand strokes, gentle, too damn light, and you’re shamelessly rolling your hips into his touch, dragging him by the shirt and holding him close as you get off with his hand, dizzy.

“Off. Take it off already,” you grumble against him, feeling some module of defeat, but your desire damn well overrides your pride at this point. You tug at his shirt, insistent, and he chuckles before complying and lifting it well and off.

Seeing his nude body shielded only in a towel once before doesn’t make the sight any less novel. Sure, dripping wet is a whole other thing, but just the thought of this man stripping for you and you alone at your request has your mind in shambles. You let out a solid stuttered breath, and immediately lean forward with your hands drawn to his chest, like a magnet.

Fuck he’s ripped, like a statue, feels stupid perfect under your touch. You hear what sounds like a quiet, breathy noise followed by a soundless laugh. You glance up to look at his face, a subtle amused pleasure and it immediately overlaps with the dream that inhabits your mind. You want — you need— your fingers trail down, and he shudders so beautifully, like a work of art, lips parted in a breathless moan. His sculpted abs tense and tremble under your touch and suddenly you wanna do anything, everything to him.

And before your fingers can dip lower, he’s shoving you back, pinning your wrist to the couch and capturing your lips silently. The noise that leaves you is almost as embarrassing as the way your body throbs so bad your mind grows hazy. Not fair. So not fucking fair. This kiss is deep, no, rather, a myriad of kisses over and over. Slow and steady to desperate and raw, always leaving you wondering which he’ll do next. He completely swallows any noises you could make, holds you in place so he can completely dominate. It’s stupid hot and you need him so goddamn bad. You know you’re an aching mess and there’s an embarrassing wet spot staining the underwear he left on you.

“So touchy. This how you tried to tame the horse in your dream, hmm?” He groans into your mouth, handsy all over. The more he kisses you and the more his fingers make you quiver, the more your mind goes blank.

“I-It’s—“ you try to speak, but his lips envelop yours to shut you up. One moment you’re melting against the couch, the second two strong hands hook around your thighs and you gasp as you’re hoisted in the air, automatically wrapping your legs around him to steady yourself.

You try to pull away in pure shock, grab your breath and comment, but his fingers dig into your scalp and hold you as he walks with both your mouths preoccupied. You pathetically rock into his body, seeking any form of stimulation you can manage, he can give. Instead of the bedroom like you expect, he steps back and impressively rummages through his bag on the circle table with one hand, before backing you against the large glass window. It’s cold, you wince and he thumbs your cheek to soothe.

“Sylus—I—“ you paw desperately at him, body trembling as your thoughts border on blank from the way this man kisses you and the way you flutter in response. He presses a soft lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away, watching you with dark eyes, that beautiful ruby leaving you speechless. You pant, heart thundering, and clench at his shoulders for purchase. “I’m… fuck…”

“You’re adorable when you’re like this…” He says, as though it’s a regular occurrence (you suppose it will be from now on.) You gulp and try to steady your breaths and heart that just might burst, and he’s settling you down gently. His thumb tugs at the waistband, hands dipping into your underwear and against your sensitive waist before pulling them down. You try to ignore the way you’re immediately dripping when they’re off. He takes a moment to openly admire you, eyes drinking in the sight of your swollen arousal. His thumb brushes just above and the proximity makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Like this, all for me.” It’s like a praise, and your eyes zero in on the transparent bottle in his hand. So that’s what he grabbed from his bag. He uncaps the bottle and douses his fingers without reserve — eyes flickering up to you. You fight the embarrassment his shameless gaze brings you. The anticipation that makes you throb. When he’s done, he places the bottle aside and leans down to press a light kiss to your lips.

“Relax, sweetie,” he murmurs, half teasing, half… sweet? Before you can think further on it, his hand’s already found its way between your legs and you brace yourself against the window. He bends to mouth at your neck, slow and sweet, while he swirls before pressing a thick digit in. With lube, it slips in smooth, though far thicker and deeper than you’re used to. You sigh as his other hand decides to join in and tease swollen flesh, soft strokes in time with the way he slowly teases his finger in and out.

“Sylus…” you hold yourself steady around his neck, quickly adjusting to the new pressure inside you as the strokes with his other hand ease you in. You rock into his touch, needy, and he meanly moves to pin your hips to the window instead, holding you in place while you whimper from the loss of his touch. For all that you want, Sylus only ever wants to give what he allows you to have.

“So greedy. Don’t you know you shouldn’t ask for too much at once? Lucky for you, I don’t mind indulging you every once in a while,” he chuckles — which is funny, he’ll indulge you any day of the week. Hell, pampers you even. But then he’s slipping in a second finger and your words are gone before they ever had a chance to formulate.

Your hips tingle as he drags them in and out, wet. He moves back to kiss your lips, goes at them again and again like he’s unable to get enough. Sylus is a kisser, you learn. Part of you always thought kissing was deliberately off the table for him. But the way his lips move, how damn sensual he is, and the perfect way he knows to suck on your lower lip is so good you can’t imagine him being anything else. His fingers curl deep inside and you whine, a jolt of pleasure running through your already burning body. Your body naturally rides his fingers, chasing that feeling, the way he can press against your walls so good. Makes you tremble in pleasure as he whispers quiet praises against your lips on how good you’re taking his fingers. They move and stretch, relaxing you, opening you up for him, and you can’t help but wonder how Sylus fucks as you’re hazy. Does he hold you down and pump into you mean and rough? Slow and sensual? Does he like to tease, to give, or to take? All three? Quiet whimpers leave your mouth and he’s adding a third finger the same time he goes back to stroking you.

You try to be good, to keep your hips nice and still for him. You want him firmer, harder, want to feel his touch burn on your skin for days and leave you dizzy at the mere thought. The dual sensation makes your legs tremble and it takes steadying your hands on his shoulders to keep from stumbling as he thrusts and pleasures your swollen flesh in tandem.

“Sylus… I’m… I’ll…” You try to warn him, wrapping your arms around his neck for support as you whine and quiver, his fingers insistent and hand skilled. He chuckles in your ear at your stumbled words, and fuck that makes you even more weak in the knees. The pleasure radiates from your hips all throughout, tingling, building so good and so quick. It almost surprises you how soon you’re desperately squeezing him and letting out quiet whispered noises as the build up finally overflows. Your body trembles, wrapped around him as you pulse around his fingers and against his hand, soothed by quiet praises while he strokes and finger-fucks you all throughout it, leaving you squirming when the feeling borders on unbearable.

He gives you reprieve, kisses your temple while you quiver in his grasp and try to steady your heart that’s thundering so hard you feel it in your throat.

“Knew you’d look just perfect like that,” he says, and you give him a weak squeeze in response. If you let go of his neck, you’re certain you’ll collapse on the spot.

Thankfully, Sylus, if anything, is perceptive. He wastes no time undoing his pants and moving his briefs just enough to release his eager erection, lined just with your abdomen. Naturally, you have to look, and shit. You figured he’d be something considering his damn size, but seeing it against your body makes you wonder if three fingers can even remotely compare. You tremble — maybe anticipation, maybe nerves, and comply when you’re lifted and pressed against the window so your jelly legs are given a break.

His lips mark up your neck beautifully — you can’t imagine what sorts of things you’ll need to wear to cover up the next week or two, and you subconsciously tense when you feel him slide himself between your legs, flesh sensitive and wet. His eyes lock onto yours, hot. Being so scrutinized when so helplessly at this man’s mercy makes your skin burn.

“Hm? What’s with that look? Want something?” Sylus meanly asks, and you hate the way your body responds to those words, throbs, and you watch him with a look of quiet, embarrassed defeat. Maybe you’ll have Sylus at your mercy one day, but today is not that day.

“Why are you so damn big…” you grumble, like you aren’t looking at him with heart eyes. That draws a throaty laugh from him and he leans close, lips settled right at the shell of your ear.

“So it can fit perfectly between those pretty legs of yours,” he says, and right then he uses a hand to steady his erection just where his fingers made you come undone, making you scoff and squeeze him tight.

“Perfectly isn’t how I’d describe your size in proportion to me,” you mumble. Perhaps feigning an attitude can help distract you from your nervous anticipation. Your body’s throbbing, begging, empty from his fingers and aching to be filled even after you just came.

“Really? Guess we’ll just have to see about that,” he whispers, light and teasing. In the same breath, you feel him slowly slide into you, arms supporting your legs as you sink onto his cock. You grip at him with a rushed moan, Sylus letting out a choked groan in response. You tremble, fight the urge to tense as you stretch around his size. Fuck — he’s so damn thick and fills you so much it aches. You whine and grasp at him with the effort to adjust, weakly murmuring curses.

“Dammit—shit, ah…” you choke and squeeze him close, burying one hand in his pale silver hair, and digging your shaky fingers into his shoulder. “S-Sylus…”

“That’s it, sweetie. Just like that. You can handle it,” he murmurs, tone so sweet for such mean actions as he pulls out and pushes in deeper, bottoming out. This position has you exactly where he needs you, makes you accept everything he has to offer. He’s so deep and you can feel him twitch inside, thick, an inferno, makes you sigh with each movement. He watches your face — this asshole, he likes seeing you whine — and let out a weak noise as he grinds, hips flush to you, before starting to thrust at a deep, slow pace. The warmth of his skin contradicts the coolness of the glass behind you, and you vaguely wonder how filthy your combined silhouettes must look in the distance.

It’s hard to explain the well of emotions inside you aside from pure lust. They blend together, a chunky, complicated mix of very degrees of pettiness, anger, mild fondness, and a deep-set longing you can’t pinpoint the origin of. Your body takes this longing and turns it into need, holding him to you, absorbing his warmth inside and out.

For a moment, you want to tilt your head and kiss him. You squeeze him harder instead.

You quiver around his length, each thrust accompanied by deep pleasure and a dull, pleasant ache. Sylus rewards your strain around his cock with his lips on yours, deep and devouring, stealing your already thin air. He guides you so easy, holds you up like it’s nothing while his steady thrusts slowly gain on speed. This position easily lets him slide against you in the perfect way that makes you cry out weakly, back arching. The pleasure is numbing and he brushes that area over and over, adamant on making you lose your sense of reason.

“Look at you. You handle me so well, sweetheart,” he speaks against your swollen lips like a dirty secret, panting against you as his thrusts hit the perfect spot every time. He handles your legs with ease and fucks into you harder, meaner, like he’s trying to bully these pathetic noises out of you. You whimper and claw at him, toes curling, feeling him swell as skin slaps against skin every time. His face is flush, eyes look at you like there’s no one else in the world — the only thing that exists is you a mess from his cock. His thrusts are as dizzying as his gaze you feel you can never escape, eyes half-lidded as he watches you take all of him. Your body’s a beacon of pleasure and your hips roll against his, rocking in time, wanting more, never enough.

“Please… please-fuck, Sylus… ngh…” You gasp, squeeze his hair tighter, and he fits his lips against your brow to murmur, “as you wish, sweetie.”

His hips are relentless, he stuffs you full of his cock every time and rolls his hips just the right way to make you sweetly numb, to fill you with that deep-set pleasure from within. His hair sticks to his brow, pants leave his body as his darkened eyes admire your sheen in sweat, rasping form. Fuck — he’s so — you need — he kisses at your neck and the sensitivity almost makes you sob.

“You’re shaking… you gonna come for me again all pretty?” Sylus breathes in your ear, you groan and clench him tight, making his hips sputter a moment. He smirks and picks back up his usual pace in response. You indeed feel your entire body quiver around him as the feeling grows more and more. Fuck you’ll — you — you can’t even say a word of warning as you’re suddenly letting out a choked sob, unable to control your tremors as you climax, body taut, tense. Sylus fucking you throughout only makes you whine and whimper as the feeling prolongs, white and hot. You’re so beautifully sensitive and rendered completely speechless, thoughtless. Sylus lets out quiet grunts all throughout, his own hips trembling, but pace unbroken.

Even when you come down Sylus doesn’t relent on his thrusts, he’s persistent if anything. At this point tears are pricking your eyes as you squeeze him tight, shame lost. “Please, please Sylus, fuck I can’t — please come,” you beg, sensitive, shaking, swollen, and Sylus laughs softly as his thrusts come in mean, hard, and fast.

“Mmm… How could I refuse such an earnest request?” He hums and holds you firm, his own forehead pressed against the window. It warms your ear and fogs the glass as his hips snap against yours, more erratic, your body bounced along with his rhythm and so damn sensitive you fight the urge to cry. Quiet grunts leave him, he’s more vocal, more open, and his large hands squeeze your thighs as he gasp and twitches. He buries deep and spills, releasing a pleasant groan right into your hot ear. He’s so close, feels so alive under your fingers and inside you, his heart an impossibly fast rhythm that puts yours to shame. You feel every throb, and you moan weakly as you’re held up, body swallowing every last drop. When he pulls out of your swollen hole, you feel the strength leave you and his cum drip down filthily.

“There you are, sweetie. Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall,” he soothes, and holds your weak body up with the same ease he had the first time despite the time elapsed. This kindness feels as wrong from him as it does right. When you weakly rest your head on his shoulder to look at him, his sweet eyes return the gaze, appeased. He carries your limp body to the couch and settles you down gently, swiping a thumb across your slick forehead. “You had quite the workout,” he comments. You glare and push his shoulder away, earning a chuckle.

“Aw, don’t pout.”

“Next time…” you hiss, holding a finger up to him. ‘Next time’ implying this will be regular. ‘Next time’ implying Sylus is not only the fearsome Onychinus leader you’ve been made to deal with, but is now a man you fuck (and something… more?) on top of it. “You’ll be the one at my mercy.”

Sylus blinks, tongue lax as he observes you in mild surprise.

Then, his face melts into a soft grin.

You’ve seen so many new expressions from Sylus today, it’s like you’re meeting him again for the first time. He grabs your hand and gently interlocks your fingers, watching you with a look you can only describe as ‘affectionate’.

It makes your face burn.

He adjusts his hand so he’s grasping your palm, and he drags yours to his lips, dropping a soft kiss on your fingertips.

“As you wish, your majesty.”

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