(i'll catch you)

Oh, he was wrong.

Caleb had miscalculated grievously and was so, so, terribly wrong. 

He considered himself a man able to withstand many things, and the four years in the Academy made him into a living weapon, equipped with utmost self-control, unquestionable stamina, and the unwavering strength of a soldier. 

And yet five minutes into losing his bet with you, he feels his body and mind begin to fail him entirely. 

“Earth to Caleb, I hope you’re not going to give in already.” The smirk is audible in your voice, especially as you grind your hips forward and relish in the shuddered exhale that is his response. “Cause that would mean I win.”

It’s intoxicating, confusing, the way his body stopped responding to him the moment you got on top of him. Caleb’s not really thinking of much right now outside of just how nice the orange glow of your nightlight hits your figure, how damn low that tank top is, and when the fuck did those shorts get so small on you?

He jerks his hands up instinctively, the automatic soldier’s reflex to seize control, the want to touch, to grab. To flip you the fuck over and have his way.

But the bind around his wrists catches.

Hard.

Caleb bites back a hiss, teeth grinding at the pull against his arms. “I’m doing just fine,” he grits out, smile crooked in a way that makes you want to laugh. “Fantastic, even.”

“Mhm,” you hum, “keep telling yourself that. I want to see how long that lasts, gege.”

The look he gave you then, frustration, disbelief, a flicker of something dangerously close to surrender, was the kind of thing someone could get addicted to.

Your thumb traces the rough edge of his lips, once, twice, before pushing into his mouth, muffling the surprised grunt he gives you as you lean in. 

“Open.”

His eyes widen, jaw falling slack almost immediately as you spit into his waiting tongue, slapping his cheek lightly after. So obedient.

Caleb swallows, and you swear you feel him twitch underneath you. 

“Good boy.”

God, he liked that more than you did. 

His moan is muffled around your thumb, but the raspy edge of it is enough to have you clenching around nothing. You’re taking more. Now.

Spreading your knees out wider on either side of Caleb’s waist, you rock yourself backward, immediately rewarded with the hard press of his abs and something even more solid below, friction heavenly and far too little all at once. At the mere contact he lets out another moan, muffled as Caleb sucks on your fingers, curling himself up to stare you right in the eyes. 

“Please,” he’s begging already. “Please do something- anything- more.”

Your eyes soften, but your smile doesn’t. “Down, boy. I thought we both agreed on what the loser would have to do.” Your fingers skim his jawline, tracing down his throat before pinning him back down to the mattress with just your pointer finger on his chest. He could fight you so easily if he wanted to. “You have ‘ta listen to whatever,” you sing out the word, dragging it out as your nail teases down his chest, “I say.” 

“I’m not—” He stops, swallows, and tries again. You’re being so infuriating it’s taking everything not to rip control back from you, fuck you hard and fast and make you a moaning mess like he knows you like. “I am listening.”

You laugh softly, delighted. “Good then, puppy.”

Caleb freezes. 

You watch his pupils dilate, nearly engulfing the galaxy in his eyes to an abyssal black, watch the tension ripple across his chest, watch the heat flush the tips of his ears bright red, all at once.

“…Puppy?” he echoes, voice rougher than before.

You tilt your head, studying the way the word seems to unravel him from the inside.

“Mhm,” run your thumb along his jaw, savoring the way he leans into your touch. “My puppy. It suits you, gege.”

This is embarrassing, it’s so embarrassing and he’s so fucking hard right now. 

Caleb surges forward, lips smashing onto yours as he kisses you like he’s starving for it. No complaints from you, meeting him as the force clicks your teeth together before his tongue swipes your lip as an apology, drooling into you as his weight presses as close as the restraints will let him. 

You tug his face up as his tongue meets yours, hot, sweet, desperate in a way that feels like you’re melting into one another as you lose yourself in the kiss. Not close enough, never close enough, even as you grind closer, the heat between your legs unbearable. You can feel the sweat dripping from his temples, damp heat against your skin, and the kiss melt like hot sugar and something burning. 

A hot, undeniable heat of late summer that makes everything in your body boil and sweat, all-consuming and impossible to ignore. The air between you feels thick with it, syrupy, suffocating, every breath shared back and forth until you can’t tell where one of you ends and the other begins. Somewhere in the half-breaths you dare take you throw your shirt off, hardened nipples grazing Caleb’s chest as he feels himself slipping at the sight of your body.

Every kiss only leaves the both of you hungrier, an aching burn spreading through your body.

Standing up on shaky legs, Caleb whines at the loss of you, chasing you up until the scarf tied against his arms jerks him back down. 

“Shh, it’s okay, gege,” you tug down your sleep shorts and panties in one drag, letting them fall to your ankles as Caleb’s jaw snaps shut. “I’m just making it easier for you.”

He’d agree to be tied up every second of every fucking day if it meant you looking down at him, completely naked and smiling so damn innocently like this. 

Pulling a condom out from your nightstand, you climb back into Caleb’s lap slowly enough to make him watch every movement. Every muscle in his body strains as his skin touches yours, hands fighting the urge to break free before you’re pulling him into a kiss and he simply melts, moaning your name. 

A giggle slips from you, swallowed immediately by Caleb’s eager tongue as he chases the sound, kissing you harder, needier, like he can’t stand even a second of distance between you. You let him indulge in it while your hands drift lower, fumbling deliberately with the waistband of his boxers before pulling his poor, leaking cock out, the heft of it springing into your palms. 

Caleb full-body shudders, breath catching hot against your mouth, and the reaction alone nearly makes you laugh again. So desperate already.

You toy with the condom between your fingers, peeling the wrapper open slowly while Caleb watches with hooded eyes, every hulking inch of him tense with anticipation. A predator unable to pounce. When you hold it up in front of his face, he leans toward it instinctively, helpless with want.

Cruel delight curls in your chest at the sight.

And then you toss it carelessly across the bed.

“I don’t think we’ll be needing this.”

The whine Caleb lets out will haunt your every dream. “No, no. Pips, princess, please. Don’t— don’t do that to me, let me fuck you. I’ll make you feel so good, please.”

You tilt your head, acting confused as you slide your hips down until you’re hovering right above his dick.

“I never said I wouldn’t let you fuck me.” A smile, evil and so, so satisfied. 

And god, you can feel and hear just how wet you’re getting. The loud, obnoxious slap each time you rock forward, the popping suction of your pussy dragging against the wonderfully hard length of his dick, feeling it throb and jump with the hot friction.

Caleb is clenching his jaw hard enough to snap. His entire dick flushed raw pink, twitching and dripping with your slick and an embarrassing amount of precum all drooling down the veins of his dick and sticking to your inner thighs. His hips stutter to meet yours despite himself, despite knowing this was dangerous territory, despite every rock of your bare cunt against him feeling like heaven and sin and fuck his eyes are rolling back at the mere thought of more. 

“Stop,” Caleb’s plea comes out pathetically weak. He’s already rocking into you again before the word’s even finished. “Come on, I- I’ve told you how dangerous this is.”

“Ya, we’ve had the talk a bunch when we were kids.” You pout, sitting back as you both look down to the sticky, wet mess between you. One hand goes to pump the remaining slick up and down his dick as the other circles your own clit, Caleb’s eyes racing back and forth between the two as though he can’t decide where to look first. “But I’m an adult now, gege. And I really, really want you inside me.”

Caleb’s going to die. 

You’re going to kill him. 

But fuck, if you don’t stop moaning through your bitten lips as you play with yourself, he’s not sure he’ll mind.

“Please, baby,” he’s whimpering, gasping out for air as his immobilized body jerks and humps into your hand, dick flushed from the attention but not enough for any real release. It hurts. He needs you so badly it hurts.  “Grab another condom, please. Fuck me, use me, I can’t– I can’t stop myself much longer.”

He feels your lips curl into a devilish grin as you lean down, whispering, “Then don’t.”

And the feeling of you slamming down onto his cock, that searing, wonderful pressure, shatters any restraint Caleb had left.

His broken moan is a little more than a sob in your ear, the entire bedframe creaking as Caleb’s back arches, every thick, bulky muscle underneath you flexing as you continue to ride him, a single hand pushing his hips back down to the bed.

It’s all he can think about. Your nails digging into his abs, the sting of your marks as you lose yourself on top of him. The overwhelming heat of your body. The dizzying drag of you rocking up and down again and again until every thought in his head is melting, spinning, just the feeling of you every raw part of you, the way you’re forcing him to hit that spongy spot, the force abusing his oversensitive tip until it’s euphoric pain. 

Seeing your strong, protective gege turn absolutely stupid under you only makes you want to push him further. Your thighs burn with the stretch around his impressive quads, legs trembling as you force yourself to go faster. More, you want-need more. You need him to cum inside you. 

Caleb whines at that, shaking his head vigorously as he looks up at you through tear-stained lashes. You didn't even realize you were slurring all that out loud. “Don’t, don’t say that. Can’t- won’t stop but fuuuck” he’s moaning again, hips jerking off the bed as the angle forces him right up to your cervix. “I should.”

He doesn’t stop.

You both know he won’t.

The entire bed is shaking when your legs give in, collapsing onto Caleb’s sweat-slicked chest as you keep rutting down into him, clawing into his shoulders for leverage. It’s so much, his tip pressing every spot inside you, the heavy drag of each thrust turning you stupid, drooling into Caleb’s neck as you bite and suck every inch of salty, sweaty skin. 

You feel yourself already getting close. “You don’t want to? You don’t want to fill me up?” A whimper, you can’t tell from who as you get tighter, entire body tensing as shocks of pleasure jolt through you. “Please, please. I need it. Please cum inside me, gege.”

Then there’s the loud, undeniable rip of the scarf you’d been using as makeshift binds tearing to shreds, Caleb’s palms slamming onto your hips with a harsh slap. 

Raw handprints burn into your skin as Caleb lifts you right into the air, slamming you back down onto his dick. Your eyes roll back, unable to do anything but laugh deliriously as he uses you with every ounce of his remaining strength.

“Again, say it again.”

“P-please cum inside me.” You’re blabbering the words over and over again, body turning to mush as you collapse on top of him.

Feeling every vein, every slap of his pelvis on your clit has you screaming, trembling as your release sprays onto both your thighs. So, so much of it. Your lips open in a silent scream as you squirt around the base of his cock, the mess splattering onto Caleb’s abs as his pupils dilate at the sight. 

“Again.” 

Then, you’re being manhandled like a doll. Caleb locks you in tight, chest to chest, your tits squished against his pecs, swinging an arm around as he traps you in a headlock, the other slamming your hips down as your head goes fuzzy from the suffocation and bruising, delicious force of him ramming right into your cervix. “Do it again.”

Your nails claw at his bicep, spine arching into his body as the two of you melt into one another, sweat and cum and desperation sticking and dripping from you. Caleb’s strength was failing him too, each grind of your hips, the way your pussy is still convulsing and leaking around him breaking his restraint into something dangerous.

If it is what you wanted, if this is what you needed, then wouldn’t he be such a horrible older brother to deny you? 

He’ll give you what you want. 

He’ll always give you everything you want. 

“This is your fault.” Right as Caleb’s hips falter something else begins to lift you up, gravity itself binding you as his Evol rams you down. “Spoiled you rotten, can’t say no– fuuuck– can’t say no to you.” Up again, down again. Inhumane speed leaving you sobbing as his headlock doesn’t lessen, free hand now moving to your poor neglected clit, quick circles that have you drooling.

“Again.”

“Caleb,” the headlock, the pleasure, it leaves you gasping,”I-I can’t–”

“Again.”

You’re already cumming.

“You wanted this. Begged for this.” He’s drunkenly buckling up into you, hammering his hips into yours. Nose-deep into the crook of your neck as your vision spins from it all. “So take it. Take it, take everything your gege gives you.” 

Finally, he gives you what you wanted. The force of his release is dizzying, hot and addictive as you both feel his cum swell your insides. But the thrusts never stop, Caleb’s dick forcing globs of your mixed releases out as he’s already chasing another. 

“Greedy pussy needs more. You knew I’d cave, knew I’d fill you right to the womb—” Letting you gasp in air as his palm moves to press down on your belly. You feel every inch of him now. “—but ‘s still not enough, not until you’re swollen with it, begging me this time.” He moans at the thought, delirious, and you whine as you feel him fill you up once more, Evol pinning you as close as possible. Another orgasm. 

Immediately, his fingers are at your clit again, a punishing slap to your pussy enough to have you scream before Caleb’s palm comes back up to muffle your cries. Nips your ear in punishment.

“Stop whining and take it, listen to your gege and take it.” 

You’re fighting the force of his Evol as bursts of pleasure-pain make you thrash against the binds of gravity, moans and sobs broken behind his hand, nothing coherent left in your mind as you squirt once more. Your legs don’t stop shaking. 

Caleb can’t hold on much longer either. The sight of you completely losing control atop of him drives him insane, and the way your pussy keeps hugging him back in wanting more and more. He can’t stop. Doesn’t want to, never wants to after this.

You’re still in the middle of cumming as he thumbs over your clit once more, finally sitting up as the new angle forces you down even further into his lap, and you’re sure your Evol is amplifying his with how much power is behind every thrust, working overtime as Caleb’s hands are pinching and rolling your oversensitive nipples and clit, hugging you tight as his body convulses behind you. 

It’s overwhelming, his dick no longer thrusting but grinding, unable to part from you, the swollen head pushing past your cervix as his release keeps filling and filling you. You don’t feel it end, heat sticking to your insides and being shoved deeper, your body still spasming and helpless to do anything but take it. 

There’s too much of it, Caleb’s body collapsing atop yours as he trembles. His cock was so, so sensitive but he couldn’t stop cumming, feeling every strand fill you up past your limit, watching the slight bloat of your tummy as the rest leaks down your thighs, staining the mattress from god knows how long it's been. It’s so obscene, so filthy and it just makes him want to fuck you raw again. 

The first thing you can make out when reality comes back to you is the quiet laugh as Caleb drops his forehead onto your shoulder, panting into your skin as he leaves open-mouthed kisses there.

He doesn't pull out and you don't want him to either, the two of you falling back into the pillows as you moan at every slight shift inside you.

The shift is instantaneous. You hear the screech of the chair against the floor as he shifts, and before you can blink, your world is tilting. He pulls you across his lap, one hand tangled in your hair while the other hikes the hem of his shirt higher up your body to fully expose your ass to him.

The first strike is heavy, a solid crack that echoes against the quiet of the office. You gasp, your hands grasping onto the fabric of his trousers. Instantly, your skin stings, heat blooming across your ass. But you like it. You like knowing you've pushed him to this point.

"That is for the photo you sent during my morning consultations." He says, his voice low. "I had a patient's chart in one hand and your indiscretion in the other."

Crack.

"Two. For the voice note. I don't recall giving you permission to speak to me that way while I'm at the hospital."

Crack.

The third one is firmer than the last two, making you cry out. You try and squirm to get away, to beg for his forgiveness and his touch all in the same breath. His hand simply tightens in your hair, a silent warning. You're so wet it hurts. If you could just get his hand between your thighs...

"Three. For that obscene paragraph at lunch. A thumbs up was all you deserved for such a blatant attempt to disrupt my focus."

He pauses then, and for a second, you think it might be over, but his hand doesn't move away. Instead, he rubs at the angry pink skin of your ass, his touch deceptively soft all while you twitch underneath his hand. Every slap has only turned you on further, and you almost can't help yourself as you try and arch into his hand.

Zayne raises an eyebrow as he watches you, noting the way you tremble across his lap. Slowly, his fingers dip between your legs, a quick, amused huff leaving him as he finds your dripping pussy. He should have known.

"This wet over a punishment? You really are a brat." He mocks softly, his long fingers finding your aching clit with a surgical precision. He circles once, twice, just enough to make you whimper and rock back against his hand, before he's pulling away again, leaving you cold and wanting.

​Crack.

"Four is for not listening when I told you to go find a book."

Crack.

"Five is because we both know you're going to act out again tomorrow just to see if I'll put you back over my knee."

​You're shaking now, a few stray tears slipping out and trailing down your cheeks. Your ass is a vibrant, angry red, and the heat radiating from you is intense. You want more. You need more. If all you'll get tonight is a firm punishment, then you'll eagerly accept it.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

"That voice note is still ringing in my ears and I'm still quite irritated by it." He says, though you can feel the way his body is saying otherwise. As your stomach presses against his thighs, you can feel how hard he is just against your side. You shudder against him, a pathetic little moan of pure want leaving your lips.

His hand kneads the supple flesh of your ass, massaging the sting deeper into your skin until all you can focus on is how badly you need his fingers on your clit again. The hand in your hair slowly lets you go, moving to cup your cheek as he wipes your tears.

You think it's over.

Crack.

This last blow is far lighter than the ones before, almost a warning slap. A reminder of how easily he'd flung you over his knee. You need him so badly it hurts.

"What was that for?" You whimper as you tilt your head to lean further into his hand. Your breathing is shaky and ragged, your breath hitching quietly each time he brushes his fingers against the angry, burning skin of your ass.

"I felt like it. Now stand up."

You instantly move to do as he says, shifting off his lap to stand just beside him. You watch as his hands move to his belt, the metal clinking together for a moment before he's undoing his trousers, shoving the fabric down to free his cock. You want nothing more than to drop to your knees, crawl under his desk, and keep him in your mouth until his reports are done.

Instead, he gestures for you to sit on his lap. Your breath hitches. A reward so soon after your punishment? You could cry.

You're quick to climb right into his lap, your arms draped across his shoulders as you hover just over the tip of his cock. His hand sneaks between the both of you, fingers wrapping around himself as he slides the tip right through your slick folds. You clench around nothing, so close and yet so far away, but you don't rush it.

You let him grind up into you, a quiet whimper leaving you every time he rubs against your clit. The anticipation is killing you, but you force yourself to stay still even as you tremble on top of him. Then he slides home. A shattered moan falls from your lips, your hips instinctively rocking into him. He's so deep, you swear you feel him in your belly.

But he doesn't continue. He doesn't fuck you like the world's ending. He doesn't even offer you his thumb against your clit. Instead, he clamps his hands on your hips, waiting until you look up at him with your needy little whine. The corners of his mouth twitch, smug and deeply entertained by your eagerness.

"You sit there, and you feel every inch of me, but you do not move. If I feel you so much as shift to try and get more comfortable, I'll put you back on my knee for another ten. Am I clear?" He commands. You want to argue, to test if he's serious, but the cold edge of his tone has you agreeing.

"Crystal clear."

"Be a good girl and let me finish this page." He says, giving your hips one last squeeze before his attention is back on his reports, his pen scratching at the paper every so often as he leaves small notes for himself to read later. You let out a soft sigh as you bury your face in the crook of his neck.

You feel so full, so deliciously stretched, but it's not enough.

"You're so mean." You whine, hands tilting to find his hair. You don't pull, you simply twirl the strands around your fingers, trying to focus on anything other than how good his cock feels when it's buried deep in your cunt.

Zayne hums in acknowledgment, back to ignoring you.

This treatment feels like it goes on for hours, but in reality, it's nothing more than a few minutes. Finally, he's pushing his papers aside, the clatter of his pen against the wood instantly drawing your attention. You tilt your head to look up at him, a silent question in your gaze.

He answers by finding your hips with his hands, standing up, and pressing your back against the wood of his desk. Your legs instantly wrap around his waist, keeping him deep inside you as you look up at him. He moves to take his glasses off, setting them aside near the edge of the mahogany, before both palms are pressed against the wood on either side of your head.

"You've had a lot to say today. Now that you have my undivided attention, why don't you be very specific?" His hazel eyes drift down to your lips, jaw clenching as he rocks into you, slow and steady. Your nails find his shoulders as you arch up into him, the friction earning a quiet moan from you.

"Tell me exactly how you want it."

You swallow hard, your breath coming in shallow hitches. The sting on your ass is still humming, reigniting every time Zayne pushes deeper into you. For a moment, you can't think of how you want him to fuck you. All you know is that you want him. You need him.

"I want to feel... I want to feel how much I irritated you today." You manage to stutter out.

A smirk finally does appear on his lips and in that moment, you know you're going to be sore for days.

"Understood."

He doesn't give you a second to rethink your answer before he's moving. His cock slams deep into you, so deep you can feel it knock against your cervix, the dull ache mixing with the pleasure of his relentless pace. You cry out, your back arching off his desk as you claw at his shoulders, your thighs clamping around his waist.

His hips snap into yours, his balls slapping against your ass, the loud sound of skin on skin mirroring your punishment. The desk rattles underneath you, his abandoned pen rolling around before finally tumbling onto the ground. Zayne doesn't even blink. He simply brings his hand up to your shirt, easily undoing the buttons one by one until it falls open.

Bare underneath. You really had been waiting for him to fuck you.

He groans at the sight, long fingers instantly squeezing your breast while his head dips towards the other one. His teeth grazes your nipple before he draws you into his mouth, nipping and sucking at that hardened peak. You tremble underneath him, your moans tipping into loud sobs of pleasure as your hands finally find his hair.

You tug on the dark strands, a sharp cry echoing in his office as his fingers pinch at your other nipple, rolling it between his long fingers until you're squirming underneath him. He doesn't relent, just shifts his focus as his mouth moves to the swell of your breast, sucking a deep, dark bruise right into your skin.

His hand trails up your body again, long fingers wrapping around your throat and squeezing with just enough pressure to make your head swim. His other hand finds your hip, thumb digging a bruise into your skin as he pulls you onto his cock in time with his thrusts.

You clench around him, a shattered, broken moan leaving your lips as you fall apart around him. Your hips jerk against him as you writhe on top of his desk, but Zayne doesn't let up. He pins you down, his thrusts getting faster, harder, the snap of his hips against you making your ass sting all over again.

His breath hitches, his jaw clenched so hard he feels his teeth grind together as his movements falter. His thrusts grow sloppy, frantic, desperate to reach his own release. He's so close, so agonizingly close, and the moment your cunt clenches around him, he spills in you with a guttural groan.

His forehead presses against your shoulder, hand releasing your throat to cradle your cheek as his eyes squeeze shut. His entire body shudders, his breathing ragged and ruined. You let out a quiet whine before tilting your head into his hand, your own body sore and spent as you cling to him.

You're both quiet for a moment, too focused on breathing, too focused on the way his hips roll into yours like he's trying to force his cum deeper.

"Are you going to behave tomorrow?" He finally asks, his voice a broken rasp against your skin.

"No." You breathe in response.

He lets out an amused huff.

Still, you knew you’d truly fucked up when you entered his office after, finally, being summoned... only to freeze at the sight of him, and the severity of his glare.

Sylus sits silent, forearms braced against the polished oakwood, hands steepled before his mouth as he fixed you with a sharp, unwavering stare. The dim light from the lone lamp in the corner caught against the rings on his fingers, cold against colder eyes.

“I–”

“Come. Closer.” 

The command is final, resolute. You bristle instinctively. 

One sharp arch of his brow catches the beginning of that defiance immediately, and that small reaction alone makes you falter.

Still, you force yourself to keep your chin high as you hesitantly approach the terrifying figure situated a mere few feet away. But before you can stop in front of the large desk, he tilts his head, signalling for you to round the corner.

Closer, until you’re standing directly in front of him. Your hackles rise, tempted to stand your ground where you are—but Sylus clicks his tongue, and you loathe to admit you react no differently from a chastised pup when you obey.

So there you stand, barely a hair’s breadth away from sharing the same air, caught between his knees as his hand clamps firmly around your wrist. To pull you precisely where he wants you. You try to step back, twisting against his grip, but Sylus doesn’t budge. Red eyes pin you in place instead, burning with a cold, terrifying fury. 

“Good. You seem capable of being obedient for once.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, stung by the condescension oozing from his voice.

Sylus bares his teeth in a semblance of not-quite a smile. Something more morbidly amused than anything else, tainted with warning. Careful, it says.

Swallowing the remaining hesitation lodged in your throat, you retort, “Stop treating me like a kid. I know what I did, and yeah, maybe I could’ve been smarter about it, but—”

Sylus lets out a short laugh devoid of any real humor. “So you are aware that what you’ve done was utterly foolish?”

“Do you even hear yourse–” You cut yourself off with a frustrated sound, already irritated beyond belief by the sharp dismissal in his tone. “I can’t just stay hidden while they—”

“When I tell you I hold your wellbeing above all else, do you think I say it as mere inflection?”

“No, but what was I supposed to do?” you demand. “Leave you there to fend for yourself?”

His eyes burn a scorching fire as he enunciates slowly, “Yes. That is precisely what you should have done.” 

“I’m sorry, but you’re asking for something impossible,” you growl, still struggling to wrench your wrist free from his hold. “I can’t do that. You know I can’t.”

“Your safety is not up for debate,” he snaps, and the brittle facade of your bravado does, too. 

“Gah–!” Your frustration comes out halfway between a yell and something more wounded, your vision already stinging with angry tears. “Fuck, okay, I get it! I know I’m not like your hunter friend, or any of your more competent lackeys, but you don’t have to treat me like I’m fucking useless!”

Sylus opens his mouth, no doubt ready to launch into what would no doubt become another exhausting argument about your incompetence and your complete lack of self-preservation—but something seems to make him reconsider.

The fire in his eyes shifts. From furious, to contemplative. 

Then stone-cold. 

An oppressive heaviness stifles the air around you. The man before you, your boss by every definition of the word, seems to have decided he’s done arguing.

...The next thing you know, you’re face-down across his lap, staring at the floor as he yanks both your wrists behind your back in a punishing grip.

You shout in indignation, kicking your legs uselessly in an attempt to escape the prison of his hold, but to no avail. Sylus, apparently, is in no mood to grant you even the dignity of false leniency this time.

Without warning, he flips your skirt up—a damning decision to wear one on a heist, though never in the way you imagined would come back to bite you—and bunches the fabric high against your hips, leaving your thin underwear embarrassingly exposed.

Heat rushes violently to your face. Shame follows just as quickly: sharp and prickling across your scalp, before sinking nauseatingly deep in your gut.

“...Are you actually sorry?” he intones softly, something deceptive in the way he says it.

“W-what?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, you feel the palm of his free hand glide slowly from your thigh, trailing upward along the curve of your lower back.

You’re not. Not even an iota. But with your not-quite lover’s current temperament, you feel almost compelled to oblige anyway.

Sylus rarely loses his temper like this. In fact, it only seems to happen when your safety is involved—when you’ve placed yourself directly in harm’s way, or when circumstances leave him too far away to reach you before something goes wrong.

You remember the first time he’d thrown you across his lap. It happened after a supposedly separate mission went catastrophically awry, when some idiotic urge to impress him had driven you to go completely off-brief. You came back bloodied, barely responsive over comms, leaving him without eyes on you for nearly half an hour.

Half an hour that very nearly drove him out of his mind.

So when you finally stumbled back to him in one battered piece, the last threads of Sylus’ restraint snapped entirely. And as a result, he’d doled it out on—

“I’m– ah!” You lurch at the unexpected smack he delivers viciously on your ass. 

“Tell me properly, then,” he croons mockingly, a cruel, near-manic light in his eyes. “Like you mean it. Say, Sylus, I’m sorry for being a brat. Come now.”

You gripe stubbornly, refusing to yield so easily. You sink your teeth into your lower lip hard enough to taste rust.

“Words,” Sylus orders. “Or have you lost your tongue along with your wit?”

“No!”

Another harsh swat. This time, the rings adorning his fingers dig cruelly into softened flesh, sending a sharp, stinging ache radiating through you.

An involuntary sob tears free from your throat.

“I’ll count up to—hm, how many rounds did you fire after I told you to stop?”

The question is rhetorical, of course. Asked as if you have any real say in this at all. He already knows the number; the sound of each bullet probably still rings around inside his skull.

“Nine? No, ten. You managed to put down two out of that.”

You blink angrily at his derision, right on the verge of mouthing off— 

—then you stop cold, dread curling in your stomach as you remember what comes next.

“Ah, though you did swap mags midway through.” Sylus feigns sudden realization, like the memory has only just occurred to him. “Which brings the total to…” He hums thoughtfully. “Care to hazard a guess?”

Your heart thuds violently in your chest with a growing sense of foreboding, the reality that Sylus is dead serious despite the jeering mockery in his tone becoming painfully clear to you now. The telltale beginnings of trepidation quake through you at the perceived danger you’re in… and the promised pain soon to follow.

You answer a second too late, for him. “Test me one more time,” Sylus warns lowly, “and you’ll spend the rest of the night staring at the floor from across my lap.”

The last traces of mocking amusement vanish from his voice entirely. And just like that, you know you’ve lost.

“T-twenty,” you mutter in defeat.

“Twenty-three,” he corrects. “But let’s round that up to twenty-five, shall we?”

The sudden strike tears a yelp from you, though you quickly stumble through: “Three…!”

Sylus scoffs. “From the beginning,” he says coldly. “And this time, show a little gratitude after each one.”

Spank. “O-one! Thank you–”

Spank. “Two! T-thank–” Spank. “You!”

“Three!” You breathe out through your nose, blinking harshly. “Thank you...”

Spank.

And so it goes. The humiliation burns viciously.

Because your actions had come from instinct. The instinct to protect—something you should be allowed to do as part of Onychinus. 

So why does he insist on treating you like this?

As if you can’t handle yourself. As if you aren’t capable of giving as hard as you get.

As if you’ll always remain something weaker than him.

You wail through the pain as he rains his frustration down onto your backside, reduced to pathetic little sniffles through each damned number, even when he delivers the final blow.

“T-t-twenty-five… th-thank you…”

Your throat burns from all the screaming. Everything hurts. But what hurts most is your shattered ego, lying broken in pieces at his feet as your head hangs low like a scolded dog’s. Your breath comes out in short, ragged gasps from the exertion, and you keep your gaze trained downward while tears roll helplessly down your face.

You’ve paid his price, and your ass still throbs painfully from it, but it’s done. It’s over—

until Sylus hooks his fingers into the wet fabric sticking from the pool between your thighs, and the rough slide of cotton against your abused cheeks stings something almost unbearable. 

Mortification floods your face instantly.

With it comes the true humiliation; the most shameful proof of all, bared in full view before him: your drooling pussy, mortifyingly soaked throughout the entire ordeal, exposed before him despite all your struggling, all your resistance, all the pride you’d tried so desperately to cling to.

And judging by the dark satisfaction flickering across Sylus’ face, he knows it too. You can’t hide anything from him.

Sylus clenches his jaw, a hiss slipping between his teeth at the vulgar sight of your quivering cunt, drenched in want. Vexation, guilt, and lust rage viciously inside him, and he doesn’t know whether to delight in the fact that you’ve managed to derive pleasure from the punishment—or make it worse for you still, so you might finally understand the helplessness you’ve burdened him with. The helplessness you’ve made him feel ever since.

It would only make sense that you, the source of it all, should pay penance by taking the full brunt of his ire. Shouldn’t you?

His palm settles heavily against your left buttock, a thumb forcing you wide open beneath his gaze, greedy to see more of your lewd insides you’d tried—and failed—to conceal from him. You fuss, though there’s little you can actually do against the unrelenting restraint holding you in place. 

Both of you are painfully aware of this. The imbalance between you, the difference in power. How frighteningly easy it would be for him to bend you into submission whenever he pleased.

He’s utterly entranced by the stringy essence drenching his finger—and inadvertently, the worsted wool of his trousers where he’s propped you onto. A rivulet of your desire drips down like viscid honey, splattering on the tip of his shoe, and the obscenity of it all draws a tortured groan from deep in his throat. 

“Filthy,” the word comes out scathing, but your body reacts as if it’s been praised. You whimper, shivering at the languid ministrations against your sensitive flesh. “Do you like making me mad?”

Your mind begins to drift further from reality, the pain almost exalting in the way it strips everything else away until all that remains are his words and him, him.

No, you don’t like making him mad. You don’t like the disappointed look in his eyes, as if you’re incapable. You don’t like it when he treats you less an equal, and more like a delicate doll in need of protection from every possible harm.

But you like it when he chastises you, the residual shame washed through with pleasure. You like the sting of punishment when it’s dealt by the same hands that would soothe it all better afterwards.

You like it when he forces your mind empty until nothing else matters except this.

And him.

Only him.

“What do you need?” he prods quietly, stroking the expanse of your wet cunt in a slow, hypnotic caress; upwards, downwards, in slow, circular motions. Pushing a finger in just enough to coax you open around the teasing digit until it reaches the sensitive pearl hidden beneath.

You mewl, involuntarily trapping his hand between your thighs. He stops.

The sudden loss of attention is almost debilitating. “N-no—” Your pitiful pleas dissolve into nonsensical garble, and your cruel tormentor scoffs at your pathetic supplication. 

“No?” he repeats boredly. “I’m beginning to grow rather tired of hearing that word from you. Should I stop?”

"N-no—m-more…" you whimper. The man stays still. "Please, please–?" 

"You can beg better than that, pet. Have I not trained you well enough?" 

You squeeze your eyes shut, the wetness gathered along your waterline spilling down your reddened cheeks for the nth time. The stinging humiliation, the utter ignominy of being rendered helpless and strewn across his lap to receive punishment no differently from a misbehaving child…

The lingering shame prevents you from speaking, but the fear of disappointing Him forces your mouth open anyway, soundless. You shake your head in mounting resentment with yourself, your breathing beginning to stutter as the walls slowly close in around you.

You want, you want— but you can’t have— You can’t do what he asks— 

Stupid, stupid—

A palm reaches down to encircle your neck in a firm, but gentle grip. To ground you.

“Sweetie.” Tenderness bleeds through the earlier authority in his tone, and despite yourself, you shiver. “Come back to me.”

Your pupils retract sluggishly, bleary as your vision slowly adjusts when you lift your head, dizzy. You twist slightly in his hold and catch the sight of carmine irises melting softer into a deep amaranth in the yellow light.

Sylus removes his hands from where they’d been holding you moments prior, helping prop you upright before bodily shifting your position and arranging your limbs like folded wings, gathering you securely into the nest of his arms.

He tucks your head beneath his chin, breathing you in like he’s taking comfort in the simple fact that you’re here in his arms. Safe.

And like a stranger peering through a peephole, your fuzzy brain slowly pieces together that the worst is finally over.

“Should we leave it at that for tonight?” Sylus murmurs, genuinely checking for the telltale signs that you’ve reached your limit. “It seems we’ve had enough excitement for one evening—”

You let out a small whine against his throat.

The worst is over, but—

No. No. 

You don’t want him to stop.

“I wanna be good. I can be good for you.” Mustering the last semblance of courage left in you, you plead earnest; watery eyes stare up at the pair of reds trained on your face.

“Please… please, daddy? I’ll b-be good… I’m s-sorry…”

The name of endearment hits Sylus like a blow to the back of the head. And whatever lingering fury remained from the earlier fiasco dissolves almost instantly at the sound of it leaving your mouth so earnest and broken. So sincere.

And clearly indicative of the subdrop that you’ve fallen deep into, that it nearly makes his gums ache.

His grip tightens around you reflexively as he finally takes in the full extent of your state: the dazed look clouding your eyes, the way your body folds pliantly into his without resistance, openly vulnerable and trusting him entirely to take the reins now that your mind has begun withdrawing into itself.

Christ, how was he supposed to resist?

He slams you down onto the desk hard enough to send papers scattering wildly askew, the force of it knocking the breath clean from your lungs and leaving your head spinning. 

Zipping down the front of his pants, Sylus pulls out his rock-hard cock from the confines of his boxers. With one hand wrapped around himself, he rubs the leaking head against your slit in maddening circles, deliberately bumping against your engorged clit with every pass. Yet a few teasing rounds are all he could manage before he tires of prolonging your suffering, and his.

Inch by paralyzing inch, he feeds it to you—the thick length of him, splitting you open deliciously. The way your slit weeps, greedy as it swallows the mushroom tip despite the overwhelming stretch, enraptures him.  

You whine weakly, attempting to squirm away, to hide, as though it’s any match against the unrelenting hands keeping you spread wide open beneath him. He huffs at the remaining traces of your resistance, amused by how futile it is when neither of you are under any illusion that you’ll be leaving your place beneath him for hours into the night.

“Let me see my pretty baby.”

Sylus easily pries your hand away from your face, ignoring the fruitless endeavour and the way you try to hide the evidence of what he’s done to you. Traces of the ruinous pleasure he’s left you with.

Your lashes stick together as you blink up at him, mascara smudged beneath red-rimmed eyes.

“There she is,” he coos softly, wiping away the stray tears with his thumb. “Hi, baby.”

You take a second too long to answer, grasping at figurative straws. Sylus, evidently, has little patience left for it.

The sharp thrust makes you cry out immediately, leaving no doubt as to what he thinks of your lack of response. You scramble weakly, nails scratching against the forearms holding you down. They don’t yield as he continues to slowly spear his cock in and out of your tight cunt. 

Your thin voice wobbles as you finally acquiesce to the demands of your relentless (not-quite..?) lover, struggling to keep yourself from crying out under the perverse disparity between your small, fluttering hole and his monstrous size. "H-hi, daddy." 

“Shhh,” he soothes, sweet in stark contrast to the rough rhythm he has on you. “You’re breaking my heart, sweetheart. Dad’s being too rough?”

You shake your head.

“No? You can take more, then?”

You shake your head again, more frantic this time. The low chuckle he lets out sends reverberations down to where the two of you are connected, and you clench helplessly in response.

"This pussy's telling me something else, sweetie. Do I listen to her or to you, my love?" 

Don’t know if I can. It’s too sore, daddy. Sore in the way your body wraps around him, fluttering in time with the frantic hammering of your heart, unable to distinguish whether it comes from the repeated intrusion or the carnal desire for more. You don’t know if you want to plead for a smidge of mercy, or beg him not to stop. You can’t utter anything coherent beyond a long-strung moan.

Humming lowly, he makes the decision for you.

“I’ll take that as both, then.” 

Sylus rips through the leather bodice of your top with his evol, disintegrating the material instantly. The sparks left dancing across your skin sting in a way you know is entirely deliberate. Addictive, too.

The next thing you know, he captures your breast in his hungry mouth—ravenous as he sucks, and sucks. It aches, and you whimper at the relentless onslaught.

His right eye blazes as he peers up at you, intent on drinking in every minute reaction you give him. Every furrow of your brow from the torment. Every trembling breath born from the impossible collision of discomfort and agonizing pleasure that only he can drag from you.

It makes Sylus feel almost godlike. In control.

Especially after spending the last several hours feeling as though he’d lost it entirely.

That fear slowly drifts further and further from his mind the longer he keeps you like this, overwhelmed and trapped deep within the throes of corruptive gratification. 

Your mind is nowhere on Earth, the only thing tying you to reality tethered to the rough push and pull of his cock pulverizing your insides. 

“Ungh–unh—” You mewl brokenly, rivers streaming down your face. Pain and pleasure become an ouroboros of destruction, ravaging you steadily to ruin by the hand pressing down against your stomach, forcing you to feel how he drills and carves a place for himself, deep into your core.

“Look at you,” he exhales as he releases the reddened nub from his mouth, visibly enamoured by the sight before him. “Taking me so well. Do you think I treat you just as well, baby?”

“Y-yes… thank you,” you manage to breathe out. He’s praising you. He loves you. You can’t think of anything else to do but to show how grateful you are.

Sylus laughs softly. “Thanking me now? Quite the contrast from all that earlier grit, I think.” Even as he teases, he makes no move to push you further, fully aware you’re already more than halfway out of it.

With excruciating languor, he pulls out his slick-covered shaft, only to slam fully back into you in one brutal thrust. Over and over, he fucks you like an animal—battering your cervix, hitting every secret spot within, as if staking its claim over the ruined wasteland of your desire.

It's so good. It's so good. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you…” you blabber wetly, unable to stop the endless stream of gratitude spilling from your lips.

Thanking him only fuels the destructive fire raging inside him, and Sylus breathes raggedly as he rests his forehead against yours, watching the roll of your eyes intently. Obsessively. “That’s it—fuck, you’re daddy’s good girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes!” you relent, squirming and arching helplessly against him. One of his large hands slides to your lower back, pushing you upward in support while the other maintains a possessive hold over your belly, leaving you trapped securely between both of them.

There’s a building pressure coiling just below your abdomen; pulsing, clawing its way through the overwhelming haze in your mind, and you feel…

“D-daddy,” you stammer out, a sense of alarm cutting through the thick fog. “I-I think… I have to–”

“Mmh? Are you gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” 

“Nnooo,” you whimper in distress, trying desperately to hold it back. Your eyes squeeze shut, and a few more tears escape. “N-not it, no, no…”

Sylus practically coos at the panicked response, all while relishing in your contracting walls, clearly recognizing what’s happening long before you can properly voice it yourself.

“Yes. Yes, shit– let go, my love. Give me everything,” he rasps, sounding almost desperate himself, eyes ablaze with the thirst and anticipation for the full culmination of your passion. Your ardor to wet his cock, and to whet his appetite.

He lowers his head until his mouth finds your throat, teeth latching down against your skin as the demand is punctuated by an overpowering bite meant to take. Everything. All of it. All of you—

The order in his voice commands you to submit, and you’re helpless against the absolute control it exerts over your body. 

Almost instantaneously, you clench down. Hard. Your orgasm rocks you to your core, and he fucks you through it as it as it comes out in sporadic, uncontrollable spurts. It crashes violently over your head in giant waves, dragging you beneath the undertow until you’re utterly lost within the current. Blinded by the paralyzing ecstasy of it all.

Sylus swears to himself, his tempo faltering from the sheer rapture that is your cunt, milking him through spasms. He releases his hold around your midsection only for one hand to slam against the console hard enough for it to crack beneath his grip.

Not long after, he finally follows after you, a rough, possessive growl spilling against your neck as he loses himself in the same blinding wave of euphoria.

_

It might have been seconds, or minutes, or years until your vision finally returns and you regain some semblance of consciousness.

You’re swaddled in a familiar charcoal suit jacket, vaguely aware of being carried across the hallway and toward Sylus’ room no doubt, and the man quietly shushes you back to rest the moment you stir awake in his arms.

So you surrender one more time.

Just as you always do.

- - -

“Does it still hurt?” Sylus murmurs gently once the two of you are finally laid together in bed, after he’d cleaned you up and tended to you with almost painstaking care in the bath.

He’s referring to the bruising you sustained from the earlier disaster of a mission gone wrong and not—

“I think it all went to my ass,” you complain mulishly, scrunching your face as he pulls you tighter into his embrace like some oversized python. Or an overgrown koala. “And my vagina. No thanks to you.”

He chuckles, landing a soft kiss atop your head. “Poor thing. Did we learn anything from this?”

“No.”

You feel more than see the smirk forming on his face from where he’s buried against your hair. “Mm. Then I suppose I can’t be blamed for reacting exactly the same way the next time a reckless little mouse decides to throw herself headfirst into danger for me.”

The teasing remark is met with a scoff, but deep down, both of you know neither of you really minds this arrangement.

End A/N: WHAT WAS THAT— must have been the wind. Anyway.