It’s Her Bday

Your honor, they are the same character ‼️

Morning Routines with Sylus

Ever since marrying Sylus, (Name) had perfected the art of slipping out of Sylus’s iron grip without waking him.

She had to—her work started at 7 AM, and he only went to bed at 5.

Carefully, she eased herself out of his embrace, moving like a trained assassin. The moment his arms loosened, she slid away, only for Sylus to stir slightly, his brow furrowing as if already missing her warmth.

(Name) quickly grabbed a pillow and slipped it into his arms. Like a cat seeking comfort, Sylus instinctively buried his face in it, relaxing again.

She stifled a giggle. Too easy.

With her temporary victory, she tiptoed out of the bedroom, heading to the kitchen for her usual morning coffee.

Sitting on a stool, she let out a content sigh as she took a sip—

Only for a familiar black and red mist to suddenly swirl around her waist and coffee mug.

Before she could react, her cup was gently pulled from her hands and placed on the counter.

And then—she was lifted into the air.

"—Hey!" She yelped as the mist effortlessly maneuvered her out of the kitchen, down the hall, and back into the bedroom.

Before she knew it, she was back in bed, wrapped snugly in Sylus’s embrace.

A deep, sleepy chuckle rumbled against her ear.

"Did you think you could escape me so easily, kitten?" Sylus murmured, his voice husky from sleep.

(Name) huffed in amusement, pressing a hand to his chest. "Sysy, I have to work."

"Mmm… no." He buried his face into her neck, arms tightening around her as if she were his most treasured possession.

She sighed, knowing there was only one way out of this.

Leaning in, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Then another.

And another.

By the fifth kiss, Sylus groaned, reluctantly loosening his grip. "Fine. 10 more minutes."

(Name) laughed, victorious once again.

"Deal." She snuggled into his warmth, knowing full well she’d have to escape again soon.

This was inspired by an art drawing from twitter, and i had to write it as a hc for my mc's version LMAO THIS IS WAY WAY TOO CUTE AND SO SO SYLUS CODED i love marriage life imagines w sylus, i love my man so much i hope u guys could tell

Hey infold I think you forgot to add Lumiere’s theme back to the shop 😗

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4:35

Well.

This was certainly a problem. You and Caleb were only supposed to be hanging out while it rained. That meant reading, building model planes, maybe making soup...

Not...this.

Not sitting with your back against his chest and his hands under your shirt, head on your shoulder watching some movie series on TikTok you randomly found. He hums, making some comment about the protagonist and how they should have done something some other way. You had stopped paying attention a while ago.

You didn't even remember its title.

His hands cupped your breasts, under your bra, kneading them lightly. Occasionally, he would offer a firm squeeze here and there.

"Mm, next part please,"

You blink, your back going stiff for a moment. "Eh?" "The next one, pipsqueak- please." "Oh- oh, right."

Your thumb scrolls up to go down to the next video, but it moved on to some reddit story. You'd have to find the rest of the movie somewhere else.

Caleb sighs, pressing against you, absent-mindedly rolling your nipples between his fingers. "A shame. I was enjoying that." He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek, his hands slipping away from your tits as he gets up to go make lunch. Yeah... a shame.

I wanna write self indulgent transmasc mc x Caleb brocest ,, would anyone be interested in reading?

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I need Caleb to choke me and spit in my mouth 🤤 I’m so down bad

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big girls don’t cry

𓍯𓂃 self aware robot! caleb x female reader

(wc: 9.5k) ✦ summary: after your brother passes, consumed by grief, you take to the internet to order a synthetic version of him. afterward, it’s impossible to throw him out. (or: alternatively titled the trojan horse)

✦ content robot! caleb, past engineer! caleb, au where EVER deals in robotics, non-evol au, 18+ nsfw/smut, mildly dubious consent, angst, grief, mental instability, bad coping mechanisms, robot pseudocest?? robot sex, mind games, moral grayness all around, dark/yandere undertones; this fic can have multiple interpretations

✦ sidenote have yall ever seen that episode of black mirror? ‘be right back’? basically this: the girl’s boyfriend dies so she orders an incredibly realistic, intelligent robot to replace him. they’re identical in personality and appearance, and yet… 👀 ANYWAYS ( ⸍ɞ̴̶̷ ·̫ ɞ̴̶̷⸌ ) i have a set plot for this in my head, but i left it a lil vague so ur allowed to think of it in ur own way 🤎 if u wanna know the ‘canon’ tho.. u can absolutely ask me. the lore is so deep its traumatizing :,) anyways hope u enjoy <3 ty for 1k btw!! take this as a lil celebration treat 🥳 it took so much out of me but i think i really vibe with it heheh

He’s perfect. Nigh on.

For the first few days since his arrival, since hauling him off the foot of your porch and into your living room to unpack him- heart tickering in your chest all the while, trepidatious- you’ve just stared. Reached out your hands to hover, ghosting over the broad blade of his shoulder, his chapped lips, the slight jut of his cheekbone.

His hands, as big and weathered as you remember them (but gentle, always gentle), hang limply by his sides.

You don’t dare slip your smaller ones in them.

All of the theatrics, yet you don’t press his- its- button, either.

No, you don’t even touch it after the initial unpacking, wrenching your fingers away as soon as they get too close. As soon as they get too tempted by hope and the wish that this hunk of metal was more than just a replica of your late brother. Half of you thinks it might burn if you get too comfortable; and you won’t get comfortable— underneath the solidified layers of grief and- you have trouble saying it aloud, but bitterness- there’s still just enough common sense to keep you from taking the leap. The leap from mourning to insanity.

It’s hollow. You know that much. A nothingness enwrapped in a steely chassis full of wiring and code too technological for you to understand, all covered by a synthetic skin suit as the pretty bow on top.

And you know- what with your emotional state- that if you could peer inside, strip it down to the framework and just… take a moment to look, that you’d vomit. It’d be too much to bear, being forced to reconcile with the fact that he really is gone— and in response to it all, you’ve blown your savings on an eerily-realistic, glorified doll of him with wires for veins.

You’re trembling when you stiffly prop him against the far wall, limiting contact as much as possible, and step away, keeping your eyes on him all the while. It. Not him. Not Caleb- that’s not your fucking brother, just a disgusting, soulless fascimile of him—

But as you stand back on your feet (with the coffee table in between, just in case) to get a good look at him, like a real, proper look, your breath is taken.

The thing: He’s not just a passable carbon copy, you realize. Admittedly, he’s…

Identical.

(He’s Caleb.)

All the oxygen gusts out of you in a breeze.

You lift a shaking hand over your open mouth and choke as silent tears spill from your lashline, blurring your eyes on the way down. Wetting your knuckles as they shake wildly.

You’re crying. Of course you’re crying. This is- you can’t do this. You just can’t.

Racing upstairs, retreating to your bedroom to slam the door as if the devil himself was on your tail, only then do you drop your hand and fully sob.

It’s pitiful, really. Wretched noises that resonate from deep in your throat, your spirit wrecked as you curl up on the floor and make yourself into a ball.

Darkness comes outside, the space around you muting itself in grey colors. The puddle beneath your cheek is moonlit. You sniffle and relocate, but you don’t even bother to tuck the not-Caleb robot in its special container, no- you just settle beneath your blankets and pray it’s all a bad dream you’ll awake from come tomorrow.

Tomorrow: you’ll send him off. Return him.

You don’t care how much money it costs- for all you care, it’s paltry, it’s replaceable. And it is replaceable, that’s the bleak truth: that android stood motionless by your couch, despite having a face so familiar it’s painful, has no emotional value whatsoever. There’s no depth to it. No substance.

A skeleton built by rods. Artificial flesh modeled around thin, colorful cables and circuit boards.

I mean- he’s no better than the stapler on your desk, or the toaster on your kitchen counter. Better yet, a crumb on the floor.

A nothingness, you think again. Prettily encased in smooth, sun-speckled skin and that cottony loungewear (that still retains his smell) you could hardly part with when the online form requested his attire.

He’s perfect, nigh on, you’ll give the company who forged him that much credit, because they sure followed his pictures to a T. It looks just like him; so much so you couldn’t even bear to look at him for more than ten minutes before bolting, the emotional response so violent.

But the problem is that he’s not real. He’s not your Caleb.

✦

It’s hard to throw him away when he looks like that. When he bears the likeness of your late, beloved older brother.

Yes, you want to stuff him back in his box and return to sender, but when it comes to courage, you lack the backbone necessary to carry out your decisions.

You tiptoe down the stairs to see him again and sputter.

He’s too real, you decide in a heartbeat. Too real.

Shutting your eyes as tears begin to pour anew, lunging forward with blind intent to cache him away in the elaborate box he came in, you get to work. And you get to work quickly. You can only bear to look at it- that heartless caricature of your gege- for so long until you feel something in you, your last fragile piece, begin to fracture.

After the explosion, all you had left of him were the memories. Not an explanation, not a goodbye, not even a body. What remained of the boy you were fostered with was ash and a puerile, yet no less beloved locket with its edges burnt copper.

Now, you have something exponentially more physical and intact, unsullied by the reality of what was.

So for a moment, yes- sue you and your heart for hesitating- but it’s a hard task to seal him away.

Agonizing, really.

His arms are stiff by his sides but you feel the skin; the lump of muscle in his forearm, the bump of his elbow. The only thing that keeps you from giving into the puffed-up illusion of his being real and alive is the coolness beneath your fingertips. The unnatural, icy feel to his otherwise mortal skin that reminds in a voice, condescending like all things out of reach, see? that’s not Caleb. And you’re insulting him by thinking that it could be.

You’re halfway done nudging him towards the box (careful, despite your frenzied, fluttering heart; afraid to damage his likeness) when you trip over your own feet navigating the narrow space between your table and the couch.

It’s unthinking, the way you grab him- arms flying out to steady yourself with his broad shoulders.

In all your scrambling- something clicks. Gives under your fingerpad.

A button.

With mute horror, you watch his eyes light.

…And you can see it too, you know, registering in his gaze as it settles over you and takes you in— a blip of mirth that quickly warps into worry at the look you give him. You must appear no different than a deer in headlights.

For several seconds, you simply stand there, your palms clamming up where they dig into his shoulders, and gawk as Caleb— not-Caleb’s— expression turns to one ready to comfort.

Familiar, painfully.

The stiff hands at his side are spurred into motion, lifting to cradle your cheek while the other helps ground you by the small of your back.

“Meimei?”

No, no- don’t say that, don’t say that, internally, you have to shoehorn down all your grief as it bubbles up, and harden your face to keep from crying all over again.

…Although it’s more or less obvious you had been. The puffy eyes rimmed in red, the certain wisp of defeat to your brow and the exhaustion written all over you is clear as day. It leaves nothing to ponder.

He sounds disturbed by it all, the sadness about you that lies thick as a coating of paint. Commiserative to a fault. Lassoing you to his firm chest as he burrows your head below the dip of his chin.

He goes, “What’s wrong?” Then, “It’s okay, I’m here. I got you. Just let it all out.”

And the world around you staggers to a fall.

✦

It was very difficult to get rid of him as he stood still; when you could convince yourself he was just a startlingly realistic statue.

It’s all but impossible when he begins to move, and speak, and smile at you.

You don’t get close enough to press his button. You’re not quite strong enough to apply the distance you probably should, though, so when he takes a step forward, you take one back- but you never run.

It’s a weird limbo you’re caught in. Do you leap into his arms? Do you… Do you toss him out the door, after all? Leave him to the elements to chip away at his body; the rain to erode his fleshy outer shell?

But no. How could you do that? He-

He fucking looks like Caleb. It feels more sinful to rid yourself of him, now that he’s… on, than to indulge a little bit in the idea that he’s still alive and breathing.

If Caleb was still alive, you wonder silently one morning with no small amount of hurt, would he hate you? For whatever the hell it is you’re doing now?

You can’t even blame Gideon, not really. Without his persistent messages, and all the links he sent you of articles revolving androids and how they can help the user cope with grief, you’d have been none the wiser to the concept, sure- but at the end of the day, you made the choice to get one.

A chunk of your savings and an unprompted, fat check from Caleb’s best buddy— you decided to throw that at some futuristic company (well, not ‘some’: both men worked there- albeit they always kept their work very hush (you did catch whispers of a promotion, though, before the accident)) and one of the many services they provide.

Gideon, over the course of some months, was all but pointing you at their website, promising it would help. He’d be there to clear any confusion, in any case; hey, how neat did a walkthrough of the site from a bonafide EVER engineer sound?: Just one of his probes.

It was only two weeks back, however, when he paid an unsolicited house call, wordlessly wrapping you into his broad chest, that you caved to them.

You think about the scene while you sit at the counter and sip from your mug.

Your home smells richly of coffee, just brewed, and bacon as it sizzles. Eyeing not-Caleb with a pang of unease— not fully able to snuff out that feeling of uncanniness even as some days pass peacefully— you offer a small smile when he glances up at you.

Beaming just as he was the day before. Beaming like nothing is terribly wrong.

(To be clear, something is.)

You… can’t help but feel like you’re being monitored when he stares.

Yes, it’s a silly fear, you know that. The company your late brother worked for wasn’t exactly open with all the scientific grounds they made breakthroughs on, but he always promised that their means were lawful. Caleb wasn’t one for lies- so your doubts were soothed. So as hush-hush as EVER is sometimes, you’re fairly confident they wouldn’t ship out mass batches of faulty or otherwise rigged products.

Anyway- you suppose the weird intensity in its eyes isn’t all that off-putting when you take into account the very real personality it was formulated from.

When the pancakes (your favorite: banana chocolate chip; information he apparently already knew) turn an appetizing shade of gold, he shimmies them off the pan with a spatula and onto a plate.

That plate- loaded tastefully with bacon, a scoop of rice, and eggs with a ketchup smile painted over its face- slides before you. But though your belly growls, you don’t eat. Not right away. Wherever the culinary arts are concerned, your older brother has always excelled. Growing up, maybe you even exploited him a little for it- but he never did anything he didn’t want to; sometimes it even seemed like Caleb enjoyed sticking his neck out for you.

He pats his hands over his too-small apron (not that he minds it), frowning.

“What’s wrong, Pipsqueak? Does… Does the food look alright? I haven’t made somethin’ for you in a while, huh…?”

Oh no, the food looks fine.

It’s just that you’re the only one eating it.

And maybe it’d be better to keep that thought to yourself: part of you is just over the moon to have him standing in your kitchen with you after months apart— but it doesn’t matter that you keep your mouth shut, because Caleb reads your mind anyway.

He’s at your side in a blink, hushing away the tears that bead at your eyes out of nowhere.

“Hey, hey… No cryin’, okay? I’m just not hungry this morning, Meimei- but that doesn’t mean I won’t sit with you and talk while you eat. C’mon,” he squeezes your hand where it lies on the counter, smiling lightly.

It takes everything in you not to flinch away from the touch.

“Wouldn’t want your breakfast goin’ cold now, would we?” Pulling out the barstool beside you, he sits.

You don’t ask him to, but Caleb picks up your fork and embodies one of the several memories you have of him spoonfeeding you as a child.

“I can feed you. Just like the good ol’ times. Here, you gotta open your mouth first,” His smile strengthens when your lips, as if by habit, part. Your lashes flutter shut when that first bite touches your tongue- syrupy hotcakes and fluffy scrambled eggs- and for that you’re glad because you don’t have to see the way he marvels at you as you eat.

It’s not good for your heart.

“So? What does Pipsqueak the number one food critic have to say about my dish?” He shines, “Does it taste as good as it looks?” You can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes- the scene too nostalgic to simply idle away with indifference. You wear all your emotions on your face, anyway; you’re not fooling anybody, least of all Caleb.

“Even better,” you murmur with the barest of smiles. He presses another spoonful to your lips and you giggle.

Violet hues glitter with delight. You’ve said practically nothing to him this whole time, and he’s been patient- weirdly patient, almost- but the joy in his gaze is palpable now.

Sometimes, though, you can almost swear you see something in his gaze shift. Tuning itself like a lens. He blinks and it disappears.

“…But I will say your presentation could use some work. It’s a 7 out of 10.”

Caleb, still holding the utensil out, uses his other hand to prop his chin up. He smiles fondly as he regards you. As you’ve gotten older, it’s like every time you see the brunet, he looks at you like he’s taking you in for the first time all over again.

“Yeah?” He encourages. “Enlighten me, oh Pipsqueak- what must I do to earn those three extra points?”

“The ketchup smiley face was all lopsided,” you explain in a quiet voice, having a hard time fully immersing in this lie unraveling before you; beautiful as it is. As much as you might ache to.

This isn’t a good idea. You know that.

Still…

Maybe… maybe just a couple of conversations with him can’t be too bad, right? I mean, it’s only a fraction of what Gideon was expecting of you (lounging around together to chat, game nights, and even public outings), but to him, it’d be a start. For you, though, it’s a stretch. An exception.

You should limit interaction with not-Caleb.

You know this, and yet—

Glancing back to him, you try and fail to hide a coy smile with a napkin. “Next time, keep a steady hand, and you’ll be a perfect chef in no time. Maybe not as good as me, but, y’know…”

He chuckles, brows lifting. “Oh yeah? Then expect surgical precision from me tomorrow morning. Chef Caleb won’t let you down again!”

An intense sadness slips through the momentary happiness you were allowed. It nags at your chest.

You blink rapidly, giving a feeble, light sound before looking away.

You’ve never let me down, Gege, you don’t say, taking your fork from the clasp of his big hand (much to his dismay) to prod at your plate.

It was me who failed you.

✦

Not-Caleb looks like Caleb, yes.

He acts like him, too.

You spend the span of the next few weeks trying to scrutinize him; hours spent on the couch, his hand in yours while you grill him. You treat him like a bug under a microscope. Prodding for answers to questions you’re sure his programming must miss- interrogations built on memories so old they’re near ancient. Just blurry wisps in your mind.

Not-Caleb remembers some better than you.

Puts you to shame with his mechanical replies detailing scenarios you’re missing fragments of.

What’s Caleb’s favorite fruit?

I like apples, Pipsqueak.

And what’s my favorite food he’d make for me?

Easy-peasy. You still love those boneless chicken wings, don’t you? Although, that braised pork I make for you comes as a close second, doesn’t it?

Am I your real sister?

And you’d never ask the real Caleb such a thing. You’re only doing it now because it’s one of the most personal things you could possibly make a query of. His response would be very telling.

Life before you met him all those years ago is no more than a fuzzy glimpse, and you never minded all that much: so long as you had Caleb, nothing else, nothing before, mattered. All throughout your childhood, people didn’t know the difference anyway.

Far as they knew, you were family.

Which… isn’t wrong, per se— but it’s not biological. ‘Real.’

You, Caleb, and Gran were obviously aware of that. To you it was always a beautiful thing: a tale of rebirth, in a way, or a second chance, as a young girl found a new place to call home with a warm guardian and a brotherly figure. They’d stabilize her and bring warmth to an otherwise cold beginning.

Caleb was never spoken for on that front.

You… didn’t see eye to eye on all things. Oh, that much is true.

Sometimes you were convinced that he wanted nothing to do with the assumption that you were his little sister (albeit, you were never sure why). At others, it was like he was furious you were only bound to him in name and not blood. He saw it as an attack on your close bond.

…But Not-Caleb surely doesn’t know all his nuances. Not like you came to.

So you’re expecting a pause. A minor glitch or even a malfunction as the robot scours his database.

Got him, you almost think to yourself— then swiftly take it back.

The face of the android sat at your side falls, much to your surprise, into a small frown.

And the truth must be coded deep in the bulwarks of not-Caleb’s artificial brain: your and Caleb’s respective origins. The answer is no. No, you’re not his real sister.

…But your real Gege would lie and say yes, absolutely you are—

“‘Course you are,” Not-Caleb goes. And he does it with as much passion behind it as you’d expect.

You’re startled into silence.

He scoots impossibly closer and loops an arm over your shoulder, tucking your head to his jaw. Seamlessly, he pecks your hairline, saying, “You’re my sweet little Meimei. You’re priceless to me. Now no more pickin’ at me, okay?” He suggests in a light tone, rubbing your shoulder. “You’ve been questioning me all evening- look, it even got dark out. Let’s get you to bed-“

“I- I didn’t say I was tired-“

“You didn’t have to. I could tell you were startin’ to get sleepy, Pipsqueak,” he looks down at you and smiles- a reassuring, yet no less playful smile- and for one moment you cant breathe because fuck it’s him. It’s really, really him. “Your drooping eyes were a dead giveaway. Hm... I guess that big dinner we had put you in a food coma, huh?” He chuckles.

We. Funny, that. You recall the feast being one-sided.

Nonetheless.

Without prompting, he sweeps you off the couch and walks you up the wooden stairway. The old steps creak underfoot. He does it all effortlessly, though, arms as strong and capable as you remember.

You loop your slimmer ones around his neck.

With great hesitance, you lend a part of yourself to this illusion.

This beautiful, near unbelievable, oh-so fragile illusion that Caleb is not dead.

When you reach your bedroom, you don’t send him off to the guest room like all the nights before. No, when he carefully sets you down, you watch him, motionlessly, as he tucks you in and plants a chaste kiss to your forehead. When he turns to go- “don’t let the bed bugs bite”- you snatch his hand, half terrified you’ll blink and he’ll be gone, and flash him a look that silently pleads.

Stay.

The brunet’s lashes flutter, brushing over his cheekbones where the lamplight makes them shine.

He opens his mouth.

Pauses, then closes it.

“Stay. Please, Gege,” you breathe, on the cusp of shattering all over again. It’s become more manageable over recent days, this unresolved cluster of emotion inside you, but it’s times like these that make you feel blindsided by it.

You innocently add, “Like when we were kids.”

Oh, you’d go back to then if you could.

His long fingers, loose in your hold, flip to swallow up your hand. He stoops over to turn off the light.

His voice shakes ever so slightly, “Okay.”

Then, he clambers into bed with you and reminds you of just how small it is, how much he does not belong, but you’ve never felt more at home when he pulls you to his chest and- dutifully ignoring the quiet beneath your ear, the absence of a pulse- you cling to him.

Maybe it’d be a little weird, the proximity, what with your grown age and the fact that you were no longer children cuddling during thunderstorms…

It’s not like you’re hanging off him like he’s your lifeline for any nefarious reason, though- and it’s not like he can hold any judgment anyway. He’s… He’s not really Caleb. He’s not even a person. Just a sentient robot that resembles him to a shocking degree and soothes that ache in your chest- just by a smidge.

…And yet when he looks at you, suddenly, tilting your jaw up so he can admire what he sees in the darkness- your stunned expression lit faintly by the moon- it’s like he’s reading this in his own way.

His interpretation? you realize in a shaking breath?

He’s no longer holding his little sister, but a woman.

It’s in his eyes, rippling as he exhales deeply (all artificial, albeit you don’t dwell on that for long) and thumbs over your lip.

A boyish kind of wonder lifts his brow as he stares, cheeks slightly flushed.

Your heart bangs in your chest. Like gunshots punctuating the silence. It grows to be unbearable. This is weird, and wrong- the way he’s looking at you. But you quickly chalk it up to a malfunction.

It’s all a fluke, technology fucking up in a way that reminds you of humanity’s shortcomings and how far they can only go.

Finally, you’ve found the fault in its design. The place where Caleb and not-Caleb differ.

You know your beloved older brother like the back of your own hand, so when his eyes flutter (flash, almost) and he lurches forward to clumsily press his lips to yours— you label the action for what it really is.

An inaccuracy.

Perhaps, you think as you close your bleared eyes and let him, the only. Because the rest of his program is perfect. Infallible.

The scene unfurling is foreign- his big hands cupping your cheeks as he kisses you like his life depends on it- but as he shifts you beneath him and hovers atop, that signature softness remains. Really, as his fingertips reach for your shorts—

(A blip of something mechanical in its fiery gaze, almost as if it’s trying to rectify itself; the shortest of pauses—)

It’s all that grounds you.

“Caleb,” you moan, or cry. You don’t know. Just that when he helps you out of your panties to go down on you, digits delving inside your tight hole after he wets it with his tongue, your heart sings for him.

You don’t push him away. No, even as the humanoid sullies your late brother’s image with all his sinful hungering, you can’t break yourself free. Never find it in you to.

Because it doesn’t matter what he treats you as. You realize belatedly, with no small amount of horror, that you don’t even care how many flaws Not-Caleb has. He could have a million for all you care, you’re already too far gone- writhing underneath him as he holds your legs open and feasts- to pretend you have any right to feel offended.

And if the real Caleb was here, he’d hate you: an echo in your skull, sneering. He should, but-

“There, Meimei, ngh…” a hot tongue (no longer as cold as he was in stasis) laves along your folds. Mauve eyes look up to you with reverence, glittering in the dark.

“Just like that. Moan, say my name- I’ve been waiting for this for so long…”

You wear ignorance like a blindfold. Shutting your eyes and ears.

A fluke. His hardware stalling.

His hair woven in your fingers feels like velvet. Soft, silky; hanging over his brow as he eats you out- skillfully, might you add. Albeit his passion wins out by just a touch against his expertise, clumsily plunging his two middle fingers into your pussy.

“You taste so good, so sweet- mmph- I’ll take care of you, okay?” He mumbles in between lewd squelches.

In both physical and moral terms, there is not one thing about this that isn’t filthy.

Y-You know that, but…

“Don’t worry. I’ll- ah- I’ll make sure you feel real nice. I’ll make you come as many times as you want. I’ve been… dreamin’ of this for years now… I won’t mess this up, okay? I’ll do whatever it takes until you’re shaking.”

-but this is all you have left of him.

Hazily, you glance down to him, cheeks aflame, and barely succeed in asking, “C-Caleb- h-how are you even gonna-? You-“ you choke on the words you need to say. With a mite of dry humor, you think right then that you’re short-circuiting just as bad as him (because he is).

“Are you capable of it?”

Of fucking you? Of pinning you down and throwing your ankles over his shoulders to better plow you into your creaking, old mattress?

His brow twitches slightly. Voice ragged, he makes an agreeable sound, pressing a kiss to your clit so adoring it’s almost funny when his finger bends sensually inside you. “Are you doubting my abilities, Meimei? I’ll have you know I’ve been practicing this moment in my head for—“

No. You slam your eyes shut and drown it all out.

His words become a white noise. No different than the steady whir of the air conditioning as a cool breeze gusts beneath your door, cooling your forehead where it beads with sweat.

A- A glitch, you quietly decide. Even long after he’s made you cum thrice (twice on his fingers and tongue, once on his thick, flushed cock), you hold staunch to that.

It’s all just a fluke.

✦

When the sun rises, you wake with a start to a phone ringing- yours- and swallow a lump of unease at the figure lying beside you (your Gege, a voice in your head reminds: you silence it).

Prying off the solid arm around your waist to gingerly exit the room- still half-naked- you piously ignore the cum caked to the inside of your thighs. Yours, it must be. You don’t focus on the confusion, either, the ask of just how the hell last night was possible and why you let your emotions get ahold of you.

(Because you love him. And maybe, just maybe- in your own weird, admittedly morally-grey way- you can cobble together a sense of normalcy with him. At least just for a little bit...)

As you head to the living room downstairs, you tap your phone and lift it to your ear.

“G-Gran,” you say as greeting, smoothing your hair back, still quite ruffled over… recent events. Ruffled and ashamed.

Very.

But- while he looks like Caleb, he’s not in reality. That… malfunction last night is a blatant proof of that. You only got on your back and let him have his way with you because you’ve missed his touch so much that you’d quite literally accept it in any form.

If sex or his lips battling against yours- his whispered vows, as seemingly heartfelt as they were errant to Caleb’s true character- is all you’ll get of him, then so be it.

In your own way, messed up as it is, it’s almost like with his android, you get a chance to reconcile with the loss.

To say goodbye.

Because before that package arrived at your doorstep, you didn’t have the luxury of one.

A familiar, aged voice sounds over the line. “Hey, dearie, oh- I didn’t wake you, did I? You sound tired.” She’s one to talk, you think to yourself- but not with malice. Truth be told you’ve worried for her as of late.

It’s been lonely for you both, you’re sure, but even though she only lives on the other end of Linkon, you have trouble making the drive. You haven’t dropped by in a couple weeks.

There’s a few different reasons.

It’s hard to pretend you’re fine when you’re not, for one, that what happened with Caleb- the abruptness and lack of conclusion, the confusing aftermath of it all- never did. You try your best to plaster on a smile and be strong in your grandmother’s presence, but that’s easier said than done. Especially when that old house of hers is jam-packed with photos and tokens of your past with him— painful reminders whenever you do visit.

The newest excuse for not is guilt.

Frankly, Gideon is the only one who knows what’s going on. Hah- no surprise, being he was the main reason for your even ordering not-Caleb.

But Gran doesn’t know.

You haven’t told her about him. And after last night, what with your own release still dried to your legs (which wobble slightly; he was every bit passionate and then some), you don’t think you ever will.

She might actually slap you across the face, taking your willingness to believe in such a lie as an offense against her grandson’s vibrant character.

…If she found out what happened- that you opened your legs for him and moaned- she might go into cardiac arrest.

You didn’t… want that to happen, definitely not- I mean, you didn’t even have the time to prepare. But yes, you did let it.

And curse yourself for wanting your brother back, but—

“No, it’s fine, Gran,” you glance over your shoulder to the staircase. Finding it empty, you let out a breath. “Is something wrong? It’s… It’s early.”

—you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel a little fucking blissful to wake up to his face again, just like back when you were inseparable kids.

She sighs on the other end, “no, no,” she starts. You think you hear a TV in the background; something to fill the silence you leave her to sit in. “Nothing’s wrong, my dear. I just… I haven’t seen you in a bit. I miss your face, Y/n. How are you doing?”

Like a dart to a board, guilt lands its mark.

You shouldn’t fluster at such a simple question, but you do. Not just because it’s so direct and genuine, but because a big hand rests over your shoulder and suddenly Caleb is there, standing behind you.

You straighten up from where you’re propped against the wall and quickly lift a hand to silence any words he may speak.

“I-I’m well, Gran. Sorry, just- I’ll visit soon, I promise.”

“I’d like that,” she murmurs. You’re aware of how much she means it and close your eyes with a wince. A broad palm, as if sensing your inner turmoil, rubs your shoulder soothingly.

You rub the bridge of your nose and don’t look.

“What’s… What’s been keeping you?” She broaches after a beat. Laughter from the television fades in and out over the speaker.

For a second, you freeze. You freeze because you fear she might know.

All for naught: “You’re getting enough sleep, right? I don’t want you overworking yourself. I know you’ve had a lot on your mind, sweetie- oh, God knows we’ve both suffered all these months without Caleb, but that’s no reason for us to fall apart either-”

You sigh shakily and bite down on a cry.

“Yeah, I know. But I’ve been better, Gran, okay? I…” Shiftily, you wet your bottom lip and give a half truth- as if that can relieve you of this weight. “I was talking with Gideon a little; he’s…. he helped me.”

She sounds pleasantly surprised. “Oh? Good, good. What about?”

Nosy as ever. Not that you’re complaining. It’s good to know someone cares- someone… real.

You swallow your unease. “He was just talking to me about his job and stuff. EVER... He told me he was finally getting that raise or whatever, so he’s doing well... I- I was prying per usual,” you joke to lighten the mood, “He, uh… he tells me more than Caleb ever did, so…” (And when his name started to feel like a sin to say, you don’t know.) “So, you know. I was just curious. He was checking in on me, too…”

Warm breath fans at your ear, fingers closing around your shoulder as he peppers kisses at your neck insistently- and you shudder. Clasping the phone tighter (because it suddenly feels unstable in your hands), you shrug off (not)Caleb for just long enough to say,

“Gran- I- I gotta go. Uh- someone else is calling me,” and to preclude any probing on her end- or extra guilt on yours- you add, “I’ll visit tomorrow, okay? I promise. I’ll- I’ll be there. I love you.”

A voice timidly mirrors it back, and then a big set of hands is taking the phone from you and ending the call.

You turn to him with a notch in your brow as he pockets it in the sweats he must’ve hastily thrown on after finding the bed empty.

“Caleb-“

You start, and his lips press to yours.

With some encouragement- hushing you between kisses, knuckling down your cheek affectionately- he shepherds you back upstairs, to your room.

“Nuh-uh, just let me take care of you, pretty girl, ‘kay?” He murmurs, smiling. You could die in peace to it, you think hazily as he lies you down— because the last mental screenshot you took of him before the accident was his handsome face crestfallen after you’d said something scathing.

To your defense, at the time, you thought he’d deserved it. Maybe he did. It’s hard to remember, but whatever the argument was about, it must’ve been stupid. Not worth it.

And… he’s not Caleb, he’s not, you know that, but…

“Lie back. It’s… It’s just you and me here. I want you to know that. And everyone else-“

(Gran, you realize he must mean; Gideon and all the other familiar and unfamiliar faces both at EVER.)

“None of it matters now. Just focus on me. On Caleb.”

(And how eerie is that? You muse with a whit of your rationale. The rest, as it withers, perhaps only does so for the sake of your own sanity.)

The whole world as it stands: nudged away to oblivion at his behest.

“O-Okay,” you give.

He’s not Caleb. But if this is your best- only- shot at reconciliation, then you’ll take him with arms open.

…

When he’s done priming you, he clambers on top and you experience a repeat of last night.

Deja vu, as fresh as a wound reopened, makes your mind lag a few increments behind reality. But when he starts to slow down, thrusts growing sloppy- it feels oddly real, and, head a bit clearer than last night, you register that.

…But it’s your release that stains the sheets. Steadily trickling from your hole, slicking his hips. It only makes sense that way; he might fuck like a human, but that’s all inherent to his program, you’re sure, built to please- and ultimately, he’s made of metal. Rods. You think you can feel them when you grab too tight, that hardness.

He leads you to the proverbial end of the cliff, and you survey the bottom one last time before- geronimo- you make that final leap.

When not-Caleb comes, he shudders in your arms.

Yet you swear… You swear something inside him, behind his lidded eyes, deeper in-

It’s like it shutters.

A flash. Brief and jarring, for a moment so bright it’s like your eyes have been virginal to light all along.

Just a malfunction, you decide with a spent sigh, sweaty in his solid arms as they make a cage around you, eager to sleep until noon.

Maybe you’ll mention it to Gideon next time he drops by.

Maybe he would know how to fix it.

✦

The days that follow after are foggy and empty. Like a moratorium of everything that once breathed in your life.

You wreathe not-Caleb’s neck with that beloved apple-shaped locket like he’s earned it.

Knowing nobody ever could.

✦

Gideon knocks, one afternoon.

You send him away. Or- Caleb does.

At that, you feel the need to remind him of who he is: the people he cares for, his career path, how he operated as a person before the incident in his suite in Skyhaven.

Caleb stops you short, a palm dwarfing the back of your own, and says I know. I just don’t want my buddy interrupting our time together, Pipsqueak. Can you blame me for wantin’ it to be just you and me?

You stop going out.

He doesn’t let you- not really. I mean, he doesn’t explicitly declare these rules over you, but it’s in the strange glint in his eye- the one that makes you shut your mouth and purse your lips- when he stops you at the door and suggests you stay.

Says it’s better that way. Says he worries whenever you go. Says to take him with you instead if you really must.

Progressively, you’re drifting farther and farther out from shore. Mentally-speaking, you’re going off the deep end. But exiting your house hand-in-hand with your brother- the man the town declared dead in an email you couldn’t bear to finish reading- as he stares at you like a lover, is, no matter the ache, something you can’t quite bring yourself to do.

It’d make this illusion just a smidgen realer. You’d never wake from this dream if other people saw it- saw him- and therefore made his presence more solid in your mind. (Not to mention the disgusting assumptions they’d make- none exactly wrong.)

You’ve been so consumed by grief lately, though, that the knowing of your imminent breakdown can’t stop you from making other bad choices.

So when the brunet altogether bars you from going out in public for the fear that something bad will happen to you (nonsensical; not that he sees the flaws in his arguments), insisting that groceries can be bought online, Gran can be checked up on over the phone, etcetera—

Yeah, you bend to it, alright? Sue you. Of course you bend. It’s all you know what to do anymore.

Gradually, though, the unexpected charm of not-Caleb begins to fade, and you’re left with a possessive form of the brother you once knew. A man desperately clawing at straws, hellbent to keep you at his side, clingy and insecure and, frankly, sometimes scary.

As the inaccuracies build, you’re not sure for how much longer you can overlook them.

The only reason you even tolerated him originally was because he was passable. More than that, even- he was perfect. A dead-ringer for Caleb in both appearance and personality.

But this-

This isn’t Caleb. No longer. It never was.

You don’t believe it for a second.

You heave a soft sigh. Anything louder than a breath brings the chance that he’ll overhear from where he stands in the kitchen and come zipping over, no doubt ready to fret and question you. If you value your time alone- rare as it is these days- then you’ll stay silent.

It’s a near impossible task to separate yourself from him. It was a small miracle in itself that you managed to break away for half an hour or so- but even that was begat by a lie. It seems the only real way to rid yourself of the overly doting, obsessive older brother (even if just for a few minutes) is to give him another demand. This time, it was an ‘I’m hungry’ that finally earned you some peace and quiet.

It’s a little sad, but lately you treat him more or less like a jacket after entering a warm home: you’re eager to shrug him off because the climate has changed.

The climate has changed.

He- He’s changed.

He’s growingly insane and yes, while the irony of that observation isn’t lost on you (considering you’re the mad woman who bought a human-like robot as a replacement in the first place), you still can’t help but feel alarmed as the signs of wrongness don’t cease but worsen.

You think about pressing the button. Turning him off, sending him away.

Hell, maybe you’d just dump him in the communal trash receptacles out back. Leave him there in a human-shaped bag for the garbage men to come and squint at before hauling away like junk.

…Because he is junk, right? No different than a crumb on the floor, you’d once said.

Perhaps you’ve lost it.

The section of your brain responsible for caring must’ve shut off, though, because it’s currently hard to feel much of anything.

…But there, like a soft stirring (or the voice of God as it whispered to Elijah)- you can sense it. That feeling is reminiscent of a survival instinct, or a watered-down version of it to tired nerves, breathing down the back of your neck where hackles rise—

What are you doing here?

The dream begins to fissure in real-time when Caleb (not-Caleb, you harshly remind yourself) cheerfully patters into the living room where you sit, helpful as ever, and his eye flashes as it settles on you. No different than a camera would.

The food looks delicious, per usual- you’d expect nothing less of your brother or even the robotic copy of him- but as nausea churns in your belly and you jolt upright, slapping a hand over your mouth as you run to the bathroom, nothing can save your appetite.

You shakily lock the door- but he’s knocking in an instant, worried.

You always did melt at his bleeding heart. Too often, men, especially the bigger of them, fell under the persuasion of apathy. Yet your gege was always different, always sweet, always gentle and patient and- yeah, okay, sometimes he was a touch mean, teasing to a fault- sometimes to the point of tears on your end as he quickly tried to right his wrongs- but he was preciously yours.

And he was real.

Dammit, he was fucking real-

He was alive and emotionally tangible in a way that this awful fucking hunk of metal is not and never will be—

“Pipsqueak-? Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Let me in. A-Are you not feeling well?” His words crack when you say nothing, dutifully ignoring him.

“Y/n… Let me in. Please-! don’t leave me alone, don’t go.” His voice becomes ragged, raw, the longer you don’t answer. Boyish in its vulnerability. “Stay- Stay here with me.”

By God your soul splinters down the middle. But you don’t answer. You- You can’t.

You throw your lunch up in the toilet and then your back against the wall, sliding down it with your hands over your ears like a child.

You don’t care, if he’s shouting and beating at the door, on the brink of hysteria like you’ve heard only once or twice when he was a boy too soft for his own good- you don’t care- you don’t care—

You sit there until he short-circuits out and thuds to the floor.

You flinch when he does.

Only then, however, do you tiptoe out- careful lest you trigger some internal response from him- to quickly pull on a hoodie and put your hair up, locking the front door behind you.

You don’t know for how long he’ll be conked out, but if luck is on your side, it’ll be for long enough to run to the local corner store and buy a pregnancy test.

You know you’re losing it, the little sanity you had left after your brother passed— misreading a common cold for a veritable child swelling in your womb.

It’s laughable: using your sleeve (another old piece of his clothing you ‘borrowed’, never to be returned) to dot away the tears at your lashline, you do laugh on the short trek to the convenience store.

But if not a reminder that you really are going crazy, losing control, then at least it’s just an opportunity to get some fresh air for a bit, right?

(…You also know that the first step to regaining back said control is to say goodbye to not-Caleb.

As it stands, though, you’re just-

You were never ready.)

✦

Two pink lines.

The thing clatters to the bathroom floor, and you along with it.

You sink to your knees and the white walls surrounding you feel more like an asylum than a space in your own house- because yes, you must be delusional. This is the final nail in the coffin.

But this- this can’t be right. It’s impossible. In the strictest sense of the word it’s impossible!

Heavy feet traipse in the kitchen; the livingroom; the hall, searching for you with faint, candied beckons of your name.

You rub your face as if to feel the color as it seeps from your complexion, and tell yourself that you’ve positively lost it as you thoughtlessly choose one of the corners to slump into, hyperventilating.

You’ll- you’ll send it back to EVER... You’ll send it back and forget and move on. You’ll move on. You’ll stop grieving, you’ll squirrel away your fraying, final memories of Caleb like you did all those precious photos in that old shoebox in your closet.

You’ll-…

A breath. The fan whirs.

The faucet, going full-blast, sputters, effectively drowning out the sounds you make as air becomes a tricky thing to intake; thick enough to choke on.

You’ll throw yourself into the fifth stage of grief then crawl out the other side of it if that’s what it takes to undo this fucking reality you’re lost in-

“Pipsqueak?” A hand on your shoulder.

Broad, big. A little weathered.

But gentle always. Gentle always. Just like you remember. Just like when Caleb meant Caleb; not the big glorified toy that walks and acts like him as an admittedly convincing, yet ultimately faux locum.

Your heart stills, hanging pendant in your chest. You swing from that uncertainty. By God you’d beat that handsome face in- oh, but by God would you kiss it, too.

The door sways on its hinge by splintered fragments, creaking behind the brunet.

Timidly, you lift your head over your shoulder to meet his eye where he towers behind you, violet hues softening with concern. They drift lower, honing in on the little item by your knee, wayward.

He coos immediately, enveloping you in his strong arms.

The feeling- it’s not exactly like that of the one you’d get while swimming in a hot tub, engulfed in its steaming waters, but it’s not too far off either. You let him hold you, unseeing as he all but sings in your ear, and restore the warmth to your bones.

Like a dead thing, or prey, you hang limp in his firm grasp. Terribly uncertain.

“Shh…” he croons, and you only realize a belated moment later that you’re crying. Hard and ugly.

He pets down your hair, ever the comforter, and as you press your head against his barrel chest it’s almost like you can hear a faint whirring in lieu of a heartbeat- speedy but low.

Unreal. Unreal. But then how-?

Perhaps you’ve lost it.

“We’ll figure it out together, honey,” you think it’s a barely concealed smile you register at the crown of your head, pasting down a kiss. “But no more cryin’, okay? I can’t stand to see you like this… Let me draw you a bath, hm? I’ll light some candles and we can talk about it. But don’t be scared. This is… such good news,” and then he laughs- a boyish, marveling little laugh that digs deep into your heart and twists.

The button, between his breastbone, just out of reach, glows faintly through his shirt.

For a moment you’re ready to press it like a player would on a game show— with urgency— but you blink and see those two pink lines searing themselves into your conscience.

Defeatedly, you shut your eyes. But you don’t shut him off.

✦

With Caleb preparing dinner, you’re able to slip away one evening for long enough to call Gran.

For worried friends and relatives, your voicemail box is becoming quite the hotbed- but among them, your grandmother is the priority.

Propping yourself by the sliding glass door, you brush back the curtain and look out to the small, cookie-cutter yard as you accept the call. Not without a shaky breath to prepare you, though; it’s been over a month since your last visit, and while your calls haven’t been quite as behind, you still wince a bit every time her contact pops up.

You want to tell her.

If not about Caleb, then at least the small bump forming beneath your oversized lounge shirt. There’s excuses for it- ones to be frowned upon, yes, but they’d be believable nonetheless. Obviously, a pregnancy is not something as simple to hide as a robot you can turn on and off and, if needed, stuff in the coat closet until the coast is clear.

You want to tell her. But-

You purse your lips, answering, “Hey Gran.”

The tone of her voice, frazzled and barely holding together, sends a chill down your spine.

“Y/n- where have you been? Is everything okay? I’ve been- I’ve been calling all afternoon.”

You digest that information with a quirk of your brow, scanning across the lawn outside, and a thick swallow.

There’s the voicemails, sure; it was only two nights ago you were poring over them all and holding back tears of guilt. But this afternoon? It was quiet- almost blissfully so, spent curled up to Caleb’s chest on the sofa as you watched an old favorite movie and he happily fed you fruit-flavored candies from his hand every so often.

Nobody called, let alone multiple times. You’re sure of it.

“Gran- what? No, I’m fine. What’s wrong?” You start, tossing a nervous glance behind you, internally grateful that Caleb’s absent humming while he chopped veggies was too distant for the phone to pick up.

She blusters out, apropos of nothing, “Is he there with you?”

Something in you stills.

“Y/n- is he there with you?”

An abnormal rush of blood to your ears and a murmur of your heart as you stand confused. The fingers curled around your phone case jitter.

You hold it closer to your ear.

“What? What are you talking about? I-Is who here with me?”

Does she- There’s no fucking chance- does she know?

How?

Chest thumping, your pulse fluttering in the column of your throat as it bobs uncertainly, you begin to wonder to yourself if this is the time you come clean, lay all your sins out like cards on a table. Make the confession.

Push has come to shove, you think. And fuck if you know where all this is coming from on her end, if Gideon told her or she just miraculously put two and two together or-

An exhale on her end, shaking on its way out.

“Were you not told? Dear-“ she broaches, louder, more firm— and this is just milliseconds before the world as you know it- the one you freed of your hands and let reshape itself around a delicate delusion- buckles at the knees. It’s right before you do, too.

“They found him. They found Caleb.”

That breath, right afterward of her telling you, is like the first one after drowning.

Your eyes widen as you break the surface.

His- His body. The tinny footage they dredged up from the area showed he entered his home, but after the explosion, there was no sign of him, no ash no corpse no nothing— So you don’t know how the hell they managed to recover his pieces, let alone after they already ran clean-up crews through the charred infrastructure and hosed it down- but you’re hysterical at the news.

You were cruelly forced, all along, to just assume he’d been burned to nothingness.

So you don’t even care about the how. How it’s possible or how this is happening after several months of white noise and hurting on your end— you don’t care.

You were made to come to terms with his death, and you did, at most, acknowledge it- but evidently, you could never quite accept it.

…If this is your final chance to say goodbye- even if it just means peering over a metal table in the morgue as he lies disheveled, hardly recognizable under a sheet- so fucking be it.

You’ll say goodbye if it kills you.

“What-? Where- where?” Your tone reflects as much, urgent as you stagger over to the sofa, nearly tripping as you reach for the jacket slung over the arm.

“I-Im coming,” you croak out, words failing you as the velvety carpet feels like mud beneath your bare feet- hard to walk across, every step making you feel like a baby taking its first ones.

One second you’re navigating a truth so unbelievable it’s near violent as it barrels into you; in the next, you’re collapsing under the weight of it, too caught up in your own scrambling for your keys and the door to even think of not-Caleb.

Gran goes to timidly say something, but your ears are shot and you quickly interject, “Let me get dressed- I-I’ll be there! Is he at the morgue?”

“Oh, no, honey,” she quavers out, “He’s alive. The town just messaged me; they made a mistake with his death certificate- they’re revoking it as we speak. He’s in Skyhaven.”

The phone drops to the floor.

And then that, too, gives way beneath you.

…It’s good a helping hand is there for you, then. Shouldering your weight without prompting- fretful as he confiscates the device, no different than a teacher with an unruly student, swiftly disconnecting the call.

It tuts in your ear, but- more sober than you’ve ever been- you can only note the sympathy practically dripping from its tone for what it really is: the upshot of its near immaculate programming as it mimics your considerate gege to a T.

Not-Caleb noses against your nape and sighs.

Mutely, you wind a hand, tottering, uncoordinated fingers and all, behind your back to grope along his chest—

He easily gathers both your wrists in his palm, “hey now,” turning you around. He lifts your knuckles up for a chaste kiss, watching you intently all the while.

A cold weight settles over you, soaking you through like meat left overnight to marinate. From the kitchen, stirfry sizzles in the pan. A few moments more of it and the smoke detectors will fire off.

…He just leans in to peck your forehead though, deaf to the sirens you hear wailing in your head, having mastered the art of playing dumb long ago.

He murmurs, as cloying as cake frosting, “C’mon, Pipsqueak, let’s go eat. Dinner’ll be done in just a sec. I made one of your favorites. After that, we can sit around the couch and brainstorm some more names for the baby- what d’you think?”

Flukes, malfunctions, glitches— no; Not-Caleb, you realize right then, ceasing to blink as you stare at its prototype through the shifting lens head-on, was never flawed.

“…But you’re not leavin’, not to him.”

The real one was.

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

---

My way of life

Dark!StepdadSylus x reader

18+ plus (mdni) you’re responsible for your own media consumption.

Trigger warnings: dark!sylus, older man with younger woman, Sylus is in his early forties and reader is +21, loner!reader, clueless!reader, naive kink, innocence kink, reader’s mom is terrible, reader is emotional and it annoys Sylus at times, meanie!Sylus, Sylus is a manipulator, daddy kink, oral (fem receiving), fingering, p n v, first time, loss of virginity, Caleb is a district attorney lol, Sylus talks you through it, drug use, drunk character, lots of plot holes tbh, domestic violence, personal items are destroyed, death of minor character, please don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with anything listed above. Let me know if i missed anything. Not edited.

+9k words

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Sylus’ heart broke the first time he saw you.

With your shoulders curling inward and your head hanging low, something about how pitiful you looked caught his eye.

You sat across a woman he could only assume was your mother, judging by the similar features. She spoke to you in a harsh tone, demanding you “sit up straight and wipe that ugly look off your face” before she went back to scrolling on her phone. She made no effort to talk to you. If she did, most of the time it was merely insults or ways you could “improve”

Doing as you were told, he managed to get a glimpse of your face. You had the saddest eyes he had ever seen. You were too pretty, too young, to be this miserable. You seemed like a good kid. The type to do as you were told. It's not your fault you were stuck with a mother who was more interested in spending the day gossiping with her friends from work than having a nice lunch date with her daughter.

The life he could give you. You would never have to worry about a thing. Wouldn’t even have to lift a finger. Your life would consist of total leisure. All you needed to be was a good girl for him.

Your mother didn’t know what she had. She didn’t deserve you. You were a little kitten that needed to be taken care of. You needed a nurturing presence in your life. She was merely holding you back, preventing you from seeing the beauty of the world around you. Anyone on the outside could see how suffocating she was.

He needed to do something about that.

It was strange having a new person in your life. Since you were born, it had only been you and your mother.

Having friends was out of the question and so was a boyfriend. This led to you knowing very little about the world, especially men. So, when your mom brought a man home for the very first time, you nearly passed out front the nerves.

You had seen men out on the street, but none that looked like him.

He introduced himself as Sylus, the man your mom had been seeing for the last few months. You could feel how your face burned as you made eye contact with him. He was so handsome and so…large. He wore a maroon-colored button-up that paired nicely with his unnaturally colored eyes. The fabric stretched across his chest, the sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms you would only see carved out in porcelain. The black slacks he wore made his legs seem as though they went on for miles.

He was temptation in a half.

A strange sensation bloomed in between your legs. The kind that made you want to push your thighs together. It was the same one that appeared every time you read one of your mom’s dirty books.

Speaking of which, you failed to see the sour expression on her face when you shook Sylus’ hand, but he had a keen eye. Nothing slipped past him. He could tell your mom was the obsessive type. One who puts the happiness of a man before their child.

This was going to be easy. He just needed to play his cards right and in the end, it would be only you and him. If it goes according to plan, your mother would be far away from your two, six feet deep in the ground, perhaps.

——

Much to your mother’s dismay, Sylus made sure to spend time with you.

You don’t know how he managed to get her to agree to such things, but you were grateful you were finally getting the chance to go outside and experience things with someone who seemed to genuinely care about your happiness.

At first, it was a bit awkward for you, not sure what you were supposed to talk about. You didn’t have much to say as you had little experience with life, but Sylus managed to fill the silence. Just fine.

After a few outings together, he noticed the nervous habits you had where you’d pick at the skin on the side of your thumb and bite the inside of your cheek.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep digging into your skin like that, sweetie.”

You tore your eyes away from the view outside the car window, your wide eyes looking at the white-haired man driving.

Oh god. Was he going to scold you the way your mom did? Would he tug on your ear the way she did?

“I-I’m sorry. Mom says it’s…uh…a disgusting habit of mine.”

“S’not gross at all. I just don’t want you hurting yourself.” Taking a hand off the wheel, he offered it to you. “Here.”

You stared down at the hand he extended to you. The warm skin on the back of it touching the skin of your knee your jean shorts didn’t cover. You swore a spark ran through you at the direct skin contact.

“I don’t…understand.”

“I’m going to help you get rid of that nervous manner of yours. Whenever I’m around and you feel like you want to pick at your skin, you could hold my hand, play with my fingers, whatever you want.”

‘Could even suck on them if you’d like.’ He thought like the disgusting old man he was.

“But you’re my mom’s boyfriend. Isn’t that…that wouldn’t be right.”

“You’re not doing anything wrong, sweetie.” He sighed. “Just trying to help.”

The sound of disappointment caused you to perk up in your seat. When he started to pull his hand away, you frantically reached for it. One hand wrapping around his thumb, the other grabbing the rest of his hand, you pulled it back into your lap.

“No!” That came out louder than you intended. “Oh, I’m…I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to yell.”

“S’okay. I’m not mad at you. I just didn’t want to push my luck.”

You said nothing for the next few minutes. You were too busy marveling at how large his hand was, your fingers following the veins that appeared on the back of his hand. His fingers were so long.

Thinking back to a romance novel you snuck out of your mom’s room, you wondered how easy it would be for him to wrap his hand around your neck. As the books would often say, he could easily manhandle you.

But he didn’t.

He was gentle with you. He treated you how anyone would treat a scared kitten. Hushed tones and soft caresses.

After a while, you spoke up, your eyes going back to staring at the buildings passing by you.

“Uh, Sylus…If you don’t mind, can I ask where we’re going?”

“Not at all, sweetheart. The other day when I was at your house, I passed by your room and noticed..how can I say this without sounding like an asshole? I noticed that it…lacked personality.”

Your grip on his hand tightened.

“I’m not allowed to hang things. Mom..uh…she doesn’t want me making holes in the wall.”

“You don’t need to put things up to make it your. You can easily add little knickknacks to your dresser or desk. Add a bit of color with a nice comforter. I doubt that thing you use as a blanket is keeping you warm at night.”

You could feel your cheeks heat up from embarrassment.

He was right.

Most nights, you went to bed with a long sleeve, fleece pajama pants, and sock-clad feet just to keep your teeth from chattering.

“I’m not saying this to put you on the spot. You need a space in that house to call your own. You’re an adult, you should be allowed to pick things you like. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how controlling your mother is.” He paused, pulling into a large parking lot that had cars moving in both directions.

You watched as he drove past everyone, stopping in front of a sign that said “VALET PARKING”

Much to your disappointment, he gently pulled his hand out of your grasp, moving to unclip his seatbelt. He stepped out of the car to speak to a young man who came up to the vehicle, his voice muffled by the sound of cars passing by and the chatter of people.

You nearly jumped out of your seat when your door was pulled open. It was another guy who looked about the same age as the one Sylus was talking to.

“Miss?”

You showed no intention of moving, stuck to the leather seat.

“I got her.”

Sylus slid himself in between you and the valet. You went as stiff as a board when he curled around you, unfastening your seatbelt.

“Come here, sweetheart. We got a long day ahead of us and I want to make sure you have dinner before I take you home.”

God knows your mom wouldn’t feed you when she got out from work.

——

The shops Sylus had brought you to were anything but welcoming.

There were so many people. They carried bags from stores whose names you couldn’t even pronounce. It would have been so easy to get lost in the crowd if it weren’t for the giant holding your hand.

He towered over everyone. Men looked at him with envy while women did a double take before giggling to themselves. You noticed how people bumped into one another, not even sparing a sorry to one another. Yet, when some guy on his phone knocked into you, one look from Sylus had him stuttering an apology.

It took a lot of coxing from Sylus to finally step foot into one of the cute little boutiques they had. The saleswomen perked up at the sight of him, their attention primarily on him. It was strange having them follow you two around. It was difficult to even look at the pretty trinkets as they instantly tried to get you to buy them.

“Those are the latest trends! Everyone is dying to get their hands on them!” The retail worker who introduced herself as Monica exclaimed. The sound of her voice being so close to you had you griping onto Sylus’ hand for comfort, his thumb immediately brushing against your skin to soothe you.

You looked at the display case. The “latest trend” were some kind of ugly-looking creatures. Their fuzzy little bodies and pointy teeth were strange. Their beady little eyes made you uncomfortable.

“I’m…uh…not too sure they’re my thing.” You tried to sound as polite as you could, but the way Monica’s face flashed with annoyance didn’t go unnoticed by you or Sylus. Reminded you of your mom.

“Everyone who’s anyone is causing these to fly off the shelves.”

“I don’t see why.” Sylus interrupted. “They’re unsightly. Now if you don’t mind, we’d like to look around for a bit, without being followed.”

Much to your surprise, Monica left without another word.

With the sour taste not only in your mouth but Sylus’, he led you out of the store into another one that had the loveliest clothing. The dresses they had on the mannequins were like the ones you had seen in magazines. The flower prints, light colors, and bows caught your attention.

“Everything is so pretty. So cute.” Your wide eyes swept across the expanse.

The corner of Sylus’ lips twitched at the sight.

“Why don’t you pick out a few things?” He offered, knowing you wouldn’t dare. You’d rely on him to make the decisions for you.

“Can you help me?”

Bingo.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he brushed the warm skin of your cheek with the back of his hand.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

What a perfect little doll you were. You let him pick things out for you, down to cute cotton panties. You tried everything on, shyly stepping out of the dressing room to show him. He gave words of encouragement, the approving hums making you feel good.

You appreciated his actions but you couldn’t find the words meaningful enough to thank him. Yet, he clung to your sweet little thank yous.

He carried the multiple bags in one of his huge paws. He’d be damned if he didn’t take advantage of every opportunity to hold your hand.

At some point, your guard began to come down. You unconsciously started to pull him into stores, marveling at things you had never seen before. Still, you refused to let him buy every little thing you laid your eyes on.

He did keep his promise. When he saw your steps begin to slow and your energy to drain, he suggested you two had dinner before he had to take you back home. Once you had your fill, tummy full, and heart content with the tasty meal paired with dessert you ever had, you sat peacefully in the passenger seat.

“I don’t know how you managed to get my mom to agree to these outings, Sylus, but I’m grateful. You don’t have to do any of this, yet you’re always so nice to me every time we see each other.” Your eyes started to burn, tears wanting to spill. “I’m glad to have you in my life. And I want you to know, you didn’t have to buy me all these things but, I’m truly grateful.”

The rest of the drive home was filled with Sylus filling in the quiet spaces. He asked you questions about yourself, your likes and dislikes. There wasn’t much but it was enough to confirm what he already knew. Your mother was a terrible person and she needed to be out of the picture for you to completely give yourself over to him.

He saw the way you looked at him. Your nervous glances at him, the ways your eyes trailed over his hands and arms. You’ve never gotten to experience a man before, but he was going to make sure he was your first and only.

——

Months passed.

Sylus had infiltrated your home and your mind.

It was wrong. You know it was, but you unconsciously craved him.

Seeing the kisses he shared with your mother made you envious. That should be you.

“Oh god.” Your hand came to press itself against your mouth. “What am I thinking?”

Scared by the thoughts clouding your judgment, you got ready for bed. You’d be going to bed with an empty house. Your mom and Sylus would be going out for a nice dinner. Who knows at what time they’d be back? Most of the time, you’d wake up in the morning and your mom would be gone to work.

You dressed in a soft pink nighty Sylus bought you a few weeks ago. It was kept hidden deep within one of your drawers. He suggested you kept certain things hidden as you knew your mother was a jealous woman. You had seen her sneering at the cute lamb plush placed in the middle of your bed, the white comforter with little flowers stitched onto it offering a nice resting place.

You went to bed with your arms wrapped around your plush, your face pressed against its fur as it still smelled of Sylus as he had carried it around after winning it for you out of a claw machine.

Gosh, you wished it was him. The warmth and serenity he offered you was something you hadn’t had in life. He always took such good care of you. He provided support and allowed you to speak freely, expressing your thoughts and concerns without being reprimanded.

With a heavy sigh, you started to fall asleep.

A loud bang came from somewhere around the house, the sound of heels being thrown onto the floor. Your mother’s muffled voice could be heard. She was angry. Not wanting to be subjected to her wrath, you pretended to be asleep as her footsteps were making there way to your bedroom.

The aggressive sound of the doorknob knocking into the wall, causing them to rattle had you jumping under the covers, a yelp escaping your lips.

The lights were turned on and your comforter was ripped off of you.

“Ma!” You pushed yourself into a sitting position against the headboard, arms clutching your precious lamb. “What are you-”

Her teeth were bared as she took you in. The nightgown you wore was of much better quality than the one Sylus had gifted her.

“You little fucking whore. I knew it!” She yelled as she grabbed your hair and tugged you out of bed. “You’ve been fucking him this whole time. Why else would he be paying so much attention to you? He cancelled dinner plans and I’m sure you had something to do with it!”

You cried at the burning sensation thrumming through your scalp.

“No! I would never-”

Her palm made harsh contact with your once unblemished cheek and your bones rattled when she threw you on the floor.

Her eyes took in your room. Once barren and plain, there was life in every corner. Little figurines of cats, bunnies, and bears were arranged neatly on your desk. Your handy-down clothes were replaced with feather-trimmed dresses. Beat-up white sneakers were long gone, three new pairs in their place.

At the feeling of something soft against her foot, she looked down and was met with the annoyingly cute face of your lamb plushy.

With wide, terrified eyes, you watched as she picked it up.

“Ma, please. Why are you doing-”

“Quiet!”

Her fingers worked your cotton-filled friend. Her fingers flexed, a stormy expression taking over her face. Suddenly, she twisted its head, the stuffing hitting the floor as she threw its decapitated body at you. She stomped across your room, shoving the small critters off your desk before going over to your closet and ripping the clothing off the hangers.

Your once neat room was now a disaster. All the precious memories attached to every little thing were now replaced by the hands of your mother.

You needed to get out of here.

As quietly as you could, you tried to not alert her as you got up. When you were nearly out of the suffocating space, you were shoved against the door, the knob biting into the skin of your side.

A cry escaped.

“Where do you think you’re going, you little brat!”

Her nails were digging into the exposed skin of your arms, crescent shapes left in their wake. You tried the best you could to shake her off.

“You think you can take him from me? You think just because you’re young now, he’s going to stay with you forever?”

Through tears and wrecked sobs, you shoved her off of you.

She was left dazed on the floor. You took the opportunity to run, grabbing her car keys from the bowl by the door. The driving lessons she gave you a few years back better pay off.

Shifting the car into drive, you watched from the rearview mirror as your mother who was standing at the front door became smaller and smaller.

——

The low hum coming from the record player filled the living room as Sylus’ eyes trailed across the pages of the book held in his hands. He was somewhat at peace as he didn’t have to pretend with entertaining your mother. Selfishly, he canceled the plans he had with her, using the excuse of something coming up at work.

Unbeknownst to him, this would lead to your mom drinking too much wine with dinner and you, who was tucked safely under the soft bedding he had bought you, would be subjected to her anger.

His eyes started to flutter, the book in his hand falling against his chest as his breathing slowed.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he woke up to the doorbell ringing. For the first time in a long time, his stomach dropped. Whatever he was about to deal with, was going to upset him greatly.

Pushing himself off the couch, he made his way to the front door. He couldn’t help the way his eyebrows furrowed at the sight of you. Through the glass, he could see the way you had your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, a disheveled nighty being your only protection against the rain. With your back towards him, it appeared as though you were making sure you hadn’t been followed. Your shoulders were shaking, the cold night making your breath visible in the air.

Your mother’s car was parked haphazardly in his driveway, the lights still on.

As if sensing him, you turned around. Your tear-filled eyes beckoning him to open the door faster.

He did as such, pulling you into the warmth of his home. In the different lighting, he could see the cut splitting your bottom lip.

“Sweetie, what are you-”

“I don’t…I don't know what happened.”

Oh, how terrified you sounded.

Your mother was doing exactly the opposite of what she wanted. She was pushing you into his arms like the fool that she was. He had to hold back the smirk that threatened to form.

“I-I was sleeping and she barged…she barged in…s-screaming about me being a…a whore.”

Now that wasn’t what he wanted. You weren’t supposed to become collateral.

A defining sob wrecked through you, Sylus taking the opportunity to wrap his arms around you.

It was his fault.

He should have known better. Your mother was spiteful and envious. She could see what you couldn’t. You liked Sylus. In your naive mind, you confused your feelings for him as something strictly platonic, but the dreamy look in your eye when you stared off into space at the sound of his name was just the right amount of confirmation your mother needed.

But this leads you to him. It was becoming so easy for him.

Without a second thought, you hugged him back. He was so warm, so welcoming. He was everything your mother wasn’t. The attention he paid you made you giddy, as well as the affection he offered.

“I don’t know why she treats me like this. I’ve always done what she asked of me. Is it so wrong that you treat me with a dash of kindness? Why does she want me to be miserable? Don’t I deserve love?”

The hand resting against the back of your neck pulled you away from his chest, his eyes zeroing in on the bruise blooming on the apple of your cheek. You were too sweet to be treated as such. Your obedience streak ran high. Always do as you are told.

“It’s time for you to do right by you, sweetie. I know you love you’re mom, but you can’t let her get away with this. You need to make an example of her. Let her know you’re not going to let her keep treating you as such.”

“But I don’t know how.”

You went to hide your face against his chest, but he wouldn’t allow you, leading to a whine coming from your pretty lips.

“I have a friend who works as a district attorney. I’m sure he could connect us to someone who can help you create a strong case for domestic violence.”

“A case? Like-like involving the police?” You pulled away from him, your arms going around you once more. “I can’t…I couldn’t do that. S-she’s my mother, Sylus.”

‘So stupidity runs in the family.’ He thought.

Okay, he’ll admit, that was mean, but he wasn’t going to let your mother get away with this. Most importantly, he wouldn’t let your kindness cloud your judgment. This was only the first step to getting you all to himself.

“If you don’t put an end to this now, do you know how quickly situations like these can escalate? Your mother isn’t stable. I can’t even imagine what I’d do if she…”

“If she what?” You asked with your head tilting slightly.

“Honey, at this point, I wouldn’t put it past your mother to try killing you.”

You felt the sandwich you had for dinner try to make its way back up. Your tummy feeling sour.

“She w-wouldn’t do that! You’re wrong!” Angry tears burned the corner of your eyes.

The sudden rise of your voice, at him of all people, set him off. Within a second, he had your face within one of his big hands, your back pressed against the door.

“I know you love your mother,” He spoke through clenched teeth. “ Even though she did nothing to deserve it, I will not let her get away with treating you like this. I’m doing this for your own good. So here’s the deal sweetheart, you’re going to sleep here tonight and tomorrow morning, we’re going to the police station to make an official report, got it?”

You were taken back. He’d never spoken to you like this. You didn’t like it. He was the only one who treated you like a decent human being. He always went out of his way to make sure you felt included. He had brought you so many gifts that ended up being destroyed at the hands of your mother. If anyone deserved your love, it was him. He was the father you never had.

Bringing one hand to his chest and the other to the wrist of the hand holding you in place, you spoke up.

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

Now that riled him up. The dent in his pants grew, stiffening against his thigh, the head pulsating with need. He held himself back from ripping your clothes off and taking you against the glass door. Instead, he pressed a forceful kiss against your non-injured cheek, breathing in your scent.

“That’s a good fucking girl.”

——

The rest of that night was a blur.

You slept in one of Sylus’ many rooms. While you were off in dreamland, most definitely aided by the sleeping pills he gave you, he stayed by your side.

You were ignorant to the fact that he watched you sleep, his fingers trailing across your cheek.

So soft compared to him.

Everything about you was soft.

Your breathing was slow. Your chest rising and falling under the sheet. When you stirred, shifting your position just a little, the bedding slid down, exposing your neck and chest to the man’s greedy eyes.

Taking this golden opportunity ahead of him, he leaned over you and pressed his nose into the junction where your shoulder met your neck. He breathed in your scent, your heat radiating off onto him in waves. It was like he was scenting you, rubbing his skin against yours, hoping this would ward off any unwanted individuals.

“You’re home.” He whispered “You’re going to be so happy here. I’ll make sure of it.”

He stayed there a little longer, basking in the sensation that was you.

He didn’t need sleep for tonight.

His mind was too busy calculating his next move. Everything had fallen into place. Your mother played her part perfectly, down to a t. And you, you came running to him. You willingly became a tender little bird in a gleaming cage.

The next few days were going to be extremely busy for both of you. He knew it was going to take a toll on you, but it needed to be done. You’re mother needed to be gone.

He was the only one you needed.

——

You were grateful for Sylus’ jacket which was working as a safety net. It kept you warm against the cool air that filled the police station. The skin of your thumb had been picked raw and blood permeated your tastebuds.

Sylus spoke in hush tones with, Caleb, the district attorney. The younger male held onto a large file.

They made you fill out so much paperwork, most of it you didn’t even know what it was for. You gave a lengthy statement of what happened the night before and they made sure to take pictures of your injuries much to your discomfort. Even your nightgown was taken for evidence as it showed signs of a scuffle.

The sweats you wore were far too large, dwarfing you to anyone who glanced your way.

“Usually, we’d start with a restraining order but since you want to escalate this further, I’d say we have solid evidence to lock her away for a few years,” Caleb mentioned while you tried to focus on the sheets of paper before you.

How could you do this to your mother? She brought you into this world and yet, you’d be taking away her freedom.

This was all a mistake.

You needed to see her. She’d be able to make you see this was all a misunderstanding.

On autopilot, you stood from your seat and started to head out. You made it past the door when you heard your name being called.

You didn’t look back. You just kept walking.

“Where are you going?”

At the feeling of Sylus’ hand landing on your shoulder, you were roughly spun around.

“I-I want to see her.”

Sometimes your sweetness and ability to forgive so quickly was annoying. He held back rolling his eyes.

“Honey, no. You can’t. There’s a restraining order against her. She can’t be near you. You can’t go home anymore.”

Your eyes burned and your bottom lip trembled.

“This was wrong of me. She’ll make this right. She always does.”

When you turned away, Sylus’ patience cracked. His hand shot out and tugged you harshly over to his parked car.

“Why are you making this harder than it needs to be? It’s too late for your remorse. You signed the papers and now there’s a warrant out for her arrest. You won’t be able to see her until your court date.”

You tried to pull your arm free but he wouldn’t let you.

“I’ll take it back-”

“It’s too late for that! Don’t you see? What mother in their right mind would put a man above her child? What mother would lay her own hands on the one person she’s supposed to cherish? A mother is supposed to be a natural nurturer. She doesn’t love you. Get that through your thick skull!” He nudged your head with his finger and you yelp at the cruelty of it.

When he saw your frightened expression, his grip on your bicep loosened. His free hand came up to your jaw.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I just wish you see the truth. She doesn’t care for you, but I do.”

He took a deep breath before continuing.

“I love you.”

A pregnant pause filled the space between you.

“You don’t…you can’t mean that.”

“I thought being with your mother would be enough for me since you two look so much alike, but after spending time together, you two couldn’t be more different. You’re an absolute delight to be around. When you come out of your shell, you shine so brilliantly. You offer me a different insight into things in life. A fresh perspective. You’re everything she’s not and I love you for it. You allow me to look after you, keep you safe. While you’re allowed to make your own decisions, I will not allow you to let her off the hook. We’ll be going through with our original plan and your mother will serve the time she deserves.”

You stayed quiet, stuck on the L word.

“You really love me?”

Sylus let out a breathy laugh.

“Of course I do.” He pressed a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “How many more times do I need to say it?”

Pressing tiny kisses all over your face, the tension in your body went away, and happy giggles slipping past your lips. With one last peck to your cheek, he moved to open the passenger door, gesturing for you to slide in.

“You had a rough night and a busy morning. Let’s get you home so you can rest.”

——

Caleb made sure to keep Sylus up to date with anything involving your mother. Even let him know when the cops were on their way to bring her to the police station.

He sat in his parked car, a distance away from your old home. The flash of red and blue lights reflected off his tinted windows. He watched with rapt attention as your mother opened the door, confusion written on her face.

She looked a mess. Her hair resembled a bird’s nest, clothes were wrinkled and untucked.

The microphone hidden in the lapel of Caleb’s suit allowed him to hear every word.

“Oh, officers! I’m so glad you’re here. It’s my daughter…she…she had an episode. Destroyed the whole place and left. I’ve been going crazy trying to find her! I’m sure the neighbors contacted you, yes?”

How dumb did she think they were? What mother wouldn’t call the police as soon as their “unstable” kid took off with their car?

“Ma’am, we’re here on behalf of your daughter who has filed a report against you. You have the right to remain silent as everything you say could be held against you in a court of law-”

“But I didn’t do anything. Officer, please-”

“You’ll have enough time to present your statement. Please, don’t make this difficult. You don’t want any other charges brought against you.”

As the police officers closed in around her, she tried closing the door on them, running into the house.

Over the walkie, Sylus could hear the struggle, rolling his eyes at her pleads.

Pathetic.

After a few minutes, she reappeared, cuffed, and led over to the awaiting police car. She was resisting them, almost fighting them. Her shouts were silenced by the sound of the door closing.

“Let’s get her booked. We can add resisting arrest and battery against multiple officers to her chart. Go ahead and start the process, I’m going to stay back and make sure all evidence is collected.”

Caleb could be heard giving orders. Once the crime scene investigators showed up, did Caleb signal for Sylus to join him.

“I always love when they put up a fight.” Caleb started, leading Sylus throughout the house. “Makes the job so much more thrilling.”

The place you called home was in total disarray. Wandering through the familiar walls, glass crunched under his shoe from a broken picture frame. A picture of you. The only picture of you your mother had displayed.

He picked it up, removing it from the frame and dusting off the shards of glass. It would look lovely on his desk in the den. He carefully tucked into into his coat pocket, patting it as if to secure it into place.

“They’re at the station.” Caleb interrupted, stepping into your old room. “They’ll get here processed soon enough. I’m sure you’re going to be receiving a call from her soon. Pick up the call after a few rings, make it seem as though you haven’t been waiting for it, yeah?”

“Course.”

——

“You have ten minutes.” An officer said as he held the door open for Sylus. “You can hold hands but no kissing.”

‘I wouldn’t worry too much about that.’ Sylus wanted to say, instead, he settled with a curt nod.

Taking a seat on the cold metal chair, he waited for them to bring in your mother. When she walked passed the threshold, a warm feeling filled him as he noted the orange jumpsuit, hands cuffed in front of her.

At the sight of the white-haired man, your mother ran to him, hugging him as best as she could with her bond limbs. She didn’t even pay attention to the fact that he didn’t return the hug.

“You really came! I’m so happy you’re here!”

She took a seat before him, smiling brightly.

“Oh, Sylus! I’m so glad you actually came. You need to get me out of here. I don’t belong in this place! I don’t know what got into that little brat. I’ve been telling you she’s nothing but trouble, that kid. Don’t know why you wasted your time and money on her. But I promise, as soon as I get out, we could leave town. We’ll never have to see her again! Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

“You’re going to rot in here.” His eerily calm voice caused your mother’s smile to fall, replaced by a look of confusion. “Don’t you know what they do to people who abuse their children?”

“But-but I didn’t do anything! She’s the one who went berserk! Oh, you should’ve seen her, Sylus.” She hid her face in her hands, her fake sobs muffled. “I’m so embarrassed. She was always so ungrateful. Everything you bought her, out of the goodness of your own heart, she just destroyed it! All those pretty clothes were ripped to shreds. Please, you-”

When she reached for his hands, he leaned away. He no longer needed to pretend he enjoyed having her hands on him.

“I saw her. She came to me after what you did to her.”

Her eye twitched. Lips curling into a frown, she banged her hands against the metal table and spoke through clenched teeth.

“I knew it! I tried to ignore it but I always knew she liked you! Little fucking whore could never let me have anything. Leeching off of me like the disgusting parasite she's always been. From the moment she was conceived, she took and took from me. How could I love the thing that nearly killed me when she came into this world?”

“Either way, what’s done is done. I can’t see you slinking your way out of this one. She filed a restraining order against you and I’m not paying your bail. What kind of man would I be if I rewarded your behavior? You’ll still have to wait for your court date to be posted. As far as I can see, you’ll be in here for more than a couple of months, sweetheart.” Adjusting the cuff of his jacket, a small baggy fell into his palm as his hand held hers “But there’s a way out of this mess. Let me help you one last time, yes? Take this with you and pour it into the drink that comes with your dinner. You won’t feel anything. It’ll be like going to sleep. You’ll be at peace and you won’t ever have to deal with that parasite ever again. You’ll be free of her.”

“I can’t do-”

“You won’t make it out alive. They’ll eat you alive. Don’t let her take your last bit of freedom, sweetheart. Take matters into your own hands.” With that, he gave her hand a gentle nudge.

The bolts from the door made a loud thud as they unlocked.

“Time’s up, you two.”

As Sylus walked out, he heard your mother call out to him, but he paid her no mind. He needed to get home to you. You’ve been alone for too long but everything has fallen into place beautifully. By sunrise, your mother would be gone.

When he got home, he expected to find you in the spare bedroom from the night before. Instead, you tucked yourself into a neat little ball on the black leather couch. You clung to the coat he had lent you earlier, your face tucked into the wool collar. Even asleep, you looked for him for comfort.

Without waking you, he carried you upstairs, tucking you into bed. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he pulled the sheets over your shoulders. He hardly spent any time with you today. He needed you near. Leaving only his shirt and slacks, he laid beside you, on top of the covers.

‘Just a few minutes.’ He thought, resting his forehead against your cheek.

He listened to your breathing which shortly after lulled him to sleep.

——

The familiar sound of a phone ringing pulled you from your slumber. Blearily blinking up at the ceiling, you let your eyes focus, feeling pressure against your side. Small gusts of air tickled your neck.

Turning, you were met with Sylus. He was out like a light with his arm draped across you.

You took this time to look at him.

With his face completely relaxed, he appeared so sweet. The arrogant aura that clung around him was nonexistent. Though he had a couple of years on you, he had little wrinkles, his face smooth and sharp. You guessed growing up with the amount of money he had, he never really had to stress about anything.

Bringing your hand from under the covers, you traced the bridge of his nose with your pointer finger. When you got to the tip, he sniffled, pressing his face deeper into your skin.

He was so handsome.

His confession from earlier had you feeling like you were on cloud nine. You were so lucky to have someone like him in your life.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the shrill of a phone. You looked around, your eyes landing on the coat thrown lazily over the back of the single-seater, a dim light coming from the pocket. Gently, you removed the arm Sylus had around you and made your way over to the phone.

When you picked it up, a dread filled you.

Caleb

Why would he be calling so late at night?

It was rude to pick up someone else’s phone but it didn’t look like Sylus was going to be waking up anytime soon. Surely he wouldn’t mind. You knew whatever Caleb had to say was going to involve you. On the last ring, you answered.

“Hello?”

“Uh…Hi…Is-uh-Is Sylus available?” The district attorney asked.

“He’s asleep. Is everything okay?” He sounded concerned. “Anything I can help with?”

“Miss, I’m going to need you to sit down. I was hoping Sylus would be the one to break the news for you, probably would be better coming from someone you know, but it wouldn’t be the first time I deliver bad news.”

Your heart was in your throat as you took a seat.

“What is it?” Your voice was a mere whisper.

“One of the guards at the jail your mom’s at was doing their nightly check-ins. When he got to her cell, he noticed she wasn’t on the bed, instead she was on the floor. Once she was examined, she was pronounced dead by the facility’s physician. I’m so sorry, Miss. You can come to claim the body in the morning. I’ll send the details to Sylus.”

Ending the call, you sat in silence before a broken cry came from you, tears sliding down your face. You tried muffling your sobs to not wake Sylus, but it was too late. Said male was beside you in an instant.

“Honey, what’s wrong-”

“She’s dead!” You screamed, the phone sliding from your hand and onto the floor. “Oh god, Sylus, my mom’s dead!”

“That can’t be right. How could she…She’s under constant surveillance. That doesn’t make sense.”

Your hands came up to grab your hair, fingers tangling with the strands before tugging.

“I killed her. It’s my fault she ended up there and now she’s dead! She was right. I’m a disgrace! She didn’t deserve this! She wasn’t the most attentive but she was still my mom, Sylus! And now she’s gone! I’ll never see her again.”

You threw yourself at him. You needed him to ground you. There was no other way of consoling you than to let you air it all out. You needed to cry. All the feelings brewing inside of you needed to come out.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding your face to his chest. Slowly, he moved you two to the ground. He didn’t say anything. He just rocked you back and forth, his hand rubbing your back with soft strokes. Cradling you between his legs, he smiled.

She was gone.

And you had nobody but him.

This was always how it was going to end.

——

Sylus made sure everything went off without a hitch. From the autopsy declaring your mother died from a sudden aneurysm to the cremation niche, her urn was placed in to being filled with her favorite flowers.

Sadly, he didn’t expect you to lose yourself in your sadness. He didn’t get it. Why were you crying for her? She was a shitty person and an even shittier mother.

During the entire ceremony, all he could hear were your sniffles and whimpers. The car ride home was just as silent.

Entering his home, you let him take your coat, your black flats left discarded by the front door. He followed you up the stairs and into your room.

“Sweetie, I think you should-”

“I can’t do this, Sylus.” Your hushed tone filled the space. “I can’t stop thinking about her. She died alone and I can’t stop picturing her face. I need…I can’t…I just need my brain to shut off.”

Turning to look at him as he stood at the foot of the bed, you trailed your eyes over his figure.

In the books you read, it was always mentioned how the female lead would forget everything when she was claimed by her lover. Maybe that’s what you needed. With a sudden wave of confidence, embarrassment be damned, you grabbed the hem of your black dress and pulled it off in one smooth motion.

“Baby, what are you doing?” He could feel his cock hardening as he took in your white lace-clad body. “You’re not-”

You walked over to him. With little force, you had him sitting on the foot of the bed, your form standing in between his spread legs. Holding onto his shoulders, you climbed onto his lap.

His hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms. He wanted to touch you so bad. His dick was digging into the zipper of his slacks at this point.

“You’re not thinking right.” He whispered when you brushed your lips against the corner of his mouth.

“Please. Won’t you help me, daddy? I need you to take care of me. Make me forget, please.”

Fucking hell.

He took a deep breath before slotting his lips against yours. Your kisses were novice level but you tasted like pure fucking candy. You’ll learn over time.

With one arm wrapped around your back, he flipped your positions, pressing you into the mattress. While he trailed kisses down your neck and across your chest, suckling on your warm flesh, your hands tried to untuck his shirt. You wanted to feel his skin flushed against yours.

“Off, please.”

“Not yet.” He replied, unclasping your bra with expert fingers. “Let me take care of you first.”

With your breast uncovered, the cool air caused your nipples to perk up, enticing the man in between your legs. Nudging a hardened bud with the tip of his nose, he breathed in your scent as he took it into his mouth.

His tongue was a smooth, warm muscle curling around the hardened point. His hand came up to squeeze your other breast, the fat spilling from in between his fingers. Whatever pattern he made with his tongue, he mimicked with his fingers. Pinching and pulling when he nibbled at your nipple.

Little red splotches slowly appeared and your panties were becoming uncomfortable. Most importantly, his lower half was pressing into your cunt, his dick slotting between your folds. When he slightly rocked his hips, you keened.

“Please, want more…need more, Sylus.”

Pulling away from your breast, he kissed you once more before sliding your panties off. He paid no mind as he tossed the piece of fabric somewhere onto the floor. Slotting his hands under the back of your knees, he positioned you with the soles of your feet on the edge of the bed. He was making you present yourself for him.

Your cunt was sticky with need, the patch of curls shining in the light.

Taking you in, he smiled.

“You’re so fucking perfect, sweetie” He could smell your arousal. “And all mine.”

He fell to his knees, his cheek nuzzling the inside of your thigh.

When his tongue first made contact with your soaked slit, you jumped at the sensation. It was a whole new experience. You’re so grateful that your first time would be with him.

First, it was only tongue, then you felt his fingers prodding your untouched hole. You took in a deep breath when he slid one of his fingers inside of you. Pushing yourself onto your elbows, you watched him stare up at you from between your legs.

His eyes roamed over your face, taking in your expression. Your cheeks burned, not from mortification, but from the immense pleasure he was giving you with his tongue and fingers.

With rapt attention, he watched your face as he slipped in another finger. You hid your face against your shoulder, your breath hitting the warmed-up skin.

“That feels good, sweet girl?”

A quiet uh-huh could be heard, your eyes squeezed shut as a feeling in your tummy appeared. It was a warm pressure in your lower abdomen, almost pulsating as it grew and grew.

The upward curl of his fingers with a particular suck on your clit had you crying out. Your thighs were shaking, begging to shut, but his free hand held you open. His fingers alternated from scissoring you open to pressing on a small spongy spot near your womb.

You fell onto your back, your hips moving against his face. One of your hands snuck into his hair, holding him in place as you gyrated your cunt against his tongue. And he let you. He was enjoying seeing this side of you. You were always so put together, never this needy.

“Oh, daddy, something’s-” You gasped out, your toes curling and your grip on his hair tightening.

“I know, baby. I know.”

Just as you were about to burst, he pulled away from you. You couldn’t hold back the mewl that left you. How dare he. You were so close.

“Why’d you stop?” Your pout was adorable.

“Not having your first time cumming not be on my cock.”

The furrow in your brow faded as you watched him undress. As if putting a show on for you, you watched as he unbuttoned his shirt in an agonizingly slow way, letting it slide off his arms as his hands moved to the buckle of his belt. The way he pulled out the smooth leather from belt loops was unfairly attractive.

Removing his last bit of clothes, your eyes widen in surprise. His cock, as beautiful as the rest of him, was imposingly large, thickening towards the base. The mushroom tip was an angry red, the cum that he leaked while he ate you out leaving him shiny.

He closed in on you, his hands hooking under your armpits to pick you up, pulling you towards him. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms over his shoulders. When he moved around the bed, you could feel how the head of his dick slapped your ass with each step.

“Needed to have you dripping before I took you, baby.” He settled in the middle of the large bed, you in his lap. Reclining against the fluffy pillows, his hands smoothed up your sides. “I don’t need you hurting yourself as you fuck yourself on my cock.”

Your face burned at his choice of words.

“Normally, I wouldn’t mind being a top. Granted this is your first time, so I’m letting you decide how much you can take.

Spitting into his hand and gathering some of the essence that spilled out of you, earning himself a whine, he wrapped his hand around himself, spreading your musk along his length.

“You wanted me to make you forget and I will, but you need to play your part as well.” He lined himself at your entrance, holding it there for you to take. “Help yourself, sweet girl.”

With one hand at his shoulder and another on his thigh, you lifted yourself onto your knees. As best as you could, you started sliding him inside of you. The mushroom tip popped past your opening with ease. Slowly, you split yourself open on his.

Once Sylus was sure he wouldn’t slip out, he gestured for you to take his hands. With your hands clasped, he said,

“Start rocking your hips, little by little, you’ll start to take in more of me.”

You were such a good listener.

You did as you told, your head falling back as his base started to stretch you out. Eventually, his cock prodded against your cervix.

“S’full, Sy.” With small bounces, you started to move yourself up and down his length. “So big.”

The sound of wet skin meeting echoed throughout the room.

“You’re doing so well.”

His eyes refused to stay locked in one place. His view alternated from your blissed-out face to the recoil of your breasts, down to the space where you were connected. Your puffy lips were spread to accommodate him, offering him a view of the bundle of nerves.

Your juices spilled out of you with each thrust, leaking down his dick and onto his abdomen.

With a shaky breath, you spoke.

“I can’t…” Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “I need you-”

“Want me to help you, sweetie?” He sounds breathless.

Your little heart went soaring.

He was enjoying this. As if his loose jaw and furrowed brows weren’t enough evidence.

“Wanna cum…wanna cum so bad, daddy.”

“Plant your feet on the bed and hold yourself up with my thighs.”

Feeling the muscles flex under your fingers, a keen slipped out as he started fucking into you, his hands grasping the fat of your hips.

You were on full display for him. Your spread legs leave nothing to the imagination. Each time his dick kissed your cervix, little “uh uh uh” spilled out of you. Once he felt your cunt clenching around his cock, he brought a thumb over to your clit, sloppily rubbing circles on it.

With a few more plunges of his cock, he had you squirting against his abs, his seed spilling into you at the sight.

You mewled in embarrassment, hiding your face against your shoulder once more. Accompanied by each buck of your hips, more spurts slipped out of you.

“Oh god. I’m sorry- I’m so sorry-I don’t know how that…why that happened.”

You tried to pull yourself off of him but he wouldn’t let you. Instead, he rolled you over, trapping you under his weight.

“Sweetheart, that was so…so fucking hot of you.” He said in between breaths. “I wasn’t planning on letting you go, but after that, they’re going to have to bury me deep in the ground to keep me away.”

Brushing your hair off of your face, he pressed a kiss to your lips, allowing you to taste yourself for the first time.

“Did I do good?” You whispered.

“You’re a fucking temptress and you don’t even know it, baby.” He said with a smile, hiding his face against your neck.

‘I’ll never let you go.’ He thought and that was a promise.

WEAR HEADPHONES!!

NSFW!!

Sylus and Caleb want to play a game. The game is fucking you.

All audio and sfx (except bgm) come from the game. No Ai.

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do you do NSFW alphabets? if so, could you do one for Caleb? 😮‍💨

Idk what this is I’m sorry 😭 elaborate?