thedivinevera

[thedivinevera]

it's 12:40 am, and i'm not ovulating, but i had thoughts, and now i'm wet 😞 pls enjoy rough sex with sylus 😩

cw: 18+, spitting in mouth, pussy slapping, overstimulation

Your legs kick out when Sylus bottoms out in you for the fifth time. You try to shove at his shoulders, but your hands are weak and trembling, barely managing a push.

A sharp thrust has your eyes rolling back, and another has your legs attempting to close around his waist. But one of his large hands grabs hold of one of your legs to spread it wide, leaving you stretched and open. Then he's fucking you mercilessly, the head of his cock hitting your cervix as a ring of frothy cream forms around the base of his cock.

He leans down to kiss your open mouth, fucking his tongue in its warmth while you let out muffled whines. Then he's grasping your cheeks between his thumb and index fingers, making sure your mouth remains open. He spits directly onto your tongue, does it one more time and watches, pleased, as you automatically swallow it down.

His hand slips down to your throat, applying enough pressure to render you dizzy as he continues to pound your soaking cunt. He notes how it spasms around him, how it eagerly pulls him in further and how it's still so fucking tight after five rounds.

Fuck, it's perfect.

You're perfect.

There's a sudden knock on the door followed by a voice.

"Sir, your clients are ready for you."

A rough thumb to your swollen clit has you cumming with a scream, head shaking while you squirt so hard on Sylus' cock, forcing it out from the pressure. Sylus groans lowly, leaves your clit alone in favour of slapping your oversensitive pussy, causing you to cry as you arch away from it. But Sylus drag you back, slaps your cunt again before stretching you wide on his cock again.

You're drooling, toes curling and nails dragging over his clothed back.

It's paradise.

"Five minutes." is all Sylus says, aiming to flood your poor pussy with his cum one more time.

[thedivinevera]

With that we are finally done with everyone! I hope you guys enjoyed seeing them under a new light, did it make any of you you change your opinions some of them?

[thedivinevera]

Alright, with everything finally done and catching my breath, here’s all the Summer Memories drawings in one place!

[thedivinevera]

imagine reader x separate aventurine, Ratio and Gallagher ok im craving hsr fics

so like, reader died, (how they died is up to you) and charscter keeps a memory of reader's item

If u can, PLZ PLZ PLZZZ add backstory of the item too!

A Remnant of You

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Gallagher x Reader, Angst, Grief, Loss, Emotional Exploration, Memory & Legacy, Unresolved Feelings, Survivor's Guilt (Aventurine, Gallagher), Intellectual Conflict (Ratio), Healing Through Objects, Subtle Romance.

Warnings: Character Death (Reader), Trauma and Grief, Mentions of Violence (Gallagher's part), Mentions of Betrayal (Aventurine's part), Emotional Distress, Loss of Loved One, Survivor’s Guilt (Aventurine, Gallagher), Potentially Triggering Content Related to Bereavement.

It had been a simple gamble that sealed your fate. You were always too careful, too calculating. Your mind had seen the odds, and yet, fate chose to stack them against you. The memory of that day was seared into Aventurine’s mind, but it wasn’t the thrill of the high-stakes gamble that lingered. It was the moment you were lost—vanished from this world with no way to undo the bet that had gone awry.

When Aventurine had first met you, you had worn a peculiar ring—an iridescent, opalescent band that shimmered like the colors of the sky at twilight. It wasn’t an expensive ring, not something born of wealth or material opulence, but something infinitely more valuable: a token of defiance. You had explained, in your usual understated manner, that it was given to you by someone you loved who had died, a symbol of their belief that fate could be defied if one was clever enough. You hadn’t said much more, but the warmth in your eyes as you spoke of them told Aventurine everything.

After the gamble, after you were gone, he found himself running his fingers over the ring, now firmly wrapped around his own finger, the once light shimmer now darkened by grief. He could never bring himself to part with it. The ring was a symbol of everything you stood for—your belief in luck, in defiance, in the idea that even the gods themselves couldn’t predict your every move.

In the quiet moments, in the dead of night, Aventurine would sit by his window, staring at the moon, your ring reflecting the dim light, the only remnant of you he had left. Every time he looked at it, he felt the sting of the past, the weight of the risk that had led to your death. It haunted him more than any victory he had ever won. No strategy could have saved you that day. It was a game, a gamble, and this was the price of playing.

But in his heart, in the fragments of his soul that remained unshattered by years of manipulation and deceit, Aventurine still clung to the idea you had left him with—that maybe, just maybe, fate could be tricked.

And so, he wore the ring. As a reminder. A reminder that even the greatest strategists couldn’t predict everything. A reminder of the one person who had dared to teach him that.

Ratio never imagined he would find himself standing in the echoing halls of the Intelligentsia Guild’s deepest archives, staring at an item that he could not understand. Yet, there it was, a forgotten relic on a pedestal: a single notebook. The cover was worn, the pages yellowing, but the content within was far more extraordinary. It was yours.

He had always admired your mind—your sharpness, your wit. The way you would challenge him with questions, the way your intellect didn’t bow to convention. It was precisely why he had chosen you to be his closest confidante, why he had spent countless hours engaging with you in debates that stretched the limits of knowledge itself. In the beginning, your notebook had been a simple curiosity. You had asked him, at one point, to borrow one of his ancient texts on logic. “Perhaps it will help,” you’d said, with that wry smile, “in case I get lost.”

You had no idea how profoundly your words would impact him. Over the years, the two of you had traded books, theories, and insights, shaping each other’s understanding of the universe. But after your death—after everything had come to an abrupt halt—your notebook was all that remained.

Ratio never truly believed in the concept of "loss." Knowledge, after all, was infinite, and once shared, it never truly left. Yet as he flipped through the pages of your notebook, he found an emptiness that no amount of intellect could fill. Each word you had written echoed in his mind, each thought you had expressed now a lifeline to the past.

There was one passage that stood out, a line that had never left his thoughts:

"Knowledge is not the pursuit of power, but the pursuit of understanding. And understanding, my dear Ratio, is what we must cherish above all."

He closed the notebook, pressing it to his chest for a moment before he placed it gently in a glass case. It was as much a part of him now as any of his own writings. If knowledge could truly defy death, then perhaps it was through your words that he could preserve your legacy.

And so, Ratio kept your notebook close, a silent monument to a mind that once challenged his own, a testament to the brilliance that had been extinguished too soon. He would carry it with him forever, hoping that, through its pages, you would continue to guide him.

The scar on Gallagher’s face was a constant reminder. A reminder of battles fought, friends lost, and promises broken. But the true weight of his past—the loss that had fractured his soul—was not etched on his skin. It was on the worn flask that hung from his waist, a gift from you.

You had given it to him on a night when the world had seemed particularly heavy. The Bloodhound Family was on the brink of collapse, and Gallagher had poured all his frustration into a bottle of whiskey, trying to numb the thoughts that kept him up at night. It was during that dark hour that you had appeared, a soft presence in the chaos. You had silently handed him the flask, your face unreadable.

“I thought you might need something more than just the drink,” you had said quietly.

Gallagher had taken the flask from you without a word, only to notice the small engraving on the cap: a dog’s paw print, intertwined with the name of someone long forgotten—a mark of the family, a mark of loyalty. You had never said why you had chosen that specific design, but Gallagher knew the significance. You understood the weight of his duty, the burden of responsibility that came with being a protector of the Bloodhound Family. The flask, like you, had been a quiet anchor in his life, a symbol of stability in a world that had long since stopped making sense.

When you died—when the world lost you—Gallagher didn’t know how to keep going. He still drank from the flask, but it tasted empty. The warmth that had once been there was gone, replaced by a cold bitterness. The scar on his face seemed to mock him, a reminder of his survival, of how he had endured everything but had failed to protect you.

But the flask... the flask was something he could never part with. Even as time wore on and the pain of your loss dulled, he never allowed himself to let go of that small, unremarkable object. It was the last part of you that he could hold on to, a memory frozen in time, a quiet piece of his soul that would forever be tied to you.

And so, with each day that passed, Gallagher continued his work, the flask at his side, knowing that no matter how many battles he fought, no matter how many times he had to face his past, that small, simple item would always remind him of you. It would remind him that even in the darkest moments, you had been there, offering him a bit of comfort, a bit of understanding. A bit of home.

[thedivinevera]

University AU pt.3

Part 1, Part 2

Summary: Getting rejected is agony, but don't worry Veritas is there

Thank you everyone who left me a nice comment on the last chapter, I ended up completing this in a rush after reading those <3

“I don’t think I agree with you as to what your definition of love is.”

Today you had both visited the university’s botanical gardens. Of course, Veritas knew a lot about it – in both his medical and biology studies, he had apparently worked with several species of lizards and insects. Something about their blood could be used to treat lithogenesis, from what you could remember with his long rambles. Given how much of a humanitarian the man was, the fact that he was okay with tormenting those lizards was a little odd. A small sacrifice, but it was hard to not cringe when you saw their cute faces and listen to Veritas describe the hemoglobin inside of their blood cells.

The visit here was also because Veritas was forcing you to stop using your phone. You’re surprised he had even noticed it – how often you checked your email, waiting to get a reply back from any publishers, both relieved and terrified that there was nothing. You had done it so often that it became an unconscious habit of yours, fingers moving to pull out your phone without even thinking.

Thankfully, had taken it from you. Now it was in his pocket, too far to reach. Unless you were willing to fondle him in public for it, and honestly, you were a little too tempted to do so. Your anxieties were battling each other, and the fear of getting another rejection was almost winning.

“What?”

“You defined it as peace,” He wasn’t looking at you when he said it. His gaze was focused on a strange green butterfly, the wings flapping slowly as the butterfly sat on one of the artificial flowers the university had created. It was strange to think that almost everything on this very planet was artificial – the plants, the bugs, and even some people. The fault of living in a scientific hub, as lovely as it was. “I think love is more grand than that. Love is closer to purpose.”

“What do you mean?”

“Love is more or less a chemical reaction. But when you experience it, the effects are as strong as heroin.”

As he spoke, Veritas’ hand followed two birds. They were chasing each other in a strange dance, singing a song as they flew around the botanical area. It was a beautiful sight, as if they were animated to move perfectly with one another.

“Yeah but I don’t think heroin gives you a sense of purpose. It’s just euphoric.”

“I’m not creating a direct comparison to it. Just stating that they are both equally powerful.”

The birds were now out of sight, which left the two of you to search for something else to watch. Rather, Veritas would search for an animal he knew far too much about and then you would listen to him. It never bothered you, but it was astounding just how much he knew – his mind truly was a library that just never ended. You would be surprised if there was something that he hadn’t learned about in his lifetime.

“How is love similar to purpose?”

It was selfish but you let your shoulders brush next to his. Nothing was said about it and he didn’t move away, so you felt comfortable to take up more of his space the longer you spent here. It was starting to become a habit, bumping yourself closer to him with each step the both of you took.

Your bare skin liked his warmth. At the moment the air in the garden was both cold and hot – a strange mix of humidity and cooling wind, leaving you cold in the shade you both were in. If he ever asked why you kept your body so close to him, you would simply tell him that you were clumsy and he was warm.

“Do you not feel like you belong when you are next to someone you love?”

For the first time since you had gotten here, Veritas had made direct eye contact with you. Unfortunately it was hard to read what he was thinking – both because the sunlight on your face was making it hard to see, and because you couldn’t tell if he was upset with you or not. His voice stayed the same as always, but his face was warmer than you would expect. A small smile, just barely lifting up the corners of his lips, was the only hint that he gave you as to what he was thinking.

However much he was thinking, it was probably too much.

“Ah. I think so,” Actually you didn’t think at all. What he was saying felt like gibberish – belonging and love sounded like the belonged together in a sentence, but in practice you weren’t sure if there was a person on the planet who had really made that true. Love was more of an action to you, just things people did in order to fit in. But of course, you had never had the proper definition of such things.

Unfortunately, love in real life was nothing like the romance novels you devoured in your free time.

“Like everything makes sense, right?”

Instead of giving you a verbal answer, he nodded. His hair was curling in the humid heat, which brought it closer to his scalp and revealing more of his perfect jawline. What a shame that he never walked around like that.

Honestly, a shame that he wore his plaster head most of the time. You figured that this time was a rare occasion – the humidity would choke him, so you had to savor the view as much as you could.

“Did you put this in your book?”

“I’ve been struggling to find the right words for it. Your definition had me contemplating.”

This part of the garden was rather cold. It was far from quiet, given the constant buzz of insects and other such creatures, but it was as if the humidity couldn’t reach you. The trees blocked out most light, and the only thing that passed through them was the wind, cold enough to make you feel the sweat that had started to build on your skin.

It made you almost numb, your skin and your joins starting to lose the feeling that they should have had. Veritas might have noticed. While he wore as little clothing as you, he had wrapped an arm around your shoulders. The man truly was a walking furnace, as his bicep warmed the back of your neck and stopped the shivering that had started to wreck it’s way through your body.

His fingers traced themselves along your bare arm, trying to spread his warmth to you like a blanket. It was faint, but he smelled like fresh deodorant and sweat – the kind that made you want to shove your nose onto his skin and breath it in. The desire was so strong it almost felt perverted, as if you were going to pick an innocent flower of all of it’s petals.

No one really prepared you what to do in this situation. The prideful part of you wanted to step away, to freeze and maintain your dignity. But there was a childish voice in your head that forced you to stay there – your feet stayed in step with his, your eyes absorbing the scenery without thinking as much as you ought too.

It felt safe. The both of you had fallen quiet and the direction you both walked felt rather aimless, not heading toward anywhere in particular. Veritas had stopped pointed out random things and speaking facts, and you had stopped listening to anything but your own speeding heartbeat.

-

Life played games with you. The moment you had a good experience, then the world was sure to come and crush that feeling like a bug.

Days were always better spent when nothing happened. Nothing bad, nothing good. That way you weren’t forced to be disappointed by reality again.

Writing had always been your escape from that. It was your happy place, away from people who hurt you or from remembering the bad things you’ve experienced. Unfortunately, trying to turn it into a career was ruining it. Might have been one of the worst ideas you’ve had, quite frankly. That and crushing on unattainable people.

You were rejected. Again. As expected.

Every writer gets rejected, all of the time. It was what you were told to expect. But by god, for some reason today it just...hurt. You felt like nothing but a failure.

The email had stated your flaws once again – like the ones before it, there was always something to critique when it came to the stories you sent. This one had been especially bad, which made you want to eat bricks.

Last time it was because they believed that you lacked a good plot, now it was simply the story in general.

You had originally thought that your story was rather lame – there were a million stories about futuristic cyborgs after all. But apparently your crude humor was just not up to snuff, neither were your existential thoughts.

The time you had spent on crafting it felt all for naught.

This had to be the curse. This morning you had woken up happy, actually excited for your day – after all, you were looking forward to hanging out with Veritas again. And you had a great time. A little bit too much of a great time, since now you were crying underneath a tree like some dramatic loser. It was nothing like walking in the garden with Veritas – the cold wind was colder, and the humidity had turned to ice cold rain.

You could have been underneath the overhang at the bus stop, but for some reason that one had a hole in the roof and was not covered whatsoever by the onslaught of rain and wind. Nature was your friend here, since at the very least you could blame your shabby look on the awful weather.

Well. That’s what you hoped. You makeup was likely smeared and your wet hair definitely made for a bad look. As bad as a tangled wig.

As if he had a tracker on you, Veritas had managed to find the exact tree you were under. Perhaps it’s because he was smart and realized that the tree was better than anything else nearby.

Silently he had moved to stand next to you. He had no umbrella – which was surprising, given that he was always the type to be prepared – and was doing his best to shield himself with his codex. It did a grand total of nothing, as the wind had forced the droplets to cover his face.

His hair was now sticking against his skin, the water sticking onto his eyelashes as if they were tears. You watched as he tried to wipe them away, only succeeding in smearing his red eyeliner across his face. It gave him the appearance of a tribe getting ready for war, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of it, one strong enough to break through your throat swollen with tears.

To your luck, he had good enough hearing to catch that sound despite the rustling of the trees. The rain made most noise drown out, but Veritas heard you well enough to give a long look at your face.

Your very red, tear-stained face.

“Are you alright?” Fuck, of course he noticed. What did you expect? He was too observant for his own good.

With little hope, you tried to dry your face. The mix of tears and rain had made your mascara bleed, leaving a dark smudge on your hand. Now you were matching Veritas, at least.

“This is embarrassing, you didn’t see anything.”

The rain was loud enough that you had to speak louder than you would like. You forced yourself to stand closer to him as he leaned down, the both of you working together to try and have a conversation in the horrible weather.

“I take it that something upset you?” Droplets fell from his hair onto your face as he hovered above you. In the blue light of the rain, his amber eyes stuck out like a sore thumb. They were staring your lips, intensely focused on what your response would be.

It was of little use really, but he pulled off his soaked jacket and tried to shield you both from the rain. His arm found its away around your shoulders, his clothes as soaked as yours were. Like the morning in the garden, his body was warm and his smell made you feel like a dog.

Now if you were stupid, you would have spent your time admiring the new outfit he was in. More business like, with an embroidered white collar shirt that had been entirely soaked through, and dark pants that had started to stick to his skin. It had revealed more than his usual outfit would, which made it even more obvious just how even his body was blessed by the universe.

Because you were smart, you decided to look away. After all, you respected Veritas and staring at his body was rather uncouth of you. That and your face would not be able to contain your true thoughts on it – you already could feel how your face was warming.

“It’s fine.” There were bigger problems than this, really. Such as the fact that your shoes were entirely soaked through, leaving your body colder than you would like. Or how your wet clothes were weighing you down with every second they were stuck to your skin. “I’m fine.”

“If you stand in the cold like this, you’ll fall ill.”

“I’ll just wait for the rain to stop.”

“That is an hour from now.” Veritas swung his head around. You couldn’t see what he was exactly looking for, given that you were practically buried in his armpit now. He likely didn’t notice just how close he was holding onto you, but you weren’t one to complain.

If you liked how much he touched you, then that would stay between you and whatever dead aeon that was watching you. If you had to guess, it would be Aha, since no one else would think up of such a cruel joke to put you in.

“Where is your dorm?”

“I don’t live on campus.”

You lived quite far, actually. It didn’t really matter, but the face Veritas pulled at that was almost comically offended.

“We’re right by my apartment.” Without a moment to let you answer or think about his statement, he was already pulling you both out into the rain again. Your only option was to follow, given that his body blocked half of your vision and that his arm was wrapped so tightly around you that leaving would be a struggle. Also because quite frankly, you didn’t really want to leave.

Unfortunate that he had longer legs than you, as his pace was hard to keep up with. While he was speed walking, you felt as if you were running.

Veritas was leading you to a part of campus you hadn’t been before. It was a large school, so you had yet to explore everything, but this part was entirely foreign to you. These dorms looked completely different from the one you had stayed in before, and the buildings all looked so similar that you couldn’t really pick out which one he was bringing you towards.

Maybe past 6 of the same buildings, you finally ended up at the front entrance of one – numbered 111. Something easy to remember thankfully.

Unfortunately, he pulled away from you, keeping his warmth all to himself. Leaving the rain had you feeling colder than before, with the cold wind blowing on your soaked cloths and wet hair.

You tried to wring out your shirt, squeezing to get at least some of the water out. Numb fingers didn’t make the action easy whatsoever, as you couldn’t feel if you were squeezing hard enough to do much.

“People are going to think we’re sleeping together.” Veritas was not looking at you, instead focusing on the way his jacket was soaked. He squeezed it as much as possible, his fingers flexing and brow creasing with concentration. The cold must have affected him as well, given how red his fingers were.

“I do not care what people think. I care about you.”

He wrapped the jacket around your shoulders, his eyes only looking down at you for a moment – his stare felt like an eternity, his eyes focusing on something that you could not see – before he pulled them away.

-

Veritas’ dorm was more like an apartment than anything else. It didn’t seem as if he had roommates, given that the entrance was devoid of belongings that you could say were not his.

Everything was screaming that it was Vertias. Unsurprisingly, it was nearly spotless. His jackets all were all lined up perfectly in the small closet in the hallway, in a way that it was easy to tell which was which. All were some shade of white, blue and detailed in gold.

His shoe rack was the same, with one pair of shoe for every occasion – his regular sandals, running shoes, and a pair of thick boots. The fancy shoes that belonged there were discarded to the side, given that they were still soaking wet from the rain.

Without knowing what to do, you pulled off your beaten old shoes and placed them next to his. Sitting side by side, you felt small – his shoes easily dwarfed yours. They were also much nicer, given that the soles were not peeling and they did not appear nearly flattened with overuse.

Even his socks were nicer than yours. They didn’t have holes nor were they threadbare – it was clear that they were much newer than the shabby fabric that you had to rip off your toes.

“This place is nice.”

Honestly, this was rather awkward. Veritas was already peeling off his soaked shirt and socks, left only in dress pants that sat a little too low on his waist. He even took your wet socks from your hands, which had you over thinking. While yes you had been touching each other earlier, handing the man your dirty wet socks felt like a step above that.

Oh how you wished for your overthinking brain to simply shut up. Wet socks were the least of priorities right now.

“Here. Go shower, you were out there longer than me.”

“Um. I don’t have anything else to wear.”

He didn’t give you a choice, he was already walking deeper into the apartment, looking back and waiting for you to follow. Pointedly, his eyes raked up and down your form, his face twisting into something of a frown.

“You’re getting water on the floor.”

Looking down and, yes indeed you were. Your jeans were nearly dragging on the floor, leaving two wet streaks on the tile. As if two large snails had gone and invaded his home.

“Is this the bathroom?” That was a stupid question. What other kind of room has a toilet? It was obvious. You could see it when you first entered.

Aeons you weren’t able to think properly. Your skin was still numb, and you were feeling more and more off-put by the wet underwear trying to become a thong with how tightly it stuck itself in between your ass cheeks.

Without looking back at Veritas, you rushed yourself inside the small room.

Taking one look in the mirror, you could tell that you looked...well, fucking horrible. Your makeup had smeared itself across your face, your hair stringier than spaghetti noodles, and now it was obvious why Veritas was giving you weird looks.

Your shirt was practically invisible. Your bra was clearly visible from underneath it, even from underneath his large jacket.

Carefully, you stripped the offending clothing items off. For one, they had now angered you beyond reason – what the hell was the point of wearing them when they didn’t even bother to protect you? That and also because you had become more and more aware of just how heavy they were.

With the bathroom light, you could see that your skin had wrinkled from the rain, making you feel somewhat like a shedding lizard.

It was kind of frightening to be somewhere so...intimate. You were able to search Veritas’ things, judging him on such small details. Such as the fact that he used an extremely expensive cologne, or the fact that he had rubber ducks haunting his bathroom. In your search for a comb, you’ve counted at least 12 – from tiny to bigger than necessary. Even his soap holder was a rubber duck.

The man really liked them. A lot more than you realized.

“Give me your clothes.”

You froze as you brushed through your wet hair. Thankfully he owned a regular comb and not one of the round ones that Robin used. Those always got stuck in your hair often, since apparently you were useless when it came to knowing how to do hair correctly.

One issue was that you were currently entirely naked.

There was enough space for you to hide yourself behind the door as you opened it. Your ass would be terribly close to the wall, but it was the best option.

Slowly, you opened the door, making sure to lean so your bare chest was covered by the door. You stuck out your arm, handing you balled up wet clothe vaguely in his direction.

In one arm he had a towel – unsurprisingly, covered in a rubber duck pattern – with some dry clothes on top.

Veritas kept his gaze locked to the side, right past where your bare shoulder was. He didn’t look at you as you awkwardly traded. It was hard for you to maneuver and keep your chest covered, which left you doing a balancing act on your arm as you slithered back into the safety of the bathroom.

The man said nothing else, walking away faster than you thought possible.

Closing the door, you turned to the spot he had staring at. All you were met with was your reflection. Of you naked. Which likely entirely visible from the crevice that you had peaked out of .

Which meant that he had likely seen your bare ass.

By the aeons, this day could not get worse.

-

After trying to wash the memory of the last few hours out of your head by aggressively scrubbing your hair with Vertias’ expensive shampoo, you slithered out of the bathroom.

He had had given you a t-shirt and boxers. Which had you almost curl up and die in the corner of his rubber ducky bathroom. Not only were they big enough to be shorts on you, but it was also the fact that he had likely worn these before. Which was a train of thought you weren’t going to keep going on.

Thankfully the shirt was big enough to look like a dress on you. The only complaint was the fact that your chest was still noticeable. The pattern distracted from it, but your boobs were still very noticable, especially when you moved too fast; there was no point in complaining though, since Veritas likely didn’t own a bra that you could wear.

The apartment was now warmer, if only slightly. Your hair was still damp, and your legs were far from being entirely covered by your shirt. Much of your body was exposed to his frigid air conditioning, but it was survivable.

At the very least, he wasn’t seeing your bare ass again.

Speaking of the man, the moment you had walked out of the bathroom he had gone and made it his home. It was as if he was waiting for you to walk out, with a towel and dry clothes in hand.

He had left you alone in the apartment, leaving you to explore.

Walking in further from that hallway, you found the living room. And kitchen. They were connected, leaving only the tile and wood floor to tell them apart. There was no kitchen or living room table strangely – neither was there a television or a couch.

It didn’t seem like he hosted people often. The focus piece of the living room was a desk that took up nearly an entire wall, with a large computer and other strange electronics lying around it. You were not the most technologically literate, so most of what littered there was rather unknown to you. The most you could pick out were wires; an ethernet cable attached to a rather frightening looking mishmash of motherboards and switches.

On the other half of the room there were bookshelves that nearly reached to the ceiling. The books in there ranged from textbooks to countless binders, all labeled in a language you didn’t understand. It was the same as his office, just somehow taking up more space. There were boxes filled with books, because apparently the bookshelves weren’t enough for his greedy mind.

You could stand forever reading the titles. It wasn’t just the binders that were labeled in the langauge, but many of the books as well. Some looked well-loved, the spine looking as if they barely held the pages inside. These had to be more personal copies – the ones in his office didn’t have as many sticky notes sticking out from them, not did they have such eclectic bookmarks peaking out between the pages.

It was a small space truly. Made smaller by the hoarding problem Veritas had. He had far too many projects and books, if it were anyone else you were sure it would take a lifetime to get through them all. The subjects seemed to vary greatly, from philosophy to mathematics to biology...it followed all of his PhD’s, asides from the stray book on literature and history.

And the ones that you simply couldn’t understand. The spines showed nothing, especially the ones that were broken in like peeling faux leather.

“It might be best you stay the night.”

Those words made you jump in your skin, your head turning to stare at the man.

His hair was as damp as yours, his body clad in an old shirt and gray sweatpants. While the shirt he gave you draped over your body like curtains on a window, his fit rather snugly. The sleeves kissed his biceps, his chest visible every time he breathed. It was the ends that stood out, has instead of being tight like his usually outfit, it instead hung loosely on his body. Every time he lifted his arms you could see how far his happy trail went, stretching to his belly button and peaking at you from his clothes.

“...yeah, you’re right.” No point in arguing. You had already gotten comfortable, and the rain had yet to let up – it was still battering down on the windows, loud enough that it sounded like a steady drum.

“We’ll make dinner now, then.”

“We?” Once again, he gave you no choice. He was already in the kitchen, pulling out a pot and various foods. He was already chopping vegetables by the time you made your way to the kitchen. Looking over his shoulder, you watched as his hands worked to chop the tough root vegetable, the veins in his forearms becoming more visible with the strain.

“If you wish to eat then you have to help out.”

“I figured you’d hate if someone messed up in the kitchen.”

“This is nothing complicated. Just soup.” Veritas handed you the pot, motioning to the sink. Of course, he gave you the task of a child. Next your job would be to stir, surely.

Of course, if you were going to be making food with him, then you were going to add in your own flavor. Leaving the water to boil, you moved to sift through his cabinets.

It was a pleasant surprise to see that he had actual seasoning. While a tub of protein powder and various packaged workout shakes took up most of the space there, there was a nice selection of both common and exotic spices. The kinds that grew in this galaxy and then the ones from planets you had only ever heard of.

You took your time opening and smelling each container, testing to see which ones went together.

Cooking was not something new to you. When you weren’t crying to yourself or working on a story, you would stress cook. You and Robin had shared more than a fair share of nights eating in your kitchen – particularly because the both of you would stay up late for a variety of reasons.

It had become a sanctuary to you.

Glancing behind you, Veritas was staring at you, a confused smile on his face.

You didn’t bother to ask. If your ass was visible again, you’ve chosen to ignore it. Food had become more important than any sort of embarrassment. Pointedly, you opened another spice container, taking a big whiff. And then proceeded to sneeze, as your nose had inhaled far too much pepper than it should.

Behind you, Veritas laughed for perhaps the first time since you had met him.

-

“Your writing is excellent.”

This was the second time you had seen Veritas laugh. Of course, you had him read your personal work – the one that had followed you for nearly 2 years now, haunting your dreams and your showers.

You had over thought a lot of your jokes and jabs. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem that he laughed at your well crafted jokes, but instead of all things, at the way you had described various types of electronics.

If it was in mockery or not, you weren’t sure.

“...not good enough to get published, I guess.”

“This is what had you so upset, correct?” All you responded with was a nod. It was stupid – you got rejected for the thousandth something time and the best response was to cry in the rain like a dramatic novel character. If you wrote a scene like that, you would cringe at how corny it was. Especially if it was in a romance.

Seriously, why would you be upset over this? It was just a story. A few pages that you had spent 2 years on. Nothing more.

“Since you’ve given me feedback, I thought I would return the favor.”

Well, now you regret letting him read it. As good as critique was, at the moment you just wanted to lay down and cry thinking about what could be wrong with it. Perhaps everyone was lying to you about how good your stories were, because they pitied you or maybe wanted to sleep with you. Who knew what other people thought honestly, it was impossible to tell.

“While you write scenes well, your plot was rather lacking.” Of course he kept talking anyway, in spite of your plight. Why couldn’t he read your mind?

“In what way?” You brought a pillow to your chest, hugging it close enough that you could tuck your face into it and ignore the fact that water was already starting to pool into your eyes again.

“I suppose it’s the issue you see with romance in my story. Your characters are active and move the story forward, but I don’t see what exactly compels them to do so.”

“Not enough agency?” Forcefully, you swallowed the cries that were threatening to spill out of your throat. It was so stupid to be emotional over something like a rejection. Or critique. After all, how does someone get better if they don’t know what they’re doing wrong?

“Yes. Perhaps they need more push as to what they do, instead of merely describing their lives as is.”

He turned to face you, his full body moving to give you his entire attention. Which wasn’t hard, given that the both of you were seated on his bed.

There was enough space for two people, but it felt small. His bedroom was also overtaken by strange projects and bookshelves, every place your eyes landed on had something take up the space.

“I would like to note. This story is quite macabre for a comedy.”

“They always turn out like that.” There was a look on his face that you certainly could recognize. He was studying you, like some sort of psychologist. It was the same look he gave to a scientific paper that had interested him, or his own story after you had criticized his poor take romance once again.

He was trying to understand something, probably finding the answers as you spoke. Veritas was extremely good at problem-solving, so whatever answer he was looking for would likely come quick to him.

“I wanted to write a romance originally.”

The man wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it. He had his hand to his chin, stroking his invisible beard. Next he was going to put on his reading glasses and stare at your face, you were sure he was that unsubtle about it.

“This story relied on rather juvenile humor.”

“I’m young at heart.” That was a common thing stated about your stories. Since you had started writing there was always one person or the other who had something to say about your choice of words and humor. Apparently using the word ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ didn’t make for a great work of literature, but when did that matter?

Veritas would be the wrong person to tell this too though. He used eloquent words, ones that gave his story the appearance of a scientific paper than something to be read for entertainment. Although given his audience was likely fellow professors, it wasn’t surprising that he would write like that.

Unfortunately, none of what he had said was necessarily helpful. It was the same thing you had been told over and over again, and it was becoming frustrating. No one knew the right place to point too, the right sentences to add in or take out. There was just something wrong.

Hopelessly, you groaned into the pillow in your arms. It felt good to let out the emotion in that moment, given that it was becoming more and more of a struggle to keep it in.

For the second time today, you felt yourself crying. You were trying to keep it in, to swallow down your tears, but you just couldn’t. The fact that you couldn’t even do that made you cry even more, because why were you being such an embarrassing mess at Veritas’ own apartment?

This was the worst place to cry quite frankly.

“I take it you’re quite frustrated with this piece.” A hand carefully placed itself on your back, warm and gently tracing your spine. It felt good, but it made the inability to stop crying even more frustrating.

You wanted to pull at your hair, but before you could Veritas had already pulled it away. Uselessly you fought him, his hand dominating yours as he stopped your feeble attempt at becoming bald.

“I just feel stupid. It’s dumb but,” you struggled for air, sobs forcing themselves out of you like bullets. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Perhaps it’s not you.”

His attempts at comforting were rather….poor. At least, his words. In your mind they just felt hollow, since honestly, anything felt like another reason to just sob your heart out. But his hands were an easy thing to focus on – the way he touched you felt soothing, as if you were a cat. It was warm and distracting, which was what you needed as your body was still heaving with your cries.

“You can do everything right and still fall short to others. Don’t blame yourself for such a thing.”

-

Today was one of those rare days that you would find yourself alone.

Veritas had been spending nearly everyday with you for nearly the entire semester. It had become a habit of yours – every time you had gone to the library or the cafe you would nearly feel him by your side. He wasn’t today though, given that he was swamped with his work when it came to his PhD’s.

With all of the time you spent with him, it was hard to imagine that he did anything else besides standing by your side. There was a presence there though, but it wasn’t the man you really wanted – instead, this man was much shorter and smelt like a perfume store.

Turning your head, you were face to face with vibrant eyes and a plastic smile.

“Oh, just the woman I wanted to see!” Aventurine said, as if he hadn’t just been breathing down your neck a second ago.

“...me?”

“Who else?” He quickly swept the seat in front of you with his hand, plopping himself down after a dramatic sweep of his coat.

In his hands was two coffee’s and a large takeout bag. Without asking you, he dropped one of the coffee’s in front of you, then moving to pull out more than enough food.

A sandwich bag was placed in front of you, as well as a small fancy box – chocolates, you assumed. One from the fancy pastry store that sat at the mall right next to the university, made especially for the rich students and visitors. You could never afford such a thing, but it was obvious that Aventurine could.

“So. About our deal.” With no subtlety whatsoever, he gestures his hand toward his offering. The very tasty offering, as the smell had already started to make your mouth water.

“I never really agreed to it.”

“But you aren’t opposed. That’s basically a confession.”

You didn’t wait to take a bite out of the sandwich he gave you. Unlike the ones around campus, this one was both warm and made with good ingredients – nothing that was premade or tasted like chemicals. This tasted as if it was made by a kind grandmother, and you couldn’t help the pleasure that ran through your body as you tasted it on your tongue.

“...how do you know that I like him?”

“It’s obvious. Painfully so.” He took a sip of his coffee so slow that you were sure that it hadn’t even reached his tongue. More like an act of drinking than an actual commitment.

The way Aventurine moved and acted was curious – it was similar to Sunday, in that it was nothing more than a constant act. As if he had attended theater courses just to sit in the perfect way, perfectly calm but appearing natural. Well, natural if he was in front of a camera.

“I have a brilliant idea.” With his tone alone, you were sure that the next words that were going to come out of his mouth were going to be almost stupid.

“So, there was only one bed-”

“Nope. Not doing that.”

“What? Why not? Don’t you want to do it with him?”

“Not like that.” You had already done that, and it was nothing romantic or dramatic. The trope had completely failed you. After you had cried your heart out for a second time, you had fallen asleep next to Veritas in his own bed. There was no nervous touches or accidental cuddling. You had woken up wrapped up in his blanket and with the sound of Veritas singing in the shower. He sounded beautiful singing songs from a children’s show, but it didn’t feel any bit of what a ‘romantic’ morning should be.

“Lame. The both of you.” He took another slow sip of his coffee. With the way he looked to the side in contemplative thought, you could start to believe that he wasn’t just pretending to be human this time.

The way he acted was simply bizarre sometimes. Veritas’ plaster head was strange, but Aventurine was somehow worse with his mannerisms.

“Okay, another idea. There’s a networking event-”

“And you want me to go so I can amaze him with some fancy dress?” You could already tell where he was going with it. A makeover, where you do your hair and wear nice makeup and get put into a dress that was tight and sexy. Something that was not close to being your style.

Nothing wrong with any of that, but tight dresses didn’t help you feel warm and your feet were too clumsy to wear sexy heels. If anything, it would be less sexy and more like a clown show. Not what you wanted when trying to woo someone over.

“Well, yes!” From the way he smiled, it was obvious that he knew you were actually contemplating his stupid idea. Which made you want to choke him, if only slightly. “It’s obviously a surprise, we can make it like something out of pride and prejudice.”

That didn’t happen in Pride and Prejudice, but you let it slide. If anything, the dress is more akin to a disney princess movie. Maybe that would make the weird blond your fairy godmother in this scenario.

“Your eyes meet across the room, and suddenly there’s no one else but you two.” He was already setting up an imaginary scene inside of his head, his smile only there to convince you to see it with him. “It’s exactly like this one novel my sister would read to me. It’s perfect.” That could be any bargain bin romance novel.

“So what, am I going as your plus one?”

“Nope. They didn’t invite me, so I’m going as Ratio’s plus one.” How close those two were was a bit of a mystery. If they were friends, then Aventurine must be as equally bad at communicating normally.

“You’ll go with Topaz.”

“I don’t know who that is.” Personally, there was little excitement at the idea of meeting another Aventurine. Nothing personally against him, the man had paid your rent after all, but his mannerisms made you feel like you were playing a game rather than an actual conversation.

“Don’t worry, she’s nice. She’ll deliver you to your prince charming.” You weren’t sure if Aventurine even understood the concept of a prince charming.

“You guys can both go and talk about nerd stuff and then kiss or whatever.”

“That isn’t really what our relationship is like. We bond over nerd stuff all the time, how is that going to change how he feels about me?” Talking about lizards and crying in his arms because of a stupid rejection wasn’t that romantic. Perhaps it made you closer than just classmates, but there was no romantic undertone to anything like that.

“Cause you’ll wear some sexy tight dress and heels that kill your feet. Changes everything.”

“I feel like you watch way too many romcoms.” This was becoming completely predictable. The idea he was cooking up was quite frankly terrible. All it would do is leave you an embarrassed mess by the end of it.

You already had cried in your crushes bed, cried in his arms, accidentally showed him your bare ass, and he’s judged your work. No amount of body you showed would be able to overcome that.

“Yes but I know from experience as well. Trust me, I’ve seen it’s effects.”

“This is stupid.” You had no better arguments to bring up against it though. Saying ‘I don’t like parties’ only made you sound like a loser, and you did like seeing Veritas.

Also, being a shut in has not helped your social prospects. A networking event might actually be good for you, as much as you hated to admit it. Connections mattered in every field, as much as you hated to admit it.

“Stupidly brilliant.” Aventurine knew he had you hook, line and sinker. Which made you want to choke him, because he kept a smug smile on his face. It also didn’t help that he could watch as you gladly chowed down on his peace offerings, like a stray cat allowing a human to pet them for the first time.

“Trust me, I never lose.”

sorry for the cliffhanger. idk when I'll upload next chapter, my uni is starting next week so I'm gonna be swamped ;(

Tags: @silvermah @arimelancholy @sylviatherosairy @haphuowngg @snailsposts @coffee-ii @odysswaffle

(lemme know if you wanna be added to the tags)

[thedivinevera]

At Your Service Pt. 2

⟡ Word Count: 17.8k words

⟡ Tags: boss!Sylus x housekeeper!reader, fem reader, corruption kink, possessiveness, dubcon, mentions of baby trapping, breeding, unprotected sex, fingering, bullying, teasing, nicknames like kitten, sweetie, good girl

⟡ Summary: You return to work for Sylus, tension simmering beneath the surface after that night. Determined to save enough to finally escape your shitty apartment, you try to lay low and keep your distance. But it’s clear Sylus has no intention of letting you slip away from him that easily…

"No...I honestly just want a fresh start. Somewhere that I’m not dragged down by my past. Somewhere I can breathe. I just want to save enough to get a car and never come back." Sylus’s breath caught, just for a second. He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't. The very thought of you leaving clawed at something deep and primal inside him, burrowing into a place so dark and unrelenting that it almost scared him. He’d do everything in his power to keep you here. Anything. Buy you an entire mansion just a few blocks from his penthouse. One with many, many rooms. He could stock it with everything you liked. Make sure you never had to lift a finger again. Shower you with more money than you could spend in a lifetime. Change your world completely. Strip away every obstacle, every excuse, until there was simply no reason left for you to leave. Until staying was the only option that made sense. He could also... His gaze drifted downward, settling on your belly. The thought came out of nowhere, reckless and wild, but it rooted itself in his mind like a seed cracking through dry soil.

ao3

Read Part 1 here!

⟡ AN: I can't believe a dream I had is this popular with you guys!! Thank you so much for the support and this time Im kissing the brick before I throw it xDD. If you did not make it onto the taglist its because I could not find an age in your bio. Pt.3 is going to be the final part so if you wanna be tagged for that one be sure to add ur age to ur bio and fill out my form!

Enjoy my lovelies!! (づ> v <)づ♡

@leiaglamela @shia247 @hyphensei @hummingbirdoooo @beaconsxd @zoezhive @syluslover1 @mmeerraa @webmvie @calebsbabyapple @mysterios-hoe @ymrai @sinstae @sylvieisoffline @blcknebula @wooasecret @chososlvrr @deathlycrow @joshazraelian @mcdepressed290 @sylusqt @harbingers-lullaby @dummiebunny @rachelaishi @dilf-destroyer-04 @rjreins @thelittlebutton @rie-star @blcknebula @zoezhive @theplaid-wearingmoose @chaotictsumu @ni3rdem1se @certainduckanchor @suicidollz @shi-thats-kiera @marliisastarfrfr @ikesimpleton @chososlvrr @seventeen-x @maiznamai @sabage101 @xanhnax @uchihabucketlist @rubylescent @joshazraelian @teary-eyed-egg @writteninlunarlight-years @sylusgirlie7

You’re jolted awake by a sharp pounding at the door.

Your heart rockets into your throat as you jolt upright, sweat dampening the back of your neck. The air in your apartment feels too thin, like you woke up underwater. The pounding comes again, harder this time.

You throw the blanket off, legs tangling as you stumble to your feet. The apartment is steeped in shadows, lit only by the flickering orange hue of a broken streetlight bleeding in through the blinds. You squint at the red digital numbers glowing on your nightstand.

9:02 PM. Too late for anything good.

You hesitate at the door, instincts screaming. Slowly, you inch toward the peephole.

Robert? Your landlord?

Even distorted through the fish-eye lens, his face is unmistakable. Pale, puffy, jowls hanging like melted wax. His greasy comb-over clings to his scalp like seaweed after a storm. He’s too close to the door, breathing heavily. Your skin prickles.

You exhale sharply and unlock the bolt, cracking the door an inch. "Hey, Robert…it’s kinda late. What’s going on?"

He flashes that familiar grin, wide and crooked. Teeth too white for a man who smells like sour sweat and mildew. His eyes are predatory, scanning you, then trying to peer past you into the dim apartment.

"Just checking in on my favorite tenant," he says, voice syrupy and smug. He leans ever so slightly to the side, neck craning like he might spot something worth noting inside.

You shift, planting yourself squarely in the doorway to block his view. His grin falters, his lips twitching with barely restrained annoyance.

"And?" Your tone is soft, clipped. You keep your expression neutral, even as every nerve screams.

He cracks his knuckles slowly, theatrically. One finger at a time. "Noticed you paid your rent on time for once. That’s…new. You working again?"

Your gut twists. This isn’t a courtesy call. He smells something has changed with you financially and he wants in.

You summon a tight smile, masking the tension in your jaw. You can’t let him know. Can’t let him sense what’s shifted beneath your feet.

"Something like that," you reply.

But your thoughts betray you.

Sylus.

His name slips through your head like smoke. His voice, low and lethal, curling in your memory. The press of his palm on your leg. The weight of his eyes. The sound of hushed panting and moaning.

You feel the pull of that world, even here. Especially here. The divide between who you were and who you’ve become is thinning.

"Just a taste."

And now you're tasting the consequences...

Robert’s gaze crawls over your face, your posture, your silence. His stare settles like oil on your skin. You fight the urge to shrink back.

You tighten your grip on the door’s edge. Suddenly, it feels too thin. The lock too fragile. The apartment behind you too exposed.

He doesn’t look away. "Well, that’s good," he says eventually, his voice coated in something too slick to be kindness. "Glad to see you’re finally getting your life together."

Every word drips condescension. He’s testing boundaries. Measuring you.

"Thanks," you say flatly. "Was there anything else, Robert?"

His smile slinks back, oily and smug. "Nah. Just being neighborly. Sleep tight."

He turns with a casual saunter, the kind that screams entitlement. Like this building (and everyone in it) belongs to him. You watch until he disappears around the corner, then shut the door and throw the lock with a loud click. You hold it there, fingers clenched around the knob.

The silence that follows is heavier than before.

The apartment feels colder. Like something had entered just by knocking.

You slide your back against the door and sink to the floor. Your heart still hasn’t slowed.

You just needed to hold out a little longer.

Several more months and you could finally claw your way out of this godforsaken place. The weight that had pressed on your chest for years, the debt that had dragged behind you like chains through mud, was finally gone. You’d wiped it out faster than you ever imagined possible. It almost didn’t feel real. Now, each day brought you closer to something you hadn’t dared to want before: choice. Escape. Your own car. Your own space.

Freedom was starting to feel tangible. You could already picture it. The hum of the engine under your hands, the wind roaring in your ears, the city blurring in the rearview mirror until it was just lights and ghosts behind you.

But you weren’t there yet.

The penthouse still loomed, pristine and cavernous, its silence thick with unspoken things. You walked its halls like a shadow, no longer a person but a role: the help. A pair of hands. A closed mouth.

Your throat tightened every time you heard footsteps echo behind you, every time you thought you saw him out of the corner of your eye.

Sylus.

You’d been avoiding him. You dodged his presence with the precision of someone threading a minefield. Kept your head down, eyes averted. Only spoke when directly addressed, and even then, your answers were clipped and careful. You moved through the penthouse with mechanical efficiency, making no noise, leaving no trace. Cleaning everything twice, sometimes three times, just to keep your hands busy.

And he hadn’t called you out. Hadn’t stopped you. But he noticed. You knew he did.

You could feel it when he watched you.

Not overtly. But every once in a while, you’d glance up and find his eyes already on you—sharp, inscrutable. Watching like he was trying to read something you didn’t know you were showing. He never said anything in those moments.

And then, like mist pulling back into the shadows, he’d vanish into his office, or behind one of the penthouses endless doors. It was like he evaporated into the building itself, leaving you shaken without knowing exactly why.

Neither of you had said a single word about that night. Not once. The silence had become its own language—a heavy, persistent presence that followed you through the halls, coiling tighter with every passing day. It hovered in the spaces between eye contact, in the abrupt way conversations ended, in the way your skin prickled when he walked past without a sound.

It hurt.

It sat between you like an exposed nerve, raw and throbbing, impossible to ignore but too dangerous to touch. Because what could you possibly say? What words existed for something that never should’ve happened, yet keeps replaying behind your eyes like a fever dream?

Thanks for the best orgasm of my life? As if it hadn’t cracked something wide open inside you. As if it hadn’t scattered what little sense of emotional distance you’d ever managed to maintain.

Why did you kiss me like you meant it? And then ignore me like it was nothing? As if that wasn’t the most dangerous question of all.

You told yourself it was better this way. Simpler. That pretending it never happened was the safest choice. He had used you. Plain and simple. The faster you got your work done, the sooner you could leave work. The sooner your heart would stop clenching when he walked into your view. It didn't matter why he ignored you, you tried to tell yourself. You got the money. He got what he wanted.

It had been almost a month since then. But your hands still trembled sometimes when you scrubbed the dishes in the kitchen.

And your dreams were full of things you couldn’t name.

But it didn't matter.

You were just his housekeeper after all.

Annoyed that you’d missed your last precious thirty minutes of sleep, you lay in bed, the weight of exhaustion still dragging at your limbs. The cheap ceiling fan clicked softly above you, spinning in lazy circles, offering no comfort.

With a sigh, you reached for the sleek phone on your nightstand, the one Sylus had bought you. The screen glowed to life, flooding your tired eyes with blue light. You tapped through a few notifications out of habit, thumb idly scrolling through the interface.

You still didn’t have Wi-Fi. Not that it mattered. When you tried to register for a plan, you learned that the phone’s data was already covered. Sylus was paying for it. Just one of the many many things still tying you to him in a way.

You remembered standing in the corner of the shop, phone pressed to your ear, frozen as the employee explained it to you like it was no big deal. But it was. It was huge.

Eventually, you’d managed to thank him.

He hadn’t said much. Just raised an eyebrow, then nodded once. “You’re welcome,” he’d said, like he’d held the door for you instead of dropping another tether around your ankle.

You still hadn’t worked up the courage to ask him why he’d done it. Why he kept giving you things. Why he made you feel indebted in ways you couldn’t name.

But maybe it was safer not to ask. Safer to just accept the strange blessings as they came and not look too closely at the possible strings attached.

You scrolled through Moments forums, skimming posts you barely absorbed, trying to keep your thoughts from circling back to him. Trying to stay numb. Just until it was time.

Then your alarm buzzed quietly.

Work.

The word hit you like a stone dropping in your stomach. Your thumb paused mid-scroll. The moment stretched thin, heavy with the realization.

It was time to go back to the penthouse.

Back to him.

You dressed quickly, moving on autopilot, your limbs still heavy with sleep and your thoughts fuzzy from being ripped out of rest. You had the routine down to muscle memory now—shirt, pants, tie your hair back, brush your teeth—but this night felt especially brittle, like your nerves were strung too tight beneath your skin.

Something was off.

You paused in the middle of the room, disoriented for a second. Then it hit you.

Where the hell was your other shoe?

You spun in a frantic circle, eyes scanning the cluttered apartment. It wasn’t by the front door where you usually kicked them off. Not by the dresser. Not under the rickety table with the chipped coffee mug still sitting from two days ago.

Your pulse picked up. Every wasted second screamed louder in your skull. You look everywhere, it could possibly be. Nightstand, closet, even behind the fridge at one point.

You finally dropped to your knees and flung the edge of your blanket aside, peering under the bed. There it was. Wedged against the wall, half-hidden in shadows like it had intentionally rolled out of reach just to spite you.

You cursed, grabbing for it, fingers scraping against dust bunnies and god knows what else. Finally, you snatched it out and yanked it on with shaking hands, nearly falling over in the process.

You were late.

Not just late, dangerously late.

You should’ve left ages ago. You should’ve been halfway to the penthouse already. The realization hit you like a wave of nausea. Your stomach turned over itself as you threw your bag over your shoulder and bolted for the door, slamming it behind you without even checking to make sure it locked. Who cared? You didn’t own anything worth stealing.

The street felt longer than usual as you sprinted down it, shoes slapping the ground in a clumsy rhythm. Outside, the street buzzed with low evening noise—cars honking, someone yelling from an alley, the faint buzz of signage flickering overhead. Your breath came in short bursts as you took off toward work, legs aching from the pace.

Halfway there, your phone pinged.

A single chime made you freeze mid-step. Nobody ever texted you. Nobody. Your fingers trembled as you fumbled the phone from your pocket, the screen lighting up your face with a cold glow in the dimness of the street.

Sylus: "Are you feeling unwell today? You’re late."

Your breath caught instantly. Your pulse went sharp and tight in your throat, like something invisible had gripped it. The world seemed to narrow down to just that glowing text.

Your stomach bottomed out. Cold dread settled in your chest, rooting there. You hadn’t even made it to the building yet and he’d already clocked your absence.

You stared at the screen like it might erase itself if you waited long enough. But it didn’t. It just sat there, pulsing silently.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Despite everything—the tension, the confusion, the mess of emotions you hadn’t dared name, he was still your boss. That fact never changed. You still worked for him. You were still expected to show up on time.

You inwardly cursed at yourself. Amazing. You picked a great day to get fired. You hurriedly texted back, fingers aching from the cold.

"I'll be there soon!"

The first time you both had ever exchanged even a single text, and it was because you were late.

Your heart pounded as you finally reached the building, lungs burning, legs shaking from the full sprint. You stumbled inside, barely managing not to trip over the threshold. The cool air in the lobby did little to soothe your anxiety. You made a beeline for the elevator, jabbing the call button with shaky fingers.

It felt like hours before the doors finally opened with a sluggish ding. You stepped inside and leaned back against the mirrored wall, catching your reflection in a quick, accidental glance—messy hair, eyes wide and frantic, collar askew, the faint outline of pillow creases still etched into your cheek. You looked exactly how you felt: unprepared and unraveling.

As the elevator ascended, your mind spiraled.

A million excuses ricocheted around in your skull, none of them sounding remotely believable. Would he even ask? Even care? You were probably just going to get fired on the spot if anything...

The elevator doors opened with a soft hiss and you darted out the second there was space. You barely took in the gleaming floors, the sharp scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air, or the perfect placement of furniture that never looked lived-in.

"Sylus! I’m here—ow!"

You slammed directly into something—or rather, someone. Solid. Warm. And unmistakably bare.

You stumbled back with a startled gasp, breath knocked from your lungs. You barely processed what had happened before a strong hand gripped your arm, halting your fall just in time. His grip was firm, fingers wrapping around your forearm like a cuff.

You froze, the world shrinking to the point of contact.

Slowly, like watching the sun crest over a horizon you didn't want to see, your gaze lifted.

Sylus stood in front of you, drenched in quiet power and still glistening from the shower. Water dripped from the ends of his hair, curling slightly at his temples. Droplets traced down his temples, along the sharp line of his jaw, before cascading down his bare chest in slow, deliberate drops. His skin was slightly flushed from the heat, muscles taut and glistening under the soft lighting.

A white towel hung low around his hips, clinging to him in a way that felt both intimate and reckless. One corner had begun to slip, revealing the deep indent of his hip bone, dangerously close to revealing more than you should see. The sight struck you like a slap.

Your breath hitched. A jolt of heat raced up your spine. Your heart, already overworked, began to race faster, pounding against your ribcage like it was trying to escape. You squeezed your eyes shut, as if the darkness would shield you from how exposed you felt.

"I-" you whispered, voice cracking at the edges. "I didn’t mean to—"

“Don’t. It’s alright,” Sylus sighed, cutting you off before you could stammer out a single excuse. He let go of your forearm, fingers unclenching with a deliberate slowness, and your hand moved on instinct, rubbing the spot where his touch lingered like a phantom. A flicker of warmth still radiated from your skin, chased quickly by the burn of embarrassment crawling up your neck and flooding your face.

Of all moments, why now? Why did he have to be half-naked right now? After weeks of getting used to him not touching or talking much to you, this was really making your head spin.

You really tried not to look. You focused on the wall behind him, the pattern of the tiles, anything but him. But it was too late. The image had already seared itself into your brain: beads of water sliding down his chest, tracing each defined line of muscle; his abs sharp under the overhead light; that towel, loose and far too low on his hips, somehow holding on by sheer, stubborn gravity. The sight flared in your memory like a brand, and you had to close your eyes for a second just to will the heat in your cheeks to fade.

“I lost track of time trying to find my shoe,” you said quickly. Your voice came out thinner than you intended, higher too. You cringed inwardly. “It won’t happen again.”

A beat of silence followed. It stretched across the space between you like a live wire. Your nerves went tight, your chest tight. You stared at the floor, silently begging the moment to pass, praying he’d say nothing more, that he’d just let you go and do your work like he always did.

But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

Instead, you felt his fingers, warm and steady, slide under your chin. The contact was unexpected, and it tilted your head up before you could think to resist. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he said. His voice was firm and deep, steady in a way that made you freeze. It carried the same quiet authority he always had.

Your eyes met his, and the air shifted, thickened. A pulse of tension beat between you, sharp and immediate. Something in your chest flipped hard, like a coin mid-toss, suspended in the air with no promise of how it would land. His red eyes didn’t just burn—they searched, pinned, unrelenting.

They seemed to see straight through you, past every shield you thought you had, digging into the parts you kept hidden even from yourself. You couldn’t look away, couldn’t move. It was like standing on the edge of something dangerous, and wanting to fall anyway.

It was almost the same way he looked at you that night.

"Much better," he said, giving a nod. There was a glint in his eyes, not quite amusement, but something close to it. "Besides, this isn't the first time you've seen me without a shirt. Why act this way now?"

Your throat tightened. You struggled to keep eye contact, it was like staring into the sun. You looked away, eyes flicking to the floor, then inadvertently back to the towel at his waist, and then back to him.

The damp fabric clung stubbornly to his hips, the water still glistening across his skin. It only made things worse. Every attempt to find neutral ground in your gaze failed. Your thoughts, once neatly compartmentalized, were now a scattered mess.

You searched for something to say, anything, but your mind was a blank slate. Words danced on the edge of your tongue and evaporated before they reached your lips.

You just wanted to get to work. Keep things simple. Stick to your job. That had been your rule from day one anyways. And yet here you were, cornered by the same intensity you’d spent so long trying to avoid.

"I...don't know," you murmured finally. The words felt hollow, but they were all you had. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. How could you admit to the way your stomach flipped every time he looked at you like that?

The tension was sharp, almost visible. It hung in the space like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap. You wondered if he felt it too, or if you were just imagining it, drowning in your own nerves and spiraling assumptions.

He was always hard to read, but in this moment, he was completely opaque.

He exhaled, long and slow, a sound that felt heavier than it should have. Not annoyed or angry. Just...something else. Like he had expected something more from you and was quietly disappointed.

Or were you imagining that too?

"I need you to dust the shelves in my office at some point, today" he said, tone shifting with mechanical precision. The emotion was gone from his voice, replaced with professional indifference.

"Glad you're feeling alright."

Detached. Business as usual. As if the last few moments hadn’t just happened.

He was already turning away, his back to you before you could think of a response. His steps were measured, echoing faintly against the hallway tiles.

"Office...?" you said, confused. The words slipped out, weak and uncertain, but you couldn’t stop them.

He didn’t pause. Didn’t turn around to address you. Just kept walking. The muscles in his shoulders stayed tense as he disappeared around the corner, leaving you standing in the middle of the hall, holding the awkward silence he'd left behind.

You stood there for a moment longer, blinking as if that might help make sense of what just happened. Your thoughts swirled in a slow cyclone—disbelief, irritation, guilt. Was he in a bad mood? Had you missed something?

You hadn’t done anything wrong...or at least, you didn’t think you had. But with him, things were never clear. He wasn’t the kind to explain himself. You had to piece it together from fragments...his tone, his posture, the way he avoided or maintained eye contact.

And right now, you were working with very little.

Still, no use thinking about it now. You had work to do. He wanted you to do his office later? He'd given strict instructions before not to even look in the direction of the door. What was the sudden change?

You took a breath, squared your shoulders, and turned away from the hallway. The faint scent of clean linens lingered in the air, grounding you. No point in dwelling.

Just keep your head down. Do what he says. Get through the night and let the distance grow between you both once more.

Sylus had tried. Really, genuinely tried to give you your space.

That night after everything happened, he’d woken up with the weight of regret pressing heavy on his chest like a cinderblock. It wasn’t just guilt, but a twisting ache in his gut that told him he’d crossed a line he couldn’t uncross. He knew he had overstepped that night. Knew that his own hunger, his own selfish, overwhelming need had gotten the better of him. He hadn’t meant to blur the line between you. But in the moment, it had felt so natural. So easy. Like gravity itself had pulled you both together, and there was no use fighting it.

He had just needed to taste you, desperate for the memory of your skin against his tongue, the way your breath hitched when he found that spot that made you tremble. To feel you, every curve and tremor under his hands, to bury himself in your warmth until he forgot the rest of the world. And to hear you—God, the sounds you made, raw and unguarded, still echoed in his ears like a song he couldn’t stop replaying. It hadn’t just been lust. It had been craving in its purest form, need sharpened by weeks of restraint, of stolen glances and silent questions.

But the fallout had been nothing like he’d imagined.

You didn’t scream. Didn’t confront him. You just shut down. Shut him out, one careful wall at a time, until the warmth in your eyes had been replaced with something colder than anger. Indifference. Silence.

That cut deeper than any accusation.

He wasn’t clueless. He knew exactly what it must have looked like when you saw him with that other woman. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Less than twenty-four hours after he'd had his head between your thighs, he’d been spotted in the company of someone else. Laughing. Touching. It was reckless. It was cruel. And it made it seem like you meant nothing. Like it had just been physical for him.

But that wasn’t true. Not even close.

The truth was, that woman hadn’t been a choice made from desire. It had been strategic.

Her name was Lira. The daughter of Adan Marrin, once one of Sylus’s most valuable and elusive informants. Adan had held intel that could tip the balance in an ongoing hunt for a high-priority target: the location of a lost protocore, buried knowledge tied to dormant tech from the time the N109 Zone was a thriving tech hub. They’d had a deal. Adan would hand over the location in exchange for an undiscussed amount of money. But something had shifted. Cold feet, maybe. Or a better offer. Either way, the man had vanished. No trace, no message.

Sylus didn’t have time for ghosts.

So he’d sent Luke and Kieran to dig. Find a thread, any thread, and pull it. What they uncovered was gold. Adan had a daughter. Lira. Young, educated, social. And now, suddenly, appearing in elite circles, her face popping up in event photos, her name whispering through the right channels. It was too perfect.

Getting close to her wasn’t about desire. It was leverage. Sylus knew without question that Lira likely knew where her father was hiding. She had to. Adan wasn’t the kind of man to disappear without a failsafe, and family was always his weakness. If she knew anything about the location of the protocore or her father then time was running out. He had no doubt Adan had gotten cold feet, pulled back from the deal, and gone dark to protect whatever he’d found. But his daughter was his tether. His vulnerability. And Sylus was counting on that. If Adan was watching, he’d see exactly what Sylus was doing. He’d feel the message beneath every touch, every word. Come out, or watch what happens to the only person you still care about.

It was never supposed to mean anything beyond that.

He told himself it was just part of the job. That seducing her, earning her trust, manipulating her for information, was justified. And maybe it would’ve been, if it hadn’t collided headfirst with what happened between the two of you. If it hadn’t made him feel like a bastard when your eyes turned to glass the moment you saw them together.

You hadn’t known the context. Why would you? All you saw was him, lips close to another woman’s ear, hand resting on her thigh, laughing like nothing had changed. Like you had never happened. Like you didn’t still haunt every corner of his mind. And its not like he could tell you. Getting you directly involved with his life would put you at risk. He had to act cold to you in that moment not only for your own good, but for the sake of the operation he was doing.

When you stopped looking at him with that cautious but hopeful spark—when the nervous flicker in your lashes when he stepped close disappeared, when that tiny, bashful smile you used to give him faded—he realized just how much it cost him to play the part. You used to seem almost happy to see him, like each interaction was an unexpected gift.

Even in your shyness, there had been warmth. A subtle shift in your shoulders, the way you’d tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and pretend not to glance his way. It wasn’t much, but he noticed. And now, stripped of even that fragile softness, all he saw in your eyes was distance. That absence hit harder than any slap.

Now? All he got was clipped replies. Job-related updates. Your voice had turned flat, like you were reciting lines from a script. The way you moved through the halls, the way you avoided looking at him too long.

And that was what killed him most.

At first, he’d wondered if he had scared you. If maybe the intensity of that night had been too much, too fast. But you weren’t acting scared. You were more mechanical. Depressed. Like a machine set to autopilot.

It drove him insane. He’d tried to respect your distance. Tried to leave you alone. But the silence was unbearable, and your indifference gnawed at him.

So today, he broke the pattern.

He let the water run longer than it needed to, steam billowing around him as he leaned against the cool tile, trying to collect himself. He could’ve gotten dressed. Could’ve pretended like he didn’t care. But he did. He cared too much.

So he timed it. You had been a bit late today. So much so he felt the need to text you to see if you were still coming to work. He'd actually felt relieved when he received your frantic reply.

If you hadn't answered, he would've sent Mephisto directly to your door.

He finally heard your footsteps down the hallway, rushed and hurried, and stepped out just in time. Towel low on his hips. Droplets of water still clinging to his skin.

He wasn’t trying to seduce you. Not exactly. But he wanted a reaction. Anything to prove that you weren’t as numb to him as you pretended to be.

Because the truth was, he missed you.

Not just the closeness or the heat of your body, but you. That sweet little huff you'd do when flustered, or the way your mouth twitched when trying to suppress a laugh from a joke Luke or Kieran told. Your gaze always lingered a little too long, and then darted away like you’d been caught. He noticed every detail, every little expression you tried to hide.

When he saw your eyes flick to his chest, then lower, then away again. When he caught the flush creeping up your neck, the way you fought to keep your composure, he felt a flicker of relief.

You were so damn cute when flustered, it undid him. That soft heat in your cheeks, the way your eyes flicked away like you didn’t know what to do with the tension humming between you. It made his blood stir, made restraint feel like a punishment.

So when you looked away from him, it wasn’t acceptable. He'd gone too long without gazing into your eyes. He needed to see you—really see you. To meet your eyes again, to catch that vulnerable flicker in them that always made him feel something dangerously close to human.

He’d tilted your chin up, and there it was—God, that nervous, wide-eyed stare. It hit him like a drug. The way you blinked, lips parted like you might say something, or breathe too fast. He’d missed that.

In that moment, he wanted you more than he wanted clarity or control. He wanted to pull you in, crush your body to his, kiss you until you forgot how to stand. He wanted to carry you to his room, lay you out on his bed and rip off those clothes he'd bought you. To taste you again. Sink every inch of himself into your tight cunt, hear your voice unravel beneath him as he caged you with each and every thrust.

He imagined your hands clinging to his shoulders, your breath catching against his neck. Maybe you’d let out a few cute whines, maybe push him away a little. But you wouldn't be able to stop him. No, you'd just have to melt into it, accept everything he did to you.

Let him make you his.

And God help him, if you asked him to stop…he wasn’t sure he could.

He loosened his grip, dropped his gaze, and slipped back into indifference like a well-worn coat. Pretended you didn’t shake something in him just by standing there, looking the way you did—soft, flustered, unreachable.

But he still wanted you close.

The distance between you had become unbearable. The silence, the careful avoidance, the way you moved through the space like you weren’t really there, it was maddening. He needed something to pull you back in. A reason.

So he gave you one.

His office. Normally off-limits. No one entered that space unless allowed. It was his sanctuary, his command center. But today, he told you to clean it. No explanation. Just a command delivered with casual finality.

Because he wanted you there. Enclosed. Alone. With him.

He wanted to feel your presence again, to see how you fidgeted when he got too close, how your hands nervously adjusted the hem of your shirt when you felt his eyes on you. He wanted you where he could watch you until maybe, just maybe, that guarded wall in your gaze cracked again.

He wanted the charged air, the tension that buzzed like a wire between you. He wanted to strip away the calm and make you look at him again like you used to, even if it meant forcing the moment.

And you couldn’t say no.

Well…you could. You always could. But he knew you wouldn’t. He didn’t question the quiet control he held. He knew the way his words carried weight with you, how his presence shifted the air in a room. And he liked it, liked that it drew you near, even when you tried to pull away. You always came when he called. You always listened, even if you didn’t speak. There was power in that closeness, in the space you shared, and he welcomed it more than he’d admit aloud.

Because you were still under his roof. Still technically his employee.

Sylus’s phone buzzed on the table, slicing through the quiet like a blade.

He sighed before he even looked, tension already pinched between his brows. He didn’t need to check, he already knew. And sure enough, there she was. Lira. Her contact photo flashed up on the screen: a polished, over-filtered selfie with that same smug little pout she always wore like a mask. Posing as if the world existed to orbit her. His jaw clenched.

Still, he answered.

“Yes?” he said, masking the annoyance in his voice with a lacquered coat of charm. Casual. Affectionate. 

“Hi Sylusss” she cooed through the speaker, dragging his name out like she wanted it to drip honey into his ear. He could almost hear the practiced flutter of her lashes, could imagine the slow twirl of her finger through her hair. “One of your men won’t let me in the elevator…could you take care of that for me, please?”

He grit his teeth, slow and tight, molars grinding behind a smile that never reached his eyes.

“Of course, honey,” he said smoothly, injecting a false note of warmth into the words. The word honey burned on his tongue. “One moment.”

The moment he hung up, his entire demeanor shifted. His eyes narrowed, and his hand flew to the intercom with practiced force. He buzzed down to the first floor, each movement sharp and clipped, his tone now cold as steel.

“If she’s not upstairs in sixty seconds, I’m coming down there myself. And if I have to get involved, you’re not going to like how that ends.”

There was a pause, followed by a cascade of panicked affirmatives—scrambling voices, clattering static—but Sylus had already cut the line. He didn’t wait for a reply. He didn’t need one.

He let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders back as he leaned into the quiet again, though the calm didn’t return with it. His fingers drummed against the edge of the table as he stared ahead, calculating. Annoyance simmered beneath the surface of his skin, but it wasn’t just about Lira. It was everything. The delicate house of cards he was holding up was starting to shift, and the last thing he needed was her sauntering in like she owned the place.

And yet, that was exactly what she did.

He watched from his office, eyes locked on the security monitors as Lira stepped into the elevator. She was dressed to be noticed—tight skirt, designer heels, and a blouse that shimmered ever so slightly under the lighting.

Sylus didn’t blink. He leaned back in his chair, one hand resting under his chin as the other tapped idly at the desk. He watched her movements with the same kind of detachment he used during an interrogation—every flick of her hair, every glance in the elevator mirror, all part of her performance.

On the other camera, you were busy fluffing and straightening the couch pillows, absorbed in the quiet rhythm of your task. You moved with care, lining them up perfectly, checking angles as if order could offer protection. Then the elevator dinged.

The sound broke the silence like a slap. You flinched, not visibly to most, but Sylus caught it. The slight stiffening of your shoulders, the pause in your hands. He narrowed his eyes.

"Oh...hello," you said softly, almost automatically. You didn’t look at her. You kept your focus on your hands, on the fabric beneath your fingers. But your voice carried tension. Thin and tight.

Lira smirked. A curl of satisfaction crept across her lips as she assessed you from head to toe. She didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence stretch. Then, with surgical precision, she turned, brushed past the side table, and "accidentally" knocked over a vase.

It wobbled. Teetered. Crashed.

The sound echoed across the room. Ceramic shards fanned out across the floor.

Sylus exhaled slowly through his nose. He scoffed. The act was so forced it was practically comedy. What was she messing with you for? Did she see all women as innate competition, or did she just enjoy picking on the quiet ones, the ones too meek to push back? 

"Ah! I'm so sorry, dear," Lira chirped with practiced sweetness. Her voice hit a higher pitch, like she was speaking to a child. "Could you get that for me? Thanks!"

And then she walked away, like nothing had happened. Like you were meant to clean up after her by design.

You hesitated. Your hands hovered midair before dropping to your sides. You looked down at the broken vase, then turned your body, shoulders curling inward just slightly. A gesture of resignation. Of defeat.

Sylus saw your face shift—just enough to gut him. The way your lips pressed tight, the effort it took to hold back whatever was rising up inside. His fingers curled into a fist on his desk.

You didn’t deserve that. You weren’t built for games like this. And Lira knew it. He wanted to get up, to shut down all the bullshit. Put a bullet in Lira's head and be done with it. But he didn’t.

Not yet.

Just a little while longer. Just until she gave him what he needed.

Because Lira held a thread that could lead to everything, the location of the protocore, her father’s whereabouts, the buried intel that could turn the tide. If he moved too soon, she’d vanish. And so would the leverage.

As much as he wanted to protect you, to step in and make it stop, he couldn’t. Not without risking everything. If he compromised now, if he showed his hand too early, the entire operation could crumble. And the last thread of control he had over the situation would snap.

The door to his office burst open without warning.

"Sylus!! It’s been ages! Thanks for inviting me over, I’ve missed you," Lira sang, sweeping into the room like she owned it. She didn’t knock, of course. She never did. Her heels struck the marble with theatrical rhythm, her arms outstretched like the star of a show returning to the stage. She moved with practiced confidence, every exaggerated word, every unnecessary sway of her hips, designed to demand attention. Before he could utter a word, she dropped herself into his lap, legs folding delicately, her arm slinking around his shoulders like she belonged there.

Inwardly, Sylus recoiled. The contact made his skin crawl, but he kept his expression perfectly composed. Blank, smooth, unreadable.

He was a good actor. 

He offered her a smile—refined and charming—then lifted her manicured hand to his lips with just the right amount of flair.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder, after all," he said, his tone cool and effortless. A lie wrapped in silk.

She giggled, shrill and artificial, the sound grating in his ears. Then, with the air of someone pulling a rabbit from a hat, she reached into her bra and drew out a cigarette. Her smile widened, daring, suggestive.

"Got a lighter? I dropped mine," she said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sylus didn’t hesitate. He opened the drawer in his desk and retrieved a sleek silver lighter. He flicked it open with a practiced gesture and held it out. Lira leaned in close, her perfume blooming around him—sweet and suffocating. The cigarette caught flame, and she inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering closed like she was savoring something far more intimate.

She exhaled slowly, deliberately, her lips forming a perfect circle as she blew the smoke upward. Then she turned to him, cocking her head with mock curiosity.

"That housekeeper out there is kinda cute, don't you think?"

Sylus’s smile tightened. He arched a brow. "Cute?"

Was this some kind of test? A jab? A trap?

Lira smirked, her voice curling with amusement. "Yeah. But in like...a kicked puppy kind of way. It kinda pisses me off."

Her tone was light, dismissive, but there was venom in it. Sylus recognized it immediately, the cruelty masked in humor, the subtle twist of power games she liked to play when she sensed a potential threat. She knew how to weaponize insecurity. And she enjoyed it.

His fingers flexed around the lighter. He said nothing.

But inside, his thoughts were anything but still.

He thought of you—how you startled slightly at the sound of the elevator earlier. How you had shrunk under Lira’s gaze. The way your eyes had dropped to the floor, your posture stiffening like you were bracing for something. That flicker of pain on your face when Lira had made you clean up the vase she'd so obviously knocked over.

And now this.

Admittedly she was right in some way. You did have that sorrowful look to you. But it only made you more endearing to him. Some people were just born weaker than others. At least in the ways the world chose to measure strength. That was reality. Not everyone had sharp elbows or loud voices. Some people simply endured. Survived. Carried their weight differently. But that wasn't a flaw for you. It drew him to you. You were strong in your own ways for enduring so much for so long.

He grit his teeth.

The only thing he hated more than kicking down the weak? People who actually did it. Enjoyed doing it. Who took pleasure in tearing down the already trembling.

He changed the subject, steering the conversation away from the direction she was clearly trying to take it.

"Have you heard from your father at all, Lira?" he asked smoothly, eyes watching her every move as she ground out the cigarette in a nearby crystal ashtray.

She exhaled slowly through her nose, her fingers brushing imaginary ash from her lap. "Yes and no," she said after a moment. "He sent me a package earlier this week. It’s been so hard without him." Her voice softened, face shifting just enough to appear genuinely pained. For a second, she almost looked like a daughter longing for connection.

Almost.

Sylus matched her expression with ease. He lowered his voice, injected it with practiced sympathy, even let his gaze drift away like the weight of the moment meant something to him.

"I know it can’t be easy. But at least he's shown he's still thinking of you."

The words sounded sincere, and maybe in a way they were. But only in the abstract. Sylus had no intention of getting pulled into her dramatics. Not when he knew exactly what she was capable of.

"Yeah, well..." she said, the softness vanishing almost instantly. A sly smile replaced it as she leaned in closer, her body pressing up against his. "I have one thing that could make me feel better..."

Sylus sighed inwardly, keeping his face neutral.

She was nothing like you.

Bold. Unapologetic. Blunt.

You didn’t toy with affection. You didn’t hint or tease to manipulate. You didn’t move in angles or read people like marks. Hell, he couldn't even imagine you taking the lead like this, not without a shaky breath or an unsure glance. But that was what made your presence so different, so disarming. So honest.

Not that he would mind this behavior from you.

But she wasn’t you.

"Not right now, Lira," he said, gently but firmly. He adjusted his posture, nudging her back just slightly. "We don’t even have much time to chat, I'm a very busy man. Would you like to accompany me for lunch while we still have time tonight?"

She let out a dramatic sigh, tilting her head back like this was the greatest inconvenience she’d ever endured. But the smile that followed was playful.

"Sure! There’s this new place in the city and—"

She launched into a list. Five-star restaurants, exclusive clubs, rooftops with imported wine lists and gold-plated menus that her father had brought her to. Every place she named came with a story she didn’t finish and a price tag she made sure to highlight. Sylus listened just enough to keep the rhythm of his responses timed. A nod here. A hum there. Convincing, if not engaged.

He offered her his arm, and she took it without hesitation. They walked together toward the elevator like a picture-perfect couple. Her heels clicked confidently beside him, her words still floating through the air as she spoke of truffle foam and panoramic skyline views.

But as they passed the kitchen, something shifted.

His eyes caught movement—subtle, small.

There you were, tucked quietly in a corner at the far end of the kitchen, knees drawn slightly in a chair, hunched over a modest sandwich. Headphones in. Eyes down. It was your lunchtime, too.

And you were alone. No twins in sight.

His steps slowed for the briefest moment. Just long enough to watch you lift your sandwich, take a small bite, and chew without ever looking up. You hadn’t seen him. You probably wouldn’t. You were clearly trying to disappear.

His chest tightened.

"Meet the twins by the car downstairs," he said, turning to Lira without looking at her. "I have to instruct my staff on a few things."

She blinked, surprised at the sudden shift, but smiled anyway. "Of course," she said, likely already imagining the next moment she’d be able to slip back onto his arm.

And then she was gone.

Leaving Sylus standing just outside the kitchen, gaze still locked on you, wondering what it was you were listening to—and why seeing you like that made everything else feel even heavier.

You had a bit of mayo sliding down the corner of your mouth. It was white, creamy, and clung to your skin in a way that made Sylus's thoughts turn far darker than he intended. He swallowed hard, jaw tightening as he shifted slightly, adjusting his stance. His pants suddenly felt a bit tighter. He cursed inwardly, pulling his gaze away just long enough to pretend he was in control of his own mind.

Wouldn't hurt to tease you a little before he left.

He tapped the edge of the table with a finger.

You jumped, startled, the sound snapping you out of your trance. You yanked out your headphones with fumbling fingers and blinked up at him, eyes wide and alert. Your lips parted like you were about to apologize and then hesitated.

"Oh! I was just about to finish lunch..." you said, gripping your sandwich a little tighter, like it could shield you. "The dishes are almost done though."

Your voice was soft. It wrapped around his chest and squeezed.

Without a word, Sylus reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a folded handkerchief. He stepped in closer, slow and unhurried, and leaned down to your level. He wiped the corner of your mouth with careful precision, thumb brushing your cheek in the process. The gesture wasn’t overtly intimate, but it was close.

You froze.

Your breath hitched, eyes wide with something between confusion and embarrassment. Heat surged to your face, the kind of flush that spread fast, burning under your skin. You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Adorable.

He pocketed the handkerchief again, casually, like it was something valuable he didn’t want anyone else to see. He was invading your space today after weeks of respecting it, whether you liked it or not.

"I’ll be back in a little while," he said, his voice deeper now, a touch more gravel in it. "Don’t clean my office until I’m back. Understood?"

You nodded, stumbling through a shy, "Y-Yes, sir."

Then you stood from your chair too fast, trying to gather yourself. You adjusted your shirt, tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and tried to fall back into the mechanical rhythm and blank face that had protected you all these weeks.

But Sylus saw through it.

The way your hand lingered a second too long on the back of the chair. The darting glance you gave him before quickly looking away. You were still flustered, still unraveling in real time from that one tiny touch.

God, if only he had the time.

He could spend hours watching the way you unraveled under his gaze. The way your breathing quickened when he leaned in, how your lips parted just slightly like you were already imagining what he might do. He’d start slow, fingers grazing exposed skin, letting you squirm, letting you tremble. He’d whisper filth into your ear, make you squeal in his ear from embarrassment. He’d tease you until your thighs clenched, until your breath came out in soft, needy gasps. Until your voice wasn’t just a whisper, but a moan, a plea, begging him to just take you.

But...

He had a role to play. A mission to finish. Lira still held pieces of the puzzle he needed, and as much as he hated it, that took priority.

So he turned without another word and walked away, each step slower, heavier.

And every inch of him aware of your lingering warmth behind him.

When he came back from an exhausting dinner with Lira, the first thing he did was instruct the twins to drop her off at her place. No lingering goodbyes. No forced intimacy. He needed the space, the silence, and more importantly, he needed to be alone with you.

It would be just the two of you now.

He loosened his tie as the elevator climbed, fatigue tugging at his shoulders. The conversation over dinner had been exhausting. Empty flattery, false laughter. He hadn’t meant a single word of it. But playing along had been necessary. That woman had frustrated him to no end, and he hadn't gotten any answers he was was seeking. Now, all he wanted was quiet.

The elevator doors slid open, and as he stepped into the hallway leading to his office, he came to a stop.

You were sitting there.

Right outside his office door, legs crossed neatly, cleaning supplies at your side. Your hands were folded in your lap, posture straight, head bowed slightly like you’d been waiting for a while.

You looked up at the sound of his approach. Blank-faced. Guarded.

"What are you doing on the floor of all places?" he asked, voice low.

"I finished everything...I wasn’t sure what to do since you weren’t back yet," you said quietly.

"Good girl", he thought, the words sliding through his mind. The sight of you sitting there so quietly, like a stray kitten waiting to be claimed, stirred something low and hungry in him. There was something painfully tender about how you obeyed without being asked, how you waited without complaint. It wasn’t just adorable. It was intoxicating. You didn’t even know how much power you gave him by being so willing, so pliant.

He extended a hand toward you, palm open and steady.

You took it without hesitation, your fingers slipping into his, light and tentative. The moment your soft fingers connected with his palm, he felt like electricity was coursing through him. He pulled you to your feet effortlessly, then turned and unlocked the door, gesturing for you to step inside with him.

The moment the door shut behind you, your eyes wandered—he noticed it right away. You took in the space with a quiet curiosity. The towering shelves, the dark wood, the precise arrangement of everything. Your gaze lingered on the finer things, the things you hadn’t been allowed to touch before. But still, you said nothing.

No questions. Just a respectful, efficient nod before you moved wordlessly toward the nearest shelf and got right to work.

Of course.

He watched you for a moment, jaw tightening. You were really going to play it that way, huh? Still trying to make yourself invisible. Still performing the perfect role, the silent, diligent housekeeper. Like if you stayed quiet enough, if you focused hard enough, you could disappear entirely.

He was sick of it.

Sick of the distance. Sick of pretending he didn’t see you. Didn’t notice you. That he hadn’t spent the entire ride back thinking of you instead of Lira.

Tonight, he decided, would be different.

He could already feel the nervous energy rolling off you as you moved through the space. You weren’t speaking, but your body said everything. The careful way you gripped the duster. The overly deliberate steps. The way your shoulders subtly tensed every time you turned your back to him, like you were aware of being watched and trying your hardest not to show it.

He leaned back in his chair behind the desk, a few papers laid out before him, though he wasn’t really reading them. His eyes kept drifting. You moved with focus, methodical as you positioned a stool near the back wall to reach the taller shelves. His gaze trailed lower, catching the curve of your calf, the way your clothing bunched slightly when you stretched.

You weren’t wearing a skirt this time.

Lately, you'd been dressing more conservatively—looser fabrics, longer hems, high collars. It was subtle at first, but he noticed. You’d wrapped yourself in layers, not out of modesty, but defense. Like armor. As if hiding from his gaze could make you feel safer.

He didn’t blame you.

He only had himself to blame for that change. It wasn’t like you had chosen these new clothes on your own, he’d bought them. Soft sweaters, pants, high-collared blouses, longer skirts, and thicker fabrics that suited the colder weather. Clothes meant to be to your liking. To make up for the tension he’d created.

They were still flattering, he made sure of that. He hadn’t picked anything shapeless or drab. But they created distance. Soft armor disguised as kindness. A buffer. And though some part of him respected the silence and the safety it offered you, another part of him—darker, more possessive—missed the way you used to let your guard slip around him.

A part of him was almost proud. Proud that you were adjusting, adapting. That you wore what he gave you. That you were learning how to manage the space between you and him, even if it meant hiding behind cotton and caution.

But it didn’t stop him from yearning.

As you bent down to clean the lower shelf, something small slipped from your pocket and hit the floor with a soft, solid thud.

Sylus’s gaze snapped to the object.

A small, worn pack of cigarettes.

His brows lifted slightly, and a grin pulled at the edge of his mouth. It was cracked and bent, probably stuffed in that jacket pocket without much thought. But it was the sight of it that struck him as out of character for you.

He lifted a hand, letting his Evol stir to life. Red mist slithered from his hand, slow and graceful like smoke on still air. It curled through the space, coiled gently around the cigarette pack, and lifted it clean off the floor. It hovered for a second, then glided into his open palm with perfect precision.

You hadn’t noticed. Too focused. Too wrapped in whatever careful, avoidant rhythm you'd forced yourself into.

"Since when do you smoke?" he asked, his voice casual but edged with something more.

You turned sharply, clearly caught off guard.

His thumb flipped the top open with an audible snap. It was still full, mostly. Only one had been used.

Interesting.

He turned the pack slowly in his hand, eyes flicking up to meet yours. You stood frozen, not quite panicked, but uncertain. It was written in the set of your jaw, the way your hands hovered at your sides like you weren’t sure whether to defend yourself or apologize.

Finally, you squeezed your hands together and let out a quiet sigh, shoulders sagging as though you had been holding your breath. The tension in your posture gave you away, even before you spoke. You weren't relaxed. Sylus could see the effort it took for you to keep your voice even.

"Since yesterday. Now can you give them back, please?" you asked, carefully. Your voice tried for neutral, but he caught the edge of defensiveness curled beneath it. That mix of irritation and embarrassment, coiled tight and trembling behind your ribs, made you seem smaller somehow and more real. Vulnerability looked good on you, whether you meant to show it or not.

Sylus flipped the carton in the air with a slow, lazy flick of his wrist. The movement was practiced, deliberate. He caught it with ease, his eyes locked on you the whole time. The edge of a grin touched his lips. Amused. A hunter watching a kitten stumble closer to his trap.

"Come over and get them yourself," he said. He simply set the pack on the edge of the table, deliberate and slow, his fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary. There was no need for show or emphasis. Just a quiet expectation that you'd do as told.

The change in your expression was immediate and unmistakable. Your eyes widened just a fraction—not enough for the average person to notice, but Sylus wasn’t the average person. That quick, silent flicker of uncertainty told him everything. The tension in your frame sharpened, your body caught between the instinct to obey and the desire to flee.

But you came.

You walked slowly, deliberately, like every step was a decision. The silence stretched between you, heavy and taut, as your shoes tapped softly against the floor. Your hands fidgeted at your sides. Your gaze stayed low, only darting to him when you thought he wouldn’t notice.

Closer.

Closer.

The air felt charged, and Sylus felt his pulse slow in response—anticipation thick in his blood. You were trying so hard to act unaffected, to keep your breathing steady. But he saw through it. The tension clung to you, wrapped around you like static.

You reached the table and paused. A single, breathless moment where you hovered. And then, with careful fingers, you reached for the pack.

He struck.

His hand closed over yours before you could even blink.

His grip was warm, unrelenting. Not rough, but not gentle either. Your body tensed instantly. The air left your lungs in a shallow gasp, and your eyes darted up to his. You didn’t speak. You didn’t pull away. You just froze, caught between fear and confusion.

Sylus leaned forward, just slightly, his presence folding in over yours. His thumb moved slowly across the back of your hand, dragging along your skin like he was committing it to memory. He could feel how cold your fingers were. How they trembled just the slightest amount beneath his touch.

"Are you going to tell me what’s wrong with you now?" Sylus asked, his voice dipping lower, quieter than usual, like he didn’t want to scare you off. His hand stayed wrapped around yours, warm and steady, anchoring you in place with just enough pressure to remind you that he was there. He already had a good idea of what was bothering you, but hearing you say it aloud would make it real.

You grimaced, body tensing, and instinctively tried to pull away. It was a half-hearted movement, more of a reflex than a true effort to escape. Your body trembled, and your eyes flicked past him, unable or unwilling to meet his gaze. "Nothing’s wrong...let go..." you mumbled, your voice thin and frayed. It wasn’t convincing. Not even close.

"We both know that’s not true, sweetie," he said, and the nickname came out too smoothly, too easily, like it had been waiting on his tongue. His grip tightened, just a bit. Not enough to hurt. But enough to remind you that you weren’t walking away from this.

You let out a breath and stopped resisting, your shoulders dropping as if the fight had drained out of you in one long exhale. You looked exhausted. Worn down. He could see it in your posture, the weight of whatever you were holding in dragging your whole frame downward. You’d stopped trying to tug your hand back. You knew it was pointless.

"Sylus, please...I have work to do," you said, your voice softer now, barely above a whisper. Your gaze dropped to the floor like it might swallow you whole if you wished hard enough.

He tilted his head, studying your face, every flicker of emotion, every twitch of resistance. His voice, when it came, was calm and certain. "Cleaning wasn’t the real reason I brought you in here," he said. "You know that, don’t you?"

He didn’t say it to shame you. He said it because it was the truth. One you’d been trying to ignore.

You shut your eyes and nodded slowly, like the weight of everything you’d been holding in was finally starting to crack. The tension in your shoulders dropped, your breath trembled. A silent surrender.

"Then speak," Sylus said, voice like velvet laced with command. Without waiting, red mist curled from his hand. It slithered through the air, elegant and alive, like it knew exactly what to do. Within seconds, it wrapped around your frame, lifting you off your feet with graceful precision. You let out a soft squeal, startled, unprepared. And then your body settled in his lap, the mist vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

You landed lightly, but the impact still registered. Not just physically, but emotionally. The shock hadn’t quite worn off, and neither had the awareness of where you were, perched squarely on his lap, knees on either side of him, the heat of his body radiating into yours.

He needed you close. Close enough to read every flicker in your expression, to hear every hitch in your breath. He couldn’t bear the distance anymore. Weeks of restraint had tested every ounce of his patience. But now—with your body pressed gently against his, your shaking frame exposed to him, he felt it. The unspoken truth in your trembling.

"Sylus..." you whispered, barely audible. There was nothing defensive in your voice now. Just softness. Fear and fragility. He heard it all.

He leaned in, breath brushing your ear, low and unwavering. "It’s alright, kitten. You can tell me."

His hands moved to your waist, resting there with a stillness that contrasted the storm between you. His fingers brushed over the fabric of your shirt, just barely, and then stayed—offering steadiness, not force. He didn’t push or pull. He simply held you in place, as if his touch alone could ground you enough to speak.

You stiffened at the contact, the air catching in your throat. Slowly, your eyes rose to meet his, wide and glassy. Your lips parted, trembling, and for a moment he thought you’d speak. He could see you searching, internally clawing through the mess of emotions for the words you’d tried to bury. Your throat bobbed as you swallowed hard, lashes fluttering with uncertainty.

He waited. Eyes locked on yours. Everything about him still, except the steady rise and fall of his chest. He was close. So close.

Then, finally, you exhaled a breath, shaky and reluctant. Like the truth weighed too much to carry any longer. "It’s...erm..."

You hesitated. The pause stretched, hanging thick in the air.

"My landlord," you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable at first. Then skepticism flickered behind his eyes, subtle but undeniable. That was a piece of the puzzle, sure, but not the whole picture. He could feel the edges of something bigger pressing beneath your words.

But he didn’t interrupt.

Instead, he nodded once—slow, deliberate, encouraging. "Go on."

"He's been a piece of shit for the longest," you burst out, the words tumbling from your mouth with a bitterness that surprised even you. "He never fixes anything when it breaks. The plumbing, the heater—he just ignores my requests. I know he goes inside when I'm not there. I can tell things are moved. It's creepy."

Your face was flushed now, brows furrowed and lips tight with anger. Sylus watched you with sharp curiosity. He’d never seen you like this before—so openly furious, so unguarded. It was a stark contrast to your usual meekness, and it intrigued him.

"And now he's sniffing around because he's realized I’ve come into some money," you continued, voice tightening. You looked like you wanted to scream or cry, maybe both. "I’m sick of people trying to get something out of me. But I'm more sick of being too weak to stand up for myself."

Your voice cracked at the end, and you sniffled, quickly wiping at your nose with the back of your hand. The frustration, the helplessness—it spilled out of you.

"He’ll probably raise my rent now too, just get more money out of me."

Sylus’s expression didn’t shift much, but his eyes sharpened with intent.

"I can imagine most landlords around here like to drain every penny they can," he said, his tone even, measured. "Though, I’m not sure why you’re worried. I pay you well enough, don’t I? Any increase in rent shouldn’t be an issue."

"Yeah...you do," you admitted softly, your voice losing some of its earlier edge. There was a different tone in it now—tired, thoughtful. You let out a brief, shaky sigh. "It’s just...I’m honestly tired of feeling stuck. I’m hoping to move eventually. Out of that apartment. Out of the N109 Zone entirely, honestly. I mean, my mom did..."

You trailed off, your gaze shifting to the side again, not quite meeting his eyes. The air around you thickened, heavy with something unspoken. Saying it aloud made it real.

Sylus’s heart dropped.

Leave? The word rang in his head like an alarm bell. You couldn’t mean that. He could accept you wanting to leave that crumbling, decrepit apartment. That place was barely fit to be called an apartment. But leaving the entire city? Walking away from the N109 Zone, the best place he could keep a direct eye on you? That thought dug in deep. The idea of you vanishing and slipping away into a part of the world he had no direct access to struck him deeply.

He imagined the distance. Imagined you being somewhere he couldn’t monitor, couldn’t protect, couldn’t touch. Somewhere you could forget him. It wasn’t fear that clawed at him. It was the burn of potential loss, of losing something he hadn’t even fully had yet. Of having you slip through his fingers like smoke.

Of having no excuse to pull you back.

He didn’t show it. His expression stayed smooth, controlled, but his hands, still resting lightly at your waist, tightened just slightly. The motion was subtle, but deliberate. A silent tell. Just enough pressure to reveal the faintest flicker of tension running through him.

"Why not just find a nice place here?" he asked, his voice smooth and composed. "There are plenty of decent neighborhoods. You could have a place to yourself, close to work. I’d help you find something."

But you shook your head slowly, decisively, your lips pressing into a faint, bittersweet line. "No...I honestly just want a fresh start. Somewhere that I’m not dragged down by my past. Somewhere I can breathe. I just want to save enough to get a car and never come back."

Sylus’s breath caught, just for a second.

He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't. The very thought of you leaving clawed at something deep and primal inside him, burrowing into a place so dark and unrelenting that it almost scared him. Almost. It wasn’t just about wanting you close, it was the intolerable reality of you existing beyond his reach. That kind of distance felt like a death.

He’d do everything in his power to keep you here. Anything. Buy you an entire mansion just a few blocks from his penthouse. One with many, many rooms. He could stock it with everything you liked. Make sure you never had to lift a finger again. Shower you with more money than you could spend in a lifetime. Change your world completely. Strip away every obstacle, every excuse, until there was simply no reason left for you to leave. Until staying was the only option that made sense.

He could also...

His gaze drifted downward, settling on your belly. The thought came out of nowhere, reckless and wild, but it rooted itself in his mind like a seed cracking through dry soil. Get you pregnant. The ultimate claim. The deepest mark. Surely that would bind you to him. You, with a child inside you, his child. The image formed in his head so vividly it made his pulse spike. His sweet kitten, swollen with his baby, waiting delicately in one of his lavish homes, kept and treasured. Waiting for him when he came home. Dependent. His.

He'd have you right where he wanted you, pinned beneath him, your breath quickening as he loomed over you. He'd plunge his cock into you, for hours and hours, each thrust deliberate and deep, his body moving with a primal rhythm that would leave you breathless and begging.

He'd make love to you every chance he got, his hands roaming your flesh, claiming every inch of you, until you were leaking with his cum, your body marked and filled by him, his scent clinging to your skin. Afterward, he'd pull you close, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace, his heartbeat pounding against your chest. He'd kiss you deeply, sweaty bodies close, and cuddle you until your soft sleeping breaths filled the room.

It was irrational. He knew that. You hadn’t even known each other that long. But logic had long since left the room. The obsession had carved its own path, and he wasn’t about to fight it.

Maybe he’d do all of it. The mansion. The riches. And the child. Layer after layer of permanence, until there was no version of life where you weren’t tethered to him. Until the idea of leaving would feel like ripping your own heart out.

And then he heard you.

A soft, broken sound—sniffling, barely held in. He looked up just in time to see the tears sliding down your cheeks. They clung to your lashes, thick and glistening like fragile jewels. Your mouth trembled as you tried to hold yourself together.

"I-I just..." you choked out, your voice buckling under the weight of everything you'd kept inside. The sentence collapsed into a sob, deep and involuntary. It cracked through the quiet like thunder, shaking you from the inside out. You brought a hand to your mouth, trying to silence it, but it was too late.

You looked so small. So heartbreakingly delicate. Your shoulders shook as you tried to breathe through it. Your eyes were wide and watery, darting up to meet his with a kind of desperation that made his chest ache.

Then you looked at him. Genuinely looked at him. For the first time in almost a month.

And Sylus felt his heart twist in his chest. You were so adorable when you cried, it physically hurt him.

Without hesitation, he pulled you against him, gathering you up like you might slip through his fingers if he didn’t. His arms wrapped around you and he cradled the back of your head with one hand while the other slid up your spine in a slow, steady motion. Like if he held you tight enough, you wouldn’t fall apart. Like his touch alone could stitch you back together.

He gently rocked you, not shushing your cries, not telling you to stop. He let you sob into his chest, let you soak the front of his shirt with your tears. His hand rubbed soothing, slow circles against your back, steady and grounding. Every sharp breath, every broken sound you made, he absorbed it silently, protectively, as if he could shoulder the weight for you if you’d let him. He stayed there, present and unwavering, letting you fall apart in his arms.

He hadn’t expected how much it would hurt to feel your body shake against his. He hadn’t expected the tightness in his chest, the surge of something sharp and helpless when your cries cracked into sobs. It shook him in places he hadn’t known were still alive.

But then, without warning, you pushed against him.

Your hands braced on his chest as you shoved yourself away, anger flashing like lightning in your tear-glossed eyes. "Why are you doing this? You don't even care!" you snapped, voice rising in raw, choked fury. The words struck hard, but it was the betrayal in your voice that landed the deepest cut. You tried to scramble out of his lap, your limbs stiff and clumsy, trembling with the last threads of adrenaline, but he caught you before you could slip away. His grip was firm but not harsh. He held you in place.

He wasn’t going to let you run from this. From him.

He wasn’t surprised by the accusation. But it still cut deeper than he expected. You didn’t know the things he was doing behind the scenes, the lengths he’d gone to for your safety. To keep you in the dark.

"That’s not true," he said quietly. His voice didn’t waver. There was no dramatic defense, just truth. "Admittedly, I’ve never comforted someone before, so I’m not the best at it."

Then his hands rose to your face, cupping your cheeks with deliberate care. His thumbs brushed over your damp skin, catching the last of your tears. His touch was gentle, but his eyes were locked onto yours with an intensity that made the air between you shift.

"But I do care," he said, his voice firmer now, low and clear. "And I want you to depend on me."

The way he said it wasn’t just about comfort. It was a confession. A possessive need masked in the language of protection. He didn’t want you to lean on anyone else. He didn’t want you to look to anyone else.

Your eyes narrowed, blinking through the fresh wave of tears, and you stared at him with bitter confusion. "Then why—"

You stopped. The rest of the sentence caught in your throat. You couldn’t say it. Couldn’t put to words the truth he already knew. The pain that had been festering inside you ever since that night he went to your apartment. The sight of him with her. The way it shattered whatever fragile hope you’d been building.

He saw the hesitation, the heartbreak, and knew he couldn’t explain it. Not because he didn’t want to, but because there was no way to make it make sense to someone like you. Not without exposing too much. Not without unraveling everything he was trying to accomplish. There were secrets still being played like pieces on a chessboard, and telling you the truth now would only hurt you more—or worse, drive you further away.

So instead, he leaned in.

He kissed you.

His mouth captured yours with a kind of hunger and certainty that left no room for doubt. It wasn’t rough. But it was possessive. Anchoring. A kiss meant to tell you everything words couldn’t. A kiss that demanded you feel it—believe it. His fingers slid from your face to the back of your neck, drawing you deeper into him, erasing the inches of distance you’d tried to reclaim.

He wanted you. Needed you. He'd been dreaming of doing this again since the first time he kissed you. And now he had you.

You tensed in his grasp at first, the sudden closeness rattling whatever defenses you had left. Your body went stiff, breath catching in your throat, but you didn’t push him away. Slowly you began to soften. Not entirely, not without friction, but enough. Your fingers gripped his shirt, clutching at him like something solid in an uncertain moment. Sylus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, deepening the kiss, pulling you in as though closeness alone might anchor you to him.

The sound of your mouths meeting and parting filled the air between you, mingling with the quiet cadence of your shared breath. He was hyper-aware of it—the temperature of your skin, the tremble in your limbs, the soft catches of your breath. You weren’t fully there yet, not surrendered, not convinced—but you weren’t pulling away either. There was desperation in his movements, a hunger under the surface. He kissed you like he needed to claim something that kept slipping through his fingers.

It felt like time stopped. Every second stretched long, blurred by want and restraint. But eventually, you pulled away. Your breath came in short, sharp bursts. Your lips were parted, kiss-bruised, your cheeks stained with heat. "C-Can’t breathe..." you said, voice small, colored with uncertainty.

Sylus growled low in his chest, a sound that rumbled with unspoken frustration and want. He stood abruptly, chair scraping back as he rose, and in one fluid motion, lifted you from his lap and set you gently onto his desk. His body closed in between your knees, his presence enveloping. You looked startled, but you didn’t move to stop him.

"You can't run from this," he said, voice weighted and rough. His hands rested firmly on your thighs, keeping you steady. His gaze dropped to your lips again. Then he kissed you, harder this time. Urgent. Messy. The control he usually wore like armor was starting to slip.

And still, you didn’t melt. You whimpered against him, fingers resting against his chest, not in surrender but in hesitation. Your body tensed again. Then you turned your face, breaking the kiss.

"Sylus...no," you whispered, barely audible. Your tone wasn't firm, but it wasn’t yielding either. Your eyes, wide and still glassy from earlier, searched his face. You looked on edge. Still unsure. Still scared. It hit him like a blow. "I'm dirty from cleaning earlier..."

His jaw clenched, but his hand moved slowly, deliberately to your chin. He tilted your face back to his, eyes locked onto yours. He could see everything in that look. The confusion. The pain. The hesitation. It made him ache.

"Sweetie," he murmured, voice low and rich, "I couldn’t care less about a little dirt. I want you. So tell me…how much longer are you going to pretend you don’t want this too?"

It was what he needed to believe. That somewhere in your confusion, you wanted this too. That your body’s stillness wasn’t rejection, but fear. That he still had a chance to show you what this could be.

He didn’t wait for an answer. Couldn’t. He kissed you again, slower this time, softer, more deliberate. His hand cradled the back of your neck, the other slipping to your lower back, urging you closer, anchoring you to him.

Finally, you fully relaxed in his grip. Sylus felt it—the shift in your body, the way your shoulders sank, the subtle easing of tension as your shaky hands clenched and unclenched against the front of his shirt. That tiny surrender made his pulse spike. You weren’t pushing him away anymore. You were letting him in.

Ah. You just needed him to slow down. He understood now. You were just a little overwhelmed.

He leaned forward, guiding your body gently until your back touched the cool surface of the desk. He followed, hovering above you, caging you in just enough to feel the heat radiating off your skin. His mouth trailed down from your lips to your neck, where he pressed a soft, lingering kiss. Then another. And another.

"Ah! Sylus...that tickles..." you gasped, your voice breaking into a half-whine, half-protest.

But he didn’t stop. The sound of your reaction was addictive. He grinned against your skin, kissing you again, slower this time, more teasing. He relished every flinch, every twist of your torso beneath him. His hands slid along your sides, fingers exploring the shape of you through the fabric as he pinned you gently beneath his weight. Just enough that you knew you weren’t going anywhere.

He left more kisses across your neck, trailing up to your jaw, savoring the soft sounds you made and the warmth of your breath as it hitched. This was what he wanted. What he missed. This closeness. This tension.

You, beneath him, slowly coming undone.

His hands, strong and sure, find the buttons of your pants, his fingers dancing over the fabric as he skillfully undoes them. The zipper glides down with a whisper, "You think I don't care," he breathes against your skin, his voice a low, seductive murmur. "But there's only one person I can't get out of my mind." You freeze, your body taut with anticipation as he tugs your pants down, exposing your legs to the cool air. His touch is electric as he lifts your shirt, inch by inch, revealing the lace of your bra. With a flick of his wrist, he undoes the clasp, the fabric falling away to leave your breasts bare, vulnerable to the chill and his hungry gaze.

He drinks in the sight of you panting beneath him, face flushed and breasts exposed, cool air causing your nipples to harden into tight, sensitive peaks. He leans down, his mouth finding your breast with skillful precision. His tongue circles your nipple, teasing and tasting, before he draws it into his mouth, sucking gently. You gasp, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. "Beautiful," he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low, appreciative growl that vibrates through you, heightening your arousal.

You whine in response, clutching him for dear life. Your breathless as he moves to the other, repeating the motions with the same delicious skill. He eventually gets off your nipple, a small string of saliva trailing from his mouth. He feels like he's dreaming.

"Sylus..."

He places a gentle finger against your lips, hushing you softly as he begins to unzip his own pants. The sound is a harsh rasp in the quiet room, a promise of what's to come. He wants no time for either of you to change your mind. This was happening. As much as he knew he shouldn't, he couldn't take it anymore. His cock, thick and hard with need, strains against the fabric, eager for release.

With a swift, decisive movement, he pushes his pants and boxers down, freeing himself. Your eyes widen in a mix of fear and shock as his large, throbbing erection springs free, standing big and ready. His tip is already leaking precum, dripping a bit down the side.

You squirmed slightly beneath him, breath hitching as his mouth ghosted over your skin. Your voice came out in a shaky whisper, panicked and unsure.

“W-Wait...we don’t have any condoms! We shou—”

Before you could finish, Sylus’s hand slid down, fingers hooking beneath the hem of your underwear with slow intent. His touch silenced you more effectively than words ever could.

“It’s alright, sweetie” he said, voice low and steady, almost soothing. He looked into your eyes as if daring you to doubt him. “Whatever happens, I’ll take full responsibility.”

He knew he shouldn’t. Every rational part of him was screaming at him to stop before he ruined you. Tied you to him in ways that couldn't be undone. But fuck, if it wasn’t hard to imagine a future with you. To see it so clearly: you in his arms, in his home, in his life permanently. The thought burrowed deep, dangerous and sweet. And it could all start now.

The urge wouldn’t go away. And if he didn’t act on it now, he knew it would only grow, gnawing at him until it consumed every ounce of patience he had left.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, confusion flooding your expression. You began to squirm harder beneath him, your voice barely holding itself together.

“W-Why...would you even say—”

But you didn’t get the rest out. Sylus pulled you closer, silencing you with the warmth of his touch and the certainty in his grip. He leaned down, capturing your lips again. This kiss was slower. Intimate. Your breaths tangled together, shaky and uneven, filling the quiet space around you with tension that could snap at any second.

His hand cradled the side of your face, thumb brushing against your cheek with surprising tenderness. “This will hurt,” he whispered, voice husky and deep. “Bite down on me if you need to.”

You thrash beneath him, your legs kicking as he tugs your underwear down, exposing the rest of your body to him. Your pussy is already wet, glistening with desire despite your protests. "Sylus! We should think about this…!" you whimper, your voice a mix of fear and longing. He silences you with a finger, pushing it deep inside you. You choke on a gasp as he curls it, finding your sweet spot with uncanny precision.

Like he already knows your body inside out.

"F-fuck!" you yell, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over you. Tears well up in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks as you struggle to form words. "I can't…I-" Your plea is cut short as he adds another finger, stretching you, filling you. You moan, a raw, primal sound that speaks of your body's betrayal, your mind's surrender.

"Yes you can. Just lay still." he whispers. He pulls his fingers out, glistening with your wetness, and brings them to his mouth, licking your essence off them with a satisfied smirk. He couldn't wait any longer. No amount of fingering would adequately prepare you for the real thing anyways, you'd simply have to endure it. He spreads your legs further apart, promising himself he'd be gentle and go slow.

His cock throbs, pulsing with anticipation as he positions himself at your entrance. You shiver beneath his intense gaze, your face streaked with tears, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Your innocence is unraveling, just as he always imagined.

You let out a cry, a mix of pain and surprise, as he begins to slowly push inside, your body resisting his size. He lets out a groan himself. Your tightness wasn't making this easy. But god you already feel amazing just wrapped around his tip. With a gentle but firm grip, he takes your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. He pulls out slowly, giving you a moment to adjust, before pushing back in by a meager inch. You arch your back off the desk, letting out another whine.

Finally. Finally, he'll-

Suddenly, your voice tore through the air like a whip crack, slicing clean through the haze of desire and tension.

"Stop! Stop! I can't take it! I won't let you use me again!!" you screamed, raw and shaking.

The words slammed into Sylus harder than any punch he'd ever taken. For the first time that night—hell, maybe in years—he froze completely. The depth of your anger crashed into him like a wave, knocking the wind from his lungs. You writhed out from under him, frantic and breathless, and in that half-second of his hesitation, you shoved yourself free. Your foot slipped against the edge of the desk, and you nearly tumbled, catching yourself only by the edge of a chair.

Sylus reached toward you without thinking. "Use you? Kitten, I'd never—"

But the universe refused to give either of you space to breathe. A knock came sharp and awkward against the door.

"Er, bossman? You busy? We’ve got intel on Adan, it’s important. Sorry to bother!" Luke’s voice rang out from the other side, his usual tone of confidence coated in hesitation.

Sylus’s eyes shut for a beat, jaw grinding with building irritation. Of all times. He exhaled a tight, sharp breath and turned back to you.

You were a mess of movement, struggling with your clothes, trying desperately to put yourself back together. Every gesture screamed panic, your hands trembled, your breath came in shallow gulps, your fingers caught uselessly in the fabric. You looked like you were about to fall apart before his eyes. He'd never seen such emotions from you.

And it gutted him. Why the sudden change? What had he done?

He took a step forward, trying to temper his voice. "Sweetie—"

"Move!" you shouted, voice cracking with emotion. Your eyes were red, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I won't be your toy that you just throw away after you get what you want. Ask your girlfriend or whatever!"

The last part burst out in a sob, barely coherent but laced with venom. It hit him like a second strike. He stared at you, stunned. Words lodged in his throat. He’d expected you to be upset, confused about Lira still, but not this.

You finished yanking your shirt back on and stumbled past him, shoving hard against his chest. He didn’t block you. Couldn’t. His arms fell to his sides uselessly. The echo of your accusation rang in his ears, louder than the knock, louder than the chaos of his own mind.

The door opened just as you reached it. You nearly crashed into Luke, who seemed stunned to see you in such a state. Hair wild, cheeks wet, eyes wild.

"Woah hey, are you alright?" he asked, reaching out instinctively.

But you were already gone, bolting down the hall, leaving a trail of shattered tension and broken pieces in your wake.

Sylus stood where he was, by the desk where the heat between you had once been. Now it was cold. Hollow. The silence around him felt deafening.

The taste of your kiss still lingered on his lips. Your tears still stained the fabric of his shirt. Your voice, your scream, looped through his head, stuck on repeat.

And just like that, you were gone.

And for the first time in a long time, Sylus didn’t have a plan. He just had a hole in his chest and the undeniable knowledge that he had hurt you.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d lost you for good.

You didn’t show up for work the next day. Or the one after that. Or the one after that.

The world blurred together in a haze of misery and stillness. You barely moved. Curled in bed, the covers drawn over you like a cocoon that couldn't keep the pain out. Your body ached from doing nothing. Your stomach twisted from hunger, but the thought of food made you sick. It wasn’t just sadness, it was grief. Real, suffocating grief.

You cried until your throat was raw. Until your chest physically hurt from the weight of it all. It had felt so good, the way he touched you, the way he kissed you, those words he said like they meant something. For a moment, you let yourself believe in it. Let yourself fall. And then in the middle of it all, you remembered.

You remembered who Sylus was.

That woman. The way he treated you like nothing, until he wanted something. The illusion that maybe, just maybe, you were special. That you could be loved

But it wasn’t real. None of it.

And so you ran. You did the only thing you could to save yourself from further pain.

On the fourth day, your phone buzzed against the nightstand. The screen lit up in the dark room. You ignored it at first, until curiosity got the better of you. You reached for it with trembling fingers.

A single text.

Sylus: I'd like to apologize.

Four words. Simple. Empty. Too late.

And yet, your hand didn’t move to delete it. Another text followed soon after.

Sylus: Are you sore?

Yeah, you were. But he was probably pretending like he gave a shit to get you to come back. You ignored it.

On the evening of the fifth day, another message came in. Longer this time. Cold, almost—but trying not to be.

Sylus: Come back to work, and I’ll triple your pay. You’ll have a car in no time. I won’t touch you anymore.

You stared at the screen, heart twisting. The words didn’t sting. They numbed. A business offer, disguised as an apology. And then came the last line:

Sylus: If you don’t show up tomorrow, I’ll assume you’re done and leave you alone. You have my word.

Your stomach dropped. Because beneath the sterile tone and the bribe, you could feel the finality of it. A door closing. One he wouldn’t reopen if you didn’t walk through it yourself.

Shit. He had to have known there was no way you could refuse such an offer.

Another text. Your heart dropped.

Sylus: Please.

You weren’t sure why it only took that one, simple word to get you to march back into the elevator.

Maybe because it was just so unlike him. Sylus didn’t say “please.” He didn’t ask. He demanded. Expected. Took. That word didn’t fit the man you knew. It startled you more than any of his other messages ever could. Maybe that’s why you stared at the message for so long, rereading it, questioning if it was even real. Or maybe it was more practical than that. Maybe you were just desperate. Desperate for a car. Desperate for money. Desperate to regain some piece of control over your unraveling life. And if that meant showing up again, walking back into the lion’s den, then so be it. You’d survive it. You always did.

Your legs felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each as the elevator carried you upward. You clutched your phone tightly in your palm, your nails digging half-moons into the skin. The hum of the machinery felt louder than usual, amplifying your heartbeat. You didn’t know what you were expecting on the other side of those doors—an apology, confrontation, some cold version of indifference—but you still couldn’t stop your eyes from scanning the space the moment you stepped into the penthouse.

But he wasn’t there.

No greeting. No voice from down the hall calling your name. No sign that he’d even noticed you walked in. Just silence.

Until she appeared.

"Oh! Hi again!"

That voice.

The dark-haired woman rounded the corner with the ease of someone who knew the space intimately. She was dressed in a way that looked effortless but clearly wasn’t—every detail curated to remind you exactly who you weren’t. Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor, her smirk blooming like a bruise.

"Hi…" you said, barely above a whisper. Your throat tightened. Your shoulders tensed.

She smiled at you like a cat smiling at a bird with a broken wing.

"Sylus isn’t here right now. Don’t think he was expecting you," she said, her voice lilting with false sweetness.

She took a step closer, folding her arms, cocking her head slightly in mock curiosity. Her eyes glittered, not with kindness, but something colder.

"So tell me, what’s the deal? Where you been? Aren't you here like everyday?"

Her tone shifted on the last syllable, biting down on it with a sneer so casual it made your skin crawl. She wasn’t asking out of concern. She wasn’t even pretending that well.

You elected to ignore her. You didn’t have the energy to entertain whatever game she was trying to play. "Excuse me...I have work to do," you said flatly, voice quiet but firm. Your face was blank, emotionless. You were too tired, too hollow, too drained to deal with her bullshit.

You turned and walked away, resisting the urge to look back as you heard her scoff.

"I was talking to you, but okay," she called out in a sing-song, mocking tone.

You didn’t answer. Pretended not to hear her. Pretended she didn’t exist. You had a job to do. A reason to be here. Focus on that.

You walked into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of chemical cleaner, and dumped it into a mop bucket with a practiced motion. The sharp, acrid smell burned your nostrils, but you welcomed it. It grounded you. You set the bucket on the counter, dipped the scrubber into the mixture, and knelt down to start on the floor.

You get a slight feeling of deja vu.

As the bristles hit tile, your brain betrayed you. Your thoughts flooded with images—Sylus kissing you, touching you, his weight pressing you into the desk, the rasp of his voice whispering things you wanted so badly to believe. Lies. All of it.

Fucking bastard.

He said he cared. He said he wanted you to depend on him. He looked at you like you were the only person in the world, and then turned around and let her back in like you never meant anything at all.

You scrubbed harder, the brush rasping violently across the floor. Your muscles tensed, fury mixing with sadness until you didn’t know which was stronger. Your thoughts spiraled.

Why doesn’t he just—

A sharp splash slammed into your skull. A thunderous, burning wave of sour-smelling chemicals poured over your head and shoulders, soaking your shirt, your skin, stinging your eyes instantly. You cried out, the mixture dripping down your face and burning against your neck and scalp.

Pain bloomed fast. Your vision blurred with tears. You choked on the fumes.

“Oops!”

The voice sliced through the haze like glass. Syrupy. Mocking. Fake as hell. You could barely see her through the stinging blur of your eyes, the chemical burn leaving your vision swimming, distorted with pain and tears.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You were too focused on staying upright as you shoved yourself off the floor, your knees wobbling beneath you. You stumbled toward the sink, heart racing, lungs fighting for steady breaths. The ache in your skin was immediate and punishing, a thousand invisible needles dancing across your scalp and shoulders.

You twisted the faucet violently and thrust your head under the stream, the cold water hitting like a slap to the face. It coursed over your scalp, your forehead, streaming into your eyes as you gasped and blinked through the flood. Your hands trembled as they tried to direct the flow, to wash it all away. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. All you could do was try to survive the burn.

Behind you, her voice floated through the air like poison.

"I was just trying to get a snack. I must’ve bumped it. I’m so clumsy!"

It was sweet enough to rot teeth. The false innocence, the intentional cruelty beneath the singsong tone, it was a performance, and you were her favorite audience.

You heard the quiet, deliberate snicker follow her words. She wasn’t sorry. Not for a second.

And she didn’t move to help you. She didn’t ask if you were okay. She just stood there, watching. Enjoying the show.

But none of it mattered in that moment. Your world had narrowed to the cold sting of water and the burn beneath your skin. Your chest heaved with sobs, gasps breaking out between each cry as you tried to rid yourself of the pain. You could barely register your own voice over the sound of the running tap.

Thank god, thank every star in the sky, it was mostly water-based cleaner. It could’ve been worse. So much worse.

Eventually, after what felt like hours but was likely only minutes, the fire behind your eyes dulled. Your heartbeat began to slow. Your breath came easier. You blinked hard, again and again, until shapes came into focus. Your reflection in the metal of the faucet looked like something out of a nightmare. Red eyes. Wet cheeks. Skin blotchy and glistening.

You stood there, unmoving, gripping the counter so tightly your knuckles paled. Your eyes locked on the sink drain, watching the diluted chemical mix swirl and vanish. Your thoughts weren’t clear. They were static. Sharp flashes of memory, anger, humiliation.

And then you heard it.

A giggle.

Light. Delicate. Detached.

You turned your head slowly, your entire body stiff. Your eyes—still puffy, rimmed with tears—met hers.

She was a few feet away, arms casually crossed, her manicured fingers covering her mouth like she was trying to hold in a laugh and doing a terrible job of it. Her eyes glinted with satisfaction, her smile curling in a way that made your stomach churn.

Then came another giggle. Softer this time. But more vicious. She was loving it. Drinking in your pain like champagne.

You stared at her, your expression empty but your mind racing. The fury in your chest was slow-burning but steady, like coals gathering heat.

What had you done to her?

What had you done to anyone to deserve this shit?

The questions slammed into you with brutal clarity, tearing open a flood of pain that you couldn’t contain anymore. The humiliation, the burn, the mockery, it all bubbled up and broke loose. You choked on a sob, and then another, until the sound was ripping from your throat, raw and frantic.

You ran. Bolted right past her.

Tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t care. You didn’t want to see her smug face another second. Fuck this place. Fuck everyone here.

If you were going to be miserable, then fine. You’d go back to being miserable on your own terms. At least then you wouldn’t have to keep pretending, wouldn’t have to play servant to monsters with pretty smiles and handsome faces.

You burst into the front room, heart pounding in your chest like it wanted out. You grabbed your bag with shaking hands, yanked your phone from inside it, and typed with trembling thumbs to Sylus.

"I quit."

You hit send.

Then, without a second thought, you dropped the phone to the ground. It hit the floor with a sickening clatter, the screen cracking on impact. A thin spiderweb of shattered glass bloomed across its surface, reflecting the light in jagged fragments.

You didn’t stop to look at it. You couldn’t. You were already crying too hard, the sound of your sobs echoing off the marble floors.

You made it to the elevator and slammed the button. The doors slid open and you stumbled inside, wiping your face, breath hitching. As the doors closed behind you, sealing you off from the nightmare above, you crumpled slightly against the wall.

And then you were gone.

Gone, with your heart cracking in your chest like thin ice giving way.

Away from her cruel laughter, from her perfect smirk that still burned behind your eyelids.

Away from Sylus, his large hands, his voice, his lies that tasted too sweet until they rotted.

And away from all the pain.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself as you stood alone in the elevator, sobbing your eyes out, silently begging the doors to never open again.

[thedivinevera]

Is There Someone Else? . ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

synopsis: you moan another LI's name during sex. based on this ask ♡

content: SMUT.

zayne . ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

You straddled him, hips rocking deliberately, a teasing, controlled rhythm that left him gasping beneath you. Zayne leaned back on his elbows, letting you take the lead, but his hands weren’t idle. Fingers pressed along the curve of your hips, thumbs grazing the sensitive skin at the junction of thigh and hip. One hand drifted higher, brushing over the soft swell of your waist, tracing the gentle hollow beneath your ribs before settling to anchor you right where he wanted.

“God, look at you,” he breathed, voice steady but warm, eyes following every shift of your hips, every subtle tensing of your muscles under his fingers. “You’re so beautiful like this, on top of me — taking what you need.”

Your hands braced on his chest as you leaned forward, lips brushing over his collarbone. He groaned softly, the vibration against your palm sending tiny sparks of pleasure through you. His fingers pressed into your hips, then slid over the tender sides of your waist, up to your chest, rolling and pinching your nipples between cool fingers. Every tiny press, every careful stroke, made your body respond instinctively, moving in sync with his hands and the heat radiating off him.

His touch wasn’t just guidance — it was exploration, reverence, the kind of heat that made your chest tighten and a shiver roll down your spine. His low murmurs against your chest and neck carried a weight, each word vibrating through your skin, a tether keeping you tethered to the present, to him.

You tilted your head, breath hitching, and it slipped out — ragged, unthinking, a whisper of desire:

“Fuck– Caleb, right there,”

For a heartbeat, Zayne froze beneath you. His chest still rose and fell, but the sound of your voice caught him off guard. His jaw tightened slightly, a shadow passing over his features — a flash of hurt, just enough for you to feel the subtle shift in his touch. His thumbs pressed harder into your hips, grounding you, but there was a tense stillness in him, a pause in his usually calm cadence.

“You… said his name,” he murmured, voice low, almost a whisper, carrying a trace of that unexpected sting. His hands gripped your hips firmly now, but not roughly — just enough to tether you to him, to remind you where you were.

Your cheeks flushed, and you leaned closer, trying to meet his gaze, but he shook his head slightly, a quiet, controlled exhale escaping him. “Are you… thinking about him?”

“No– I don’t know why I…” you trailed off, unsure how to explain such a slip to him.

“Mine,” he said, firm now, reclaiming himself and you. His grip adjusted, sliding up your torso, palms molding to your curves like he was memorizing every inch. “Say it again — say my name.”

Your hips rocked against him again, guided by his hands, and your moans broke out in ragged bursts, now tethered to him alone. “Ngh–Zayne… Zayne…” you gasped, voice trembling, meeting his stare.

A faint chill brushed your skin where his fingers trailed up to cup your breasts again — a whisper of frost sparking under his touch, subtle but unmistakable, like the smallest hint of his Evol stirring beneath the surface. He rolled your nipple between his fingers, then leaned up to catch the other between his lips, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. His other hand slipped lower, finding your clit with perfect precision, circling in tandem with the way he thrust up into you. It wasn’t frantic — it was devastatingly controlled, calculated, the rhythm of a man who knew every weakness in your body and exploited them ruthlessly.

“Good,” he murmured against your chest, tongue flicking over your sensitive peak before his lips sealed around it again. “Focus on me. Every moan, every movement… mine. Only mine. Don’t let your mind wander again.”

You gasped against him, hands sliding up into his hair as your body trembled under the dual assault of his mouth and his hand. Your hips stuttered, pace faltering as the pleasure climbed too high to maintain composure. Zayne adjusted instantly, steadying your rhythm with a firm grip at your waist while his thumb pressed harder against your clit, coaxing your surrender with infuriating skill.

“We belong to each other," he whispered, voice softening but firm, green eyes locking onto yours with searing intensity. The frost at his fingertips spread just enough to tingle along your skin, a cool contrast to the molten heat building between you. “Even in thought… even in your fantasies. Don’t forget it. Please, Darling.”

The plea cracked something inside you — and when you cried out his name again, louder this time, every syllable came out as surrender. He groaned low in his chest, lips dragging from your breast to your throat, teeth scraping lightly as he thrust up into you harder, perfectly timed with the roll of his thumb.

Your orgasm hit fast, brutal, every nerve alight as you shook against him. He didn’t let up, holding you to him, forcing you to ride it out, his hand and hips working you through wave after wave until tears pricked your eyes. The sound of your broken moans, his name spilling from your lips, pulled him with you — his pace faltered, grip tightening on your hips as his body shuddered.

“That’s it, Darling—fuck—feel it,” he growled, pulling your hips flush to his, forehead pressing against yours. The heat of him spilled into you, his voice breaking with the force of his release. “All of it. It’s for me—not him.”

The two of you clung together through it, his lips brushing yours in soft, grounding kisses even as his body trembled beneath you. Zayne’s hands never left you — still cupping your breast, fingers still tracing delicate circles into your skin like he couldn’t bear to stop touching, couldn’t bear to let go.

As his breathing steadied, the small hints of frost lingering like a whisper of the power beneath his calm, Zayne kept you straddling him, tethered by both desire and ownership. Every movement, every moan, every press of your body against his reinforced the truth: you were his, and in this moment, he would make sure you never forgot it.

He pulled you gently down onto his chest once the heat had ebbed, arms wrapping around you with deliberate care. Your bodies were sticky, breathless, flushed together, and for a moment, he just held you, letting you feel his steady heartbeat beneath your ear.

Then his voice came, low but gentle, threaded with concern. “Hey… look at me.” His hands tilted your face, thumb brushing along your cheek. “Why did you say his name?”

You hesitated, biting your lip, eyes flicking down. He pressed a finger under your chin, lifting it so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes were calm, but there was a depth there — a quiet intensity that demanded honesty.

“I… I don’t know,” you whispered, cheeks warming further. “It just… slipped…”

He exhaled slowly, fingers tracing the curve of your jaw. “Was I… not making you happy?” His question wasn’t accusatory, just searching, probing — an anchor in the aftermath of the earlier intensity.

You shook your head quickly, words catching in your throat. “No… it’s not that. It’s just—”

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, letting you collapse against him. “You’ve fantasized, and that’s… human. But hear me, darling: I’ve been here for you. I’ll always be here. But nobody—no one—could fulfill you the way I do. Not him, not anyone else. Only me.”

His hands roamed over your back, careful, tender, yet possessive, pressing you closer into the curve of his chest. “You’re mine,” he murmured, letting the words settle, letting you feel them in your bones. “And I won’t allow you to forget it. You belong to me, and I to you, and I will always hold you this way.”

He lingered there, soft touches and whispered reassurances blending with the quiet rhythm of your breathing, creating a cocoon of intimacy. His thumb traced circles on your hip, and his voice, calm but firm, wove a promise around you.

“You don’t need to think about anyone else,” he said gently. “Not while you’re here. Not while it’s me.”

And in that quiet aftercare, holding you close, Zayne’s earlier flare of hurt melted into protective warmth — possessive, devoted, and unwavering. He didn’t let the slip erase what had just happened between you; instead, he cemented it, ensuring you felt both desired and safe, tethered to him in every sense.

xavier. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

He had you sprawled across the bed, hands and lips reverent, mouth tracing every inch of you like he’d memorized you by heart. His silver hair brushed your thighs as he worked his way down, and the faint scent of him — lavender and warmth — filled your senses. His lips pressed soft, lingering kisses along the curve of your inner thighs, and his tongue flicked out in deliberate, teasing strokes, tasting, memorizing, savoring.

His blue eyes flicked up at you every now and then, soft and glowing with devotion, before returning to the task of driving you crazy. “I missed you so much, my star,” he murmured, lips brushing against your folds, tongue teasing in deliberate, measured strokes. “Always so sweet for me,”

His hands pressed against your lower stomach, holding you steady as you pressed back against him, grinding into his face with desperate need. Fingers tangled in his silver hair, pulling lightly, urging him closer, deeper, and he responded with a hum that vibrated straight through you. Every flick of his tongue, every press of his lips, made your back arch, your thighs quiver, and your nails dig into the sheets.

The warmth of him, the rhythm of his mouth, the way he could make you shiver and moan without ever touching you anywhere else — it was intoxicating. Your body trembled as he alternated between slow, teasing laps and firmer, more insistent presses that left you gasping and grinding against him, unable to get enough.

He held you firmly by the hips, leaning into the motion, guiding you while never breaking his rhythm. Your hips moved of their own accord, chasing his mouth, grinding down harder as you whimpered and gasped. Every sound — every moan, every shudder — seemed to feed him, and he murmured praise between flicks of his tongue and teeth grazing sensitive skin, drawing shivers and whines from you.

The haze of pleasure, the softness of his touch, the warmth of him — it all wrapped you so completely that you couldn’t think straight.

“Mmm… Sylus, please—”

The name slipped out before you could stop it, a soft, breathless moan.

Xavier froze.

Every muscle in his body stiffened, and for a moment the room felt impossibly quiet. Then he was looming above you, eyes storm-dark, lips pressed into a hard line.

“Are you trying to make me angry?” he asked, low and dangerous, the calm worship gone.

“N-no—it was an accident, I don’t know why I—”

“An accident?” He cut you off sharply, the words like steel. His hand caught your wrist, yanking you upright. “Get up.”

You hesitated, confusion and nerves tangling in your chest, but he didn’t give you time to think. He pulled you off the bed, manhandling you across the room to the floor-to-ceiling window. The cold glass pressed against your bare skin as he pressed behind you, chest hot against your back, hands gripping your waist like iron.

“Fantasizing about a criminal, while I’m right in front of you,” he whispered, breath hot in your ear. “You want him to fuck you like I do?”

“No—I don’t—”

“Are you sure? You were thinking about him, while grinding on my tongue.” His voice was a low growl, dark and possessive, every word sinking into your skin like a brand. The heat of his body pinned you in place, his length pressing insistently against the small of your back until it felt as though he’d burn straight through you.

He wrapped a firm hand around himself, dragging his tip through your slick folds — slow, maddening, never giving you the friction you so desperately ached for. Each time you tried to push back, hoping to feel the delicious stretch of him, he stopped you with an unyielding grip, forcing you to tremble under his control.

“Fuck—Xavi, please—”

He seized your jaw, tilting your head until his mouth crashed against yours in a bruising kiss. There was nothing gentle in the way he devoured you — his tongue was rough, tasting of fury and hunger, his teeth catching your lower lip before sucking it deep into his mouth. The sting only made your cries sharper, your desperation more obvious, every needy sound swallowed down between his lips.

“He watches you, doesn’t he?”

The words struck like lightning, slicing through the haze for one breathless moment of clarity. You understood, then — what he was after. The thought that Mephisto — any one of his lackeys — might be out there, unseen but witnessing, watching as Xavier fucked you like this. The realization hit you low and hard, molten pleasure curling through your stomach, pooling in a place you couldn’t ignore.

“S-sometimes…” you admitted, your voice breaking.

“Then let’s show him, star. Show him how good I make you feel.”

He released your jaw, guiding your face back to the cool glass. His hands drifted down the length of your spine in a languid path, urging you forward, arching you open for him — baring every trembling inch to his control.

He thrust into you from behind, hard and unrelenting, every motion calculated to overwhelm. Your nails scraped against the glass, leaving shallow scratches as his pace smashed into you. His free hand trailed up, cupping your breast, thumb brushing over your sensitive peak, pinching lightly with each thrust. His lips pressed to your shoulder, biting and sucking, leaving a trail of heat and bruises in his wake.

“Ah! Xavier–” you cried, meeting his thrusts with your hips desperately, blindly grasping at his hair to pull him closer, tongue almost brushing his jaw as his cheek pressed into yours, claiming every inch.

His hand slid down between your legs, brushing over your clit in time with his strokes, rubbing and flicking, driving you further toward the edge. His movements were rough, relentless, each thrust calculated to elicit maximum sound, maximum surrender from you.

He leaned closer, resting his chin on your shoulder, whispering hotly into your ear, “That’s it, star… look at you, ruined for anyone else. You think he could—ngh—make you feel like this?”

You arched, whines and moans spilling from your lips as he drove into you harder, the glass cold beneath your palms, your knees trembling. Every muscle in your body clenched and released under the relentless rhythm, your breath ragged. Xavier’s mouth found the curve of your neck again, lips and tongue tracing down to your shoulder, teeth grazing, sucking more bruising marks into the soft flesh.

“Xavier! Please–” your voice broke, shivers racing down your spine as he thrusted with brutal precision, his hand still massaging your clit in perfect, maddening timing.

“You feel that, star? That’s all me,” he growled, hand coming up to press on your lower stomach, feeling himself deep inside. “Every moan, every cry, mine. Only mine. I’ll carve my shape into your body, no one else fits you like I do.” 

You couldn’t hold back anymore — the added pressure had him grinding into the spot that made your toes curl — the combination of his hands, mouth, teeth, and relentless thrusting pushed you over the edge. Your legs shook, trembling as you cried out his name over and over, body shuddering violently around him. Xavier didn’t let up, driving you into the glass with a final, punishing series of thrusts that had you gasping and moaning, tears prickling your eyes.

He followed swiftly, growling your name as his climax ripped through him, chest pressing into your back as he shuddered, gripping your hips with bruising strength, riding out every pulse together.

Your body sagged against the glass, boneless and trembling, every nerve still humming from the brutal way he’d wrung you out. Xavier’s chest heaved against your back, hot breath washing over your ear as he growled your name again, slower this time, savoring the taste of it. For a moment you thought he might finally relent — but instead, he caught your jaw and forced your head to the side, claiming your mouth in a messy, consuming kiss.

“Don’t think it’s over,” he rasped against your swollen lips, tongue tracing them as though he hadn’t just destroyed you. His arms slipped under you, lifting you effortlessly as though you weighed nothing. You were carried across the room, still dizzy, until your back hit the bed. He laid you down only to crawl over you immediately, his mouth devouring the soft line of your throat, your collarbone, the salt of your skin.

“You think I’ll be satisfied with just this?” he murmured, teeth grazing at the marks he’d left earlier. His hand gripped your thigh possessively, dragging it up around his hip until he was pressed against you again. You could feel he was still impossibly hard, the evidence of his possessiveness digging into your twitching entrance.

“Every inch of you, star… I’m going to claim it again and again until you remember who you belong to.” He kissed down your sternum, slow and hungry, his words seared into your skin with every breath. “No one else touches you. No one else gets to hear those sounds. They’re mine.”

Even as your body quivered from overstimulation, his hands soothed down your sides, stroking over every tremble as though cataloguing your weakness. The jealousy in him hadn’t dimmed; if anything, it made his touch more fervent, more insistent — his lips never leaving your skin, as if to mark and remark you, until you were stained with nothing but him.

sylus. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

His hands had been all over you for what felt like hours — slow, savoring, deliberate. The kind of touch that made your body ache with sweetness, that left your chest tight and your lips trembling with every shuddering breath. Sylus had you pinned beneath him, his mouth tracing reverent paths along your throat, pausing at your pulse as though worshiping the steady beat beneath his tongue.

“Mm… kitten,” he murmured against your skin, voice rough velvet. “Let me hear that pretty voice of yours. You don’t know what you do to me.”

Your hips arched, helpless, pressing into the steady grind of his. He chuckled low, fingers sliding down your stomach, brushing just above the place you wanted him most. He always teased you like this in the beginning, lingering touches meant to remind you he wasn’t in any rush.

“Patience,” he coaxed, lips dragging across your jaw, catching your mouth in a kiss that made your toes curl. “I could worship you forever. You’d let me, wouldn’t you? Let me take my time…”

He dragged the head of his cock slowly through your folds first, savoring the way you shuddered at the friction, deliberately avoiding giving you what you needed. His mouth brushed yours, hot and unrelenting, while his hips rolled just enough to make you whine.

“Do you want it, kitten?” he murmured against your lips, voice low and sweet. “Want me to fill you up?”

All you could manage was a desperate whine and nod. Sylus smiled against your lips, rubbing teasing circles over your clit with his swollen tip. He relished the way your breath hitched, drinking in every little sound that escaped your throat.

Only when your nails dug crescents into his shoulders, your body arching to chase him, did he finally ease into you — inch by inch, agonizingly slow — until you were gasping, clawing, breaking apart under the deliberate torment. He swallowed every ragged moan, each sound fed into his kiss as though it were a vow.

“That’s it, sweetie. Feels good, doesn’t it? …God, you’re perfect.”

You clung to him, shuddering at the fullness, the way he seemed to touch every aching place inside you. His pace was steady at first, rolling, coaxing — each thrust perfectly timed to make you writhe. Your head tipped back, words spilling without thought, a desperate cry —

“Xavier—!”

The name slipped raw from your lips before you even realized, caught between a sob and a moan.

Sylus stilled. Completely.

For a heartbeat, dread carved down your spine — you thought you’d ruined everything. That he’d pull away, go cold in your arms. But when his head lifted, when his gaze locked on yours, there was no anger. No rejection.

There was something far more dangerous.

Amusement.

A low laugh spilled from his chest, curling around you like smoke, like the first lick of flame on tinder. He drew back just enough to savor the panic written across your face, smirk cutting cruel and sharp.

“That’s not my name, kitten.” His voice was velvet over steel, a mocking purr. “Try again.”

Before you could stammer out an apology, his hips snapped forward with brutal force, knocking the breath from your lungs. A strangled cry tore free as your nails raked down the ridges of his back. He did it again — harder, deeper, devastating — and any words you’d meant to form dissolved into desperate, broken sound.

“Mm?” He tilted his head, red eyes gleaming with a predator’s delight. “Can’t manage it?” His next thrust punched through your gasp. “I’ll help jog your memory.”

The reverent teasing of moments before was gone. What replaced it was ruthless, merciless, a rhythm designed to tear you apart piece by trembling piece.

“Must not be doing a good enough job,” he drawled between thrusts, voice roughened by his own restraint. His hand slid up to grip your jaw, forcing your gaze to lock with his. “If you’re thinking about some nobody while I’m inside you.”

The next drive of his hips struck that perfect spot so hard your back arched off the bed, a strangled scream breaking out of you. He chuckled darkly, savoring it, his mouth grazing your ear.

“If you wanted me to be rougher, kitten,” he whispered, low and taunting, “all you had to do was ask.”

The next slam of his hips made your cry break like glass, your body burning, unraveling under the punishing pace. His laugh rumbled against your throat as he kissed the delicate skin there, dark and triumphant.

He gave it to you without restraint — each thrust deep, deliberate, shaking the frame with the force of his need. Your cries tangled with his name, spilling helplessly as he pushed you closer to unraveling. 

Then his pace shifted, slowing into a devastating grind, hips rolling with precision that had you gasping as he struck the places that made you lose yourself. His hands slid down to anchor your hips, tilting you just right so he could sink even deeper. Every thrust dragged his length against the sweetest spot, his pelvis pressing firmly against your clit, grinding again and again until your body trembled helplessly in his hold.

“Could he ever make you feel like this?” His teeth grazed your throat, his voice a growl as he pounded deeper, harder. “No? Didn’t think so.”

Your body trembled violently, pleasure coiling tight, unbearable. Every drag of him against your walls pulled you closer, until you were whimpering, begging without words, everything dissolving into raw desperation.

“Tell me,” he demanded, unrelenting. “Who’s the one you beg for, kitten?”

His mouth worshipped the curve of your neck, branding you with searing kisses. His tongue teased the swell of your breast, lips closing around a hardened peak. He alternated slow swirls and soft sucks before grazing you with a sharp nip — the sting sent a shiver racing up your spine, dragging you out of the haze he’d drowned you in.

“You—” the word tore from your throat, half sob, half prayer. “Sylus—please—”

“That’s better.” His grin was all teeth, wicked and triumphant, his hips slamming one final time, forcing you over the edge.

Your climax hit like fire, scorching through every nerve, white-hot and merciless. You screamed his name until it was the only sound in the room, until your body shook with aftershocks and your nails carved crescents into his skin.

Sylus held you there, ruined and trembling beneath him, his gaze devouring every broken, breathless sound that fell from your lips — utterly satisfied that the only name left in your mouth was his.

Sylus slowed only when you were boneless, collapsing underneath him with tears pricking your lashes. He kissed you then — slow, sweet, his tongue brushing tenderly against yours as though the last few minutes had never happened. His hand stroked your cheek, smoothing away the damp strands of hair stuck there.

“Mm,” he murmured, still smug but softer now. “That’s what I thought. Always me, sweetie. I won’t let you forget again.”

Your body was still trembling, muscles slack as Sylus stayed pressed against you, chest rising and falling with deep, measured breaths, but you could feel the tension still running through him — different than his usual languid satisfaction. His lips brushed your temple, deceptively soft, but when he spoke his voice was lower, edged like a blade hidden under velvet.

“If someone else is more important than me…” His hand slid possessively down your side, fingertips sinking into your skin as though to brand you. “Then I’ll just replace them.”

Your head lifted slightly, dazed, uncertain, but his hand caught the back of your neck and gently — firmly — settled you back against the pillow.

“You’re mine, kitten,” he murmured, each word pressed into your ear like a vow, like a chain. “Everything that is mine will always be mine. I won’t tolerate losing anything.”

He kissed you again, slow, consuming, his thumb stroking lazily at your pulse like he could measure your devotion with every beat. When he pulled back, there was a faint smile tugging at his lips, but his eyes burned with something darker, deeper.

“So tell me,” he whispered, brushing your hair from your face as though he hadn’t just shattered you. “Do you need me to remind you again who you belong to?”

caleb. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

Your body arched beneath him, his weight pressing you into the mattress. Caleb had been taking his time tonight, his rhythm deliberate, steady, each thrust measured to pull broken sounds from your throat. His lips dragged across your collarbone, teeth scraping, tongue soothing after — worship and claim in one.

“Look at you,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and unhurried. His hand smoothed down the length of your thigh, thumb rubbing into the tender crease where it wrapped around his waist. “So good for me… letting me have you like this.”

You moaned softly, nails catching on the slope of his shoulders. He groaned at the sting, hips angling deeper until you gasped and clung tighter. Caleb’s breath shuddered against your neck, the sound like gravel and velvet all at once.

“You feel that, baby?” His lips brushed your ear as his pace built, slow and filling, every stroke pushing him deeper. “How I stretch you out?”

Your body shook, a delicious tension building in every trembling muscle, throat catching on broken moans as your hips bucked involuntarily, grinding your clit into the coarse hair that traveled up his pelvis. Caleb’s tongue flicked over the hollow of your collarbone, dragging down to the curve of your breast before returning to nip at the tender skin of your neck, eliciting soft whines that only fueled his rhythm.

“You like that, don’t you, baby?” he whispered, voice rough, dark, teasing. “You like how I make you feel, so full, so desperate… all mine?”

The words tore another moan from you, and you barely realized what slipped past your lips, raw and breathless, carried on the edge of ecstasy.

“Yes— mm… Zayne–”

It was quiet, but in the silence between your bodies it was deafening.

Caleb’s entire body locked up. His hips stopped mid-thrust, buried deep inside you but utterly still. His breath hitched hard, like he’d been struck. For a heartbeat, the only sound was your own dazed panting and the faint, irregular thump of his pulse against your wrist where he held you down.

Slowly, his head lifted from the hollow of your throat. His violet eyes, wide at first, fixed on you like you were a stranger. A muscle jumped in his jaw. The hand on your thigh tightened, the drag of his thumb replaced by a grip that dug bruises into your skin.

“…What did you just say?” His voice came cracked, hollow — disbelief layered with hurt. His lips parted once, like he meant to ask again, but then he swallowed hard, nostrils flaring. “…Zayne?” The name sounded bitter, torn from his chest like poison.

You blinked up at him, stunned, words catching uselessly in your throat. His face — the hurt carved into it — broke something in your chest. But before you could stammer a protest, the expression twisted. The soft devastation shuttered out of his gaze, replaced by something sharper, darker.

“No.” His tone dropped, rough, shaking with restraint that barely held. “No, you don’t get to call for him while I’m inside you.”

His hips snapped forward suddenly, the force ripping a gasp from your throat. His eyes darkened, watching the way your back arched, the way you clenched around him. He seized your wrists, slamming them above your head into the mattress, pinning you so tight you could feel the tremor in his grip.

“You’ll say my name.” Another brutal thrust. “You’ll say it until it’s the only thing in your mouth.”

You cried out, the sound tangled between pleasure and shock. His pace turned merciless, the steady worship gone — replaced with desperation edged in fury. He drove into you harder, faster, each thrust meant to brand you from the inside out.

“Who’s fucking you right now?” His voice rasped against your lips, his breath hot, uneven. His teeth caught your lower lip in a bruising bite, forcing a whimper from you. “Say it. Say my name.”

“C–Caleb—” you gasped, the syllables breaking against the sharp drag of his thrust.

His head dropped, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dampening his dark hair where it clung to his temple. His violet eyes bore into you, dark, haunted.

“Again.” His mouth crashed onto yours, swallowing the sound of your moan as he ground deep inside you. His voice broke against your lips, more desperate now. “Louder.”

“Caleb—!”

“That’s it,” he groaned, hips slamming forward with every syllable, like he could bury himself so deep the other name would never resurface. “Nobody else can fuck you like this. Nobody.” His hands squeezed your wrists, not just to hold you — to hold himself together. “Say it again. Until you can’t think of anyone else.”

You sobbed his name through the kisses, through the thrusts that left you trembling, and with each repetition the tension in his chest eased only slightly, replaced with something raw and vicious. His lips dragged across your jaw, your throat, biting, marking.

“You’re mine,” he whispered raggedly, words trembling against your skin. “Only mine. Don’t you dare—” His voice cracked, and he cut himself off, groaning into your neck as he drove harder, chasing his breaking point. “—don’t you dare make me doubt you like that again.”

Caleb’s hands moved with ruthless precision, one pressing firmly over your clit, the other gripping your hips, anchoring you to him as he drove into your slick, tight walls. Every movement pulled raw, breathless moans from your throat, each tremor of your body sending shivers up his spine. 

Your cries filled the room, raw and ragged, and he pressed you closer, hands gripping your hips so tightly you could feel the bruising pressure as he fucked you through your release. Your body convulsed beneath him, clenching, shivering, and Caleb followed soon after, hips stuttering, pulse racing, letting go with a guttural moan as he spilled deep inside you. Your nails raked down his back, tugging, gripping, trying to hold onto him as he snapped his hips, hips jerking to bury himself as deep as he could.

“Fuck… that’s it, baby, take it,” he panted, voice breaking, wet and desperate. “Don’t waste a fucking drop–”

He collapsed against you, chest heaving, foreheads pressed together, hands finally loosening their iron grip on your hips. Your bodies were slick with sweat, trembling, hearts racing in tandem, and he nuzzled into your neck, voice softening but still possessive. His breaths came rough, uneven, and beneath the raw edge of his jealousy you could hear the wound it left behind. His lips brushed yours once, trembling, before he whispered softer — a plea broken in half:

“…Don’t make me feel like I’m not enough for you.”

Then he kissed you hard, swallowing it down, needing you too much to let the ache breathe longer than a second.

The silence was heavy. He didn’t move to pull out, didn’t move at all beyond the rough drag of his breath against your skin.

For a moment you thought he was just catching himself, but then you felt it — the faint tremor in his body. Not from exhaustion. From restraint. From fear.

His hand slid back to your wrist, but instead of pinning them, his fingers laced with yours, clinging like a lifeline. He squeezed once, hard, almost desperate.

“…I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice raw, still trembling at the edges. He turned his head enough that his nose brushed your cheek, his lips hovering at your jaw. “I shouldn’t have— I just—” His breath caught, the words failing him.

You shifted to look at him, but he kept his face half-hidden against you, like he couldn’t bear to let you see what was written there.

“I can’t stand the thought of you wanting him.” The admission was ragged, torn from his chest. His hand pressed to your side, pulling you closer, as though the idea alone might take you away. “I can’t… I can’t lose you to him.”

You felt the stutter of his heartbeat against your ribs where his chest pressed to yours. The possessiveness was still there, but stripped bare of anger, it was nothing but ache.

When he finally lifted his gaze, violet eyes glimmering faintly in the dim light, the intensity had shifted — no longer fury, but something far more fragile. His thumb brushed along your jawline, tentative now, almost reverent.

“Tell me I’m enough for you,” he murmured. Not a demand this time. A plea.

“You’re enough, Caleb. Promise,”

You threaded your fingers into his hair, guiding him closer until his lips met yours again. The kiss wasn’t frantic now, but slow, aching, like he needed to believe it in every press of your mouth against his.

When he pulled back, he tucked his face into your neck, arms winding tightly around you, keeping you caged in his warmth. He didn’t care that you were both sticky and sweat-slick, tangled in sheets that needed washing. He just held you, every muscle taut like if he loosened even slightly, you might slip away.

“You don’t get it,” he whispered against your skin, his voice breaking. “You’re all I’ve got. I don’t care if the whole damn world thinks I’ve lost it — I won’t let you go. Ever.”

His lips pressed into the hollow of your throat, not bruising now, just lingering. The ache in his chest still hadn’t eased, but the way he clung to you, slow and desperate, was enough to remind you that beneath the jealousy and fury, Caleb’s devotion was absolute.

rafayel. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

Rafayel had you spread beneath him like a canvas he was determined to leave marked, every curve, every shiver, every inch of skin his to study, to claim. His lips dragged lazily down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to sting before his tongue followed, soothing the fiery bite with deliberate, languid flicks. Each brush of his lips and teeth left a trail of wet heat, and you could feel yourself trembling under him, breath catching with every whisper of contact.

Every thrust of his hips was slow, deep, maddening — as if he wanted to savor the way your walls squeezed him, to watch you unravel piece by piece. He pressed you to the bed with the weight of his chest, shoulders and arms anchoring you just enough so you couldn’t pull away, hips snapping in perfect rhythm to make you gasp and tremble.

“You’re so sensitive tonight, cutie,” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement, eyes glinting that impossible pink-blue under the dim light. His hand slid lower, thumb brushing over your clit in lazy, torturing circles that had you arching, whimpering, fingers clawing into his shoulders. “Can’t even keep still for me, hm? So needy… and all for me.”

Your back arched, body trembling uncontrollably as he pressed deeper, hips angling just enough to hit that maddening spot that made you shiver and cry out without control. Each motion was measured — teasing, claiming, watching your reactions like a predator enthralled by the flinch of his prey.

You moaned, clutching at his shoulders, and the words tumbled out without thought — ragged, high-pitched, not his name.

“Feels so good— Zayne–”

The moment fractured.

Rafayel went still, utterly still, his cock buried deep inside you but unmoving. His smirk vanished. For a heartbeat, he simply stared at you — and then his eyes changed. That impossible, searing oceanic blue swallowed the softer hues, glowing like the abyss itself was staring back. The air in the room shifted, heavy, electric, like the tide had risen around you without warning.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, velvet stretched over steel.

“…What did you just call me?”

You tried to breathe, tried to stammer, but his expression darkened further, jaw tightening, his gaze a furious light. His hand shot down, seizing your wrist and pinning it flat against his chest, right over the searing heat of his bond mark. The pulse beneath it throbbed against your palm, wild, undeniable.

“You chose me,” Rafayel whispered, but there was no softness in it — only something ancient, dangerous, inescapable. His hips pulled back and slammed forward in a brutal thrust that made you cry out. “You can’t take it back, cutie. Not now. Not ever.”

The mark beneath your palm flared hotter, almost burning. You writhed, trying to pull your hand away, but he forced it harder against him, his other hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise as he pounded into you.

“This covenant between us…” His lips pressed harshly against yours, his kiss rough, consuming, biting. When he pulled back, his breath was ragged, eyes burning into you. “…Nobody will break it. Not even you.”

Another sharp thrust made your body jolt, the sound of your moans mingling with his groan. His glowing gaze never wavered, pinning you down as surely as his body did.

“Zayne’s name doesn’t belong in your mouth,” he hissed, kissing you again, deeper, tongue forcing its way past your lips. His hips ground mercilessly against yours, targeting your sweet spot with relentless precision. “Say mine instead. Say it until you forget his face.”

“Rafayel—” you gasped, clinging to him, the bond mark searing against your palm.

“That’s it.” His grin returned, but it was sharp, unsettling, his teeth flashing as his pace grew harsher, each thrust designed to obliterate. “More. Louder. Let him drown in the sound of it.”

You cried his name again and again, each repetition breaking on a sob, until the walls around you felt like they were vibrating with it. Rafayel groaned your name in return, the sound low and guttural, like it was pulled from the marrow of his bones.

His lips brushed your ear, whisper soft but chilling:

“I’ll make you forget everyone if I have to, cutie. Every memory, every name. Until it’s just me. I’ll be everything you need.”

His pace broke then, erratic, desperate, as though he were chasing the moment you’d finally belong to him without question. Each thrust hit deeper, harder, and you felt your walls clench around him, slick and trembling, every inch of him claiming you. His thumb pressed over your clit again in wild, teasing circles, coaxing helpless moans and whimpers from your lips as he groaned low in his throat.

“You’re close,” he murmured, breath hot against your cheek, glowing eyes locking with yours. “Give yourself to me, cutie. Let go for me.”

Your body shuddered, quivering, as your climax tore through you — loud, ragged, and overwhelming. At the same moment, Rafayel groaned, teeth nipping your shoulder, hand tightening around your wrist, his own release spilling deep inside you. Your foreheads pressed together, hearts hammering, eyes locked, and the glowing blue of his gaze burned with ownership and reverence as you came together, trembling in perfect sync.

He held you through it, hips stuttering as he rode out both of your highs, lips brushing against yours, teeth grazing lightly, murmuring your name over and over while you clung to him, sweat-slick and breathless. Every pulse, every tremor of your body pulled a raw, ragged sound from him, and the connection felt all-consuming, a simultaneous surrender that left you both trembling, utterly undone.

The moment you thought the intensity had passed, Rafayel’s grip on your wrist reminded you otherwise. He didn’t collapse or soften like most would — instead, he held your hand pinned against his chest, eyes still glowing faintly, a storm barely contained behind them. His jaw was tight, knuckles white where he clutched your hand over the bond mark, fingers pressing so that you could feel the pulse beneath your palm.

“You fantasized about him,” he whispered, voice low, dangerous, every syllable rolling like thunder. “…Zayne. Even in thought, you dared to call his name while I was inside you.”

You whimpered, trembling beneath him, trying to explain, but he silenced you with the brush of his lips against your temple, a soft touch that was anything but gentle.

“You’re mine,” he growled, tone sharp, unwavering. “Even if you don’t remember, even if your thoughts wander, it doesn’t matter. You devoted yourself to me. To me.”

He pressed his forehead to yours again, still holding your hand over the bond mark as if anchoring both of you to the truth of it. The pulse beneath your fingers throbbed in sync with the beat of your own heart, a physical reminder of the covenant he’d claimed.

“I won’t let you forget,” he murmured, eyes flashing that impossible blue. “You will worship me in time. Every touch, every moan, every thought — mine. You belong to me, cutie. And I’ll make sure you never forget again.”

His other hand traced down your spine, pressing you closer, rough in the way that made it impossible to pull away. The anger in him hadn’t faded; it lingered, palpable, a heat that pressed against your skin, warning you of the dark devotion underneath. And yet, despite the fury, there was that almost imperceptible tremor in his shoulders, the whisper of fear that if he didn’t claim you, someone — or something in your mind — might steal you from him.

“You can try to think of anyone else,” he said, his voice low, velvet-dark, eyes never leaving yours. “But it won’t last. Not against me. Not against what we share.”

He leaned down, lips brushing the top of your head, a possessive press rather than a kiss. “I’m everything you need, cutie. I’ll make sure of it. Every time you close your eyes, every breath you take—it’ll be me.”

a/n: i put my pussy on the keyboard to write xavier's part i was actually sweating when i went back to proofread that. writing smut is lowkey hard i feel like i need to practice more, but i hope you all enjoy while i try to perfect the craft LMAO. i loved this ask if anyone has anymore messy mc ideas please hit me up, im gnawing at the bars of my enclosure to write them

[thedivinevera]

Overdrive! ♡

✎A/N; here it is babes!! sowwryyy for the eternal waittt! CALEB'S IS SOOO LONG OMG IDK WHAT HAPPEND Y'ALL!!! Regardless, rlly hope ur enjoying it^^ xoxo

SYNOPSIS. Requested by anon ↳ ❝ [..."YOUR WRITING IS DELECTABLE OMG. I was wondering if you’d ever consider writing the lads men with a reader who is insatiable/has a high sex drive and/or ovulating and has her way with him until he’s completely worn out/begging to take a break 🫠" ] ¡! ❞

FEAT. RAFAYEL. CALEB. SYLUS. XAVIER. ZAYNE. xfem!reader

TAGS. NSFW CONTENT. MDNI! MARATHON S€X!!!! breeding. size k!nk unprotected intercourse. dirty talk. gripping their a$$, oh em gee dirty mouth zayne??!!. prone bone in Xav's. doggy. ur insatiable lmao, overstim, riding, begging. slight dumbification in sum. messyyy s€x. Caleb matching your freak(per usual). lotsss of spit and drool. oral (f & m receiving in caleb's), possessive guys. multiple positions.

ꪆৎ RAFAYEL

Your thighs are soaked and if you could, you'd feel embarrassed right now.

But that thought barely registers over the raw heat twisting in your belly. It's just the way Rafayel's broken moans and his hands trembling on your hips as you ride him that remind you just how much of a mess you are.

"Drippin' alllll over me, cutie," The wrecked gasp makes your pussy only embrace his cock in a snug hug, his grip on your hip tightening. "D-don't ya wanna take a lil break?— F-fuckkkk. M'—"

"N-nooooo, Raf'."

God, you're gonna be the death of him.

He's already at his wit's end, his spent cock barely holding onto the vicious grip of your greedy pussy. But once he heared your protesting whine over the obnonxious wet squelch squelch squelches of your sobbing cunt, he can feel his cock throbbing hard.

Your eyes meet the far back of your skull as you feel his girth swell, streeeetching your walls apart again so good.

"Don't wanna stop. Feels sooooo good, baby." The shy smile twitching up your plump lips is a stark contast to your ruthless hips slamming down onto his pelvis, and even though his dick is sweeling so angry he fears he might explode, he's still going to eat it up like he does every single time.

"Ohh-kay, cutie. G-gonna— gonna give my baby what she wants."

A strangled sound rips from his lungs as your walls clench around him again, cock twitching so frenzied inside you, glistening with your mixed juices, and so spent but still so ravenous to ram into you, deep.

He's flushed deep red now, your hands almost slipping from his sweat-slicked chest, coral locs sticking to his temple where he lies beneath you in a daze.

"Pretty." You spurt out, heat flooding your body as you take his face in hand, running your shaking flinger over his quivering, kiss-bitten lips. "You look so pretty Raf. Want— no need to—"

"F-fuck, baby, yer' gonna milk me dry," he chokes out, voice breaking on a whimper.

Oh, he's not lasting for long.

His eyes roll back as your walls clamp down on him again, fluttering so tight, so wet, it feels like your body's trying to wring every last drop out of him.

And you do.

Your hands slam down on his chest now, grinding down with reckless, mindless need. "Y-yes." you sweet growl, makes the hair on his neck stand up, teeth caging his lip. "Need you to fill me up, Raf. Need it sososo bad— hurts, it hurts!"

You bounce harder, thighs quivering, the obscene squelch of your slick echoing through the room with every punishing slam of your hips. His cock twitches inside you, overstimulated and swollen, flushed an angry red from how many times he's already shot his load into you, but your greedy cunt just won't let him go.

It’s damn near deafening—the relentless thwack, thwack, thwack of your ass slamming down onto his thighs.

The sound is soaked in slick, each impact wetter than the last. His spent, hot and thick cum already spilling out of you from your insatiable hunger, sticking messily to the insides of your thighs and the curve of your ass, smearing with every bounce, making everything sticky and so much worse.

“God, you're—fuck—you're making a mess of me, cutie," he gasps, clutching your waist like a lifeline, trying to slow you down, but your body has other plans. Your selfish walls tighten around him like a vice, milking his angry, flushed tip for every squirting spurt from his slit.

"I need you to cum again. Please," you cry out, grinding down deep, his cockhead kissing your cervix with each brutal drop of yours. "Wan' your cum, Raf! Need ya to fill me up again, wanna be stuffed, baby. Can't—nghhh!—can't stop until you breed me."

"Breed you?"

The sound he lets out is downright animalistic, his hips snapping up with brutal force, matching your pace with a ferocity that makes your eyes roll back. "Fuckin insatiable. Already dripping and it's still not enough, h-hahh?" He's fucking up into you now, ironclap grip on your hips surely leaving marks as your body jolts and falls ontop of his, your restless hips twisting and twitching against his brutal thrusts.

"G-gonna pump your greedy fucking pussy so full— o-ohhh, yeahhh."

You whimper is so high-pitched you barely recognize yourself anymore, body convulsing as your climax rips through you, and even in your haze you don't stop. You keep clenching, desperate to squeeze another load from his overstimulated, twitching cock.

He's babbling now, lost in it, eyes glazed and teeth clenched so tight he might break his jaw. "Ohhh, it's comin, m' cummin' take it take it take—"

"Mhmmm, give it ta me, Raf! Allll of it, one more, pleaseeee!"

At that, his slit spurts one last whispy load of cum into the depth of your pussy, and you grind happily down onto him to make it stay there, deep inside of you, humming in delight at the warmth flooding through you.

And as he feels your fluttering walls clench around him again, your hips slowly grinding down again, his head falls back against the sheets, a raw, desperate whimper escaping his throat.

Your walls clamp around him fiercely, squeezing so tight, demanding more.

He can't. He can't he can't he—

His hands dig into your ass, lifting you higher, up, up, up— until his cum seeps from your spent, dripping heat, a pleased sigh following suit.

But then your eyes meet his, wide and pleading, and your hands wrap around his slick, spent cock, fingers trembling as they stroke him, coated in his own mess.

Well, he can surely take—

"One more, please?"

Right?

ꪆৎ CALEB

Hot.

The only word to describe your feelings right now, because it has you wound up so tight, you're trembling. You think you might explode if you're sweet, teasing boyfriend won't fill you up this very moment.

But the way Caleb's looking at you in the mirror, he might beat you to it.

"You feel it too, don't you, Cay'?" you whisper, rocking your ass back against the bulge straining so painfully in his grey sweats.

They cling to him, snug and low on his hips, almost too tight. His bare chest is fully exposed, every cut of muscle gleaming under the low light of the room, your squirming shadow dancing over his skin and reflecting off the mirror.

His grin is sharp, eyes burning with hunger, preying over you through the mirror, a palm pressing to your lower belly, just below the waistband of your panties.

"Feel it? Baby, I smell it."

His voice is a growl against your skin, lips dragging slow and wet down the curve of your neck. He breathes you in, tongue flicking out to lick a long stripe from your neck all the way to the shell of your ear. "You're soaked."

You whimper as he rolls his hips, grinding his aching cock into you, still hidden beneath the fabric of his boxers. His other hand cups your throat from behind, guiding your gaze back to the mirror.

"Look."

You do.

"O-oh."

It's fucking obscene.

Your panties are halfway down your thighs, your legs shaking as you brace yourself against the dresser, your boyfriend's bare chest pressed to your back, hand tightening against your throat, almost daring you to look away.

Burning. Every fieber of your being is burning up, screaming at every slight touch of him. The faintest brush of his fingers against your skin sends you twitching.

A needy whimper slips out as you feel the thick press of his bulge grinding against your ass. You arch and roll your hips back into him, shamelessly, pleading without words, silently begging him to do something— anything, to ease this ache between your thighs before you actually go insane.

"In all these years together," he murmurs against your ear, voice low and dangerous. "I've never seen you like this, pips'. What's got you so hot and bothered tonight?"

You meet his eyes in the mirror before tearing them down to his fingers tugging at the hem of your panties.

"It's y-your fault. All because of—"

"Me?" His grip tightens, voice a whisper against your ear in surprise.

"Mhmmm."

"Hm. Can't have my baby all pouty now, can I?"

He whirls you around in one fluid motion, effortlessly scooping you up and tossing you onto the bed

Fuck that damned mirror, he wants the real thing.

He rips your panties the rest of the way off, strong biceps pushing your legs apart, groaning low in his throat at the sight of your weeping cunny, screaming for his attention.

"Oh fuckkk," he mutters, eyes wild and flickering between your glisterning pussy up to your flustered face. "T-this is—" he pauses, finger swiping through your folds to collect your slick, dick jumping in his pants as he sees your hole clenching around nothing, juices dripping in the process, "—heaven."

You whimper as he dips down to lick a stripe up your inner thigh, hot breath ghosting over your pussy. You could damn near scream from his endles teasing, damn near crying as your hips buck up towards his face with a frustrated groan. "N-no teasin'! Please, pleasepleaseplease—"

"Hush, baby. It's her turn now."

Before you can even think of quirking your eyebrows in question he's already burying his face between your thighs, and you let out a scream.

His tongue is fucking relentless, flicking the muscle over your clit with cruel precision before loooong drags collect your juices, his adam's apple bobbing as he's slurping up every drop.

It's like he's starving, and well, maybe he actually is.

His hot tongue circles your puffy button slow just to watch you twitch, then sucks it between his lips with so much force that your legs threathen to clamp around his head.

Until you actually do.

Thighs locking his head in place, your hands scrambling through his hair. He groans against your pussy, the sound feral, almost a whimper, sending vibrations straight through your core. Your fingers scramble through his thick brown locs, tangling and twisting until you're yanking them hard from the roots.

"Yeahhh, use me, baby. C'mon."

His rambles dissapear into your pussy, responding moan so filthy and needy. He could get used to this new neediness of yours.

God, he loves this.

He wraps his arms tighter around your thighs, locking you in place, and whining into your pussy like he's gone mad.

"Just like that, Cay'! Nghhh! don't stop, soooo good!"

Yeah, he's gone mad.

And you? You're gone.

Drooling, rutting your hips into his mouth without a shred of shame. Your body moves on instinct now, so lost in the pleasure that your eyes flutter shut, tummy sucking in as you feel yourself nearing your release.

Slurp, slurp, slurps fill the room and it's so messy— your juices coating the lower half of his face, some bleeding into the sheets below.

He glances up, pulling back just enough, and fuck, what a sight.

Your eyes glisten with unshed tears, wide and glassy pupils blown. A firm drip of drool escapes the corner of your mouth, tracing a long line down your chin. You sniffle softly, nose red and a thin sheen of sweat clings to your skin.

"My poor, poor baby."

The soft tone of his voice is a stark betrayal of what his mouth is doing to you.

His tongue is merciless, flicking and lapping at your folds with so much persicion, every lick calculated to push you further towards your limits.

He latches onto your clit with a groan, sucking hard, your thighs seizing up around his head in a headlock. Your fingers claw uselessly at the sheets, legs kicking, entire body coiled tight.

"G-god, Caleb! So good, don't stop, don't—"

Right then, your orgasm crashes over you with so much force, your head digs back into the matress. Your hips buck up wildly, unable to process the sudden pleasure washing over you, and your sweet, loving boyfriend licks you through it.

He just keeps going, keeps tasting you, even as your thighs shake and you try to twist away from from him, his wet hot tongue overwhelming you.

It's so much, too much, but still, you want—

"M-moreee! Wan' more! Need to—"

Smack!

The sharp sudden sting hits your soaked pussy before you can finish the sentence, palm cracking against your sensitive folds with a wet slap. You let out a loud, broken cry, your head twisting against the pillow as your thighs clamp together on instinct.

"No worries. Gonna give it to ya'."

Only then does he spread you open with both hands, thumbs dragging your slick folds apart to admire the way you twitch and throb. And only then does he finally pull back, tongue slipping out to taste you one last time, his chin and lips soaked, glistening with your juices.

He stays like that, lower face shining in your essance, to lazy to even bother wiping it away as his eyes lock onto you, pupils darkening.

And as he sees your hungry gaze he silently thanks the whole damn universe for your sudden neediness today.

Fucking finally a time for his inner freak to shine.

You're already moving before he says a word, scrambling weakly up onto your knees, hands clutching at his waistband like a woman possessed.

And maybe you are.

"Hurryyyyyy," you whimper, dragging the word out through a long sob. "P-please, baby! Pleaseeee, I want— Need you in me right now."

Oh, how impatient you are.

Eagerly, he shoves his sweats down and kicks them off, cock already flushed and leaking from the torture. He doesn't dare to tease, already climbing ontop of you to grab your hips, and drives into you in one deep thrust.

The stretch is so sharp and overwhelming that you scream out, white-hot blaze overcoming you.

Your walls clamp down around him so fiercely he groans, his pre squirting out with urgency, head falling back, eyes rolling shut.

He underestimated you.

"H-holy shit, baby—so damn tight— h-hahhh!"

You're already back into your drunken daze, meeting his thrusts as your heat-addled clit grinds against his faint brown trail of hair.

"Harder," you pant, nails clawing at his shoulders, his strong arms quick to lift your legs onto his shoulders, hitting your g-spot over and over again.

But it's not enough.

"I said hahhh-harder, Caleb—"

He growls, pushing your legs firmly against your shoulders, your legs dangling above your head as he slams into you faster now, rougher. Unrelenting. His hands dig into the flesh of your thighs, the new position causing your muscles to burn from the stretch, and every thrust hits you so deep, fat tip kissing your cervix, your vision blurs.

"Not gonna last," he blurts out, mouth covered in your slick now attacking yours, diving in as if your mouth would grant him air. "You're too fucking—shit! Toooo good—"

He's going to be the death of you.

"C-cum inside, baby." you moan, hands griping his shoulders, biceps, hips, anything to make him ram into your greddy cunny faster, longing for him to prod at your womb. "Need your cum, baby. F-fill me— uhhh! up!"

His balls tighten, almost painfully so, mouth hanging open as drool drips down, right into your awating mouth and he just know this isn't going to be the last load for him tonight.

He knocks the breath out of you with a brutal push of his hips, his girth hauling your walls further apart as his fat mushroomy head throbs, close, soooo close to fill you to the brim.

"A-alright, pips. Anything for my needy princess."

You're going to be the death of him.

ꪆৎ SYLUS

You're trembling, knees straddling Sylus's broad hips, riding him like your entire body burns with desperate need. His hands grip your thighs, trying to ground you, get you to slow down, but it's already to late.

"Gods," he groans, voice hoarse, on the brink of cracking. His dark, ruby eyes in search of yours and you swear he grows even larger inside you as your eyes lock. "You're killing me here, sweetie."

"M' sorry, Sy. Can't stop, can't—"

His lips crash down onto yours, muffling your pleas with a desperate kiss. His strong hands tighten on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, every thrust deeper and more urgent than the last.

"You don't have to," he murmurs against your mouth, voice thick with lust, ruby eyes eating you alive. "Have me. Use me."

He's done it now.

You grind down harder, hips snapping desperately against him, breath uneven and broken. And every frantic roll of yours pulls a low growl from his throat, his girthy length pulsating inside your gooey walls.

His hefty cock draaags along every sensitive nerve inside you, thick and heavy, stretching your weeping walls to their limit and you swear he gets harder with every needy rut you throw at him.

"Honey, I don't think I can—"

His jaw clenches tightly, teeth grazing his bottom lip as he struggles to maintain his composure. His head sinks into the sheets, gray hair forming a halo around his head as cheery eyes flutter before snapping back to yours, pupils blown wide.

"Y-you're so— sooo"

"Hmm? M' what, Sy'?"

You whimper, grinding down until he's pressed so deep you can feel him bulging inside your lower belly, leaving a visible imprint of himself there.

And It's only driving you further into insanity.

"You're gonna ruin me," he pants, voice thick with lust, a slight crack audible. "Ohhh, gonna fucking ruin me, sweetie. L-look at you."

You press your forehead against his, panting, your walls clench so tight you feel every vein and even the slight right curve of his girth.

Sylus's hands travel up your sides, grip ironclad, his thumbs digging into your ribs. His control is slipping, obvious in the way his dark ruby eyes widen, groan rumbling in his chest when you shift your weight and rock your hips harder against him.

He oggles at your eyes rolling to the back of your head, gripping your nape and pulling you down until his mouth meets yours agar, slamming his mouth against yours with such force, teeth and tongues clash.

"You're everything," he mutters against your lips, saliva connecting you both, voice cracking under the pressure. "So fucking perfect."

Your nails dig into his shoulders, breath hitching in desperate gasps in rythm to the bed creaking under you both as his hips jerk, matching your frantic rhythm.

"Keep going, love." He breaks into a grunt as your head falls into the crook of his neck, painting his ivory skin with bubbling drool.

"Thaaat's my girl."

There's nothing else inside your fucked out mind except for him him and more him.

Sylus. Sylus. Sylus.

Feisty hips bouncing on him, desperate to feel every inch, every frantic pulse, your walls fluttering, dragging Sylus closer to the edge with every desperate thrust.

And you notice from his deep groan, his parted lips aswell as his hands sliding under your arms, pulling you impossibly closer. His breath fans across your skin, heavy and ragged.

"You're driving me mad." He's a drooling mess himself now, thighs clenching as his balls tighten up, so damn close to filling your eager cunt up.

You lift your head before pathetically falling against his lips, saliva messily smearing all across his lower face.

He growls, hips snapping up with brutal force, obscenely loud and wet plap plap plap echoing the room, his grip on your hips tightening, his fingers digging in like you could dissapear if he ever dared to let go.

"I'm close" He moans shamelessly into your mouth now, burrying his cock deeper, reddened tip hitting your cervix with each of his bold jerks up into you. "So close."

"N-ghhh, me t-toooo!" you sob, words barely forming through your moans.

"Gonna cum! Gonna fucking cum, Sy! Pleaseee—"

Then he surges upright, wrapping one strong arm around your waist, the other sliding down to grip your ass with a loud smack! and slam you down on him, over and over until you're voice betrays you, wails and whimpers flooding out from your lips.

His cock drives up into you so deep your toes curl, hitting the same perfect spot again and again, robbing cries from your sobbing pussy.

Plap plap plap.

"Better hold on tight, sweetie."

He grabs your hips, slams up, and fucks you like he hates you. The bed shrieks, holding on for deat life as the headboard rattles against the walls and in these moments you're thankful you live in the N109-Zone with no neighbours.

"Yesyesyes! Js like that, Sy!"

There's a thick white ring of your slick forming at the base of his cock, clinging to him with every brutal thrust, and when he looks down and sees it, something snaps inside him.

He flips you onto your stomach, quickly slipping inside your addicting heat again, as if it pains him to not be inside your for any second longer. His cock slips back inside your dripping heat with a lewd twack! and the both of you groan, breath hitching in sync as he sinks in to the hilt for the nth time tonight.

Your back arches, panting against the pillow as your nails claw at the sheets, loud whail earning a breathless chuckle from man above.

"Please Sy! Need your cum s-so bad— need you to breed me."

He lets out a broken sound, somewhere between a gasp and a growl before burying himself deep with one last snap of his hips.

His body stiffens as his cock twitches and pulses inside you, flooding you with wave after wave of hot white cum. You clench down hard, milking him for what he's worth, moaning his name as your own orgasm hits like a shockwave, body trembling beneath his.

He stays pressed against you, breath harsh against your neck, hand splayed across your lower back to keep you right where he wants you, lewd squelch from your stuffed cunny letting out a broken whine. You twitch under him, drooling into the pillow, body still shaking from how hard you came.

"This heat's not out of you yet, is it?"

You shake your head with a weak cry, drooling against the pillow.

"Then," he muses, kissing the shell of your ear, slow and almost sweet,

"Best start picking out a new bed you want, sweetie."

ꪆৎ XAVIER

"It's little moments like these,"

he pants against your ear, "that remind you just how much more my sweet princess can take."

You're out of breath, slick and shaking from everything he's already wrung out of you, but he couldn't care less. He doesn't even want you to recover and catch your breath.

And he sure as hell doesn't let you.

He spins you around like youre a mere feather-weight, palms branding into your hips as he manhandles you onto the bed, chest down and ass up.

Your hands scramble for purchase, fingers knotting into the sheets just as you feel the blunt heat of his hefty length press between your thighs again, his cock smearing pre over the curve of your ass, coating it in a shining glee.

"Could get used to you being like this, you know," he hums, one slender finger tracing up your stomach before resting on one of your breasts, giving it a tight squeeze, "you loooove getting all cockdrunk and dumb on me, huh?"

"Mhmm! Love you! Love your—"

"Say it right."

His words pierce through just like his dick through past your puffy folds, tip curving right against the spot that has you mewling out, almost like a button being pressed.

A sharp smack! to your ass follows his firm words, soon rubbing soothingly over the reddened globe as his cock slides out, leaving only his tip cramped in your hole.

"L-love it when you fuck me dumb, Xav'! Love getting drunk on your cock! But p-please..."

Your hips jerk back, earning a growl from his as he inspects your greedy pussy engulfing half of his length now, eager to suck him back in whole.

"... Still not enough. Need more."

Your pleading whimpers are muffled against the pillow face first as he fully rams into you again, body firmly pressed against yours. His throbbing girth is fully nestled inside you, his light chuckle hot against your ear.

"Talking outta that greedy pussy again."

You bite your lip in shame or amusement, you don't know. Desperate and wild grinds of your hips move back against his, rutting hard with every agonizingly slow drag of his hips.

He slides in and out of you like butter, your previous squirts of juices and his thick hot cum creating the perfect lubricant.

It's filthy— the kind of slick, nasty glide that sends sparks through your overstimulated nerves. Every time he pulls back, a string of mixed fluids clings between your swollen folds and his soaked cock, glistening, connecting you to him like a leash. The wet schlik schlik schlik of it echoes in the room, punctuated only by your choked moans and the brutal slap of skin on skin.

You're so swollen, so stretched, your body clutching at him like he's your prey.

"Tight fuckin' thing," he snarls, hands gripping your waist, forming half moons with his nails on your skin. "Keep moving those hips for me, angel— o-oh fuckkkk! Don't stop."

You don't. You can't. Rutting back with abandon, desperate and so greedy, your hips roll and slam into his with haste. You can feel every throb of his cock inside you, feel it twitch and pulse as his rhythm grows savage.

Fuck, you could die like this— pressed neatly against the sheets with your beloved boyfriend rutting you deeper into the matress for the nth time tonight.

His pace turns feral, brutal, the whaming of his hips against your ass growing harder, meaner.

"Y-yes! Yes, Xav! Gimmie more baby," you pant, hands reaching back to grip at his ass, thigh, anything to make him plug deeper into you, your stuffed cunny shrieking and squeking with every of his brutal thrusts, "m-more."

"My pillow princess can't even think straight now, hmm?. She's doing the talking for you now, huh?"

You grind faster, rubbing your clit against the curve of his pelvis, breath hitching in shaky gasps. The way he holds you, the weight of him pressing into your back, makes you lose yourself completely— heat spilling over, body shaking with need.

"Greedy little hole doesn't wanna let me go," he hisses, panting harder now, fucking you through the clench, feeling your now god-knows which-one-orgasm aproach. "A-ahhhh, hear that? Oh yeah, so fucking loud, begging me to fill her up again."

No answer, you're just cumming, squirting against the sheets, orgasm hitting you like a punch in the gut and fuck— he surely is digging in it.

His hand wretch your head up by your neck now, ocean eyes drinking up your agape mouth, lolling out tongue and your fluttering eyes, biting his lip to keep him from cummin in you right then and—

Shit.

Xavier's voice catches in his throat. His head tips back, throat bared. His hands try to grip your waist, then fall limp beside you helplessly, falling right ontop of you as now faint whisps of cum spurt out, meekly adding to the previous buckets of cum resting in your flodded pussy.

And he's still hard.

Well, you don't seem to be satisfied either. Not with your desperate arches, trying to get him to move even though he's fully laying ontop of you, barely leaving you air to breathe.

"O-one more." you purr, one hand trailing down to lock his fingers with yours.

He twitches inside you weakly, shaky sigh escaping him and glassy eyes snapping open.

You still want more?

"You're killing me, princess."

You giggle against the pillow, low lidded eyes shooting him a smug grin, spit painted mouth glisterning.

"Good."

ꪆৎ ZAYNE

In what world could he've known that his sweet little wife could get like this?

Sure, he's always pliant to your needs, always does his best to grant your every wish, make you happy. He'd kiss your ankles if you asked, worship the ground you walked on with no shame at all.

You're his wife, after all. His one and only.

But this? This has his mind fucking reeling.

He's never, not once, seen you like this—wild-eyed and sweat-slicked, mouth parted in shameless moans as you grind yourself up into him with no sign of stopping. Your nails drag hot down his spine, then grip tight around his ass, pulling him into you, holding him there like he might even think to leave.

Like he could.

Zayne groans, loud and ragged, hips stuttering as your soaked, greedy cunt sucks him right back in every time he tries to pull out. You're milking him, clenching down; your body refusing to give him a moment's rest—and it's driving him insane.

"Not e-enough," you gasp, lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice so wrecked it makes his cock twitch inside you. "Need more. Wanna feel your cock deeeeep inside."

Well, he can't complain, to be honest.

"More?" he pants, almost incredulous. But the way he smiles, like he's so far gone on you it hurts says everything needed to be said. "Already fucked my darling wife dumb. Doesn't even know what nasty of a mouth she's got on her now."

You just moan, nodding that fucked-out little head of yours frantically, lips dragging across his throat as you rock your hips up again, taking him even deeper. He moans, losing his rhythm completely, slamming back into you with a helpless sound that borders on a whimper.

Your light chuckle sweels his heart—and cock. You kiss his cheek, sweet and breathless. "Yours, Zayne. All yours. Now give it ta' me."

You've done it now. You broke your poor husband's brain.

Before you can blink, he's flipped you over, your knees pressed into the mattress, arms trembling under your weight. You barely register the movement before his leaking tip is already forcing its way back in, sliding through your slick pussy.

He spanks you. Hard.

"You want more?"

"Oh fuckkk yes, I—!"

But he's not talking to you. His gazes falls directly down to your greedy cunny sucking him in, examining the mess that drip drip drips down your legs and onto the sheets.

"Want me to ruin my pretty wife, huh?"

He snarls at your snug cunny and takes the loud squelch! as an answer, bracing his hands on both of your ass cheeks, spreading you wiiiide to get a better view.

"Alright. Then take it, you nasty girl."

Skin slapping skin, his hips driving forward in brutal, punishing thrusts, fucking you with none of that usual sweetness of his. Just raw, filthy. You cry out, over and over, face buried in the sheets, hands clawing for purchase, head spinning with dizziness.

God, you're husband's out of this world. You're not even sure what you did to deserve a man like him.

"I'll take it, all of it!" you sob, hips pushing back to meet his every thrust. "Want it all, Zayne! W-wanna feel all hot and full inside—!"

He actually growls like some beast, ramming his cock damn near into your poor womb, and you scream when his hand snakes down and smacks your clit, a wet slap! followed by furious circles that make your thighs quake.

"You like that, don't you?" he growls, head falling to the crook of your neck to sink his teeth into your shoulder, earning a shriek. "Like me pounding you stupid while your pretty little cunt begs for more?"

You nod frantically, sobbing, helpless to the way your orgasm starts to crest, so tight and fast, your walls spasming around him, trying to milk him again.

"My wife's talking outta her pussy again, huh?" he huffs, snapping his hips harder, tip forming a deep buldge in your tummy. "Sloppy little hole just keeps begging. She's so loud, baby."

Your orgasm slams into you like a wave, shattering you completely. Your arms give out under the weight of it, body collapsing onto the soaked sheets as your cunt gushes around him, spraying down your thighs in a messy rush, soaking his cock and making a lewd, slick sound as he fucks you through it. And he doesn't even slow down, just drives in harder, chasing his own end with vicious rams.

"Want more, Zayne... please,"

Voice wrecked and slurred, your body's still trembling from the last orgasm. You're soaked, dripping, stretched and raw, but that greedy little pulse in your cunt won't stop—you're still needy, still aching.

Zayne's panting above you, face flushed, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He’s still buried to the hilt inside you, cock twitching, cum leaking out around the base with every tiny clench of your slick walls.

"W-what about a quick break, darling? Promise I'll—"

"N-noooo," you whine, lip wobbling, eyes stinging as water builds at your lash line, hipsalready back to rutting and arching back into him, his fresh seed spilling from your overflowed hole. “Pleaseee, baby. Want more, my husband's fucking me soooo good."

"Alright then."

His voice is wrecked, but the second he sees the tears in your eyes and the desperate grind of your hips against his, he snaps. Whatever doubt or exhaustion he had left is gone.

He leans in close, presses wet kisses to your cheek as his thrusts get messier and more frantic. "Happy wife," his cock twitches deep inside you, mushroomy head pulsating with fatigue, spurting the last remnats of his whispy cum,

"happy fucking life."

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[thedivinevera]

➡️ And then this happened...

[thedivinevera]

Sex with Levi has always been hot but since he has married you, that increased a 100 times more...

He didn't know what it was, of course, he was always attracted to you but this was something else. Your moans ring around the bedroom as his hands hold your hips tightly, and he pounds into you. You bite into the sheets, your hands desperately gripping the same fabric when you feel his cock hit even deeper inside of you. "Yeah? Right here?" Levi notices the way your body reacts, he knows exactly what you need. He slows his pace so he can hit that spot over and over again. His gray eyes catch a glimpse of the ring on your hand, a reminder that you're his. A groan leaves his lips and he stops moving, cockwarming you, leaning down he kisses up your spine until he is at your ear. "Atta girl. Youre doing so good, baby." He nips at your ear and starts moving again making your pussy clench around him. You try to reach back but Levi pins your arms on the bed, his mouth moving down your back. Before you can react, he pulls out of you with a wet pop and flips you around.

He takes your shaky legs and warps them around him, just like that he is inside od you again. Your back arches, hands grabbing onto his biceps, nails digging in. "Fuck...the way you feel...." His thrusts were brutal like this, he loved missionary because he can see what he does to you, your every reaction, every moan. His hand reaches down to rub your pussy as he continues to fuck you roughly. "Levi! You're so deep!" Yoir vocie is a melody to his ears. "Want me to go deeper huh? Well then..." Levi grabs your legs and puts them on his shoulders. "...my wife will always get what she wants." Kissing your ankle, he begins to fuck you senseless just how you need it. Your body arches, breasts bouncing up and down from the force of his thrusts. When his cock hits your spot this time, you cum, eyes rolling back, mouth agape. "Shit....that's it. Fuck you're a sight." Your husband speeds up his movements chasing his own orgasm, he leans down kissing you hungrily. "Baby.....can I?" He asks, he always did. You nod, holding onto him tightly as he cums inside of you.

[thedivinevera]

Note: Are we shocked that even with text messages, I still can’t keep it short? LOLLL!! And while I think this is pretty good, I’m nervous about Xav and Raf and how well I captured them… You luvlys can let me know. Enjoyyy! 🫶🏽

Warning: Aftermath? of free use & somnophilia (all guys had your consent before hand), verryyyy suggestive dialogue

Morning After The LIs Used You In Your Sleep

Rafayel 🐚

Xavier ⭐️

Sylus 🪶

Caleb 🍎

Zayne ❄️ - He inspired this whole thing, so he had a whole little fic prior to this! —Click Here— to read!

♾️ Tags: @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @sensual-study @sweetcalebb @asiaticapple @raemanova @awquaz @callads7 @floatinginaer @crimsonsylus @aquarianbeat @inutrasha94 @jadestone2 @lamogliedizayne @sylusqt @gktdh @raendarkfaerie

creds to @/cursed-carmine for the line dividers and @/asiatic-apple for the username banner!

[thedivinevera]

Mahiru, who can see red threads, realizes that his sister's red thread is not connected to his, so he cuts each other's red threads and forcibly reties them.

[thedivinevera]

It's not my fault Caleb 😭..you always spoil me 😔

Cr: http://xhslink.com/m/7U3RICHbvbV (I translated texts)

[thedivinevera]

Mahiru, who can see red threads, realizes that his sister's red thread is not connected to his, so he cuts each other's red threads and forcibly reties them.

[thedivinevera]

It's not my fault Caleb 😭..you always spoil me 😔

Cr: http://xhslink.com/m/7U3RICHbvbV (I translated texts)

[thedivinevera]

[Translated Comic] Kiss

Original artist: 这回是真的了

Source ll Permission

❀ Please do not repost ❀

[thedivinevera]

Sylus: “You are just as bad as Rafayel.”

Caleb: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sylus: “I mean anytime MC leaves, you pout and sulk just like him.”

Caleb: “I don’t sulk.”

Sylus: “You’ve been sitting by the window ever since MC went shopping.”

Caleb: “It’s not sulking….I’m just waiting for them to return.”

Sylus: “You look like a dog.”

Caleb: “I do n-”

Rafayel: *Sprinting down the stairs.* “MC’s car just pulled up!”

Caleb: *Runs to the front door with Rafayel*

Sylus: “Dogs I tell you.”