TUMBLR FINALLY UNEXPLICIT MY BLOG! IVE BEEN FREED!

This video is something you had never seen before or even thought was possible. You watch, mesmerized by the way the woman’s stomach subtly shifts a visible bulge as he stretches her out.

Heat pools instantly between your thighs, making your breath hitch and a dizzying sensation of fullness hit your gut. He's always so careful with you, so agonizingly gentle, as if you’re something precious he might break if he breathes too hard. But looking at this... a dark part of your brain wonders what it would feel like if he didn't hold back.

"Holy shit..." you whisper to the empty room.

Your hand moves instinctively, fingers sliding down to find slick heat. The video is playing on a loop. Bulge. Stretch. Deep. Repeat. You watch it while your imagination runs wild, replacing the stranger on the screen with the man who owns your heart. You’re picturing his heavy weight pinning you down, his eyes blown wide, filling you until you can’t even scream.

You’re chasing a peak that feels miles away until, suddenly, it isn't. You hit your first orgasm with a stifled gasp, back arching off the mattress, only to find yourself immediately chasing the second one, body trembling and spent in the wake of the first.

By the time the second wave of pleasure ebbs away, you’re a puddle of limbs and heavy eyelids. You’re half conscious, drifting in that beautiful limbo between wakefulness and dreams. In a daze of post orgasmic euphoria, you squint at the screen, your thumb hovering over the comment section.

"How do I send him this without actually sending it to him 😳"

You tap 'send' with a clumsy thumb. You meant to just post it as a thought, a digital scream into the void. But as your eyes flutter shut, your hand twitches a final, involuntary spasm of exhausted muscle. Your thumb slips. It slides across the 'Share' icon, hovers over the very first contact at the top of your recent list, and taps.

Sent.

You don't hear the subtle whoosh of the outgoing message.  Delivered directly to the man who at this very moment is probably staring at a security feed or sipping red wine.

Sylus.

You just fall into a deep, blissful sleep, completely unaware that you've just lit a fuse.

🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

“Come on, sweetie, don’t give up on me now" Thrust. The impact is heavy, forcing a breathless gasp from your lungs. “You can take it, can’t you?”

He isn't being the gentle, careful man you know. Not today. His hand is hooked firmly behind your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, forcing you to watch the unmistakable, fat bulge stretching the skin of your lower abdomen, proof to just how deep he’s buried himself inside you.

“You wanted this, now you have to take it and you are going to watch.”

And there it is. The reality of it. It’s visceral. It’s exactly what you saw in that video, but it’s a thousand times more intense because it’s him. It’s real.

Your vision swima and just as the shock of it all starts to settle, he shifts. He changes the angle of his hips in a calculated move that hits your G spot dead on. An uninhibited scream tears from your throat, echoing through the room.

“I've been trying to behave,” he says, and the words come out rougher than he probably intended, an edge of frustration bleeding through his usual composure “But you make it so difficult... fuck... by sending me your filthy little thoughts.”

His hand settles against your belly, firm and heavy, and the second he presses down, your body reacts with a sharp inhale. You tense instinctively, muscles coiling around him, but you don't pull away. You can't.

“Can you feel me here?” he asks, breath coming in uneven bursts. He’s buried balls deep and for a split second, you see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. You make a face, a strange, overwhelmed expression of fullness, and he looks like he might actually pull back to give you a moment to breathe. He thinks he’s pushing too hard.

He’s wrong.

Don't you dare.

Driven by a desperation you didn't know you possessed, you move your hips in a searching rhythm, pressing his hand down harder against your stomach. You want the pressure. You want to feel the exact point where he meets your skin from the inside.

He lets out a loud groan at the sensation. Your narrow walls clamp down on him, tighter than they've ever been. Every millimeter of space between you feels like it’s disappearing, leaving nothing but friction and heat.

You don't have the words to tell him that you never want him to stop, so your body does the talking. You cling to him, legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you there, keeping you exactly where you are until your breathing turns unsteady.

Until your body softens in momentary surrender and tightens again a second later, as if you're fighting a war with yourself, trying to decide whether to let go or to hold on tighter.

In the end, you don't choose. You do both.

The world dissolves into a hot haze of pleasure. It couldn't be called an orgasm because this feels like a total system failure. You’re sobbing his name or maybe you’re just gasping for air, you can’t tell anymore as waves of pleasure crash over you, violent and unrelenting. Your pussy seizes around him in long pulses, milking him, begging for the very thing that’s pushing you past your limit.

He follows you a few seconds later, burying himself soooo deep you feel the hot rush of him filling you.

Slowly, the fog begins to lift, leaving you in a state of blissful, heavy lethargy. The hand that was just pressing so ruthlessly into your belly softens, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin.

"You really are a menace." he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

The shame you expected to feel, the embarrassment of that accidental video is nowhere to be found. Instead, there is only a sense of immense satisfaction.

"Next time," he whispers into your hair "don't bother sending a link. Just tell me. I'll give you everything you desire. Every single time."

The problem with being in love with a man like Xavier is that your brain is constantly a minefield of "what ifs."

He’s incredible, truly, but you’ve noticed the way he pulls back sometimes. When he’s brooding or when that possessive jealousy starts to prickle at him, he becomes almost too careful. Like he’s afraid he might actually break you if he lets go of that restraint.

So, naturally, you’ve been doing a little "research" to keep the inspiration alive.

Now, you’re sitting on the edge of your bathtub, scrolling through your feed, a habit that’s becoming a bit of a vice, when a video catches your eye. A girl pinned to a mattress, her head pressed down by her partner as he fucks her from behind. Hard. The sound of her moans echoes in your ears through your headphones and suddenly the bathroom feels about ten degrees too hot.

God, yes.

You quickly save the link to your "later" folder, a digital stash of things you want him to eventually try, and then scribble a quick, thirsty comment on the video "This but with my boyfriend dressed as Lumiere 🤤 " and set your phone down.

Buzz. Buzz.

A notification lights up the screen. It’s him.

[Xavier]: Found a new hot pot place. Apparently, the broth is spicy enough to kill a Wanderer. Want to go tonight? Please say yes so I can stop thinking about food and start thinking about you.

A soft laugh escapes you. He’s so predictable, yet so devastatingly charming when he wants to be. Your answer is an immediate "sure" because you’d say yes to a lukewarm bowl of water if he was the one serving it.

But he always forgets to look at the menu and ends up ordering something way too spicy or something you're not in the mood for, so you look for the restaurant's menu.

You see the link. Tap it. Copy. Paste. Add "Look at the options! The spicy broth looks insane." Send.

Funny thing is, you don't actually copy the menu's URL, you just cut it. You don't even realize you just sent him the very un culinary link to the video you were just watching to fuel your own delusions.

Little typing bubbles appear. They dance for a long time. They disappear. They reappear.

He's so indecisive.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

"Lumiere?" the name sounds like a curse "You wanted Lumiere to pin you down?"

Your face is pressed so firmly into the mattress that the fabric feels like a part of your own skin, the scent of laundry detergent mixing with the heat of the moment. Every time he thrusts into you, the world tilts, your vision blurring into white light and dark shadows. The Xavier who kisses your forehead and cuddles with you is buried somewhere deep inside the man currently fucking you breathless.

"Xavie..." you try to speak, but his name dies in your throat as he shifts his weight.

"Tell me," he demands, losing the battle with his own restraint. He hits you hard, a deep, soul shaking thrust that forces a broken moan from your lips. "Tell me you don't need a costume to feel this."

You try to answer, to tell him he's being ridiculous...

Smack!

The sting of his palm against your ass makes you gasp, your fingers clawing at the mattress for purchase.

"You sent it to me on purpose," he mutters as he leans down, his chest pressing hard against your back. "You wanted to see me like this, didn't you? You wanted to see if I could be as rough as him."

He doesn't want an answer. He doesn't wait for one. He just wants to hear you whimper his name when he hits that perfect spot.

His hand presses your face down even harder into the mattress, muffling your cries. It's everything you were craving when you were scrolling through your phone earlier, but the reality is a thousand times better.

You start to move, trying to meet him halfway, trying to grind back against him to find the friction that will push you over the edge.

"Faster..." you beg, trying to turn your head to tell him that there is no Lumiere, there is only him, but he just presses you back down, his thumb grazing your hip bone with trembling pressure.

"Shhhhhh, just a little bit more," he lets out a long groan, his forehead dropping to rest against the back of your neck for a fleeting second before he surges upward again. "You should see the way your pussy is taking my cock right now, so greedy. Just for me."

His hand shifts. It leaves the back of your head to find the column of your throat. His thumb and middle finger curl around your neck not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he is in total control.

He stills for a heartbeat, his middle finger softly tapping the pulsing vein in your neck. "Every beat belongs to me tonight"

You just nod, a jerky movement, because you are standing on the very edge of a precipice, and the fall is coming. The tension in your lower belly is wound so tight it’s almost painful.

"Say it," he breathes, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his words a warm, humid ghost of a sensation, his control fraying at the edges.

"Yours," you finally whisper, like secret you’ve been holding in your lungs for far too long, finally allowed to breathe.

The moment the word leaves your lips, he loses the last of his mercy.

He pulls back almost entirely, leaving you aching and empty for a fraction of a second only to drive back in, bottomless and bruising. It’s a cycle of withdrawal and overwhelming fullness that leaves you reeling.

"Give me what's mine" the command vibrates through your entire body.

The world dissolves into white light as your head falls forward, muscles spasming in the violent quake of your climax, but he catches your hair, tugging just enough to force your head up, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark and swirling with a hunger that could swallow the stars.

"Good girl," he whispers against your parted, trembling lips.

He thrusts one last time, deep and final, spilling molten heat as your name breaks from his lips, torn in half by bliss before he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. For now, the jealousy is gone. There is only the quiet, heavy reality of being his.

The video catches your eye instantly. The lighting is a soft purple, casting a surreal glow over the two people on screen. A girl is on top, her movements slow and agonizingly deliberate as she drags her pussy over her partners cock, the rhythm of it making your cunt clench.

Tonight you are in a "no filter" mood. You need to share this. You need to tell Tara.

With a smirk, you tap the share icon, copy the link, and switch over to your messages. You find Tara’s profile pic or so you think and start typing with the kind of unhinged energy only a best friend can appreciate.

You and Tara have long since abandoned the concept of "boundaries" when it comes to your filthy late night chats.

“Omg Tara, look at this. Raf’s cock is so pretty, I swear if he’d just let me do this to him, I’d never leave the bedroom again 🥵💦”

You hit send with a satisfied whoosh and let out a long, dramatic sigh. Silence follows. For a few minutes you go back to scrolling, blissfully unaware that you have just dropped a digital bomb into the inbox of a man who is already struggling to maintain his composure.

Your phone vibrates.

It’s not a "LOL" or a "Damn" from Tara.

It’s a notification from Rafayel.

Rafayel: Is that so?

Your heart skips a beat. You frown, squinting at the name at the top of the chat.

Wait.

Your face goes from pale to a shade of red that would put a sunset to shame. You stare at the screen, wanting to physically crawl inside the phone and disappear forever. You want to delete it. You want to throw the phone out the window. You want to move to a different planet.

But then, the little typing bubbles appear again.

Rafayel: Don't just sit there blushing, cutie. I'm coming to your place and you are going to show me exactly what you want"

🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

You’ve lost track of time. Your thighs are starting to ache, every muscle in your legs feels tight, strained from holding yourself upright, yet you keep moving. You have to. The friction is the only thing keeping you grounded.

You’re straddling him, your knees digging into the soft linens, focused on the way your cunt drags over his cock. Slippery. Hot. Wet.

Every time you slide down, the underside of him, that thick ridge presses ruthlessly against your clit. You can feel the vein running along his length pulse in perfect synch with your clit. 

Thump thump. Thump thump. 

"Slow down..." he groans, gripping your hips "You're going to... fuuuuck... you're going to kill me"

The friction is creating a heat of its own, a sliding friction that makes your head spin. You watch slightly delirious, as the light from the moon filters through the window, catching the sheen of sweat on his pale skin and the way his hair is plastered to his forehead. He looks wrecked. He looks beautiful. He looks like he belongs entirely to you.

But his hands are far from weak. They are heavy weights anchored to your hips, and he uses them to sabotage you. Just when you think you’ve found a rhythm that might actually save you, he tightens his grip, forcing your hips to slow, dragging the slide of your pussy out into a long, shallow glide.

It’s cruel. A sadistic kind of torture, making the night feel endless, as if the clock has stopped just to watch you suffer.

He wants to stretch this out. He wants to milk every drop of anticipation from your veins until your entire body begins to tremble, not from pleasure, but from the weight of the climax that refuses to arrive. He wants to push you to that edge where even your silence sounds filthy, where the quiet between your breaths is thick with the unspoken things you want to do to him.

Once he’s satisfied with the slow pace, his hands begin to wander. They trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your breasts, learning your body the way a sinner learns to pray. Like hunger learning the art of restraint just long enough to make the eventual feast mean something.

You slide back just a fraction, settling the heat of your pussy directly over his balls and then you reach down.

Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, just like you saw in that video. You begin to stroke him while simultaneously rotating your hips in a circular grind over the heavy fullness of his balls.

The sound that tears from his throat is something unhuman, a vibration that feels like it's coming from the depths of the ocean.

Your name is caught between his teeth in a soft, sinful exhale. He sounds undone, completely unraveled by the sight of you taking exactly what you claimed you wanted in that accidental text.

He’s right there, on the edge of an unravelling collapse.

And because you are just like him, a creature of beautiful, chaotic impulse, you don't let him have it. Not yet.

You release his cock, hand slipping away just as the tension reaches its peak, and drag your soaked cunt back up the entire length of him in one loooong slide.

It feels like a collision of two fires.

In your desperation to feel everything you let your entire weight drop. The clench of your pussy as you cum wraps around the underside of his cock, squeezing him with a force that leaves him absolutely helpless.

He has no choice but to follow you into the fire.

Spurts of his cum paint the pale skin of his stomach, the liquid warmth spreading in thick, white streaks, pooling in his belly button.

For a few seconds, neither of you moves. There is only the sound of your breathing and the humid scent of your shared exhaustion.

“Was that pretty enough for you, cutie?” he teases, though his hand trembles slightly as he reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His thumb lingers on your cheek, like he’s constantly checking to make sure you haven't vanished into the night. "Or do we need to do it again?"

It’s late, way past the time Zayne would usually be nudging you to sleep but he’s still tucked away in his office, probably buried under a mountain of medical charts or surgical reports.

Your eyes are glued to your phone screen, watching a VIDEO of a girl grinding against a man’s thigh, bodies pressed together, his hands steady even as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. The guy in the video is wearing pajamas that look disturbingly similar to the ones Zayne is wearing right now.

Suddenly, the empty space in your bed feels a little too vast, your mind drifting to the office down the hall, aching to be that girl, to climb onto his Zayne's lap while he’s buried in medical charts and just... fuck yourself stupid.

You want to reach down and touch yourself but you’re a loud sleeper and an even louder moaner. If you start now, there’s no way he won't hear you through the walls, and you aren't quite ready for that kind of intimacy yet. So, you settle for a bit of digital venting. With a flushed face, you type out a quick comment on the video: "God, I wish I could do this while he's working..."

You go to save the link to your "Filthy Things" folder for a proper session tomorrow morning, but just as your thumb hovers over the screen, your phone starts vibrating. It’s Simone. She’s calling, probably to gossip about something trivial. In your rush to swipe the call and answer her, your finger taps the wrong folder.

And because Zayne is a man who is always, always connected to his devices for work... he’s going to see the notification the exact second it pops up.

🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺

It didn't take long. After that little "digital accident," the silence between you two wasn't awkward so much as it was heavy. Charged. He didn't even tease you about the comment. He didn't even blush. He just looked at you with those piercing eyes, a tiny, knowing quirk at the corner of his mouth, and silently commanded you to come to him.

And now, here you are. Perched on his lap, doing the same thing you saw on that video. Your lower half is completely bare, your thighs hugging his muscular one as you press yourself flush against him.

The friction is driving you completely insane.

Zayne, however, is a man of terrifying discipline.

His left hand is braced on your lower back, while his right hand moves across his keyboard. He’s actually working. He’s reviewing files, typing out notes, behaving as if you aren't currently trying to melt into his lap. Every so often, he’ll pause, not to stop you, but to lean in. His breath, cool and smelling faintly of mint, brushes against the shell of your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine.

"Ah... Zayne..." you whimper against his neck as you press yourself harder against him. The sound is loud, far too loud for his quiet office and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Hush now," he doesn't even look away from the monitor, though you notice the slight tightening of his jaw. "I need to focus. These reports won't write themselves."

He’s being difficult. He’s being a tease. And you love him for it.

You try to be "good." You force yourself to still when he has to write something long on his computer. You sit there, trembling slightly, waiting for him to acknowledge the havoc you're wreaking on his concentration.

A moment passes. The only sound is the soft click clack of the keyboard. Then, you feel his hand slide from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you just a fraction of an inch closer, a subtle command for you to keep going.

"Good girl," he whispers, the words a warm caress against your ear.

His expression is completely professional, but the way his fingers linger on your skin tells a completely different story. He’s still working, yes but he’s also letting you feel exactly how much of a distraction you really are.

Every time your thighs tense up, every time you desperately bite your lower lip to stifle a moan that threatens to shatter the silence, the air thickens with indecency.

He’s struggling. You aren't blind. You can feel the insistent twitch of his cock beneath you, reacting to every open mouthed kiss you press against the pulse of his neck, the sharp line of his collarbone, and the smooth expanse of his Adam's apple. He’s trying to maintain that surgeon’s calm, but his body is betraying him with every shuddering breath you take.

You’re right on the edge. Your clit is catching perfectly against the fabric of his pajamas, the material already damp and clinging to you from the amount of arousal you're leaking.

"Look at me."

His voice cuts through the air, forcing your gaze up. He wants to see the exact moment your eyes glaze over, the moment your breath hitches and tells the truth that your lips are trying so hard to hide.

When his hand slides up to cup your jaw, it isn't the gentle, comforting touch you're used to during a quiet movie on the couch. It's different. It's possessive. It’s a disciplined kind of dominance, a reminder that while he is the composed Zayne in the daylight, there is a much darker man caged behind that professional composure and you are the only one who knows how to let him out.

"You are close, aren't you, love?" he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath.

You can barely manage a nod, your lungs feeling too small for the air you're trying to pull in. You're breathing directly into his slightly parted mouth.

"Cum for me, then," he exhales, a rare flush creeping up his cheeks, betraying just how much this is affecting him too.

He shifts his thigh, bouncing it up and down in a rhythmic motion that catches your clit perfectly.

The world tilts. You feel your eyes lose focus and you can't tell if it's the shaking of your limbs or the pounding of your heart that's making you tremble so violently.

"Zaynie... Zayne..."

His name becomes your entire vocabulary, there are no words left, only the sound of his name on your lips and the crashing sensation of finally, finally letting go.

You are flicking through a never ending stream of mindless clips and memes. It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon, just a bit of scrolling to kill the time until Caleb comes back, but then there...

A VIDEO pops up. It’s not your usual aesthetic travel vlog or a cooking hack.

You freeze, your heart doing a weird, little skip in your chest. You know you should probably swipe past it, but your eyes are glued to the screen. It’s a girl, her lace panties completely drenched. The guy in the video isn't even taking them off, he’s just sliding the tip of his cock against her through the wet lace.

A sudden warmth blooms deep in your belly, spreading down until it feels like you’re melting into the cushions. God, you’ve been craving that. The teasing, the slow, agonizing buildup. You’ve spent so much money on delicate, expensive little sets, thinking maybe Caleb would appreciate the way they look on you, but hes a fucking dog. He doesn't do "slow." He usually just rips them or tugs them off with impatience, going straight for the heat of you. You just want him to play with you like that. To linger.

Your inhibitions are a little frayed from the visual, and before your brain can catch up to your impulse, your thumbs are flying. You tap the comment section, the screen a mess of unhinged messages from strangers, and you add your own little confession: “I really need him to play with me like this, but he prefers to eat it raw from the start😢”

You hit send, a tiny, embarrassed flush creeping up your neck, and immediately swipe the video away, feeling a bit silly for being so vulnerable to a bunch of internet strangers.

You toss the phone onto the cushion next to you a second later, completely oblivious to one mortifying detail. He’d logged into his account on your phone earlier when his own battery died, and you hadn't bothered to switch back.

In his office, the most dangerous man in Skyhaven is about to watch, in explicit detail, how you want to be ruined.

🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷

It turns out your assessment of him was spot on. The man is a fucking dog.

He hasn't taken your underwear off. That’s the part that’s driving you absolutely insane. The delicate lace is currently soaked, clinging to your pussy like a second, translucent layer of skin. He’s been working his tongue against the fabric, licks so long and heavy they feel like they’re reaching deep inside you. You’ve already been hit by two earth shattering, toe curling orgasms, your vision blurring every time his mouth finds your clit through the damp cloth. He hasn't even slowed down. If anything, it's getting worse.

“This is the reason I usually take off those pretty panties you wear” he presses his face into you, his broad tongue sweeping up in one stroke against your entire slit. You let out a choked, broken sound, fingers tangling desperately in his dark hair, trying to push him away just to catch your breath.

“Your scent is so fucking addictive,” he groans against your skin, “Especially after wearing them all day... knowing you've been walking around, smelling like this, just waiting for me.”

Then, he says something that makes your heart skip a beat not out of fear, but out of pure shock.

“You have no idea, do you?” he pants, nose brushing against your clit. “Last two years of High School... I spent them stroking my cock raw just to the smell of your panties. Thinking about you. Wishing you were right there."

Your vision blurs. Your hips jerk upward involuntarily as a third wave of pleasure crashes over you. You cum hard, your entire body shaking as you spill yourself directly onto his tongue, voice breaking into a high, desperate sob of his name.

He doesn't pull away. He just drinks you in, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he tastes exactly what he's been craving.

The moment your legs stop trembling he hooks his fingers into the soaked gusset and drags it to the side, baring your swollen folds and your pulsing clit, sensitive from his relentless attention.

He doesn't thrust in. He doesn't go for the full stretch you’ve been silently praying for. Instead, he slides the drooling tip of his cock over your slit. He isn't even entering you yet, he's just... slapping it against your clit, teasing the very edge of your tolerance.

You wanted the lace, the play, the slow burn... but God, you also wanted him to fuck you until you couldn't remember your name. You wanted the stretch.

But Caleb is a man who listens. Or rather, he's a man who has spent a lifetime studying every detail of your desires and right now he is giving you exactly what you asked for.

He leans down, his eyes dark, watching the way your face contorts with pleasure and frustration. He doesn't give you the release of a full thrust, he just feeds you the tip. He slides just the head of his cock into your pussy, a teasing invasion that barely makes a dent.

The reaction is instantaneous. Your walls react to him like a living thing, clenching around him, desperately trying to suck him deeper, to pull the rest of him in. The sensation is so perfectly matched that a synchronized moan breaks from both of you.

He pulls out just a fraction and then he thrusts the tip back in. Over and over again.

“Please,” you whimper, the word sounding pathetic even to your own ears. “Baby, please...”

You’re trying to force him to go deeper. But he’s in total control. His left hand is working the length of his cock, pumping with a desperate rhythm, while his right hand finds your clit.

His eyes are pinned to yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face as if he’s trying to memorize the way you fall apart.

And then, the teasing ends.

His mushroom tip, still nestled just inside your entrance, begins to pulse. Warm, thick spurts of cum hit your sensitive walls, flooding the tiny space he’s occupied.

Your pussy clenches around the tip of his cock, trying to suck every last drop out of him while his hand squeezes the rest of his length, forcing the remainder of his seed into you, filling you up until his cum starts to leak out.

He finally collapses against you, the weight of his body pressing you deep into the mattress.

"You're so loud when you're happy," he murmurs before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple, then your cheek, before finally settling his lips against yours in a kiss that tastes of salt and everything you are to him.

He pulls back just a bit, his gaze dropping to where the soaked lace of your panties still clings to your thighs, then back up to your eyes. There’s a flicker of that obsessive intensity returning to his expression.

"There isn't a single thing in this world you could ask for that wouldn't make me crawl to you. So don't hold back, Pips."

you don’t have to say a damn thing because he knows you and your boyfriend have been having issues lately—all his fault, of course—so he sets his jaw and lets you in and you tell him everything. you tell him all the mean things he called you, how he hated that you were friends with zayne, how he accused you of cheating.

and zayne’s never killed before, never even seriously imagined it beyond his dreams—but right now, it feels inevitable. that son of a bitch thought he could call you names? accuse you, the sweetest girl to walk the earth, of something so nasty, so despicable… the man that made his pretty girl look like this… he’s already sealed his fate. he’ll be dealt with, but for now… now he has to take care of you.

you’re weeping into his chest, hiccuping while he rubs your back. your broken sobs pull at his heart strings, “h-he said i-i was awful—that–ugh, that he deserved s-someone better.” your hands fist at his shirt in anger and hurt and confusion. “he-he told me to pick b-between you ‘n him.”

zayne freezes, throat running dry. he’d been quiet this whole time, letting you cry it out while he thinks of all the ways he could kill the man, but now, he can’t bite his tongue. “and what did you say?” his heart runs wild as he impatiently waits for the words to slip out of your meek little mouth. 

you look up at him, staring into his jade eyes, noting the way his pupils nearly swallow the pretty color whole. unbeknownst to you, it’s the look of love. pure, unadulterated love. 

“i-i chose you.”

his heart bursts, and he knows it’s wrong—knows he shouldn’t—but he can’t ignore it. years and years of yearning, of aching for even the smallest piece of your love, have made him greedy. he leans in, presses his lips to yours. you tense in shock at first, but he’s so gentle, so careful, that you almost immediately melt into him.

and the longer your lips linger against his, the needier zayne becomes. your mouth parts in a soft gasp, and he takes it as his chance, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

it’s so wrong to take advantage of you like this—that thought rattles endlessly in his mind. but then he hears your moan. then he feels the way you melt against him, comfortable, familiar, almost as if you’ve been imagining this moment for just as long as he has. and after that, he can’t bring himself to stop.

he can’t stop the way he flips you on to your back, or the way he hungrily devours your mouth or the sharp exhales through his nose as he tries to catch his breath without pulling off of you. he needs you. he’s needed you for years.

and now… now he finally has you, and he plans on making you his forever. 

your clothes are off, tears still slipping out of your eyes as your heart aches for him. not your boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend—but for zayne. for the friend that’s always been so close, yet so out of reach. 

he’s lining his thick, hard cock to your dripping entrance before he stops and looks at you. “i-is this okay?” he asks, voice gruff and heavy. his dark eyes burn into your bloodshot ones and they soften—just the slightest bit. “i know you’re sad, but i-i can make it better. i can fix it. i can make you feel better than he ever has, but you need to tell me it’s okay, sweetheart… please.”

he’s not sure if the beg is for you to say yes, or if it’s a plea for him to finally be let in. maybe it’s both. regardless, when you nod and whisper, “yes, please. make it better, zaynie. please,” everything flies out the window.

all his inhibitions. all the restraint. all the times he bit his tongue and swallowed his wants—gone. along with his ability to be as gentle as you deserve.

“you’re mine.” he pants, cock thrusting into you with vigor. “you’ve always fucking been m-mine.” his hands push at the back of your thighs, pushing them back till your knees knock against your chest. “i’ve loved you—all these years, i’ve loved you.”

your arms wrap around his neck and you sob for a completely different reason now. because you feel so good—he’s so deep and he’s hitting every spot the way it was meant to be hit and he’s saying all these things you’ve wanted to hear for as long as you’ve known him. 

“z-zayne—” you start but it’s cut off by a sharp cry when his cock rams against your cervix. “oh my god!”

“i don’t want to hear you say anything until i’m done—let me finish.” he warns, voice dripping with a newfound resentment. “you were always supposed to be mine, sweet girl. and that… that pathetic excuse of a man took you from me.” he rambles, pounding harder and harder. 

“i took care of you… i-i—fuck, sweetheart, i just love you. i love you, i love you, i love you.”

and you can’t help yourself. his words make your stomach toss and turn and on his last syllable, you just break. like a dam that’s been filled to the brim, you fall apart right then and there, creaming his cock. 

he groans and it only excites him further. he fucks you through your orgasm, repeatedly hitting the sensitive spongey part with his tip as he leans in close and murmurs. “you were meant for me… made for me.” he says. 

“you were made to be mine.”

#SYLUS — IN MY ROOM

there’s no love purer than sylus’s. he’s said it before—multiple times at that. you were endeared by it. sylus’s gentle touches and soft words despite his frigid exterior. 

but sylus isn’t always gentle touches and soft words. he can be mean, rough… nasty. especially when he finds someone to be a threat. you don’t see it, but he seethes when another person touches you. his heart aches when you’re away. his brain is infested with the thought of you. 

mephisto is so special to him. yes, he loves the mechanical bird, but he loves you more. he’d die without the crow because without him, he can’t keep tabs on you and without his bird’s eyes on you, he spirals out of control. 

your missions are especially hard for sylus. he always makes mephisto go with you because at least then he can tend to business in the n-109 zone while concurrently keeping an eye on you, but this time you refused. words along the lines of “i’ll be back soon–a week max. mephie doesn’t need to come with me.”

and sylus prides himself in being a man that gives his partner the autonomy of choice. he’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to—but he wishes he could. he wishes he could keep you at the base within arms reach. he wishes he could make you leave the association and move out of your tiny, shitty apartment so that you gave him all your attention. he wishes to never be apart from you. 

he never says these things, though. he never wants to be too much—too suffocating, too overbearing. but moments like this make him unravel. when you’re away on missions in distant regions, not answering his calls or texts, and mephisto isn’t there to keep an eye on you, something in him snaps just a little. and sylus gets… a bit unhinged.

or maybe very unhinged. 

sylus is level headed in every sense until it comes to you. he’s even tempered until you’ve gone two weeks without contact. then things get messy. 

every one of his “business” meetings over the two weeks you’re gone ends in bloodshed. sylus kills everyone who looks at him wrong. everyone that tries to lowball him. everyone in his fucking way. 

he’s disheveled when you arrive back at the base. you’re not much better—stress and fatigue etched into your features. you trudge inside, dropping your bags by the door, and when you blink, sylus is suddenly right in front of you.

and you see it. the fear in his eyes.

everything he refuses to say is written there—in his gaze, in the tension of his body, in the way his breaths come uneven, almost staggering, like he’s been holding himself together by sheer will alone.

“where were you, sweetheart?” he whispers, hands cradling your face as he tilts it up to meet his gaze. “when you said a few days, i didn’t think you meant sixteen.” it’s meant to be a joke—but it doesn’t sound like one. not even close.

“the mission ran longer than we anticipated, and there was no cell signal, so i couldn’t get back to you. but i’m okay…” you smile, teasing despite the way the usual light in your eyes has dulled just a bit. “don’t tell me you were worried about me. did the big, bad leader of onychinus really not have anything to keep him busy while i was gone?”

you probably shouldn’t have poked fun. not when he’s this raw. not when he was worried half to death, haunted by the thought that he might never see you again.

it’s exactly how you end up folded in half, knees touching your ears while he fucks into you. it’s not too fast, not too slow, but it’s at the perfect speed. his fat cock fills you to the brim and stuffs your hallowed out stomach. you’ve missed this stretch, this undeniable full feeling and he’s certainly missed you. you can tell in his expression… his words. 

sylus is finally being honest. 

“you can’t just leave me like that, sweetie,” he pants, hands on both sides of your head. “you don’t even know what i’ve been through these past two weeks.”

you feel every ridge of his cock, every inch of him and it drives you up a wall. you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you. 

“i can’t be good without you… i won’t feel whole without you,” his breathy whispers fan across your face as his red eyes bore into yours. his right eye burns brighter than the darkened left, and you can’t help but stare. “i am nothing without you, my love.”

you inhale sharply—partly from the way his thrusts grow deeper, rougher, like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together. and partly from his words. from the rawness of them. the desperation. you’ve never heard anything like it before—never from him.

“sylus…” you whimper. 

“i need you.” he says, repeating it like a mantra. he needs you to understand it. “i need you… i need you. if i could keep you in this bed forever, i would. i never want you to leave again.”

that’s when he loses it. the pace of his thrusts pick up and he’s ramming against your cervix, eliciting a sharp sob of pained pleasure from you. he’s completely out of his mind, fucking you sensless like you’re some type of rag doll. 

“you’re not allowed to do that anymore.” he grunts, eyes struggling to stay open as they keep rolling back in the delicious pleasure. he could just fucking die in this pussy and he’d be so content. as long as he’s with you, he doesn’t care what happens. “you can’t leave, i won’t allow it.”

your garbled words lace in your words, “i won’t—i-i, i won’t leave—fuh, fuck, sylus—” you promise, your nails digging into his back, leaving red crescents in their wake. “please, s-slow down.”

“shhh, baby, you can take it—you take it every time. so pretty and perfect, all for me.” he presses his forehead against yours and stares at your screwed shut eyes. “my perfect girl.”

you tighten around him, and the sound that tears from both of you is raw and guttural. it’s almost too much—so intense and so good— you can’t help but melt beneath him as your orgasm crashes over you, powerful enough to leave you shaking. sylus keeps whispering about how much he needs you, voice breaking in your ear while you convulse and whimper under him.

he presses his lips to yours, swallowing your moans as your legs wrap tight around his slender waist. he comes deep inside you with broken groans of “i love you” against your mouth, hips stuttering as ribbon after ribbon spills into you.

afterward, he collapses on top of you, cock still hard, but exhaustion has claimed you both. so you just lie there—bodies pressed together, breath slowly evening out, your mixed cum leaking from between your thighs as the moment settles around you.

“i’ll never let you out of my sight again.”

#RAFAYEL — SHE

you’re not usually like this on first dates. you don’t let them take you back to their place and eat you out till you’re in tears. you don’t usually let them fuck you till you pass out. you prefer to take things slow, steady. really get to know someone inside and out before you even let them kiss you. you’re the opposite of easy—you’re hard to get, practically unattainable, but tonight is different.

you’re first date with rafayel makes you feel away you’ve never felt before. it’s like he’s known you for years. he’s already aware of all your ticks, your mannerisms and the things that piss other men off? he welcomes them. he calls it cute. he finishes your sentences like he’s reading your mind. he guesses what your order is at the restaurant you brought him to—your favorite ever—and he guesses correctly. you call it a coincidence, saying he’s perceptive. observant. he’s just into you.

if you were a little less oblivious, you’d know it’s more than a coincidence. you’d know that rafayel has been watching you since long before you met on the stupid dating app. the first time you met wasn’t on bumble. no, you met a year prior—well, he met you.

you’d spilled your coffee outside a cafe next to the art gallery that housed his paintings. you were beautiful. more than that—you were perfect. the way you cursed under your breath. the way you apologized to the asshole who bumped into you in the first place. he was captivated. it was almost like he’d known you in another life.

that’s what had him following you. it was innocent at first—just watching you from afar. you happened to be a regular at the cafe and he took note of that. he’d watch you for hours type away at your laptop, drank in the way you’d gnaw at your lip and the pinch of your eyebrows every time you got frustrated, or every time your lips would twitch when you would find something amusing. 

innocent. 

then it turned to something more than that. rafayel found himself following you home. watching you change in your window, blinds wide open like you want someone to catch you. 

and then he got addicted to it—watching you. following you. memorizing your schedule and routine. it made him hard to watch you. to think about what you smell like… what you taste like… how pretty you’d look crying on his dick. every night he’d go home to his place, wrap a hand around his leaky, aching cock and stroke himself to the mental image of you he’s burned into his brain. 

he barely slept. he’d stay up late into the night and paint you. he’s memorized you. every curve. every strand of hair on your head. every feature—they’re all filed away in his brain. 

his last straw comes when he watches you go on date after date, jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides. thanks to him, you’ve never gone on more than one date with the same man. they’re nobodies. wastes of space. he’s looked into every single one of them, and not one is worthy of you—so they don’t deserve a place in your life.

he knows you’re meant to be with him. he’s always known. and that’s when he finally takes matters into his own hands and downloads the dating app.

that’s essentially how you end up in your current position, throat hoarse from all your screams of pleasure. you’re overstimulated, pussy sore, but he keeps going. fucking you into oblivion. after all, he’s waited for this for a whole year.

your ankles rest on his shoulders while your hands cover your sweaty, heated face, his cock fucking you fast and deep the same way it has been for the past hour and a half. 

“raf—hgnh, rafayel! p-please, oh my god,” you cry, your voice breaking as you beg for mercy. “i can’t take it—please, please.”

he groans, length twitching inside of your sensitive pussy at the sound of your pleads. “but you feel so good, cutie,” he responds breathlessly, a teasing lilt in his voice before it drops—lower, darker. “do you know how long i’ve waited for this?”

you whimper, panting out a confused, “wh-what? you waited all night for this?”

he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. it sounds strained. almost pained. he shakes his head and leans in to whisper, “no, silly girl. i’ve waited months for this.”

your eyes shoot open and you look into his. the twinkle that was there when he’d introduced himself to you earlier this evening is replaced with thunderstorms. newfound darkness. it makes your body lock up in fear, pussy tightening around him. this brings a wicked smile to his face. 

“don’t be scared, pretty. i’ll take good care of you.” he swears, wrapping his hands around your ankles, fingers so gentle on your skin. “i’m the only one who can take care of you… the only one who deserves you.”

you’re not sure why your fight or flight never kicks in. it should—everything about this is fucked beyond belief. your date—the one you’ve only just met—knows you. has known you for months. maybe longer.

but your stomach still flutters. maybe you like it. like whatever… this is. maybe you’re drunk on the feeling, but his words only sink deeper, winding tight and turning you on even more. your back arches, a sharp, helpless moan tearing from your throat, loud enough to mix with the wet sounds of his hips snapping against yours.

“you like that, huh?” he taunts. “‘m gonna make you fall for me. take such good care of you that you’ll never be able to think of anyone but me ever again.”

“oh, fuck,” you sob. “oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. raf, fuck!”

“yeah, go ahead and cream my cock again, princess. it’s yours. i’m yours.” the pace of his thrusts quickens, each snap more frantic than the last, and his words hitch on a breathy whimper—an unmistakable sign that he’s close too. “i’m all yours—and you’re mine now. i-i won’t let you get away that easy.”

the knot in your stomach snaps, exploding all at once as you drench his cock in syrupy arousal. your body jerks uncontrollably for the nth time, thrashing beneath him, and he’s the only thing keeping you steady—anchoring you as it rips through you.

“i’m gonna cum inside—i’m gonna fill this pretty pussy up with my cum and make you mine,” he doesn’t ask—it’s a statement. he’s just telling you, and you don’t protest. not even a little.

you take it. you let him fill you all the way up, feel his cock throb and twitch wildly and take every drop of cum, giving it a home in your cunt. he groans so prettily and you whimper at the warmth blooming inside of you. 

“you’ve always been my girl and now i have proof.”

#CALEB — STOCKHOLM SYNDROME

caleb is sick. so lovesick it’s twisted him into someone almost unrecognizable. he’s no longer the sweet boy from your childhood—no. now that caleb is yours and you are caleb’s, you’ve seen what lives beneath the cracks in his carefully kept exterior. he hides cameras in your apartment. he tracks you constantly. he’s planted a fear so deep in you that if you’re ever caught with someone else—friend or not—while ignoring his texts or calls, something very bad will happen.

in short, caleb would kill for you. you’re pretty sure he already has.

you love him—you love your caleb more than anything. he’s your sun. he treats you like a princess. he makes you feel whole. and yet, his actions terrify you. you can’t leave him, even though you know, deep down, you probably should. you should run. people have told you to run. simone, especially. but leaving would break both of you.

you make it a rule not to talk about caleb in your home when friends are over, because you know he’s listening. but when simone comes by, she can’t help herself.

“you need to leave him,” she says out of the blue and your blood goes cold. “[name], he’s basically holding you hostage—you only ever talk to caleb, i haven’t seen you outside of the association in weeks.”

“he’s not holding me hostage, simone,” you sigh, praying she drops it. you know she wants the best for you, but you don’t want to have this conversation right now. “can we not talk about him?”

“i’m just saying, [name], he’s sick. i think there’s something wrong with him and i just want you to be careful.” she says before grabbing her bag to leave. 

—

caleb’s eyes are red when you see him at your doorstep two hours later. you pull him in and you know what’s wrong… you know he heard your chat with simone. you know he’s in his head, spiraling out of control. 

“baby,” you murmur, pulling him by the wrist inside your place. “come on, come inside.”

he doesn’t even let you explain—the second he’s inside and the door is shut, he’s on you. his big, strong arms hoop around your body and pull you against him. your inhaling his natural musk and he’s buried in the crook of your neck apologizing profusely. 

“i’m sorry i can’t be what you need,” he says, shakily. the words breaking your heart as you run a soothing hand up and down his broad back. “i don’t deserve you, pips, but please… please don’t leave me. i need you.”

you embrace him tightly, “oh caleb,” your sad voice just barely above a whisper. “caleb, ‘m not—i won’t leave you.”

he pulls away from your neck, violet eyes turned dark purple when you see them for the second time. “promise?”

you nod wearily, but still, with no hesitation, reply with, “promise.”

and then he’s kissing you. soft at first, then it’s rough. so rough that it almost gives you whiplash. he’s kissing you, tongue roaming your mouth while he guides you to your bedroom, whimpering into your mouth. 

you’re thrown off when he gently shoves you against the bed. you stumble with a gasp and take in the shift in his demeanor. caleb looks mean. the boyfriend that was crying into your neck, begging you not to leave him looks nothing like the man that towers over you. 

he’s slow when he unbuttons his pants and when he pulls off his shirt. he stares at you, clocking every movement of your body— the increasing rate of which your chest rises and falls, the way there’s a sense of fear paired with excitement swimming in your pretty eyes—his eyes never leave yours.. 

“you understand that you can’t leave me, right?” he says, voice low. “that you can never leave me?” he says, stalking towards you slowly.

you nod and he shakes his head. “say it.” his sweet voice drips with dominance. “fucking tell me you understand.”

your breath hitches as his hands begin to strip your clothes off. “i-i understand. i won’t leave you.” 

“good girl,” he murmurs, continuing to work your clothes off till you’re in nothing but cotton panties. “you wanna know why you can’t leave?” he joins you on the bed, spreading your legs open and occupying the space between them.

you nod and he simply slips your panties to the side, gathers your arousal on the tip of his cock—effectively leaving you breathless in anticipation—before he presses into you, the fat tip of his length stretching you open. 

“because you need me.” he grunts, shoving himself inside of you and watching you crumble so pathetically. “your heart needs me, your body needs me… and this pretty pussy, baby? yeahhh, she needs me the most.” 

“caleb!” you gasp, feeling his cock deep in your stomach. “oh, fuck, caleb, w-wait— ‘s too deep.”

“it isn’t,” he growls, thumb catching your swollen clit. “nah, just fuckin’ take it, pretty girl. take this dick ‘n tell me you need it.”

your eyes roll to the back of your head as you let out a guttural moan. his cock pulls all the way out till his tip is the only inch that peeks inside your tight cunt, before he slams back into you, getting you addicted to him all over again. 

“oh my god, please!” you beg when he does it again and again at a monotonous pace. “please, please, caleb, i need it—i need, hah! i need it—need you, caleb.”

the sound that erupts in his chest is practically animalistic. his hand wraps loosely around your throat before his lips press against yours again. is sloppy, uncoordinated—a string of spit connects your lips when he pulls a few centimeters away. 

caleb leans in close, his voice dropping to a whisper as he moves against you, each word timed with a rough, unrelenting thrust. “you. need. me.” his grip around your throat tightens, certainty ringing through him as he repeats it like a promise—or maybe… maybe it’s a warning. “you need me. you’ll always need me, no one else.”

tears prick in your eyes at the pained pleasure shooting through your body. he squeezes your throat tighter, watching your eyes roll in ecstasy. so pretty and so fucked out and so his. you’re perfect. he can never let you go. he won’t. 

how could he when you were meant to be together forever?

#XAVIER — ALWAYS BE MY BABY

you knew xavier was a little… toxic, to put it lightly, when you agreed to be his girlfriend. you knew he was possessive by nature—clingy, territorial, cruel to every man who so much as looked at you for a second too long. and you told yourself you were okay with it. you thought you were okay with it.

but lately, it’s gotten worse. suffocating. you feel like you’re shrinking inside your own life, like there’s no space left that belongs solely to you. every choice, every breath, every step forward is taken with xavier beside you—and it’s too much. it’s all too much.

so when you finally sigh, the words slipping out before you can stop them—“we need to take a break”—he cocks his head, confused.

it’s like a predator’s curiosity.

because… what does that mean? a break from what, exactly? from work? from the hunter’s association?

“what do you mean?” he asks, all wide-eyed and innocent—and that’s what upsets you the most about xavier. he doesn’t realize there’s something wrong with him. he can’t see that the way he feels about you, the way he claims you, has long since crossed the line from devotion into something deeply almost frighteningly abnormal.

you let out a shaky exhale and avert your eyes, sight landing on your feet. “i mean… i think i need to take a break from… you. and you need a break from me…” when you look up, his confused face is gone, replaced with a hardened glare. “we just need space to be our own—“

“no,” he cuts you off, voice nearly robotic when he responds. “no, i don’t need space—i need you. i don’t need a break… i just want to be with you.”

you knew this was coming. you knew he’d try to convince you that you were inevitable—meant and written into each other’s bones. so you sigh and choose honesty, even though it hurts him.

“i love you, xavie. i do. i want to be with you, but…” your voice wavers despite yourself. “…you’re scaring me.”

and something in his eyes goes dark. the familiar starlight you’re used to seeing there fades, thinning until it’s almost gone. “i…” he swallows, disbelief softening his voice in a way that unsettles you. “i scare you?”

“w-well, no—you don’t scare me, scare me,” you rush out, already trying to soften the blow. “you just… you worry me. i’m scared you’re too dependent on me. you chase off every man that looks my way, you’re everywhere i am—” your breath stutters. “it’s just too much for me.”

he stalks towards you and every step he takes forward, you take one back till your back hits his kitchen island. you gasp as he cages you in, arms on both sides of your body. he leans in, cobalt blue eyes swallowed by his dilated, black pupils. 

you try to hold your breath, but it’s useless—your senses are flooded with him. he’s all you can see, all you can smell. his scent rattles your brain in a way nothing else ever has, too much of it sinking into you like a drug. and no matter how hard you try to keep your thoughts clear, your resolve unravels when you feel arousal pool low in your belly, heat blooming as it glues your panties to your core.

“you’re all i need… and i should be all you need,” he says, voice dark as it drops octaves lower than its usual range. his eyes bore into yours, lips tugging up ever so slightly. “don’t be scared, angel. you know i’d never hurt you, right? you know all i want is to love you. i’d do anything to keep you all to myself.” 

it feels like he’s putting you under some kind of spell. you dig your heels in mentally, forcing yourself to remember why you came here—to stand your ground, to leave, to not fold.

you try to break eye contact, but he won’t let you. his fingers close around your chin, firm and unyielding, pulling your attention right back where he wants it. “no, look at me, honey.” he says, voice low. “answer me: you know i’d never hurt you, right?”

he makes you nod with the grip on your chin. “i-i know.” you reply, voice cracking and stomach jostling. 

“you’re safe with me. you’ll always be safe with me.” he says, a smile touching his lips. he leans it, nose brushing against yours as he says, “we’re going to be together forever and ever. i’ll show you.”

—

xavier wastes no time flipping you over and bending you over the island, your face smooshed against the cool marble. your leggings are pulled down and his cock is inside you, exploring every single inch of your cunt with no barrier. you can’t find it in you to protest for him to wear a condom when you feel fuller… when he somehow feels even bigger. 

drool seeps from your lips, pooling on the smooth surface as he fucks you senseless almost as if he has something to prove in his thrusts. 

he pushes deep into you, grinding his tip against your sweetest spot. “you feel me, honey? feel how i’m fucking you raw?” he grunts the words out, one hand on your waist as the other splays between your shoulder blades. “this is how we’re gonna do it from now on, got it?”

your eyes roll, pussy clamping tight around him. the veins of his cock brand themselves into your walls. he’s ruining you for everyone else. marking his territory. 

you can’t even respond—the only noises that can be pulled from you are garbled moans of his name and choked sobs. you’re a complete and utter mess, reduced to nothing but tears, drool and arousal. 

he resumes his thrusts, pulling out and ramming back into you. “fuck you raw, fill you with my cum and get you pregnant.” he whispers and it has your eyes shooting open, your stomach hallowing out and your cunt gripping him like never before.

“w-what?” your broken voice rings in his ears and it elicits a little moan from him. his cock twitches wildly inside of you, balls drawing up by the lilt of panic in your voice. “wait—wait, xavie, ‘m, hah! shit, ‘m not on the pill. y-you can’t cum i-inside!”

he lets out a soft, breathy chuckle. “don’t worry, honey,” he says, voice steady. “i’ll take care of you—of us. you just take it. be good and take it because it’s what you’re made for.”

and you do. you give in just like he tells you to, fingers digging into the edge of the countertop as your body betrays you. each movement pulls a sharp, helpless sound from your throat, clipped moans spilling out of you as easily as the warmth gathering between your thighs.

“i promise, this–this… will make us closer,” he pants, thrusts getting quicker as he gets closer and closer to letting go. he’s on the precipice of an orgasm, length throbbing, tummy knotting up. “just hold still.”

then you feel the sudden warmth flooding your pussy. he’s shooting into you, ribbon after ribbon of warm cum while he groans prettily in your ear. it triggers your orgasm, your body convulses as your walls spasm and drench his cock in your slick. 

“now we’ll be together forever.” 

So of course Caleb, being such a kind and thoughtful gege, has to prove you wrong, right?

He does. Over. And over. And over again. That is, until you’re crying in overstimulation, writhing away from his punishing thrusts, clawing against the sheets as you try to run from the pleasure-turned-pain.

Or, tried to.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. Where do you think you’re going?”

You’re running? No, no you can’t run away, not when he’s already spent his entire fucking life chasing you. 

Caleb’s voice is teasing, raspy and sweet, but there’s nothing playful about the way his Evol surges to life with a mere crook of his finger, dragging you back along the mattress and pinning you down as he takes his sweet time crawling back to you. 

Trapped, your breath hitches as you feel the weight of him settle over you, his intimidating frame caging you in, tracing featherlight kisses along your spine in such a stark contrast to how ruthlessly he was fucking you earlier. His hands roam, slow and deliberate, kneading your ass as he repositions himself behind you.

"If I let you go," he murmurs, "you promise not to run?"

Run? Why did you even want to run? You can’t remember now, not as you viciously nodding your head as much as is allowed under the control of his Evol, already arching your back into his touch as Caleb nips and marks your sticky inner thighs. 

“Good girl.” The pressure disappears. 

Immediately, Caleb replaces it, his entire body pressing you down before you can so much as take a proper breath. His arm snakes around your throat, flexing just enough to remind you who’s in control, the bulging, thick mass of his bicep choking you deliciously when you attempt to squirm or beg.

He’s got you in a headlock, the rest of his corded body pressing down atop you until your chest is squished to the mattress, ass pressed against Caleb’s pelvis, the combined pressure enough for you to be seeing stars. A drooling, overstimulated mess.

It doesn’t help that he’s practically panting like a dog in your ear, whining as he already begins thrusting himself back into your cunt, delirious moans of your name and filthy praises cooed right into your ear, words barely distinguishable with how hard he’s breathing. 

“Aww p-poor thing.” Caleb pants, voice wrecked, whiny with need as he grinds himself against you. His pace is already brutal, his thrusts sharp and unforgiving, every desperate snap of his hips forcing a cry from your throat as his grip tightens, choking you deliciously every time you so much as try to squirm.“Can you be good for me? Be my sweet little girl and cum for daddy.”

It shouldn’t be hot, Caleb, your gege, calling himself daddy, it shouldn’t have you sobbing out an unintelligible plea as another orgasm builds, seizing up your body in tight, aching waves. And yet here you are, loosing your fucking mind at it.

“Please,” you gasp, voice muffled as you sink your teeth into his bicep, embarrassed by the desperate sound of your own voice. “Please, daddy.”

For the first time in thirty minutes, you feel Caleb stop. 

He’s frozen entirely, dick hot and throbbing with need within you, each shaky breath hitting your ear as he pressed down closer, flattening, suffocating you into the mattress as you feel the growl come from his throat. You can hear the way his lips curl into a grin. 

“You wanna say that again, princess?”

Whining, you try and arch your back further, wiggling your hips up as you try and bait Caleb into continuing, into giving you that release that was only just out of reach. But he wasn’t having any of that bratty attitude tonight. 

“Behave.” Caleb’s arm tightens, and your vision swims. ”I asked you a question. You need daddy to—ah shit you tightened, dirty girl— fuck you nice and full, hmm? Fuck you stupid?” 

A fresh wave of humiliation burns down your spine, but it doesn't matter. You’ll say whatever he wants if it means he moves, if it means he chokes you more, if it means he finally gives you what you need one more time. 

“Yes, m’close, please daddy! Please—ah—let me cum one more time.” 

Caleb just snaps.

His grip tightens instinctively. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel it, enough to make your breath stutter, your body jolt like the sweet little thing you are under his grasp. His entire frame tenses above you, muscles coiling so tightly it’s like he’s holding himself together with sheer willpower alone. But it’s already slipping.

"Fucking," His voice breaks, dissolving into a strangled groan as he buries his face against your neck, breathing you in like a man starved. "Fuck that shouldn’t be so hot, it really shouldn’t—"

Like you haven't already wrecked him beyond repair.

Caleb’s Evol comes back full force, pushing you prone against the mattress so you can’t feel anything but him, the arm around your throat dropping so his hand can press against your belly instead, pinning you down as he fucks into you so deep, so hard, you swear you can feel him in your lungs. His other hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back just enough for his lips to smash onto yours, sloppy, desperate, sucking at your bottom lip as the two of you jolt with each thrust. 

"You have no fucking idea," Caleb laughs against your lips, the words a feverish, choked-out confession, "how long I've wanted to do this to you."

It’s almost like he’s hammering that truth into you, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, the sound of skin on skin nearly drowned out by your own sobs of pleasure.

"Caleb—"

"Say it again," he demands, not even trying to keep his composure anymore. "Say it for me, princess. Say it like you mean it."

"Daddy—"

"Fuck."

Caleb really didn't need another kink, he really didn't need to imagine you calling him all these filthy things on top of every other sinful thing he's already imagined you doing. It must be divine punishment, because god was he into it.

Practically collapsing on top of you, Caleb's barely pulling out before grinding right back in as deep as he can get, like he can barely think to part from you even for a moment, like he needs to feel every twitch, every squeeze, every shudder of your overstimulated body. His hands roam wildly, equally greedy, kneading and groping every tender curve like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, like he’s claiming you in ways he’s never let himself before. And fuck, you’re close. 

Caleb notices, of course he notices, nibbling the shell of your ear as the arm around your throat tightens, the other going right back to abusing your clit as you squirt all over him with a scream. 

“Aw that’s it, keep cumming sweet thing.” Caleb’s voice is the only thing grounding you, your entire body, your vision trembling as you begin to lose consciousness. The only thing you can think of is Caleb. Caleb, Caleb, Caleb!

You don’t even realize you’re screaming his name over and over again as you squirt down both of your thighs, making a mess against the already ruined sweat-slicked sheets beneath the two of you. You’re so damn messy. He loves it.

Convulsing, walls fluttering around him like you’re made for him, a sweet temptation Caleb is so laughably weak against as he follows, humping against you like a mad dog as his breath shatters into desperate, shaky moans of your name, spilling inside you with a force that has you sobbing with pleasure.

“Oh, princess,” he rasped, his tongue tracing over the tear-streaked path down your cheek before pressing a soft, almost mocking kiss to your jaw. “Shh, it’s alright, don’t cry. Your gege is here, your daddy will take good care of you, promise.”

Rafayel ♱⋅ ── the desperate

You’re going to have to call in sick for the week. 

Every year with the return of the tide, with the return of ebb-and-flow day, Rafayel becomes insatiable. You’ve barely been able to be able to escape Rafayel’s grasp for long enough to go to the bathroom, let alone escape enough from his insatiable fucking to walk well enough to fight. 

It’s never been this bad. And it’s all your fault. Being back in your arms after eight hundred years, finally remembering the way your voice sounds when it says his name and the way you fit oh so perfectly in his arms. It’s borderline painful to spend even a minute in your absence. His very body violently rejects the notion of it as spasms of violent heat and need drives him right back into your arms again and again and again. 

“Please, please let me fuck you. I can’t come like this, you know that.”

Rafayel’s voice is muffled against your thigh, breath hot as he presses a messy, open-mouthed kiss to your skin. His hands are clenched into the sheets beside him, trembling with the effort of keeping them off you, as you ordered. It’s the only rule you’ve given him tonight, and yet it’s breaking him.

"Rafayel," you warn, fingers buried between your thighs, working yourself open as his desperate, pleading gaze follows your every movement.

He whimpers, nodding frantically, his cock throbbing angrily where it rests against the mattress, one hand coming back to violently fist the swollen head as it leaks all over his palm and sheets.  "I know, I know," his voice cracks as he drags his hand around its base, rutting into his own palm like it’s not enough, like it hasn’t been enough for hours now. "But please I—fuck—I can’t."

“You can.” You spread your legs wider, letting him see, letting him watch your fingers disappear into your fluttering cunt with a slick, wet sound that has his jaw going slack, his own hips grind into the bed helplessly.  “I told you what would happen if you forgot to use a condom, again.”

Rafayel’s eyes plead up into yours, big fat tears slipping down his cheeks, his head shaking against your leg as he kisses the trembling flesh. "You don't understand," he sobs, nuzzling into the crook of your knee like he can smell the orgasm building inside you, like he can taste it on his tongue already. “I need- I need—”

"You need to learn control, Rafayel." 

Your voice is less strict than you’d like it to be, already embarrassingly close considering all the times you’ve come earlier today. And the way Rafayel’s looking up at you, begging, pleading, is really not helping. 

Tilting your hips slightly, you circle your clit in a way that makes your eyes roll back, making sure he sees the way your poor cunt flutters all empty, the way your body clenches, desperate for something more, something bigger.

Rafayel groans, his grip on himself tightening. Still, it’s useless, his Lemurian biology physically won’t let him cum unless it’s inside his pretty little mate, his cock swollen and weeping with how much he’s holding back, the pleasure that spikes through him now nothing but a cruel, agonizing echo of the real thing.

"My love," he chokes, head falling back against the mattress, his throat bobbing as he tries to breathe past the desperate hunger clawing at his insides. "My muse, my sweet darling, please. Taste you, touch you, anything, please!”

You hum, considering, rolling your hips against your own fingers as he moans, watching with wild, fevered eyes. "You wanna clean me up?"

"Yes."

The word is instant, sharp, like Rafayel’s been waiting for you to say it since the moment he first laid his hands on you tonight. Before you can even think of teasing or denying him any further, his grip snaps—both arms wrapping around your thighs, dragging you down the mattress in one swift, fluid motion.

"Rafayel—"

Too late.

His mouth is on you before you can protest, his tongue filthy as he sucks at your clit, licking up everything you’ve given yourself, drinking in the mess between your thighs like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. Slapping your own hands away, Rafayel pauses briefly to suck them clean before diving right back into the source, moaning into your cunt, making your body seize with another orgasm before you can even process the first.

"Fuck, fuck," Your hands fly to his hair, gripping hard, but it only makes him groan, rutting against the mattress, his own pleasure reigniting just from the taste of you. 

You try to pull away, squirming and kicking at Rafayel’s sides, his shoulders, but he doesn't even budge. His arms lock tight around your hips, keeping you there, keeping you spread for him as he eats you out like a man possessed. 

And then he's begging again, voice wrecked, slurred with delirious pleasure, licking at your clit between words as though he really can’t get enough.  “Please, please let me fuck you. I promise, mhm, promise I won’t cum inside you again.” 

Rafayel is still begging for permission even as he manhandles you beneath him, hesitantly parting with your cunt as he kisses up your stomach, sucking at one of your breasts as you feel the nudge of his cock against your entrance before you can even think. “Promise I’ll be good. I’ll be such a good boy.”

Fuck, you really are weak against him. 

Using the last of your strength, you flip the both of you around, grinding down against his cock as you feel it throb, violently jumping between your thighs, the sloppy, wet sound of each movement sending shivers down both your spines. Poor thing is already ruined, body extra sensitive due to his heat, cock swollen and leaking as it begs to be inside you. 

"You promise?" Your voice is a whisper, teasing, as you drag your soaked folds along the length of him, feeling him tremble beneath you.

Rafayel nods frantically, breath hitching, hands twitching at his sides like he wants to grab you, wants to force you down onto him, but he knows better. Knows he wouldn’t survive the punishment. His lips are red, glossy with your slick, parted around little choked-off whimpers as he fights against the desperate urge to rut up into you.

"I promise," he gasps,  "Please, I’ll be good, I swear, I’ll be so good for you.”

You hum, dragging your fingertips down his chest, nails scraping lightly over sweat-slicked skin, enjoying the way his breath shudders at the contact. The pain. "You say that, but you've already come inside me, what, three times now?" 

You rock your hips again, coating his cock in your arousal, watching the way his abs twitch with the effort of keeping still. Gods, he’s so pretty like this, neglected and crying underneath you, muscles strained and glistening with sweat and cum, watercolor eyes bleary as his tears collect on the mattress as dusky pink pearls. The same rosy shade of blush that burns across his cheeks, ears, and throbbing tip of his swollen cock. 

“That warrants punishment, don’t you think?”

Rafayel all but whines at that, head tilting back against the pillow, his throat bobbing as he tries to breathe, tries to hold on to the last fragile thread of control he has left. "I—I won't this time, I swear, I’ll be good, I just need you."

"You need me?" You lean down, pressing your lips just below his ear, letting your voice drop to a sinful whisper. "Or do you just need to fuck something, sweetheart?"

"You." Rafayel’s answer is immediate, desperate, his hands finally snapping up to grip your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh. "It’s always you. Only you, my mate."

The admission makes your stomach tighten, heat pooling low as you let yourself sink down, just enough for the swollen head of his cock to catch at your entrance. Rafayel jerks, eyes wide, mouth dropping open around a silent moan, his grip on you tightening like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

"Oh, fuck."

"You need me, you need your mate?" You tease, rolling your hips, letting him feel the wet heat of you without giving him what he really needs.

"Yes, please, please, please—"

And then, because you’re cruel, because you love seeing him like this, you lift yourself off him entirely.

Rafayel practically cries at that, and you let him plead, let him beg, until his whole body is shaking with the need to be inside you, until his voice is raw and wrecked from crying out your name. Then, finally, finally, you sink down, dropping the entirety of your weight onto him as you both moan at the sudden pressure as your ass smacks his pelvis with a lewd slap. 

Rafayel’s body aches up off the mattress, a wrecked, strangled moan tearing from his throat as his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise. His head tilts back, chest heaving, eyes glassy and unfocused, dilated almost like a cat’s, as if the feeling of being inside you after so long is too much for his mind to comprehend.

"Fucking finally."

You barely have a moment to adjust before Rafayel thrusts.

Whatever fragile restraint he had is gone, obliterated the second your walls squeeze around him. His hips jerk up in a desperate, instinctual rut, shoving himself deeper, harder, until the thick length of him is buried to the hilt inside you, and then pulled all the way out before ramming back in again. You choke on a gasp, nails digging into his chest, but he doesn’t even seem to register the pain.

"More." Some inhumane warble distorts Rafayel’s voice, nails turning clawed and sharp as he thrusts up into you with more strength than any human should possess. “Perfect, perfect mate.”

Your head spins, the force of each snap of his hips making your whole body jolt. His desperation is relentless, dragging you closer to the edge far too fast, too intense, gripping onto his shoulders just to keep you from falling over as your thighs begin trembling once again. 

"Rafayel—Raf, slow down!"

"No," he whimpers, shaking his head wildly, hands tightening on your waist as if letting go isn’t an option. "No, please, sorry, need this." Rafayel’s voice breaks into a sort of trill, something like whalesong, eyes fluttering shut as he drives himself up into you, starved for more, cock throbbing desperately inside you. "Don’t leave me again, please.”

Your heart clenches. "I’m here," you whisper, leaning down, pressing your forehead to his as your body moves with his, rolling your hips as you try to stay in time with his brutal pace. "I’m right here, Rafayel."

He moans, high and broken, clutching you so tightly against him, feeling every inch of you pressed into his skin. His pace turns frantic, sloppy, body shaking beneath you as pleasure racks through him in violent waves. He’s close, but he won’t let himself fall over the edge alone.

"Come with me," he begs, his lips brushing over yours as he pleads for it. "Please.”

And you do.

The orgasm slams through you like a tidal wave, stealing every breath from your lungs as your entire body clenches around him. Rafayel keens, hips jerking wildly as he follows, his cock pulsing inside you as he fucks his cum deep inside you yet again, stuffing you full until you’re both shaking with overstimulation.

But it still doesn’t stop.

Rafayel can’t stop.

Even as his body trembles beneath you, even as his whimpers turn into sobs, he keeps moving, his hips rolling into you in slow, messy grinds. His cock twitches inside your still-clenching walls, sending violent aftershocks through you both.

"Mhh sorry," he moans, lips dragging down your throat, sucking bruises into your skin as if marking you will somehow keep you tethered to him. "Did it again, can’t help it. Pussy feels so nice, wants me too, always so desperate for me. Made to worship me."

You let out a wrecked, exhausted laugh, trying to lift yourself off of him, but his arms snap tight around your waist, keeping you anchored to him.

"No," he pleads, voice cracking, nuzzling into your neck as he breathes in your scent. "No, please, just—just a little more. You owe it to me for being so mean before."

Your head falls into the crook of his neck as yet another orgasm crashes through you, ripping a moan from your throat. Rafayel shudders, gasping against your skin, completely gone, his hips jerking helplessly, overstimulated beyond the point of caring. His body is moving on instinct now, neither of you fully conscious as he keeps moving on his own, chasing another high even as it breaks him.

"Fuck, Raf...”

"One more," he’s licking into your mouth, sucking your bottom lip, too tired and uncoordinated to properly kiss you. "One more, one more."

You don’t even know how many times you’ve both come. The world is a haze of heat and pleasure, of wet, messy grinds and deep, instinctual thrusts, of Rafayel’s loud, unashamed moans directly in your ear between kisses, of the desperate way he clings to you, unable to bear even a second, an inch of separation.

You ride him through another, and another, until your body finally gives out, completely limp against his chest, your limbs trembling too hard to keep yourself upright any longer. Rafayel follows soon after, his movements slowing, stuttering, until he’s finally, finally still beneath you, panting raggedly, body wracked with aftershocks.

The room is finally silent except for your heavy breathing, the two of you floating between sleep and reality for what seems like an eternity. 

"I think I might die," Rafayel croaks, voice hoarse.

You huff a weak, breathless laugh as you grumble into his shoulder. "Good, you stupid horny fish."

Sylus ♱⋅ ── the sweetheart (liar)

You’re going insane. 

Sylus promised he would finally fuck you, promised he’d finally give you what you’ve practically been begging him for all week. “Just the tip,” you’d beg, whining into his neck or suckling gently against his fingers in attempts to bait him, “Please, Sy, just the tip and I’ll stop asking.”

Technically speaking, he’s held up his end of the deal. After all, you’ve already cum four times. Not that it’s ever stopped you from wanting more. 

“What’s this? Are you even listening to me, sweetie?” Something jerks your head up, and you’re snapped out of your thoughts at the same time as Sylus grinds forward, humming as he pulls you closer on his lap, your thighs spread wide atop of his. “Tch, first all that whining and now you’re not even paying attention to me. I’m hurt, kitten.”

You shake your head as best you can with his thumb and forefinger still squishing your cheeks, tears from the sheer overstimulation blurring your vision as you bury your face into Sylus’s chest, chasing the mere friction. 

The fat head of his cock slips right back out of your cunt, tapping once, twice, on your swollen clit before grinding back in with a lewd pop. One inch, two, just enough for you to feel the delicious stretch of the tip of his cock, before Sylus lifts you up higher on his lap, pulling out as the torture begins all over again. 

You swear you can take more. It doesn’t matter than everytime Sylus lines up his cock it hits your bellybutton from the outside, it doesn’t matter that your hands can barely wrap around his base, it doesn’t matter that even when you suck him off your jaw throbs and he can barely thrust it in halfway without you gagging. 

“Sylus, please, please just—” you whine, rutting your hips down to no avail as his firm hands render you immobile. Watching you squirm with thinly veiled amusement. “Just fuck me already!” 

Your breath comes out in short, stuttered gasps, frustration bubbling over into pitiful little sobs against Sylus’s skin. He shushes you, rubbing slow, teasing circles into your hips as if he’s offering you comfort. But you know better. The bastard lives for this, the way your body trembles, how your cunt clenches down hard every time he pulls out, desperate for more than what he’s giving.

“Please.” A broken cry rips from your throat as he nudges forward again, pushing the tip back inside like he hasn’t already driven you half-mad. “I can take it. Ah, I swear, I can take it.” 

And yet, he’s still so fucking mean.

“Hmm,” Sylus’s voice drips with amusement, low and tinged with laughter as his lips graze the shell of your ear as though lost in thought. “No.”

You whine, digging your nails into Sylus’s back with more force than necessary as you hiss out curses, “Cruel, stubborn, self-assured asshole. I told you I can take it Syl—ah!”

Sylus pushes himself upward, roughly fucking his swollen tip against you, ramming that delicious spot within you as your curses dissolve into mindless babbles of his name, another orgasm ripping through you as you try and match Sylus’s rhythm by grinding yourself on the rest of his cock. 

“That’s it,” He hums, dragging his tongue along your pulse, relishing the way it hammers beneath his mouth.  He can feel how fast it beats, erratic and needy, the way your breath catches in your throat. “You’re gonna be good and take what I give you. Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re already fucked stupid. And I’ve barely even given you anything, kitten.”

It’s humiliating how right he is.

Your thighs tremble violently on either side of his, the ache in your muscles a dull, distant thing compared to the unbearable need twisting in your core. Desperate, you try to grind down, to force him deeper, to make him give you what you need. But Sylus just clicks his tongue, unimpressed, fingers digging into your hips as he holds you still, keeping you right where he wants you.

Sylus shifts back on the couch, pulling you down, controlling your movements with an infuriating ease, guiding you along the few inches he’s deemed fit to give you. It’s barely anything, nowhere near enough, but even that—just that slow, teasing roll of his hips—and the unbearable pressure of the thick, insistent tip of his cock is enough to make your back arch violently against him. 

“There we go,” he murmurs, cooing as he watches you, helpless and pliant in his lap. “No more complaining.”

A desperate nod. Another broken whine. 

You can feel it building again, the pressure coiling deep inside you, sharp and unbearable. Sobbing, you drop your head into Sylus’s shoulder, biting into the curve of his neck to muffle your cries, nails digging into his shoulders, chest, clawing violent red marks as Sylus shudders, eyes rolling back at the pain. Your legs are shaking too hard to do much of anything anymore, giving out as Sylus is the only thing left guiding you, dragging you toward yet another orgasm. 

Or rather, he would have. 

But you feel Sylus chuckle, the sound deep and sinful as it rumbles down his chest and into yours, and fear prickles along your spine. Then, with excruciating patience, he pulls out, leaving you empty all over again before tapping his throbbing cock against your clit—slow, deliberate, taunting.

“You wanted just the tip, sweetheart.” He grins, voice a low, cruel purr as he kisses your forehead. “So don’t start crying now that it’s all you’re getting.”

Xavier ♱⋅ ── the munch

“Then sit on my face.”

You stare, dumbfounded, as Xavier already begins leaning back against the cushions of your bed, those big, blue eyes begging up at you in ways that make it hard to breathe. 

Xavier’s hands tighten around your waist, fingers flexing like he’s barely restraining himself from yanking you down then and there. The heat of his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making your pulse stammer, making every inch of you ache with want.

“Xavier, I didn’t actually mean…”

“You want me to prove it, right? Then I’ll do what I can to serve you well.” He’s dead serious, you realize, still staring down at him in shock as Xavier frowns, sitting up just long enough to wrap his arms around your waist and haul you toward him, seating you on his chest as protests die in your throat. “Sit.”

Biting your lip, you still find yourself hesitating. What if you’re too heavy? Or if he doesn’t actually like it? You still have your underwear on, shouldn’t you take it off, or does he plan on eating you through it? What if—

"You're thinking too much again." His voice is firm, but gentle, cutting straight through your spiraling thoughts. Before you can get another word in, he lifts you up from the backs of your thighs, guiding you forward until your knees are bracketing his head and you're hovering just above his waiting mouth.

Xavier groans, this is already better than his dreams—just having you above him, so close, so warm—is enough to make him lose his damn mind. His hands are keeping you steady, and when he tilts his head back to look at you again, you almost drown in the sheer hunger in his gaze.

"Please," he murmurs, breathless, sucking and kissing into your thighs like he can't believe you're making him wait so long for something he so, so desperately needs. "I really don’t think I can wait much longer."

A shudder racks through you, thighs trembling as the heat between your legs grows unbearable. Xavier’s so serious, so patient, despite the raw hunger in his voice, despite the way his chest rises and falls in uneven pants beneath you. You’d have to be cruel to deny him. 

Slowly, you lower yourself the rest of the way, bracing your hands against the headboard as Xavier immediately pulls you the last few inches down, shoving his face up into you like he’s starving.

He might as well be because the first swipe of his tongue is so hot, so eager, that you nearly jerk away from the sudden pleasure. Not that Xavier would let you. His fingers dig into the marked-up plush of your thighs, keeping you right there as he groans into your pussy like you’re the best fucking thing he’s ever tasted.

“Wait—” Your voice is already breaking, a gasp caught in your throat as he licks into you again, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every second of it. He doesn’t even bother pulling your underwear aside, just mouths at the fabric, dampening it further, teasing you through the barrier until it sticks to your folds and you’re a whimpering mess, gripping the headboard so tightly your knuckles ache. 

Then he shifts, hooking a single finger under the waistband, dragging it aside just enough to give himself proper access.

The first real flick of Xavier’s tongue against your clit is devastating.

A high, broken moan rips from your throat as pleasure jolts up your spine, your thighs snapping shut around his head, suffocating him as Xavier feels like the happiest man in the world. Moaning into your cunt, Xavier pulls you down harder against his mouth like he wouldn’t mind drowning in your pleasure if it meant he got to taste you for just a few seconds longer.

You’re already cumming. Head falling backward, your lips part in a silent scream as Xavier’s tongue continues circling around your clit in that same, devastating rhythm, only letting go once you’ve come all over his face. But he doesn’t stop for long. 

His tongue flicks and curls and fucks into you with the kind of dedication that makes your vision blur, that makes your whole body burn as you become more and more sensitive. And when you grind down against his mouth, desperate and trembling, he just groans in approval, encouraging you to ride his face like you need this just as much as he does.

"That's it," Xavier mumbles between licks, inaudible between your wet, sinful noises. "Don't hold back. Use me."

It’s too much. It’s not enough.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling hard, but it only makes him grin against you, only makes him suck harder, making you gasp and sob as your thighs start to shake once more around his head. Still, he devours you, no teasing, no hesitation. Just raw, ravenous hunger. 

"Xavier—"

He hums in response, the vibrations sending another sharp wave of pleasure through you. Then he finally fucks his tongue deep into your cunt, curling against your walls as you clench around the hot muscle, Xavier’s nose grinding deliciously into your clit as his hands begin guiding you back and forth once your rhythm falls apart. 

You come hard, a choked cry ripping from your throat as your body locks up, pleasure searing through every nerve. Xavier doesn’t stop—doesn’t let you escape—licking and sucking you through your orgasm like he needs every drop, like he won’t be satisfied until you’re a writhing, overstimulated mess above him.

“Ah, Xavier, seriously,” you whine, every suck against your clit now tender and overstimulated as you try and squirm away to no avail. “Can’t, Xavier, can’t come again!”

Crying, you finally manage to wrestle his head out from underneath you—body still shaking, pleasure crackling under your skin like a live wire—realizing something that makes your stomach flip.

Xavier is panting, eyes half-lidded and hazy with bliss, hair fisted in your hands as the rest sticks to his forehead and pillow with sweat, letting you inch off of him as he finally breathes, heaving in deep breaths through swollen, wet lips. His whole body shudders beneath you, and when you shift, you feel it—the sticky warmth against his stomach, the evidence of his release.

He came. Just from eating you out.

And the worst part?

He’s still hard.

“One more time, please?”

Zayne ♱⋅ ── the addicted

Uh oh. 

This was bad. 

Zayne has always considered himself a beacon of self-control, having grown up under the concept of restraint and caution when it came to everything from his Evol to his life’s work as a surgeon. 

But even he could get addicted to having you spread out underneath him like this. 

It had started innocently. Zayne had forgotten his lunch today, probably due to his consecutive sleepless nights, thanks to being on call for not two or three but four surgeries this week. So when you delivered his lunch to his private office like any sweet girlfriend would do, it was only natural that you’d want to see if you could help him feel more relaxed and maybe help relieve the stress that was so clearly fogging up his mind. 

This, however, was not what you had in mind.

"Zayne, someone is going to hear us," you hiss, voice trembling, but make no move to stop him.

Zayne only hums, two fingers rubbing right up against your clit with expert precision even with your jeans still unzipped around your waist. His other hand shucks them just barely down your thigh, pressing his fingers right back in, curling against that spot that has your legs jerking against the polished wood of his desk before dragging his fingers out of you agonizingly slow. 

"You should’ve locked the door when you came in, then." He says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, leaning down, his breath hot against your ear. His free hand presses against your stomach, keeping you pinned as he fucks you open with his fingers, movements slow, deliberate. "You know I don’t like being interrupted."

Your head tilts back against the desk as your cries are muffles into your palm. "Zayne!"

"You were the one who wanted to help relieve my stress, weren’t you?" His voice is calm, collected, like he isn’t knuckle-deep inside you with his fingers glistening from how wet he’s made you already. "So be a good girl and take it."

Your breath stutters, thighs twitching as you clench around his fingers, already embarrassingly close with how well he knows your body, how pent up you’ve been after not having Zayne in over a week. Meanwhile, Zayne watches you come undone with sharp, almost clinical eyes, the hunger in them barely restrained, a predator biding his time.

"Mhm, close, I can’t—"

"Yes, you can," he cuts you off smoothly, pressing his fingers deeper, rubbing firm, steady circles over your clit. His expression doesn’t change, but his voice dips lower, smiling ever so slightly as he watches you. "Come for me."

You shudder violently, hands gripping the edges of the desk as another orgasm threatens to crash over you, your body far too weak to resist the relentless pleasure.

"Zayne," you cry out, hips jerking.

He clicks his tongue, allowing you to ride out your orgasm, but not before ripping his tie off, deft, scarred hands looping through the expensive silk before balling it up and pushing it into your open mouth. 

“What did I say about staying quiet?”

Your response is stifled around his tie, and Zayne feels his traitorous cock throb at the sound of your fucked out, inaudible voice, the very picture of debauchery with the slight drool smearing your lipstick, your eyes hazy with post-orgasm glow, your office button-down skewed across your breasts just enough so be can squeeze your breast right under your lacy bra. 

He wants to ruin you even more. 

Zayne has barely even zipped down his pants, holding up his own shirt as he bites it to keep his leaking cock from smearing pre-cum all over the cotton, before he’s desperately fucking his own fist with one hand, the other still circling your clit. 

When the sound of voices echo from right outside his office door. 

Your body jerks under him at the sudden noise, but Zayne doesn’t stop. If anything, he doubles down, pressing his slick fingers harder against your clit, wrenching another broken sob from your throat, muffled by the tie still shoved between your lips.

“Don’t you dare,” he whispers, voice low, dangerous. His free hand tightens around his cock, stroking faster, more desperate, more sloppy than you’ve ever seen him. The sight alone has your walls clenching down around nothing, a fresh wave of arousal making a mess of his desk and the scattered papers on top. 

The voices outside the door grow louder, and Zayne’s entire body tenses. Not with fear. Not with hesitation. But something that he thinks might ruin him forever. 

“I should stop,” he murmurs, though his fingers never leave you, still rubbing circles into your overstimulated clit, dragging you higher, forcing you to ride that unbearable edge of pleasure. His teeth clench, brows furrowed as his pace on his own cock stutters, his restraint cracking with every second that passes. “I really should stop.”

You whimper, body trembling beneath him, a plea barely audible around the silk in your mouth.

“But you love this, don’t you?” His voice drops, rasping, guttural. “You love making me a mess, love knowing that the only thing keeping us from getting caught is how good you are for me.”

Zayne never talks like this, but god, now you wish he’d never stop. His mere voice is enough to send you over the edge once again. Your moan is strangled, raw, hips lifting weakly into his touch despite the overstimulation.

The door handle rattles.

Zayne snaps, one arm shooting out as ice surrounds the handle, spears of it crawling over the wooden frame of the door, across the tiled floor as he loses control. 

He barely spares it a glance. Pulling the tie from your mouth, Zayne immediately replaces it with his lips, swallowing your gasp as he shoves two fingers back inside you, curling them deep, his strokes ruthless, relentless. His other hand leaves his cock only long enough to drag you forward, forcing your legs around his waist, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance as he moans into your mouth.

"Zayne, your Evol—"

"Don’t worry about me," he hums, kissing you one more time before his gaze drops, watching where the two of you meet. “You’ve done more than enough for me. You’ve always been enough for me.” And he pushes in inch by inch, stretching you open around his thick length, your body still pulsing and greedy from your last orgasm.

Zayne exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours as he stills, buried inside you. His fingers flex against your waist, grounding himself, keeping himself from completely unraveling.

 “That’s it, breathe,” he murmurs, voice back to the soft, low tone you know so well, the urgency melting into something reverent. He presses a kiss to your cheek, then another to your jaw, as if to soothe you through the stretch. “You’re perfect.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently as you grind upward, coaxing him into going faster, into actually fucking you. 

Zayne groans, his control fraying as he clutches you tighter, nose brushing against yours. “You're going to be the death of me,” he whispers, lips ghosting yours in a kiss, the intimacy making your heart clench.

Yes, he's the undisputed crime lord of the N109 zone. He's also annoying as hell and you wish you could kick him out without risking the shop entirely.

"I'd appreciate it if you stopped making it so obvious whenever you come by," you say, turning your attention back to the car your need to fix. The client drove it into the fucking ocean like an idiot and now it's your job to fix it. You can, obviously, but there's no helping the guy who decided that move was a good one and went with it. You'd think people wanting to be criminal masterminds would put some effort in using their brains, but apparently not!

"What, embarrassed to be seen with me?" Sylus says, following after you to lean against the car.

You roll your eyes. "Like it'd be for such a simple reason. Listen, you're making me a target. A bunch of people hate you and the more they see you coming here, the more likely they'll try to do something to my shop to get at you. Also you keep scaring away my customers, which is rude."

There's a long silence. You turn your focus entirely on the car and pop open the hood, wincing at wreck of an engine. How did they even manage this…?

"Dumbasses," you mutter under your breath, looking over everything to figure out the best place to start.

Sylus chuckles, leaning over you to take a peek at the engine as well. You don't think as you send an elbow back, catching him in the gut. He doesn't even react to it, which pisses you off more. But he does give you some space, so you decide not to escalate.

"Are you sure it's not your attitude that drives away customers?"

"They can deal with it. Not like they're any better than me. Why are you still here? If you want to discuss other business, then you'll have to wait until I close up shop for the day."

"Alright, I can tell when I'm not wanted," he says, stepping away. "I'll be in contact soon."

You don't hear him walk away, but when you look over your shoulder, the garage is empty and there's no sign of Sylus at all. You sigh, shake your head, then get back to work.

Few people come in that day. A few stalled engines, a popped tire, a brake replacement after a botched assassination attempt fucked up all the wiring. Normal things. The slow day allows you to make more progress on your bigger jobs: a complete upgrade for everything on an older model, making a car accessible after the client's kid lost a leg, and your own personal project of creating a new motorcycle completely from scratch.

There's been some tension on the streets around your shop. You know you're at the heart of it; Sylus is well known and well hated. Any association with him comes with a big risk.

But you can't deny his uses. You can't deny his protection, as small as it might be for such a forgettable person like you.

Overhead, a crow caws.

The sun has set, and you take that as your cue to close up. The garage doors slide down and lock with a simple push of a button. You flip the sign on the door to CLOSED and locked everything up, then hit the lights and go upstairs. So work-life balance doesn't really exist when you live above the shop, but it's convenient, and who really has any balance in the N109 zone?

You lock the door to the stairs behind you and flick on the lights, kicking off your shoes.

Luke is already in the kitchen, perched on the counter like a gremlin and you don't waste a second in throwing your work gloves at him.

"Off," you say with the tone of a particularly disgruntled cat owner. "You know the rules."

"Butts don't go where food goes," Luke recites dutifully, hopping down to the floor. "What've you got for me today?"

"My foot on your ass, how about that?" You push him aside to open the fridge, wondering what to have for dinner.

It's almost routine now to have one of the twins stop by for dinner. You once asked Sylus if he even bothers to feed them, with how they always come begging food from you. He just started wiring grocery money to your account every week.

So your fridge has been more full that it's ever been in your life, even while Cerin was alive, and you've learned to cook a few more dishes in order to keep the twins from getting too experimental while you're not keeping an eye on them.

You have the ingredients for the curry mac and cheese that Kieran sent you the recipe for, so you figure you might as well try your hand at it. Pasta never disappoints, after all.

Luke takes a seat at the dining table, laying against the table as you cook, entertaining himself on his phone.

Despite committing to the crow motif, you can't help but think of the twins as cats. Like the cat distribution system, they stumbled into you life and house and then refused to leave. That's what cats do, right? You saved them once, years ago, just by chance and with the right information, and now they've decided that you're friend shaped.

It's not like you mind. It's a welcome change from the constant, heavy silence after you buried Cerin. You just wonder when it'll end.

Surely they'll get bored of you eventually. They're the direct underlings of the most dangerous man in the N109 zone. There's no reason for them to stick around.

As soon as you finish cooking, turning the heat off the stove, Luke is there, bowl at the ready. You roll your eyes fondly, but obligingly fill it up. He holds out your bowl as well, because he can use manners sometimes, and carries both to the dining table, where spoons are already laid out. You didn't even hear him get them out the drawer.

He snaps a picture of his bowl, no doubt to send it to Kieran. A number of messages come in a minute later, making his phone buzz nonstop until he silences it.

Luke takes off his mask and begins eating like he's been starved. You follow in suit at a normal human pace with no risk of choking. The recipe is easy and delicious. Whoever thought of combining curry roux with mac and cheese is a genius and needs to be awarded. Maybe earn the Noble Peace Prize. You're not sure what that prize is for, exactly, but this recipe is both Noble and encourage Peace, it's so good. It should count.

You're drawn out of your nonsensical thoughts when Luke taps his spoon against his empty bowl three times. It's always a signal for when he needs to talk business and this time is no different.

"Any news on the weapons deal Kalmit had his eyes on?"

You lean back in your chair, considering Luke. "Not on Kalmit specifically, but on some weapons deal, yeah. How much is Onychinus offering for it?"

"Your own modified weapons, done by the boss man himself."

"Don't need them."

Luke frowns, then shrugs. "How about any info on protocore deals?"

That one you have a lot of new information about. Not all of it verified, but still worth a pretty penny. Having a foot in the door for multiple fields helps give you a broader net to cast when gathering information. Engineering folks like yourself hear plenty about powering vehicles and weapons with protocores. Maintenance shares all sorts of secrets on repairing damage from underground protocore labs, experimenting with new ways to use them.

"Sure, I got that. What are you willing to pay?"

"Absolutely anything if it has to do with EVER. Boss man himself said so."

It's not the first time he's offered you anything. That's a big word to throw around for information deals, especially when he doesn't know what you might give him. For the most part, you treat it as a joke, as Sylus poking fun at you from his position of power in the N109 zone. He never pushes when you refuse his anything and instead make him name something more tangible as payment, but this time feels different.

Most things are, when EVER is involved.

You know more about them than you should. You also know that this knowledge is dangerous and can't be shared carelessly.

If EVER hears about how much you know about them, they will take you out. They're not shy about using unsavory means to keep themselves safe. Sure, they have to put up an act in Linkon City so all the straight-laced, proper folks don't look at them twice, but the N109 Zone gives them more freedom to move and act as they please.

Guards working under EVER are always happy to resort to violence. Scientists and researchers never see other people as people, but as resources and experiments. The infighting between them, struggling to secure funding for their individual projects, makes them all the more cutthroat when it comes to deals in the N109 Zone.

Everything you know about them can cripple them if it gets to the right people. Not the Hunters Association, you've know that EVER has infiltrated them from the beginning, but plenty of groups in the N109 Zone have a reason to want EVER gone, even if it's just to get rid of some big competition.

Sylus, to your knowledge, tends to keep away from EVER. He doesn't need them to get what he wants and they know better than to provoke him. You know an associate of EVER got a hold of Luke and Kieran at one point in their lives, so they have a personal hatred for them.

You know a lot of people have vanished after dealing with EVER.

Anything is a big offer.

The tides are always shifting in the N109 Zone. Power comes and goes like the wind. It takes a lot to stay above others and very few manage it for long. There's been a change over the past few months, whispers on the streets, and it leaves you feeling uneasy. You, with all your information, are powerless. You're not associated with any group, purposefully neutral, purposefully alone. Sure, you hide your identity as an informant, go through a few hoops to make sure people wanting info from you never meet you, but you know you can't hide forever.

You certainly couldn't hide from Sylus.

You stand and leave Luke at the dining table. Hidden in the wall of your bedroom is your data laptop, used just for storing the information your gather. It helps to organize things, to see where the strings connect so you can put the pieces of the bigger picture together.

Here's what you know: EVER has been making bolder moves, snatching up protocores like there's no tomorrow. They've raided multiple underground labs, taking their protocores and torching their research. People have been disappearing, most notably the losers of underground fighting rings, evol users who weren't strong enough to win against the long time champions. Hunters are going after EVER scientists and a few of those chases have run through the outer edges of the N109 Zone.

Here's what all that says: there's something big they're hiding and it's making them desperate.

Desperate always means dangerous.

You've been on your own for a long time and you're happy that way. Well, maybe not happy, but safe. You keep your distance from everyone and keep your head down and this is how you survive.

Even so, you've gotten attached. Just a little. Sylus is annoying but you'd be a little sad if he stopped showing up. Dinner would be too quiet without one of the twins keeping you company. They've whittled down your defenses and you hate them for it.

You grab a spare flashdrive and transfer over copies of everything you've gathered on EVER's recent movements and your own speculations as to what they're up to.

Luke is still waiting, tapping his fingers against the table. He perks up when you walk in and raises a hand to effortlessly catch the flashdrive you toss at him.

"Three favors," you tell him, "No questions asked. Anything I need help for, if I ask him for help, he gives it."

"I'll let him know," Luke says, pocketing the flashdrive. He flashes you a smile, then puts his crow mask back on. "I'll catch you later, Wrench!"

Ah, you had thought they had given up on that stupid nickname.

Sure, you may have tried to concuss Luke with a wrench the first time he popped into your house without warning, but that doesn't mean you want to be known for that forever. Even if he justifies it by saying that you throw a wrench in people's plans, so it still fits.

He's gone before you can throw anything else at him and insist on him dropping the nickname. You sigh and resign yourself to being buried as Wrench, since apparently it's so much better than your name.

And when you're setting your alarm on your phone, getting ready to sleep, Sylus texts, You could have asked for more favors. The info is good. Thanks Wrench.

You send him back a dozen middle finger emojis and try to let go of the annoyance so you can actually sleep.

…

"Hi!" Kieran greets cheerfully. "We're here to kidnap you!"

You sigh deeply, then put your tools down. "Give me a second to lock up."

He gives you a thumbs up, then drops from the rafters of the garage, where he was hanging upside down. Outside, you can see Luke waiting outside a black car, a model just a few years old if you're remembering correctly. It must be one of Sylus's, since few people would be able to keep a car like that intact in the N109 Zone.

You're lucky there are no clients waiting for you today.

Well, it's probably luck. You wouldn't put it past the twins to subtly redirect anyone who was heading to your shop just to make sure their kidnapping went smoothly.

Everything is closed up and locked in no time and you shove your work gloves into one of the pockets of your overalls. Everything you own is already oil stained and messy, so a little more isn't going to hurt anyone.

Kieran opens the back door for you and waves you in. He slides in after you and Luke sits in the driver's seat, smoothly starting the engine that purrs to life then goes silent.

What you wouldn't give to take this car apart and see everything it has to offer. An engine sounding like that has to be an absolute beauty.

"Do I get to know what this is about?" you ask, putting on your seatbelt as Luke guides the car out onto the street and slams down on the gas. For your own peace of mind, you keep your gaze away from the windows; you have no interest in knowing how many times you'll casually brush by death with Luke driving the way he does.

"Boss man needs a favor," Kieran says.

"And he couldn't have just called?"

"Nah, it needs to be done in person. It's a small big thing for him!"

You stare at him. "I don't know what that means."

"It's a small thing, but to him it's big. He doesn't want to mess this up, and we don't want him to mess up either!"

"And do I get to know what this favor is…?"

"Fashion."

"Fashion," you repeat. That answer doesn't help you at all.

Kieran is smirking behind that mask, you can just tell, and it's annoying. You're not going to get a straight answer out of him and certainly no more details, so you shrug and resign yourself to finding out once you're delivered to Sylus. For this fashion favor, apparently.

You're not too sure where they're taking you, to be honest. They always come to you, not the other way around. It's smarter to avoid walking into any building owned by Onychinus, but since you've already got their attention, it's a bit too late to regret the way things are shaking out. At best, you just keep your eyes down so you don't know the actual location of whichever base you're being driven to. The best way to keep information from getting out is to not have it.

Still, you keep track of how many turns the car has made and the general length of the drive. It's always better to have some idea of how to get away if things go south.

Around twenty five minutes is your count when the car comes to a stop. Judging by how dark it's gotten, you're inside a building. Probably a garage.

"Let's get going," Luke says, cutting the engine.

Grateful to have survived the ride, you hurry out of the car. A quick glance around reveals a few other fancy cars and a motorcycle, no doubt all Sylus's, and your fingers twitch with the need to dig deep into them. Maybe you'll use a smaller favor to get a look at his vehicles and play around with them. He'd probably be willing to humor you and let you modify a lesser loved car to your heart's content.

"Come on, come on!" Kieran sings, hooking an arm around yours. Luke gets your other arm and the two walk you inside where bare concrete suddenly transform into dark wood and lush rugs lining the hallway.

You get the sinking feeling that this isn't just a base, but Sylus's primary residence.

I don't know anything, you tell yourself, Not a damn thing. I was never here. After I leave, I'll forget everything. Nothing happened here.

The twins take you around the building, past dark rooms; a lounge, a bar, a gym, even what looks like a mini theater because of course someone as rich as Sylus would have one. The office on the upper floor is more of what you expected from Sylus's tastes: dark and dramatic, cold and brutalist, more concrete and large windows, low lights and various decorations that speak to his wealth.

The man himself sits against his desk, staring out the window with his windows crossed.

"Delivery for you, boss man!" Kieran announces, pushing you forward.

You don't stumble only because you're used to this and cross the length of the office to stand before Sylus.

"So," you start, "What's this about a 'fashion favor' that you needed me for?"

Sylus looks at you, eyes narrowed in thought. "I simply needed the opinion of a woman."

"Need I remind you that this," you gesture to your oil stained overalls and old t-shirt, "is my fashion sense. I don't think I'll be much help."

"On the contrary, it's because you dress like you've never known luxury in your life that you're insight will be helpful." He reaches behind himself and grabs a piece of paper. "There is someone I need a dress made for. A Hunter. She'll appreciate it more if it's both functional and attractive. Look over this design and tell me what needs to be changed."

He holds it out to you and you take it slowly, eyeing it like it might bite you.

Sylus is clearly concussed if he thinks this is something you have any knowledge about. The rare times you've infiltrated high end events for information, you went in as staff, hiding in plain sight as a nameless employee. The people who would wear ballgowns and evening suits never acknowledged your existence, which made information gathering all the easier. What you observed from those events is that the women are always better dressed than the men, and nothing anyone wore looked easy to move in.

And if Sylus is taking a Hunter in, paired with his previous request for information on EVER…

Movement is a must. A tight dress that shows off a woman's figure is a death sentence if anything goes wrong and people have to evacuate. Or fight.

You finally look down at the paper and take in the designs Sylus has put together.

There are two options: a tight evening gown, backless and with a low bustline. There's a slit to one side, going up to the thigh, so it's not as restricting as it could be. The fabric on the other side of the slit drags on the ground, a dramatic look and a tripping hazard.

The other design is more toga-like, an off shoulder piece with lots of draped fabric and folds on the outside covering the shorter inner lining of the dress. It doesn't drag on the ground, which is a plus.

Neither have any pockets.

You scowl at Sylus. "You're giving a Hunter a dress, and you're not including pockets? What's wrong with you?"

He blinks. "Anything she needs to hold, I can carry for her."

"No. You need pockets added to these things. And I'm talking deep pockets. She needs to be able to fit a gun and a small bottle of tequila in those pockets at the very least."

"That's hardly necessary—"

You shove the paper into his face. "Shush. No. Shut up. You asked for my thoughts, here they are: Pockets. Also the first one is a tripping hazard. Give her the second dress with deep pockets. She'll love it."

He pulls the paper out of your hand and sets it down. "Pockets," he repeats dubiously.

You nod. "Trust me. The pockets will be a hit. Just do it. What's the point in kidnapping me for advice if you're not going to take it?"

Sylus sighs as if you're being unreasonable and you hold back the urge to kick him. This is why men can't be trusted with clothes. They're just given pockets so they can't appreciate how good they have it. If they had to deal with all the fake pockets or the ones that are only two inches deep on women's clothing, they'd understand why it's such a big deal.

"Oh!" you add, "Make sure the bust has some good padding. She'll have to go braless if the back is low cut and if she needs to run, you need to make sure her tits don't go all over."

"What a remarkably crude way to say that."

"Hey, do you have tits? No? Then you don't get to speak on this. You want your little miss Hunter to be happy and capable of kicking ass, you take my advice. End of story."

He rolls his eyes, but obligingly writes down your advice on the paper.

"Is that all you called me in for?" you ask.

The amusement leaves his eyes and his expression flattens. He holds out the paper and Luke snatches it out of his hand, and then the twins quickly vacate the room, leaving you alone with him.

"I don't like the look on your face," you tell him.

"Tough. EVER officials will be attending an auction in two weeks. I'll be there with the Hunter to see what they're selling off. I need you there as well to gather information from the other guests."

"You think they'll have an aether core up for auction," you realize, mouth moving before your mind can catch up.

The red glow in his eyes tells you that you hit the nail on the head. You really, really shouldn't have said that out loud.

"As always, I'm amazed by how much knowledge you keep close to your chest," Sylus says lightly. He's dangerous right now, dangerous in a way he hasn't been for a while now. Not to you, at least.

You scowl, biting back your instinctive fear. "I'm not going to be attending as a guest," you tell him, "I'll pull a few strings and take a position as one of the staff. I hope you realize how much this is going to cost you."

"Another favor?"

"A big one. Keep this up and you won't be able to say 'no' to me ever again."

The glow leaves Sylus's eyes and he's back to being the annoying crime lord you've gotten used to. The quick switch between his moods, from predator to something almost human, leaves you unnerved. You've made it a point of pride to be unphased by most things in the N109 Zone. You have to be; there's all sorts of terrible things happening at any given moment and you have to be able to stomach witnessing it all and walking away in order to sell information. You hate that there are still moments when Sylus is able to make feel almost afraid, tense and ready to run, feeling all too small.

At the same time, it always comes with the knowledge that for some reason, you have his favor. And from what you've learned of him, Sylus is not one to toss away those who have his favor so carelessly.

Maybe it's boredom. Maybe it's something else that you don't have the strength to name. Maybe he's a little too much like you for you to leave when this happens.

"You know," he starts, voice dropping into the usual teasing drawl he uses to piss you off, "You could always ask for a dress as well. With deep pockets and padding."

"I prefer knives!" you snap, spinning on your heel and walking out of his office. "And I'm raiding your kitchen while I'm here!"

You leave him chuckling to himself in his office and make your way through his residence. It's odd to be allowed to wander. Usually you have to sneak into places like these, masquerading as someone else or avoiding sight entirely. Just walking, unhindered, in plain sight, makes your skin crawl.

Luckily, the twins don't leave you alone too long. They catch you outside an armory and happily lead you to the kitchen where you make very good use of the fancy spices and good salmon Sylus has.

And if he had any plans to use those, then it sucks to be him.

…

A friend of a friend from man running a cleaning services, who you helped a few years back when his father's wheelchair was broken and no one was willing to fix it but you, hooks you up with a job for the auction.

It's nothing big, just filling an empty spot as a server. You've done a few jobs like these before, helping with set up for events and running supplies in the background, making sure trays were always filled with wine glasses and finger foods. There's a lot that goes into being a server for fancy events and working with the rest of the team is crucial.

High stress situations like the upcoming auction are a surefire way to create bonds. Nothing brings a group of people together like customer service.

You craft your identity for the job and get it as neatly prepared as possible. A little sister hoping to do a few odd jobs here and there to support her older sister, who took her in after she ran from neglectful parents. Timid, unused to the N109 Zone, unassuming. Weak and uninformed. Easy to manipulate and far too eager to work hard. The perfect person to be given the less desirable jobs and forced to run around the venue for hours on end, which is exactly what you want.

Sylus stops by only once before the auction, though the twins continue invading your home for dinner. He doesn't stay for long and doesn't ask for any information. He just hands you a little pin to add to your clothes.

"Just in case," he said. "Click the button twice and it'll send an alert. If I can't get to you, then Luke or Kieran will."

"I don't need this," you replied, ready to shove it back into his hand.

"Just in case," Sylus stressed, and the tension around his eyes made you hesitate, then ultimately accept it.

Better to have the strongest crime lord in the N109 Zone on your side than not, you figured. It's a trump card you'll do your best to keep hidden, but there's comfort in knowing you have someone to turn to when things go south.

So here you are now: changing into the uniform handed to you by the supervisor of the staff. The pin goes on the inside cuff of your uniform sleeve, easy to click when needed but out of the way enough that it won't be hit on accident.

The rest of the staff are still getting assembled, stashing their bags in a spare storage closet the venue decided to let them use. Caterers are already coming in to set up and furniture is being moved in teams, rolling in round tables and hauling in stacks of chairs, followed by piles and piles of tablecloths. There are a few hours left to go before the auction actually starts, and even that will begin with mingling and networking for the first hour before they get to the main event.

Sylus and Miss Hunter must be preparing for the auction right now. You have no idea what the twins are up to. Probably setting up chaos and getaway vehicles.

You've already seen a few crates marked with EVER's logo be carted in. Security is tight, the place swarming with hired guns to make sure nothing is stolen before the auction and the feeling of their eyes sliding over you makes you feel sick.

As long as you keep your cool, they have no reason to look twice at you. You keep your head down and make sure your uniform is as neat as it can be and your temporarily dyed hair is tied back. Depending on how things shake out, you may have to cut your hair short just to keep anyone from finding you. If they're looking for someone with longer, darker hair, they won't bother with someone with short hair.

"Hey, there you are!" You're shaken out of your thoughts as someone throws their arm around your shoulders. You blink up at the woman, older than you by a few decades and with the build of a heavy weight champion. "First time doing this kind of work, huh? Terry asked me to keep an eye out for ya."

It takes you a moment to place the name: Terry, the friend of a friend of your acquaintance, who got you this gig.

"Yeah," you give her a small, timid smile, "Um, who are you? I didn't know anyone was expecting me."

"You can call me Bes. I'm gonna be the one showing you the ropes. Since it's your first time working 'round these parts, we'll keep it simple." Bes guides you through the crowd of other servers, who are already getting to work like a well oiled machine. "For most of the night, you'll be keeping the plates and cutlery in stock. That means making sure clean ones are out for people to use, and hauling back used ones to be washed. Extra food is in the kitchen and you might need to bring some more out when the table starts getting empty, and we'll try to keep you from walking drinks around to the guests."

You glance around, acting nervous while taking the opportunity to get a look at who is working with you. The tasks you're given are easy enough and it gives you plenty of opportunities to walk the venue and eavesdrop. Taking on additional tasks from other people will help them view you favorably as well, and thus more likely to talk when you speak to them.

Bes pats your shoulder, then sends you off with a tray of clean plates. You follow a few other servers into the venue and look around helplessly until one of them points you to the table where the food is being set up. You hurry over and get to work.

Set up is busy and there is always something more to do. It's almost a relief when the event starts and the servers change from preparing to actually going out and serving people. Guest being to file in, all dressed to the nines, and you quickly duck out of the hall to hide. Bes gives you a thumbs up when she sees you, then lifts a giant cooler onto her shoulder to carry to the bar.

You quietly ask a server heading out for a quick smoke break where the restrooms are. He points you down a different hall and gives a few curt directions, then is gone. No one stops you when you leave, so you drop the pathetic act for a moment to breathe and think.

Guards everywhere. The event is just starting. It's not safe to wander around the merchandise for the auction until much later, but you can start getting a layout of the place now. It'll be easy enough to pretend you got lost looking for the restroom. There are no helpful signs in the back since staff clearly don't need them. Fuck an emergency exit, anyways, they'll all figure it out.

The very back halls don't see much use. Half the lights aren't even on, which makes everything feel ten times more eerie. You duck through a few more doors and corridors, carefully mapping your path in your memory, and start looking at vents and places to hide. Just in case.

Most of the rooms back here are unused storage rooms. There are a few for extra generators, and one that has definitely been used to smuggle drugs in the past, but that's none of your business.

Everything is about what you expected. There's not much to explore back here, but it's enough to give you some ideas. Definitely some larger vents you can squeeze into, and the ceiling is made of drop tiles, which means you can move freely from above once you get up there. Another exit is tucked away back there as well, though it's connected to an alarm so you can't open it without causing problems.

What you're not expecting is a familiar crow mask popping up from around a corner.

"Fuck you!" you swing reflexively, trying to choke your heart back down into your chest.

Luke cackles, and Kieran leans out from behind him to give you a little wave.

"What are you doing here?" you hiss at them, pulling them into the unlocked room next to them.

"Boss man wanted us to keep an eye on you," Kieran says. "Since he's with the Boss Lady, we're your guards."

"I don't need guards. You're going to blow my identity. Tell Sylus to mind his own business and let me do my job."

They exchange a glance. How they can tell anything when they both wear masks is a mystery, but you're willing to chalk it up to twin telepathy.

"It's a trap," Luke says suddenly. "For Boss Man and Boss Lady. EVER's after them and they're using this to draw them out."

Ah. The missing pieces of this puzzle suddenly slot into place. You wouldn't be surprised it most of the invited guests have tied to EVER or other groups around the N109 Zone that want to see Sylus dead.

"And they still chose to come here?"

Luke shrugs. "Said they had to see this through."

You let out a slow breath, then nod. "Alright. They'll probably keep up the act until the auction. We can start preparing for that." You point to Luke. "Get up into the ceiling and find the best vantage points to shoot from. I'm assuming you have a gun on you?" He holds out his gun and nods. You turn to Kieran. "Keep an eye on the guards and figure out where they're all placed and how they're moving. Once the auction starts, we'll take them out and cause some chaos."

"And what about you?" Kieran asks.

"I'll keep to my current role. I'll slip in and out and gather information. Once it's time to get going, I'll slip away. Don't worry about me."

The twins consider your plan, then nod. "You got it, Wrench!"

"Now is not the time for that nickname." You turn to leave and get a few steps into the hallway before you pause and turn back to them. "Why did Sylus send you after me? I don't need the help. He knows this. What's this really about?"

They cock their heads to the side, as if they really are crows. "He's not gonna leave one of his own out to dry."

"I'm not one of his people."

"He calls you his sister. Which means you're our sister too! Good luck getting rid of us now," they chorus together, then slip past you and disappear around the corner.

You stare, befuddled. Surely that's just a joke. You're no one's sister. You have no family. You have no connections and that's why you're good at what you do.

But you think back to the dinners. Sylus constantly coming to visit. Asking for advice. The pin, safe on the inner cuff of your shirt sleeve, just in case you need him.

You think of how you understand how dangerous he is but still feel safe enough to pick fights with him.

You think of being allowed to wander his home without supervision. Of having a place with him, the twins, when you've never really belonged anywhere before. At least, not since Cerin died.

It's nonsense. It's a joke, clearly, just the usual teasing by the twins that doesn't mean anything. You know yourself and you know that getting attached to anyone is a bad idea, much less people so dangerous.

Sister.

You've never been anyone's sister before. You think you might want to.

Focus, you tell yourself sternly. Now is not the time to freak out about this. EVER is here and that means anything can happen, and all of it will be bad.

You return to the main halls and silently rejoin the rest of the servers, quickly picking up a pack of napkins to take out to the serving table. No one bats an eye at your sudden reappearance, too focused on their own tasks, and you move with the crowd, slipping around the edges of the venue. Conversation fades in and out around you as you listen for anything interesting, picking out one voice to focus on as you walk, waiting for anything worthwhile to crop up.

A few times, you catch a glimpse of white hair and quickly skirt around the area, avoiding Sylus.

Bes must have put in a good word for you. As the hours slip by, more and more servers are talking you, instructing you on how to do other tasks and roping you into helping them. It's extra work, yes, but you're glad for it; staff love to gossip and this is no exception. You learn more about various guests from whispered conversation between the servers than you do eavesdropping in the venue.

It's thanks to this that you can point out EVER higher ups, not scientists but members of the executive board and big name donors that keep the labs funded. There are also a few notorious bounty hunters mixed in with the crowd and members of one of the more powerful crime syndicates.

You also learn far more about their personal relationships than you wanted. There's a shocking number of people cheating on each other, and even some who hire people to accompany them as their date to events like this. As the newest, and most innocent, of the servers, you're warned away from certain people and carefully kept out of reach of the more handsy guests.

The announcement of the auction comes as a shock, the presenter's voice ringing through the air. Guests immediately begin to move to the next room, finding their seats. Other servers go by and hand out cards with numbers on them, preparing everyone for the bidding.

You're called away from the auction room to deal with a tablecloth with wine spilled on it. All you need to do is find someplace quiet to fold it up, pat as much of the wine out as possible, and then stuff it into a plastic bag to be sent to the dry cleaners. Rather than head for one of the unused back rooms, you go to where most of the auction items are being stored.

Bundling the tablecloth up high to obscure most of your vision, you stumble into the room.

"Hey, you can't be here," a rough voice barks out. You look up, feigning your surprise, as two guards stare you down.

"Sorry!" you squeak, "I didn't think anyone would be here. I just needed someplace I could fold this up."

One of the guards sighs and drops his hand from his waist, where his hand was hovering over a gun. "There's a room up here you can use. Follow me, I'll get the door for you."

"Thanks!" You hurry after him, carefully keeping your eyes from roving over the crates in the room. A flicker of movement from the ceiling draws your attention and you watch as a tile is pulled aside and Kieran pops his head out.

It's go time, apparently.

"I'm really sorry about the this," you say, "It's my first time working a job like this."

"I thought you looked a little young," the guard says.

"Haha, yeah. That obvious huh? Say, what's the guard gig like? Is it just standing in one place the whole time?"

The guard shrugs. "Sometimes. Definitely less hectic than being a server though, I can tell you that much."

"I figured. I wasn't expecting to do so much work. And now this too!" You shake the tablecloth in your arms lightly.

"I definitely don't envy you—"

The guard goes down without a sound. You look back and Kieran is there, lowering the guard's body to the floor. Not dead, just unconscious, like the other guard father back in the room. Relived that worked out so well, you drop the tablecloth and pull the screwdriver you always carry out from where's been tucked in your waistband.

"Wanna snoop?" you ask.

Kieran makes a beeline for a box and pats it excitedly.

Since the auction is just starting, no one will be grabbing these items for a while. The first round's items are already prepped and ready in the auction room, which means these are all yours to play with. Together, you and Kieran pop open crates and boxes, rooting around everything you find. His pockets are quickly filled with various protocores and your tuck away a few of the weapons to pass on to Sylus. He's going to want to take them apart for study and you're hoping handing them over will be a good enough reason for him to let you play with his cars.

You get maybe fifteen minutes before the first gun shot goes off.

You and Kieran freeze, look at the door, then take off in a sprint. Everything goes off the rail in under a minute; more gunshots, screams, angry yells, and the sound of glass breaking. It all comes from the auction room and you can see servers getting out of dodge, well practiced in evacuating. No doubt they've worked other events that ended poorly.

Taking care to keep out of their sight, you follow Kieran down other hallways, watching him take out guards and secure an escape route.

There aren't too many to deal with, thankfully. It seems most of the guards are in the auction room, where they have to face Sylus and Miss Hunter. With Luke there to provide extra support, you're hopeful that things will wrap up quickly so you can all make your escape. Being so near a fight has you twitchy; there's a reason you like to stay out of the way and just gather information. You're not built for these sorts of things and you're all too aware of how that makes you the weak link among them.

"Alright," Kieran says, "Let's get the car ready."

He turns back and the two of you leave the main halls behind to go the back service areas, running for the locked exit. He's quick to pick the lock and throw the door open and you barrel after him into the night.

And then you crash into his back as he stands, tense and frozen.

You look up and bite back a swear.

So, apparently, you are not the only person who planned to leave from here once things went south. A lot of other people had that same idea and they're all staring at you now.

"Well," one of the guys in front of you says, "Isn't this a surprise. Members of Onychinus delivering themselves right to us. What a stroke of luck."

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. It's hard to hear anything past it, adrenaline hitting running through your body and making you shake, breath coming in short. Kieran shifts his stance lightly, then jumps forward. Everything turns into a fight that you can't keep track of, frantically dodging back and staying in the fringes, unable to leave him here alone but unable to help either.

"And where do you think you're going?" a voice drawls in your ear, making you jump. An arm wraps around your throat and you the tip of a gun get pressed against your head. "Stop fighting or I'll make you watch as I blow her brains out," the man holding you hostage shouts.

The fight dies down in an instant. Kieran goes statue still and you stare at him with wide eyes. I'm sorry, you try to say through the furrow in your brow. You tighten your grip on your screwdriver, feeling the handle dig deep against your palm.

This is risky. This is probably going to kill you, but you've been prepared to die since you buried Cerin. No one lives safely in the N109 Zone. Everyone knows that tomorrow is not guaranteed, no matter what you do. You've been prepared to die for a long, long time.

Just not like this.

Not with Kieran's life on the line.

You don't want to be the reason Luke has to go home alone.

"Let her go," Kieran demands, voice tight.

The man holding you tuts. "Nuh uh uh, I ain't letting her go that easy. Nah, you want her to walk away, then you better be a good boy and let us take you in. EVER is very interested in having folks from Onychinus in their hands."

You take a few deep breaths, trying to slow down your breathing. Calm down, you tell yourself. I've got one shot. I can't waste it.

Slowly, Kieran's hands rise into the air, palms out. Surrendering.

The men that aren't passed out or dead on the ground begin to close in. The hold around your throat loosens just a little bit.

You knock your head back as hard as you can, slamming your skull against the man's nose, and drop to the ground as second later. The gun goes off, the shot loud enough to ring through your ears and shake your bones. Gritting your teeth, you hold your screwdriver steady and drive it back with all your strength, forcing the metal into the meat of his thigh.

He yells, and you throw your body weight at his legs, sending him toppling to the ground.

Through the ringing in your ears, you think you hear a familiar voice.

Dazed, you look up and see Sylus, eyes glowing red and his evol swirling around him. The red mist circles the necks of all the men around you, including the one you're on top of, and there's a viciousness to his movements as he walks forward. Miss Hunter trails after him, gun in her hands, eyes constantly moving around the area, watching Sylus's back.

You can't hear anything they say, though you can see their mouths move.

Relief sweeps through you so suddenly you feel lightheaded.

If Sylus is here, then you're safe. You're going to be alright. And more importantly, Kieran is going to be alright.

When you look to him, just to make sure he's fine, Luke is already there, right by his side.

Abruptly, all the men choking in the grip of Sylus's evol drop. They don't move again.

He kneels in front of you, eyes still hard, but his hands are gentle as he helps you to your feet. He plucks the screwdriver out of the man's thigh and returns it to you with a small smirk, and if you were able to hear, you're sure he would have said something stupid.

You don't really remembering getting to the getaway car, but you blink and you're in the backseat with the twins. Sylus drives casually, as if he didn't just completely destroy a trap set out for him, and Miss Hunter is in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio.

"Back with us?" Luke asks, nudging you with his shoulder.

There's still some ringing in your ears, but you can hear now. "Yeah. You good?"

He nods, as does Kieran when you look at him. He taps your hand and you find that you're still gripping your bloody screwdriver like a lifeline. It takes a little too long for you to relax your grip and drop it into your lap.

From the front, Miss Hunter turns to face you. "Hi," she greets calmly, a soft smile on her face. "It's nice to finally meet you! I've heard so much about you from Sylus and the twins, though I do wish we met under better circumstances."

…What the hell have they been saying about you? You glare at Sylus and he very pointedly says nothing, eyes fixed on the road.

"Nice to meet you too, I guess." You take another look at her and grin. "How's the dress?"

Miss Hunter lights up. "It has pockets!"

"I fucking told you," you tell Sylus, allowing smugness to coat your voice. In the rearview mirror, you catch him rolling his eyes.

"Oh, did you insist on the pockets? I should have known a man would never think to add them to a dress."

"He didn't think deep pockets were necessary. Can you believe him?"

"I owe you my life for convincing him to add them on," Miss Hunter says. "I've got a gun, a knife, a taser, and my phone in these things. It's crazy!"

Under her bright personality and how easy conversation flows, the last of the tension from the night melts away. The twins chime in from time to time, as does Sylus, but it's been ages since you got to talk to a woman who Gets It and she's clearly done with all of Sylus's bullshit, because the two of you just keep at it. Even when you return to Sylus's residence and follow everyone in, wondering when someone will ask you to leave.

No one does. Sylus just points you to a door and Luke whispers that he's set up a room for you ages ago.

Miss Hunter leans in from your other side and adds on how excited she is to have another woman with her, especially since you have teasing rights as Sylus's sister.

And Sylus himself doesn't refute any of what they're saying. Just shrugs nonchalantly as acts as if it's no big deal, even as he carefully gauges your reaction.

You go over it all in your mind again, pulling together what you know: dinner with the twins. Constant visits where he annoys you. Asking for your help in things both big and small. Welcomed into his space without question. A room set up for you weeks before you ever stepped foot into his home. Spoken about like you're part of this little unit of his.

The most important piece of it all: you feel safe with him. When he arrived and put an end to the fight, you knew you were safe. Even with all your knowledge of how dangerous he is, your experience in keeping your distance from people like him because it's always been a risk, you know he'll never hurt you.

You know he's lived a lonely life. There was a time before he found the twins. He's patient with them, has given them so many allowances no one else would bother with. It's the same way you've made a space for them in your home.

You don't have much experience with things like home or family, but no one here does. You wouldn't mind figuring it all out with them.

"Do I get a key to this place, too?" you ask, half joking and half hopeful. If it's not all in your mind, if he really means it…

"I thought you'd never ask." He pulls out a spare keycard and presses it into your hand. Like it's that easy.

And maybe it is.

---

Needless to say, Sylus cancels all of his plans that involve him leaving the base that day. He sends the twins out to buy the necessary supplies to care for you, and keeps you with him while he attends to his daily tasks. You do spend a majority of that time sleeping, but he doesn't mind. Simply watching your little body curled up, your tiny chest rising and falling as you doze, is enough to keep him occupied for a long while. As eager as he is to spoil you like this, he knows you need your rest.

The twins quickly return with what he needs. They're eager to play with you, but Sylus can't help but feel incredibly protective of the little kitten in his care. Of course, he lets them pet you, but if he feels that they begin to get rowdy enough to wake you, he sends them out of the room.

Mephisto seems to be fond of you like this as well. Now that he's much bigger than you, he relishes the opportunity to be protective of you in a way he has never been able to before. He roosts near where you sleep, acting as your 'guard bird' of sorts. He's patient with you when you wake up playful, letting you jump all over him to your heart's content.

Eventually, Sylus discerned that your mewls had turned to those of complaint due to hunger. He brings you into the kitchen, setting you down on the counter as he opens a can of the high-quality cat food Luke and Kieran had brought back for you. (He also had several alternative cans from different brands if you happened to dislike the one he first chose.) Luckily for him, you don't put up a fuss as he gently hand-feeds you, patiently coaxing you to eat until it seems like you're satisfied. Your full belly quickly makes you sleepy again, and he bundles you in a blanket to carry you with him back to his desk, listening to your soft purrs.

Once it's time for bed, Sylus carefully wraps your half-asleep form back up into the fluffy blanket, then deposits you on his huge bed. He tenderly watches you doze for a few moments before rushing off to brush his teeth and change into comfier clothing as quickly as he can. Once he returns, he finds you've escaped your makeshift bindings and are mewling softly in distress. You miss him. The soft, pitiful sounds crush the giant of a man, who hurries back to your side to soothe you.

"Shh, you're alright, sweetie." He coos, lying down beside you as you wobble towards him until you reach his side. You lean your tiny head against his chest, nuzzling him and moving closer to nestle into his sweater. He gently strokes your flank, feeling the delicate vibrations of your purrs rumble against him. "I know, you had such a big day, huh. You poor thing," He murmurs, starting to drift off himself. "You did so well."

He presses a soft kiss to your tiny head, ever reverent and careful. "I miss you." He confesses. "Please come back to me by morning, sweetheart. I love you."

I think I should start this little study on the fact that they all are the Reverent kind of Yanderes. Cruelty when it comes to the MC is not something that they know. Those boys are ruthless to anyone else, but they become soft around the one they love. They don't wish to hurt them, it's not something they actively do. MC is the love of their lives, they have loved her through all their different timelines, through pain and hurt. I'm not saying they won't hurt the MC, just that they take no pleasure in doing so. Treating her poorly will never be on their repertoire as something constant, as a certainty instead of a punishment or unwitting consequence of their need for control. I also what to preface this by saying that all of them do stalk/track you even if in different degrees - from lowest to highest: Zayne, Xavier|Rafayel, Sylus|Caleb. In canon we have confirmations of the last three actively keeping track of the MC, while it's awfully funny how coincidentally Xavier and Zayne keep meeting the MC through random encounters. Which might be the writing but at the same time you have to admit once or twice is a coincidence, more and you start wondering how they do it. With that said, let's go to the actual individual profiles.

Xavier ↬ RAMS | Reverent, Aware, Manipulative, Strict

Xavier is the aware kind of Yandere. He is smart, awfully so as we have seen from the Outcast Voyage event/memory. And he's a realist, to the point that he avoids interacting with people on a deeper level due to his slow aging. He isn't one to delude himself into thinking that what he's doing is right, that it is needed, that it is them against the world. Xavier is morally grey, he has no need to justify his actions with a well placed lie to himself. It's fine if you don't love him yet, it's fine if he has to lead you to it. That leads me to the next point. Xavier is a play on the Wolf in Sheep's clothing, we can see in plenty of the memories just how quick he is to change from that soft, gentle sweetheart to someone harsher and demanding. He'll use that to his advantage, lulling you into false a sense of security, making you believe that he's incapable of any kind of unsettling behavior he is certainly exhibiting. There are cracks in it, fissures that he tries to patch up with well placed sweet gestures and soft words. His harsher tone when speaking with someone who he deemed got too close, the tensing of his muscles when he perceives a threat. So when things hit their climax, you're more surprised it took this much time for you to understand the darkness of it all and not that there was darkness after all. With such a deep sense of possessivemeness, with such a need to have you all to himself, coupled with a sense of longing, it's no wonder that he wants to keep you all to himself. Xavier is controlling without seeming controlling, with cajoling sweetness and begging eyes. He's the soft voice asking you to spend time at home with him, to lay on the couch instead of going out. He'll coo and ask what you're looking at on your phone and burn the contacts into his mind so he can look them up later. He allows some leeway, but always under his watchful eye, under his control.

Zayne ↬ RAHL | Reverent, Aware, Honest, Lenient

Zayne is... Zayne is the slow certainty of what will come. He is not pushy, he is not overt, he is not forceful. There is an almost softness to it that constracts beautifully with the cold harshness of his evol. Zayne is warm sunny days and sweet whispers, a caretaker through and through. His whole being is dedicated to you, to everything that makes you someone that he desires and loves. In a way, with Zayne I don't even think there was even a line to cross because it just is. And Zayne is aware of it, that this kind of devotion, of affection, is not healthy. That he should want to mingle with other people, that he should be more social and less... well, reverent. But being aware of it is much different than wanting to stop it. He isn't hurting anyone, and his love does you so good, doesn't it? With him looking over you, you're healthier, you shine even brighter because he is there to remind you to drink water, to eat, to take of yourself. Unlike Xavier where his awareness gives him the grounds to become manipulative, it is this awareness that gives Zayne his Honest trait. Not outwardly, not overtly. Zayne is careful touches and even more careful words, but they're always tinged with that honesty. He doesn't hide from you, doesn't need to, doesn't even want to. Why break the trust that has built between the two of you? It's that trust that wins his leniency. It's not that he doesn't want to watch over you, that he doesn't want to control those aspects of your life. He has work to contend with, important work that takes him away from your presence at random hours. Zayne knows this, and he also knows that a modicum of freedom is enough to keep you with him. That if he allows you to do what you want, talk to him like you want, that you will think you are in control, that you can do whatever you want. And that will keep you with him. And for him, that is just perfect.

Raphayel ↬ RDML | Reverent, Delusional, Manipulative, Lenient

Rafayel's delusion comes from his memories. He remembers you, remembers your love, your smile, the way that you came and threw his life into chaos. He loves you deeply, is connected to you in a visceral level, one that he keeps claiming he would rid himself of but actually never would. So in his mind? In his mind you cannot love anyone else, feel connected to anyone else. In his mind you should feel it in your bones the same way he does in his. Your souls are connected, red threads of fate so deeply woven you could never be heartless enough to have forgotten. You can never forget your God, can you? The one that doomed a whole civilization for the love he had for you. Even in the main story we see just how manipulative Rafayel is. His words are taunts and teases specially designed to elicit a reaction from the MC. Rafayel already knew who the MC was, already knew that she was his. And yet he still played the casual game, even when directing her to do as he wanted, to ingrain himself into her life. Yes, he's desperate, but he's also desperately manipulative. Creative in the way that he shapes you into playing to his tune. The certainty that you're his turns him lenient, blindly trusting in the same way a supplicant is. You're his everything, his whole world and he is yours. There is no single timeline or universe where you won't end up wit him, where you reject what you two are - bonded and connected. The Lemurian bond is a certainty, carved into his flesh, blood and stardust. So what if you bite and bark a little bit? He gave up his whole being for you once, he'll do it again.

Sylus ↬ RAML/RAHL | Reverent, Aware, Manipulative/Honest, Lenient

As much as it hurts him to admit it, Sylus is nothing if not a realist, so he won't fool himself into thinking that you want him when you do not. It's shown on his main story. The way that Sylus hurts inside but knows that you not like him, that this version of you isn't warm to him. But he knows that he can make you love him, is fully aware and willing to work as much as he has to. Sylus is nothing but hardworking. Anything that is within reach he will use, there is nothing too low when the end goal is to get you. With him. Your smiles and your laughs. Your peppered kisses and sounds of pleasure. Sylus loves you deeply and he's highly aware that his love will have to do for both of you until he makes you love him back. And this is where I can see him being both of a manipulative and an honest yandere. Sylus is an honest character, there might be some omissions, but all the LI's have those when it comes to their shared past and what they remember with the MC. But he's awfully honest with his touches, the way he looks at you as if you are the sun that shines and the air he breathes. He'll do anything in his power to have you, will spoil and lovebomb you until you're too weak to hiss at him. You're a little kitten that he wants to warm up. He's also quite morally grey, so I can see him slowly weaving himself into your life in random bursts that you are left wondering if it's out of your own mind or his own. I truly believe he has the perfect equilibrium between manipulative and honest. Sylus' MC in the game is bratty, a little kitten that hisses and huffs and puffs while still working around to stay in his line of sight and demanding attention. And Sylus is aware of it, he plays to it, keeps her claws out so they're on him, he allows her freedom because he has the cat toy that will bring her back - his body, his mind, his presence, his all. He allows for her misbehavior, looks forward to it. Kittens always end up loving one person more after all, and that will always be him.

Caleb ↬ RDMS | Reverent, Delusional, Manipulative, Strict