Summary: You have been tasked with looking after four members of the King's Guard who have stumbled into your Lord's keep in the middle of a stormy night. One of them is the Crown Prince in disguise and he's badly injured.
Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6
Part 7
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Notes: Unnamed reader character from Dorne, herbalism background, mysterious circumstances, no physical description, but female pronouns
Content Warnings: discussions of war, death of family members and mild descriptions of injuries
Summary: Many men come with courting gifts and practiced words, hoping to win your favor, but they are all empty. None of them stay long either. The ones you allow into your presence never return twice. And So’lek watches, with a tight jaw, and wonders why you keep doing this to yourself.
Warnings: explicit smut, idiots in love, fluff, grumpy x sunshine, teacher/student, misunderstanding, argument, mentions of alcohol/ being drunk, age gap (So‘lek is around 40, reader is in her mid twenties), jealousy, possessiveness, flirting, sexual tension, reader has one night stands, mating rituals (biting, courting gifts), oral (f receiving), praise, p in v
Note: credit for the picture on the left goes to @cybercore_angel on x
So far, So‘leks life was a long series of befores and afters.
There was the time before he had joined the Aranahe clan, before the war had ground the forests into ash and memory. Even before that, long before the Trr’ong had answered Toruk Maktos call at the Hallelujah Mountains, when the world had still felt balanced, comprehensible and young.
So‘lek had been happier before. Lighter, too. Before the world taught him how much it could take and still ask for more. Before he‘d known nothing but loss and anger.
And then there was the after. After the anger that had hollowed him out. After he had become what the people called the Dog Tag Warrior, driven by revenge. After he had helped free the remaining Sarentu from their never-ending sleep. After he had taken one of them under his wing, shown her the ways of the People, taught her everything she now knew.
He had been smarter before, hadn’t he?
But this was after that time, after the days when you had followed at his heel, wide-eyed and curious, absorbing every word as law.
You had been a naive young thing back then. Still kind of are.
Too quick to smile, too ready to believe the best in everyone you met. Where So’lek speaks in silence and measured glances, you fill the space with questions, laughter, and this unshakable warmth that seems entirely misplaced in a world that had taken so much from you. He did not know such thing was even possible. You trusted so easily, learned fiercely, and carried hope as though it were as natural as breathing. To you, it was.
So’lek, by contrast, is all edges and restraint. A man of fewer words, but many scowls and even more discipline. Where you rushed head first into danger, he lingered, calculated, held you back by the tail if he had to. He taught you how to walk on this soil, how to listen for danger, how to survive.
And you taught him, perhaps without ever meaning to, that the world still allowed for light, even the darkest of times.
So‘lek had told himself that teaching you was his duty. That this was the path that the great mother had chosen for him, to make up for all the lives he had taken, for eywas laws that he had broken. He’s told himself that you were simply his numeyu [student] and nothing more. And perhaps that had been true, once.
But that, too, belonged to the before.
And suddenly, so quickly he almost missed the moment where time stopped, there was only the now.
Kneeling beside Ìley, So’lek’s hands were steady as they worked a salve of crushed leaves onto his leathery skin. His ikran gave a gentle nudge that was still strong enough to momentarily take him off balance, before it purred it‘s approval.
"Tam tam, Ìley", So‘lek cooed, patting its strong neck. "Feels good, does it?"
Routines like this always grounded him. They calmed his mind and gave him a sense of peace. Especially when life was getting busier than usual.
The Windtraders had arrived at the Aranahe hometree the day before and since then, the clearing had been alive with music, movement and color, woven fabrics bright as dawn, shells that caught the light, feathers and animal hide dyed in hues too vivid to belong to the forest.
Voices overlapped in easy laughter and loud bargaining. The exchange of goods and stories flowed in a rhythm older than his earliest memory of home.
But So’lek barely sees any of it.
His gaze lifted only briefly, sweeping over the gathered crowd out of habit rather than interest. Nothing that happened required his attention. Nothing, except for…
"You should come with us next time, there are many more pretty shells where these came from."
It’s the sound of laughter that follows which he would recognize even with his eyes closed and his head pushed beneath water.
It cuts through the noise with infuriating ease, as if calling for his immediate attention.
So’lek stills. Careful not to make it obvious, he lets his eyes wander in a subtle glance over his shoulder. His gaze finds you without effort. It always does.
Two Tlalim men stand far too close to you for his liking, their skin marked with orange and white paint, their voices smooth with practiced charm.
One of them offers you a string of shells, clearly made by the skilled hands of Metkayina, polished to a soft sheen that catches the light perfectly. The other laughs at something you say, as if you have shared a private joke. You accept the gift with both hands, cheeks warming and more laughter spilling free.
So’lek exhales sharply through his nose.
A shell? Why would you be impressed by a shell? It costs little effort, no real sacrifice. Anyone with access to the coast can bring one. This small, almost pathetic, gesture should not deserve the attention you give them.
But that’s the thing with you and men.
You’re always looking for love, for attention, for validation. Partially out of neediness, but also out of an open-heartedness that never learned to close itself. You give your warmth freely, assuming it will be met with the same sincerity.
So’lek thinks you are easy to please, but the thought carries no cruelty with it. It is not a flaw so much as an innocence you have never been forced to shed. You just don’t yet see how little it takes for others to earn your smile, how easily kind words and small offerings can sway you. You accept them as genuine because you have no reason to doubt them, because you believe people mean what they say. Because you are grateful for these mere crumbs that the men are giving you.
You just don’t know it any better.
Many men come with courting gifts and practiced words, hoping to win your favor, but they are all empty. None of them stay long. And the ones you allow into your presence never return twice. So’lek watches, with his jaw tightening, and wonders why you keep doing this to yourself.
These men are fools, clumsy and shortsighted.
The Tlalim men in particular are unremarkable.
They are too loud, too confident and too eager in the way of men who mistake friendliness for invitation. None of them are worthy of your attention, let alone your presence. They have not earned it, he thinks bitterly.
And yet, you allow it. That is what needles at him most. It is infuriating. It is sickening.
But So’lek only turns away, forcing his attention back to ìley, before he can witness any more of this madness.
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
The low glow of embers paint familiar faces in shifting orange and gold.
The people have gathered around the communal fire, sharing the tender meat from one of his recent kills. The fire fills the air with delicious scents of roasted meat and warmth.
Teylan sits beside him and Priya, legs tucked in too close, voice already in motion before the food has even been passed.
The boy talks and talks and talks.
About things So’lek does not understand and things he understands well enough, but still chooses not to bring himself into the conversation.
His words tumble over one another, but So’lek is only listening with half an ear.
Teylan is also seeking validation, he knows that much, but not in the way his sister does. Teylan’s need is loud and insistent. Like a child tugging at his mother’s loincloth, demanding to be seen, to be praised, to be told he is doing something right. There is no subtlety to it, but So‘lek has learned to handle it. It is entirely different from…
So’lek’s thoughts falter.
Without intent, his gaze drifts across the fire, and his face softens ever so slightly when he spots you. You’re sitting opposite him, your posture relaxed, with the firelight dancing across your beautiful features. But the sight next to you is less pretty and makes his face return to frown.
It’s Tarséy. A young Aranahe warrior. Broad-shouldered, quick to grin, quicker still to speak. An empty-headed idiot, if one were to ask So’lek, with a face only a mother could love.
Everybody knew that Tarséy‘s mouth ran faster than his thoughts, and neither knew the path.
So’lek does not know what you see in him, but he watches anyways. It’s not like he could look away now that he’s spotted you with him.
Shoulder to shoulder you sit with him, close enough that your arms brush when you move. Then Tarséy leans in, says something meant only for your ears and you laugh, soft and breathy, before ducking your head, cheeks warming as you whisper something back into his ear. Tarséy grins like he’s won something and So’lek’s jaw tightens.
You look at ease. Comfortable. And it makes his teeth grind audibly.
Then, to his sheer horror, you suddenly raise to your feet in one swift motion and tug the warrior to his feet with a laugh. Your arms curl around Tarséy’s biceps and he stumbles a little, pleasantly surprised at your eagerness and follows without hesitation. The two of you disappear into the shadows beyond the firelight, voices fading, your little giggles trailing behind you like an echo So’lek cannot escape.
The sight burns. Hot and sharp beneath his skin, an ache he does not allow himself to name.
Still, he does nothing.
If this is the male you choose to spend your time with, then that is your right. He tells himself this with the same discipline he applies to every unwanted thought. He has no claim over you. Whatever he feels is irrelevant, and he will not shame you by interfering where he does not belong.
"I will go," So’lek says quietly, the words offered to Priya and Teylan without explanation. No one stops him, but their faces tell him otherwise.
Still, he rises, turning his back to the fire, to the laughter, to the space you had left behind. And instead of following the path you took, he disappears into the forest in the opposite direction, letting the dark swallow him whole.
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
There was a time, before, when So’lek was particularly annoyed at your strange little antics.
You were a whirlwind then, and perhaps you still are. A walking ray of sunshine that was always smiling, always laughing, always finding connection and so very impossible to ignore.
Even more impossible to contain.
Training you was no small matter. It had cost a man his age more than one sleepless night. You simply leapt into action without hesitation, without pause to consider consequence.
You had him tense, on edge, with his heart hammering in his chest even long after the sun had set, worrying for his numeyu [student] that was so oblivious to it all.
Somehow, you carried on with the sort of blissful ignorance that would have been admirable if it weren’t so infuriating. Every morning you had greeted him with the same wide-eyed grin, that same reckless bravery as you wagged your tail and followed him around wherever he went, peppering him with questions and talking about whatever came to mind.
Really, So’lek sometimes thought, if it weren’t for your stubborn charm, he might have throttled you by now. Instead, he just bit back a grin and rolled his eyes so hard he feared it would cause a permanent injury.
Even now, watching you with others, Tarséy or any fool who had managed to capture your attention for the day, So’lek feels that old tug. That irritation, the irrational worry and silent, unspoken fear threaded beneath his stoic exterior. You had always been too much, too bright. His little sunshine. And So‘lek has always carried the weight of ensuring that your own brightness did not burn you.
The Aranahe feast comes with ceremony, swelling naturally as night settles over the forest. It is meant as a farewell to the Tlalim clan that was already overdo to continue their travels.
Music was rising with the smoke of fire, laughter spilling freely as drums and voices find their rhythm. Lanterns sway in the branches overhead, casting warm light over painted faces and moving bodies. The air hums with song, with the sharp sweetness of fermented fruit drinks and unrestrained joy.
So’lek does not enjoy gatherings like this.
There are too many bodies and too much noise pressing in at once. It makes him feel out of place, so he stands stiff at the edge at first, shoulders tight. Someone claps him on the shoulder in passing and then another calls his name in greeting. A fleeting conversation here and there was all he could muster, but then Ri’nela appears long enough to shoot him a look that leaves no room for refusal, and so he’s forced to stay a little longer.
Eventually, though, the noise becomes too much.
So’lek withdraws to the outer ring of the gathering and lowers himself onto a fallen root, back against the tree. From there, he can still see without being seen. Hear without being forced to listen.
Lifting a carved cup to his mouth, he takes a slow sip of swoa [liquor, alcohol]. It burns faintly on his tongue, leaving a warm taste in his mouth.
"There you are, chicken."
The sound of your voice makes him straighten despite himself. He glances up, and there you stand. The firelight catches on the loincloth he recognizes immediately, the one you had been working on days ago with stubborn focus and a tongue caught between your teeth. The colors are rich and warm, stitched with careful, uneven patterns that make it unmistakably yours.
You look… stunning.
So’lek smiles fondly before he can stop himself, but your eyes do not quite meet his. Not fully.
"What are you doing here, moping around all alone?" you ask. Your words suggest teasing, but your tone is flat and dulled around the edges. Your usual bite is missing and the soft little giggle whenever you called him chicken, whatever this word meant, was nowhere to be found either.
So‘leks smile falters into a faint frown just as you drop down beside him, close enough that your shoulder brushes his arm. It’s an innocent touch, but he shuffles away as if it burnt him. Opening his mouth to answer, he closes it just as quickly when you’re a little too eager to take the cup straight from his hand. You tip it back and take a long, unwise gulp.
So’lek blinks and his brows lift.
"Sarentu," he starts, already reaching for the cup, "this is very strong. You should not—"
"Urgh, So’lek, please!" you snap, clearly frustrated as you clutch the cup to your chest. Your words slur just enough to make him realize that this probably wasn’t your first drink of the night. "Give me that. I can decide what is too strong for me and what not."
This mood does not belong to you. Not to his sunshine, and he studies your face carefully now.
Softly, carefully, he dares to ask, "Where is Tarséy? I thought you were…"
"Tarséy can fuck himself."
So’lek makes a face as he cringes from your foul mouth. He has heard worse on battlefields, and from other warriors, but never from you. Never like this.
He lowers his voice. "That is not how you speak."
You laugh, the sound short, bitter and nothing like yourself. "Oh? Is there a rule for that too?"
His jaw tightens, but then he forces himself to breathe.
"Tell me what happened."
You stare at the drink in your hand for a moment too long, then wipe your nose with the back of your hand and scoff. "Nothing. He just got what he wanted," you say flatly and shrug. "And then he left. Just like the others."
The words sit between you and him, heavy and ugly. They make something in his chest starting to hurt.
So’lek’s hands tighten into fists. "Then why," he asks, unable to keep the edge from his voice, "If all they do is disappoint you, why do you keep giving these skxawngs [idiots] your time? Your…," he wanted to say your body, but doesn’t finish that sentence. There’s no need to, anyways.
You turn on him then, eyes flashing. "Don’t," you snap. "Don’t talk to me like that."
"I am only trying to understand you," he says, frustration bleeding through despite himself.
"No, you’re not," you shoot back, slurring a little. "You’re judging me, talking to me like I’m a child. You always do that!"
"That’s not—"
"I‘m not stupid, So‘lek." You take another sip from his drink.
The swoa has loosened your tongue, tangled your thoughts and is now turning hurt into anger. So’lek can see it, he knows this pain all too well and still, something in him snaps.
"No, you are not stupid, Sarentu. But you are naive," he says sharply. Too sharply. "A foolish girl who believes words too easily. These men are blunt, dull as an unsharpened blade, and you let them in simply for smiling at you!"
The moment the words leave his mouth, So‘lek regrets them deeply.
Your face goes still. Hurt flickers there, raw and exposed, before it hardens into something colder.
"I knew it…" you whisper, turning away from him.
"That is— That is not what I meant," he tries, but the damage is already done.
"Oh, don’t worry, So’lek. I know exactly what you meant."
Silence stretches for an unbearable long moment. The music from the festival feels distant now, muffled and irrelevant.
So’lek exhales, slow and controlled, and then he pushes himself to his feet. "You are drunk," he says, voice flat. "And this conversation will lead nowhere."
He does not wait for you to reply.
Turning away, he steps back, leaving you and the rest of the fest behind.
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
The next few days feel wrong. After the argument.
So’lek feels off-balance in a way he does not like, as if something essential has shifted just out of his reach. His routines remain intact, yet they feel unfulfilling, hollowed out, missing a familiar weight. He catches himself listening for footsteps that never come, for a voice that no longer fills the quiet. Not even the chirping sound of your ikran as it nuzzles against Ìleys side or steals a fish out of his basket are there. The perch beside his ikran remains empty and the familiar sound of wings and impatient chuffing are nowhere to be heard.
The spaces you normally fill suddenly feel strangely empty.
You are not where you usually are. The training grounds at dawn aren’t occupied, there is no one already stretching and talking before anyone else has fully woken. Not near the cooking fires, stealing bites from your siblings. Not chatting with Priya, weaving with Nefika or even racing Etuwa.
No one is trailing after him with questions he pretends to be annoyed by, but loves to answer all the same.
It feels… odd.
On the third day, Teylan finds him.
Not for personal matters, but with a datapad tucked under his arm. He talks about a minor complication that needs solving and So’lek listens, answers where necessary, nods when expected.
When there is a brief pause, he slips in a question about you— careful to keep his tone level, almost uninterested, as if the question means very little at all.
"She told me she wasn’t feeling well, said she needed some time away," Teylan looks at him in sympathy, his lips pressed into a thin line. "If you’re looking for her, I think she’s staying at one of the Resistance field labs. But don’t tell her you got that from me! She will kill me if she finds out I’ve told anyone about her secret spot…"
"Thank you," So‘lek tells him with a hand on his shoulder.
Luckily, your so called 'secret spot' was not so secret after all.
There are several field labs scattered through and around the kinglor forest, hidden well enough from human patrols. But only one in which So’leks spots a fire burning low and the familiar colors of an ikran sitting on the roof nearby.
Tracking you down had taken far less effort than he expected and So’lek can’t help but grin as he urges Ìley to land. Perhaps he had not been such a good karyu [teacher] after all.
"Did Teylan tell you I’m here?" you grumble, rolling your eyes as So’lek pats his ikrans strong neck and then walks over to where you sit in the grass, poking at the fire with a long stick.
Your gaze is stubbornly fixed on the flames, avoiding him entirely.
"Do not be too hard on your brother, he wouldn’t have told me if I hadn’t asked," So’lek explains softly. "He worries for you."
You snort, still staring at the fire. "Oh, he worries for me, yeah?"
So’lek does not respond to that. Instead, he sits down beside you, letting the quiet stretch for a moment before he speaks again.
"Why are you hiding, Sarentu?" He asks softly, his face tilted slightly to look at you.
You fiddle with a loose strand of grass, everything to avoid his gaze as his eyes bore into the side of your face.
"I… I don’t know," you mutter finally, your voice small. "I guess… I just needed space.“
So’lek considers your words for a moment, then, cautiously, he asks, "Space from what?"
Biting the inside of your cheek, you shy away from his gaze even more. Truthfully, it breaks his heart to see his sunshine hide behind dark clouds like this, so he carefully reaches out and cups your jaw in his hand, slowly turning your head back to him.
Although you let him, your eyes still refuse him.
But the words that had sat on your tongue spill out anyways.
"From everything, I guess. From men, from the others and… from you." Your voice falters, almost a whisper now as you add, "I… know you’re disappointed in me."
So’lek’s gaze softens and he almost smiles at the silliness of it. How could he ever be disappointed in you?
"Disappointed?" he repeats quietly. "Why would you think that?"
Finally, you glance up at him, eyes red-rimmed, and your lips press together. "Because what you said at the festival was true," you admit. "About how naive I am, about how easy I am to please. You’re right, So‘lek. Your always right. And now I feel stupid and—" You pause, cheeks burning hot with embarrassment. "—easy. Great mother, you must be so disappointed in me!"
The last part comes out frustrated and angry and you ball your hands into fists in the grass.
So’lek remains silent for a long moment, letting your confession hang in the air. Then, softly, he says, "Sarentu, you are none of those things. What I’ve said at the festival was not… that was not what I truly meant."
You shake your head, "But it feels like it."
“So it feels like it,” he repeats, tone firm but gentle. "But feeling is not truth. And I am not disappointed in you. I am…" So‘lek sighs deeply, and then it’s his turn to let his eyes shy away when you look at him. "…angry only that you allow others to treat you as less than you deserve. These men are not worthy of you and it angers me to see them with you."
"I know, okay? I know that!" you groan. You scrub a hand over your face as if trying to hide in shame. As if you could somehow erase what happened if you only scrubbed at your face hard enough.
So‘lek feels confused and lost.
"Then why are you letting this happen? Why do you let them treat you as less?" He asks immediately.
The look in your eyes changes then and So‘lek watches the way your blush creeps over your cheeks and all the way up to the tip of your ears.
"I— I kind of…" The words come out hushed, like a secret you’re sharing only with him. You breath in and out, your voice suddenly small and hesitant, "I thought you had no interest in me since I’m your student. You— You see me as a child! And I guess I kinda wanted you to see me as a woman with… with needs."
Your confession comes unexpected. So unexpected, that So’lek feels all blood drain from his head and wander elsewhere. He swallows thickly, his throat suddenly dry as you blink up at him through your lashes with those big eyes, as if you could somehow see right through him. His chest feels tight, and it takes him a long moment to get his thoughts under control.
"You are not a child," he responds matter-of-factly. And it’s true. You might be younger, yes even a little naive from time to time, but you are not a child. Great mother, no. You are not.
You huff a bitter laugh. "You say that now."
"I say it because it is true," he replies, leaning forward slightly. "And because I should have said it sooner." He exhales, slow and controlled. You catch the way his eyes fall to the softness of your lips, before he regains composure and meets your gaze again. "I am not blind to you, Sarentu. I was simply trying to be… disciplined."
So‘lek watches with great satisfaction as your eyes widen at his words, only for your blush to deepen into a dark hue of purple.
"I-I just thought as my teacher you’d be—", you stammer, the words faltering as your courage wavers.
"Your teacher," he repeats gently, a low chuckle slipping free. Then he lifts a hand before he can second-guess himself and cups your cheek. Your breath catches when he stares openly at your lips, no longer hiding it. "I am not your teacher anymore."
Then, So’lek leans in slowly, giving you all the time in the world to stop him, to back away. But you don’t.
"Then don’t act like it all the time," you murmur, softer now, closer. The hand on your cheek moves to the back of your neck, pulling you impossible closer.
"That," he murmurs, voice strained, "is because you still have much left to learn."
"Like… what?" you whisper, eyes fluttering shut.
"How you are supposed to be treated," he answers, stopping mere millimeters from your mouth, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your rapid breathing.
"Then show me, So’lek," you whisper against his lips. "Teach me."
And that is all the invitation he needs.
He closes the distance at last, no hesitation left, no before or after to hide behind. Only now. Your lips smash together and in a desperate, hungry way and he could practically feel your entire body melt into it.
So’lek kisses you with all the power he could muster, making up for all the months, weeks, days, even minutes and seconds his lips hadn’t been touching yours when he had wanted to so badly it hurt.
The groan he exhaled into the kiss was anything but subtle and disciplined. It was raw and unapologetic and so full of need. Need to feel you, to taste you, to have you close— closer.
So‘lek moves quickly, doesn’t break the kiss as he shuffles to his knees and moves between your thighs. His other hand comes to cup your face as well, holding onto you as he tastes your lips, your tongue, even your sweet salvia. He wanted to drink it all, taste it forever, let it seep into his skin to become part of him.
Your chest is raising and falling in short pants as he lays you down onto the grass, his lips never leaving yours, not even for a moment to gather his breath. You’re both just panting into kiss, exchanging soft little noises that sound like sighs and moans with how good it feels.
To So’lek, you taste sweet and warm and like home. It is addictive. And he could smell your desire, tinged with a subtle base note of your natural scent. It’s the only plausible excuse for him to finally untangle his tongue from yours and instead burry his nose into the space where your shoulder meets your throat.
"Sarentu," he sighs as he inhales deeply the sound of it almost painful with how heavy the weight of need settled over his voice. And then he groans when he feels heat surge through him and settle in his groin, before he captures your lips in another kiss.
You make a sound that’s close to a moan, your hands impatiently fumbling with his tactical west and so he’s forced to break away from your mouth again, helping you slip the west off of him before he returns the favor and unclasps your top.
The sight before him is a long anticipated one. Enough to make him momentarily forget to breathe. You’re such a pretty little thing, with your chest heaving, face all flushed and lips swollen and wet.
"Why‘d you stop?" You pant.
"Don’t be so impatient. I am admiring," So‘lek smirks, then cups one of your breasts in his hand. His thumb brushes gently over a hardened nipple, before he lowers his head to press a wet kiss to the underside of your breast.
"L-Later, you can admire me later."
He slowly, so very slowly kisses his way down your body, tongue tracing invisible patterns onto your skin, marking you indelibly as his. His tongue dips into your navel, kisses it, and he chuckles lowly as you squirm and sigh under his ministrations.
"So needy," he says, his breath tickling your skin where it’s wet from his tongue and goosebumps raise over skin. "Did none of the men you occupied yourself with ever satisfy you?"
So’lek presses a kiss below your navel, where a V-shaped valley guides him down. His eyes are glued on yours and you hesitatingly shake your head, no. That should make him angry, he thinks. But instead, all he feels is triumph.
"Then they were truly useless," he sighs in disappointment, then slips your loincloth down your legs and tosses it aside. "What a shame. For them."
Settling himself between your parted thighs, broad shoulders holding you open, he tugs your calves over them. You look so pretty like this, he thinks. Your slit is glistening in arousal, wet and needy and just begging for him. For someone to treat her right.
His breath is warm against your skin and you toss your head, the anticipation making you crazy. But you’re completely at his mercy as he rubs his jaw against your inner thighs, forced for patience you could not muster in this very moment. Goosebumps erupt all over your body at the sensation of him rubbing himself all over you.
"I will show you exactly how you deserve to be treated, paskalin [honey]," So‘lek says with the certainty of someone who knew for a fact that he could. "And I want you to remember this moment. Remember who‘s name you will be crying by the end of the night. This is your lesson for today, sweet girl."
His thumb then carefully strokes your clit, his touch gentle but his skin roughened with calluses, and it’s perfect— even more so when he bends to slide his tongue over you, spreading your thighs with his hands and tasting you with unexpectedly delicate licks until you’re whimpering and your hips are twitching.
You taste like Tana‘rìng he knows from home. Sweet.
Finally, though, finally he opens his mouth properly against you, his broad hands holding you open as he fucks you with his mouth. Your back arches off the ground when his tongue pushes inside you and more moans tumble from your parted lips.
His tongue is firm and sleek, thrusting inside before tracing back over your folds to suck hard at your clit. One, then two fingers dip inside, past the tight ring of your entrance, curling and thrusting and creating just the right amount of friction as he groans filthy praise against your cunt.
Your voice cuts through the air then, a desperate cry of "S-So‘lek, I’m—"
"Come for me, numeyu [student]," he says between licks, pulling you closer against his face. "Let me taste your pleasure."
You can't help but scream as he goes back to sucking on your swollen clit. It feels like an eternity but no time at all before you're coming, flooding his mouth as your body quakes and spasms for him.
In all of his years of living, So‘lek doubts he has ever heard a sound so beautiful before as the noises you make as you come on his tongue. From the sound of it, it might even be the first time a male has ever succeeded in doing so.
His mouth is determined as he strokes you through it, easing you down, hands soothing on your thighs.
When he pulls back, his mouth and chin are shiny with you. He wipes his hand across his mouth and licks his lips, giving a low hum of approval before he briefly closes his eyes and returns to let his cheek brush over your inner thigh. It’s not for long though, before he slowly slides up your body.
After a moment, his sinful mouth presses against yours once more, coaxing your lips open. You sigh when you taste yourself on his tongue and So‘lek hopes you enjoy the taste as much as he had. Pulling back, he smiles when you try to follow his lips.
"Paskalin [honey]," he purrs, his voice low as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek. You can't even form words, just nod your head as he kisses you once more, quick and dirty while he slips himself free of his remaining clothes and settles himself between your spread thighs. "Will you let me make you feel good? Will you let me prove myself to you properly?"
"Y-Yes," you whisper breathlessly, "eywa, yes, please!"
You immediately wrap your legs around his waist, enjoying both, his warm skin against your legs and how his hips hitch towards you as he groans in approval.
"Then I will not disappoint you as the others before me."
So‘lek enjoys the tiny hitch of your breath, the way your tail suddenly curls tight around his thigh and your pupils dilate at his words. You’re so eager to find out just how good he could make you feel, when what you had just experienced had already been more than any other male had ever been able to.
He holds you like that, spread open and with a hand on your hip while the other lays above your head, taking as much weight off of you as possible. His hand is close enough so he’s able to stroke your hair and the top of your head and you let out these sweet noises that are close to a purr. It makes him feel fantastic, knowing that you feel good. That you’re happy and content where you are. And he wishes to be the reason for his sunshine to glow until the end of time.
Your small hands are at his back, holding onto muscles and warm skin, your dull nails scratching him gently, urging him on.
His cock throbs in a way it hadn’t done in what feels an entirety as he slowly slides inside, filling you, inch by inch.
So’lek moans as he pushes further, pushes harder, and you whine and cling to him, unable to do anything but lie there and take it. He's panting now, too, not as unaffected as he wants you to think and you use it to your advantage. You want him to lose it for you, in you, with you. And so you clench yourself tight around where he's buried inside of you, visibly enjoying the way his hips thrust almost involuntary in response, before he stops all movement completely.
"Sarentu, you are…" he breaths heavily, his eyes closed shut to focus on breathing, on calming his nerves, on not coming right away. "…very tight."
Despite the way your trembling beneath him, your legs locked tight behind his back and your wonderful wet and silky walls fluttering around him, you still somehow manage to let out a breathy little giggle.
Not believing if his ears have heard right, So‘lek manages to pry his eyes open to look at you. Already, there was sweat beading at your temples, but the same grin that he had grown so used to seeing when you teased him was now spreading over your soft lips.
And there was also this feeling of your walls clamping down around his cock, squeezing him so painfully tight it felt like he might come undone at any second.
Little menace.
"W-What, old man? Are you gonna—"
"Quiet," he groans. "Before I tie your mouth shut."
"You would like that, w-wouldn’t you?" You say softly with that lazy grin on your face that made you look almost drunk of it.
The next time you open your mouth to speak and continue your teasing, a moan slips out instead. And then another, higher pitched, a little gasp that’s punched out of your lungs with thrusts deep enough So‘lek could feel the opening to your womb against the tip of his cock.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he said, "You talk too much, numeyu [student]. We will have to change that."
The slow drag of his length as he withdrew from your warm, wet and velvety-like walls made So‘leks own tail curl in enjoyment, and his eyes fluttered close once more as he lets himself drown in the feeling of you.
Then his hips move on instinct, pushing forwards, thrusting into you. It’s slow and languid, with muffled groans pressed against your skin.
So’lek wants it to last. Wants to stay like this forever, soft touches and warmth and the fond familiarity of your skin under his fingertips. But he can't resist that voice. Can't resist that desperate, pleading tone.
"S-So good," you whimper, "Karyu [teacher], more, I need more! F-Fuck me!"
"Such a foul mouth you have on you," he chuckles, teasing the lobe of your ear with his sharp canine. "I did not teach you that."
You barely started to relax and stopped clenching around him, when he pulls himself all the way out just to rock right back into you in one sharp thrust. He repeats the motion, harder, deeper, until his pace and your moans increase in volume with every passing second.
"So‘lek!" His name rolled off your tongue as a gasp, followed by a choked-off moan as he gripped your hips and pressed himself closer against you, buried his face into the crook of your neck and lapped at your skin until a purplish mark appeared right there.
Mine, it said in the most intimate way So‘lek could think of.
Anyone could claim their mate with a courting gift, he thought proudly, sucking yet another hickey into your throat as he simultaneously trusted into you. But these marks, they were an art that required precise observation from their presenter and the complete trust from their acceptor.
These weren’t cold, lifeless symbols of affection, no. You couldn’t just take them off like a necklace. Although they had short lifespans, he knew it would give him the opportunity to continue to give you new ones over and over, of different sizes, shapes and colors; and if he didn't feel like putting them on your throat, then he could put them on your breasts, your hips, on your wrists, your shoulders or your thighs.
So’leks thoughts went wild with all these new possibilities of marking you as his. If you allowed it, your entire body would turn into an available canvas for these markings and he would take great advantage of this.
They were profoundly intimate, a powerful symbol that was physically felt each and every time it was given to an extent that any other courting gift never would be. That was what would make him stand out from all the others.
Because what was a pretty shell compared to the shaking of your thighs, the quivering of your breasts and the hoarse voice that called his name over and over in pleasure? What was a shell compared to how good he was making you feel in this moment?
His hips only increased their pace from there, taking you harder, hands holding you tighter, tail coiling around your ankle to spread your legs impossibly wider. There’s this sensation, hot and burning and he allows it to rise within his core— he allows it, and welcomes it.
"Let go," So‘lek breaths hot and heavy when he feels your walls clench down hard on his length, "Let go and come with me, my sweet girl."
The kiss he captures you in is hot and dirty and your skin is slip-sliding against his with every movement. When the kiss breaks you moan loud. His nose drags along your cheek as he pants and rocks and fucks and you can't take it, can't take it one second longer.
His name falls from your spit slicked lips in incoherent brabbles and moans, greedily pleading for more, more more, until—
"S-So‘lek, oh! I‘m gonna— gonna… Fuck!"
You come in deep wracking shudders around him, calling out his name. Almost immediately, he follows, thrusting hard one last time, burying himself in you to the hilt as he comes, emptying himself inside of you with a low groan of your name.
So‘lek holds you so impossible close as you both shudder and moan from the intensity of it, he fears he might hurt you from how hard he was squeezing the soft flesh of your hips.
Nothing, he thinks. Nothing has ever felt this good before. He could still feel the tremor of your legs, the little twitches of muscles slowly loosening up in the afterglow of your orgasm.
So’lek’s breathing gradually steadies, though his hold on you does not loosen. He lowers his voice to a murmur meant only for you, words pressed softly into your hair, about how good you feel against him, how beautiful you are like this. There is no heat left in the praise now, only sincerity.
You let out a soft hum that tells him you’re listening, but your eyes are already closed and the tension in your body has melted away in the safety of his arms.
Carefully he shifts then, rolling onto his back and guiding you with him until you rest on top of his chest. One arm curves securely around your shoulders, the other settling at your waist
His chin dips, brushing your crown, and then he presses a slow, soft kiss to the top of your head.
And for once in his life, So‘lek feels truly content. Because his life had divided itself cleanly at last, into everything that came before you, and everything that will come after you.
“Nobody.” Sylus is grinning at you, crimson eyes narrowing as he studies your ever expressive face.
“You are my one, my only, and my first.”
“You’re lying.”
The words are immediate, you can’t help yourself. Looking at the man before you, how handsome he was, how confident he was. You couldn’t make yourself believe that you were the only person he had ever been with.
There was no possible way… “I’m not lying, kitten.”
You could physically see the sincerity in his gaze, even if his lips were still curled in their typical smirk.
Slowly, you slump with defeat. Body melting into the couch as you stare at him dumbfounded.
“…not even a kiss? Or holding hands with anyone else?”
There’s a soft laugh that escapes him before nodding.
“Not even a kiss, no hand holding either. You are the only person I’ve done that with.”
It suddenly seemed like a hefty title to bear, Sylus’ only.
“Why?” You felt your vocabulary dwindling as your brain tried to rack itself around the monumental title you just now realized you owned.
“Because nobody appeals to me the way you do. Not one person I’ve encountered in this life time sings to my soul the way yours does. I’ve never cared until I met you.”
I’ve actually written Sylus and his “relationship status prior to MC” handful of ways, especially some in of my earlier work! But that was also based off of the Sylus lore we had at that point in time. Now, I genuinely can’t see him any other way… what a lover boy.
no dude it's so cool how attached you are to that character who is singled out and ostracized due to the external monstrousness that clashes with their internal spark of humanity. and i love how drawn you are to themes of horror and love, nature versus nurture, otherness, isolation, and the abject. i bet you have normal feelings about your own personhood
He can’t help it — your laughter does something to him. It ripples through the air, light and bright, and before he knows it he’s smiling too. You’re holding out your hand, two fingers curved into half of a heart, looking at him like you expect him to finish the shape.
“Sylus,” you laugh, exasperated but fond. “You’re doing it wrong.”
He tilts his head, pretending not to understand, though he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Am I?” he drawls, voice smooth as smoke. The corners of his mouth twitch. “Looks right to me.”
“It’s not.”
“Show me, sweetie,” he murmurs, leaning in slightly, crimson eyes glinting with mischief.
You sigh, but you’re smiling, that patient warmth of yours seeping into him. You reach for his hand, adjusting his fingers until they fit yours — two halves forming a whole. Your skin brushes his, warm and soft, and together your hands form a perfect heart.
“See?” you say softly.
He does. But not the way you mean.
For a moment, the world narrows to the pulse in his wrist, the shape of your fingers pressed against his, the light in your eyes. Luke and Kieran are laughing somewhere behind you, Mephisto’s faint caw echoing from his perch, but Sylus barely registers any of it.
All he sees is you — your face framed by the string lights overhead, the faint shimmer of reflected stars caught in your gaze. You’re radiant. Alive. And when you laugh again, he feels something inside him stutter, his heartbeat falling perfectly in time with your joy.
He thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.
And he wonders, fleetingly, if you have any idea how much of his heart you already hold between your hands.
“C’mon, bossman!” Luke’s voice cuts through the quiet laughter, rough and teasing. “Look at the camera! Smile!”
Sylus exhales, rolling his eyes heavenward. Of course. He should’ve known they wouldn’t let the moment pass unmocked. “You two—” he starts, half ready to give them a piece of his mind, but the words dissolve before he can finish.
Because you’re suddenly right there beside him, close enough that the air shifts between you. Your cheek brushes against his, soft and impossibly warm, and he can feel your smile in the way your skin curves against his. The touch steals whatever irritation he had left, grounding him in something quiet, tender, and far too human.
He relents, glancing toward Luke’s phone, and the faintest smile tugs at his lips — reluctant, but real.
“Are you two filming?” you ask, half amused, half incredulous.
Kieran’s laugh echoes from behind the lens. “We can’t pass up this opportunity! Nobody’ll believe our boss is a lovestruck fool without proof!”
You laugh — a sound that wraps around him like sunlight, leaving him utterly defenseless. When you pull back, even just an inch, the loss hits him like a cold wind. He hadn’t realized how much warmth he’d borrowed from that small contact until it’s gone. His chest tightens, something instinctive and sharp whispering come back.
But before he can reach for you, you’re grinning up at him, eyes bright. “We better make this good blackmail then,” you say lightly.
And then — you kiss him.
First on the cheek, a fleeting, playful thing that sends a pulse straight to his heart. He turns to you, startled, and that’s when your lips find his.
The world stops.
It’s like every nerve in his body goes still, overwhelmed by the single, perfect point of contact where your lips meet his. The background fades — Luke’s laughter, Kieran’s triumphant shout, even Mephisto’s distant caw — all of it disappears beneath the rush of blood in his ears and the taste of you lingering against him.
You pull away before he can think to chase it, eyes shining in the twinkling light, laughter still dancing on your lips. Sylus just stares for a moment, caught between disbelief and something far deeper — that dangerous, consuming warmth that coils in his chest and refuses to let go.
Because that’s what you do to him. You make him feel alive — in ways he’s long forgotten how to be.
And as he watches you laugh, still radiant beneath the lights, he realizes with a quiet, terrifying certainty that if this warmth ever left him… he’d never find his way back to himself again.
The laughter lingers between you — his, yours, Luke’s muffled cackling somewhere in the distance — but it all blurs into something softer, muted. The world feels suspended, as if even the night itself is holding its breath.
Sylus leans in before he can think better of it, the movement instinctive, drawn by gravity. His lips brush the curve of your neck, and his voice drops low, meant only for you.
“I love you,” he murmurs.
The words vibrate against your skin, raw and unguarded. He feels you go still — just a flicker, a heartbeat of surprise — and he can’t blame you. He doesn’t say it often. He’s never been good at softness, at voicing what lives in his chest. But now, with your warmth pressed against him and laughter still echoing faintly in his ears, he wishes he’d said it more. Said it when he had the chance.
You pull back just enough to look at him. The lights above catch in your eyes, tiny galaxies spinning in their depths, and for a moment he forgets how to breathe.
“I love you too, Sylus,” you whisper.
The words are barely there — fragile, soft as breath — but they land squarely in his heart. He closes his eyes, letting the sound imprint itself on his memory, the shape of it, the warmth. He tells himself he’ll never forget the way you said it. How you always said it, so easily, like it was the simplest truth in the world.
But now—
Now, when he opens his eyes, it isn’t you standing before him. It’s the low, sterile glow of a screen, its cold light painting hollow shadows across his study.
Your laughter spills from the speakers — too bright, too alive — and it cuts through the silence like a ghost of sunlight. His hand trembles against the edge of the table. The video loops: your hands fixing his, your kiss captured forever in the glow.
He watches it in silence. He can almost believe you’re still here, sitting across from him, waiting for him to turn and smile. But when he looks up, there’s nothing. Just the still air. The quiet. The ache.
The air around him feels dead — like whatever warmth you carried with you left this place hollow in your absence. Every sound, every breath feels too loud against the emptiness. You used to fill this house with your moods: laughter and irritation and gentle teasing that never failed to make the corners of his mouth twitch. Now there’s only the void you left behind, a silence so heavy it suffocates.
It’s worse tonight.
Your anniversary.
You should’ve been here, celebrating another year together — celebrating the time he fought so hard for. The time he thought you two had. He’d believed in it, foolishly, with everything he had. Believed that after everything, you two had finally outwitted fate.
Sylus lets out a broken breath, shaking his head. He feels like a fool — to think he could reconstruct destiny with his own two hands. To think he could bury his heart in your arms and keep it safe this time. He truly believed it would be different. That you would grow old together. That the both of you would finally find peace, watching the days slip by in the quiet beauty of an untroubled life.
Instead, here he sits, surrounded by ghosts and silence, watching a memory that refuses to fade.
He stands, almost absently, and crosses the room. The old record waits in the corner — the one you’d given him on your first anniversary. He traces the edge of the vinyl, thumb brushing over the faded handwriting you’d scrawled on the sleeve. Then he sets it spinning.
The first notes bloom through the air, warm and crackling. The melody fills the silence, and for a moment, he lets himself drift. He closes his eyes and imagines you there — humming under your breath, laughter spilling softly against his chest as you danced that night, the record spinning slow and lazy in the background.
He can almost feel it: your warmth pressed to him, the ghost of your heartbeat bleeding into his ribs, the faint tickle of your breath against his throat. Then, softly — a kiss. A phantom brush across his forehead, light as air. He doesn’t know if it’s his sanity fraying or if it’s you — the other half of his soul — still lingering, still trying to comfort what's left of him.
The tears come freely now, unrestrained, slipping down his face and catching the light of the monitor. He doesn’t bother to wipe them away. They fall in rhythm with the song, with the sound of your laughter echoing faintly through his mind.
When the record reaches its final note, the silence returns — thick, all-encompassing. Sylus swallows hard, his throat tight, and whispers into the stillness:
“I love you.”
The words tremble in the air, small and desperate, carried on the hum of the fading record. He hopes — with everything that’s left of him — that somehow, they still reach you. Wherever you are now.
There were several things you were convinced your body wasn’t capable of doing… until you’d express those doubts to your beloved partner – Zayne.
He might not look like the type, but Zayne was never one to back down from a challenge. Especially if he knew it was one he was damn near guaranteed to win. “M’serious, Zayne. Quit smiling like that!” You shift nervously, pouting at his amused expression. “I’m not teasing you, baby.” The inhale that follows is slow, the exhale drawn out, as if he’s trying to ground himself.
“I just think it’s cute that you don’t think you can squirt.” There is the softest lilt of laughter at the end. One that makes your frown deepen, cheeks warm, and now your arms are crossing as you move to roll to your opposite side. “Whatever.” But the bed shifts, and you’re enveloped by the warmth of his body as his arms circle your frame.
“Don’t be like that.” His lips press to the shell of your ear, arms pulling you tightly against the hard plain of his front molding to your back. “You’re mocking me.” An annoyed grumble slipping past your lips, cheek squishing as he nuzzles himself into you. “M’not mocking you. I just find this to be oddly cute, I can't help but smile.”
“Oddly cute that I’m insecure?” Somehow you manage to stand your ground, even if your voice wavered slightly. “An insecurity you shouldn’t have because you can squirt.” Every syllable sends a shiver through your body, skin erupting in goosebumps as Zayne sweet-talks you. “You just need my help to get there.”
Zayne bites back his laugh, swallows the urge to even giggle when he feels rather than hears the “oh.” That seems to tremble through your frame. You finally processed what he had been saying since you made the comment. “Your help?”
His expression is carefully neutral as you look over your shoulder, the tip of his nose pressing into your cheek at the new proximity. “Yes, baby. I’m a doctor, y’know. I know a thing or two about a woman’s anatomy. And I've become very, very acquainted with yours.” His hand flattens, palm pressing against your abdomen.
“How much water have you drunk today?” Your throat feels dry, eyes widening a fraction. “W-why?” This time, he can’t help the huff of laughter that escapes him. “You have to be well hydrated in order to squirt, that’s the first step.” His teeth catch your ear, biting it just to feel you squirm. “I-I mean I guess I drank a fair amount with dinner.” You flinch at your own stutter, hand reaching below the covers to wrap around his wrist. His palm is still on your abdomen, pressing and searching.
“Do you need to pee?”
“Zayne!” Your face flushes, squeezing his wrist tightly as you shoot him a glare. “What exactly do you think squirting is?” A genuine question, not a hint of judgment as he met your eyes. His chin pressed into your shoulder, breaths mingling as he awaited your response. “It’s pee?” Whispered, as if it’s some horrid secret.
“Sort of.” Suddenly, you didn’t quite think this was something you wanted to do anymore. As if sensing it, Zayne continued. “It’s a very diluted version of urine, it comes out when your pelvic floor muscles contract during stimulation. It’s also a few other liquids but I fear I may scare you away from this if I go on.”
“It’s not as if you’re actually peeing, though it might feel like it. I’ve heard it’s supposed to feel…” His lips press against your ear, the hand on your abdomen sliding lower, the tips of his fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear “...incredibly good.” How long had he been looking into this subject before you so stupidly proclaimed you weren’t capable of it? “R-really?”
“Yes, and part of the reason some women are unable to reach that ending is not because they can’t but because they’re scared.” You blink, swallowing the lump in your throat as he carefully cups the front of your cunt. He just may want this more than you. “Scared?” Your fingers still cling to his wrist, but now they’re shoving his hand lower rather than attempting to pull away.
“Of making a mess, ruining their sheets or mattress. Some fear that they actually are just peeing, others stop because it feels way too intense.” You try to keep your breathing even as his fingers slip between your folds. “You’re already wet.”
“Impossible not to be when you’re like this.” Your hips push back briefly, nudging the very obvious hard-on you had been carefully ignoring. Your lover – who never backed down from a challenge – was incredibly motivated when that challenge had to do with something physical. “You’re a sex addict, y’know.” You say it as if you didn’t instigate this entire endeavor, as if you weren’t all over him just as much.
“If I’m a sex addict, you’re a pervert for contemplating whether or not you’re capable of making your pussy squirt.” He also had quite the vulgar tongue. Zayne shuts you up before you can even carry on, his free hand shooting up to grab your face and crane it back. The kiss is sloppy, his fingers immediately rubbing swift circles over your slipper clit. “M’gonna make you squirt till you’re begging me to stop.”
You moan into the kiss, swallowing every filthy promise. “Gonna ruin the sheets, huh? Soak the mattress? You’re being so mean to me when I’m just trying to help you out.” He kisses your jaw, leaving you open mouthed and swollen-lipped as he toys with your clit. “I should make you squirt just like this, panties still on, blankets still covering us. It’d feel so warm, wouldn’t it?”
You squirm, hips jerking into and then away from his over-eager palm. A mortified whine leaves your lips, arousal oozing from your entrance and waiting to be collected by his fingers. “Z-zayne don’t make it…” weird? But it’s only making your cunt throb more, you’re oddly aroused by the idea. “Don’t what? I feel your pretty pussy clenching, you want something in there so bad, hmm?”
“Yes!” It’s breathless, nearly hoarse as one finger slips down to press against your entrance. “The first step would be to get you wet, but clearly that’s not an issue.” Zayne’s cheek presses to your shoulder, fingers skillfully moving around your wetness. “The second is locating your g-spot.” He pushes that one finger inside, feeling you clench slightly before relaxing again.
“That one spot that isn’t totally velvety smooth, often half an inch to two inches past the vaginal opening. It’s a little gland, they refer to it as the female prostate.” You can barely listen to him as he speaks, hips squirming involuntarily as he presses. “Typically on the front of your vaginal wall, it’s why it feels so much more intense when I press down on your abdomen while being inside of you.”
“I know what it should feel like, just let me know when I do find it.” He’s found it before, it’s not very hard for him. But it’s rare that Zayne gets to take his time with you like this, slowly and deliberately exploring your cunt while you whine and squirm in his grasp. “Getting closer.” You manage to wheeze, little shocks of pleasure zipping up your spine every time that one finger presses.
“Good girl, this is only going to work if you communicate with me.” He shifts a little higher, pressing again, and your back arches. “T-there!” Your nails dig into his wrist, panting as he massages that spot with small, deliberate circles.
Your eyelids feel heavy as you look at Zayne, cheeks burning hot at the expression on his face. It’s dark, pupils blown and ears tinged red, he looks as if he could start drooling at any second. “On your back.” He retracts his fingers, pulls his body away from you, and you have no choice but to roll over.
The covers are getting yanked back as Zayne gets on his knees – grabbing your hips and dragging you closer to the center of the bed. “What happened to keeping me covered?” You’re giggling as he yanks your panties off, the wet stain visible as he tosses them to the floor. “Change of plans, I wanna see your pretty cunt when I make her squirt.” He’s pushing your legs open, leaving you in a butterfly position as you settle among the pillows again. “You’re so confident.”
“Because I know what I’m doing.” you swear you see the corner of his lip quirk upwards before he tugs his sweater up and over his head. Pale, scarred skin is put on display, muscles tensing and flexing as he rolls his neck and shoulders. “You’re gonna be pretty embarrassed when you can’t make it happen.” It was to tease him, but it was also to mentally prepare yourself just in case.
“Not going to be an issue, my love.” he’s getting on his stomach, positioning his handsome face right in front of your bare pussy. “I am more than capable of making you make a mess.” Two fingers plunge back inside, just as he places an open mouth kiss over your clit. Zayne finds that spot again without any error, applying pressure and massaging it until he feels your arousal ooze out of you.
Any expression on your face was gone the moment he re-entered you, jaw slack and head tossed against the cushion of the pillows as he licked at your cunt. Nevermind being able to see you squirt, he wanted to feel it, he wanted to taste it.
Zayne knew your body well enough to know some of the things you enjoyed, it was unsurprising that he fell into a natural, steady rhythm. Even less shocking when your moans grew in tempo, fingers twisting in the sheets Every passing second had the plunge of his fingers growing slicker, the squelching turning in volume.
“Oh fuck, Zayne… Zayne, it feels weird.” You bite on your bottom lip, walls constricting around his fingers as he refocuses all attention on that sponge spot. “Yeah? You’re tensing up, baby. Relax, just let it be.”
You whine as his tongue comes back into contact with your clit, hazel eyes traveling up your body to stare at where your head is craned back. Only the bob of your throat as you swallow and the underside of your chin are visible. “Zayne, fuck it feels like I’m going to explode…” You couldn't help the tension under your skin, every muscle seizing as the sensation made your hips jerk upwards.
Not wanting to lose the feeling, Zayne’s free hand came up to start rubbing your clit in the same tempo he had been licking at it. “Just relax…” that way, he could free up his mouth to talk you through the next steps. “You’re okay, just let it go, let it happen.” You needed to relax your muscles or else everything would be too tight, nothing would escape you. “Just let it be, you’re doing so good for me, baby. You’re so close, you just need to trust me, okay? Let your body relax, let it happen.”
His cheek nuzzled your inner thigh, kisses feather light and open mouthed as he whispered sweet nothings. “Zayne…” a small little prayer, it brought you an inkling of comfort as you tried to let yourself relax into the feeling. “Good girl, you’re doing so good for me, you’re safe, baby. Just relax.” Every movement and the cord pulled tighter, and tighter, and tighter, until you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.
Your orgasm was blinding, head forcefully pressing into the pillows as your lower half twitched and spasmed. You felt it, among the mind-breaking pleasure, you felt the warm, wet gush that sprayed from your cunt. Not once, not twice, but three times before your body went lax, melting into the mattress with ringing ears.
It wasn’t until Zayne’s face swam into your blurry view that you realised he was talking hovering above you with a wet mouth and chin, soaked fingers by your head. “And you said you couldn't squirt.” His kisses were fervent, littering your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, your mouth. Anywhere he could reach, all while uttering about how good you did. “M’so proud of you for trusting me.”
You hum, shaky hands holding his face as he neared you for another kiss. “Zayne, I wanna do that again. But this time I want your cock.” He blinks, a little stunned before a breathless laugh leaves his lungs.
When you disappeared, your partner Zayne and your partner-in-crime Sylus were forced into an alliance to get you back. Now, on the verge of their hottest lead yet, months of grief, loneliness, and frustration ignite in a rather explosive encounter.
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➻➻ ABOUT | 4700 words. sylus x zayne (x fem!reader).
➻➻ TAGS | MDNI. angst and drama. sexual tension. guilt. punishment. light choking. unhealthy coping mechanisms. mutual masturbation. implied infidelity (kind of). caught in the act (kind of). porn with... more plot than you probably wanted.
NOTE: Starting Week One of my Kinktober 2025: Poly edition with some good ol' snowcrow (x reader). I will also be updating my kinktober masterlist as I post the fics each week of the month. Hope you enjoyyyy xoxo
(Side note: this is the proudest I've ever been of a fic banner, please take an extra .5 seconds to look at it so the unnecessarily long time I spent on it was worth lol)
"So he is able to leave his office," drawls a flippant voice Zayne's become all too familiar with.
Reclining against one of the outpatient wing's exam chairs like streaks of crimson weren't staining the front of his button up, the ever elusive kingpin of the N109 Zone levels a smirk Zayne's way. "Was starting to worry you were trying to turn it into a second morgue, the way you've been rotting in there. Look how much effort it took me to lure you out."
Zayne crosses his arms to deflect the not-so-thinly veiled sarcasm that's being aimed his way, already regretting his decision to handle this himself instead of taking Greyson up on his offer. "I'm only here to tell you to stop bribing the staff. Again. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to catch up on some-"
"And abandon a patient in need?" A mocking, surprised whistle has Zayne pausing, hand clenching against the door handle. "Guess the Hippocratic Oath means nothing these days."
"Our nurses are fully capable of treating your-"
"Aren't you the renowned cardiac specialist here, doctor? You haven't even made sure my poor little heart will live to beat another day." Zayne can't help himself, he turns to study the injury in the center of Sylus' chest, ignoring the satisfaction that fills those ruby-red irises. "Besides, I've heard there are new developments about your… heart as well."
The double entendre of that last sentence combined with his responsibility to make sure there really isn't anything wrong with the pulmonary health of his patient, welcome or not, makes Zayne take a seat on the stool positioned next to the exam chair.
"What have you heard?" The question is quiet, low enough not to be caught by any cameras.
Thanks to the events of that blood-drenched summer night — the events that resurfaced within Zayne a maelstrom of emotions he hadn't encountered since he was a child of 12 — neither of them could be quite certain how far Ever's slimy tendrils have reached.
"Turns out Xander Sciences and the Hunter's Association have two partnership contracts," Sylus murmurs, timing his words to be masked perfectly by the sound latex gloves being pulled on and fresh tools being unwrapped. "The one that was announced to the public… and the one they took great pains to keep hidden from prying eyes like mine."
Since they'd decided to join forces, Zayne's spent almost six months in this silver-haired devil's orbit. Uncovering conspiracies, hunting for secrets, and trading information all with one goal in mind: finding you.
And yet, even now Zayne finds himself quietly awed by the depth of this man's power. It isn't just his evol or his streak of ruthless violence or his smooth-tongued persuasiveness. It's his ability to gain and maintain absolute control over every situation. To take any risk, regardless of its moral weight, in order to protect what he considers his. And though he's loath to admit it, Zayne's gut can't help but stoke an ember of admiration for it.
Blood pressure, within parameters. Body temperature, within parameters. Heartbeat... irregularly fast but not any faster than usual.
Sylus' eyes close when Zayne gently presses along the bruised edges of what appears like a (mostly) self-healed bullet wound to the sternum. Either he's purposefully left the wound open so Zayne would have a reason to treat him, or Zayne's not the only one taking more risks these days.
He angles himself so their words stay shielded from the CCTV while giving him a clearer view of the wound. "Xander, not Ever?" he asks, trying to keep Sylus talking as he moves the fabric off his chest and injects a local anesthetic.
The sound of a quiet hiss makes Zayne's eyes flick up and hone in on the imprint of teeth in Sylus' bottom lip before catching half-lidded eyes.
He snaps his gaze back to the wound, forcing his attention onto the two sutures he’s about to place rather than the heat creeping into his cheeks. “The contract?” he clips out coolly.
"On the surface, it's exactly what it looks like. Xander Sciences offers the Hunters Association access to its biotech to heal Hunters during combat."
This much he’d already known: the Association had pushed the deal hard in the press. You yourself had benefited from the improved gear in the field.
"But?" Zayne frowns, his racing mind not nearly as steady as his fingers when they tie off the first knot.
“But underneath-” Zayne catches Sylus' tongue darting out to moisten his lips and tightens his fingers around the needle before he threading it across the torn skin once more, “-multiple shipments of unmarked crates were taken from the N109 Zone straight to Xander's facilities. No records of oversight, no inspection documentation. And the timing lines up a little too well with the night our hunter vanished into the protofield."
Zayne's quiet as he finishes off the second suture knot, wondering if his evol has the power to freeze the angry fire coursing through his body by the time he looks up.
"Looks like I'll be paying a visit to Xander Sciences soon," he concludes calmly. He starts to lean back and widen the space between them, a clear signal that this information exchange is over.
"No." Sylus’ low growl comes with a sharp tug, yanking Zayne back by the stethoscope with a firm, unyielding hand. "Don't you dare ruin this now, doctor. Not when we're so close."
Though he couldn't fully hide the sneer on his lips, Zayne's voice remained calm. "You're not nearly as clever as I thought if you believe I'd sit around knowing she might be in-"
"And you're not nearly as cunning as I thought if you believe I wouldn't happily rip that place to pieces to get her back." Their noses are a hair's breadth apart and Zayne can smell a berry-like tartness on his breath. See the faint shadows under his eyes. "But we need to be strategic about this. One wrong move and they hide her away. It'll be back to square one for both of us."
Zayne's jaw tightens when he realizes he's unable to dispute the logic. Instead, he ignores the his stethoscope-turned-leash, takes a gauze pad, and douses it with antiseptic, determined to finish his job here and leave.
As he cleanses the rest of the wound, a low moan rumbles from Sylus' throat. So quiet that, had their faces not been mere inches from each other, Zayne would’ve never heard it.
But he does hear it. And suddenly, he regrets leaving his office today, regrets not sending Greyson down here in his stead, because there’s something about the low, rumbling sound that shoots straight to his core.
It's the sound of restraint, of desperation.
Sylus' gaze catches Zayne's as he speaks in a low, coaxing voice, "Trust me to do this right."
Zayne finally rips himself away. He looks down at his hands, attempting to anchor himself. To swim away from the growing stiffness beneath his white coat as he yanks off his gloves and throws them into the waste bin.
What his body doesn't seem to understand, Zayne thinks as he hurriedly sticks a bandage onto Sylus' chest, is that he'd built himself an entire life on restraint. On discipline and control. That his desperation is a well that fills for only one person. You.
And you're gone.
The peace and happiness he felt with you is gone. The purpose he found with you is gone. The warmth and intimacy that kept his chest filled, gone.
And the only thing that's filled the emptiness? The only thing that's managed to resuscitate the beating of his heart since the last time he held you? The low, rumbling, desperate sound of the only man who's as connected to you as Zayne. A man who's currently in pain, who is currently a patient entrusted to his care, and-
Zayne surges from his seat, muttering a final, “Fine. Don’t make me regret it,” as he speeds out of the room back to the safety of his office. Leaving behind the perfectly healed but mildly confused leader of Onychinus to discharge himself from the outpatient ward.
Loss makes people do things they would otherwise never consider. It's a natural psychological response to trauma, expected even.
Zayne tells himself this over and over again, but it doesn’t stop his ears from sharpening against the grating sound of the shower running. Each noise amplified against his guest room's sleek tiles and chrome fixtures as one of Linkon's most wanted criminals showers on the other side of his, frankly, too thin wall.
He can afford Sylus the privacy if he wants to. Read the medical tome on his nightstand. Leave the room for a glass of water. He’d done it so many times when his room became too stifling. Especially since the N109 Zone refugee had been staying the night more frequently.
But that’s the thing about loss: it leaves you empty. Desperate. A soaring spirit, wild and free, turned into a leashed monster rattling its cage. And something in Zayne's chest had been clawing at him to fill the hollowness you'd left there for weeks. Months. To loosen the restraints that held back the need within him.
Up until this point, he'd labeled his lapse in judgment as simply a moment of weakness a few weeks ago. A perfectly natural, biological response after being left without his beloved for so long. In his mind, that one-time thing was summarized by one bold word, whispered over and over in his own voice: Mistake.
So the occasional knock of something against the shower wall, the echo of panted grunts, and the sound of those familiar low, stifled moans sketch pictures in his mind that Zayne will never admit to seeing.
But that doesn’t stop him from closing his eyes and remembering.
Large, demanding hands, wrapped around his stethoscope. Smirking lips as full and red as a raspberry macaron, ready to be bitten into. A rasping voice wrapping around every sarcastic comment, every commanding directive, every iteration and honorific of his name.
And just like before, any measure of relief to be found has gone from tempting to necessary. As vital as air, water, sustenance.
Besides, only he would know. A victimless crime, Zayne reasons.
His imagination reignites his senses and, with eyes still shut, his fingers trail down the ridges of his stomach, under the waistband of his briefs. They wrap around his shaft, hands stacking on top of the other.
He strokes up gingerly and hisses, thoughts flickering between the sounds in the shower and visions of you. The curve of your spine, the greedy grasp of your hands, the velvety warmth of your walls closing in around his cock.
As he hears another faint moan from the other side of the wall, he strokes again, palms squeezing tighter, memories of you sharpening every sensation.
His fingers glide up his head, grazing the top to let a bead of fluid trail over his knuckles.
His sighs becoming shaky and erratic. Breaths huffing in rhythm with each stroke.
His jaw slackening, the muscle of his brow furrowing, his glistening lips parting.
It's when his grunts are unable to be held back by bitten lips, when the slick sounds behind the wall become more urgent that he gives in to time his moans to Sylus' until, with a final, desperate whimper Zayne covers his flushed head with his palm and shudders. He thrusts into himself as his hips ride each wave of pleasure, the syllables of your name chanted from his lips like a prayer.
Lucidity curdles his stomach before he can even catch his breath.
A small part of him is grateful that the ringing in his ears has tuned out the noise from the guest bathroom. Creating the barrier between him and Sylus that he should've been strong enough to erect himself when he had the chance.
The rest of him is centered around you. Your absence has never felt more painful as his emptiness, his longing for you, and thoughts of a maddening criminal catalyze a chemical reaction in his bloodstream. Pumping guilt and lust, shame and desire, through each vein of his existence.
And as a faint final groan from the shower slithers through the crevices of his room, he wonders, with a sharp, unwelcome clarity, if he’s really letting Sylus stay because he wants information from him.
Or because Zayne wants to see him.
He pushes his bedroom door open, ready to dispose of the coat in his hand and end his day with a shower. Unfortunately, for the second time in as many days, his bedroom isn't empty.
Zayne flicks the light switch to illuminate a large, familiar figure perching at the edge of his bed, elbows to his knees, waiting. His pose is casual, the picture of calm, but the tangled fingers squeezing together in the space between his knees, and the swirling energy storm in the eyes fixed on Zayne like a laser, betray him.
Pausing a few feet away, he understands that this is the eerie stillness of a bloodthirsty predator lying in wait.
His grip tightens on his coat, prepared to throw it back on and leave depending on the answer to his question, though the barbed knot tightening around his throat makes it more of a sharp demand, “What's happened?”
Up until this point, Zayne's had to admit that, though everything about Sylus' methods are as morally corrupt as he thought, the Onychinus leader's plans aren't just effective, they're fast. Once he found out about the sketchy shipments from the N109 Zone, it only took a few days before "his men" tracked you down to a medical facility. A “facility” that only became more suspect when Sylus revealed its owner. A name Zayne never thought he’d need to hear again, considering he’d watched the man die with his own eyes: Raymond, founder of Xander Sciences.
When Sylus shared this yesterday, he said it would take less than 48 hours for him to have eyes on you inside the building and have an extraction plan ready to go. Zayne’s heart shuffles in his chest, unsure whether to be wary or relieved that Sylus is back sooner than expected.
"I had her." The razor sharp edge of violence in Sylus' voice slices through the quiet. “I had my eyes on her. Then everything cut out. It was only a few seconds, but when it came back… she was gone."
"No." It tears out of his raw throat. Both a vehement denial and a wrathful plea.
His mind is already rummaging through every factor, analyzing every variable in this situation for something they can do. The first one is you. You're always quick on your feet under pressure and ten steps ahead in high-intensity situations, it's what made you a brilliant hunter. So there's a decent probability that you are the reason you'd disappeared. A decent probability meant nothing though.
"This wouldn't have happened if I'd gone to Xander Sciences when you uncovered the contract," his voice is cold but his eyes burn with accusation.
"Oh yeah? Then tell me, doctor." Sylus shot up from the bed, spreading his arms open mockingly and raising a derisive brow. "What would Akso Hospital's prized surgeon, the man with all of Linkon's eyes on him, have done when he got there?"
The second variable, and the far more unpredictable one, is the real enemy you're all facing. Because there’s no doubt Ever has its poisonous thorns hooked into every player in this, the Association, the contract, Xander Sciences, Carter.
"Do you think you're the only one with information?" Zayne clips back, throwing his phone and coat in the direction of his bed. "Or did you forget that things like secrets and blackmail aren't unique to the N109 Zone?"
Zayne acquired plenty of it during his time with the X Heart project, and if they’ve taken you, are harming you in any way… Zayne will bring every scrap of influence, every ounce of power he’s acquired over the last decade down like a battleaxe on whoever's responsible.
"Secrets aren't unique to the N109 Zone," he concedes, taking a step forward and pointing a finger at his chest. "But I am. Onychinus' name has been all over this since the beginning. I was with her when she disappeared. So what do you think they'll think when one of their top doctors is blackmailed, hm?"
Zayne’s jaw sharpens into the jagged edge of flint, one twitch away from sparking a flame. Of course he knew about Carter.
"The second they connect the dots, it's over for us." Sylus' words are still harsh, but his tone is softer, less belligerent. "More importantly, it's over for your… our hunter."
The thought hardens his expression. Tempers the simmering panic and worry in his mind, cooling it down into something sharper, more ruthless. Settling into him the way ice settles across a mountainside, vast and indiscriminate in its violence. Crushing forests and swallowing all life into a stark, white void.
"Doctor?"
The sound around him dulls and his pulse slows to a cold, methodical beat that narrows his vision and drains the heat from his limbs until all that's left is a still, deadly focus that erases all hesitation. Leaves no room for mercy.
"Doctor."
A single-minded purpose encases him like frost, so cold he becomes more glacier than man.
"Zayne."
It’s only when a warm hand wraps around the nape of his neck and a powerful force pins his wrists against the wall at his sides that he realizes the cold that's descended over him is real.
Pieces of him sluggishly slot back into awareness and he realizes frost has coated the tips of his lashes and the edges of his lips. That ice has crawled up his exposed forearms and his neck, and a large, scythe-like shard is protruding from his palm.
There’s a hollow whir in his ears, like the endless gales of a snowstorm, and he blinks in an attempt to focus on the curves of Sylus’ mouth moving in front of him. They're both breathing clouds of warm air into the space between them, yet his brain isn't processing any of the oxygen his lungs are receiving.
Zayne has a wild, fleeting thought that he might end up in a medical textbook rather than his research: first recorded case of a man killed by his own evol.
Suddenly the grip on his nape tightens, and Sylus’ lips capture his, soft, violent, searing hot.
Air rushes back into his lungs.
It’s an angry kiss, an argumentative one. Lips crushed, teeth clashed, breaths stolen. Tit for tat.
But Sylus’ mouth is stirring something wild and half-feral from deep inside him, coaxing out that slumbering animal that started its cold hibernation the day you were taken from him. Zayne groans at the thought, the sound rough and unwilling, even as his shivering body leans into the heat.
When Sylus finally draws back, both of them are panting, frost-bitten lips brushing with every inhale, every exhale. Crimson eyes search him in silence, and Zayne studies his in return.
“I’m fine,” he rasps. His throat is raw, but his voice is steady.
His eyes trace over Zayne's face once more before releasing the nape of his neck. He straightens, putting a few inches of space between them as the restraints on Zayne’s wrists disappear. Zayne flexes his hand, realizing Sylus had pinned him with his evol.
His mind, though still hazy from the shock of cold, the depths of his own power, can’t deny the thawing effect that's sluiced over his body. Whatever Sylus had just done, it had grounded him. Cut through the icy tempest within him.
Guilt and shame rise to the surface again. Up until now, you were the only one who could reach Zayne when he lost control. The only one who could bring him back when he lost himself to the barren cold.
Not only did he just lose himself the moment you needed him in control the most, he had to be reeled in by him. The only person who seems to effect him as much as you do.
“We will get her back. But she needs both of us." It's spoken like a certainty. And, like he's come to the same conclusion as Zayne, his voice dons on a calming rumble. “Which means you, unfortunately, need me. And I, very unfortunately, need you.”
His brow raises, as if daring Zayne to protest.
But it’s a raw and vulnerable thing to need someone. It leaves you exposed, your defenses down, your control only as strong as the person you’re relying on. Zayne always thought he would only ever need you. You fit so naturally together, keeping each other grounded while letting each other soar.
He realizes what he’s been grappling with these past few weeks isn’t just the ache of losing you or the slow erosion of hope as time passes. It’s the terrifying clarity that the only person capable of affecting him the way you do is also your complete opposite. Someone who has the ability to make Zayne want him while simultaneously amplifying Zayne's craving for you.
“From now on, we need to be in lockstep.” He leans back in, his gaze unyielding and steady and grounding. "I need you by my side.”
He'd almost found the resolve to step away. To finish this crazy argument and send him away. To recognize that this wasn't fully him. That the cold and hot flashing through his body was enough to muddle anyone's mind.
But those words, the way they're said. They're yours. And suddenly there's so much you surrounding him that Zayne's vision blurs and his resolve melts like ice, drips like condensation to the floor as he crushes his lips to a criminal's. Immediately, the world narrows to that press of warmth, the sweet memory of you mingled with the bitter taste of him.
Their lips move in synchronized chaos, biting, demanding, bruising, desperate. Zayne's hand fists Sylus’ collar and tugs, tearing a gravelly moan from him as their lips part and their tongues commence battle.
Little details of you project into his mind. The scrape of your teeth, one hand around his nape, the other halfway to his pulsing cock, undeterred by the obstruction of his belt. Every kiss, every movement is yours and not-yours at once, and he accepts the flesh-eating hunger and shame that infect him with the double vision.
“Say it again.” Zayne presses his chest into him, his grip at Sylus' collar unyielding until he takes one step back. Two.
“What?” A half-breathless gasp, half-teasing hum as Sylus wraps a hand around Zayne's base, forcing a hiss from between his teeth. “That we need to be in lockst—”
“No.” Zayne cuts him off, his free hand unbuttons and unzips Sylus’ trousers in two quick motions. “That you need me.”
A laugh rumbles out of Sylus, low and teasing. “I seem to recall saying we both need—”
The rest of Sylus' sentence dissolves in his throat when Zayne's right palm grips the root of his cock with the same ruthless force Sylus is using on him. Zayne's left palm moves from his collar to his throat, securing against the thrum of Sylus’ pulse.
“Tell me you need me,” Zayne commands, teeth grazing Sylus’ lower lip. Both of his hands tighten with each word.
Sylus smirks against Zayne’s mouth, an incendiary gleam in his eyes when he growls past the hand clamped on his throat, “What I need is for you to start moving your hand before you lose it.”
He punctuates the reprimand with a sharp roll of his hips into Zayne’s palm, leaving no room for doubt which hand he’s talking about.
“See? This is where you fail.” Zayne clenches his hand around Sylus but purposefully keeps it still. Sylus twitches in response, a strained sigh escaping him. Zayne forces him back with two deliberate steps until Sylus’ heels are a few inches from the bed. “You keep thinking you can strong-arm me into doing things your way.”
A breathless chuckle dusts over Zayne's lips. “Oh, you haven’t even seen a fraction of how strong my arms can be.”
Zayne growls as a sudden coil of black-red mist winds tight around Zayne’s thigh and in the next breath Sylus and his evol wrench him around, one of Sylus’ hands bracketing Zayne’s throat.
"Do you miss her?" Sylus' voice is a ragged whisper that recenters him, and Zayne isn't sure if the cause is the thought of you or what they're doing.
Still, he finds himself nodding, hand reaching behind him to grip Sylus again, this time stroking, rhythmic and slow and merciless.
Sylus' hips buck and he hisses out, “Do you want her back?”
Zayne gasps when he sees a black-red mass of energy slither down and disintegrate the buckle of his belt. A pale, muscular forearm takes the mist's place as Sylus’ hand pushes down Zayne's briefs and wraps firmly around the head of Zayne's cock, this time skin-to skin. Heat sears through Zayne's gut, a shudder traveling the length of his body. “Yes," he forces out.
“And what are you willing to do?” Sylus’ teeth sink into the pale column of his neck, biting down before soothing over it with his tongue. Zayne’s head falls back against Sylus' shoulder, ragged breaths breaking as the next growled question pours straight into his ear. “How far are you willing to go?”
“To the end of the world,” Zayne snarls, yanking so hard on Sylus' cock Zayne's hand can barely complete a full stroke in the space between them. “I’ll destroy everything if I have to.”
Hazel suddenly collides with scarlet and there's a wild look shared between them.
“Yes,” Sylus exhales, drawing the word into a sigh, like Zayne's confession is music to his ears.
The hand at Zayne’s neck pushes him down suddenly, forcing his chest toward the bed until his palms brace against the top of the duvet. Sylus' grip shifts from Zayne’s throat to the back of his head, long fingers threading into his hair and squeezing the strands between them.
“And that-” His other hand moves in a punishing stroke up the length of Zayne, then back down. “-is why you need me. That-” Another stroke. “-is what I am. Now,” Another. “Make me your weapon."
Maybe control was never about banishing the darkness, Zayne thinks, but about accepting it. Embracing it. Wielding it to tear the world apart to get to you.
Zayne’s lips peel back in a broken groan, his voice spilling out rough and unsteady, "Deal."
It isn't a surrender but the seal of a pact. The crossing of a threshold into something he's always held himself back from approaching.
Sylus’s evol tightens, coiling around Zayne’s thigh to widen his stance, holding him in place as his arm strokes up and down again, faster now. Zayne’s body arches helplessly against him as his own hand, bicep aching at the angle of his reach, retaliates.
Both of them are poised at the edge of a precipice, hearts pounding, skin prickling, unwilling to commit to their climax and fall into an abyss of no return. They stay suspended in symphony of smacking and panting and sucking and whimpering and rubbing and-
A buzzing noise cuts through the room like a record scratch and Zayne barely registers the fact that it's his phone before his ring finger, trembling where it rests near the device on the bed, presses into the touchscreen.
“Zayne, it's me,” crackles a voice, sweet and beautiful and absolutely unmistakable. “I'm on my way home.”
In any other moment Zayne would freeze. He would pause his life, push everything, everyone, to the wayside and let his entire being focus on you. On logic, reason. On the when, where, how, and why of your call.
But the wires in his brain are so crossed, the emotions in his chest frayed so raw, that all his body can do is give Sylus a rough, twisting squeeze when he hears it. The sound of his name on your lips — the gasping excitement of it — makes relief, shame, love, grief, and pleasure coalesce into a reverent chant of your name that becomes perfectly synced to Sylus' growled "Kitten" in his ear.
The words ‘I need you by my side’ crash around his mind as he finally leaps over the edge and breaks apart. Physically, psychologically, spiritually.
And with a final stroke, a final gasping sob, his vision goes white.
maomao is not the bisexual representation the people asked for and honestly she is not the bisexual representation the people needed, I really dont know what that thing is but no one living or dead has the power to stop her. She showed the emperors concubines elicit porn. She met a woman with tits so huge that she completely ignored everything the woman was saying for a full minute to stare at them silently. She put her androgynous boytoy in a dress and made him dance. Grabbed his dong and called it a decent sized frog. And she did all of this while practicing medicine illegally. Feminism wins
In "Beyond Cloudfall", Sylus 'marked' MC as his consort (in the Dragon Cave, above Tarus City) after a small portion of their souls merged together in each-other's body when MC pulled out the great-sword from his chest in the Abyss.
Now, 'marking' is also an euphemism for physical intimacy in literature.
In "Secret Times : Bloodnight Blaze", we get a glimpse that they definitely consummated their consortship after escaping the Abyss.
While Sylus's true age was 1677+ years, he was still very young in dragon years.
My theory is that 1600 would be equivalent of 16 in human years. Which was MC's age in "Beyond Cloudfall" Myth.
So they were technically of similar age.
Regardless, they did got married in the black chapel of Tarus City later in the Myth story. Where they exchanged half of their souls with each-other, which was equivalent of exchanging wedding vows.
This was after Sylus warned MC of the price they have to pay for intertwining their souls in order to go against their fate.
Yet, she still chose to stay beside him, in him.
They also confessed their love for one-another during the ritual, promising to stay together beyond their deaths.
I believe after Sylus passed away in Beyond Cloudfall, MC managed to live for only 5 years. Which explains their age gap in the current timeline, in Nebula and Linkon.
Quick note: Sylus was 16 when he rescued an 11 year old MC from Gaia Research Centre. Hence, their ages are also appropriate in this current timeline.
They were pure in their new physical vessel. But mentally, not so much. Because Sylus has all of their memories from their past and present lives.
One of the reasons why Sylus gives the impression of being a trained-Dom:
He remembers everything.
While MC doesn't remembers much due to her trauma in present life after she physically died several times due to the torturous experiments conducted by Gaia researchers.
He remembers their time together, and the act of love he was taught by MC.
It was MC who 'showed' him how to love first by teaching him how to hug, through tender touches, and kissing his forehead.
As a dragon, he knew what 'mating' is. But he learned the act of love through physical intimacy from MC.
One of the reasons why his last kiss on her forehead was not just an act of love, but a terminal declaration of his devotion towards MC in his final moments.
It is why Sylus's intimate cards are the most sensual of all (with hints of BDSM; more explaination on this later.)
For him, it's a sacred act of love. An act of devotion towards his lover/wife, giving us a glimpse on why physical intimacy between Sylus and MC is extra special. ♥️
summary ✿‧₊˚: 3+1: three times Sylus suppresses his desire to have you, and one time his control finally snaps. sprinkled with relationship fluff, size difference, love confessions and whole lot of overthinking from our fav crow boy.
word count ✿‧₊˚: 13.6k (a whole ass freaking novella, grab a snack.)
tropes ✿‧₊˚: 18+, 3+1, smut, but packed with feelings, fluff, est. relationship, body worship, plot with porn??, love confessions, sylus is obsessed, and so in love, first times implied, p in v, size difference, (by size difference i mean sylus is freaking huge, like a mountain of a man, so big it actually makes him nervous bc u so small, every single one of us would be a small dot next to him that’s my personal headcanon, have you seen his ib memory? yeah, yeah u have this man HUGE), anyways what is protection they don’t use it don’t be like them, needy sylus, pet names, everything is consensual, awooo.
author’s note ✿‧₊˚: hello! i was cooking this one for so much time, i hope it’s not too boring! I’m not a native speaker so i apologize in advance for all mistakes or repetitions. I was also trying to write inclusive y/n and i hope i succeeded. I also did not imagine y/n to have a specific body type — i truly believe that no matter your size, next to sylus you would look like a crumb. as small as a pebble. believe me, i’ve studied the sacred texts (night of secrecy, grassland romance, innocent birdcage do i really have to keep on listing the memories where he enormous u get the gist). so!! i hope you’ll enjoy it ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა
!!do NOT read if you’re not 18+!!
˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡ ݁
Sylus usually considered himself to be a patient man.
He occasionally did act on his desires—he could admit that much—but when it came to the things he truly cared about, the things he treasured, he didn’t mind the wait. He knew that the best things in life came at a price, and if the currency was time, in this case he was willing to pay in full. He knew it was worth it. That you were worth it.
You, who accepted him as he was, with all his flaws and imperfections, making his life better every day you were together. You, who were so brave, gentle, and kind that you made him want to become a better man too—just so that one day, he could say he truly deserved you. You, who he had completely fallen for, unable to imagine a world in which he wouldn’t make the same choice of courting you all over again.
That’s why he wanted nothing more than to treasure and respect you in every aspect of life—including intimacy and his own desires. And to be perfectly candid, he had plenty of those from the very moment he laid eyes on you. But he wanted to act like a gentleman, never rushing you into anything. He was patient, waiting for you to make the first move. He wanted to be sure you trusted him, that you weren’t afraid of him—or of the things he wanted to do to you if he ever got the chance.
And even after several months of officially dating you, he still stuck to his resolve, despite the unhealthy hunger growing inside him. He was adamant that you make the first move, even though the waiting was slowly killing him from the inside—his desires burning through his skin, desperate to see the light of your glossy eyes, to feel you squirming beneath him, and to hear your soft moans and whimpers, letting him know that you wanted him too.
He wanted you passionately. He didn’t desire anyone or anything else in his life. He had never thought of anyone else in such terms, which made the wait much more bearable, fun even. The occasional tension in the air only made things between you even more intriguing. Sylus wondered when the moment would come for you to finally let him explore you, taste you, just as he had wanted since the first time he held you in his arms.
He was a patient man. An inquisitive one, but patient nonetheless.
But it was just getting too much for him to handle lately.
He wondered if you were doing this on purpose. Were you trying to make him go feral with want, push him into some action? Maybe you were just too shy to ask for something more, and decided to coax him to take you right then and there? Was it an act? A part of your meticulous, sneaky plan?
He felt his sanity slowly dissipating.
“Sylus? Please, hurry up and help me, we have to go!” You turned your head to look at him, your lips puckered in an adorable pout, and your feet anxiously shifting from one to the other, the sound of your beautiful black heels clicking against the floor of your apartment. The red soles didn’t go unnoticed by him.
And what didn’t go unnoticed as well was how breathtakingly gorgeous you looked, dressed in your tight black gown that accentuated the figure he was obsessed with.
However, he was a strong man. He could look at you in a dress and not get an instant boner; he wasn’t some mere beast. But when you asked for his help, he realized that life hadn’t prepared him for everything you had up your sleeve.
Because right now, you stood before him, your back turned toward him, holding your hair in your hands and exposing a zipper that you wanted him to take care of. A zipper that ran from your neck down, down, down to your red lace panties, which peeked out from beneath the unzipped black material.
He turned his head upward at the sight, his hand reaching for the bridge of his nose, a silent prayer escaping his lips. If God existed, He was not merciful this time.
He could also clearly see that you weren’t wearing a bra, the soft skin of your back exposed, slightly hidden under the material of the dress. Hadn’t he suffered enough?
He wanted to bark. Badly.
Oh fuck, was he really going to bark?
He hoped not.
“Sy?” The nickname almost made his legs buckle. He needed a moment to calm himself after just one look at you, and it seemed to take him much longer than what would be considered natural. The impatience in your voice betrayed your desire not to be late for the opera performance, which he had promised to take you to today. He gulped audibly and realized that you had no idea what you were doing to him—and that scared him.
If you were this dangerous unintentionally, how will he survive when you’ll finally, consciously decide to take things further?
“Yes. Yes, of course, sweetie.” He managed to choke out and stepped closer to you, your delectable scent overwhelming his senses. He tried to hide the slight tremble in his hands as he reached for the zipper at the bottom of your dress. When he zipped you up, he took his sweet time caressing your body with his knuckles, basking in the soft feeling of your skin and the dangerous touch of the lace of your panties. He hoped you couldn’t hear his heartbeat—or see the pink in his cheeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he had blushed, but now he was sure of it, judging by the warmth on his face.
He was hopeless. Utterly ruined.
“There you go.” He said quietly, caressing your beautiful hair with his fingers, smoothing the creases which appeared after your hold. He brushed it from your neck and planted a slow kiss there, his movements far too composed for someone who was boiling with desire inside.
“Thank you. I couldn’t reach it at all and we’re already short on time.” You put your hand on his head, patting it gently and sighing when he touched your waist. He couldn’t help but squeeze you there, feeling the warmth of your skin through the soft material of your dress. You understood this gesture as teasing and giggled adorably.
“You look magnificent, my dove.” The compliment slipped through his lips, earning him your sweet smile and a kiss on a cheek. He watched as you passed him to grab your purse, going straight to the front door, leaving him behind. Trusting he’ll follow your step, as he always did.
Sylus closed his eyes and touched the very spot on his cheek where your lips had grazed, releasing a sigh that could be interpreted as both contentment and a silent prayer for endurance.
“You coming, Sy?” He could hear you calling for him, and he opened his eyes. His left one shone brightly at him from his reflection on the window. His Evol proved useless when his body already made it abundantly clear what—or whom—he desired the most.
“I fucking wish.” He whispered under his breath, turned around, and walked up to you, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder as he reveled in the weight of your body pressing against him. His ears were graced by your little squeal, that quickly transformed into uncontrollable laughter, a sound he wanted to record and play every time you were away.
You slapped his back playfully and joked about wanting to use your legs once in a while, and he laughed, saying that he just wanted to make sure that he had all he needed with him. Then, he grabbed his coat with his Evol, and used it to slam the door after you both went out. He hoped that the lust he felt, which started to get out of his control, managed to stay behind them.
He waited for so long; how hard could it be to wait for another couple of months?
˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡
Hard.
Tremendously hard, both theoretically and physically, given the reaction of his body upon the contact.
He shifted slightly so that you wouldn’t feel his growing bulge against your core, his hands hovered over your thighs, his cheeks flaming hot. He was about to fucking pass out.
But you were none the wiser, sitting on his body, strangling him with your soft, mouth-watering thighs, practically rubbing yourself against him, and performing your little dance of victory after pushing him to the ground during your sparring.
Normally, he would have laughed with you and treasured your moment of happiness, his senses overwhelmed by pride as he watched you get better and better at self-defense with every practice.
But that was just cruel.
Not only did you show up in that little piece of fabric covering your breasts, something you dared to call a sports bra, its thin straps reminiscent of a fish net, offering NO support whatsoever for your charms, but you also dared to wear that pair of leggings you claimed you had bought with your friend during your last trip to the mall.
And they were leaving nothing for his imagination, your every curve hugged tightly, every dip deliciously emphasized. And fuck, you looked gorgeous in wine red. You knew you did.
“I got it in your color! Do you like it?” You asked upon entering his gym, twirling for him like the most adorable fucking thing he had ever had the pleasure of seeing, your arms up and your hair still untied. He did saw red, and it wasn’t just the color of your clothing.
His color. His girl in his color, he was going absolutely feral.
“I do.” He choked out, and tried to avert his eyes from your posture but lost that battle quickly. “You look stunning. My little gem.” He answered and you dared to look at him sheepishly, your face showing the signs of getting flustered.
“I’m not just a gem anymore. I’m a professional fighter.” You playfully punched his shoulder, jumping around and mimicking boxing moves, making him laugh out loud as he grabbed your fists in his hands. He pulled you closer to him and kissed your forehead, his arms wrapping around your frame.
“Is that an apology in advance?” You asked him when his lips left your skin. He smirked, his brow raising.
“Might be. Today we’ll be practicing attacks and knocking down your opponent.”
“Me? Knocking you down?” You looked at him with disbelief, your hands dropping to your sides, already defeated. “I’m doomed. Sylus, can’t I knock down Luke or Kieran instead?” Your cute pout and hands clasped in a begging gesture made him laugh again, as he fixed the bandages on your hands.
“And you think they would be easier to conquer?”
“Yes. Obviously, yes.”
“But they wouldn’t make sure you’re not going to hurt yourself, kitten, and I already know your patterns…” He leaned over you, his hot breath caressing your ear, making you shiver. His hands avoided touching your body. “And weak spots…” A whisper and a gentle bite on your earlobe were enough to send your adrenaline soaring.
“You—!” You jumped from him, like a little kitten, your face flustered and gaze filled with playful threat. “You’re going down mister. You’re SO going dooown.”
And down he went.
Right under your soft body, squashed between your warm tights, looking up at your beautiful lips twisted in an adorable, cunning smirk.
Oh, the way he loved you. The way he wanted to have you. The intensity of that feeling started to suffocate him.
“Okay, you got me, sweetie.” He choked out and tried his best to sound as nonchalant as possible. But nothing about this situation was nonchalant—your soft tights squeezing his waist and your butt pressing on his weak spot almost made him see stars. He grabbed your waist to try to stop your body from moving and gritted his teeth, fighting with himself to not buckle his hips up. “Now, up. I admit defeat.”
Defeat that had to do with the improvement of your skills and the force of your little fists, yes, but also with the way Sylus was distracted by your body, his eyes wandering everywhere during the battle, but not the places he should actually pay attention to.
Apparently, he was a weak, weak man, when the situation concerned you. Weak and impossibly horny.
“Hmm, I’m not sure if I want to.” You answered, a mischievous glint adored your gaze. He drank that expression in.
Beautiful. You were absolutely beautiful, sitting on him, your body sparkling with sweat, face red from the exhaustion. How could he keep his mind from going places? “I think I like you like this.” His eyebrows went up, and cheeks felt a little bit too warm for his liking.
What were you trying to say?
“Yes? Like what, kitten?” His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest. He knew that you could feel it, one of your hands rested on top of it, stroking his chest, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin through his shirt. He shivered, his body covered in goosebumps, finding the gentle touch too intense, somehow.
“Towering over you.” His breath hitched; his heart almost stopped its beating. “It’s much easier to look at your face when I’m like this. It’s nice.” His heart squeezed instead, your confession turning out to be more touching than teasing, and he cursed himself internally for belittling your interactions and intimacy lately. His mind immediately assumed sexual undertones, where everything you were doing with him, at your own, unique pace should be more than enough for him.
“You like looking at me that much, huh?” He answered, his hand going up to caress your cheek with the back of his fingers. He smiled with content, and he put his hand at the nape of your neck, hoping you’ll understand the implications.
You did. Not a second later you lowered your body so that you were lying on top of him, one of his hands holding you to himself by your waist, pressing you even closer together. He acknowledged how much he loved your full weight on his body, your hearts pressed so close to each other they started beating as one.
You put your hands on his cheeks, smiled down at him, and pressed a small kiss to one of his eyelids, and then to the tip of his nose. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling.
“Of course. You’re my beautiful boy, Sylus.” You whispered to him, a smile adoring your face and he couldn’t help himself. He pulled you close by your neck and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, almost whimpering into your mouth from the intensity of his feelings.
You reciprocated the kiss, not hesitating even for a second, and soon, both of your lips were swollen and glistening, your minds filled with sparkles and cotton.
You were the one to break the kiss, your mind going dizzy, body trembling from the arousal. He could feel it without using his Evol—the desire that raised within you, the fire that now flowed through your veins. His eyes sparkled with anticipation.
One moment and you’ll go pliant against him, melting into his embrace.
One second, and he’ll finally taste heaven, be as close to you as anyone ever has been.
“Y/N, will it be alright if I—” He started speaking, your eyes looking at him from above as you held onto his cheek and neck, caressing his skin with your thumbs, making him feel oh, so cherished. Yet, he didn’t manage to finish the request because a sudden crash from the door opening pierced through the silent room, popping your comfortable bubble in an instant.
You jumped out of his embrace, leaving him cold and yearning, his hands sliding over his face in frustration.
“Boss—”
“Luke, Kieran it better be fucking important.” Sylus hissed through his teeth, and the fact that he didn’t even try to hide his frustration made you huff out a laugh and you quickly covered your mouth with your hand. You didn’t want to laugh at him so openly, hiding how adorable his anger towards boys seemed to you at that moment.
His eyes caught yours, lured by the bubbly sound, and one of the corners of his mouth went up slightly. He raised his hand to your covered mouth and brought your hand down with his fingers, revealing your smile.
“It is, Boss! The Girm Company chairman called and demanded a meeting in thirty minutes.” Luke said quickly, Kieran peeking out from behind his shoulder. “And he didn’t want to take “no” for an answer.” Kieran added, his body now revealed.
You were not sure if Sylus was even listening, his eyes glued to your face, his fingers tracing the line of your smile absentmindedly. He still didn’t raise from the floor of the ring, his posture relaxed, one arm now resting behind his head.
“That bastard.” He answered under his breath, and closed his eyes in annoyance for a second and when he opened them, they were once again glued to you. “If you don’t want me to leave, just say a word.” He said, and put a strand of your hair behind your ear. The back of his hand started a slow caress of your cheek, and you felt embarrassed, knowing that the boys were still looking at you both, waiting for Sylus’s answer.
“It’s okay, Sy. I actually have some errands to run in Linkon so I better get going.” You answered, grabbing his hand and pressing a kiss to his fingers. His breath hitched, eyes following the movement with a longing deep in his chest. “Besides, I’m tired of beating your ass today. Save some dignity for the next time.” You added with a mischievous look, poking his hard chest with your finger teasingly.
The laugh that came out of his chest was sudden—loud, deep, and so sincere that it warmed your chest, your lips spreading in a proud smile. He grabbed your hand off of his chest and brought it to his lips, kissing your fingertips. The mirth in his eyes clearly visible, the affection bare and tangible.
“You are so generous, sweetie. Letting your pray off the hook so easily.” He couldn’t stop smiling even when he was raising to his feet, his hand going to massage his left shoulder. He looked at you and offered you his hand, which you immediately accepted. He helped you stand, his eyes tracing your every move, still unable to look away.
Your body entranced him, your presence lit a fire in his veins. The point where your hands touched warm and almost overwhelming. His desire for more once again proven unquenchable.
“Boys, let him know I’ll be there. It seems that I need to remind him who actually is in the position to make demands.” His voice was now authoritative, followed by the boys’ exclamations of “Will do, boss,” along with two salutes send his way.
And they were gone just as quickly as they had appeared.
“Don’t be too harsh on the chairman. I don’t want to get in the way of your business.” He saw you turn to him with a worried expression on your face, and he leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering on the spot for much longer than necessary.
“Hmm, I’m afraid that’s impossible.” He took your hand in his and placed a kiss on your knuckles, looking deep into your eyes. The sadness of you parting ways already blooming inside him. “They cut our time together short, so I’m planning on making them pay for that offense generously.” He smirked and watched you shake your head with disbelief, a small smile gracing your lips.
“I already miss you.” He heard you saying and you surprised him by throwing your arms around his neck, then kissing him almost senseless.
He closed his eyes and returned the kiss, which was starting to border on filthy. His hands grabbed your frame, pressing you closer to him, as his body bent toward you.
When you parted, your breaths were hot and heavy, a string of saliva still keeping your mouths connected. He stared at the filthy sight, his heart pounding in his chest, his boxers starting to become a rather tight fit. You placed a hand on his chest and pushed him away gently, your fingers trailing downward until they grazed his abdomen. He gulped audibly and remained still, watching you walk further and further away. He didn’t trust himself to move even an inch, afraid he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself anymore.
“Bye, Sylus. I’ll let you know when I get home safely.” You told him, walking away backwards now, your eyes not leaving his. “And we’ll continue what we started next time, okay, Boss?” The last part a whisper from your sweet lips, almost making him drop to his knees right then and there. You waved at him, shyness visible on your cheeks, and then you left him in the middle of the ring, stunned and filled with excruciating desire to finally have you.
Next time.
He groaned, his hands covering his blushing face, his mind already imagining the things he’ll do to you, only if you let him. God, he hoped that you’ll let him.
He did arrive late to the meeting that day, having to compose himself for much longer than you would have expected. He also made sure the chairman regretted keeping him away from you—your softness, your scent, an addictive drug he never wanted to be deprived of. The audacity to take that from him deserved nothing less than the highest of punishments.
He couldn’t help it; he already missed you.
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Sylus could write poems about his beloved, listing all her remarkable qualities and quirks; however, not once would he describe her as elegant and composed.
You usually were a tornado of various emotions, a temple of the things you cherished, your expressions lively and loud, honest and unrestrained.
You were also a bit clumsy—an occasional stumble, a bump to your limb now and then, or a broken glass wasn’t anything that Sylus hadn’t see you do before. He often worried about you and your safety, with new bruises appearing on your body from bumping into things or a piece of glass piercing through your delicate skin. Sometimes, he wished he could protect you from yourself too, but all he could do was press a kiss to every small injury you sustained from your hectic movements.
All bumps aside, he utterly adored that quality of yours. Every time he caught you acting awkwardly his chest seemed to shrink on itself, his heart squeezing, cute aggression overcoming his senses. You were just so adorable in those moments, the sight always reminding him of a little fawn, beautiful but uneasy on its feet. His craving to grab you and hold you in his arms, protecting you from the whole world, was strong; the urge to press a kiss to your forehead, then to kiss you senseless, even stronger. You were his little chaos: wonderful in your unexpectedness, extraordinary in every sense of the word.
Needless to say, he was used to your adorable clumsiness. He loved it.
That was probably why his brain stopped working when you proved to be everything but clumsy while playing the games at the local funfair. Your moves sure and precise, your gaze locked onto the targets, your body positioned exactly how it should be in order to gain the reward you wanted—whether it was a new plushie, a funky gadget or even some snacks.
And he had to say that this new, confident, borderline cocky behavior you were displaying was making him feel some things.
“Wait, let me try this time.” You said the first time he couldn’t score the prize, the claw mocking him relentlessly, wounding his pride.
You got that plushie in one, excellent attempt.
“Let me get that for you, Sy.” You proposed later, seeing him eyeing a figurine of a crow that reminded him of Mephisto. You were able to get not only that, but also a coupon for a food stall that served the best waffles you’ve ever eaten. As for Sylus, the sweetness of the treat paled in comparison to your blinding smile, with whipped cream still staining the corner of your mouth. He swiped it away with his thumb, then licked the digit, sending you a wink in the process.
He took pride in your blush, especially when making each other red that day started to feel like a competition between you two, whether you were aware of it or not.
“You want this one? Say no more, handsome.” Your words almost making him choke, your hands already grabbing the controls, your body bending over the machine, offering him a wonderful view of your ass. The tips of his ears immediately started to feel as if caught on fire. Even though he knew that you were teasing him, the pet name sounding foreign from your lips, he liked the feeling of you taking the initiative.
He also couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering, your body presented to him in a way that felt illegal to watch. He swiped his gaze up from the nape of your neck to your shoulders, taking note of your delicious-looking waist, perky butt, and thighs, which seemed lonely without his hands squeezing and kneading the soft flesh.
The cheerful sound of the machine made him snap back into reality, just as you were looking over your shoulder, sending him the sexiest, oh so sexy, proud smirk he ever saw in his life. He smirked right back, even though his legs felt disturbingly like jelly.
“I’m starting to think you enjoy this.” He remarked, grabbing the prize from your hands once again, the rest of your treasures already sitting comfortably in the back of his car. You send him a mischievous smile and fixed your hair, your fingers threading through the strands, the smell of your perfume reaching him once again during that night.
He wanted to devour you.
“And what’s wrong with that?” One of your hands grabbed his bicep, holding on to him as you started your lazy stroll in search of yet another entertainment. “You always get me things. And since I know now that you suck at these games, I have a perfect opportunity to return the favor.” He laughed at that, his hand moving to flick your forehead.
“I don’t suck at these games, all of them are tempered with, sweetie. I actually find it astonishing that you are so good at them.” His reply kind of soothing his wounded pride, his mind once again remembering your movements from before. The way you moved with confidence and grace, the little smirks and winks you send his way. His blood started to boil several stalls ago, and it hasn’t calmed since. “Makes one wonder about the extent of your abilities.”
The new, cocky, and self-confident side of you aroused him almost to the point of him grabbing you by the waist and taking you to his car, taking advantage of his tined widows.
“It all comes down to having a good strategy, as someone once taught me.” You said, repeating the words Sylus is always saying to you during your training, a mirth lacing your tone. How he adored you.
“Wise counseling you have here, kitten. You must have a fantastic teacher, if his lessons are proving to be useful anywhere you go.” The smile not leaving your face making him never want to look away.
“Oh, yes, he is. And an eye-candy too.” You touched his nose with the tip of your finger teasingly while he laughed. He stopped walking and turned to you fully, his arms closing around your waist, bringing you to him, close enough for your bodies to touch. The height difference always made him dizzy, with your head fully tilted upward in order to catch his gaze.
“Mm. Maybe that’s a quality he learned from you.” His tone quiet, one of his hands going to touch your cheek, his thumb pressing on your bottom lip. You appeared stunned. “I cannot think of someone sweeter than you. If he’s a candy, you’re one delectable dessert.” He whispered, his eyes going from your eyes to your lips, their reddish tone reminding him of a little cherry. He was fighting with himself not to put his hands on your ass, and squeeze the flesh that you kept pushing his way from the very beginning of your date, or not to place a kiss on your smart little mouth, which kept sending him these playful smirks all day long. He knew that if he started here, he would not be able to stop. No one would be capable of separating him from you, public place be damned.
His desire boiling inside him, threatening to melt his vessels and pour from his body, enveloping you in a tight, pleasurable embrace. He felt feverish, your body pressed to his giving him all the warmth he ever needed, molding his thoughts to fit only your frame.
You were perfect in his eyes. Your body, the perfect shape for him to hold, your face the only one he wanted to remember. And the way he felt when he was with you—so immensely happy, so carefree, so right—was a feeling he had never even dreamed about having. Your banter, little jokes and witty comments made him so at ease he never wanted to stop talking to you, afraid of depriving himself of even a second of the comfort you brought him: the knowledge that he could speak his mind freely, for you understood him beyond the limitations of language. By your side, he could be himself, the thoughts in his head quiet, giving way to expressing himself in any way he wanted. His little taste of heaven: the time you spent together.
He loved you. So intensely it used to scare him, but now he was offering himself willingly, no longer afraid of rejection. Even though you both still didn’t acknowledge it out loud, the feeling lingered in the air between you — a delectable sweetness, a comforting fragrance.
He wanted you. Body and soul. Soul and body. He liked to think he already had your soul in grasp, your actions and openness served as a perfect proof of that, yet your body was still his to claim. And the fact that there was still a part of you he didn’t manage to possess, to thoroughly acknowledge, frustrated him inconceivably.
Especially because you had that strong of an effect on him. Everything you did capable of driving him perfectly insane. Oh, how you had him wrapped around your little finger, without being aware how completely obsessed he was with you.
“Is that so?” His gaze went from your hypnotizing eyes back to your lips, drinking in every single whisper. You stood on your tiptoes, the sight making his hands squeeze your waist tighter, his breath quickening, mind trying to process closer distance. “If he keeps sweet-talking me like this, then I guess he will finally get to taste it.” You grabbed his chin and tilted it down, pressing a soft, drawn-out kiss to his lips. His eyes closed immediately, desperate to heighten his senses. He wanted this kiss to last, both in the moment and later in his memory.
And just as he was about to wrap his arms around your back, pulling you closer, hiding your body from everyone else just to steal a few more kisses, you stepped back, the quiet sound of a smooch echoing between you. He bit his lip, almost drawing blood, restraining himself from chasing after your lips.
“C’mon now. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve that I need to show you.” You gripped his hand tighter and started to walk toward one of the booths. You sent him a smile over your shoulder, making his efforts to calm his racing heart futile. “And then maybe we can grab some cotton candy? All this talk about sweets made me crave some.”
“Anything for you, sweetie.” He answered absentmindedly, your taste still lingering on his lips. How were you always able to move on from the kisses so quickly? It would be the only thing he could think about in the next minutes.
“And what do you want?”
“Hmm?” The question shocked him, his eyebrows going up, his eyes intently observing your face.
“Do you have something you’d like to do while we’re here? I keep dragging you stall to stall ever since we came here.” You said while turning to fully face him, grabbing both of his hands. “I want you to have fun too.”
“I always have fun when I’m with you.” His response honest, his thumb caressing your knuckles. “You make life so interesting. And today you already managed to surprise me, so I would say that was more than enough entertainment for me in a day.” You rolled your eyes at him, a small smile on your lips, and looked at him with patience.
“But the day’s not over yet. Isn’t there anything you’d like to do? Look around.”
He lifted his head from your frame and began taking in the booths and various food stalls that had previously escaped his attention. He hummed, and he could feel you shifting on your feet, unable to contain your excitement.
That’s when he caught something interesting out of the corner of his eye—a couple emerging from a small booth, huge smiles plastered on their faces as they held small pieces of paper. A spark of excitement ignited inside him upon realizing what it was.
“There. I want to have a memento.” He said, his finger pointing to that innocent-looking booth. Almost impossible to spot in the abundance of lights and sounds coming from other attractions.
“Okay! I think I already won you a mountain of mementos but if—Ah!” Your eyes lit up when you realized what he was pointing to, your lips spreading in a cheerful smile. “A photo booth! Sylus, that’s wonderful!”
It wasn’t long before you were both inside the booth, the space cramped, almost too small for him to fit. He sat on the small stool, taking up nearly all the space, leaving you no choice but to sit on one of his legs. Your arms wrapped around his neck for stability, yet there wasn’t a hint of discomfort on your face.
He loved how natural it was for you to be this close to him, the proximity no longer making you nervous. He still remembered how you were at the beginning of your acquaintance, when even an eye contact was enough to make you shy away. Now, touching him was as easy as breathing, your body relaxed and pliant under his wandering hands.
While you were clicking playfully on the screen, setting up the machine, he took his time observing you—mainly how your body looked next to his, which made him short-circuit, reminding him why he was still waiting for you to make the first move in initiating sexual intimacy. The reason he didn’t want to rush things, nervousness buried deep inside his chest.
You were sitting on his leg, your whole body weighting next to nothing, his one limb nearly twice as big as both of yours. Your soft flesh pressed to him didn’t even take up half of the place available on his leg, and when he put one of his hands on your back, the huge patch of your skin he was able to cover made him gulp audibly.
You were so tiny, next to him.
He was a huge man, and he knew that. Not just his height, but his overall build made even other men look small in comparison. While he usually considered it one of his greatest assets, a fantastic tool for intimidation, in this particular case, it planted a seed of worry in him.
It took some time for you not to shy away from his touch, not to flinch every time he leaned to you, his body covering whole line of your vision. And it took him even more time to learn how he should touch you and hold you, not to put too much force behind his caresses, not to make you bruise. And although the gentleness run in his bloodstream by now, he was still worried about the actual sex.
What if he scares you? His body completely covered your delicious curves without issue.
What if he overwhelms you? His stamina and eagerness matched his overall size.
What if he hurts you? The thought of your body unable to accommodate to his size made his blood run cold.
He looked at your body again, and he had to hold in a sigh. He loved your curves, the unbelievable softness of your skin, how warm you were. He felt his hunger increasing every day, every minute, every second he spent in your presence.
Yet he had to wait patiently, not wanting to scare you. He also knew that you were starting to get bolder with him day by day. He liked to think that it was just a matter of time until you will initiate something more, cover him with your soft embrace, let him melt in your warmth.
Because at the end of the day, his observations of your size difference not only filled his mind with fear, but also made his body tingle in all the right places. The arousal he felt knowing that he could manhandle you without any issue, cover your whole body entirely with his, shield you from the world and its coldness—all consuming. The only thing he could think about.
You were tiny in his embrace.
But he could make it work. He will make it work so good.
How could he hurt you when he was so certain that you were made to be his? Two halves of a perfect soul.
His hand slid down to hug your waist and he pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder. It made you giggle, you thought that it was his way of showing impatience. And it was, in a way. Just not the kind of impatience you assumed it was.
“All set! I had some fun with the stickers, do you want to choose your own?” He looked at the screen and opened his mouth to deny, but one sticker did actually catch his attention. He clicked on the small dove and placed it in the bottom of the template, next to the various hearts you already decorated it with.
“That’s you. The resemblance is almost striking.” He said making you laugh and you picked a sticker of some kind of a black bird.
“And that’s you. They unfortunately don’t have a crow one so this little fella has to work.” You placed the sticker close to the dove one, satisfied with your work.
“I get the vision. When I’m squinting my eyes, I guess.”
You had four pictures taken, all accompanied by laughter and endless teasing. One where you kissed his cheek, one hand holding his jaw, his eyes closed and features relaxed. One where he pretended to bite your neck, your face caught in laughter. One where he rolled his eyes, reacting to your lame joke of getting rabies from his bite, as you placed your pointed fingers above his head, adoring him with imaginary horns, your mouth open in fake shock. And the last one, where you grabbed his face and kissed him, his gentle smile pressed against your mouth, a picture of joy that couldn’t be restrained.
“I might have gone kind of overboard with the stickers.” You said when you got your two copies of the pictures, four perfect rectangles inside a scarlet border, adorned with hearts, flowers and stars. Two adorable birds were at the very bottom of it, just below the date. Sylus looked at the pictures, and his heart seemed to grow bigger, the wave of emotions making him unable to utter even a simple word. “But I think they’re cute regardless! It’s so nice to finally have a picture of us printed out. I’m definitely going to frame mine.” You said and took out your phone to take a picture of it.
His thumb gently caressed the piece of paper, words still stuck in his throat.
It was the very first picture of you two together, and when he looked at it, he couldn’t help but get emotional, knowing that he never expected to have someone like you in his life. Someone to cherish, to protect, to hold. Someone who reciprocated his feelings, someone who will never leave him, even if doomsday falls upon Linkon, even if the world crumbles.
“Are you okay, Sy? You’ve gone nonverbal again.” He felt your hand on his wrist, offering him a gentle squeeze. He finally looked at you, going out of the trace he was in, and saw your beautiful face laced with concern. He felt your hand going up and down his arm, caressing him in order to bring comfort.
“Did I?” He managed to choke out and hugged you to his chest, craving the closeness, not wanting you to see his slightly glistening eyes. He feared that the darkness of the night would not be enough to cover them, the lights from the fun fair only exaggerating his sudden surge of emotions. “They’re perfect. Thank you.” You hugged his torso tightly, your arms going up and down his back. You knew him well enough to realize he got emotional, but you were smart enough to let him savor his feelings in peace. If he was not comfortable showing you his tears, you had to understand it—the knowledge of how much it meant to him already warming your heart.
“Anything for you, Sylus.” You repeated the same thing he said to you earlier, and he picked you up, still hugging you to himself, his face finding coverage in the crook of your neck.
“Sly little thing.” He whispered and pressed a kiss there, drinking in the sound of your laugh and melting under the touch of your fingers, which stroked his hair affectionately.
Oh, how he couldn’t wait to finally be yours completely.
˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡
Mesmerizing.
You, dancing in his room at two p.m to the new vinyl he bought, your hair down, arms up. Your eyes were closed and there was a small, relaxed smile playing on your lips, that seemed to grow bigger with each sway of your hips. You decided to wear the nightgown he got you some time ago, white lace caressing your body with a gentle flow of the shiny fabric.
He couldn’t breathe. All air sucked out of his lungs the moment he turned around and saw you swaying to the music he picked out. A surge of want so intense came over him that he was afraid to move even an inch—his body on fire, his mind filled with the visions of you, thoughts of you, and what you could be reduced to, enriched with under the touch of his hands.
If only he wasn’t a coward.
“Will you join me?” you said over your shoulder, opening your eyes slightly, and you must’ve seen something unusual in his eyes, because your movements slowed down and a furrow appeared between your brows. He wanted to kiss it off instantly. “Sy?”
You were so precious and delicate, a perfect opposite of his harsh exterior and even more barbaric interior. He waited so long, restrained himself for so much time, waiting for you to move first—now, standing before you, the thought that you wanted him this way too pierced a hole in his heart and filled it with fear.
“Forgive me. I cannot.” he answered, his voice coming out with a slight growl, that he couldn’t contain anymore. He inhaled deeply and gritted his teeth, hoping that he was at least successful in not making his eye glow, his Evol suddenly unstable. He didn’t want to know your desires, not when they were visible so clearly on your face now—openness and anticipation, ever since you went back from your date.
He hoped that shower would be able to calm you down, even though the warm and steady stream of the water didn’t manage to help him this time around.
He was losing his composure and he was losing it fast. Weeks of this insatiable hunger, unrelenting need and dripping tension did that to him. He knew he was fighting a losing battle ever since he laid his eyes on you today, looking so cozy in your oversized sweater, filling the air around him with your intoxicating scent.
He was ready to devour you months ago, the buildup straining his muscles now, making him restless. He was a goner—one wrong move and his previous patience and willingness for you to take the lead reducing to vapor.
“Why? We always dance together to your vinyls, especially the new ones.” Your movements faltered to a stop, your magnificent face turned to him, with an expression so honest it made his heart clench painfully.
He thought of all the times you danced under the moonlight, soft notes of his favorite music floating through the air, your bodies moving to the rhythm, sometimes gracefully, some other times not so much. The feelings overwhelmed him even more drastically, his eyes closing for a moment.
It was enough time for you to close the distance, and soon he felt your cold hand pressing against his cheek, swiping the flesh with your thumb. He squeezed his eyelids shut tighter, the touch making his soul burn. You took his head in both of your hands, lowering it to face you.
“Sylus, talk to me.” you said, tone worried. He could feel you standing on your tiptoes, wanting to bring your face closer to his. His body almost shaking with the need to hold you. “You’re acting very unusual today. Is something wrong?” He exhaled the air he didn’t know he was holding and opened his eyes. Your face was so close that he could see the shadow your eyelashes cast on your cheeks. He could feel your breath, warm and inviting.
“I can’t touch you now,” he managed to utter, his hands at his sides, struck in cruel stillness. He locked his eyes with yours, filled with worry and a comforting gentleness. You were always so gentle with him; it made him go insane. “Because if I do, I won’t be able to hold back anymore.”
He saw the realization in the shift of your features as you fully grasped the meaning of his words. To his surprise, you took one of his hands in yours, and placed it on your cleavage, right over your beating heart, the rhythm beneath his palm fast but steady.
“Then don’t. Why would you even want to hold back with me?” You answered, slightly breathless, a pleasurable tingling already setting deeply in your abdomen. You looked at his face, the redness of his cheeks nearly matching the color of his eyes, the look he gave you so desperate it turned your legs to cotton.
The sudden burst of happiness in your chest almost made you tremble, you had waited so long for him to finally claim you as his, and it seemed he had finally reached his limit.
“I don’t—” He stumbled upon his words; a reaction so different from his usual self-confident demeanor it made you crave to uncover more versions of him. All versions of him, every single one he was willing to show you. “I can’t help but fear that I will hurt you. You are so soft, so breakable, it makes me nervous. Aren’t you scared of me? Of—Of what I could do, to you?” The confession slipping out of him, and he grabbed your wrist in one hand, the other coming to rest on your back. He slowly brought you to him, pressing your bodies together. He heard your breath falter, and drank that sound in. Then don’t — you had no idea what a hurricane you managed to stir inside him with just two simple words.
“Sy. My sweet, caring gentleman.” He heard your answer, and felt your fingers caressing his under eyes gently, your eyes never leaving his. One of your fingers touched the wrinkle between his brows, smoothing the furrowed surface. “You could never hurt me, even if you wanted to. You’re so fixated on the knowledge what you can do, that you’re forgetting that you’ve never even touched me hard enough to leave a bruise. No matter how much I wanted you to, sometimes.”
“You—”
“I’m not scared of you, Sylus. I could never, and I will never be scared of you. You’re the one with whom I feel the safest.” His hands started trembling, his patience thinning with every beautiful word from your lips. You were telling him things he didn’t even know how desperately he wanted to hear. “And I want you. I want to finally feel you, all your roughness and sharp edges. I want all of it.” The sound of your breathing mingled with the soft tunes of the vinyl. The air thick with want.
Any second now, he could feel it in the shiver down his spine.
“And I want it now.”
Snap.
His resolve shattered as he pulled you into him, capturing your lips in a kiss so deep and desperate it left your legs trembling. He kissed you with raw intensity, his tongue exploring your mouth, drinking in every sound you made as his hands roamed your body, claiming every inch he could reach.
You felt him everywhere. Your thighs, hips, waist, your neck, hair and breasts—he seemed to touch everything he was depriving himself of before. His hands huge, and although slightly rushed and trembling, still surprisingly gentle.
He lifted you up, your legs straining his waist and he laid you down on his bed, not breaking the kiss for even a second, your breath his breath, your lips water to quench his thirst.
His head was spinning, and when he finally opened his eyes the sight before him alone made him lose his mind.
You were sprawled under him, your hair a wild mess, your lips swollen from the abundance of his kisses. Your eyes glistened, the look in them so full of trust and love, love so visible it nearly broke him in half.
“You’re exquisite. Irresistible. Ethereal.” The praises slipped out of his tongue before he could stop them. The last bit of control fleeting with the touch of your impatient fingers, unbuttoning his shirt, taking it off of him in a matter of seconds. He couldn’t even find it in himself to tease you for your impatience, not when his brain already turned into mush after touching your bare skin. “You look as if you’re coated in frosting. My sweet girl, my most delectable little sin.” His eyes focused on your white dress; his hands not brave enough to let it slip off of you yet. He already feared the man he would become upon seeing you fully bared before him.
“Sylus—”
“It’s unholy. How much I want you.” His lips traced a path from beneath your ear down to your neck, finding their place on your collarbones. “How much I need you. The greed unexplainable, insatiable no matter how close I get to you. It’s not enough. It will never be enough.” His eyes met yours in a silent question and you nodded quickly in permission, gulping audibly, your eyes drooping. He let his hands travel up your legs, grazing your inner thighs, swiping through your hips, his palms tracing the lace of your panties, making the hair on his body raise. He then swiped through your waist and finally, finally his hands rested on your breasts, where you wanted them from the very beginning.
His breath hitched as he looked down your body, noticing how his touch had already lifted the fabric of your dress, baring your legs and stomach. His body shielded you from the chill in the air.
He squeezed your breasts gently, fondling them in his hands, a low groan escaping his lips—the same ones which couldn’t resist kissing your belly, anywhere he could reach, not even thinking about stopping his sensual kneading. It baffled him, how soft you were, how pliant under his touch. His hands, although taking so much of the space on your body didn’t seem to make you nervous at all—every single one of his touches you accepted with soft sights, low whines and a bitten lip. You trusted him, and he was drunk on that trust, wanted more, needed to see how far it could take him.
It quickly appeared that there was no limit to the things he could do to you, your whispers not only appreciative, but also encouraging. The uncontrollable thrusts of his hips against the duvet bordered on painful, the knowledge that he would have you in mere minutes making him unbearably hard. But he accepted the friction, your comfort mattered to him the most, and he wanted to take care of you properly.
“Sylus. Sylus, more, please.” He heard your silent plea, and caught your eyes in his, and that’s when he decided it was a time for you to drop the dress. He helped you out of it then licked the goosebumps forming between your breasts, each tiny dot on your skin making him awfully aware that this was it. Your beautiful form, completely bare, just for him to see, to worship.
“My little gem.” He breathed out, his eyes drinking in your body, committing to his memory every dip and curve. “My treasure.” He nearly growled, his mouth attached to your breast, licking and sucking on your nipple, moaning in the process. He wanted to devour you whole, to not leave a patch of skin untouched by his mouth. He thrived in the way you took hold of his head, your hands messing up his hair, caressing it when his tongue worshipped your breasts and nipples, drowning in their softness. He found his safe place.
“Oh God I—I feel like I’m floating, please don’t stop.” He heard you breathe out, your chest heaving, your legs closing in an attempt to relieve the tension building inside you. “You’re so good. So, so, so good, Sy.” He released one of your nipples with a pop, and stored the visual of your skin glistening with his saliva for later. He basked in your praise and pushed himself down, knowing exactly what he wanted to do next.
“Yes? You want it, kitten? Say you do. Please. I need you to say it.” His voice groggy, laced with yearning so tangible it made your body shiver.
“Yes. Yes, I do. Please, Sy. I waited so long for you.” Your words made his head spin, a smile spreading on his lips not flirtatious at all, just pure joy and contentment. He kissed your stomach and his hands once again swiped through your whole body. He raised on his forearms and caged your head between his arms, and then pressed a long, deep kiss on your mouth which quickly turned into another wave of heavy kisses. He wasn’t hungry anymore.
He was ravenous.
“I need to prepare you first, sweetie.” He said to your mouth, his words immediately swallowed by your perfect lips. You whimpered and his grip on your arm tightened involuntarily, his hand playing with your hair. “I need to take my time with you, otherwise I won’t be able to fit. You’re so tiny it scares me.” You nodded into the kiss and he smiled at you gently, and after pressing a kiss to your forehead, he went down.
And when he finally widened your legs, his mouth was on you instantly, making you moan, your legs clasping on his head reflexively. He grunted into your core, licking and sucking skillfully, guided entirely by pure need and his own instincts.
“You taste so sweet.” It wasn’t long before your legs were trembling and his fingers joined his mouth in an attempt to open you up a little more, to prepare you for what’s to come. “You’re dripping because of me.” He chuckled softly but deeply, chest filled with pride, and he licked your core once again, sucking at the sensitive bud. What he didn’t expect was when he managed to fit one finger inside you, angling it upwards, your back suddenly raised from the bed, hands reaching to his chest, delicately pushing him away. A drowned-out cry escaped your lips, the wetness between your tights increased, your plushy walls fluttered around his finger.
He made you come, and he instantly got addicted to it.
“Yes. Yes. Just like that, beautiful—Fuck.” With a swear word on his lips he wasted no time in slurping up your spent, his fingers from one, going up to two, then three. And when the only thing he could hear were your moans and whimpers, the taste of you imprinted on his tongue, the slide of his fingers smooth and slick—he realized that you were ready for him.
He slowly withdrew from your pussy, pressing one last lingering kiss to your clit. As his fingers slipped out of you, he finally let himself to catch more than a glimpse of your face.
And it shattered him, how utterly ruined you looked. All flushed and heaving, skin glistening with sweat, eyes shining, filled with unshed tears.
He did that to you, and he couldn’t be more proud of himself. He licked his fingers clean, savoring your taste, then he pulled you into an embrace, his arms wrapping around your whole body. Your head dropped on his bicep; your breath labored.
“You okay, kitten?” He asked gently, ignoring his painful erection, still stranded in the stiff fabric of his pants. His head pressed to your neck, and he inhaled the scent, licking off the droplets of sweat in the process. He couldn’t get enough.
“Yes. More than okay.” You answered, and he felt your hand wandering, trying to unbuckle his belt. His chest squeezed. “Need you now. Please, Sylus…”
“You don’t have to beg. I’ll gladly give you my everything. All of me.” His hands left your body for a moment, swiftly taking off his pants, his mouth now kissing your cheeks and nose.
“I want to taste you, too.” You whispered to him shyly, and he grunted, closing his eyes, begging every deity to give him more patience. How he would love for your little mouth to envelop him, but he knew that the sight alone would be enough to make him undone.
“Next time, okay, sweetie? I cannot wait to be inside you.” You giggled and nodded, pressing a kiss to his nose, stroking his hair gently.
He shivered and hissed when he took off his underwear, letting himself out in the open. He was so hard it hurt, his hand going up and down his erection in an attempt to reduce the tension, even though he knew that the only one who could truly satisfy him was you.
“Oh my god.” He heard your gasp, and noticed that you were looking at him, his body fully exposed, his cock heavy in his hand. “Sylus— Sy, it won’t fit. There’s no way that—” He silenced you with a kiss, and swiped his hand through your core, gathering the slick and spreading it on his member. The smooth glide felt so good he lost himself in the feeling for a second, his tongue licking into your mouth, swallowing your gasps.
“Shhh, I made sure to prepare you as well as I could. And I won’t hurt you, you said so yourself.” He said the last sentence into your lips, once again pressing a long kiss there. Then he kissed your cheek, and breathed hard against your neck, his one hand wrapped around your waist, holding you closer to him, and the other stroked his cock, guiding it to your entrance. When the tip touched you, he gritted his teeth and you gasped, the first contact electric. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers playing nervously with the hair at his nape.
He breathed heavily; the tip of his cock aligned perfectly with your entrance. “You can take it; you were made for me. I will make it fit.” He let go of your waist and grabbed one of your hands in his, kissing your knuckles and smiling gently at you, the anticipation making his body shake. “Just relax for me, will you? Can you do that, kitten?” You nodded and exhaled slowly, some tension getting out of your body. He pressed one last kiss to your forehead and intertwined your fingers with his.
“Close your eyes. I want you to feel me.”
“No. I need to see you, Sy. Don’t make me look away.” He chuckled and pressed his forehead against yours in a silent acceptance. He never wanted to take his eyes away from you too, your desires matching perfectly.
You were his soulmate, after all.
He pressed his erection to your opening and started to slip in, gently, unhurriedly, despite the desire to take you in one thrust of his hips. You opened your mouth in a painful moan, squeezing his hand, panic visible in your eyes. He hated that he was bringing you pain, but knew that it was inevitable, he saw how wide he was stretching you out. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Easy. You’re doing so good…” He breathed out, his hand leaving his cock to hold your hip, the other going up and down your body in a comforting caress. “Taking me so well...” His voice hoarse, sweat dripping from his forehead from the strain of keeping himself under control. He managed to put the tip in, your pussy squeezing him, your heat making him shiver, the sensation the most pleasurable he ever felt. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to calm himself down.
“It hurts, it really—it really hurts.” You whispered and he grunted, feeling you squeeze him harder, his length sliding into you deeper. He opened his eyes and lowered his body to get closer to your face, and placed a kiss between your eyebrows.
“I know, love. If you want to me stop—” He couldn’t recognize his voice anymore.
“No. Never. Please.” You kissed his brow, and send him a small smile. “I—I can take it. I was made for you, yeah?”
He huffed out a laugh, a whimper finding a way out at the same time.
“You were. Mmhm. Good.” He slipped in further, his mouth opening wider. “Good girl. Just a little more.” And before he managed to stop the shivering of his body, he burrowed himself in your tight heat almost to the brim. You were not able to take all of him in yet, but it was nearly a perfect fit, the sight of you wrapped around him made him see red, a low moan slipping out of him, your whimpers the most magnificent tune he ever heard.
“I’m going to move now.” He said and you moaned, your head nodding frantically.
He started thrusting inside you, and he felt as if fireworks exploded inside him, the desire burning brightly, need finally calming down, his mind completely at ease. Your moans, whimpers, cute little “ah,ah,ah’s” making his whole body shiver, a smile finding its way onto his swollen lips. You felt so good below him, your warmth enveloping him fully, and he started to question if he truly was worthy of such a blessing.
He didn’t care anymore. He had you, you wanted him and that was all that mattered now.
“You’re so. fucking. tight. God.” He started moving faster to the accompaniment of your small encouragements, his hand holding onto yours. And when your legs wrapped around his hips, bringing him closer to you, he was gone.
He grabbed your waist and lifted up your butt, the pace and force of his thrusts intensifying, his grunts leaving his mouth freely, silent praises slipping from his lips every now and then. He couldn’t stop now. Didn’t want to stop.
“I want—I want to stay inside you forever. I feel—Ah—Mm—like I’m melting.” He moaned and you felt his mouth on your body, kissing every patch of skin he was able to reach. You kept breathing out soft, quiet moans, tears filling your vision. “So cute.”
You felt so good, the stretch now pleasurable, your body accepting him fully, every thrust welcome, each one anticipated.
And he could see that so clearly on your face, his mind calming, knowing that he was able to bring you pleasure. It made him feel better too, your lovely expressions making his blood pump faster, his hips thrust deeper, just to see and hear more tokens of your delight. He was addicted to you and your reactions, to the way you sang his name, the way your skin tasted and eyes glistened every time he managed to catch eye contact.
Time quickly went by when you were losing yourselves in each other. The positions changed constantly, Sylus looking for and finding new ways to tip you over the edge, making sure you were completely satisfied. You encouraged him to leave some marks on you, and you made sure to repay the sentiment, scratching his back with your nails, and pressing hickies on his chest—he already wished for the marks to stay there forever, and you assured him that you’ll stay instead, making him jump on you once again, burying his head in your shoulder.
“Say my name, kitten. Keep—Keep saying my name.” He grunted, his hips unrelenting, your bodies soaked, your own so tired that he had to hold it in his arm for you to not slip off the bed. He kept thrusting inside you from behind, his lips pressing gentle kisses on your neck and shoulder, his movements deep and sensual, pleasure overwhelming. You granted his wish, your voice hoarse and quiet.
You were going at it for hours now, yet he still hasn’t come.
Not because he couldn’t, but because every time he was close, he was slipping out of you, his eyes squeezing shut, a hand gripping himself at the base.
He didn’t want the night to end, refused to let you go, savored the feeling of being buried deep inside you, not knowing where you ended and he began.
“Sy—Mmm—Sylus—Ah.” The words failed you, your mind filled only with pleasure and thoughts of him. You were so tired and yet he made you feel so good you wanted to stay in his arms forever. “The—Ah—The sun is rising.”
He nuzzled into your cheek, his thrusts slowing down, quiet grunts leaving his lips. He sounded wrecked.
“I know, love. You look so wonderful in this light.” He kissed your cheek and glued himself off of you, leaving your body cold and shivering. In the next second, he manhandled you onto your back again, facing him. Your hands immediately flew to cover your face, fearing how completely ruined you must have looked after so much time making love and so many orgasms ripped out of you.
“No—Mmh—Don’t hide yourself from me.” He grunted, and took your hands in his gently, revealing the beautiful mess he managed to make of you. Your face covered in tears, cheeks flushed and lips so swollen it only made him want to kiss them some more. So he did. “Never hide yourself from me, dove. Hold me.” He kissed the palms of your hands and put them on his neck, your arms going to hold him closer. He huffed out a weak laugh, his thrusts not stopping even for a second. You felt his huge hands caressing your thighs and you moaned softly. “God, I’m sorry, kitten, I just can’t stop—I—”
“It’s okay, S—Sylus. Ah—I won’t run away.” You pulled his head closer and kissed his lips softly. His hands encircled your waist, drawing your body closer to him, the hair on his forehead brushing against your chest. Your eyes met his and he seemed to calm slightly, your gaze soothing the flame inside him.
“I love you. I—” You suddenly confessed, a single tear slipping down your cheek. His breath faltered, ruby eyes widening, your words shaking his world completely. “I love you, Sylus. So much. I love you so intensely it scares me, I—Ah—” A moan was ripped from you when he suddenly picked up the pace, the sweat from his forehead landing between your breasts. Another happy tear slipped from your eye, and if you had enough energy to keep your eyes open, you’d see that he was teary-eyed too. His hands grabbed your head, turning it up so he could look straight into your eyes—his own burning with desire and unspoken devotion. He needed to hear you say the words once more, but before he could start pleading for it, you managed to read his mind.
“I love you, Sylus.”
And those words were what finally made him shatter.
He came, so violently he nearly blacked out, his whole body trembling, and movements faltering, his cock buried inside you the deepest he could go. He released grunt after grunt, his arms holding you tight to him, your soft sighs only seemed to prolong his fall. He nuzzled his face up against your neck, then cheek, his lips touching your skin, unable to press more kisses due to the uncontrollable moans coming out of his mouth.
“F-Fuck—” He managed to choke out and you tried to calm your heavy breathing, focused on his cum filling you up, so much that you could already feel it spilling out. You whined and brought your hands to his waist, holding him close, and you came one last time too, your pussy squeezing him even tighter, ripping a short cry out of him. Goosebumps spread around your body from the pleasure and you went pliant in his arms, letting your sore muscles finally rest against the soft sheets.
Sylus relaxed a few moments later, his sweaty body collapsing on top of you, mindful not to put his full weight on you. His hot, heavy breath still warmed your neck, your hearts beating rapidly against each other, showing no signs of calming anytime soon. He managed to turn onto his side, his arms still wrapped around you, taking your body with him.
You were held in a wet, yet warm embrace, his arms protecting you from the cold morning air, your bodies still connected. The silence that ascended upon you comfortable and desired after so much time of intense workout—both throats roughed up and in need of hydration.
“Sylus, I—” You started saying, your voice a rough whisper, your head raising to meet his gaze, surprised that his crimson eyes were already studying you. He put one of his hands on the back of your head, his fingers playing with your hair ever so gently.
His gaze so intense you started to turn your head away, but he gently brought it back to him. He didn’t have to open his mouth for you to understand what he was feeling—the emotion in his eyes unmistakable.
“I love you, too.” He breathed out, his hand going up to your cheek, stroking it with the back of his fingers. His hand was cold and served as a delightful compress for your burning face. “I love you more than any words could ever express.”
He reminded you of a statue under this warm, morning light, his body perfectly sculpted. The only source of color were his cheeks, blaring red, nearly matching the color of his sparkling eyes. His wet hair still bearing the paths carved by your fingers, his lips kissed and twitching, fighting off a smile, which threatened to form when he realized how intensely you were observing him.
“My home is your home, my heart is your heart. Every breath I’ve been taking ever since I met you had already been yours — the day you tell me to cease, I will gladly do so.” He continued, his breath slowly calming down, one of your hands going to stroke his chest.
“I will never tell you to cease, you little dramatic fool.” You answered playfully, blinking away your tears, your hand going to rest on his warm cheek, his face immediately nuzzling into your palm. “If anything, I would curse you to live forever. Soundly and happily, by my side.” A soft laugh came out of his lips; a start of a smile that overtook his entire face, lightening up his features, showing off his small sharp canines.
“By your side...” He repeated, his voice possessing a dream-like quality, a smirk still visible. He swiped his hand over your body: from your shoulder, through your waist, down to your hip, and then back up. His touch soothing as always. “A curse has never sounded so sweet, my little dove.” He closed his eyes, and a sigh escaped his lips. The happiness spread through his body so intensely, that he thought he was going to burst.
Live forever, by your side. There was no other place in the entire universe where he would rather be.
He felt you squirming, a crease appearing between your brows, your hand squeezing his bicep. He hissed, feeling you squeeze him down there too, his cock still buried deep inside you, your plush walls a place he never wanted to leave. However, he knew that after so much time and so many orgasms you needed a break, your body sensitive and in need of extensive pampering. Good thing he adored spoiling you with affection.
“I’m going to pull out now, okay sweetheart?” You nodded your head, a small smile on your lips. You were just too adorable. “And then I’ll put you in a warm bath, order your favorite meal and change the sheets. Any objections?”
“None at all.” He switched your position so that he was once again on top of you, and he gently pulled out, a grunt leaving his lips at the loss of the comfortable fit. You whimpered when his cum started flowing out of you freely, and he couldn’t look away, the sight making the desire in him burn once more. He stopped himself before he started showing the cum back inside you. “Will you join me in the bath too?” He looked at your face, covered in the warm sunlight, the sight making him breathless.
“I would love to, if that’s what you want.” He hugged you to himself one more time, his body covering yours completely, his face finding refuge in the crook of your neck. He grazed the delicate skin with his teeth, then pressed his lips to your pulse, his tongue picking out to lick at your salty skin. “I love you.” He whispered into your neck, basking in the feeling of your heartbeat beneath his lips. “I love you, Y/N. Thank you for showing me what love feels like. Thank you for accepting me.” His breath started going out labored, the intensity of the emotion too big for his body.
“Thank you, for letting me love you. You are the best thing that happened to me, Sylus. I hope you know that.” Your kiss to his temple and your hands caressing his back felt like a blessing, your bodies connected in a soul-crushing hug his own private oasis. Never in his life had he experienced such a moment of total tranquility; only you were capable of bringing him peace.
He never wanted to let you go, and he didn’t have to. No other thought filled him with so much joy. You were his, just as much as he was yours. An ideal exchange of souls.
“I do.” He breathed out, and looked into your loving eyes once again. You smiled at him, and he felt his breath being punched out of him, his ruby eyes fluttering. He shook his head and reciprocated the smile, which quickly turned into a full laugh, your bodies shaking, hearts beating in unison. “I truly do.”
Your lips found his in a kiss that tasted like a promise—of a hand to hold, body to warm up to, and a heart that beat for one another. In every life, every universe, and in every space and time—now, and forevermore.
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“So, which one finally did it?” You asked him nonchalantly, when you were both freshly washed up, lying on the new, pleasurably chilly sheets, basking in the afternoon sunlight. Too exhausted to raise, too happy to fall asleep after the whole night of making love.
His head on your chest stirred slightly, a confusion slowly overtaking his features.
“Hmm?” He opened his eyes, but he didn’t find it in himself to raise. His arms holding your body close to his, tightening their hold, a signal he hoped would make you continue the caress of his back with your fingers.
Your skin bared a fragrance of his soap and his skin, and he felt drunk ever since he noticed it.
“The workout outfit a size too small? Or those jeans at the funfair?” You continued, and his mind started to connect the dots. His eyes widened. “I knew that I would be sticking my ass out a lot that day so I made sure they were extra tight.” He heard you giggle and raised his head immediately, his gaze falling on yours.
“You—”
“What? You were making me wait forever! And don’t get me wrong…” You cupped his cheek, and he was rendered speechless. The whole time he was fighting for his sanity, trying to wait for you, restraining himself from taking you on the nearest piece of furniture — You were riling him up on purpose? “I love that you are a gentleman, and the princess treatment is really nice too, but I just couldn’t wait to have you ravish me, you know? Your girl has needs.”
He was going completely insane. He let out a hearty laugh, and shook his head in disbelief. It seemed that he underestimated you again, forgot that your desires and needs matched his almost perfectly.
And he should’ve known that the workout clothes were a bit too revealing for your liking. Fuck, he should’ve known.
“And it seems my girl is a sly little vixen.” His voice laced with humor, a smile still visible, head impossibly light. He hummed, and kissed a smile off of your plump lips, then your neck, shoulders and chest. You started trembling, and the smile he sent you this time made him look as if he was a wolf studying his pray. You gulped audibly. “Well then, if you decided to manipulate me, then I think you are ready to suffer the consequences.” His kisses reached your breasts, and he took one perky nipple into his mouth, sucking passionately. His other hand grabbed at the other boob, kneading the flesh languidly.
“But it’s already bright outside, shouldn’t we—” A press of his finger on your lips hushed you, and his eyes met yours, his lips still circled around your delicate nipple. With a snap of his fingers the curtains covered the windows, cutting of the only source of light. Darkness enveloped you, making the press of his body on yours even more intimate. Your body was still on fire after the hours of tangling in sheets, every part of you sensitive and tingling under his skilled hands.
“Ah, ah. You’re trembling. Why is that, I wonder?” You heard his voice closer to your ear, and when your eyes got used to the darkness, you saw his eyes filled with mirth and something primal. His hands went slowly up your tights, their destination obvious. “I had no idea that my kitten was that starved. Now I can’t possibly leave her unsatisfied, can I?”
You felt his hands touch your warmest spot, and you let fireworks overtake you once more, your spine twisting to get closer to him. He tasted the skin on your chest again, and went down with his kisses, leaving a happy, wet trial in its wake. He raised suddenly, kissing you on the lips.
“And what about the zipper?” He asked absentmindedly into your lips, remembering the situation that nearly made him lose his mind couple of weeks ago.
“What zipper?” Your confusion truthful, your squeal loud when he suddenly plopped motionless on top of you, a sigh of exasperation leaving his mouth.
It seems that loving you was the beginning of his end, after all.
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I know I said one of Sylus’ prompts for Kinktober is mutual masturbation but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since I posted the list. I’m also ovulating.
Just imagining him, all huffy n frustrated, sitting on his bed. The one that is way too big for one person. Legs spread but also bent, his lips twitching in a snarl as his hand is wrapped around his stupidly hard cock.
He’s looking at it like it’s disgusting, like he’s physically repulsed that he’s this horny. More than anything, he’s annoyed. Annoyed you’re not here, annoyed he can’t get his mind out of the gutter, annoyed that he doesn’t have your sweet cunt hovering above his face.
He’s been tugging, squeezing, yanking at his cock for twenty minutes now. Nothing but sticky, clear precum oozing from the nearly purple tip. He can’t cum, can’t focus long enough to imagine you, just hushed grunts as he pulls and pulls and… nothing.
So? He calls you. Throws up the white flag and grabs his phone, he doesn’t care where you are or what you’re doing, he just needs that pretty voice filling his phone speaker.
You pick up on the third ring, a slight edge to your tone because he never calls at this time of day. He doesn’t entertain your twenty questions, just begs you to talk to him about anything and everything.
You catch on, of course you do, you’re so in tune with all his little mannerisms now.
But you don’t say anything, don’t dare interrupt either. You just talk, low and quiet, a steady stream of words that somehow guide his fist into a steady, less frustrated glide.
Twenty plus minutes of frustration are fizzled out in three minutes flat. The aggravated squeezing and tugging turned into the steadiest pumping. He’s twitching and spilling over his knuckles, whimpering as the relief floods his entire being. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…”
Something about Apothecary Diaries and the complexity of what it means to have a mother. Something about Maomao and her only memories of her mother being silence or a pain that has nothing to do with her but is reflected onto her anyway, and yet still engineering things so that Lakan, years later, would come to find and marry her. Something about all of the courtesans in the Verdigris House being like mother figures to Maomao, yet never paying attention to her when she cried. Something about Loulan doing everything in her power to not be a mother - taking drugs to avoid it, knowing that to have a child would be a selfish, cruel thing, even down to 'killing' the children who adore her. Something about Jinshi, and both of his mothers - the one who birthed him and the one who raised him. Anshi, and raising him to be mature and older than he should have had to be to be the opposite of his grandfather, the man who victimized her, and Ah-Duo, unable to be in his life because she chose to give him up. Something about mothers not being unconditional and uncomplicated; something about motherhood being absent, ugly, confined by circumstance or by past pain. Something about not wanting to be your mother; something about being too much like your mother. Something about how your mother haunts you regardless.
Eijiro Kirishima is a messy, fucking pussy eater who gets off just by having his face buried inside your sopping cunt. Sure, he loves being inside you, feeling your walls clench around him, but there’s nothing he loves more than eating you out.
He starts slow, teasing, leaving soft kisses against your inner thighs, his breath hot against your skin. Occasionally, he nips at you with his sharp teeth, just to feel you jolt beneath him. But he’s an impatient man—so without warning, he buries his face between your legs, his tongue lapping at your clit, flicking, teasing, pushing you right to the edge. It’s so good, so much, to the point it’s painful how fucking needy you are for him. And he just eats it up—literally—pulling away only to let you see the way your slick coats his face, glistening in the dim light.
Then he’s crawling up, crashing his lips against yours in a sloppy, bruising kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. It leaves you dizzy, breathless, but before you can even process it, he’s back between your thighs, full force, working at your clit like a man possessed. He spits on your already soaked pussy before diving back in, tongue pushing deep into your slick folds. He won’t stop until his face is covered in you, until his hair is completely ruined from the way you keep tugging on his red locks.
And fuck, he’s so vocal.
He groans, moans, whines into your desperate pussy, his lips never leaving your clit as he rasps, "Atta girl… fuck, so good."
At one point, he pulls away, just for a moment, gripping your hips in his big hands and spreading them wide. The cool air hits your dripping, swollen pussy, making you shudder. And he just stares, entranced, eyes blown wide with something between hunger and worship.
"She’s so pretty," he murmurs, voice full of awe—before he dives back in, licking and sucking at your cunt like a starving man.
He loves overstimulating you, thinks it’s his job as a man to exceed a woman’s expectations. And fuck, does he do exactly that. He moans into your mess of a pussy, tongue relentless, even when you’re thrashing and squirming under him. His grip tightens, hands firm on your hips as he hooks your legs over his shoulders, keeping you locked in place.
You can barely breathe, barely think, whimpering, "Hmph—Eji—ahh!" as you fist his hair, pulling him closer.
His voice is low, raspy, vibrating through you as he murmurs, "Doin’ such a good job, baby… think you can give me more of that?"
But you’re so fucked out, head pressed into the pillow, hips lifting desperately, squirming so much that he has to drag you back down. And when you’ve cum so many times that you feel like you can’t take it anymore, he knows you’ve still got one left in you.
He grips your hips and ass, lifting them, forcing your upper body into the mattress while he keeps your cunt propped up in the air. And then he attacks your clit, determined to push that last one out of you. Your body shakes, wracked with pleasure as the final orgasm rips through you—until you break, falling apart beneath him.
And he doesn’t stop until he’s lapping up your spoils, licking every drop like a man full of greed.
A lil lost here @caraxescravesviolence - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
