Hello besties! Here is the masterlist of all the fics I've written so far, and what I have plans for in the future.
18+ content, MDNI! I write mostly smut here.
Obviously, my mains are Sylus and Rafayel, but I do love all of the LI's in Love & Deepspace, and I plan to write for all of them! Expect mostly Sylus & Raf, though.
Also, I'm a queer poly woman, so most of my fics will probably lean queer and poly. MMF + is very likely here, just as a heads-up.
Ensemble Fics:
House Party -- All the Love and Deepspace LI’s are close to you, and if you’re having a party, you’ve got to invite all your friends, right? (No smut. Self-indulgent All-The-Men-Are-In-The-Same-Room fic)
Mistakes Were Made -- Adrenaline can make people lusty, and that's what inspired this fic. MC ends up in bed with each of the LI's (separately) because of her need to work out her adrenaline. This is smut and angst since MC isn't looking for a relationship at that point. Xavier (p1) | Zayne (p2) | Rafayel (p3)| Sylus (p4) | Caleb (p5)
Read on A03
Facing the Consequences --Mistakes Were Made, and now its time for you to start Facing the Consequences. Emotions run high as your involvement with each of the men is revealed, because casual was never something that would last. This is gonna be messy, but it will end in a healthy (poly!) place! (MF & MFM, picks up right where Mistakes Were Made ended) Zayne (p1) | Sylus (p2) | Caleb & Zayne (p3) | Xavier (p4) | Rafayel (p5) |
You're In For It Now-- Mistakes Were Made and you Faced the Consequences. You're in For it Now that all your men know about each other. Their relationships develop alongside yours, and you end up stuck in the middle, not that you're complaining. This is going to be a little messy, but it will end in a healthy (poly!) place! Rafayel & Sylus (p1) | Caleb (p2) | Xavier & Rafayel (p3) | Zayne & Sylus (p4) | Xavier & Zayne (p5) |
ALL 5 AT THE SAME DAMN TIME -- Concept
BRAT! -- How all the LaDs men react to MC/you being a feral little brat (separately) Xavier | Zayne | Rafayel | Sylus | Caleb
Headcannons:
Diabolical Love & Deepspace 3way Combinations --Exactly what it says. It’s been done before. It’ll be done again. I always love seeing people’s takes on this, so here are mine. Explicit.
LADS Men dealing with a feral, ovulating, MC -- Self-indulgent concept bc ovulating me is a nightmare beast who should probably be chained to a tree.
Love & Deepspace Men when you casually tell them you love them -- pure fluff headcannons because they're so damn sweet and I am an overly affectionate lovergirl who tells all her friends that I love them all the time.
Rafayel Fics:
That Damned Perfume -- One of the first 5* cards I got was Rafayel's Your Fragrance and that spurred this three-part smut fest. Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.
I Lost You -- Emotionally processing the trauma of his third myth trailer. Hurt/comfort, emotional smut.
A Dangerous Promise-- Feral smut inspired by the main story trailer. In the same timeline as Mistakes Were Made, but that isn't required reading.
Morning Waves-- Raf waking MC up with head. Concept.
Bratty!Rafayel x Bratty! Mc x Brat!Sylus -- the reason I made this fuckin' blog tbh. Concept.
My Heart, My Soul -- Raf, MC, & Sylus all recognizing their connection to one another. Concept.
Sylus Fics:
A Dangerous Game --This entire fic can be captured in one sentence: car sex with Sylus. Death & Rebirth Main Story Sylus had me panting. Inspired the "Mistakes Were Made" concept.
Horny drabble about sleeping with Sylus.
Grounding Force -- I feel like Sylus is the one MC goes to when she's feeling out of sorts, and this will be about that (with some good smut!) Concept.
Greedy Dragon -- Dragon smut! Concept.
BratTamer!Sylus x Brat!MC x BratTamer!Zayne -- I thirst for this in a way that is unholy, which was only made worse by Death & Rebirth. Concept.
Zayne Fics:
Aftermath -- Death & Rebirth hurt my soul and I wanna make it better. Smut and Angst. Concept.
Make Me! -- An excuse to write more BratTamer!Zayne bc I'm a brat af. Concept.
Xavier Fics:
A Dangerous Plan -- (because I know the main story is going to have me barking)
My star never left me -- Xavier, MC and a moment of remembrance bc that myth still haunts me. Concept.
Fever -- inspired by that lunar card. Concept.
Caleb Fics:
My Mirror, my Fate -- Caleb, Zayne, MC all recognizing their connection to each other. Concept.
If you want to get on my taglist, you can go here!
For my masterpost with everything about asks/requests/vibes/general info, you can go here!
writing fanfic with specific moments/trops/scenes for one specific friend and watching them lose their absolute minds when they read your work and get to that specific part
encouraging your writer friends to indulge in their most outrageous fanfic ideas themselves and cheering for them every step of the way
thirsting over hot characters with said friends
10. consuming the official content of the fandom you're in
SUMMARY: “You’re soaked to the bone, kitten.” The cool red of his gaze is steady on you as water slips over his cheeks and down his neck, little rivulets catching the lamplight before they disappear beneath his collar. “Clothes need to come off.”
You huff out a timid laugh, and then you realize he’s not joking. “It was just a bit of rain,” you say, wishing you sounded more convincing.
“Sweetie, we are, at best, several centuries removed from the medicine that can effectively treat pneumonia.” He folds his arms across his chest like he’s squaring up for an argument. “And besides, we have to share a blanket— one which I’d prefer you didn’t get sopping wet.” He lifts a brow. “Now strip.”
(or, the night in the yurt if it had stormed: a grasslands romance rewrite)
PAIRING: sylus x reader
RATING: explicit 🔞 (mdni)
WORD COUNT: 5.6k
TAGS: fem!reader (reader has hair that can retain water and be tucked behind their ear), grasslands romance rewrite, pwp, smut with feelings, forced proximity, there was only one bed (and also only one blanket), nudity, sharing body heat, huddling for warmth, first kiss, love confessions, accidental voyeurism, vaginal fingering, come eating, cunnilingus (face sitting), masturbation, improved use of evol (light bondage), use of pet names (kitten, sweetie), the barest sprinkling of angst bc i simply cannot help myself
NOTE: the cutesy softness of sylus’s grasslands romance card has me in a chokehold, but the gremlins in my brain yearn for smut. so. here we are. (also available to registered users on ao3!)
The storm comes on like a dirge.
One moment, you’re enjoying the novelty of fresh air—something you’re realizing you’ve never actually breathed in all your time living in Linkon—and the next, Tarna is frantically ushering you and Sylus onto horses and telling you that you need to move.
And unfortunately, she read the heavens correctly. They split in sorrow, unleashing a heaving gale whose purpose is rampant, wretched devastation. It is a sight to behold, until swiftly, terrifyingly it is not.
Once-clear skies churn themselves into an ominous grey, and harsh, sea-chilled winds blow the tall grass flat as far as the eye can see. And then: rain. It’s cold and biting and coming down in such thick sheets that you can barely see the ground beneath the blur of your horse’s hooves. Thank God the beast seems to know where you’re going because you certainly don’t.
Sylus rides next to you at a full gallop, head ducked to avoid the splintering sting of raindrops, and Tarna rides slightly ahead of him. Before long, the three of you are sliding to a halt in the middle of a temporary camp, and then Sylus is dragging you off your saddle and into his arms, one hand at your waist and the other beneath your knees.
“This way!” Tarna calls over the din, and Sylus hustles after her, jostling you about in his haste to escape the rain.
The next moment, you’re inside a yurt, its flap angrily slapping shut behind you as you untuck your head from beneath Sylus’s chin to take everything in. A circular, knee-height wall transitions into a slanted ceiling that’s held up by a central post, and there’s a single lantern hanging near the top that throws dim orange light over the tiny space. Shadows lick across the rug-covered floor, the deep burgundies and muted yellows of the weaves flashing brown and grey as bursts of lightning filter through the canopy.
Sylus sets you down gently, and you immediately miss his warmth. You shake out your legs to try and get some feeling back in them after the hard ride but stop as soon as you realize you’re just flinging water everywhere, including on Tarna. There’s barely enough room for the three of you to stand in here comfortably, especially with Sylus’s broad frame. But shelter is shelter, and you’re grateful for it.
“Apologies that we don’t have anything larger,” Tarna says, hunching slightly so that she can stand a bit farther away from the two of you without her head scraping the yurt, “but it should at least keep you dry and shield you from the worst of the cold.”
You push your hair back to stop water dripping down your face and then scan the interior. In addition to the lantern, there’s a single, too-narrow bedroll and exactly one blanket. Wonderful.
“Thank you,” Sylus says to Tarna, sincere in his appreciation but also effectively dismissing her.
With a half-bow, Tarna mutters a polite See you in the morning, and then she’s gone, leaving you alone with Sylus.
Sylus and the singular bedroll.
If the evening hadn’t turned quite so cruel, you might have the energy to track down a second one. But it did, and you don’t, so with a resigned sigh, you toe off your boots and step toward the pallet. It’s just one night. And besides, you’re so exhausted that you’ll probably pass out before your head even hits the pillow.
“And just what do you think you’re doing?”
You pause in your tracks and stare blankly at Sylus. “Going… to bed?”
He props a hand on his hip and gestures vaguely in your direction, eyes roving up and down your form as he appraises you with palpable distaste. “Not like that you’re not.”
A peal of thunder shakes the yurt, and you look down at yourself, unsure what fault he found. “Like what?”
“You’re soaked to the bone, kitten.” The cool red of his gaze is steady on you as water slips over his cheeks and down his neck, little rivulets catching the lamplight before they disappear beneath his collar. “Clothes need to come off.”
You huff out a timid laugh, and then you realize he’s not joking. “It was just a bit of rain,” you say, wishing you sounded more convincing.
“Sweetie, we are, at best, several centuries removed from the medicine that can effectively treat pneumonia.” He folds his arms across his chest like he’s squaring up for an argument. “And besides, we have to share a blanket— one which I’d prefer you didn’t get sopping wet.” He lifts a brow. “Now strip.”
The command sends a pulse of nervous energy through your limbs, but he’s right. You hate that he’s right. And you hate even more that the thought of being naked around him is causing your blood to heat.
He looks at you expectantly.
You’re being ridiculous. You’re both adults, and it’s just one night. You can do this. Better exposed than ill, or however the saying goes. “Turn around,” you mutter weakly.
Sylus looks like he’s about to say something more, but then he just closes his mouth and dutifully faces the entrance to the yurt, giving you his back.
You let a few seconds pass, just to be sure that he’s going to stay put, and when he does, you begin the arduous process of peeling off layer after layer of rain-drenched fabric. Your pants and long-sleeved shirt fight you something fierce, but you’re eventually victorious. Once you’re bare, you lay your clothes flat on one of the rugs and send up a silent prayer that everything will be dry by morning.
After, you quickly slide into the bedroll, desperate to both hide your nudity and escape from the slight draft seeping into the confined space. To your surprise, the blanket is thick and heavy— a sturdy but pliable weave that’s less scratchy than it looks.
“You can turn around now,” you say to Sylus, covers pulled up to your chin.
He moves slowly, head lagging a moment behind his shoulders like he’s waiting for you to take back your words. But you don’t, and then he’s facing you, a gentle smirk warming his features.
And then he goes for his belt.
You squeak and duck under the blanket before you see something you shouldn’t.
The soft trill of his laughter fills the yurt as he says, “My, my. Someone’s awfully shy tonight.”
“I’m just… giving you your privacy.”
He lets out an amused huff. “Sure you are.”
Heavy, wet snaps of fabric startles you a few times as Sylus disrobes, but you resolutely remain beneath the covers, eyes pinched shut just in case the visual barrier were to fail.
Sylus putters around for longer than you expect, but from the sounds of it—the rasping slide of leather cord becoming knots—he’s tying off the entrance to the yurt. Smart. Thanks to his efforts, maybe you won’t wake up half-frozen. Eventually, his steps carry him toward the bedroll, and you hurriedly roll onto your side so that you’re facing away from him.
He slides in without fanfare, then his voice is at your ear, a slow drawl that has your breath stuttering: “Do I need to beg for it?”
You peek over the blanket to find him far too close, and you choke out a garbled, “What?”
His mouth pulls into a devilish grin. “The blanket, kitten.” His gaze crawls over your thoroughly cocooned body before returning to your eyes. “Unless you’ve decided not to share?”
“Oh. Right.” You slowly feed some of it to him while also scooting yourself a bit farther away, to the very edge of the bedroll.
“Much obliged,” he says, rustling next to you as he adjusts the lay of the blanket across his chest.
His hair is a darker shade of grey, you notice, color weighed down by the rain. It suits him well enough, but you find yourself missing the ashen, silvered hue you’ve grown so used to.
Finally, without so much as a sideways glance in your direction, Sylus folds an arm behind his head, tosses you an austere Sleep well, kitten, and lets his eyes drift shut.
Seconds pass, and you’re unable to turn back around, captivated by how the lamplight plays against his skin, how it’s melting away the timeless severity of his features. You almost don’t recognize him without a cutting smirk plastered on his face. He’s not relaxed—not exactly—but he seems… less burdened.
The longer you stare, the more you want to reach over and trace the elegant slope of his jaw. Would he enjoy your touch, you wonder?
You ball your hand to keep from acting on the impulse and instead push out an irritated sigh.
“If you're struggling to fall asleep,” he says, jolting you out of your revelry, “I know a trick we could try.” His eyes remain shut even as the ghost of a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
You clench your jaw and turn away, curling your knees to your chest in search of warmth that doesn’t exist.
He lets out a sigh of his own. “Suit yourself.”
Rain pelts the yurt from all directions, winds carving chaotic patterns as the thunder rolls across the plains. It goes on and on, showing no signs of abating. You’ve experienced worse storms by far, but never with only a few layers of tanned hides and a bit of felt between you and the elements. Lightning flashes here and there, unpredictable and rudely startling you awake on the rare occasion that you’re comfortable enough to begin drifting off. It would be less annoying if your wet hair wasn’t sapping every last ounce of heat from your body.
You’re miserable, you decide.
You’re cold and wet and naked and miserable.
And then an arm wraps around your middle and drags you backward until you’re pressed flush against a warm, broad chest.
“W-what are you doing?” you ask, pulse skittering.
Sylus fits his arm atop yours, his elbow ending up near your stomach as his hand loosely covers your fist. His breaths are close and warm against your ear. “Your shivering is making it impossible to sleep,” he says.
You swallow. “Then I’ll put my clothes back on.”
“Nonsense, they’re still wet.” His voice has a gravelly quality to it you haven’t heard before— vague and lazy from exhaustion, like he’s hinting at words more so than saying them. “You do that and you’ll be even worse off than you were before.”
“Sylus, we’re naked,” you whisper, a note of panic in your tone.
“Oh?” he says. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Sylus—”
“Relax, kitten. It’s a cold night, and we both need to get some rest.”
A particularly harsh gust of wind forces its way through the gaps around the yurt’s entry flap, and you shiver as the cold air hits your face.
“Let me keep you warm,” he finishes.
He is quite warm. In fact, the chill that had settled into your bones is already subsiding, and maybe you’re a fool but you don’t want to give up your only source of heat. “Fine, but no funny business.”
He huffs a laugh, and for some reason that puts you at ease. “I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”
His offer seems genuine enough, so you finally untense your muscles and relax into him, glad for his warmth and the weight of his arm slung over your waist. But when Sylus pulled you to him, you must have ended up on top of a rock, or maybe a stick, and it’s digging painfully into your hip. You wiggle a bit to find a more comfortable position, and a choked sound catches in his throat, his cock stirring against the back of your thigh.
“As long as you don’t keep squirming like that,” he adds.
You immediately go still and wonder, not for the first time, if it would be possible to just cease existing. Perhaps a resonance burst could take you out? “Sorry,” you whisper.
Sylus exhales a slow, strained breath but eventually calms his body back down.
Outside, the storm rages on, a steady barrage of thunder and lightning and all the trappings of an angry god. Perhaps it’s a consequence of your arrival here— a cosmic balancing of the scales that you disturbed when you hurtled back through time. Or perhaps it’s just poor luck.
Then, there’s a different noise.
At first, you try to convince yourself that it’s creaking wood or wailing animals or anything other than pleasure-drunk moans coming from one of the nearby yurts. But as Sylus’s cock grows steadily harder, the faint pulse of his quickened heartbeat thrumming against your skin, you know your instincts are correct.
To his credit, he keeps his breathing even.
You, on the other hand, are faring much worse, and as you fight to remain unaffected, heat stubbornly pools low in your belly— a barely tolerable simmer that threatens to become more. Your thoughts stray to how easy it would be for Sylus to sheath himself in you, to push slowly, brazenly into you. Just a shift of his hips, and your bodies would be joined.
Or perhaps it wouldn’t be so simple.
Perhaps he’d first need to prepare you with his fingers— stretch you so that you could take him. He feels big, you can’t help but notice. Big and heavy and thick.
The unmistakable slap of skin against skin filters through the thin walls of the yurt, and Sylus’s cock twitches.
“How long are you going to pretend to be asleep?” you ask, unable to stand the unnatural silence any longer.
He’s quiet for a moment, and then: “Is there something unconvincing about my performance?”
You purse your lips to keep from laughing. “Oh, just one rather large something, I’d say.”
Sylus buries his forehead in the curve of your neck. “I’m trying my best here, kitten. Go easy on me.”
“It’s okay,” you say, suddenly wanting to reassure him, and then another wave of energetic moans cuts through the patter of rain. It sends a surge of heat straight to your core, and you squeeze your thighs together to take the edge off. “They’re, uh… getting to me, too.”
Sylus groans, his cock pressing against you a bit more firmly as he tightens his grip on your hand. “Stop talking,” he says, voice stiff and rough, and if he meant to discourage you, he did a terrible job.
You want to hear more of him like this, like he’s fighting for composure just as badly as you are.
So you cant your hips, and the angle is such that your slick cunt drags along the hot, hard length of him.
Sylus’s hand darts up to grab your jaw, grip almost punishing as he turns your head until vibrant, searing crimson is all you can see. “You are playing a very dangerous game, sweetie. My self-control is not limitless.”
You smile and brush the tip of your nose against his. “Mmm, I’m counting on it,” you say, and then you grind against him again, bolder than before.
You’re tired of pretending like you don’t want him, like you haven’t wanted him for weeks now. Like you haven’t spent multiple nights with your hand between your thighs thinking of what it would be like to have his body moving against yours, taut muscles gleaming with sweat, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.
What it would feel like to have him filling you, fucking you, ruining you for anyone else, his teeth at your neck marking you as his.
You want to know what shade of red his eyes are when he’s lost to pleasure.
And you want to know what sound he gives up when he comes.
On a sharp exhale, Sylus abruptly pulls back far enough to wedge the blanket between your bodies, partially uncovering himself in the process, and you instantly hate the fibrous layer of wool that replaces the smooth flesh of his hips. His eyes are pinched shut, brows drawn together like he’s in pain as he sucks in ragged breaths.
“Did I… do something wrong?” you ask, voice small.
The briefest of smiles— there and gone before you can even blink. “Not in the slightest,” he says, subtly shaking his head. Those striking red eyes of his find you again, hot as embers, sharp as glass.
You press your lips together, suddenly worried you catastrophically misread this entire situation, that he really was only interested in keeping you warm. “Then… do you not… want me… like that?”
“Oh, kitten.” His expression softens as he brings a hand to your jaw. “I want to bed you more than I want to breathe.”
Your breath hitches at the unexpected confession, and you bite your lip. Slowly, cautiously, you roll so that your back is flat on the pallet, and then you slide yourself closer. Tuck yourself beneath him. “So bed me.”
His eyes roam over you, catching on your lips, your neck, the rise and fall of your chest, and there’s something almost mournful in his gaze. “Not like this,” he says, brushing a strand of damp hair off your forehead, touch light. “Not surrounded by mud and goats.” His hand finally settles against your jaw, fingers so long they curl around to the back of your head. “You deserve better than that.”
“I don’t want better,” you say. “I want now.” Heart in your throat, you bring a palm to his chest, astonished at how his muscles tense at the mildest of contact. “I want you.”
Sylus sweeps his thumb over your cheek, staring at you with such soft wonder that it makes you ache. “Say that again.”
It might be the first honest thing he’s ever asked of you, and he looks like he’ll die if you refuse him. When did you amass such power over him? Warmth trickles down your spine. “I want you, Sylus.”
He smiles but it’s fragile, eyes flitting over your features like he’s discovering each of them anew. “I never have been able to deny you,” he says, and it sounds like a confession, like an apology.
You want to ask him what he means. You’ve only known each other for a short time, during which he’s done nothing but press your buttons— expertly, you might add. He is a vexing, tedious, insolent man... that you'd very much like to fuck, it turns out. So instead, you hold your breath as his lips brush against yours, featherlight. You’ve always struggled with patience, but for this—for him—you’ll try.
He looks at you again, gaze so molten that it could raze entire cities. “No sense in starting now.”
And then he kisses you. He kisses you so hard it hurts. Kisses you so hard you can think of nothing else, his lips plush and sure and hungry against yours. You gasp when he licks into you, stealing bits of his breath to fill your lungs with the taste of him.
“On one condition,” Sylus says, breaking away.
You surge forward, instinctively chasing after his mouth, but he’s faster than you and you’re left panting. “Are you—” You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you trying to negotiate with me right now?”
A slow grin spreads across his too-handsome face. “Maybe.” He dips his head to lick and suck his way down your throat. “Are you in the mood to bargain?”
You groan, fingers digging into his shoulders as you arch into him, sick for more. “Name your terms.” He lazily kneads your breast, and you whine. “Quickly.”
“So demanding,” he chides, nuzzling at your pulse point.
“Sylus.”
He stifles a laugh, clearly enjoying himself. “First you don’t want me to touch you, and now I’m not touching you enough.” His thumb brushes the underside of your breast before he glides his hand down, down, down— over your ribs, your hip, touch scorching you more thoroughly than any flames ever could. “I’m getting mixed signals, kitten.”
You bury your fingers in his hair and yank, pulling his head back so that you can glare at him properly. “You are such a tease,” you hiss.
“All right, all right. Needy little thing.” Sylus palms the back of your thigh and gives a possessive squeeze before he slides his hand back up to cup the curve of your ass. “I propose the following exchange: I give you this now”—he drags a finger along your slit in a way that pulls a moan from your throat—“and once we’re back in our own time, you allow me to take care of you the way you deserve.”
“Deal.” The word is out before he’s even finished his sentence. It’s excruciating, the way you burn for him— the way you’re surely about to combust if you can’t have him here and now and completely.
“Really?” He has the audacity to look bemused as he continues to torment you with almost-touches, clever fingers dipping between your bodies, knuckles brushing against your inner thighs as he coaxes your legs apart. “No clarifying questions? No counter-offer?”
You roll your hips, delirious with want. “Sylus, please don’t make me beg.”
His gaze is a devouring thing, bright with untamed, concentrated hunger. “Oh, but I so love it when you do.”
And then his fingers are at your entrance, pushing in slow and thick. He slants his mouth against yours to swallow the pathetic, warbling noise you make, and then he threads his other arm beneath your neck, cradling you closer as you bow against him, your nipples rubbing against the hard planes of his chest. His thumb circles your clit, and the combination of friction and pressure is so perfectly unbearable, and—
Your release hits you like a thunderclap, swift and sharp.
You throw your head to the side, and Sylus barely manages to cover your mouth with his hand before the scream pours out of you.
“That’s it,” he encourages, lips at your throat, fingers sweetly fucking you through it. “Show me how good I make you feel.”
You writhe against him, fractured whines muffled against his palm as you claw at his back, his neck, his hair— any part of him you can reach. But he’s undeterred by your onslaught, and he doesn’t let up until there’s stillness between your tremors, until your keening devolves into scattered whimpers.
“It appears someone was strung a little tight,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear before he pulls back to look at you. “Feel better, kitten?”
His face slips in and out of focus as aftershocks continue to wrack your body. You catch your lower lip between your teeth and hum, dizzy with satisfaction.
Sylus withdraws his fingers and brings them to his mouth, eyes slipping shut as he swipes them across his tongue. He groans, savoring his prize, and then fixes you with a heated gaze. “Would you like a taste?” he asks, hovering the pads of his fingers above your lips, waiting. Watching.
You nod, transfixed by the ravenous glint in his eyes, desiring nothing more than to please him, to see his features twist with want, to hear him make that lovely guttural sound again. So you take his fingers between your lips and suck.
He rewards you with the most beautiful response— body tensing against yours, hand clutching at your jaw. Something like a growl rumbles deep in his chest as he rocks into you, his cock sliding between your thighs, and you’re instantly, hopelessly desperate for more.
Suddenly, the world tilts, and between one breath and the next, you’re above him, knees on either side of his head as whirling bands of his Evol tingle against your limbs. He splays a hand against your lower back to nudge you closer, and then his mouth is on your cunt, the hot, wet glide of his tongue pulling a moan from you.
“Such a noisy kitten,” he says, and the vibration of his voice against your clit has you moaning again. “Much as I adore the sounds you make for me, I’m not overly fond of sharing them with the kind people in this camp. Now, can you keep yourself quiet”—his Evol caresses your mouth, pushing against your lips like a gag—“or will you need some assistance?”
He doesn’t wait for your answer, tongue painting a flat, wide stripe along your entrance before flicking pointedly against your clit. You gasp but stop yourself from mewling, and you feel his lips curve into a smile.
“Good girl.”
He’s not gentle with you after that, and you suspect, given his untempered liveliness, that he’s trying to bully a moan out of you. You tangle one hand in his hair and occupy the other with your breast, kneading the sensitive flesh as you grind your hips against his chin, and it earns you a quiet grunt.
And then you hear the drag of skin on skin. You twist enough to glance behind you and discover Sylus is stroking himself, fist closed around his obscenely large cock, and good God how is that thing ever going to fit inside you?
But oh, do you want to try.
Even if it takes all night.
You reach for him, but he’s quicker, his Evol winding around your wrist and then pinning it against your spine.
“Sylus, please—” He suckles at your clit, and you arch, holding your breath until you gain control of your reaction. “Please let me touch you.”
“Gladly,” he mumbles, tilting his head to rub his nose against you so that he’s free to talk. “Just as soon as we’re back in the N109 Zone.”
You pull at his hair, and the lower half of his face may be concealed, but crinkles bunch in the corners of his eyes and you know he’s grinning. “That’s not fair.”
“Consider it motivation,” he says, lifting a brow before he slowly works his mouth against you. “I know I certainly do.”
He’s making it difficult to concentrate but you’re determined. “We— ah— had a deal!”
Sylus turns his head to nip at your inner thigh. “Yes, and perhaps next time you’ll negotiate terms that are more to your liking.”
You can only stare at him slack-jawed, finally realizing what trick he hid beneath his cryptic phrasing earlier. He’ll satisfy you all right, but that will be the limit of tonight’s activities. “Bastard,” you seethe, mostly angry at yourself for being outmaneuvered.
“That’s an odd way of saying that I’m a selfless and attentive lover.” He licks into you greedily as if to prove his point. “Especially since what I’d really like to do is stuff my cock so far down your throat that those pretty eyes of yours get all watery.”
You make a soft sound of arousal and clench on nothing, and Sylus appears to take notice.
“Oh, so you’d like that, would you?” He drags his tongue through your folds, humming thoughtfully. “Mmm, another time, perhaps.”
Your heart drums as wild and hard as the rain, pounding out a beat that feels like a beginning. “We could do that now,” you say, breathless.
He chuckles. “An admirable effort, but I’m afraid we’ve already agreed to tonight’s terms.” Even in the dull dark of the yurt, his gaze is a brilliant red. “And I always honor my deals.”
“Bastard,” you say again, but it lacks heat.
“Impatience has a price, sweetie.” He presses a chaste kiss to your clit and squeezes your hip affectionately. “But just for you, I’ll clear my schedule after we get back so that you can punish me for my numerous and varied transgressions.” And with that, he returns to messily laving at your cunt.
You come undone in perfect silence, a riot of pleasure coursing through your limbs and filling you with such exquisite bliss that you can scarcely breathe.
Beneath you, Sylus groans, low and long, his hand gripping your waist so hard it’s a miracle he doesn’t break a rib. And then he goes lax, the once-manic press of his tongue turning languid as you ride out your release. When your hips finally still, he’s gazing up at you with a mixture of awe and arrogance.
“Don’t look so proud of yourself,” you scold.
His laugh is like music, and it’s quickly becoming your favorite song. “It’s a good thing I have you here to keep me grounded,” he says, lovingly running his hands up and down your waist.
You card your fingers through his still-damp hair. “You’re too far away.”
He hears your request well enough and uses his Evol to reposition you so that you’re lying against his side. You kiss him before your hip even touches the bedroll, groaning when you taste yourself on his tongue.
And then, an idea strikes you. Sex may be off the menu for tonight, but—
You drag a finger through the sticky mess on Sylus’s stomach and then pull back, taking your fingers into your mouth and licking them clean. Sylus watches you with rapt fascination, and you relish in the heady tang of his essence before you swallow.
“Naughty kitten,” he admonishes, though it sounds more like a compliment. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he’s clean again, the red-black wisps of his Evol lingering on his skin for a moment until they finally flake away into nothing.
With one hand, Sylus rearranges the blanket so that it’s covering both of you, and with the other, he pulls you against his chest. You slot one of your legs between his and drape an arm across his ribs, just above his heart.
Outside, the storm has calmed to a sluggish drizzle, thunder muted as it rolls in the distance, and you think the worst of it might be past you, but only time will tell.
In the quiet between breaths, a nagging feeling grows in your gut. Eventually, you recognize it for what it is: dread. “Sylus?” you ask, voice thin as you trace small circles against his chest. “What if we can’t get back?”
His response is immediate and firm. “We will.”
“But what if we can’t?”
“Then I’ll count myself lucky to be stuck here with you,” he says, tone all too pleasant.
You push yourself up onto an elbow so that you can glare at him. “Sylus, I’m being serious.”
He sighs— a noisy sound filled with displeasure at being badgered into answering earnestly. Although, it's not exactly an answer when he says, “It’s not safe for us here, sweetie.”
You worry your lip, recalling the way the Talanian people had looked almost… scared of Sylus when you crossed paths earlier today. “Are you saying that because of what happened with Tarna?” She'd made a comment about his eyes, and he’d responded with one of his easy-going laughs and explained the red had been with him since birth, but that had only seemed to make her more wary.
“Partly, but the more pressing issue is your Evol.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and settles his hand against the side of your neck. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but your ability has been a little… unreliable lately, and if you resonate at the wrong time, you’re likely to end up roasting on a spit alongside some hogs.”
You laugh at the thought, absurd as it is. “As if you’d let them lay a finger on me.”
“You’re not wrong,” he says, brows lifting in agreement, “but how exactly do you think I’d ensure your safety?”
You frown. “I…”
“How many of them do you think I’d have to kill before they gave up?” he asks, expression almost serene in how resigned it is. “One? Five? Ten? Would I need to wipe out the whole tribe?”
“Sylus, stop,” you say, breath gone from your lungs.
His hand tenses against your neck, and despite the blatant threat, his tone remains soft when he next speaks. “Those are the stakes, kitten. Because you’re right.” Something cruel and ancient flashes behind his eyes. “There’s not a world in which I allow them to harm you.”
The fresh air you’d been enjoying so much is suddenly too thick— oppressive in a way that tastes like poison. “I don’t want you hurting anyone because of me,” you say. It comes out weaker than you intended.
Sylus holds your horrified gaze a moment longer and then guides your head back to his shoulder. “I know,” he says and presses a kiss to your forehead. Perhaps it’s a promise. Perhaps it’s an apology. “Which is why we’re going to find that knife—or the hunk of rock it was carved from—and you’re going to get us back home.” His arm tightens around you. “Anything else is simply not an option.”
You can’t bring yourself to respond, so you just hug him a bit harder.
“And besides,” he says, lips moving against your hair as he squeezes the curve of your ass, “I seem to recall that I have a deal to collect on, and I am very much looking forward to it.”
His words have heat pooling between your thighs again, but he lulls you into a dreamless sleep with gentle touches.
The clouds are gone when morning breaks, and later that afternoon, just as Sylus predicted, you locate the protocore-infected gem. It’s a relief— or, it should be. But for a reason you can’t quite place, you’re sad for the success.
At least, until you remember what awaits you back in the present day.
And the next evening, as the sun kisses the horizon and Sylus competes for the prize that contains your ticket home, your cheers are the loudest.
Cw: Smut. Oral. P in V. Thigh riding. Size kink. Panty sniffer Caleb Jealous Xavier. It includes links to 🌽 videos on X for visual examples on what was sent. 🔞 MDNI🔞
Sylus/Xavier/Rafayel/Zayne/Caleb
Yeah*sigh*I'm ovulating again. Enjoy 😝
The blue light of your phone screen is the only thing cutting through the darkness of your bedroom. You really should have been asleep an hour ago, instead, you’re spiraling down a rabbit hole you didn't even know existed.
Size kink.
You’d never really thought about it before, not until you started dating Sylus and tonight you were just scrolling, looking for something to satisfy the empty ache Sylus left all week.
This video is something you had never seen before or even thought was possible. You watch, mesmerized by the way the woman’s stomach subtly shifts a visible bulge as he stretches her out.
Heat pools instantly between your thighs, making your breath hitch and a dizzying sensation of fullness hit your gut. He's always so careful with you, so agonizingly gentle, as if you’re something precious he might break if he breathes too hard. But looking at this... a dark part of your brain wonders what it would feel like if he didn't hold back.
"Holy shit..." you whisper to the empty room.
Your hand moves instinctively, fingers sliding down to find slick heat. The video is playing on a loop. Bulge. Stretch. Deep. Repeat. You watch it while your imagination runs wild, replacing the stranger on the screen with the man who owns your heart. You’re picturing his heavy weight pinning you down, his eyes blown wide, filling you until you can’t even scream.
You’re chasing a peak that feels miles away until, suddenly, it isn't. You hit your first orgasm with a stifled gasp, back arching off the mattress, only to find yourself immediately chasing the second one, body trembling and spent in the wake of the first.
By the time the second wave of pleasure ebbs away, you’re a puddle of limbs and heavy eyelids. You’re half conscious, drifting in that beautiful limbo between wakefulness and dreams. In a daze of post orgasmic euphoria, you squint at the screen, your thumb hovering over the comment section.
"How do I send him this without actually sending it to him 😳"
You tap 'send' with a clumsy thumb. You meant to just post it as a thought, a digital scream into the void. But as your eyes flutter shut, your hand twitches a final, involuntary spasm of exhausted muscle. Your thumb slips. It slides across the 'Share' icon, hovers over the very first contact at the top of your recent list, and taps.
Sent.
You don't hear the subtle whoosh of the outgoing message. Delivered directly to the man who at this very moment is probably staring at a security feed or sipping red wine.
Sylus.
You just fall into a deep, blissful sleep, completely unaware that you've just lit a fuse.
“Come on, sweetie, don’t give up on me now" Thrust. The impact is heavy, forcing a breathless gasp from your lungs. “You can take it, can’t you?”
He isn't being the gentle, careful man you know. Not today. His hand is hooked firmly behind your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, forcing you to watch the unmistakable, fat bulge stretching the skin of your lower abdomen, proof to just how deep he’s buried himself inside you.
“You wanted this, now you have to take it and you are going to watch.”
And there it is. The reality of it. It’s visceral. It’s exactly what you saw in that video, but it’s a thousand times more intense because it’s him. It’s real.
Your vision swima and just as the shock of it all starts to settle, he shifts. He changes the angle of his hips in a calculated move that hits your G spot dead on. An uninhibited scream tears from your throat, echoing through the room.
“I've been trying to behave,” he says, and the words come out rougher than he probably intended, an edge of frustration bleeding through his usual composure “But you make it so difficult... fuck... by sending me your filthy little thoughts.”
His hand settles against your belly, firm and heavy, and the second he presses down, your body reacts with a sharp inhale. You tense instinctively, muscles coiling around him, but you don't pull away. You can't.
“Can you feel me here?” he asks, breath coming in uneven bursts. He’s buried balls deep and for a split second, you see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. You make a face, a strange, overwhelmed expression of fullness, and he looks like he might actually pull back to give you a moment to breathe. He thinks he’s pushing too hard.
He’s wrong.
Don't you dare.
Driven by a desperation you didn't know you possessed, you move your hips in a searching rhythm, pressing his hand down harder against your stomach. You want the pressure. You want to feel the exact point where he meets your skin from the inside.
He lets out a loud groan at the sensation. Your narrow walls clamp down on him, tighter than they've ever been. Every millimeter of space between you feels like it’s disappearing, leaving nothing but friction and heat.
You don't have the words to tell him that you never want him to stop, so your body does the talking. You cling to him, legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you there, keeping you exactly where you are until your breathing turns unsteady.
Until your body softens in momentary surrender and tightens again a second later, as if you're fighting a war with yourself, trying to decide whether to let go or to hold on tighter.
In the end, you don't choose. You do both.
The world dissolves into a hot haze of pleasure. It couldn't be called an orgasm because this feels like a total system failure. You’re sobbing his name or maybe you’re just gasping for air, you can’t tell anymore as waves of pleasure crash over you, violent and unrelenting. Your pussy seizes around him in long pulses, milking him, begging for the very thing that’s pushing you past your limit.
He follows you a few seconds later, burying himself soooo deep you feel the hot rush of him filling you.
Slowly, the fog begins to lift, leaving you in a state of blissful, heavy lethargy. The hand that was just pressing so ruthlessly into your belly softens, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin.
"You really are a menace." he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.
The shame you expected to feel, the embarrassment of that accidental video is nowhere to be found. Instead, there is only a sense of immense satisfaction.
"Next time," he whispers into your hair "don't bother sending a link. Just tell me. I'll give you everything you desire. Every single time."
The problem with being in love with a man like Xavier is that your brain is constantly a minefield of "what ifs."
He’s incredible, truly, but you’ve noticed the way he pulls back sometimes. When he’s brooding or when that possessive jealousy starts to prickle at him, he becomes almost too careful. Like he’s afraid he might actually break you if he lets go of that restraint.
So, naturally, you’ve been doing a little "research" to keep the inspiration alive.
Now, you’re sitting on the edge of your bathtub, scrolling through your feed, a habit that’s becoming a bit of a vice, when a video catches your eye. A girl pinned to a mattress, her head pressed down by her partner as he fucks her from behind. Hard. The sound of her moans echoes in your ears through your headphones and suddenly the bathroom feels about ten degrees too hot.
God, yes.
You quickly save the link to your "later" folder, a digital stash of things you want him to eventually try, and then scribble a quick, thirsty comment on the video "This but with my boyfriend dressed as Lumiere 🤤 " and set your phone down.
Buzz. Buzz.
A notification lights up the screen. It’s him.
[Xavier]: Found a new hot pot place. Apparently, the broth is spicy enough to kill a Wanderer. Want to go tonight? Please say yes so I can stop thinking about food and start thinking about you.
A soft laugh escapes you. He’s so predictable, yet so devastatingly charming when he wants to be. Your answer is an immediate "sure" because you’d say yes to a lukewarm bowl of water if he was the one serving it.
But he always forgets to look at the menu and ends up ordering something way too spicy or something you're not in the mood for, so you look for the restaurant's menu.
You see the link. Tap it. Copy. Paste. Add "Look at the options! The spicy broth looks insane." Send.
Funny thing is, you don't actually copy the menu's URL, you just cut it. You don't even realize you just sent him the very un culinary link to the video you were just watching to fuel your own delusions.
Little typing bubbles appear. They dance for a long time. They disappear. They reappear.
He's so indecisive.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
"Lumiere?" the name sounds like a curse "You wanted Lumiere to pin you down?"
Your face is pressed so firmly into the mattress that the fabric feels like a part of your own skin, the scent of laundry detergent mixing with the heat of the moment. Every time he thrusts into you, the world tilts, your vision blurring into white light and dark shadows. The Xavier who kisses your forehead and cuddles with you is buried somewhere deep inside the man currently fucking you breathless.
"Xavie..." you try to speak, but his name dies in your throat as he shifts his weight.
"Tell me," he demands, losing the battle with his own restraint. He hits you hard, a deep, soul shaking thrust that forces a broken moan from your lips. "Tell me you don't need a costume to feel this."
You try to answer, to tell him he's being ridiculous...
Smack!
The sting of his palm against your ass makes you gasp, your fingers clawing at the mattress for purchase.
"You sent it to me on purpose," he mutters as he leans down, his chest pressing hard against your back. "You wanted to see me like this, didn't you? You wanted to see if I could be as rough as him."
He doesn't want an answer. He doesn't wait for one. He just wants to hear you whimper his name when he hits that perfect spot.
His hand presses your face down even harder into the mattress, muffling your cries. It's everything you were craving when you were scrolling through your phone earlier, but the reality is a thousand times better.
You start to move, trying to meet him halfway, trying to grind back against him to find the friction that will push you over the edge.
"Faster..." you beg, trying to turn your head to tell him that there is no Lumiere, there is only him, but he just presses you back down, his thumb grazing your hip bone with trembling pressure.
"Shhhhhh, just a little bit more," he lets out a long groan, his forehead dropping to rest against the back of your neck for a fleeting second before he surges upward again. "You should see the way your pussy is taking my cock right now, so greedy. Just for me."
His hand shifts. It leaves the back of your head to find the column of your throat. His thumb and middle finger curl around your neck not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he is in total control.
He stills for a heartbeat, his middle finger softly tapping the pulsing vein in your neck. "Every beat belongs to me tonight"
You just nod, a jerky movement, because you are standing on the very edge of a precipice, and the fall is coming. The tension in your lower belly is wound so tight it’s almost painful.
"Say it," he breathes, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his words a warm, humid ghost of a sensation, his control fraying at the edges.
"Yours," you finally whisper, like secret you’ve been holding in your lungs for far too long, finally allowed to breathe.
The moment the word leaves your lips, he loses the last of his mercy.
He pulls back almost entirely, leaving you aching and empty for a fraction of a second only to drive back in, bottomless and bruising. It’s a cycle of withdrawal and overwhelming fullness that leaves you reeling.
"Give me what's mine" the command vibrates through your entire body.
The world dissolves into white light as your head falls forward, muscles spasming in the violent quake of your climax, but he catches your hair, tugging just enough to force your head up, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark and swirling with a hunger that could swallow the stars.
"Good girl," he whispers against your parted, trembling lips.
He thrusts one last time, deep and final, spilling molten heat as your name breaks from his lips, torn in half by bliss before he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. For now, the jealousy is gone. There is only the quiet, heavy reality of being his.
The video catches your eye instantly. The lighting is a soft purple, casting a surreal glow over the two people on screen. A girl is on top, her movements slow and agonizingly deliberate as she drags her pussy over her partners cock, the rhythm of it making your cunt clench.
Tonight you are in a "no filter" mood. You need to share this. You need to tell Tara.
With a smirk, you tap the share icon, copy the link, and switch over to your messages. You find Tara’s profile pic or so you think and start typing with the kind of unhinged energy only a best friend can appreciate.
You and Tara have long since abandoned the concept of "boundaries" when it comes to your filthy late night chats.
“Omg Tara, look at this. Raf’s cock is so pretty, I swear if he’d just let me do this to him, I’d never leave the bedroom again 🥵💦”
You hit send with a satisfied whoosh and let out a long, dramatic sigh. Silence follows. For a few minutes you go back to scrolling, blissfully unaware that you have just dropped a digital bomb into the inbox of a man who is already struggling to maintain his composure.
Your phone vibrates.
It’s not a "LOL" or a "Damn" from Tara.
It’s a notification from Rafayel.
Rafayel: Is that so?
Your heart skips a beat. You frown, squinting at the name at the top of the chat.
Wait.
Your face goes from pale to a shade of red that would put a sunset to shame. You stare at the screen, wanting to physically crawl inside the phone and disappear forever. You want to delete it. You want to throw the phone out the window. You want to move to a different planet.
But then, the little typing bubbles appear again.
Rafayel: Don't just sit there blushing, cutie. I'm coming to your place and you are going to show me exactly what you want"
🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧
You’ve lost track of time. Your thighs are starting to ache, every muscle in your legs feels tight, strained from holding yourself upright, yet you keep moving. You have to. The friction is the only thing keeping you grounded.
You’re straddling him, your knees digging into the soft linens, focused on the way your cunt drags over his cock. Slippery. Hot. Wet.
Every time you slide down, the underside of him, that thick ridge presses ruthlessly against your clit. You can feel the vein running along his length pulse in perfect synch with your clit.
Thump thump. Thump thump.
"Slow down..." he groans, gripping your hips "You're going to... fuuuuck... you're going to kill me"
The friction is creating a heat of its own, a sliding friction that makes your head spin. You watch slightly delirious, as the light from the moon filters through the window, catching the sheen of sweat on his pale skin and the way his hair is plastered to his forehead. He looks wrecked. He looks beautiful. He looks like he belongs entirely to you.
But his hands are far from weak. They are heavy weights anchored to your hips, and he uses them to sabotage you. Just when you think you’ve found a rhythm that might actually save you, he tightens his grip, forcing your hips to slow, dragging the slide of your pussy out into a long, shallow glide.
It’s cruel. A sadistic kind of torture, making the night feel endless, as if the clock has stopped just to watch you suffer.
He wants to stretch this out. He wants to milk every drop of anticipation from your veins until your entire body begins to tremble, not from pleasure, but from the weight of the climax that refuses to arrive. He wants to push you to that edge where even your silence sounds filthy, where the quiet between your breaths is thick with the unspoken things you want to do to him.
Once he’s satisfied with the slow pace, his hands begin to wander. They trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your breasts, learning your body the way a sinner learns to pray. Like hunger learning the art of restraint just long enough to make the eventual feast mean something.
You slide back just a fraction, settling the heat of your pussy directly over his balls and then you reach down.
Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, just like you saw in that video. You begin to stroke him while simultaneously rotating your hips in a circular grind over the heavy fullness of his balls.
The sound that tears from his throat is something unhuman, a vibration that feels like it's coming from the depths of the ocean.
Your name is caught between his teeth in a soft, sinful exhale. He sounds undone, completely unraveled by the sight of you taking exactly what you claimed you wanted in that accidental text.
He’s right there, on the edge of an unravelling collapse.
And because you are just like him, a creature of beautiful, chaotic impulse, you don't let him have it. Not yet.
You release his cock, hand slipping away just as the tension reaches its peak, and drag your soaked cunt back up the entire length of him in one loooong slide.
It feels like a collision of two fires.
In your desperation to feel everything you let your entire weight drop. The clench of your pussy as you cum wraps around the underside of his cock, squeezing him with a force that leaves him absolutely helpless.
He has no choice but to follow you into the fire.
Spurts of his cum paint the pale skin of his stomach, the liquid warmth spreading in thick, white streaks, pooling in his belly button.
For a few seconds, neither of you moves. There is only the sound of your breathing and the humid scent of your shared exhaustion.
“Was that pretty enough for you, cutie?” he teases, though his hand trembles slightly as he reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His thumb lingers on your cheek, like he’s constantly checking to make sure you haven't vanished into the night. "Or do we need to do it again?"
It’s late, way past the time Zayne would usually be nudging you to sleep but he’s still tucked away in his office, probably buried under a mountain of medical charts or surgical reports.
Your eyes are glued to your phone screen, watching a VIDEO of a girl grinding against a man’s thigh, bodies pressed together, his hands steady even as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. The guy in the video is wearing pajamas that look disturbingly similar to the ones Zayne is wearing right now.
Suddenly, the empty space in your bed feels a little too vast, your mind drifting to the office down the hall, aching to be that girl, to climb onto his Zayne's lap while he’s buried in medical charts and just... fuck yourself stupid.
You want to reach down and touch yourself but you’re a loud sleeper and an even louder moaner. If you start now, there’s no way he won't hear you through the walls, and you aren't quite ready for that kind of intimacy yet. So, you settle for a bit of digital venting. With a flushed face, you type out a quick comment on the video: "God, I wish I could do this while he's working..."
You go to save the link to your "Filthy Things" folder for a proper session tomorrow morning, but just as your thumb hovers over the screen, your phone starts vibrating. It’s Simone. She’s calling, probably to gossip about something trivial. In your rush to swipe the call and answer her, your finger taps the wrong folder.
And because Zayne is a man who is always, always connected to his devices for work... he’s going to see the notification the exact second it pops up.
🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺
It didn't take long. After that little "digital accident," the silence between you two wasn't awkward so much as it was heavy. Charged. He didn't even tease you about the comment. He didn't even blush. He just looked at you with those piercing eyes, a tiny, knowing quirk at the corner of his mouth, and silently commanded you to come to him.
And now, here you are. Perched on his lap, doing the same thing you saw on that video. Your lower half is completely bare, your thighs hugging his muscular one as you press yourself flush against him.
The friction is driving you completely insane.
Zayne, however, is a man of terrifying discipline.
His left hand is braced on your lower back, while his right hand moves across his keyboard. He’s actually working. He’s reviewing files, typing out notes, behaving as if you aren't currently trying to melt into his lap. Every so often, he’ll pause, not to stop you, but to lean in. His breath, cool and smelling faintly of mint, brushes against the shell of your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine.
"Ah... Zayne..." you whimper against his neck as you press yourself harder against him. The sound is loud, far too loud for his quiet office and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.
"Hush now," he doesn't even look away from the monitor, though you notice the slight tightening of his jaw. "I need to focus. These reports won't write themselves."
He’s being difficult. He’s being a tease. And you love him for it.
You try to be "good." You force yourself to still when he has to write something long on his computer. You sit there, trembling slightly, waiting for him to acknowledge the havoc you're wreaking on his concentration.
A moment passes. The only sound is the soft click clack of the keyboard. Then, you feel his hand slide from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you just a fraction of an inch closer, a subtle command for you to keep going.
"Good girl," he whispers, the words a warm caress against your ear.
His expression is completely professional, but the way his fingers linger on your skin tells a completely different story. He’s still working, yes but he’s also letting you feel exactly how much of a distraction you really are.
Every time your thighs tense up, every time you desperately bite your lower lip to stifle a moan that threatens to shatter the silence, the air thickens with indecency.
He’s struggling. You aren't blind. You can feel the insistent twitch of his cock beneath you, reacting to every open mouthed kiss you press against the pulse of his neck, the sharp line of his collarbone, and the smooth expanse of his Adam's apple. He’s trying to maintain that surgeon’s calm, but his body is betraying him with every shuddering breath you take.
You’re right on the edge. Your clit is catching perfectly against the fabric of his pajamas, the material already damp and clinging to you from the amount of arousal you're leaking.
"Look at me."
His voice cuts through the air, forcing your gaze up. He wants to see the exact moment your eyes glaze over, the moment your breath hitches and tells the truth that your lips are trying so hard to hide.
When his hand slides up to cup your jaw, it isn't the gentle, comforting touch you're used to during a quiet movie on the couch. It's different. It's possessive. It’s a disciplined kind of dominance, a reminder that while he is the composed Zayne in the daylight, there is a much darker man caged behind that professional composure and you are the only one who knows how to let him out.
"You are close, aren't you, love?" he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath.
You can barely manage a nod, your lungs feeling too small for the air you're trying to pull in. You're breathing directly into his slightly parted mouth.
"Cum for me, then," he exhales, a rare flush creeping up his cheeks, betraying just how much this is affecting him too.
He shifts his thigh, bouncing it up and down in a rhythmic motion that catches your clit perfectly.
The world tilts. You feel your eyes lose focus and you can't tell if it's the shaking of your limbs or the pounding of your heart that's making you tremble so violently.
"Zaynie... Zayne..."
His name becomes your entire vocabulary, there are no words left, only the sound of his name on your lips and the crashing sensation of finally, finally letting go.
You are flicking through a never ending stream of mindless clips and memes. It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon, just a bit of scrolling to kill the time until Caleb comes back, but then there...
A VIDEO pops up. It’s not your usual aesthetic travel vlog or a cooking hack.
You freeze, your heart doing a weird, little skip in your chest. You know you should probably swipe past it, but your eyes are glued to the screen. It’s a girl, her lace panties completely drenched. The guy in the video isn't even taking them off, he’s just sliding the tip of his cock against her through the wet lace.
A sudden warmth blooms deep in your belly, spreading down until it feels like you’re melting into the cushions. God, you’ve been craving that. The teasing, the slow, agonizing buildup. You’ve spent so much money on delicate, expensive little sets, thinking maybe Caleb would appreciate the way they look on you, but hes a fucking dog. He doesn't do "slow." He usually just rips them or tugs them off with impatience, going straight for the heat of you. You just want him to play with you like that. To linger.
Your inhibitions are a little frayed from the visual, and before your brain can catch up to your impulse, your thumbs are flying. You tap the comment section, the screen a mess of unhinged messages from strangers, and you add your own little confession: “I really need him to play with me like this, but he prefers to eat it raw from the start😢”
You hit send, a tiny, embarrassed flush creeping up your neck, and immediately swipe the video away, feeling a bit silly for being so vulnerable to a bunch of internet strangers.
You toss the phone onto the cushion next to you a second later, completely oblivious to one mortifying detail. He’d logged into his account on your phone earlier when his own battery died, and you hadn't bothered to switch back.
In his office, the most dangerous man in Skyhaven is about to watch, in explicit detail, how you want to be ruined.
🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷
It turns out your assessment of him was spot on. The man is a fucking dog.
He hasn't taken your underwear off. That’s the part that’s driving you absolutely insane. The delicate lace is currently soaked, clinging to your pussy like a second, translucent layer of skin. He’s been working his tongue against the fabric, licks so long and heavy they feel like they’re reaching deep inside you. You’ve already been hit by two earth shattering, toe curling orgasms, your vision blurring every time his mouth finds your clit through the damp cloth. He hasn't even slowed down. If anything, it's getting worse.
“This is the reason I usually take off those pretty panties you wear” he presses his face into you, his broad tongue sweeping up in one stroke against your entire slit. You let out a choked, broken sound, fingers tangling desperately in his dark hair, trying to push him away just to catch your breath.
“Your scent is so fucking addictive,” he groans against your skin, “Especially after wearing them all day... knowing you've been walking around, smelling like this, just waiting for me.”
Then, he says something that makes your heart skip a beat not out of fear, but out of pure shock.
“You have no idea, do you?” he pants, nose brushing against your clit. “Last two years of High School... I spent them stroking my cock raw just to the smell of your panties. Thinking about you. Wishing you were right there."
Your vision blurs. Your hips jerk upward involuntarily as a third wave of pleasure crashes over you. You cum hard, your entire body shaking as you spill yourself directly onto his tongue, voice breaking into a high, desperate sob of his name.
He doesn't pull away. He just drinks you in, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he tastes exactly what he's been craving.
The moment your legs stop trembling he hooks his fingers into the soaked gusset and drags it to the side, baring your swollen folds and your pulsing clit, sensitive from his relentless attention.
He doesn't thrust in. He doesn't go for the full stretch you’ve been silently praying for. Instead, he slides the drooling tip of his cock over your slit. He isn't even entering you yet, he's just... slapping it against your clit, teasing the very edge of your tolerance.
You wanted the lace, the play, the slow burn... but God, you also wanted him to fuck you until you couldn't remember your name. You wanted the stretch.
But Caleb is a man who listens. Or rather, he's a man who has spent a lifetime studying every detail of your desires and right now he is giving you exactly what you asked for.
He leans down, his eyes dark, watching the way your face contorts with pleasure and frustration. He doesn't give you the release of a full thrust, he just feeds you the tip. He slides just the head of his cock into your pussy, a teasing invasion that barely makes a dent.
The reaction is instantaneous. Your walls react to him like a living thing, clenching around him, desperately trying to suck him deeper, to pull the rest of him in. The sensation is so perfectly matched that a synchronized moan breaks from both of you.
He pulls out just a fraction and then he thrusts the tip back in. Over and over again.
“Please,” you whimper, the word sounding pathetic even to your own ears. “Baby, please...”
You’re trying to force him to go deeper. But he’s in total control. His left hand is working the length of his cock, pumping with a desperate rhythm, while his right hand finds your clit.
His eyes are pinned to yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face as if he’s trying to memorize the way you fall apart.
And then, the teasing ends.
His mushroom tip, still nestled just inside your entrance, begins to pulse. Warm, thick spurts of cum hit your sensitive walls, flooding the tiny space he’s occupied.
Your pussy clenches around the tip of his cock, trying to suck every last drop out of him while his hand squeezes the rest of his length, forcing the remainder of his seed into you, filling you up until his cum starts to leak out.
He finally collapses against you, the weight of his body pressing you deep into the mattress.
"You're so loud when you're happy," he murmurs before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple, then your cheek, before finally settling his lips against yours in a kiss that tastes of salt and everything you are to him.
He pulls back just a bit, his gaze dropping to where the soaked lace of your panties still clings to your thighs, then back up to your eyes. There’s a flicker of that obsessive intensity returning to his expression.
"There isn't a single thing in this world you could ask for that wouldn't make me crawl to you. So don't hold back, Pips."
─ ❧ READ WITH CARE: mdni, explicit language, hunter/prey, somewhat hints at reader being extra horny during her ovulation, Sylus the good old cycle tracker, too much teasing and sarcasm, "independent" reader, praise, pet names, edging, a bit of Evol abuse, fingering, mentions of size difference, he's quite drunk on reader's scent
─ ❧ WORD COUNT: 4.4k
─ ❧ LINKS: sylus masterlist | general masterlist | AO3
𖤝 PREMISE: One night, Sylus snuck up on you while you couldn't sleep… which revealed more than one might have ever expected. How not just one part revels in the hunt, but another may enjoy being hunted, or at least entirely caught off guard by his sudden presence. It will lead to more instances of surprise, attitude, and desire.
𖤝A/N: I would like to entirely put the blame on @hayatoseyepatch for enabling too much Sylus talk in private and tickling my brain with her beautifully manicured claws
You should have realised much earlier that giving a man like Sylus access to every tiny reaction your body can offer was a catastrophic mistake.
You always knew he was perceptive. But who could have thought that a startled little whimper would be enough for the fiend to find this much joy in using his Evol less like a weapon and more like a personal tool for amusement?
That tiny sound you let out the first time he appeared soundlessly behind you was the starting shot to a wonderful little game.
You are innocently standing barefoot in his kitchen at three in the morning wearing one of his shirts and absolutely nothing else.
The city glows beyond the penthouse windows, all red lights and distant traffic, while you lean sleepily against the marble counter while waiting for the kettle to finish boiling. You're half-awake at best, hair mussed from the bed and sleep, with an expression so soft that Sylus can't help but treasure it far too much.
You don't hear him arrive, which is barely a surprise since he likely snuck around a few places again. So, one moment you are alone while absentmindedly rubbing at your tired eyes, then the next, there is suddenly warmth. A solid, broad, masculine warmth which presses against your spine as an arm slides around your waist.
Your breath catches so quickly it is most impossible to hide it.
"Sylus—" The sound leaves you embarrassingly soft. More breath than word, and in response, his grip tightens.
"Oh?" His voice drifts against the shell of your ear, velvet-smooth and devastatingly pleased with himself. "That was cute."
The mist still curling around him dissipate slowly as his Evol fades, revealing broad shoulders draped in black and crimson eyes now fixed entirely on you as he perches his chin on your shoulder. His hand remains warm against your hip above the fabric of his shirt, his fingertips flexing once to test whether you'll make that sound again.
Heat flashes through your stomach at the shit-eating grin you can hear in his voice. "You absolute prick—"
"You were smiling before I interrupted you." His nose nudges slowly beneath your jaw, where he breathes in the lingering notes of your perfume with shameless indulgence. "You were thinking about me."
"I was trying to make myself some tea because I couldn't sleep in that big bed on my own." Nothing but a sweet attempt at keeping your dignity, if the intention wasn't so utterly charming.
"Mhm.. that's even sweeter, kitten." The low hum vibrates with amusement.
You hate how quickly you fold around him. The way your pulse flutters the second he touches you. The way your thighs threaten to press together when his mouth lingers too long against your neck.
His fingers flex once more at your waist before his head lowers slightly for his hair to tickle your temple as he inhales yet again—slower and far more obvious.
Mortification floods your body when you hear him chuckle.
"Sylus." You try to warn him, try your best at keeping your pride, but you both know very well what he is referring to with that amused tone.
"You're rather sensitive tonight," murmured most charmingly with gentle lips that tickle the shell of your ear.
"I am not! You simply frightened me!" Your bravery roars into a hissy fit, though his chuckle practically melts against your skin. "But I love the fact that I can hear your heartbeat racing. It is adorable, sweetie."
You open your mouth to argue, only for his fingers to slide slowly beneath the hem of the shirt resting against your thigh. "Do you need me?" breathed along the curve of your neck, as if he can sense the slick between your thighs from his mere presence.
You try to twist away from him, only for his other hand to brace against the cupboards beside your head, so he may cage you in effortlessly. The movement is lazy and entirely too self-assured, because Sylus knows you won't get very far.
"Don't keep doing that," you mumble, but he cuts you off with a challenge. "Doing what?" He acts so sweetly innocent with his head tipped to the side while adoring that flustered anger in your expression.
"This creepy sneaking up on me and disappearing thing!" The fantastically composed explanation of his Evol causes Sylus to actually sound amused as he coos at you most sarcastically and echoes, "creepy?"
"You appear out of nowhere!" You begin in disbelief over the fact he seems so oblivious to what he does to your heart. "Yes, but…" he chimes in softly, "you made that pretty little noise for me. How could I not be tempted to do it more often from now on?"
Oh, he is unbearable tonight. You can feel the smugness radiating off him now.
Crimson eyes meet yours beneath the low lighting, though one of them radiates that energy that always pulls you in too deep.
Sylus enjoys studying every reaction he drags from your body, he is a collector of the finest and rarest things… and you fall right into that category, too.
"You know," he muses while lazily brushing his thumb along your jaw, "I originally only did it because you seemed so oblivious for once."
Your stomach tightens and your system feels like someone overfloods it with information. "Originally?" Barely more than a whisper as you stare up at his eyes.
"Mhm," Sylus hums for you while his gaze drops to your mouth.
"And now?" The question comes out even quieter than intended, causing one corner of his mouth to lift.
"Now? Forgive me, but it seems as though you want me to continue, sweetie." The honesty in his voice makes heat crawl all the way down your spine. "Ah, so you do want me to continue, as well." That dangerous, fascinated expression he gets whenever he discovers something new about you reappears upon those added words. Ruby eyes sharpen to the point Sylus looks like he wants to you pull apart and examine you with greedy hands.
"You're aroused already," he notes softly out of left field. That startles you for sure, and lands a punch against his shoulder paired with another warning hiss of "Do you have a death wish!?"
With a feigned look of hurt that is soon covered up beneath a satisfied smirk he continues his verbal attack on your dignity as he whispers, "will you make that sound for me again then?"
Then he leans down slightly to encapsulate your figure entirely while his lips brush near your ear. "Do it again."
The whisper alone nearly ropes you in. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the counter as his hand continues its slow path higher along your bare thigh beneath the oversized shirt. Not enough to truly touch, just enough to make your pulse race.
"Sylus," you warn weakly since your voice sounds more like desire than rejection.
"Yes, sweetheart?" His nose drags lightly beneath your jaw as he inhales yet again, then, he sighs under his breath. "Oh, you poor thing," murmured almost sympathetically despite the smugness woven through every word. "Now I understand."
"Understand what?"
"Why I can't stop doing it." And before you can recover, he vanishes again.
You blink in disbelief before searching the kitchen for him. But there is no energy for you to expose, there is nothing but the beating of your heart at the sudden emptiness surrounding you. "Sylus?"
Silence. The penthouse suddenly feels too large and too quiet and too much.
You still don't understand what he was talking about, but you also leave yourself little time to wonder since your feet carry you through the darkened rooms.
Though you barely have enough time to blink before arms wrap around your waist from the opposite side of where you were looking. You practically jolt out of your skin with a sharp gasp that dissolves into another helpless whine when Sylus's chest meets your back again.
And this time? This time he groans, he actually groans right against your neck. "Fuck," a low muttered curse to himself rather than to you. His pants feel uncomfortable already thanks to the sound of your fear.
Your face burns hot enough to melt steel due to his antics. "You are genuinely sick in the head." But your body reacts just as much as his to this game of hunter and hunted—far too much for your liking.
Plus, you can't possibly say such mean things and expect Sylus not to revel in it. The back-and-forth, the hissy sound of your voice, the smell of your arousal… it is all most adorable. "And yet, you like it," he whispers into your soul before pressing a kiss against your neck.
"I do not."
"Sweetheart." His lips brush the sensitive spot beneath your ear. "You're trembling with want."
Unfortunately, you are. Because something about Sylus focusing on you like this feels catastrophic. His attention is overwhelming on a normal day; but when he becomes fixated on something, it turns dangerous very quickly.
And right now? Right now he seems utterly obsessed with the way your body reacts to him.
— ❦
The second notable instance happens weeks later, after Sylus has become utterly intolerable about it. By now, he sneaks up on you constantly; be it in corridors, in lifts, in the foggy bathroom.
Sometimes he will simply do it to amuse himself. Other times because he enjoys watching your composure collapse the second his voice appears beside your ear. But the worst of all? Your body has started anticipating him. And you hate that he has caught up on that.
Tonight, you're searching for him in one of the clubs he owns, the shared tracker led you here after the hour ran way later than what was agreed on. The lower floors are still alive with music and chatter, all gold lights and expensive perfume, but the private halls upstairs remain dim and quiet.
Here, you round the corner toward his office with careful steps, because something has been feeling off ever since you stepped foot into the location. As if many eyes were already on your back; and that feeling didn't stop. Not when you ascended the stairs, not even when you made it into the furthest corner of the building.
Rather than knocking, you freeze in the darkened space because you realise exactly what just happened. You anticipated to be scared again, a little part of your brain hoped for Sylus to step out of the shadows and overwhelm you again.
You want to curse yourself for it, but there is little time for such a gesture once a familiar laugh sounds from the darkness ahead; a low and knowing sound that pricks at your pride.
"Kitten…" The voice drawls most smug and so satisfied that heat floods your face and a snarky little "Shut up," follows right away.
Sylus emerges from the shadow near the doorway, tall and unbothered as always, though the loosened collar and rolled sleeves suggest a very long evening. "You slowed down," his gaze sweeps slowly over you before it lingers on your expression with unconcealed joy.
"I did not." The retort makes him smile; smile in a way he never would in front of anyone else because you are simply too cute to resist.
"You did," Sylus whispers as he boops the tip of your nose like a man ready to die. "You expected me tonight. Or did you miss me too much? Is that why you came out here? At this an hour?"
Creased brows, a down-turned mouth, and lastly a roll of your eyes. All signs of danger a wild animal would understand and grace you with space. Sylus, instead, crowds you further.
Because you grow so cute when he pushes just a little too much. When the walls crumble from the sheer attention he places solely on you now that you are once again trapped between his body and the next best object.
"N-no," Curse yourself and that little stutter Sylus steals from you. With a sigh you gather your wits and add, "I expected you to be annoying. But you didn't come back to the base at all."
"Mhm, similar things." He leans towards you leisurely, with hands tucked into his pockets while you instinctively retreat a single step. The smile that spreads across his face is catastrophic. "You were supposed to be tucked away in bed. And yet you're out here, looking for me. You're a little too brave."
"And you're impossible," yet another defenceless however defensive grumble.
"And you," he murmurs with almost too much love laced into every syllable, "have become very snappy again." He notes while his hand reaches up to cup your face and lightly squeeze your cheeks.
The hallway suddenly feels too narrow, much too warm. Slowly, Sylus adjusts his hold to brush his knuckles along your cheek with infuriating gentleness. "You know what interests me most?" he asks quietly.
You don't mean to entertain Sylus further, you know these trick question will always lead to your downfall. And yet here you are, much less like the feisty kitten and more like a lamb led to the slaughter, as you tilt your head up and ask, "What?"
His thumbs drags over your lower lip first while his gaze follows the movement with envy, then Sylus speaks. "The anticipation before I touch you," mentioned casually while he still admires the softness of your lips before finally focusing on your gaze again. "You have started reacting before I even lay a hand on you now."
Your body shifts instinctively, which turns out to be an immediate mistake on your part as you can witness in real time how his expression changes.
A flutter of your lashes is needed to adjust your sight, because momentarily you imagined his pupils to look like thin slits before they suddenly dilate. Intrigue or perhaps possessiveness flickers across his features before being buried beneath calm amusement once more.
And something about your reaction seems to wreck Sylus equally so. Perhaps it was that soft inhale of air, or the fact he can feel your cheeks burning against his fingertips.
"Sweetheart." The pet name snaps you out of it, brings you back to focus on the man standing in front of you now that Sylus leans in closer and brushes his lips against yours. "You're making it very difficult to behave."
Your stomach swoops dangerously at the roughness in his voice while a nervous chuckle seems like your best attempt at a reaction as your bravado flutters away in time with your heart. "You never behave."
A chaste kiss that leaves you starving for more and a almost guilty sounding murmur of "True," are the last traces of Sylus before he suddenly disappears inside the club. You stumble forward into the space he just occupied, your mind still clouded by the kiss before the cold reality of emptiness greets you.
There is a split second after Sylus vanishes where your body betrays you completely as anticipation crackles through your bloodstream before your mind can catch up.
"No, Sylus!" You hiss out into the thrumming boom of the music below and the empty space on the top floor. You know what he wants, you know he wants you to go find him, to stumble around again only for Sylus to sweep you off your feet. And you're having none of it, nothing at all.
"I'm not falling for this!" You speak more to yourself than to the man in question. Every nerve ending lights up at once as your palm presses against the wall for some fickle sense of security. You said you wouldn't fall for it, and yet, your feet have already begun to move.
You quietly follow along the carpet-lined hallway that should lead to Sylus's office. You know he's close, you are very sure he is watching. And the worst part? You wait for him too, because you like the game he plays.
But his office is empty and almost entirely dark safe for the desk lamp which flickers lightly. It bothers you more than you would ever care to admit that Sylus did in fact not startle you, that he didn't reappear and drape himself over your back like a weighted blanket.
Yes, you feel disappointed and a little empty… and quite impatient. Until warm hands slide up your curves and around your waist from behind, which causes your spine to stiffen. Sylus's chuckle is muffled as his forehead settles briefly against your shoulder. "Boo."
You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, try to compose whatever joy you felt and instead sigh deeply to feign annoyance. "Please stop sounding so pleased with yourself."
"But kitten, I am pleased." His fingers flex against your stomach again to hold you just a little tighter against himself then. "Very." He adds for you to understand how much he means these sarcastic words.
Then, Sylus exhales harshly against your neck. "God." Your knees nearly weaken at the sudden shift of his tone again, and perhaps it is a good thing he has already been eager to stabilise your weight.
"Sylus…"
"Your scent…" His hand splays against your stomach possessively while his lips travel slowly along the curve of your throat. If he could, he would most likely savour the way your breathing keeps falling apart for him. "You smell incredible when I catch you off guard," he admits quietly. "Not just then, but especially tonight again..."
The confession sends heat spiralling straight through you down to your core, where you tighten around nothing and yearn for everything Sylus could give.
Unfortunately for you, you fail to notice the way your ass rubs against his crotch. Fortunately for Sylus, he is very much aware of the way you're grinding on him. "Oh, sweetheart," he says softly, though you feel the amused huff of air he exhales. "Have I trained you already?"
Before you can recover, he shifts again. What was once solid, has turned untouchable as red mist swirls around you in an almost playful way. It feels warm yet cool all at once, and the breath leaves your lungs in frustration. "Sylus, don't you dare—"
Of course he wouldn't dare too much, not when you sound this needy. Right away, he stands between the cramped space of the desk and your body to wrap his arms around you and pull you flush against him. It's a delicious feeling now that your breasts are squished against his own and your breathing mingles in the scant space between.
And the worst part? The absolute worst part? The sound that leaves you then. So needy and soft enough to barely exist. But Sylus hears it anyway, actually, his entire body registers your desire. "You are so cute," he murmurs.
"Sylus…" Then one large hand slides up the back of your neck, for his fingers to thread into your hair as he searches the depths of your soul with pupils blown dark beneath crimson irises. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
You can't think of a witty response. Not when he's looking at you like he wants to consume you whole. His thumb coaxes your mouth to open, for him to tug lightly on your bottom lip. "I could spend hours sneaking up on you just to hear it again."
He notices your fluttering pulse too, obviously. It's the sole reason for that brief smirk ghosting across his mouth before he leans down. "Poor thing," he whispers against your mouth, then nudges the tip of his nose against yours. "We should go home now, wouldn't you like that?"
— ❦
The third note-worthy time happens late at night in his bedroom after an argument. Not a serious one. Just enough bickering to leave tension simmering beneath your skin.
You're irritated with him. Sylus is entertained by you being irritated with him. A disastrous combination.
You finish changing in the adjoining bathroom before stepping back into the darkened bedroom while wearing little more but a thin camisole and shorts. The curtains remain open for crimson moonlight to spill across the sheets and dark furniture.
The room appears empty, which causes your eyes to narrow immediately. It's suspiciously empty. "Sylus?"
When no answer follows, you feel your pulse beginning to flutter. It's like your willingly stepping into yet anotjer trap, because this is exactly the sort of thing he would do.
"You're childish," you mutter while climbing into bed anyway. Yet the silence remains.
While you pretend at ignoring the awareness prickling over your skin, your mind is running at top speed. He could be anywhere—watching, waiting for precisely the right moment to pounce.
The thought alone sends warmth curling low in your stomach. Which is exactly why you're doomed.
But you fail to notice the flicker of the bedside lamp before strong arms suddenly cage you against the mattress.
A gasp tears from your throat as Sylus materialises directly above you, one hand planted beside your head while the other catches your waist beneath the blankets.
And the sound you make, that helpless, breathy whimper absolutely ruins him. His eyes close briefly as though physically pained by it. "Again," he says immediately, voice rougher than you've heard all evening during the tense conversation.
"Sylus!"
"You can't be angry with me anymore." He exhales shakily against your cheek before ghosting his lips far too close to yours. "Not when you react so perfectly still."
The familiar temperature spike greets you once more, as the hand resting on your waist slides lower beneath the blankets. Sylus traces slowly over your hip through thin fabric while his gaze remains fixed on your face.
"You anticipated me tonight," he murmurs. "I could smell it the second I walked into the room."
Mortification crashes through you because you would never want to admit such a thing after an argument.
"You're awful," is your best chance at denial.
"And you're very… instinct-driven tonight," Sylus whispers before kissing your cheek. You know immediately what he is referring to. How your emotions were a little more aggravated again, how the entire argument even took place, and how you now look at him like his attention would be enough to fix your attitude.
His mouth brushes yours lightly to coax you further into forgiveness. "Should I make it better?" Sylus whispers into your ear in that suggestive tone he reserves just for you, no mocking to be found at the moment.
He hears the breath leave your lungs, feels your fingers trail along his biceps before they come to rest at his nape and curl into his hair.
"Yes."
The whispered consent is enough to bring a smile to your lover's lips.
There is a brief pause before his fingers finally slip beneath the waistband of your shorts. You gasp softly into his mouth, and he groans in response to finding out just how wet you are.
"There," he mutters, while peppering kisses left and right against your cheek and throat. "You like it this much when I scare you?" he can't refuse but tease you just a little to feel your hips buck against his fingers. "Or is our argument to blame?" he muses while gathering more of your slick.
"Sylus…" You already sigh his name in that slightly annoyed however needy way. His forehead presses briefly against yours, offering you comfort while a single digit pushes into you.
By no means deep, and never enough to satisfy the aching warmth pooling low in your stomach. "You become so soft when I surprise you," he says quietly. "And so responsive, kitten."
Your fingers fist against his shirt as another trembling sound escapes you the moment his touch grows firmer. "I know," he breathes most comfortingly while visibly losing his composure now. "Sweetheart…"
The tension in the room thickens rapidly after that. Every small reaction of yours feeds him. Each gasp and startled little whine, every shaky breath he manages to drag from your lungs with those torturously slow touches that rub your clit so perfectly.
One second his mouth is against your throat, then a soft smack against the sensitive bundle of nerves startles you to claw lightly at his broad shoulders before all sensation vanishes entirely.
You're panting now, heart hammering not just from excitement but the realisation that this… charming asshole has edged you just to get a rise out of this once more. Like he hasn't been able to enjoy overwhelming you enough as of late.
A groan of annoyance cuts through the stillness of the moment as you try to find your big girl voice, not the trembling mess Sylus has made of you. But before you can truly will yourself up, before too much lust between your thighs disappears, you are pulled back when you least expect it.
Suddenly you're not just held against Sylus, but seated on top of him with your legs spread wide over his own and your ass nestled against his aching bulge. The momentum steals another helpless cry from your lips as his hands roam your body.
"Sylus—" Though by the time you manage to moan his name, his fingers have long reclaimed all he abandoned before. His big hand covers your pussy, where his fingers dive deep into your fluttering walls while his palm pressures relentlessly against your clit for your body to quiver and twitch from pleasure.
"I've got you," Sylus murmurs so softly, while kissing along your neck like the sweetest angel. You feel his touch change, the intention behind it shifting for waves of pleasure to ripple inside your core.
Like a man utterly consumed by the sight before him, Sylus lingers on your profile as he watches every expression that crosses your face like it's an unholy confession.
The slight parting of your lips followed by the devastatingly cute gesture of you pressing your mouth shut once you try your best to suppress those exact noises he feeds off. Though it's the telltale sign of your thighs tensing whenever the deep thrusts of his fingers catch you off guard again, that frees them.
Those sweet, involuntary little noises he has grown addicted to. "Beautiful," he murmurs as your breathing finally breaks apart completely. "Look what happens when we play together," Sylus goes on, though his whispers are almost overshadowed by the squelching wetness of your pussy as he works you towards your high.
You can barely think by then. Especially not when he keeps mumbling into your skin about how good you feel and how sweet you smell with a voice warm enough to melt ice while sensation winds tighter and tighter inside you.
Your head falls back against his shoulder in surrender just as your legs snap shut around his thrusting fingers, burying the cruel instruments of pleasure until his knuckles are coated in your juices and the tremors of your orgasm squeeze tightly.
A whiny cry, much louder than those adorable noises he's been enjoying so very much as of late, follows upon the coaxing, "There you go," Sylus says quietly.
"That's my girl." The final startled whimper he pulls from your throat sends you completely over the edge. And Sylus looks devastatingly satisfied about it as he helps you work yourself through your high and come down from this intoxicating little game.
please consider reblogging if you managed to read up to here :)
I drew him for sylus’s fan made event on this weekend, he will be available as prints and freebies heheeheheheh i wish i could draw him in black version too😩
Xavier comes home after a 40 minute shift, 10 minutes longer than usual. You’re lazing around on the couch when he comes home by climbing through the window.
“Hey.”
You look over at your husband, all sluggish and out of breath.
“Tough day?”
Xavier doesn’t flop down next to you. He doesn’t go straight to bed either. Instead, he stands in front of you.
“I can’t see the TV,” you complain.
His blue eyes look exceptionally round as he looks down at you. He lowers himself on his knees.
“Let me eat you out,” he says, almost pleading. His hands gently pry your knees apart.
“Eh? Right now?”
“Can I? Please? I need to de-stress.”
There’s no saying ‘no’ to those eyes at all. He has you laid on the couch, your thighs hugging his head. He thumbs at your clit, nose nudging against your panties before he pulls them aside. The first lick was more relief to him than it was to you.
He paints little flicks all over your folds with his tongue. He parts them with his fingers, trickling more of his spit down your pussy.
“You’re so beautiful,” he husks. He finally directs his lips around your clit and gives it a small suckle. He rolls his tongue around the nerve, making it pulse and send sharp relaxing vibrations through your body.
“There!” You heave out, keeping his head right where you want it by weaving your fingers through his hair. He keeps at it, letting out some satisfactory moans the more he gets to taste you and really make you feel good.
He lets his spit dribble all over until your pussy’s practically drooling from it. He uses the slick to glide faster up and down your folds from your clit to your hole.
When you let out a more whiny moan, Xavier really focuses on his tongue rapidly flicking over the bud. The pleasure shoots up your spine to your neck.
With a final grip to his hair and your head thrown back against the armrest of the couch, your body finally goes lax and the knot in your body comes undone.
“Thank you,” Xavier says with a small kiss to your inner thigh.
“Shouldn’t I be thanking you?”
“Maybe. But I really needed this.”
assignments are screwing me over I wish it was Xavier instead
