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[n4nasm1nd]

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ soundgasm links ࿓

ᵎ!ᵎ a/n: minors DNI, a collection of m4f audios i like, i can post more if you like pink links are my favsᝰ.ᐟ

⌗ 𝟷 [M4F] Edging Me and Forcing Me — [ASMR] [msub] [whimpers] [moans] [begging] [mommy] [real orgasm] [soft voice] [long as heck, wow]

⌗ 𝟸 [M4F] Your Best Friend Helps You Get Over Your Ex — [MDom] [Friends to Lovers] [Isolated Cabin] [Size Difference] [Nipple Play] [Spit Play] [Blowjob] [Dick Slaps] [Multiple Speaker Orgasms] [Good Girl] [Standing Sex] [Spanking] [Pussy Slaps] [Creampie] [Mating Press] [Aftercare]

⌗ 𝟹 [MM4F] Let Your Roommates Help You Relax — You get home from an exhausting day only to realize that you forgot to charge your vibrator. Your roommates come to check on you and see if they can help, and you certainly have something you can think of that would help.

⌗ 𝟺 Shower Isn’t Over Until Bakugo Cums — After a brutal sparring session, you slip into the showers alone… but Bakugo follows — and doesn’t leave. What starts as teasing turns into a full-blown power trip. He fingers you until your legs give out, fucks you through overstimulation, and refuses to finish until you’re broken open and full of him. Shower walls shake. Steam fogs. You’re not done until he says so.

⌗ 𝟻 [M4F] Making a Deal with Your Best Friend's Younger Brother

⌗ 𝟼 Finally Fucking Your Feral Best Friend [M4F] — [script fill] [FERAL] [friends to lovers] [mdom] [fsub] [down BAD] [extremely needy] [desperate] [built up tension] [clothes ripping] [panty stealing] [blowjob] [cunnilingus] [choking] [spit in mouth] [mating press] [creampie]

⌗ 𝟽 Revenge is Making Him Call You Mommy — this one was my shit!!

⌗ 𝟾 [M4F] Making your academic rival your good boy — [Msub] [Rivals to Lovers] [Why did you kiss me?] [Bratty] [Cocky] [I'm your good boy] [Mommy] [I need you] [Begging] [Whimpering] [Oral] [You taste so good] [Slapping] [Covering my mouth] [Choking] [I'll keep my glasses on] [Restrained by tie] [Riding] [Improv]

⌗ 𝟿 [M4F]Obsessed best friend fucks you hard, then you turn the tables — [Shy] to [Mdom to Msub]] so [good girl] then [good boy]speaker receives[choking] and [slapping][roommates][heavy breathing][multiple positions][obsessive]

⌗ 𝟷𝟶 [MM4F] A Lesson In Slut Theory — [Friends to FWB] [Threesome] [Mdom] x2 [Sharing Scandalous Stories] Lots of [Degradation] & [Praise] [Handjobs] [Blowjobs] [Taking Turns] [Cunnilingus] [Spitroasted] [Rough Sex] [Spanking] [Multiple Listener Orgasms] [Mutual Orgasms] [Aftercare] You can tell us anything, honey~

[veloured]

Tell Me What ToDo, Mr General

—Summary: You’re the base clinic’s head nurse—young, witty, too pretty for your own good. The soldiers flirt. The privates fake injuries. Your nurses call you a walking hazard. But none of that compares to the man who actually owns the base. General Choi Seungcheol is almost forty, terrifyingly respected in the whole country, and just caught a soldier ogling your ass. Turns out? He’s been watching you too. And today? He finally acts on it. Face down and rules obliterated.

BONUS

—Genre: SMUTTT, military au, power imbalance

—Warnings: MDNI! Explicit sexual content, very illegal workplace sex, age gap (~12 yrs, mid 20s reader, late 30s cheol), power imbalance (general x subordinate), not sexualizing nurses it's just men who are disgusting, oral (f receiving), rough sex, hair pulling, spanking, desk bending, cum play, panty stealing, degradation + praise, unprofessional behavior, reader is sent back to work , GENERAL CHEOL AAARHABHR, my bad writing, this is not proofread bc war crimes

—Tropes: Military general!seungcheol x head nurse! reader, dilf!seungcheol

—A/N: ever heard of no nut november? yeah im making you ALL lose on the third day with general cheol, good luck (jk this is really bad. also?? first oneshot finally????)

Another day. Another bouquet.

The smell hits first—fresh daffodils, cut just this morning and dumped in a plastic-wrapped mess of stems and hopeful desperation. Your nurse sets them on your desk with a grin so smug you don’t even bother looking up.

“Private Lee again,” she sing-songs, clearly entertained. “At this point, I think he’s just rotating florals to see what makes you blush. Roses Monday, tulips Wednesday, and now we’re in daffodil territory. What’s next, lilies?”

You hum, eyes on the chart in front of you. “He’s nineteen. If he tried any harder, he’d sprain his personality.”

The other girls at the front snort, laughter muffled by the soft buzz of the clinic’s lights. You finally glance up, plucking one flower from the bunch, twirling it between your fingers.

“Careful, Nurse,” one of them teases. “That tongue’s gonna get you in trouble one day.”

You shrug. “If a daisy gets me court-martialed, I’ll take it with pride.”

It’s not just Private Lee.

They come in waves—privates and sergeants and lieutenants with bandaged fingers and phantom aches, most of them faking injuries just for an excuse to land in your clinic chair. You’re not stupid. You know what they’re doing.

“Ma’am, my shoulder’s locking up again. Might need another check.” “Nurse, I think my leg’s gone numb… could you maybe take a look under the table?” “You’re looking beautiful today, by the way.”

You smile. You laugh, when it’s safe to. You let some of it slide—because they’re young, because they’re harmless, because at the end of the day, most of them are just scared kids who’ve seen too much and say too little. And if flirting with the hot nurse gives them something to look forward to between drills and trauma?

Fine.

You let it go.

Until the one time you couldn’t.

It’s 3:47 PM when he walks in. You know it without looking.

Sergeant Nam. The name alone makes your spine tighten.

Every clinic has its rot. He’s yours.

Always “injured.” Always too familiar. Always staring like he’s imagining you in anything but uniform.

“Afternoon, Nurse,” he says, his voice syrupy in a way that makes your stomach turn. “Been missing me?”

You don’t look up as you slide on your gloves. “About as much as I miss the flu.”

He chuckles, dragging a chair with a lazy scrape. “Oof. Feisty today. That skirt bringing it out in you?”

You ignore him. Head down, you crouch to grab the med kit from the lower cabinet—quick, practiced, routine.

And that’s when you feel it.

That gaze.

Sticky. Hot. Crawling up the backs of your thighs like molasses.

Your skin prickles. Your stomach churns.

“Nice view,” Nam mutters, just loud enough to be a threat.

You straighten slowly. Deliberately. Your jaw clenched so tight you can feel the tension in your temples.

Dead silence.

“Say that again,” you say, voice cold and calm—dangerous.

Nam leans back in his chair like he’s got nothing to lose. “C’mon now, Nurse. Don’t play like you don’t know what you do to a man. That uniform, that mouth—”

You don’t let him finish.

“If you finish that sentence,” you say, stepping forward, “I’ll finish your career.”

Your hand tightens around the metal edge of the med kit. You’re two seconds from reporting him, dragging his disgusting ass through official hell. You're done playing cute.

But then— A voice cuts through the room like a blade through tension.

“Sergeant Nam.”

You both freeze.

The air drops ten degrees.

You know that voice.

Everyone on this base knows that voice.

You turn slowly—and there he is.

General Choi Seungcheol.Framed in the clinic doorway like a shadow sent from hell. Full uniform. Cap tucked under one arm. Medals gleaming. Eyes sharp enough to kill.

“General—!” Nam practically jumps out of his seat. “Sir, I was just—she was—we were—talking—”

“You were doing a lot more than talking,” Seungcheol says, each word like a bullet. “You were looking where you weren’t supposed to.”

Nam backs up a step. Two. Sweat pools under his collar.

“Sir, I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean to disrespect a superior officer of the medical division?”

Nam swallows.

“Didn’t mean to act like a pathetic, desperate creep on my base?”

Nam opens his mouth.

Then closes it again.

Seungcheol doesn’t stop.

“Didn’t mean to stare at something that’s on my territory?”

You blink.

...Excuse me?

Nam is practically shaking now. “S-Sir, I meant no harm—”

“Get out,” the General says, voice dropping into something lethal. “Now. Before I forget I outrank your sorry ass.”

Nam doesn’t even speak this time. He scrambles out, nearly tripping over the threshold.

The door swings shut behind him.

Silence. Dead, dense silence.

Then—

“You. Office. Now.”

His tone is low. Flat. Measured.

You move before your brain can even process the command.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, the tension snaps.

Seungcheol’s gloves are already half-off, his steps unhurried but stiff with rage. His jaw is tight. His eyes never leave you.

“You let them flirt with you?” he says.

You cross your arms. “They’re kids, General.”

“You smile at them.”

“So what?”

“So they think you’re up for grabs.”

You lift your chin.

“I’m a nurse,” you snap. “Not a nun.”

He stalks closer.

“You dress like that on purpose.”

Your brow lifts. “Excuse me?”

“Tight scrubs. Short skirts.” He circles the desk like a panther. “You bend over and every man here forgets his rank.”

You laugh, sharp and cruel. “Is that my fault or your soldiers’ lack of self-control?”

That does it.

His hands slam onto the desk behind you, the sound echoing like a gunshot. You flinch—only slightly—but it’s enough. You’re caged. His body heat is everywhere. His presence suffocating.

“Your attitude’s out of control.” he hisses.

You meet his gaze. Defiant. Heat curling between your thighs.

“Tell me what to do,” you whisper, “Mr. General.”

Something dark flashes in his eyes. Something ancient. Something that does not belong in an office.

“You think this is a joke?”

You smirk.

“I think it’s hot that you’re this pressed about who looks at me.”

A beat of silence. Just one.

And then— he snaps.

His mouth crashes into yours.

“You’re a fucking whore.” he says against you lips.

“You’re the one unbuttoning your belt, sir.”

And God, he is.

One hand still gripping your hip, the other pulling down his zipper like he owns the fucking universe.

And you? You just sit there. On his desk. In your scrubs and that tight little skirt. Like a pretty little trophy he finally decided to mount.

“You're too young for this,” he growls.

“Then stop.”

“You think I can?”

“No. I think you're just mad I'm not scared of you.”

That’s when he grabs your thigh—tight—and spreads you open with zero warning.

“You should be.”

He doesn’t start slow.

He pushes your panties aside and slides two fingers inside you like he has every goddamn right to—like your body’s not yours anymore, it’s his jurisdiction.

You gasp. Grip his wrist. But he doesn’t stop. Just curls them expertly and watches your head fall back.

“This wet for me already? From that little scene?” “You’re insane—” “No, baby. I’m in charge. And you forgot that.”

He pulls back just enough to spit on your cunt.

And then—he kneels. Like it’s his religion. Like your pussy is the damn altar.

Tongue out. Shoulders between your legs. Hands pinning you down. You’re done.

“You’re not walking out of this office until I’ve made you forget how to treat me like I’m not your superior.”

He devours you.

Messy. Loud. Like he’s starving. One of your heels falls off. The other digs into his shoulder. Your thighs tremble—already. It’s too much.

You try to pull away.

Wrong move.

He grips your ass and growls.

“Don’t you fucking move unless I say.”

And then he pulls away only to mouth, voice dripping in filth:

“You’re mine. You understand? Not theirs. Not those little boys in uniform who get hard just looking at you. You’re mine. My nurse. My mouthy little problem.”

“F-Fuck—Seungcheol—”

That breaks him.

He’s up in a flash, cock out, lining himself up. No warning. Just—

SLAM.

All the way in. In one brutal thrust.

The desk shakes.

You moan. Loud. Indecent.

“Say it again,” he snarls. “Say my name when I fuck you like this.”

“Cheol—! Fuck—Cheol—!”

“That’s right. That’s who you belong to.”

He fucks you like he’s erasing every memory of every soldier who’s ever looked at you.

Like he’s marking you.

Like he wants you limping down the hallway—so they know.

Your skirt’s bunched around your waist. Your blouse’s half unbuttoned. And his hips?

Devastating. Relentless. Absolute destruction.

“You act so smug out there,” he pants, rutting into you deeper. “All high and mighty in that pretty uniform. Acting like you don’t need a man.”

He pulls you in by the neck—forehead to forehead. Bruising grip.

“But look at you now. Falling apart on my cock. Ruined. Fucking ruined.”

Your orgasm hits hard.

Shattering.

You moan his name again—louder this time—and he groans, slamming in one final time as he spills inside you, cock twitching, breath catching, hand holding your stomach like he wants to feel himself claim you from the inside out.

Your thighs trembled. Your lips were swollen. The room reeked of sex and sin.

But apparently, that wasn’t enough for him.

“Turn around.”

You blinked up, dazed. “Wh—what?”

Seungcheol grabbed your waist—his touch sharp, possessive—and flipped you like you weighed nothing.

Face down. Ass up.

The cold wood kissed your cheek. His palm pressed into the center of your back, holding you there. You could barely think.

“No more bratty comments now, huh?”

“General…”

“You like being put in your place?” he growled, dragging your skirt up again, baring your slick thighs to the air. “You like when I treat you like the little cockdrunk nurse you are?”

Your response was some broken noise—some choked whimper between yes and god, more.

“You’re lucky I’m not making you crawl to beg for it.”

And then—he shoved back inside.

From behind this time. DEEPER. HARDER. FILTHIER. Your legs buckled. You nearly screamed.

“FUCK—Seungcheol—!”

“That’s right,” he snarled, hips slamming into your ass with unrelenting force. “Say my fucking name. Scream it. Let the whole base know who’s fucking you like this.”

The desk creaked. Your nails scraped against the surface. Your face twisted in pleasure so raw it bordered on holy.

“You act so composed during the day,” he panted, breath hot against your ear. “So in charge. So mature.”

He thrust harder. You cried out.

“But now look at you—bent over my desk, taking it like my own personal fucktoy.”

His hand slipped under your shirt. Grabbed a handful of your breast. Squeezed hard.

“And you like it, don’t you?” “You love being treated like this. Like you’re nothing but a slut.”

“Y-Yes—” “Say it again.” “I am—fuck—I am, General—”

“Fucking finally.”

He spanked your ass once, twice, made you jolt with every slap.

Then he leaned over your back, his chest pressing down, keeping you fully trapped, fully dominated.

“You know what I should do?” he whispered against your ear. “I should finish in you again. Fill you up until you’re dripping while walking back to that clinic.”

“Let the other men see what happens when they touch what’s mine.”

Your whole body tensed.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” “You’d love walking around with my cum leaking down your thighs.” “You’d love knowing you're fucking claimed.”

You whimpered. You begged. You came again—exploding around him while he didn’t stop, didn’t slow, didn’t let you down.

And then—he followed.

With a long, brutal thrust, he pushed so deep inside you it felt like he was claiming your soul. You felt him shudder, groan, whisper your name like a curse and a prayer.

Hot. Heavy. Endless.

He didn’t pull out.

Didn’t move.

Just kept you bent over, panting under his weight, pinned by his body, stuffed full and ruined.

You're still bent over his desk, body trembling, face flushed, breathing shallow. He hasn’t let you move. Your skirt’s bunched around your waist, and his cum is spilling out of you in thick, hot drips that slide down the backs of your thighs.

You don’t speak. You can’t.

And then— his hand brushes your leg.

Not soft. Not sweet. He just reaches down and plucks your panties from where they’re hanging off your ankle. Dainty. Soaked. A little pathetic.

He twirls them once on his finger, then tucks them into the breast pocket of his uniform like a fucking badge of honor.

“You won’t be needing these,” he mutters, and his voice is so smug you want to slap him.

You manage a single rasped breath.

“Seungcheol—what the fuck—”

He grabs your chin, tilts your face up.

“There’s an injured private waiting outside the clinic.”

Your stomach drops.

“You’re sending me back out there like—like this?”

He smirks. Leans in. Brushes his lips over your ear.

“You’re a professional, aren’t you?”

You glare. “I’m leaking.”

“Exactly,” he whispers, biting your earlobe. “Let them wonder what it is.”

Your legs nearly give out. He helps you stand—but just barely. He straightens your skirt for you like he’s doing you a favor.

No panties. Thighs sticky. His cum still warm inside you.

He buttons his jacket. Smooths his medals. Looks freshly fucked and completely satisfied.

Then—

“Go do your job, Nurse.”

“And keep your legs closed. If you can.”

You walk back to the clinic with your head high and your thighs clenched.

Your nurses blink at you.

Private Lee looks very confused. The desk chair feels colder than usual. And Seungcheol? He passes by the window once.Smirking. Panties still in his pocket. Like a fucking war trophy.

Taglist: @sumzysworld @fwairychlo3 @iluvhosh @jrinbb @jestlace

[milk-moonbunnies]

It's Not Enough [seungcheol x reader]

synopsis: Seungcheol gets up in ittttt - no but fr [requested]

warnings: mdni, 18+, dom! Seungcheol, dirty talk, praise, after care, lube, fingering, toys, multiple orgasms, unprotected, cream pie, ass play, PWP

wc: 2.2K +

song I listened to: Worst Behavior x My Love - Aura$ (on repeat)

[BE VERY AWARE, SMUT BELOW THE 'KEEP READING' TAG]

You always get so wet when Seungcheol stuffs you full.

He likes to take you on your hands and knees, your back arching and your pretty ass jutting out on full display for him. He takes his time to admire the way your legs already quiver in anticipation, his palms gliding up your inner thighs to get your legs spreading farther apart for him.

Your pretty pussy drips, hot and slick, after a few soft words of praise and mumbles of filth, he promises to do to you. He can see the way you clench, needy and pathetic, your fingers curling into the pillow in front of you as his fingers drag through your sweet folds. You’re already reduced to a mess, your whines resonating even louder as he rubs tight circles into your pulsing clit with his thumb. “Don’t worry, I got ya.” He coos, and your hips squirm when he finally slips a finger into your drooling cunt.

You take him easily, soaking his long digit with your honeyed slick, your velvety walls sucking him all the way to the knuckle and greedily wanting more. And Seungcheol obliges, the feeling of your gummy walls wrapped tightly around his digits enough to get his hand on your hip, squeezing tightly to keep you still.

He works you open like he has the whole night to do so. And it’s torturous how easily he has you seeing stars behind closed eyes. His fingers stuff you full, curling until the pads of his fingertips rub against the sweet spot that makes you keen. And then he abuses it, thumb pressing on your sensitive clit as he jabs over and over on the spongy spot, making your brain slowly melt until you're left gasping.

Your jaw slacks open, your eyes squeezing shut as your pussy gushes around his fingers. The pressure had built slowly, curling tighter in your stomach until it snapped, and Seungcheol never stops fingering you throughout it. He’s plunging through your fluttering walls, keeping you full and prolonging your high as he continues talking you through it.

“That’s it, get nice and wet f’me. Sweet pussy was just aching for me, huh?” He coos, and your tears linger on your eyelashes as you sniffle. Your thighs tremble, and your pussy answers for you when it squelches as he slips his fingers from you when your orgasm subsides.

It’s almost embarrassing how empty you feel when he’s not inside you, and a whine comes from the back of your throat as Seungcheol kneels over you. His big body covers yours as he reaches for the bedside table, and you can feel him laugh as your head drops onto the pillow weakly. “Such a greedy thing, aren’t ya? You think I’m done, Baby?” The burning warmth you feel on your ears is nothing compared to the way your pussy clenches at his words.

There is some shuffling and a weight beside your calf that grabs your attention before Seungcheol is leaning back on his knees behind you. Your pussy glistens with the remnants of your recent orgasm, and Seungcheol silently promises to taste you on his tongue later. Instead, his hands are grabbing your ass, spreading your cheeks apart until your other hole is on view.

Seungcheol hums, and without warning, plunges two digits into your sopping pussy again, letting your sweet juices heavily coat his fingers with a few short thrusts until he’s slipping those same fingers back out. He teases the tips of his shiny fingers around the rim of your asshole, and his other hand rubs up your back, keeping you arched for him. “Relax for me, I’m gonna make you feel nice and good.”

It’s a promise, and his lips pull up into a smirk when he’s able to push one finger in. It’s hot and tight, but you’re always so good for him, so he’s easily sinking to his knuckle after a few coaxing thrusts. And he leans down to give your spine a kiss in appreciation, a “good girl,” branded on your lower back with his lips as he preps you to take a second finger.

When you’re clenching around three fingers, your mind is mush. Your cunt drools heavily, aching to be full like your ass and your mindlessly rocking back onto Seungcheol with that need in mind. “Please, please,” you’re babbling, feeling his thumb teasingly tucked between your puffy, wet folds as he stretches you open. It feels so good you’re clutching to his pillow, your tears welling in your eyes as he fucks you slowly with his fingers.

“Does my pretty baby want more?” Your eyes roll back from his mockingly sweet tone, but you nod your head regardless, pushing back against him and making him scoff out a laugh. It takes a split second before you feel a zing across your left ass cheek, his palm connecting to your plush ass and making you jerk with a yelp. “Use your words, tell me what you need.”

Your mouth gapes, words failing you when he rubs the mark left on your skin from the slap, and you feel depraved that it made a new wave of slick seep from your pretty cunt. “Need you to fuck me, please. Need you.” Your confession burns a heat low in your stomach, and your fingers curl into the sheets when he slips from you entirely.

Your head is already fuzzy and light, and it takes a moment to realize you hear a cap pop off and the squirt of liquid drip out. The clear gooey lube splashes between your ass cheeks, dripping down to your needy pussy, and then another squirt echoes before you’re feeling the blunt object press against your lubed hole.

Seungcheol is warm and painfully hard as he holds the butt plug in his hand. The toy is firm, small at the tip, and only gets wider at the base. He had coated the red toy heavily in lube to make the insertion easier, and his eyes are hooded and filled with hunger as he circled the entrance of your small hole gently. He knew you’d be able to handle it, that you’d let him fill you up to your limits, that he’d make you feel so good you’d feel it days later.

“Always so good f’me,” he says, watching you preen at the compliment. The head of the toy pushes past the first gummy ring, bullying its way in until you’re swallowing the next inch. And Seungcheol’s cock jerks at the sight. Your ass getting stuffed by him or a toy was always a delicious sight to see. It never failed to make him lightheaded, watching you take everything he gave as he made a mess out of you.

He grabs the bottle of lube with his free hand, squirting more of the clear liquid around your rim and coaxing you to relax, to let him take care of you.

He thrust small inches in and out until the muscles of your body relax and the toy sinks deeper, the base slipping past and making you cry out as his palm held onto the suction cupped end of the toy loosely. He uses his free hand to grab your left ass cheek, spreading it apart to shamelessly watch the way you clench around the toy, your breath coming out in puffs as the tip of the toy brushes against a spot that makes you see colors behind closed eyelids.

And you barely register his low hum, teasingly tugging the toy before pressing his palm flat and grinding it deeper in your tight channel. “Oh fuck!” Your mouth drops, your toes curl, and a squeal slips from you that satisfies Seungcheol’s hunger for a second.

You looked so cute, shaking on your knees with a red silicone toy plugging you full, but Seungcheol promised to take care of you, and he meant it.

His cock is heavy in his hand when he guides it to your neglected pussy. From the time he took making you cum on his fingers to then working you open to take the plug, your pussy is slippery, wet and asking to be loved by him. Your clit pulses with need, your gooey slick glueing your wet folds together as he rubs his cock down your slit.

It’s maddening how good it feels. The heat of his thighs behind yours, his cock notching on your entrance as his pelvis presses against the suction end of the toy in your ass. You're drooling by the time Seungcheol grabs your hip to keep you in place, stars bursting all the way down to your toes when he finally surges forward.

You’re soaking, and it makes the slide in easy, your walls stretching to take his fat cock to the hilt. His heavy balls, filled with cum, kiss your clit in greeting, and Seungcheol can feel your gummy walls thin as he bottoms out. He can feel the plug barely separated by your walls, and it could make him levitate if it wasn’t for the fact that you do first.

The mushroom head of Seungcheol’s cock places a filthy kiss on your cervix, and your toes curl. His pelvis smacked into the plug when he bottomed out, and being stuffed in both your holes makes your vision whiten. Your pussy clamps around Seungcheol’s thick girth, and your body shudders as you orgasm with a cry.

Your tears stain the pillow as Seungcheol ruts his hips forward, moving his cock and therefore nudging the toy to fuck you through your second orgasm with praises of how good your pussy feels squeezing his cock. His hands hold your waist, pulling you back to meet each thrust until your pretty pussy talks back filthily in response. “Fuck, can you feel me reaching your cervix, Baby?” Seungcheol’s head falls back, his eyes rolling as your cunt slobbers his cock with your creamy arousal.

The feeling of you taking him so well with the toy makes his cock twitch inside you, his thrusts picking up in pace as you let him fuck you into the bed. His hips smack into your ass, and the toy knocks into your sweet spot over and over again, and it’s too much. You're bracing against the mattress, reaching back to grab Seungcheol’s wrist as an anchor while he pounds into you. “It’s too much, I can’t-” your face forms a lewd expression, his arms wrapping under your shoulders to pull you up.

Your back arches, but Seungcheol holds you up from the mattress, bouncing you onto his length at a delirious pace. Your maw eases open in a surprised gasp. “Too much?” He tchs, his breath panting on the back of your neck as the new angle makes you see white, “I know what’s too much, and this-” his arms move and one wraps around the front of your stomach, keeping you up as his other arm snakes between your open legs. His hand slips between your trembling legs, and his fingers find your clit, rubbing tight circles around the nub while his teeth nip your neck teasingly. “This isn’t enough.”

A ringing pierces your ears as your body locks up, your scream getting snuffed into silence as your eyes roll to the back of your head for the third time. You squeeze his cock so tightly, Seungcheol’s entire body cringes, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he unexpectedly cums right after you do.

His cock jerks, splashing rope after rope of his creamy seed deep into your wet heat. Your cunt pulses in time with his cock’s twitches, milking him for every drop throughout your high. Wads of the gooey cum stick to your velvety walls, and your body slumps back against Seungcheol as the last ebbs of your orgasm take the rest of your energy from you.

Seungcheol rubs your sides, squeezing your breasts softly as his lips kiss your shoulder over and over. “Did so well for me,” he hums, fingers massaging your arms before he carefully slips from your tender cunt. Your wet folds are puffy and slicked with a mix of yours and his cum, and it seeps from your used pussy slowly as he lays you gently onto the bed again.

You lie there, on your stomach, blinking glossily at the picture of you and Seungcheol on your bedside table, dumb. You can hear him pad into the bathroom, the sound of the sink running briefly, before he’s back. He’s leaning over you, delicately cleaning your sensitive cunt with a wet rag. And when he throws the used rag into the dirty laundry basket, he slides into bed next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

A kiss on your shoulder while he pulls you close has you realizing the toy is still stuffed in your ass, you give an experimental clench around the toy, and your moan is weak as Seungcheol rubs your shaking thighs comfortingly. “The toy-” you don’t get to finish the sentence before Seungcheol’s leg slips between yours, barely putting weight onto the toy but enough to keep it snug in your ass.

“I told you, it’s not enough.” He murmurs, and your pussy betrays you when it clenches pathetically around nothing. “Gotta keep you open for when I take you during round two.”

my bts mstrlst - svt mstrlst

Part 2

[honeykiisss]

uh oh!

kim mingyu & choi seungcheol from seventeen and how is it y/n fault that the two (fantastic) one night stands were not just best friends, but room mates.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: threesome smut !! reader has a vagina & tits, name calling, p in v, effiel tower, oral sex both m & f receiving, breastplay, kitchen sex, cheol loves to motorboat you, daddy kink, sir kink, mingyu is a lil sub while cheol is a huge dom, big cocks!gyucheol as it should be, vouryerism masturbation, overstimulation, double creampie, sex without a condom (pls wrap it !!!), filming, mirror sex, hair pulling.

a/n: surprise !!! wrote this right after watching the pretty woman music video, sat in my drafts and now it's my thank you for 200 followers after realising how hot it truly is. thank you for the support and i can’t wait to keep writing for yall <3

You smiled at the dark hair, hot, fit man that peacefully slept next to you. Glancing at the clock that read 6am, you realised you've overstayed your welcome as you slowly and quietly creeped around his bedroom to change back into last night's clothes (without the shoes or your purse, that's at the front door) and even stealing a piece of minty gum that was on Mingyu's desk. But you truly would not be able to guess, the surprise on what was on the other side of the door when you opened it.

You winced at the sound the door made, trying to be as quiet as possible. Facing the door as you quietly closed it; it wasn't until you turned around to head to the front door nearby that you almost screamed. There stood, in all his hot blonde hair glory, clearly ready for a morning run by his attire was the last guy you hooked up with not even a week ago.

You looked around the apartment in shock until your eyes went back to him, his initial shocked reaction from seeing your presence now turning smug as he recognised you as much as you recognised him.

"You know, I thought you dipping like that before I woke up meant you didn't want to come back?" he asked.

Rolling your eyes with a hard chew to the gum still in your mouth, you gave him a fake smile. Acting sarcastic not wanting him to know how shocked you were but nonchalant instead. The fact Seungcheol stood shirtless in front of you, giving you flashbacks of the night from a week before, was not helping.

And he knew it.

He walked towards you, locking you in between his body and his room mate's bedroom door.

"Tell me angel, was my friend better or was it me?" Your chest was heaving, inner thighs tightening together as your eyes carelessly wandered to his lips, your inner demon just wanting them back onto yours and Seungcheol did exactly that.

It wasn't sweet. It was rough, needy and eagerly full of lust. His tongue entering your mouth to swipe the gum and somehow place it in his own mouth. He wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you in as your skimpy little club skirt was now grinding on his running shorts, as your hands ravaged his fit body. The grip on your ass was your signal to jump as he carried you more into their apartment, and to their kitchen. Seungcheol laid you down on their kitchen counter, making you shudder at the coldness but his body being on top of you as you both still heavily made out kept you warm. His hands unzipping the corset top from the front leaving your breasts bare for him as his lips move from your mouth to your tits.

"So you always go to clubs without a bra on?" he teased. You could only whimper as his fingers played with your nipples licking a stripe in between your breasts to then use his huge hands to basically smoosh your tits over his face to motorboat you. Hearing his groans in between your chest, you can't help but giggle.

"What's so funny?" He asks, biting your tit as he removes his face from your chest.

"You have a thing for motor boating?" You asked, recalling him doing the same thing as he fucked you last time.

"Well, it's because these tits are perfect, just as much as this pussy is." Seungcheol explains as one of his hands creeps under your skirt and cups your pussy tightly. It made your back arch and a loud moan escape, by quick reaction you covered your mouth with your hand as you look to the side where Mingyu's door is in slight fear that you were going to get caught.

Seungcheol saw this and a low growl escape, he then pulled your skirt and underwear down in one swift motion.

"I've been thinking about how fucking good you taste all fucking week, jerked off so many fucking times thinking about your pussy." He admitted. Seungcheol knelt down, holding your wrists to pin your arms to the sides of your body as his also laid his biceps across your thighs to restrict your movement. He blew air onto your pussy and grinned seeing you squirm.

"Want you to be loud baby, wake him up to a good surprise yeah? Call me daddy like you did last time." Before you could object, Seungcheol spat the gum in his mouth to the side so he could dive in head first. He wasn't lying about the fact he wanted this, needed this.

"Oh my god!" you yelled, lifting your head up to see his eyes already watching your every reaction and that only made things hotter.

What he didn't know was you thought about his mouth all fucking week too, though your one night stand rule was to dip without any other contact. A part of you wished that you did get Seungcheol's contact, you hadn't had anyone eat you out as good as he did. Which is one of the reasons why you even went out last night to try to forget the need for Seungcheol's mouth, is it coincidence or pure fucking luck for your distraction to be his fucking room mate of all people.

Seungcheol ate you out so good that it was loud and wet, the slurps felt like it was bouncing off the walls and he was devouring like a thirst deprived man receiving his drink. His tongue was fucking magic, going from flicking your bud to entering you and drawing figure 8s on your pussy. To just full on mouth on clit.

"Oh daddy I'm so close!" you moaned out, as soon as you did that you could feel the grin. He then let go of your hands to use one of his thumbs to rub circles on your nub and used the other to vastly thrust two fingers in you. With his tongue still working his magic and the motion of his fingers, you were going crazy, basically now humping his face. He loved the desperation of your movements that he stopped using his hands, including fingering you to wrap both his arms around your thighs to pull you even more closer to his face. Wanting you to cum on his mouth and his desperate mouth only.

It was giving you deja vu the last time you two fucked and how you felt you were suffocating him but he didn't care and things have clearly not changed. Your back arched as the pit of your stomach only felt tighter, you moved your head to the side for only a split second and paused with your blurry vision seeing Mingyu now wide awake in the hallway.

But yet, your shock only lasted for a split second and his presence, knowing he was watching only made you get to your release sooner. Your eyes travelled downwards to see Mingyu's hard cock against his grey sweatpants and that was it, your hand reached into Cheol's hair as you released all over his mouth. You squeezed your eyes shut, unable to control it with how good and sweet the release felt.

You shrieked when you felt your pussy get slapped, a signal to open your eyes and quickly diverting your head back to Seungcheol who stood proudly. The look in his eyes full of ego as he tasted what was left of your cum on his lips, his eyes never leaving your face and reading you were not a bit uncomfortable at the surprise third guest.

"Really Cheol?" You hear from Mingyu.

"Don't be whining Mingyu, technically I had her first." Cheol said with a smirk.

You see Mingyu's face turn into realisation. The moans that spilled out of your mouth last night that sounded like heaven in his ears to the point it naturally made his hips thrust faster sounded oh so familiar because he jerked off (and came) to the same moans only a week before.

"But..." Seungcheol coughs, now leaning onto the counter to face Mingyu (but where your legs were to not cover your view.)

Cheol's hand reached to cup your breast, his two fingers rubbing your nipple so you didn't feel neglected. It was like to tell you, without words that he was nowhere near done with you despite not looking directly at you.

"I think she likes this predicament right now, hm?" His eyes, finally now looking at you as he pinches your nipple making your body jerk by his touch. The eye contact between you and Seungcheol heavy, like he needed to read your facial expressions and how you were feeling.

"Does this little slut like knowing that you have two hard cocks wanting you right now?" You could only whimper at the dirty talk, your pussy still wet and brain mush from how hard he ate you out. Seungcheol's hand moved from your breast to your chin, cupping your face.

"Use your words darling, say you want us both right here at the same time and we're all yours." Seungcheol explained.

You nodded fast, in the back of your brain knowing how utterly pathetic you must look but you didn't care.

"Yes! Yes! I want both of your big cocks right now, please daddy." you begged to Seungcheol, then looking at Mingyu now standing closer to the both of you. You address him. "Please sir."

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊

And here you were. On all fours in Seungcheol's king size bed with his mirror closet giving you a view of how you looked when your eyes adverted to the side. You looked like a mess and it was a view all three of you wanted planted in your brains forever.

Mingyu, standing on one side with his huge cock in your mouth had you using one arm to steady yourself and the other to play with his balls. His hands were in your hair to balance himself as he harshly thrusted into your mouth.

Seungcheol, standing on the other side has his large cock slamming in and out of your pussy from behind. One hand gripped your hip tightly throughout the whole fucking while the other hand would go from gripping your other hip to thrust in you roughly to slapping your ass just when he felt like it. It was loud and messy, tears ran down your face at the pleasure.

Though Mingyu was thrusting in your mouth, you made sure to swirl your tongue to give him even more pleasure. Your eyes couldn't leave the sight above you, despite it being so blurry from the tears in your eyes. Mingyu was so fucking pretty. The way his eyes scrunched but forced himself to stare at you with his mouth agape and the grip on your hair tightening to signal when your mouth did a really fucking good job.

Mingyu was fighting a war with himself. He was shutting his eyes because the pleasure was getting to him but god, did he also want to see your pretty, teary eyed face that included seeing your eyes roll back from the pleasure Seungcheol was giving you.

For Seungcheol, he loved every minute of this. He also thought Mingyu was endearing when he was getting his cock sucked, of course this wasn't their first time sharing.

With your second orgasm approaching, you felt yourself getting closer to your release before Seungcheol was even done. You wanted to release Mingyu's cock to give a warning of your orgasm but his grip on your head was so tight. You didn't have to say anything though because Seungcheol knew you were close from how much your pussy was tightly gripping his cock.

He moved both his hands back to your hips, thrusting faster and harder that his balls slapping against your ass echoed throughout the bedroom.

"I know you're close baby, give it to me, coat my cock with your cum so I can paint you white." Cheol chanted, it only made your eyes roll and Mingyu grin at the sight once again.

"Fuck she love this." Mingyu moaned out, his hand going from your hair to your face and with both hands using his thumbs to stroke your hollowed out cheeks.

"Does princess like getting creampied? Want me to cum in your next?" Mingyu questions, you nod fast in his hands.

With Cheol's brutal pace and a grip on your hips that will leave bruises, you cum hard. Your arms losing the balance of keeping you upright making your mouth leave Mingyu's cock and though he hissed at the cold air. He rather cum in your pretty pussy than your mouth anyways.

You moaned and cried onto the bed, your body spasming at the pleasure. But Cheol didn't give up despite the new position. Still thrusting into your pussy vastly as your walls clutched onto his cock, you felt so fucking wet and tight that he couldn't help himself and came right after you. In you. The feeling of his cum spurting into your gummy walls only made your body yelp more, your hands gripping onto the sheets tightly.

"Thank you daddy! Thank you!' You screamed into the bed. Making more spurts of cum from Cheol come out.

Mingyu could have came at the sight of both of you orgasming knowing he was next.

You couldn't dare lift your head up, feeling slightly humiliated and knowing the makeup from last night probably looked even more messy as your chest was heaving. Pussy twitching. But that didn't last long as you felt yourself get flipped. Your back now laying on the bed as the two men switched places without you realising, you steadying your own breath was all you heard and focused on.

Mingyu smiling widely at your shock as he softly stroked your outer thighs.

"Ready to take me princess?" He asked. With your need to be their good girl, you nodded.

"Words" Mingyu sternly said.

"Yes sir, nee-" before you could finish your sentence about needing his cock. A large shriek fell out your lips as he pulls your body closer to the edge of the bed by your legs; to wrap them around his waist.

"Sorry for surprising you baby, but I'm not sorry for this." Mingyu utters and before you could question what he meant.

He thrusted his huge cock all in, making you loudly scream. The stretch hurt but my god was it delicious. Seungcheol was huge in the sense of his length, while Mingyu was huge from his girth. Both easily stretching you in different and addictive ways.

"T-Thought Seungcheol's cock prepped you already but you're still so fucking tight. Fuck ... babe." Mingyu stutters, chants, breathless.

You don't miss the weight of the bed dip as Seungcheol now sits beside you.

You reach your hand out to stroke Seungcheol's semi-hard cock to become hard again, but he hisses and smacks your hand away.

"Did I say you could touch?" He tells off, you whimper in response.

Instead of being closer to you, he moves away until his head leans against the bed's headboard. Legs criss crossed as he began to stroke his own cock while watching you get fucked. Your eyes never leaving each other as he does this, he smiles at your pout, finding you cute as your brain whines on how this isn't fair.

Before you could further complain, Mingyu readjusts his hips that he finds the spot you needed. It makes you gasp, your attention diverting back to him as he himself wears a similar pout to you.

"Pay attention to me too baby" he complains.

"I-I'm sorry sir! You fuck me so good sir, p-please don't stop" you moan out and praise. Back arching, eyes shutting as your delicious tits are bouncing from the thrusts, both Mingyu and Seungcheol can't stop watching your chest as one strokes his cock faster while the other penetrates you faster.

You can't control it any longer, your orgasm approaching and your mouth spewing every noise your throat can make. Mingyu fucking you so good, you don't even register how tight he's holding you or how Seungcheol's moaning with you. Unable to say any words, with a scream you come once again. Mingyu nearly topples over with how your pussy grips his cock while you orgasm, knowing why Seungcheol nearly lost himself as well.

With Mingyu's hard cock still plugged into you, not moving to let you have a breather both your eyes go to Seungcheol whose cum is splattered all over his stomach. You feel drool leave your mouth and both of them snicker seeing this.

An idea sparks in Mingyu's head, he takes his cock out of your warm pussy and before you whine of the emptiness he plunges two fingers in you.

"Get on all fours baby and lick daddy's cum off" Mingyu orders, both you and Seungcheol are surprised to hear him take control for the first time throughout this ordeal.

It makes you eagerly listen and as you move, reposition yourself. Mingyu's fingers never leave you. Instead he joins kneeling on the bed behind you, once you face Seungcheol you attempt to lower your head but Mingyu grabs your hair to lift your head up. You yelp in surprise but love the delicious burn like you did when you were sucking his cock.

"Film it on the bedside table Cheol" Mingyu orders, nodding to the phone on the same table and Seungcheol smiles. You feel your pussy flutter and cheeks blush at the same time,

"Hm, I was going to ask if that's okay angel but seems like it is. Naughty girl" Mingyu announces as he kisses your back softly.

When you hear the noise of the phone camera recording, you see it on the bedside table on selfie mode perfectly capturing all three of you.

"Lick baby" Mingyu orders again and lets go of your hair, just for it to be held in a makeshift ponytail by Seungcheol. You lower your head and lick a stripe of his load on Cheol's stomach, the salty and sticky liquid on your tongue making you hum as Seungcheol watches your every move of continuously licking his body. Hissing as you casually try to take his semi-hard cock's tip after licking his cum up. His cock was sensitive but if you went to suck him off, he wouldn't object.

At the same time, Mingyu unplugs his fingers to thrust his cock back into you. The motion making your lips that were around Cheol's tip now take his cock fully and deeper into your mouth.

"Oh shit" Cheol moans out, his cock now fully hard.

You wish this overwhelming pleasure of sucking Cheol's cock and Mingyu's fast thrusts mixed with your wet and full of cum pussy would never end. You bob your mouth up and down Cheol's shaft, tongue feeling his veins.

Seungcheol knew he wasn't going to last long, his free hand not in your hair gripping the pillow beside him as he thrusted into your mouth. Now he understood Mingyu's predicament before, he couldn't describe how good you sucked cock even if he tried.

Mingyu was in the same predicament, not knowing how much longer he can hold on as your tight pussy continues to grip him from the pleasure of sucking cock and Mingyu thrusting into your pussy so deliciously.

The fact this was the fourth orgasm they were pulling out of you and so close to your third, you were close as well. But with full persistent you wanted daddy to cum first, with the one hand not steadying your position just like you did with Mingyu. You played with Cheol's balls while deep throating him. That was all it took, as his load spilled into your mouth. Despite thinking you swallowed all of it, when your mouth left his shaft. You felt liquid still around your lips and leaving your mouth like drool but the warmth and thickness of it made you realise it was his cum on your lips.

"Oh fuck" Seungcheol quietly whispered, chest still panting. He grabbed the phone off the bedside table to film your face close up, your fucked out face was both beautiful and a fucking mess.

"F-Fuck I'm close" Mingyu panted behind you, using one of his hands to start rubbing your clit to get you closer. You bite your lip, tasting the cum. Seungcheol still filming every bit of this.

"Mingyu look at the phone" Seungcheol points out, moving it to the side a bit to still capture your makeup ruined face while letting Mingyu have his view.

The sight of your pleasured out face was all it took for Mingyu, cumming in your pussy with a scream from his lips. The sensation making your own pussy spasm and cum for the fourth time, both of them had massive loads that felt like they were filling your cunt to the brim. Just like before, your arms give up on you. Head plopping onto Seungcheol's thighs as he softly strokes your hair.

Mingyu grabs the phone from Seungcheol with shaky hands, now filming from the side right next to where his cock and your pussy were as your hips were still upright. Finally unplugging his cock, you and Seungcheol watch from the phone as Mingyu watches with his own eyes how the mix of all three of your cums trickle down your thighs, drops falling onto the bedsheets.

All three of you are sweaty and tired beyond belief, you feel your own eyes drooping to a shut on Cheol's thigh not even getting to see who was cleaning the sticky mess on your legs with a towel. All you heard and felt before your slumber was a kiss on the shoulder, hair strokes and a sentence of

"Sleep baby girl, you earned it, we'll be here."

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊

taglist (please send an ask off anon or msg me to be added): @jakeyjakey-143z

[cherryberrycheol]

Room 312 | Choi Seungcheol | 🔞

Pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader

Summary: You throw caution to the wind after a charged encounter with a magnetic stranger at a resort. Following him to his room for a one night stand. What unfolds, however, leaves you hoping it won’t end on just that.

Word count: 11.5k

Genres/warnings: smut, pwp (literally porn with very little plot), making out in a public place (hot tub) with some grinding, sexual tension (obviously), stranger sex, one night stand, Seungcheol is kinda flirty and bold but also not a dickhead, reader is an overthinker, implied strangers to lovers (because you have to bag a man like him!), reader gets emotional after sex and cries. ah, yes, metric system keeps jumping because sometimes miles sound better than meters... I feel like this section is absolutely useless for this specific fic lol.

Smut warnings: Minors DNI, Seungcheol is a total consent king (but also nasty), bodily fluids (arousal, obviously), dom!Cheol, big dick!Cheol, he has plenty pubic hair in this one (srry not srry I just suddenly got turned on by that idea and had to include), light breast/nipple play, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, piv sex (they use condoms, hurray!), multiple rounds, multiple poses, rough sex, lazy sex, dirty talk, some degradation, deepthroating (with some gagging and choking and tearing up), cum eating, Seungcheol loves to mark, kinda overstimulation (cuz well, multiple orgasms), praise kink, pet names. I think I totally forgot something…

A/N: this idea was born per anon request which I kept adding to and adding to it (hence it might’ve turned kinda repetitive at some point but then again it’s sex, it’s not exactly much different) and that’s why it took me so long to complete (besides the fact that I kept getting sidetracked to work on other stories). also, what a freaking monstrosity of a pwp🫣 blame it all on Seungcheol and being so hot all the time. the sexiness of his 30s is very fcking dangerous i must say! as always, i hope you enjoy your read, will be happy to see your comments, tags or if you’re shy you’re always welcome to express yourself anonymously in my ask box ᙏ̤̫

If you see any mistakes: I try to proofread but English isn’t my first language, proceed at your own discretion.

Masterlist.

You slip into the water, the quiet slosh a welcome sound after hours cooped up in your air-conditioned room. The resort pool glitters under the moonlight, cool and inviting against the lingering heat of the day. It’s late, the usual splashing families long gone, leaving just you, a few other residents and the gentle hum of the pool filter. You float on your back, staring up at the star-dusted sky which is dimmed by the lights of the resort, letting the water cradle you. Peace.

Then you feel it. That prickle on the back of your neck, the unmistakable weight of someone’s gaze. You roll onto your stomach, treading water, and scan the poolside lounge chairs. There, half-hidden in the shadow of a potted palm, is him. The guy from breakfast yesterday, the one with the intense dark eyes that seemed to follow you as you piled fruit onto your plate. And the day before that, lingering near the pool bar while you sunbathed. Tall, broad-shouldered beneath a simple t-shirt, with that gorgeous face—big, soulful eyes framed by long dark lashes and thick brows, surprisingly plush lips set in a strong jaw. Handsome in a way that feels solid, capable. Like he could easily lift you, pin you, whatever he wanted. The thought sends a warm shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the water.

He doesn’t look away when you catch him. Just holds your gaze, a faint, almost imperceptible tilt to his head. Not creepy. You find it intriguing. A little thrilling. You hold his look for a beat, letting a small, knowing smile touch your lips before deliberately turning away, diving under the surface. The cool water rushes over your heated skin. Yeah, his attention strokes the ego. Especially when you resurface a few meters away, glance back and he’s still watching, a lazy, appreciative curve now playing on those lips.

You see him everywhere after that. Catching his eye over coffee cups at the bustling breakfast buffet, his gaze lingering a fraction too long. Passing him on the path to the beach, a shared, fleeting look that crackles in the humid air. He’s always there, a quiet, attractive presence you’ve started unconsciously searching for. The attention is a constant, low thrum under the surface of your holiday relaxation.

The heat of the afternoon sun gives way to the softer warmth of early evening. Seeking something more soothing than the cool pool, you head towards the secluded hot tub tucked away near a screen of lush tropical plants. Steam rises invitingly from the bubbling water. Perfectly empty. You shed your light cover-up, leaving just your swimsuit, and slip into the deliciously hot water with a sigh. Bliss. The jets massage your tired muscles, the steam curling around your face.

You’ve barely closed your eyes when you hear the soft splash of someone else entering the water. Already preparing to feel the disappointment of disturbed solitude you open your eyes again just to see if whoever joined you is tolerable enough to stay. But it’s him. Of course. He settles on the opposite bench, the hot tub suddenly feeling much smaller. Water laps around his broad chest. His dark hair is slightly damp, clinging to his forehead. Those big eyes fix on you again, but this time, there’s no pretense of looking away.

“Seems like we have similar taste in relaxation spots,” he says, his voice a deep rumble that resonates pleasantly in the steamy air. It’s smooth, confident.

“Looks like,” you reply, your own voice sounding slightly breathless even to you. You adjust your position, sending ripples across the surface between you. “It’s the best one. Always quiet.”

“Quiet is nice,” he agrees, a slow smile spreading across his face. It lights up his features, making him even more disarmingly handsome. “Especially for unwinding. Or... getting acquainted.” He leans forward slightly, resting his arms on the tiled edge. “I’m Seungcheol.”

You offer him a smile and your own name in return. The space between you feels silently charged, thick with the steam and something else entirely.

The conversation flows easily, surprisingly natural despite the simmering tension. You talk about the resort, the food, the awful humidity, your lives back at your hometowns. His eyes never really leave yours, or sometimes drift lower, appreciative, unhurried. The heat of the water sinks into your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth spreading through you under his unwavering attention. He laughs at something you say, a rich, genuine sound, and shifts closer, ostensibly to hear you better over the bubbling jets. His knee brushes yours underwater. Neither of you pulls away.

His gaze drops to your mouth. “You have a really nice smile.”

The compliment, however basic, delivered in that low voice, feels like a physical touch. “Thanks,” you murmur, your heart pounding against your ribs. The air crackles. The few inches of bubbling water between you might as well be a mile. “You're not so bad yourself, Seungcheol.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He moves, closing the distance smoothly. One large hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. His skin is hot, damp and this sensation sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. “Not so bad, huh?” he repeats, a playful challenge in his eyes that’s quickly overtaken by pure heat. “Let’s see about that.”

His lips meet yours. It’s not exactly tentative, he only searches your eyes for half a second to see that you want it. The kiss is confident, searching, immediately deep. A jolt of pure electricity shoots straight through you and your lungs refuse to cooperate at first. You take a choked breath against his mouth, your hands flying up, one tangling in the damp hair at his nape, the other gripping his solid shoulder. He tastes faintly of chlorine and mint, and something that you can only describe as him. The kiss deepens, turning hungry. His other arm wraps around your waist, hauling you effortlessly off your seat and onto his lap, straddling him. The jets churn violently around you.

The hot water sloshes as you grind against him. The thin barrier of your swimwear does nothing to hide the hard ridge of his growing erection pressing against your core, or the way your own body pulses in response. His hands are everywhere—sliding up your back beneath the water, fingers tracing the edge of your swimsuit top, palming the curve of your ass, pulling you harder against him. Your own hands explore the expanse of his chest, his shoulders, the damp skin of his neck. Soft moans escape you, muffled against his mouth, lost in the sound of the bubbling water. He groans, low and guttural, when you roll your hips, seeking more friction. His lips leave yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, sucking gently at the sensitive skin just above your collarbone. You arch into him, gasping, your fingers tightening in his hair.

You whimper, burying your face in his neck, breathing in the clean, masculine scent of him mixed with steam. His hands slide lower, under the edge of your bikini bottoms, fingers brushing against the slick heat there. You gasp, pushing yourself harder against his touch, against the hard length of him. It’s frantic, messy, the water making everything extra challenging but impossibly erotic. You’re teetering on the edge though it keeps, ironically, slipping away from you, the world narrowed down to the feel of him, the sounds you’re both making, the churning water…

“Hey, is this thing on? Looks steamy over there!” A loud, cheerful male voice, startlingly close, cuts through the haze of pleasure like a bucket of ice water.

You freeze. Seungcheol goes rigid against you. His hand stills instantly beneath the water, but he doesn’t pull it away completely. His head whips around towards the path leading to the hot tub. You follow his gaze, your heart hammering against your ribs. Two figures are silhouetted against the resort lights, approaching.

“Shit,” mutters under his breath, low and urgent. His eyes snap back to yours, dark and dilated with arousal and sudden frustration. The spell is shattered, replaced by a jarring wave of exposure. He pulls his hand from your swimsuit, his touch lingering for a fraction of a second, a silent apology and promise. He shifts his body subtly, creating a sliver of space between you, trying to make the scene look less like what it was: two strangers moments away from combusting in a public hot tub. You hastily remove yourself from his lap.

The newcomers—a couple laughing together—reach the edge. “Mind if we join?” the man asks, already stepping in, oblivious to the crackling tension he just interrupted.

“Not at all,” Seungcheol manages, his voice rough but surprisingly calm. He throws you a look—intense, frustrated, simmering with the heat that hasn't dissipated, only been banked. He leans close, lips brushing your ear, breath hot and sending a new shiver down your spine despite the warm water. “Room 312,” he murmurs, the words barely audible over the renewed bubbling and the newcomers’ chatter. “Top floor, west wing. In an hour. Don’t make me wait. Please.”

He doesn’t wait for your answer, just gives your thigh a final, firm squeeze under the water, a silent anchor point, then smoothly pulls himself out of the tub in one fluid motion. Water streams down his body as he grabs his towel, not even bothering to dry off, just wrapping it loosely around his hips. He throws one last searing glance your way before turning and walking swiftly down the path, disappearing into the shadowy foliage without a backward glance at the oblivious newcomers now settling into the water.

You’re left sitting in the suddenly too-crowded tub, your body humming with unmet need, the ghost of his hands and lips imprinted on your skin. The water feels tepid now. The laughter of the other couple jars your nerves. An hour. Room 312. Top floor, west wing. Your heart kicks against your ribs again, a frantic, exhilarating rhythm. The decision feels inevitable. You take a deep, shaky breath, the scent of chlorine and tropical blooms suddenly sharp in your nostrils, and start counting down the seconds.

The steam from the hot tub still clings to your skin like a phantom caress as you stumble back towards your own resort room, the gravel path crunching unnaturally loud under your sandals. Every nerve ending feels electrified, raw, and hyper-aware. The taste of him lingers on your lips. The imprint of his large hands on your hips burns beneath the thin fabric of your bikini. And his words, low and desperate in your ear, echo like a strangely pleading command you have no intention of disobeying: Room 312. Top floor, west wing. In an hour. Don’t make me wait. Please.

An hour. It stretches before you like a lifetime and a blink simultaneously.

Inside your cool, impersonal room, the silence is jarring. You lock the door, leaning your forehead against the smooth wood, trying to catch your breath that keeps hitching in your chest. Your reflection in the full-length mirror startles you—flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, eyes wide and dark with a mixture of lingering arousal and dawning panic. What are you thinking? He’s a stranger! The thought crashes through the haze of desire, sharp and cold. You barely know his last name, let alone anything substantial. This is reckless, potentially dangerous, the kind of thing you read about in cautionary tales.

But then the memory floods back: the confident pressure of his lips, the possessive squeeze of his hand, the pure, unadulterated heat in his eyes that promised oblivion. The way your body responded instantly, arching into his touch, grinding against him with a desperation that shocked you. The ache between your legs, momentarily soothed by the churning water but now throbbing back to life, persistent and undeniable. It wasn’t just lust, though that was a roaring fire. It was a connection, intense and immediate, crackling in the humid air between you since that first locked gaze by the moonlit pool.

You pace the small room, the plush carpet muffling your frantic steps. Stranger danger wars with stranger sex fantasy. Your sensible side screams retreat. Your body, humming with anticipation, screams go. You glance at the clock. Forty five minutes.

Shower. You need a shower. To wash off the chlorine, the steam, the feeling of his skin against yours. Or maybe just to stall. The water is lukewarm, a feeble attempt to cool the internal furnace. You scrub mechanically, your mind racing. What if he’s not what he seems? What if it’s awkward? What if you change your mind halfway through? What if you don’t change your mind and it’s incredible? The last thought sends another jolt of heat straight to your core.

Drying off, you face the mirror again, the panic subsiding slightly, replaced by a fluttery, nervous excitement. You’re going. The decision settles, warm and heavy in your stomach. You want this. You want him. The reckless abandon of it thrills you almost as much as the memory of his touch.

Now, what to wear? The simple sundress you packed—light blue cotton, spaghetti straps, falling just above the knee. It’s innocent enough for walking through the resort corridors, easy to slip off. But is it too innocent? Too try-hard? You rifle through your suitcase. A silky camisole? Too obvious. Jeans? Absolutely not. The sundress it is. Underneath... You hesitate, holding a simple cotton brief. No. You reach for the one piece of lingerie you brought on a whim, delicate black lace bikini bottoms, barely there. Too much? The critical voice pipes up again. He’ll just take it off anyway. But the thought of him seeing it, his big hands peeling it down your legs... You pull them on. The lace feels foreign and exciting against your skin. No bra. The dress is forgiving enough, and the thought of his hands, his mouth, finding you bare beneath the thin cotton sends another shiver through you. Definitely too much. But you leave it. This is your secret, your small rebellion against your own inner voice.

You check the mirror once more. Hair slightly damp, falling loose around your shoulders. Minimal makeup reapplied—just a touch of gloss on your still-sensitive lips. The flush on your cheeks is genuine. You look... eager. Vulnerable. Ready. Your heart hammers against your ribs like a trapped bird.

Five minutes. You grab your keycard, take a deep, shaky breath, and step out into the softly lit hallway. The walk to the west wing elevator feels endless. Every guest you pass seems to look at you knowingly. The elevator ride to the top floor is agonizingly slow, the mirrored walls reflecting your nervous fidgeting. The plush carpet of the top-floor corridor swallows the sound of your footsteps. Room 312. It looms at the end of the hall. You pause, hand raised to knock, your pulse roaring in your ears. Last chance to turn back.

Before your knuckles can connect, the door swings open.

He fills the doorway, backlit by the warm lamplight inside. Changed out of his swim trunks into low-slung grey sweatpants that cling to the powerful lines of his hips and thighs, and nothing else. Your breath catches. The poolside glimpses, the hot tub proximity—none of it prepared you for the sheer impact of him like this, half-dressed and waiting. His torso is a sculpted landscape of muscle—broad, defined shoulders tapering to a narrower, incredibly taut waist. The planes of his chest are smooth, his lower abdomen dusted with just the faintest hint of dark hair leading down under the waistband of his pants. His arms are thick with muscle, veins subtly tracing his forearms. His dark hair is towel-dried, slightly tousled. And his eyes... those big, dark eyes lock onto yours, intense, searching, simmering with the same heat from the tub, but tempered now with a watchful stillness.

“Hey,” he says, short greeting a low rumble in his chest. His gaze sweeps over you, taking in the sundress, the bare shoulders, the nervous energy vibrating off you. A slow, appreciative smile touches his lips, but his eyes remain serious, focused. “You came.”

“Told you I would,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. You never told him that, what are you even saying? You try very hard not to fiddle with your hands and leave them unmoving at your sides to hide the anxiety that’s been festering in you for the past hour. The proximity, the sheer maleness of him, is overwhelming. The nervous flutters intensify, mixed with a fresh wave of pure desire.

He doesn’t point out your words, just steps back, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

The room is spacious, a luxury suite. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the moonlit ocean. A large bed dominates the space, neatly made but looking suddenly, profoundly significant. The air carries a faint, clean scent—soap, maybe cedar—mixed with the undeniable, warm scent of him.

He closes the door softly behind you, the click of the lock echoing in the sudden quiet. You stand awkwardly just inside, the confident woman from the hot tub replaced by this jittery version. He doesn't immediately move towards you. Instead, he leans back against the door, studying you, his gaze traveling over your face, down your neck, lingering on the thin straps of your dress. The silence stretches, thick with anticipation and your own racing thoughts.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice softer now, deeper with concern. The question is simple, but the weight behind it is immense. It’s not perfunctory. He’s genuinely checking. His intense gaze holds yours, waiting, giving you space. “Being here? After the tub... things got intense fast. I need to know you're still good. That this,” he gestures loosely between you, “is what you want. Right now. No pressure. None at all.” His eyes are unwavering, open. “You can say no. You can leave. Right now. Just tell me.”

His directness, the absolute seriousness with which he asks, cuts through your nervous haze. It’s the opposite of the demanding stranger persona your anxiety had conjured. And it loosens the knot of tension in your chest.

You take a shaky breath, meeting his gaze. The desire is still there, a live wire, but the fear is receding, replaced by a growing certainty. “I’m... nervous,” you admit, the honesty surprising you. “But I’m good. I want to be here. I want…” You trail off, heat flooding your cheeks again. I want you. The words hang unspoken but felt.

He pushes off the door, closing the small distance between you in two slow strides. He stops just before touching you, his presence enveloping. “Nervous is okay,” he murmurs, his voice a low vibration you feel in your bones. “Tell me if anything feels not okay. At any point. Promise me.” It's not a request; it's a non-negotiable term.

“I promise,” you whisper.

His hand lifts, slow and deliberate, giving you time to pull away. His knuckles brush your cheek, a feather-light touch that sends sparks skittering across your skin. “You look beautiful,” he says, his eyes tracing the line of your jaw, the curve of your neck exposed by the sundress. “This dress…” His thumb strokes your cheekbone, mirroring his touch in the hot tub, but gentler now. “Can I take it off you?”

The question, so blunt yet so considerate, steals your breath. You nod, unable to speak. His fingers find the thin straps of your sundress. He eases them down your shoulders with agonizing slowness, his gaze fixed on the revealed skin. The soft cotton pools at your waist, then falls completely, puddling around your ankles on the plush carpet. You stand before him in just the delicate black lace bikini bottoms, suddenly exposed under the warm lamplight.

His breath hitches, a soft, audible intake. His gaze roams over you, hungry, appreciative, but still controlled. “Fuck,” he breathes, the word thick with awe. “Look at you.” His eyes linger on the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the lace hugging your hips. “Perfect.” His hand returns to your cheek, then slides slowly down your neck, over your collarbone, coming to rest lightly on the curve of your breast. His touch is warm, possessive, yet infinitely patient. “Still good?”

“More than good,” you breathe, the nervousness melting under the heat of his admiration and his touch. Your hands lift almost of their own accord, drawn to the solid wall of his chest. Your palms flatten against warm, smooth skin, feeling the powerful beat of his heart beneath. The contrast between his hard muscle and the softness of his skin is intoxicating.

He leans down, his lips finding yours again. This kiss is different from the hungry clash in the tub. It’s slower, deeper, a rediscovery. His tongue slides against yours, tasting, exploring. His hand cups your breast fully, his thumb circling your nipple, teasing it into a hard peak. A soft moan escapes you, swallowed by his mouth. Your fingers curl against his chest, nails scraping lightly.

He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, returning to the sensitive spot just above your collarbone he’d discovered earlier. He sucks gently, then soothes it with his tongue, sending shivers down your spine. One arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The hard ridge of his erection presses insistently against your lower belly, even through the fabric of his sweatpants. The evidence of his desire is thrilling.

His free hand drifts lower, fingertips tracing the top edge of your lace panties, dipping just beneath. “These are a surprise,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice husky. “A very fucking good one.” His fingers slide lower, tracing the seam of you through the damp lace, finding the heat and slickness waiting there. You gasp, pushing your hips forward against his hand, seeking more pressure. “So wet already, princess,” he groans, his fingers applying delicious friction. “Just for me?”

The sudden endearment sends a jolt through you. “Yes,” you whimper, your head falling back as he adds a second finger, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. “Just for you.”

He eases his hand away, eliciting a soft sound of protest from you. Before you can process it, his hands are on your hips, turning you gently. You face the large bed now. His hands slide down to your waistband. “Lift your foot,” he instructs softly. You comply, and he carefully peels the lace down one leg, then the other, letting them fall. He guides you back until your knees hit the edge of the mattress. “Sit.”

You turn and sink onto the cool duvet. He stands before you, his eyes dark pools of desire as he drinks in the sight of you completely bare. The intensity is almost too much. Then, without breaking eye contact, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and pushes them down, along with his boxer briefs, in one smooth motion.

Your breath stops.

He is magnificent. Powerfully built everywhere—thick thighs corded with muscle, a firm, sculpted ass, the defined V-cut leading down from his hips. And his cock... thick, long, already fully erect, curving slightly upwards from a neat nest of dark, coarse hair. The contrast is striking—the smooth expanse of his chest and stomach giving way to this thatch of dark curls framing his impressive erection. You usually prefer smooth, but the raw masculinity of it, the primal contrast, sends a jolt of pure, unexpected desire straight through you. You can’t tear your eyes away.

He sees your stare, a slow, knowing smirk playing on his lips. “See something you like?” His voice is thick with amusement and pride.

“You're... yes,” you breathe, the honesty raw in your voice despite the fact that words are miserably failing you at the moment. The sheer size is intimidating and thrilling all at once. “You’re… incredible.”

He steps closer, his cock bobbing slightly. He places one knee on the bed between your legs, then the other, kneeling over you, caging you in. His hands frame your face. “You’re the incredible one,” he counters, his thumb brushing your bottom lip and your gaze darts up to meet his. “You sure you’re ready for this?” His eyes search yours again, the question layered. Ready for him? Ready for the intensity he promises?

Your answer is to lean forward and press a kiss to his abdomen, just above his navel. Then lower, tracing a short path with your lips towards the dark trail. You feel him tense, a sharp intake of breath. You look up at him, meeting his heated gaze. “Show me what you can do,” you whisper.

A groan rumbles deep in his chest. He shifts back slightly, giving you space. “Fuck yes. But first…” He guides you gently to lie back on the bed. “Let me taste you.”

He moves down your body with deliberate slowness, kissing his way down your sternum, over the swell of your stomach. He nips gently at your hip bone, then spreads your thighs apart with firm hands. He pauses, looking up at you from between your legs, his eyes holding yours, asking permission one final time. You nod, biting your lip. His gaze drops, focusing on you with an intensity that makes you tremble. Then he lowers his head.

The first touch of his tongue is a revelation. Slow, broad strokes from bottom to top, savoring you. He groans, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh. “So sweet,” he murmurs, his breath hot. Then he zeroes in, his tongue circling your clit with firm, focused pressure, flicking over the swollen bud, trying different methods until he finds the one that works best for you. Your back arches off the bed, a mewl tearing from your throat. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he devours you. He alternates between broad, lapping strokes and pinpoint flicks, building the pressure relentlessly. One hand slides down, his thumb pressing rhythmically against your entrance while his tongue works your clit. Then, a thick finger slides inside you, curling upwards, finding that sweet spot instantly.

“Oh god! Seungcheol!” You writhe, your fingers tangling in his damp hair, holding him to you. He adds a second finger, stretching you gently, his tongue circling your clit. The combination is overwhelming—the wet heat of his mouth, the skilled thrust and curl of his fingers, the pressure building like a tidal wave. He's relentless, attuned to every gasp, every twitch of your body. “Yes! Right there! Don’t stop!”

“Come for me, princess,” he rasps against you, his voice thick and muffled. “Let go. I've got you.” His tongue lashes your clit faster, his fingers pump harder, curling perfectly. The coil snaps. Pleasure explodes through you, white-hot and shattering, radiating out from your core in pulsing waves. Your thighs clamp around his head as you cry out, body bowing off the bed, lost in the sheer, blinding ecstasy he wrings from you.

He gentles his touch as the tremors subside, lapping softly, easing you down. He presses a final, lingering kiss to your inner thigh before crawling back up your body. He kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. His cock, rock-hard and leaking, presses against your stomach. “Fuck, that was beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes dark with satisfaction and renewed hunger. “You’re so fucking responsive. Looks like no one fucked you properly in a while.”

You’re still trembling, floating on the aftershocks, but the sight of him above you, the feel of his hard length against you, reignites the fire. “I need you,” you gasp, reaching between you to wrap your hand around him. He hisses, his hips jerking forward into your touch. He’s impossibly hard, velvety smooth skin over the hot girth of him. “Inside. Now.”

He kisses you again, hard and promising. “Condom,” he breathes against your mouth. He leans over to the nightstand, fumbling slightly, ripping open a packet with his teeth. You watch, mesmerized, as he rolls it on with efficient, slightly shaky hands. The sight of him sheathing that thick length is intensely erotic.

He settles back between your thighs, his weight braced on his forearms on either side of your head. The broad head of his cock nudges against your slick entrance. He holds your gaze, his eyes burning into yours. “Ready?” he asks, the word strained. “Tell me.”

“Ready,” you breathe, lifting your hips to meet him. “Please.”

He pushes forward slowly, inexorably. There’s a moment of intense pressure, a delicious stretch as your body yields to accommodate his size. You gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. He pauses, fully seated but not moving, letting you adjust. “You okay?” His voice is tight with the effort of holding still.

“Okay,” you gasp, the fullness incredible, overwhelming. “Move. Please, Seungcheol.”

He begins to move, slow, deep thrusts at first, withdrawing almost completely before sinking back in. The friction is exquisite, the stretch perfect. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, watching your reactions. “Feel so good,” he groans, his breath coming faster. “So tight. Fucking perfect.” He drops his head, his lips finding yours, his tongue licking into your mouth with wet sounds mixed with your breathing. His pace gradually increases, his thrusts becoming deeper, more powerful. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into the firm muscles of his ass, pulling him deeper still. The slap of skin against skin fills the room, mingling with your gasps and his guttural groans.

His hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again, rubbing firm circles in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation is almost too much. “Look at you,” he rasps, his voice rough. “Taking me so well. My perfect little fuckdoll.” The slight degradation, the possessiveness in his tone, sends a fresh jolt of heat through you, coiling your muscles tighter.

“Harder,” you beg, arching your back. “Don't stop!”

He growls, a purely animal sound, and obliges. His thrusts become harder, faster, pistoning into you with a force that steals your breath. The bed creaks in protest. He shifts slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly he's hitting that deep, sweet spot with every plunge. Stars burst behind your eyelids. "There! Oh god, Seungcheol, right there!" you scream, your body tightening around him like a vise.

"Come on, princess," he commands, his voice ragged. "Come on my cock. Now." His thumb presses harder, his thrusts become brutal, perfectly angled. The command, the relentless stimulation, tips you over the edge again. Your orgasm crashes over you, even more intense than the first, a wave of pure, mindless pleasure that rips a scream from your throat. Your inner walls clench rhythmically around him, milking him.

He curses, a low, drawn-out groan. "Fuck! That's it. Squeeze me just like that." He drives into you a few more times, hard and deep, then buries himself to the hilt with a final, shuddering thrust. His body tenses, a guttural cry tearing from his throat as he finds his own release, pulsing deep inside you. He collapses onto his forearms, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you gasping, trembling, slick with sweat.

He stays buried inside you for long moments, catching his breath, pressing soft, almost reverent kisses to your lips, your cheeks, your forehead. “Jesus,” he finally breathes, his voice wrecked. “You’re... fucking unreal.”

He eases out of you carefully, disposing of the condom. Then he gathers you against him, pulling you onto your sides facing each other, your bodies still humming. His arms wrap around you, strong and secure. One big hand strokes your hair, the other rests on your hip. “Alright?” he murmurs, his lips brushing your temple. “That was... intense.”

“Intense is an understatement,” you manage, snuggling closer into the solid warmth of his chest, listening to the rapid thud of his heart slowing down. “But yeah. Alright. More than alright.” You trace the smooth skin over his pectoral muscle. “You’re... you’re really good at that.”

Seungcheol chuckles, a low, satisfied rumble, then kisses the top of your head. His hand drifts down, cupping your ass, pulling you tighter against his softening cock and you can feel the warm wetness of your release between your thighs even more like that.

The tremors from your climax are still rippling through you, a sweet, fading echo that leaves your muscles liquid and weak. A profound, sated exhaustion is already seeping into your bones, a heavy warmth that makes your limbs feel like they are filled with sand. When his lips find yours again, the kiss is different—slower, hungrier, but tinged with the same shared fatigue. It tastes of salt of sweat and him, already a familiar, intoxicating flavor. His hands move over your body with possessiveness that is both thrilling and daunting, mapping your spent form as if assessing its limits for what comes next.

“Round two,” he murmurs against your mouth, the words a dark, thrilling promise, though his voice is even more ragged now, stripped raw and breathless. He rolls off you, the loss of his weight and heat a sudden chill. He sits up on the edge of the bed, his broad back to you, and you see the muscles there tremble faintly with the aftermath of his own release. He takes a deep, shuddering breath before turning to look at you over his shoulder. His eyes are black with intent, but the lids are heavy. “Turn over. On your knees.”

The command is direct, but it lands differently now. A fresh wave of heat, liquid and urgent, pools low in your belly, but it’s followed immediately by a deep, internal tremor of fatigue. Already? your body seems to cry out. You feel fucked out, overstimulated after just two orgasms, every nerve ending raw and singing. Pushing yourself up is an effort. Your arms shake, your core muscles protesting as you awkwardly get onto your hands and knees, presenting yourself to him. The position is profoundly vulnerable, and the awareness of his gaze burning into you, taking in the sight of your well-used, sensitive flesh, makes you shudder and clench with a mixture of anticipation and sheer, overwhelming sensitivity.

“Fuck, look at that,” he groans, his voice thick with awe and a lust that seems to override his own tiredness. His hand comes down, not in a slap, but in a firm, possessive grip on one cheek, squeezing, kneading the flesh. You flinch, the sensation almost too much on your sensitized skin. “All mine for the night.” He leans forward, and you feel the hot, wet stroke of his tongue, lapping up the evidence of your release from your inner thighs. The obscene, sloppy sound he makes vibrates through your oversensitive core, and you drawl a throaty moan, a jolt of pleasure-pain shooting through you. “So fucking sweet.”

You gasp, your arms trembling violently now, struggling to hold yourself up. The mix of reverence and filth in his act is dizzying. He’s worshiping and defiling you all at once, and your body, though exhausted, responds to his filthy devotion with a fresh, aching throb of need.

You hear the tear of another foil packet, his movements slightly slower, less efficient this time. The rustle as he sheathes himself again seems louder in the heavy, post-coital silence. Then his hands are on your hips, his grip firm, almost bruising, holding you in place. The broad, sheathed head of his cock nudges against your tender entrance, teasing, circling, smearing your wetness. The contact is electric, almost too intense.

“Tell me you want it,” he demands, his voice a low, evidently tired growl against your ear as he leans over you, covering your body with his. His chest is slick with sweat as it presses against your back.

“I want it,” you pant, the words a breathless struggle. You push your hips back against him, the movement feeling sluggish in your exhaustion, but the need is still there, persistent and insatiable. “Please, Seungcheol. I need it.”

“Beg for it,” he insists, nipping at the shell of your ear. “Tell me how much you need this cock.”

The vulgarity, the sheer nastiness of his words, sends a final, desperate jolt straight to your core. “I need it,” you whimper, your voice breaking with fatigue and want. “I need your cock. Please, fuck me. I need you to fuck me hard.”

With a grunt of approval that seems to come from the depths of his being, he pushes forward. There’s no slow easing this time, but the thrust is not as brutally swift as before. He drives into you in one long, steady motion, burying himself to the hilt in the deep, claiming angle only this position allows. The force of it is breathtaking, a choked cry ripped from your throat at the overwhelming fullness, the delicious stretch around him. You are so full, so thoroughly possessed.

“God, yes,” you moan, your head dropping between your shoulders, your spine arching.

He sets a punishing pace, but it is a tired pace still, the rhythm of it born of muscle memory and stubborn will rather than boundless energy. He pulls out almost completely before slamming back into you, each thrust a profound jolt that shakes your entire weary body. The sound is obscenely loud—the wet, sloppy slap of skin on skin, the creak of the bedsprings, his guttural, breathless groans, your high-pitched, overstimulated mewls. He leans back, his hands locked on your hips, using them as leverage to piston into you with a relentless, driving force that you feel is costing him as much as it is you.

“You take me so fucking good,” he rasps, his voice strained and hoarse with the effort. “So deep like this. Can you feel it? Can you feel how deep I am inside you?” Every word is pushed out on a labored breath.

“Y-yes!” you cry out, your fingers clutching weakly at the rumpled sheets, your body rocking helplessly with his movements. Each thrust hits a spot so deep and sensitive it borders on painful, a blinding pleasure that your exhausted system can barely process. “Right there! Oh god, don't stop!”

He doesn’t. His pace is unwavering, a testament to his stamina, but you can feel the fine tremor in his thighs where they press against yours with every slap of flesh against flesh, the sheen of new sweat on his skin. One hand leaves your hip and slides around your front, fingers finding your oversensitive, swollen clit. The touch is almost too much, and you jolt, arms giving out, a sob catching in your throat. He rubs rough, frantic circles that match the rhythm of his thrusts, the dual assault pushing your screaming nerves towards another shattering peak.

“You gonna come again?” he grunts, the question a breathless challenge. “Gonna come all over my cock while I fuck you like this? Do it. Cum for me. Now.”

The command, the relentless stimulation amidst the crushing fatigue—it’s too much. Your orgasm crashes over you, a violent, convulsing wave that is as much a release from tension as it is pleasure. You scream his name into the mattress, the sound muffled, your body bowing and shaking as your inner muscles clamp down on him, milking his length for what it’s worth. You feel him pulse inside you in response, a hard, sharp throb.

But he doesn’t stop. He rides out your climax, his thrusts becoming harder, more erratic, chasing his own. The room is a cacophony of spent sex—your sobbing, exhausted breaths, his animalistic, tired grunts, the sopping sound of your cunt taking the pounding, the wet, rhythmic slapping that seems to grow louder and louder as you both lose the strength to care.

Bang. Bang. BANG.

A sudden, furious pounding on the wall from the adjacent room cuts through the noise. A muffled, angry shout follows. “Keep it down in there, for Christ’s sake! Some of us are trying to sleep!”

Seungcheol freezes, buried deep inside you. For a second, there is silence, save for both of you panting, chests heaving. You heave a breath of relief thinking you can finally put your frying nerve endings to rest. Then, a slow, wicked, breathless chuckle rumbles in his chest. He leans over you again, his lips at your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

“Oops,” he whispers, his voice dripping with dark amusement. He gives a slow, deliberate, utterly exhausting roll of his hips, making you whimper. “We’re being too loud, princess.” He does it again, a lazy, deep thrust that feels like it reaches your soul because the moan that leaves you comes exactly from there. “Think we should be quieter?”

Before you can answer, he slams into you again, hard, a direct contradiction to his question. A broken, tired cry escapes you. He does it again. And again, and again, each thrust a monumental effort.

“Answer me, pretty,” he demands, punctuating each word with a sharp, deep, weary thrust. “Should we be quieter?”

“N-no!” you manage to sob, the last of your energy going into pushing back against him. “Don’t stop! Fuck me, please!”

He laughs, a low, vicious sound of pure, exhausted delight. “That’s my girl.” He covers your mouth with his hand, muffling your sounds. “Then I’ll do exactly what my sweet princess is asking of me. But you’ll have to be quiet for me. We don’t want anyone banging on our door next time, do we? So can you be quiet?” He sets a final, brutal, fast pace, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, more focused, fueled by a last reserve of strength. The only sounds are the wet slap of flesh, the bed hammering against the wall, and his ragged, stifled breathing. You try to stifle your cries against his palm, your body trembling with the struggle of staying quiet under such an intense, final assault.

He’s relentless, driving into you with a single-minded focus. You feel the tension coiling in him, the telltale tightening of his fingers on your hip, the way his whole body strains. With a final, gut-deep groan that he stifles against your shoulder, he pours himself into you, his body shuddering violently with the force of his release, a complete and total expenditure.

Seungcheol collapses over you, both of you spent, slick with sweat, and utterly demolished. His weight is a crushing, comforting pressure. He is heavy, boneless, and so are you. He removes his hand from your mouth, replacing it with his lips as soon as you turn your head to the side, kissing your shoulder blade softly, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your skin.

After a long moment, he carefully, slowly, with obvious effort, pulls out and disposes of the condom. He returns a moment later with a damp, cool towel, moving with a weary tenderness. He gently cleans between your thighs, the act starkly contrasting the animalistic way he just fucked you. He helps you turn over onto your back. Your legs feel like they don't belong to you, your entire body humming with a deep, sated, absolute exhaustion.

But the look in his eyes, as he kneels on the bed between your legs, is still dark with hunger, though it’s now blurred by fatigue. His cock is already half-hard again, a testament to his insane stamina, thick and heavy against his thigh. The sight sends a fresh, aching throb through your oversensitive core, a pulse of pure need that feels separate from your body’s desperate plea for rest. It is daunting. The thought of moving, of taking control of your body once again, feels like an impossible task.

“Your turn on top,” he says, his voice a hoarse, broken scrape. He lies back against the pillows with a heavy sigh, his hands going behind his head, putting himself on display for you. He is a magnificent feast for the eyes—all hard muscle, dark trail of hair leading and bushing around his cock, and rampant, male hunger—but you can see the weariness in the lines of his face, the slow rise and fall of his chest. “Ride me. I want to watch your pretty tits while you bounce on my cock, wanna see you come undone.”

The command is irresistible, but your body screams in protest. A soft, pathetic whimper escapes you. “Seungcheol... I’m so tired,” you breathe, the admission feeling both vulnerable and necessary. When you made a decision to follow your little stranger sex fantasy you didn’t think it would turn into this multiple round thing of your pussy getting absolutely destroyed. You thought that you’d get one decent round at best and go back to your room. And now here you are, your muscles feel like water, your core aches with a pleasant but deep soreness. “I don’t know if I can.”

His expression softens a fraction, the intense hunger in his eyes shifting into something more patient, more coaxing. He reaches out, his hand finding yours, lacing your fingers together. His grip is strong, but his skin is warm, comforting. “I know, baby. I know you are. I am too.” The pet name makes something in your chest squeeze tightly. He brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “But just for a little while. Just show me. Let me see you. You don’t have to do all the work.” His thumb strokes your palm. “Come here.”

His gentleness undoes you. It coaxes a second wind from somewhere deep within your spent reserves. You nod, a slow, hesitant movement. Crawling over him is a monumental effort. Every muscle protests. You straddle his hips, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his powerful thighs. Your hands splay across the hard, sweaty planes of his chest for balance, and you feel the frantic, tired beat of his heart beneath your palm. He guides himself to your entrance, his eyes locked on yours, dark and demanding but also incredibly patient.

You sink down onto him slowly, achingly slowly, taking him inch by exquisite, overwhelming inch. A low, mutual moan of effort and pleasure escapes you both at the feeling of being filled and enveloped so completely this way. Once he’s fully sheathed, you pause, your body trembling from the strain of holding the position, adjusting to the deep, stretching fullness that is now a familiar, welcome ache. If this is going to be just a resort fling, you think, it’s going to be the one you’ll remember for the rest of your life and brag about to all of your friends until they are sick of hearing the story.

His hands come to rest on your hips, his thumbs drawing slow, soothing circles on your skin. “Move,” he commands, but his voice is now a rough, encouraging whisper. “Just a little. Show me how much you like it.”

You begin to move, a slow, hesitant, rolling grind of your hips. It’s not the energetic bounce of fantasy; it’s a tired, sensual undulation. The angle is different, allowing you to control the depth, the friction. You rise up with a shaky, trembling effort until just the tip remains inside you, then sink back down, taking him all the way with a heavy, satisfying sigh. His eyes flutter closed for a second, a low, appreciative groan rumbling in his chest. Then his hands come up to fondle with your breasts, massaging the undersides, rolling and lightly tugging on your pebbled nipples, and making you moan louder than you should. You throw your head back, eyes rolling into your skull from pleasure.

“Eyes on me, pretty,” he grits out when he notices you’re not looking at him. It makes you snap your head back and meet his gaze only to find it burning with intensity that belies his exhaustion. “I want to see your face when you cum.”

You try to increase your pace, but it’s a feeble, bouncing motion, your thighs burning with the effort. Your hands brace on his chest, your nails digging into his skin for purchase. The sounds are different now—softer, wetter, the slick, tired sound of your bodies joining over and over, mixed with your breathy, exhausted moans and his gruff, whispered encouragements.

“Yeah, just like that,” he groans, his own hips lifting slightly to meet your downward strokes, taking some of the burden from your weary muscles. His hands tighten on your hips, helping you move, guiding you onto him. “Fuck, you look so good on my cock. So fucking perfect.”

You feel another orgasm building, a slow, deep coiling in your belly, different from the sharp, frantic peaks before. This one is a slow, rising tide, built on exhaustion and overstimulation and the profound intimacy of his unwavering gaze. You’re so close, teetering on the edge of something vast and warm. He sees it on your face, in the way your movements become even more languid, more focused.

“Play with your clit,” he orders, his voice tight but soft. “Make yourself cum. I want to watch you fall apart.”

You obey, one hand sliding between your bodies with a tired sigh, your fingers finding your swollen, hypersensitive bud. The touch is almost too much, but it’s the final key. With a soft, broken cry, you shatter, a slow, deep, rolling orgasm that feels like it drains the very last dregs of your energy. Your inner muscles clench around him in slow, rhythmic pulses, your body slumping forward onto his chest as you ride out the long, gentle waves of pleasure that draws an orgasm from him as well and you feel his cum fill you in rapid bursts. But you’re too fucked out to care that he just came inside you without a condom. You’re on a pill anyways.

He holds you through it, his arms wrapping around you, his hips still moving in tiny, gentle circles, prolonging the sensation. When the last tremor subsides, leaving you completely boneless, he gently rolls you over onto your side, slipping out of you. He spoons behind you, pulling you tight against his chest, both of you slick and trembling and utterly spent. He nuzzles into your hair, his breathing slowly evening out.

“You're incredible,” he breathes, the words slurred with impending sleep. He holds you tighter, a full-body embrace that feels like both a claim and a shelter. One hand rests possessively on your hip. “Round three... after a nap,” he mumbles, his voice fading.

You don’t know how long you sleep. It’s a deep, black, dreamless void, a complete systems shutdown for your utterly spent body and mind. Consciousness returns not with a jolt, but as a slow, warm tide. The first thing you’re aware of is the weight. A heavy, solid arm draped across your waist, anchoring you to the bed. The second is the heat. The press of a powerful, sweat-damp chest against your back, the solid line of his body curled around yours, fitting against you like a second skin. The third is the soft, even puff of his breath against the nape of your neck.

You are still exhausted, a deep, cellular weariness that makes the idea of moving seem impossible. But beneath that, something else is stirring. A low, familiar hum of awareness. The scent of him—sex, sweat, skin—is everywhere, intoxicating even in your semi-conscious state. The memory of what you did, what he did to you, plays in a hazy loop behind your eyelids.

You shift slightly, a tiny, experimental movement, and a soft, contented sound rumbles in his chest behind you, much like a purr. His arm tightens around you, pulling you infinitesimally closer. His hips press forward, and you feel him, thick and already half-hard again, nestled against the curve of your backside. A fresh, aching throb answers deep in your own core, a pulse of pure need that feels separate from your body’s fatigue. It’s a stubborn ember refusing to be extinguished.

He stirs, his lips brushing your shoulder blade. “You awake?” His voice is gravelly with sleep, deeper and even more rough than before.

“Barely,” you murmur, your own voice a sleep-rasped whisper. You turn in his arms, a slow, languid movement that feels like swimming through honey. Facing him, you see his eyes are half-lidded, dark pools in the dim room. The intensity is still there, but it’s softened by sleep, by unguarded tenderness. He looks younger and gentler like this, and the sight makes your chest ache. Not that he looks particularly rough any other time you can recall seeing him around the resort. But there’s something special about the fact that he’s so comfortable with showing his softer, vulnerable side to a practical stranger. And that it happened to be you.

His hand comes up, his knuckles brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek. The touch is infinitely gentle. “Feel okay?”

You nod, nuzzling into his touch. “Sore,” you admit quietly. “In the best way.”

A slow, sleepy smirk touches his lips. “Good.” His thumb traces the line of your bottom lip. His gaze drops to your mouth, and the air in the room shifts, thickening once more. The tenderness is still there, but it’s being rapidly overtaken by a renewed, hungry focus. The sight of his eyes darkening, the feel of him hardening fully against your thigh, banishes the last vestiges of your sleepiness, replacing it with a different kind of heaviness—a liquid, anticipatory warmth.

The idea, the want, forms fully in your mind. You want to taste him. You want to swallow his sleep-rough groans. You want to prove your own hunger can match his, even now.

Without breaking eye contact, you slowly push against his chest. He lets himself be guided onto his back, his head sinking into the pillow, his eyes watching you with curious, dark intensity. The sheet pools around his hips, putting his magnificent body on display once more—the hard planes of his stomach, the thatch of dark curls, his cock standing thick and eager against his belly.

You move down the bed, positioning yourself between his powerful, spread thighs. The perspective is new, intimidating. He is so much larger than you like this, all muscle and male power laid out before you. You can see the faint tremors of fatigue still in his quadriceps, the slow, deep rise and fall of his chest.

You look up at him, meeting his heated gaze. His expression is a mix of awe and stark, ravenous hunger. He has given so much, taken so much. Now, you will take this.

“My turn,” you whisper, your voice stronger now, laced with a newfound, brazen intent.

A sharp, approving groan escapes him. “Fuck yes,” he breathes, his hands coming up to rest behind his head again, surrendering to your control, his biceps flexing with the movement.

You don’t start slow. You’re both past slow. You lean forward and take the broad, velvety head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the flared crown, tasting the distinct, musky, sleep-warm flavor of him. He jerks beneath you, a guttural, broken “Fuck!” bursting from his lips, the sound raw and startled.

Emboldened, you sink down, taking as much of him as you can. He’s big, stretching your jaw, the thick length hitting the back of your throat. You gag instantly, a reflexive, convulsive choke, tears springing to your eyes. You pull back, gasping for air, a string of saliva connecting your lips to him.

“Easy, princess,” he rasps, his voice strained with concern, though his hands remain fisted behind his head, not on you, giving you control. His entire body is tensed, a statue of held-back need.

You shake your head, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, your eyes burning. “Don’t be easy,” you gasp, your voice hoarse with the effort, with desire. You look him dead in the eye, your own vision blurred with unshed tears. “Use me. Use my mouth. I want you to fuck my throat. Use me to your heart’s content.”

Your words are the final key to his restraint. A raw, animalistic sound tears from him, something between a groan and a growl. His hands leave his hair and gently, but with undeniable firmness, tangle in yours. “You’re sure?” he grunts, every muscle in his body taut and quivering with the Herculean effort of holding back. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The concern, amidst the filth of what you’re asking for, unravels you. “Please,” you beg, holding his shaft with one hand and trailing kisses and broad licks along the underside of him. “I want it. I want to feel you lose control. I want all of it.”

That’s all the permission he needs. His control shatters. He guides you back onto his cock, not forcing, but leading, feeding himself into your willing mouth. This time, when you gag, he doesn’t pull back. He holds you there, his hands a steady, gentle pressure in your hair, letting you adjust to the overwhelming feeling of him stretching your throat, the primal panic of choking on it. Tears stream freely down your cheeks, dripping onto his thighs. The sensation is a dizzying mix of slight suffocation and intense, dirty arousal, a complete surrender. You think you can cum from just that.

He begins to move, a slow, shallow, experimental thrust of his hips. The sounds are obscene—wet, gagging, choked breaths from you, his ragged, praise-filled groans from above. “God, your mouth,” he chokes out, his voice wrecked, awe-struck. "So warm, so good. So fucking good for me. Taking me so deep.”

He picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming deeper, more rhythmic, building a filthy, wet cadence. You relax your throat, giving yourself over to him completely, letting him use you for his pleasure. Your own hands move between your own legs, fingers frantically circling your oversensitive, swollen clit, the degradation and the sheer intimacy of the act pushing you towards another shocking, dry peak. Your body bows, a silent scream caught in your throat around his length as your muscles clench around him.

He’s lost in it, his head thrown back against the pillows, the cords of his neck standing out in stark relief. His abs are clenched, his hips moving with a piston-like rhythm that is both brutal and perfectly controlled. “I’m close,” he warns, his voice a strangled, broken thing. “So close. Gonna cum down that pretty throat. Gonna fill you up.”

You redouble your efforts, taking him all the way, your nose pressed into the coarse curls at his base. You hum around him, the vibration wringing a shattered shout from him.

With a final, powerful thrust, he holds himself deep, and you feel his release pulsing hot and bitter down your constricted throat. You swallow convulsively, again and again, taking everything he gives you, until he’s utterly spent, his body going completely limp, a profound shudder wracking his frame.

He gently, carefully, pulls you off, his cock slipping from your bruised lips with a soft, wet pop. You collapse forward, your forehead resting on his muscular thigh, gasping for ragged, grateful lungfuls of air. Your face is a mess of tears, saliva, and him. You are wrecked.

In an instant he is moving. He gathers you into his arms immediately, pulling you against his heaving, sweat-slick chest. He doesn't seem to care about the mess. He presses kisses to your hair, your forehead, your tear-stained, salty cheeks, murmuring soft, incoherent praises into your skin. His own voice trembling, his heart hammering a wild, slowing rhythm against your ear. He holds you tighter, his embrace fierce and protective. “You okay? Talk to me. Was that too much?” The vulnerability in his question is stark.

You shake your head, nuzzling into the warm skin of his neck, your arms wrapping around his broad back. You feel hollowed out, purified, and completely his. “It was perfect,” you murmur, your voice raw and abraded. “You’re perfect.”

He laughs softly, a sound of pure, sated, astonished wonder. “You’re crazy,” he states and it’s filled with so much affection your heart squeezes tightly. He scoops you up effortlessly, manhandling you to stay tucked to his side and pulls the tangled sheets over both of you. He spoons around you again, his body a solid, warm fortress against your back. His hand rests over your heart, feeling its slowing beat.

“Sleep,” he commands, his lips whispering against your shoulder, then briefly reaches out to turn off the nightstand light. This time, it is a gentle order. “I’ve got you.”

You smile in the darkness, your body humming with a deep, sated, absolute contentment. You are already halfway to oblivion, safe in the circle of his arms. “Sure, try and stop me,” you whisper, but the words are a dream, lost to the deep and well-earned peace that claims you both.

The peace of sleep is a shallow pool this time, and you both drift in and out of its warm edges. True, deep rest feels like a distant country, unreachable from the heightened, sex-saturated plane you now inhabit. His arm is still a heavy, welcome weight across your waist, his body a furnace at your back. You float in a hazy limbo, aware of the dull, pleasant ache between your legs, the salt-and-sex scent on the sheets, the steady, strong beat of his heart against your spine.

You shift, a minute adjustment, and his hold tightens instinctively. A low, sleep-blurred sound vibrates against your back. His hips press forward, and the hard, insistent girth of him, already half-ready again, nestles more firmly against the curve of your backside. A soft, answering throb of need pulses deep within you, a quiet but persistent echo of the chaos that came before. It’s a want that doesn’t require acrobatics or screaming passion. It’s a simple, profound need for closeness, for the feeling of him inside you, even if you’re both too wrecked to move.

You press back against him, a slow, languid roll of your hips that is more suggestion than motion. It’s all the language either of you has energy for

He understands. A hum of approval rumbles in his chest. His hand, which had been splayed possessively on your stomach, drifts down. His fingers are warm and slightly rough as they slide down to your entrance, finding you still slick, still swollen and impossibly sensitive from earlier. You gasp softly at the contact, your body arching back into his.

“Still so wet,” he murmurs, his voice thick and blurred with sleep, the words mumbled into the nape of your neck. “Even now. Even after all that.” His touch is not seeking to incite a frenzy, but to confirm a connection. One thick finger slides into you with an effortless ease that makes you whimper. It’s not a thrust, but a presence, a gentle claiming. “This still mine?”

“Yours,” you breathe out, the word a sigh.

He withdraws his finger, and you hear the soft, fumbling rustle of another foil packet. His movements are slow, clumsy with exhaustion. The tear of the packet is loud in the quiet room. He sheathes himself with a tired, unrushed motion. Then his arm is back around you, pulling you tight against him. He guides himself to your entrance, the broad head nudging against you, and with a single, slow, rolling thrust of his hips, he sinks into you from behind.

You both let out a simultaneous, shuddering groan. It’s not a sound of frantic passion anymore, but of deep, profound relief. The feeling of him filling you this way, in the spooning position, is incredibly intimate. It’s lazy and deep, a connection that requires almost no effort. He doesn’t move immediately, just stays buried to the hilt, his body molded to yours, his breath warm on your shoulder.

“Okay?” he slurs, his lips moving against your skin.

“More than okay,” you whisper, pushing back against him, wanting to feel him even deeper.

He begins to move, but it’s nothing like before. There is no pounding rhythm, no frantic slapping of skin. His thrusts are slow, deep, and languid, a gentle rocking of his hips that rocks your entire body with it. It’s a lazy, luxurious fuck, all about the sensation of fullness and connection rather than the frantic race towards a finish line. The sounds are soft: the wet, slick slide of your joined bodies, his deep, quiet groans, your breathy sighs. His hand slides up to cup your breast, his thumb idly circling your nipple, not to tease it to a peak, but simply to hold you, to feel you.

It’s nasty in its own way—the sheer familiarity and repetitiveness of it by now, the way he can be buried inside you with such casual, sleepy possessiveness after just several rounds spent together. It’s filthy in its tenderness. You feel yourself coiling slowly, a warm, lazy build of pleasure that spreads through your exhausted limbs like honey. There are no screams, no commands. Just the slow, inexorable climb, fed by each deep, rolling stroke.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a sleep-rough vibration against your back. “Let go. Just let it happen.”

His words, so soft and encouraging, are your undoing. Your orgasm washes over you not as a crashing wave, but as a warm, rising tide. It’s a full-body shudder, a series of soft, internal flutters that milk his length, drawing a long, low groan from him. He follows you over, his own release a quiet, pulsing warmth deep inside you, his hips stuttering to a halt as he buries himself as deep as he can go.

For long minutes, you both lie there, still joined, breathing in ragged unison. The world has narrowed to this bed, to the feel of his chest rising and falling against your back, to the weight of his arm around you.

Eventually, with a soft sigh, he pulls out and deals with the condom yet again. You expect him to collapse back into sleep, but instead, you feel him shift and leave the bed. You make a small sound of protest at the loss of his heat, but he murmurs, “Shhh, baby, I’ve got you.”

He returns a moment later with a fresh, warm, damp towel. This, somehow, feels more intimate than anything else that has happened. Gently, with a tenderness that makes your throat tight, he cleans you. He wipes your mixed releases between your thighs, over your stomach, the care in his touch so profound it borders on reverence. He is meticulous, wiping away the evidence of your shared pleasure with a focus that speaks to you of deep, inherent respect for the partner, be it one night stand or something committed. You just watch him and know it’s true.

Once he’s done, he drops the cloth aside and pulls the duvet over both of you. He gathers you back into his arms, facing him this time. His eyes are heavy-lidded with exhaustion, but they search yours in the dim light coming through the window. His hand comes up to cradle your cheek.

“You’re staying,” he says. It’s not a question, but there’s a vulnerability in his tone that asks for confirmation anyway.

“Yes,” you whisper, nuzzling into his palm. “If you’ll have me.”

A slow, tired, but genuine smile touches his lips. “Try and leave,” he jokes softly, but his eyes are serious. He takes a deep breath, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. “And… all of that. Everything we did. It was… it was still good? For you? You tell me if anything ever isn’t. Even now. Even after.”

The question, coming after such raw, animalistic intimacy, after such tender aftercare, unravels you completely. A sob catches in your throat, not of sadness, but of overwhelming emotion. He’s checking in. After he’s owned every part of you, after you’ve begged him to use your throat, he is still ensuring your consent, your comfort. It is the most heartwarming, devastatingly caring thing anyone has ever done.

“Seungcheol,” you breathe, your eyes welling up. “It was perfect. Everything was perfect. You’re perfect.”

He lets out a breath, as if he’d been holding it—and you suppose he was,—and pulls you tightly against him, tucking your head under his chin. He holds you like that for a long time, just breathing you in, his hands making slow, soothing circles on your back.

“Get some sleep,” he murmurs finally, his own voice already getting heavier with drowsiness. “Proper sleep this time.”

You nod against his chest, snuggling into his solid warmth. Just as you’re drifting off, on the very edge of consciousness, his voice rumbles again, a low, sleep-slurred promise.

“Gonna make you cum over breakfast,” he mumbles, his words barely intelligible. “While you eat your fruit. My fingers inside you… gonna be so lazy and good… and then take you on a proper date.”

The filthy, tender promise hangs in the air, a final gift before sleep claims him entirely. A slow smile spreads across your face in the dark. You are staying the night. Of course you are. And the morning, you know with absolute certainty, will be just as perfect.

*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this!

A/N2: this fucking text took me ALL FKING DAY to read through and edit and I’m tired and it’s late where I am and I hope to go to bed asap. My brain is officially fried and frayed and everything else, I can’t comprehend words anymore to save my life or whatever they say in this case. Even with the volume of it I don’t think it’s the filthiest thing I could’ve produced but I think it’s nasty enough for the first huge thirst trap that this is. Also I can’t write Seungcheol without attaching strings in the end, I just can’t. It’s unfathomable to imagine letting go of such man after THIS! Anyways hope you liked reading this monstrosity ᐢ ᴗ . ᴗ ᐢ

Masterlist.

[starlightxsvt]

I Think I Need Someone Older | c.sc

synopsis ➳ you see him at a dodgers game and for you it is game over. except, it looks like he isn't interested in you. however, the chemistry between you says otherwise.

pairing ➳ dilf!s.coups x fem!reader

genre ➳ strangers to lovers, age gap romance, smut.

word count ➳ 8.2k + 1.1k (bonus)

warnings ➳ mdni, age gap!!! (9yrs), slightly toxic dynamics, cheol is an absolute gentleman in the first half and a monster (in bed) in the second, reader is horny af, sexual tension/frustration, possessiveness, messy makeouts, unprotected sex, male oral and ofc big dick cheol, gagging, crying, pussy slapping, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, nasty sex in general bruh.

a/n: those pics of cheol at the LA Dodgers game did something to me. and to be fair, cheol isn't actually a dilf here (you'll find out). also, if age gap is not your cup of tea, DO NOT INTERACT!

I think I need someone older

Just a little bit colder

Take the weight off his shoulders

The crowd is quite suffocating.

You have to find your way through a throng of people, mostly men dressed in jerseys and holding beers, to get to the VIP seating area. Jeanie, your friend, leads the way, and you follow her tail, careful not to bump into anyone and spill your drink.

This is really not your scene.

You don't like noisy places. You don't like crowds. You don't like sports.

So what are you doing here?

Two weeks ago, you broke up with your boyfriend. It was nothing dramatic. In fact, you saw it coming. Your relationship mellowed out a long time ago, not that it was very heated in the first place, and frankly, the breakup was a relief.

It was like you finally got rid of a dead weight.

But for some reason, Jeanie, one of your closest friends, had this impression that you were depressed and having a pity party by yourself in your apartment, which you were not; you were doing a deep clean to prepare for the upcoming fall. Hence, she has dragged you out here, to a LA Dodgers game, to change the scenery and add some joy in your life.

You and your friend have truly different definitions of joy. She has been an extrovert since the time you met her in college. You, on the other hand, preferred to be by yourself.

Jeanie nudges your shoulder with hers as you two take your seats. “Lighten up, girl. Have some fun! We got these VIP seats for free!”

Right. Jeanie is friends with an influencer who gave her these tickets because she couldn’t come because of some last minute trip to a fancy Caribbean island. 

You take a sip of your chilled drink and murmur. “I’m trying. You know this is not my scene.”

“A change of scenery is always good.” She announces before taking a look around in the VIP seating area. “Plus, this place is full of hot, rich guys.”

“Rich? Sure. I don’t see any hot guys, though.” You comment drily. “I am going to stay for half an hour and then leave. You know I have to make a pitch on Monday. I need to work on my presentation.”

“Can you not think about work for two seconds?” Jeanie rolls her eyes.

“Alright, fine. I’ll pretend to be very interested in the game for your sake.” You huff playfully, and your friend smiles, wrapping an arm around you. She and her fiancé watch these games regularly, and you know for a fact that if he were not out of town right now, she would not have dragged you here, and you could be finishing up with work early and end the day soaking in a bubble bath.

Yeah, that would be nice.

A man walking by catches your attention randomly. He is dressed in a grey hoodie and grey sweatpants with a cap on his head, his pace leisurely as he strolls down the stairs to take a seat in the front row. Nothing about his clothes is flashy or exceptional, but still, he stands out and your eyes follow him. As he walks past you, you get a glimpse of his face: fair skin with dark, thick eyebrows, unfairly beautiful eyes and a plump set of lips. Silently, you observe him sit down next to a man and a moment later, take a toddler out of the man’s lap to put the child on his.

Is he a father? Damn, spotting an attractive dilf was not on your bucket list.

The game starts momentarily, disrupting your thoughts as music and cheers erupt throughout the stadium. You try your best to enjoy the game before resigning yourself to sipping your beer and scrolling through your phone while occasionally taking peeks at the front row.

You don’t get to see much except the man’s back as he keeps playing with the very enthusiastic child, clapping and squealing while the man beside them takes pictures of them.

Time ticks by. Your beer finishes. You help Jeanie take some pictures before posing for some selfies with her. And then, something happens that gets you the attention of the hot man in the front row.

The child you saw earlier with him was climbing the stairs, his little wobbly feet tackling one step at a time as he held a cup of orange juice comically large for his little hands. Just as he was wobbling past your seat, he lost his balance, and some of the juice spilt out of the cup and onto the bottom of your jeans.

The two men who were a few steps behind come running as the dilf immediately picks up the kid with an admonishing look. The taller man next to him looks in your direction, muttering an apology. The father, you assume, orders, “Mingyu, go grab some napkins for the lady.”

“No, it’s—” You stand up to protest, but the man—Mingyu—dashes away to get some tissues for you. “It’s okay. It was an accident.” You offer softly as the man admonishes the child, who looks at you with large doe eyes.

“Ethan, say sorry to her.” He tells the kid who squirms to get out of his father's hold and onto the ground. “I am sorry, miss.” The kid says sweetly, bowing his head almost so far ahead that he loses his footing.

“Oh, no. It is alright, Ethan.” You softly pat his head. “You are a big, strong boy, carrying the cup by yourself!” Ethan smiles at your words, his little teeth peeking.

Mingyu returns with the napkins and hands them to you before picking Ethan up and taking him away, climbing up the stairs. You dab the spot on your jeans with the napkin, hyperaware of the dilf’s eyes on you. Oddly, you are too shy to look him in the eye, as if he can see all your thoughts about him in them. 

“Allow me to pay for the dry cleaning.” He offers.

“Oh, no!” You refuse, embarrassed. “The stain is not that strong. It will wash away.”

“I insist. Please give me your number so that I can send the money.” He is adamant, and with no other option, you fish out your business card from your purse and hand it to him.

He takes a look at it before putting it in his pocket. An awkward moment of silence passes by as you finish wiping the stain and stand back up. “Your son is very cute.” You attempt to make a conversation.

“Oh,” he shakes his head with a chuckle. “That’s my nephew.”

Your ears perk up at his words.

“My sister-in-law had a dentist appointment, and so we brought him with us. He really loves my friend, Mingyu. Sometimes I think he loves him more than me.” He explains casually, a fond look on his face.

“I see.” You take a moment to scan him, half unconsciously. He is right there in front of you, and it is almost impossible not to drink him up. Despite wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, there is something about him that screams luxury. Maybe it is the way he walks and talks, at ease yet authoritative, like he owns the place, or maybe, you realize, it's the Rolex sitting on his wrist, thick and heavy.

You are so busy staring at him that it takes a long moment for you to realize he is staring at you staring at him. He is the first one to break the silence, saving you from further embarrassment. “Let me take a guess. This really isn’t your scene.” He waves his hand around.

A soft burst of laughter comes out of your mouth. “Is it that obvious?”

“It kind of is.” He smirks, his deep brown eyes twinkling with something unreadable, and your stomach starts doing backflips. You have to take a step back and grab onto the backrest of the seat to make sure you don’t fall.

“My ideal weekend is sleeping in and ordering takeout.” You shrug.

“That has its own appeal, I must agree.”

“Yeah…” you trail off, unable to hold eye contact with him any longer. Your heart is racing inhumanely fast in your chest, and you are half worried that you are getting a heart attack. For God’s sake, that’s a fucking stranger and for sure, someone’s boyfriend or husband, though you don’t see a ring. You cannot be drooling over him like that.

You need to get laid.

“Well, it was lovely talking to you. We are gonna head out now.” He stands straighter, fixing his cap, his blonde hair peeking from the sides. “I am once again, really sorry about that,” he motions to your jeans. “I’ll send you the money.”

“You really don’t have to.” You object, watching him climb up the stairs.

“Don’t worry about that.” He shakes his head before turning to look at you. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.” Chewing on your lower lip, you watch the absolute hunk of a man walk away. With a heavy sigh, when you turn back around, you find Jeanie looking at you with the evilest of smiles, like a cat that ate the canary.

“Ugh, please,” you huff, hiding your face, making an attempt to leave. “Let me go, I need to pee!”

“Mhmm,” she hums, wrapping her arms around you and dragging to down next to her. “What was all that, huh? You were practically eye fucking him. And giving him your number, my god, girl!”

“Ugh, shut up! He asked for it.”

“Mhmm, I’m sure he will be asking for a lot more things soon when he gives you a booty call.”

You roll your eyes, shoving Jeanie’s face away from yours. Inside, the idea of him calling you does make your stomach flutter more than it should.

You should get a check-up done. And get laid.

— 

You do not get a call from him. Instead, the next morning, after you wake up, you find the money sent to your number along with a message that says, 

Sorry for the trouble once again. — Choi Seungcheol

Choi Seungcheol. The name rolls off your tongue nicely as you keep gazing at your mobile screen, dumbfounded at the amount he sent you. No dry cleaning costs that much, and you debate a while with yourself, wondering whether you should call him, send him a text, or send some of the money back.

Hoping that he may text you for a follow-up, you get on your day, preparing to get ready for work. The day, however, comes to an end with no response from him. Not a text or a call checking if you have received the money. Finally, at night when you are in bed, you decide to text him.

Hi. It’s ___ from the game yesterday. 

Five minutes later, your phone starts ringing. It is Seungcheol.

“Hello?” You half whisper, your voice suddenly catching in your throat.

“Hi.” His voice is deeper on the phone. “Sorry, I am too tired to text, so I just called you. I hope that is okay?”

“No, it’s completely fine.” You hurry. “It’s my fault for calling you this late. I’m sorry for disturbing.”

“Don’t worry about that. I just had a long day at work. But anyway, how can I help you?”

“Umh,” you take a moment to oragnize your thoughts. “I wanted to say thank you for sending the money. I really appreciate it, but the amount is much more than necessary.”

“It’s okay. You could use that to buy a pair if the stain does not come off.”

“And still I would be left with enough to grab dinner.” You joke.

“You love takeouts, right? So why not?” He hums from the other side. He remembers. You smile, chewing on your lower lip. And then, an idea pops into your head.

“I have a better idea. Let me treat you to dinner.” You state, and then squeeze your eyes shut as you hold your breath waiting for his reply. 

“Why?” he sounds confused.

“Just as a token of gratitude.” You reply, still holding your breath. The line stays silent for a few seconds, and just as you start thinking you will get rejected, he answers. “Sure. When is a good time for you?”

You have to hold back a squeal. “This Friday?”

“Works for me.”

“Great!” You quip, trying not to sound too excited. “See you then!”

“Have a good night, ___.”

— 

The week could not have been slower. By the time Friday rolls around, you are bone tired from all the work that came along with the new merger of your company. Still, you manage to leave work a little early and have a shower before getting ready. Seungcheol let you choose the restaurant, and you decided to go to a sleek Italian restaurant tucked away on the upscale side of town.

By the time you get into your Uber, Seungcheol texts you, stating that he is already there. Thankfully, there is not a lot of traffic, so you do not keep him waiting for long. 

You find him seated at a couple’s table by the large floor-to-ceiling windows, sipping on a glass of wine as he talks to someone over the phone. He is quick to spot you, however, and as soon as he sees you, he hangs up the phone, stands up, and pulls your chair out for you.

“Hi,” You murmur, voice breathy as you come to a stand in front of him. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” You let your eyes wander all over him, and boy, does he look good—black formal shirt with black pants and a nice watch. He looks effortlessly hot, especially the way a bit of his skin peeks through the top unbuttoned space of his shirt and the way his arms flex, the veins shining in the warm light because of his rolled-up sleeves, and the way the fabric of the shirt remains tight against his solid, hard chest.

You feel like a Victorian man laying his eyes upon a woman’s ankles.

“No worries at all,” he ushers you to sit down. “I took the liberty of ordering us some appetizers and a bottle of wine. I hope you do not mind.”

“Not at all,” you reply bashfully as you sit down, and he goes back to his chair. “I am actually quite hungry. I haven’t had anything since breakfast.”

“Why?”

“Oh, work has been crazy.” You sigh.

“Hm,” he nods softly. “I heard your company is going through a merger currently.”

Swallowing a gulp of water, you look at him, impressed. “Looks like you stay updated.”

He chuckles, with a subtle shake of his head, his hand reaching out for your goblet to pour you some wine. 

“I googled you, by the way.” You announce with a cheeky smile. The man raises a thick eyebrow, and involuntarily, you press your thighs together underneath the table. Setting the bottle of wine down, he leans back in his chair and softly rubs his index fingers across his chin. “Oh really?”

“I was really curious.” You explain, reaching for the wine. “Turns out you are a record label owner.”

“Yeah, it is nothing special.” He waves a hand dismissively. You roll your eyes and lean closer to him, your elbows resting on the table. “Are you serious? Literally Woozi—the Woozi is your artist. That’s insane!”

“You are a fan, I assume?”

“I am. I really like his songs.” You nod. 

You are interrupted for a moment as the appetizers come alongside another server, who takes the orders for your main course. Once they are gone, Seungcheol serves you each of the dishes while saying. “I will see if I can get you an autograph.”

Quietly, you watch him load up your plate and set it down in front of you before serving himself. His thoughtful gesture gives butterflies in your stomach, and you murmur a shy “thank you”, hoping he understood that it was not because he said he would get you Woozi’s autograph.

“But enough talking about an old man like me.” He says, taking a bite of his food. “I would much rather hear about you.”

His words leave you flustered, especially as he keeps his gaze on you, his eyes unwavering. You supply information about your family, friends, and work between mouthfuls, surprised at how attentively he listens and asks thoughtful but not intrusive questions. The main course comes, and your conversations keep flowing smoothly, from your life to your hobbies to his and then to his nephew Ethan. The chemistry between the two of you is undeniable, at least that is what you think, but you have no way of knowing what is going on in his mind. He never crosses any lines or makes any attempt to touch or flirt with you, and by the time dessert is over, in the back of your mind, you are questioning yourself.

What does he think of you? A friend? A clingy young girl who was desperate to have dinner with him? 

You are so lost in your head that when the bill is set down on the table, Seungcheol is the one to grab it, exceptionally fast at that, and you watch him with an open mouth. 

“Hey!” You attempt to snatch the bill out of his hands but fail miserably as he simply puts his black card inside and hands it back to the waiter. “I was supposed to pay!”

“I know,” his voice is soft as a feather. “But I had a lovely evening today, and trust me when I say that it is my absolute pleasure to cover the bill.”

His tone, paired with the most sincere look in his eyes, leaves you at a loss for words, and you don’t know what to say, too busy trying to calm your racing heart. You manage to utter a soft “thank you,” and he returns it with a warm smile and a sincere “welcome.”

God damn it, this man is so perfect. The date is coming to an end, and you have no idea where you stand and what you should do to figure that out. With your head clouded in worries, you follow him out.

— 

The drive goes by in relative silence, and you are at your place too quickly to your liking. Seungcheol gets out of the car to walk you to the front of your apartment complex while his driver parks the car.

“Well then, I hope you had a great time tonight.” He offers a smile as you stand in front of the entrance to your building. “I did.” You nod, hoping your voice conveys your sincerity. “It would have been greater if you let me pay, but—”

“Don’t mention it.” He cuts you off with a cheeky smile. 

“Thanks again. For the dinner and for dropping me home.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” His smile is warm. “I’ll leave after you go inside.” He states and extends his hand as a polite way of urging you in. “Right, um, goodnight.” You rush, hastily turning around as your mind races with endless thoughts.

Will you see him again? He did not mention any other meeting, so that seems highly unlikely. You have his number, but can you call him? Should you call him? Would he call you?

Four steps in, you stop and turn back around. “Seungcheol?”

“Hm?”

“Would you like to date me?” You blurt out, marvelling at the steadiness of your voice as you lay all your cards out on the table. 

The man in front of you blinks, once, twice, thrice and then keeps staring at you with the flattest yet most expressive face of surprise. The silence is suffocating, but you refuse to speak, worried you would embarrass yourself. After a long moment, he replies. “I don’t think it is a good idea.”

Wow.

You should say, “understandable, have a nice day,” and take your leave, but you cannot resist asking, “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He pauses. “I am much older than you.”

Wait, that is why?

“Seriously?” You have to resist rolling your eyes.

He seems surprised at your attitude. “I am almost ten years older than you, if my assumption is correct. That is a pretty big issue. Trust me, you would not want to date someone like me.”

You frown. “I don’t like how you are telling me what I should and should not want.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “That is not what I meant. Our worlds are too different. I’m not telling you how you should feel, I am just warning you.”

Your fingernails dig into your palms, which are clenched into fists. You stare at him, hard and unblinking, trying to gather your thoughts. He looks apologetic, his sharp eyes soft and guilty, and it only angers you.

“I understand,” you nod, your voice quiet. “Thank you for today. I hope you get home safely. Goodbye, Seungcheol.”

With that, you march into your apartment building.

— 

“I am telling you, he was the perfect man until he started warning me about how it would not work.” You huff, your phone pressed to your ear as you arrange all the papers laid out on your desk.

“I mean, I saw that guy, right?” Jeanie continues. “Physically, he is like an eleven out of ten. And from the way you describe his mannerisms, he is like a complete gentleman.”

“Right?” You cry, shoving all the papers in a drawer of your cubicle. 

Normally, you don’t waste time worrying about your personal affairs at the workplace. This, however, is an exception. Jeanie was gone for a trip with her fiancé during the weekend, and you had to prepare for the upcoming company gala as well, so you spent the last two days glued to your laptop, drowning your pain in work and coffee.

“But you know, I kinda like how he turned you down. I mean, at least he is not a weirdo who jumps at the offer of getting into a young girl's pants, right? If Google is correct and he is 35 years old, that means he is a good nine years older than you. I am just surprised that he understood the problems of this dynamic.”

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes, slumping down on your chair. “Can you stop taking his side? He is so annoying. I wish I could just delete that guy from my mind.”

“Right, like that Kate Winslet movie.”

“Exactly,” you pause, noticing your boss coming towards your cubicle. “I’ll call you later.”

“Someone is worked up early in the morning,” Linda saunters over and leans against your cubicle. “And I know it is not work that has you stressed. So what is it?”

“I just um…” Got dumped by a hot dilf who is rich as fuck and hot as fuck and actually has a conscience. “It’s nothing.” You force a smile. "Just some personal stuff.”

“Mhm.” She hums. “If it’s a man, don’t worry too much. The right one will find his way to you.”

“Yeah,” you give her an awkward smile. Linda grins before turning on her heel, “Alright then. Conference room, five minutes. Bring those reports from the last quarter.”

— 

It is the night of the gala.

This is by far Linda’s most ambitious project, throwing a party on this huge scale. The preparations leading up to this were absolutely crazy, and you have never seen everyone work so hard in your three years at this company, meticulously going through everything from the decorations to the guest list, which included every big name from CEOs to actors.

As the guests pour in, you walk behind Linda as her shadow, carrying an iPad in your hand as you tackle one guest after another, welcoming them and then moving on to the next. Halfway through, you feel your feet getting numb, and you wish you were at home dressed in your pajamas, eating takeout instead of being here, dressed in a satin gown and high heels, after working like a dog all week.

However, you soon realize things are going to get much worse for you. As Linda chats with a few investors, you spot Seungcheol, Choi Seungcheol, standing a few feet away, talking to a few other men with a smile on his face. You shift on your feet, trying to get a good look and make sure it is indeed him. 

Yes, it is. Dressed in a navy blue three-piece suit, he looks like a million bucks and a flashing sign of your embarrassing history. As soon as Linda is done talking to her guests, you pull her away and whisper-yell, “Why is Choi Seungcheol here?”

“What do you mean? He was on the guest list.”

“I know but why is he here?” 

Linda blinks, registering your words. She whips her head around, whispering, “Holy shit, he is here. He has never attended these parties…ever!”

“Exactly!” You hiss. 

“This really is our lucky year,” Linda murmurs before heading towards him in determined strides. “No!” You yelp softly, shifting left and right, thinking of a way to escape, knowing very well that there is none. With your head down, you trail after her, standing behind her to avoid making eye contact. After a brief chat, your boss introduces you to Seungcheol, forcing you to look at him.

His eyes lock with yours, and you freeze, panicking. Should you pretend not to know him? He saves you from the trouble and, shockingly, says, “Yes, I know her.”

Your boss is surprised. “Really? How?”

Oh fuck. “Um…” your voice catches in your throat, but he takes the lead. “We met at a Dodgers game a couple of weeks ago. My nephew spilled juice over her, so it was a whole thing.” He chuckles, playing it off, and you nod, smiling along.

Your boss laughs, saying something to him, but you zone out, too caught up with what just happened. He could have pretended not to know you. What was even the point of sharing all that? Now you cannot even ignore him without looking suspicious because you are supposed to know each other.

Can you not catch a break?

Linda is suddenly called away by a couple of people, and she leaves you with Seungcheol, saying, “Keep him company, will you?” With a squeeze on your shoulder, she is gone. You don't dare to turn around and look at him, thinking about ways to smoothly run away, but he stops those thoughts immediately by grabbing your wrist and spinning you around to face him.

Holy shit. He is too close to you. So close that you smell his cologne, feel his breath on your skin. Your breath stutters. “What are you doing?”

“I have been wanting to talk to you all evening.” He says, his voice soft, his gaze devoted to your face. Your body aflame, you manage to free his grip on your waist. “Okay, what can I help you with?”

“Let’s talk somewhere private.”

“I cannot. I am working.”

“10 minutes.”

“I am busy, Seungcheol. My boss is the host of this party.”

“5 minutes.”

You bite your lower lip, your train of thought scattering as your eyes fall on his lips. “After dinner.” You manage to whisper, eyes still glued to his lips. You know he is looking at you, but you find it much harder to meet his eyes than being caught ogling him.

“You look very beautiful.” He murmurs close to your ear. You swallow, your fingers clenching the device. Why is he behaving like this? One moment, he is cold, and the next, he is all up against you, whispering things in your ear. His behaviour utterly confuses you, and you cannot help but think he is playing with you.

“Enjoy the party, Mr. Choi,” you state, turning away immediately, your heart galloping like a racehorse in your chest.

— 

You have dinner at the same table. He sits right next to you, facing Linda and a few other important guests. It is stifling, being so close to him, and so dinner goes by in a blur for you. All the food tastes the same, and you have a hard time digesting everything, too wired at the reminder that you will see him alone later.

That moment comes in a flash, as the dessert plates are cleared away and the guest starts leaving the tables. You stand up, hoping to get a moment by yourself at the ladies' room, but Seungcheol springs up immediately.

“Is it okay if I steal  ___ now?” He asks Linda without any hesitation the moment dinner is over. His hand is casually against the small of your back, ready to whisk you away as you stand by his side, tense. Linda looks at him and then you, and you see a knowing smile bloom on her lips. She probably thinks you are sleeping with him.

Ugh. You want to dig a hole and stay inside forever.

“Of course. I had her work a lot the entire night. She is all yours now, Seungcheol.” She assures, and you don’t miss the loadedness in her voice. As Seungcheol ushers you away, Linda winks at you, and you stare at her until she is out of sight, utterly gobsmacked. In silence, Seungcheol leads you towards the elevators.

“Where are we going?” You peer at him in perplexity as the doors close and he presses the button to the basement. 

“Home.” He replies decidedly, leaving you stunned. Half dazed in shock, you follow him into his BMW, quietly taking a seat in the passenger seat. He is quick to strap himself in and start the engine, pulling out of the parking with a deep rumble of the engine. 

“I’m sure the irony is not lost on you.” You comment, your eyes trained on the window, still marvelling at the ludicrous events of the evening. The universe is out to test you tonight.

“Huh?” He glances at you.

“Mr. Choi, the last time we met, we had dinner, and after that, I asked if I could date you. Do you remember what your reply was?” You turn your head and direct your gaze at him, your eyes narrowed and sharp, matching the bite in your voice. The man next to you remains silent, clenching his jaw.

You continue. “You said I was too young for you. And now, a week later, you—the man who rarely attends any parties—show up to my company’s gala and, without explanation, kidnap me.”

“I did not kidnap you.” He clarifies.

“Ugh,” you close your eyes shut, rubbing your temples. “What is it that you want, Mr. Choi?” You finally breathe out a long sigh.

“First of all,” he glances at you, his gaze stern, “stop calling me that. You never called me that.”

“Well, the only relationship we have now is professional.” You quip, crossing your arms and looking out the window.

“Whatever,” he huffs, his tone impatient. “Don’t call me that.”

Silence.

The SUV carries on through the sparse streets, the night sky drifting by overhead.

“And, I regret what I said that night.” He adds after a pause.

You shift, turning your head back to look at him. His face stays unreadable, eyes focused ahead on the street. You swallow a sudden lump in your throat, staring at him for a few moments, watching the city lights reflect on his handsome face. “I don’t believe that,” you mutter, your voice much softer than before, focusing your eyes out of the window.

“I understand. I hope I can change your mind.” He says, his voice tender, but you choose not to reply. The scenery shifts as you slip into the richer side of the town, sleek towers rising overhead, tall and glittering, the wide roads stretched out in hushed emptiness. A couple of minutes later, he pulls into the underground parking of a sleek skyscraper, the security gates parting smoothly at his pass, and parks the BMW in his assigned spot. 

Quickly, he gets out of the car and jogs over to hold your door open for you as you gather your purse and fix the strap of your heels. Then, you silently follow him to the elevator, which takes you all the way to the penthouse, the doors opening to reveal a grand foyer. The place is dusted in brown, cream, grey and black, tasteful and meticulously chosen pieces that sit in perfect harmony. You are drawn to the beautiful grand piano placed by the floor-to-ceiling windows, and as Seungcheol fixes him a drink, you walk over to the instrument, tracing your fingertips on the shiny surface.

“Would you like something to drink?” He calls.

“Just water,” you reply, slowly padding over to the windows, admiring the breathtaking view of the city skyline.

A moment later, he returns, placing your mug of water on the coffee table with a soft thud, his whiskey in his left hand as he walks towards the end of the foyer and to some other part of the huge apartment. He returns a couple of minutes later, carrying something with him.

“Here you go.” He holds out his hand to you. It is a physical album of Woozi’s latest release, his autograph scrawled over the cover, directed to you. Seungcheol sits down next to you on the couch and takes a sip of his drink, “Got it signed for you a couple of days ago.”

You hold the album in your hands, trying not to appear too gleeful. “That is really kind of you, but I don’t think I can accept this.”

“You always have a hard time accepting gifts from me.” He states matter-of-factly, his eyes laser-focused on you. You sigh. “Because we never had a relationship where it could be easy or normal,” you reply, setting the album down and taking a sip.

“Right,” he murmurs and then empties the glass of whiskey before setting it on the coffee table. “Would you like a tour?”

You look at him for a moment. “Why am I here, Seungcheol?”

He exhales a loud breath, running his hands through his spiky blond hair and staring at the ground. “I…I’m sorry. I was being avoidant. I wanted to apologize for my behaviour that night and…I wanted to talk to you.”

You sit back on the couch, shifting your body to better face him. “Go ahead then.”

“God,” he groans, sitting up and looking at you. “I don’t know how to do this without sounding weird…but I regret letting you go that night.”

You snort sarcastically. “What made you change your mind? Suddenly you found me attractive?”

His gaze shifts, his eyes suddenly becoming darker. “You have misunderstood me. I thought you were attractive the moment I laid eyes on you.”

His words set your heart on fire, but you keep your guard up. “Well, you never expressed that. That night, during dinner, I really thought you would make a move because I kept dropping hints, but you were so…polite and professional and distant.”

“I was holding myself back.” He whispers, his eyes set on you at an intensity that gives you goosebumps.

“From what?”

“From this. I thought I could forget you. Ignore my feelings for you, but I cannot, and I hate myself for it.”

You frown, “Is being attracted to me that bad?”

He smirks, shaking his head as he unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt. “If you could read my mind, you would hate me too.” He pauses, setting his eyes on you once more. Involuntarily, your toes curl and your stomach dips and suddenly, the air is too thick to breathe in. “The things I want to do to you…I know for a fact you have never dated someone like me, and that is a good thing. You know why?”

“Why?” Your voice is feather light. He leans closer to you, “Because I am very, very possessive. Especially about the things I like. But you know what the real danger was? The way you looked at me that day in the stadium and the way you are looking at me now.”

“Which is?” You croak.

“Like you want me to rip your clothes off and fuck you right here. It drives me insane...the way you keep eye-fucking me.” 

Yeah, you might have had an orgasm just from his words. Also, it looks like you were not so subtle after all.

You look away, your face flushed with heat, sweat beading on your temples. Seungcheol’s arm reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek to force your eyes back on him. “I know for a fact that you want me and god, do I want you. I want to do a lot of things to you, and when I remember how older I am compared—”

“I like older guys.” You speak without thinking. He pauses, the look in his eyes shifting into something more feral. You add, “Believe it or not, you are my ideal type. A DILF.”

He blinks, “DILF?”

A chuckle slips past your lips. Right, he would not know that. “Daddy-I-would-like-to-fuck.”

He throws his head back and laughs, easing the tension in the air. “See? This is why I said no to you. Our worlds are too different. I am too old for you.”

Feeling much more at ease with yourself, you scoot closer to him, pressing your body against his and putting a hand on his. “I think you would be perfect for me. Besides, we won’t know if we don’t try. If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t.”

His eyes are dark and sincere when he whispers, “I don’t think I could ever let you go.”

Your stomach does backflips, and you have to hold back a grin. “Good. That makes the two of us.” Craning your head upwards, you slowly let your eyes fall closed, murmuring, “Will you kiss me now?”

His lips are on yours immediately. He shoves his tongue inside you, tasting your mouth like a starved man while his hands envelop your body, feeling every inch of your skin. The warmth from his body and the movement of his lips against yours blankets you in an addictive sense of comfort and desire—like you always belonged here. Your body submits, relaxing against his as you let yourself feel every bit of the sensations. When he pulls away, the space between the two of you charges with tension, the heat increasing with the way his eyes bore into yours.

“I wanted to do that since this evening.” He breathes, his voice gruff.

“Just this evening?” You tease, catching your breath. Your lips are swollen, his bruising kiss lingering on your lips as you unconsciously lick them, trapped in the dark pools of his eyes. With a huff, he stands up and suddenly picks you up in his arms, carrying you away towards the bedroom. “You will get the tour later,” he announces, as you cling onto him, mortified at how easily he is carrying you in his arms. 

He takes you to his bedroom, setting you down on the bed with a soft thump and quickly works on undoing his shirt. The view is a feast for your eyes as you unashamedly drink him in, letting your eyes slowly trail over his abs, his unbelievably broad chest and even broader shoulders.

Girl dinner or whatever they call it. 

Left only in his boxers, he climbs on the bed, his hands reaching for you, his fingers tracing your back before pulling down the zipper of your dress. While his fingers do their job, his lips find yours, kissing and sucking, his tongue intertwined with yours, swallowing your moans. Your fingers grip his bicep, feeling the muscles flex underneath your skin, and you have to press your thighs together, trying to ignore the discomfort of your panties sticking to your skin.

Seungcheol helps you take off the dress, leaving you in your bra and panties only as goosebumps break onto your skin. Once again, you reconnect your lips to his, your hands pulling down his boxers while he undoes your bra. Shamelessly, you cup his length in your hands, your fingers tracing over the soft skin before giving it a few slow, deliberate strokes. The man groans against your lips and the sound goes straight between your legs, giving you an idea. 

“I want to suck you off.” You announce, pulling back from his lips, your hazy eyes matching his.

“What?” He blinks. You get to work, gently pushing him off the bed until he is on his feet, kicking away his boxers, and then you are on your knees in front of him. He is thick, girthy and hard and as intimidating as it looks, you cannot wait to have it inside you, both in your mouth and your pussy.

“Fuck,” you hear him curse under his breath, his hands snaking around your head to remove the hairs from your face and hold them back. With a determined exhale, your tongue darts out, giving his tip a kittenish lick before sucking the tip of his cock.

Seungcheol throws back his head in a loud groan. Fueled by his reaction, you keep on going, taking deeper in your mouth, your tongue swirling around his member. His grip on your hair tightens as you continue sucking, covering more of his length, adding an inch bit by bit to get used to the feeling of him in your mouth. Soon, he starts to thrust in and out of your mouth in shallow movements, your hands coming to rest on his hips to balance yourself.

“Fuck, you look so hot like this,” he pants, his eyes trained on your face, your swollen, spit-coated lips wrapped around his length as you look up at him with doe eyes. “You are going to drive me insane, fuck.” He grunts, increasing his pace, his thick length going deeper and making you gag, the filthy sound of him hitting the back of your throat, his length slick with saliva and pre cum echoing through the otherwise quiet room. The heat between your legs is almost too much to bear, the thought of him buried inside you driving you wild, making you press your thighs together to ease the ache.

“You need to stop, baby.” Seungcheol pants, his grip on you fastening. “I need to fuck you right now. The only place I will be cumming is your tight pussy.

Oh god. You take your mouth off his length, inhaling large gulps of air as he places you back on the bed. Pushing you down, he peels off your panties, and you don’t miss the way his eyes flash seeing the wet spot in the fabric. Empowered by his reaction, you give him a seductive smile and open your legs wide, giving him an unrestricted view. “Well then, hurry up, old man.”

His jaw tightens, matching his grip on your thighs. “I swear to god, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” 

“Promises, promises.” You tease, biting your lip. “I did not know you were such a brat. Looks like I have to teach you a lesson.” He murmurs and then lands a slap right on your clit.

“Fuck!” You fall back on the bed, the slap ringing through your entire nervous system, your body twitching. “You like that, little brat?” He lands another, much harder slap on your clit, and you swear you see stars. Tears bead in your eyes, your toes curling, and your body arching off the bed as you moan louder and louder. He gives you a few more slaps, each one stronger than the last, blurring your mind with an addictive combination of pain and pleasure so intense, it is unlike anything you have ever felt before. By the time he stops, you are out of breath and motionless on the ground, a drop of tear rolling down your eye as you stare at the ceiling and pant.

Smirking at your state, he climbs on top of you and grabs your wrists, pins them above your head. Lazily, he whispers in your ear, “If you want me to fuck you, you’re gonna be a good girl. Is that clear?” You answer him with a slow nod, but he isn’t satisfied as he lands a sudden slap on your breast this time, making you squeal. “Yes. I’m sorry!” You heave for breaths, pussy throbbing from his rough treatment.

“Good girl,” he praises, placing a soft kiss on your cheek before lining his cock up to your entrance, intense eyes watching you as he whispers, “Take a deep breath, baby.” You nod as you feel him entering you, his girth taking up every inch of space inside you. Your jaw hangs loose as he keeps going deeper, making you feel like you're on the brink of exploding. A tinge of pain and a lot more pleasure surge through you, but what steals most of your focus is how incredibly full you feel. 

“Fuck, you are going to be the death of me,” he hisses, gritting his teeth as he keeps pushing inside steadily, and you wonder just how big his cock is when it finally stops. Pausing for a moment, he pulls back slowly until his tip rests inside you, and then he thrusts so hard that you scream out loud as he hits that spot inside you. “Fucking hell, you are so tight.” He pants, his warm breath hitting the side of your face. His grip on your wrists loosens, and you use that to free your hands and bring them around his body, pulling him closer and closer to you.

“Shit,” you shudder, head full of bliss as your mouth hangs open in pleasure. The ethereal sight of him on top of you, sweaty, full of desire and determination, has you clenching around him. You wrap your arms tightly around his back, your fingernails digging into his skin as he increases his pace. “Harder,” you beg almost mindlessly.

“Yeah? You want more, baby?”

You hold onto him tighter. “Yes, please.” You whine, clinging to him. He grunts, doubling his pace if that’s even possible. You feel like you are gonna break into two, in the best possible way, as he keeps hitting your sweet spot that has you moaning so loud it overpowers the squeaking of the bed.

“Say my name. Who’s making you feel this good?” He hisses in your ear, thrusting erratically, his grip bruise-like on your body. “You, Seungcheol! Please, I’m gonna cum!” You cry, your body twitching and tensing, the coil in your belly about to snap.

“Yeah? Cum then. Choke my cock. Milk it dry.” He bites your earlobe as one of his hands reaches down to circle your clit in tight motions, making you shudder violently. The coil in your belly snaps, and with a raw scream of his name, you come, pussy spasming around his length as wetness gushes out of you. On top of you, Seungcheol continues his ruthless pace, his thrusts slicker because of your wetness and even harder than before, to the point you worry the bed will break. He’s merciless, continuing his torture on your clit even after you come, and the oversensitivity settles. “Seungcheol, please…” You plead, absolutely drained. “One more. You can do one more, baby. Come with me,” he pants, whispering, “Let me fill this tight hole up.”

“Oh god,” You clench around him, delirious. The thought of him filling you up sends your body into overdrive as he pinches your clit, making you come once more with a scream of his name. The orgasm ripples through you like an earthquake, shaking your whole body and making your toes curl as your fingernails dig into his back. He orgasms with you, warm spurts of his seed filling you up continuously, so much that some of it leaks out. He slumps down on the bed, lying next to you, his arms still wrapped around you, holding you close. You float between reality and dreamland for a while, catching your breath and lying completely still, your brain chemistry permanently altered.

A while later, Seungcheol helps you clean up before dragging you back to bed, his arms wrapped around you tightly as he spoons you from behind. 

“You okay?”

“I think I died and went to heaven,” You whisper, eyes closed. The man softly chuckles behind you, and you almost find it annoying how attractive that simple action is. “Remember how you were saying you could never let me go?” You mumble. “It is I who will not be letting you go. I will lock you up and keep you all to myself.” You know he is smiling as he wraps his arms tighter around you and nuzzles your neck. “Good. That’s where I would rather be.”

Turning around, you cup his cheeks and pull him in for a kiss, his arms enveloping you, his fingers tracing your upper back and your waist as his tongue finds its way inside your mouth. Looks like round two is about to start.

For a bonus, extra special scene, click here or head over to my Patreon! This work is cross-posted on AO3. Please support me over there as I recently opened my account!

© startlightxsvt 2025 | All Rights Reserved. Do not copy, translate, adapt, or repurpose any of my works.

a/n 2: atp, just call me a cheol fic blog because he's all I'm writing about. no worries, the next fic i am working on is a DK fic which will probably come out in october end or november. anyway, this was a purely self indulgent fic lol so thank you for reading this filth. i can never write pwp because somehow, the lore ends up being too long. still, thank you for making it till the end and i would love it if you left a comment and reblogged! thank you for your time and until next time, stay safe!

on a separate note, please keep yourself updated with the current state of the world, esp the ongoing genoc!de and wars. free 🇵🇸🇸🇩🇨🇩

[starlightxsvt]

I Think I Need Someone Older | c.sc

synopsis ➳ you see him at a dodgers game and for you it is game over. except, it looks like he isn't interested in you. however, the chemistry between you says otherwise.

pairing ➳ dilf!s.coups x fem!reader

genre ➳ strangers to lovers, age gap romance, smut.

word count ➳ 8.2k + 1.1k (bonus)

warnings ➳ mdni, age gap!!! (9yrs), slightly toxic dynamics, cheol is an absolute gentleman in the first half and a monster (in bed) in the second, reader is horny af, sexual tension/frustration, possessiveness, messy makeouts, unprotected sex, male oral and ofc big dick cheol, gagging, crying, pussy slapping, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, nasty sex in general bruh.

a/n: those pics of cheol at the LA Dodgers game did something to me. and to be fair, cheol isn't actually a dilf here (you'll find out). also, if age gap is not your cup of tea, DO NOT INTERACT!

I think I need someone older

Just a little bit colder

Take the weight off his shoulders

The crowd is quite suffocating.

You have to find your way through a throng of people, mostly men dressed in jerseys and holding beers, to get to the VIP seating area. Jeanie, your friend, leads the way, and you follow her tail, careful not to bump into anyone and spill your drink.

This is really not your scene.

You don't like noisy places. You don't like crowds. You don't like sports.

So what are you doing here?

Two weeks ago, you broke up with your boyfriend. It was nothing dramatic. In fact, you saw it coming. Your relationship mellowed out a long time ago, not that it was very heated in the first place, and frankly, the breakup was a relief.

It was like you finally got rid of a dead weight.

But for some reason, Jeanie, one of your closest friends, had this impression that you were depressed and having a pity party by yourself in your apartment, which you were not; you were doing a deep clean to prepare for the upcoming fall. Hence, she has dragged you out here, to a LA Dodgers game, to change the scenery and add some joy in your life.

You and your friend have truly different definitions of joy. She has been an extrovert since the time you met her in college. You, on the other hand, preferred to be by yourself.

Jeanie nudges your shoulder with hers as you two take your seats. “Lighten up, girl. Have some fun! We got these VIP seats for free!”

Right. Jeanie is friends with an influencer who gave her these tickets because she couldn’t come because of some last minute trip to a fancy Caribbean island. 

You take a sip of your chilled drink and murmur. “I’m trying. You know this is not my scene.”

“A change of scenery is always good.” She announces before taking a look around in the VIP seating area. “Plus, this place is full of hot, rich guys.”

“Rich? Sure. I don’t see any hot guys, though.” You comment drily. “I am going to stay for half an hour and then leave. You know I have to make a pitch on Monday. I need to work on my presentation.”

“Can you not think about work for two seconds?” Jeanie rolls her eyes.

“Alright, fine. I’ll pretend to be very interested in the game for your sake.” You huff playfully, and your friend smiles, wrapping an arm around you. She and her fiancé watch these games regularly, and you know for a fact that if he were not out of town right now, she would not have dragged you here, and you could be finishing up with work early and end the day soaking in a bubble bath.

Yeah, that would be nice.

A man walking by catches your attention randomly. He is dressed in a grey hoodie and grey sweatpants with a cap on his head, his pace leisurely as he strolls down the stairs to take a seat in the front row. Nothing about his clothes is flashy or exceptional, but still, he stands out and your eyes follow him. As he walks past you, you get a glimpse of his face: fair skin with dark, thick eyebrows, unfairly beautiful eyes and a plump set of lips. Silently, you observe him sit down next to a man and a moment later, take a toddler out of the man’s lap to put the child on his.

Is he a father? Damn, spotting an attractive dilf was not on your bucket list.

The game starts momentarily, disrupting your thoughts as music and cheers erupt throughout the stadium. You try your best to enjoy the game before resigning yourself to sipping your beer and scrolling through your phone while occasionally taking peeks at the front row.

You don’t get to see much except the man’s back as he keeps playing with the very enthusiastic child, clapping and squealing while the man beside them takes pictures of them.

Time ticks by. Your beer finishes. You help Jeanie take some pictures before posing for some selfies with her. And then, something happens that gets you the attention of the hot man in the front row.

The child you saw earlier with him was climbing the stairs, his little wobbly feet tackling one step at a time as he held a cup of orange juice comically large for his little hands. Just as he was wobbling past your seat, he lost his balance, and some of the juice spilt out of the cup and onto the bottom of your jeans.

The two men who were a few steps behind come running as the dilf immediately picks up the kid with an admonishing look. The taller man next to him looks in your direction, muttering an apology. The father, you assume, orders, “Mingyu, go grab some napkins for the lady.”

“No, it’s—” You stand up to protest, but the man—Mingyu—dashes away to get some tissues for you. “It’s okay. It was an accident.” You offer softly as the man admonishes the child, who looks at you with large doe eyes.

“Ethan, say sorry to her.” He tells the kid who squirms to get out of his father's hold and onto the ground. “I am sorry, miss.” The kid says sweetly, bowing his head almost so far ahead that he loses his footing.

“Oh, no. It is alright, Ethan.” You softly pat his head. “You are a big, strong boy, carrying the cup by yourself!” Ethan smiles at your words, his little teeth peeking.

Mingyu returns with the napkins and hands them to you before picking Ethan up and taking him away, climbing up the stairs. You dab the spot on your jeans with the napkin, hyperaware of the dilf’s eyes on you. Oddly, you are too shy to look him in the eye, as if he can see all your thoughts about him in them. 

“Allow me to pay for the dry cleaning.” He offers.

“Oh, no!” You refuse, embarrassed. “The stain is not that strong. It will wash away.”

“I insist. Please give me your number so that I can send the money.” He is adamant, and with no other option, you fish out your business card from your purse and hand it to him.

He takes a look at it before putting it in his pocket. An awkward moment of silence passes by as you finish wiping the stain and stand back up. “Your son is very cute.” You attempt to make a conversation.

“Oh,” he shakes his head with a chuckle. “That’s my nephew.”

Your ears perk up at his words.

“My sister-in-law had a dentist appointment, and so we brought him with us. He really loves my friend, Mingyu. Sometimes I think he loves him more than me.” He explains casually, a fond look on his face.

“I see.” You take a moment to scan him, half unconsciously. He is right there in front of you, and it is almost impossible not to drink him up. Despite wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, there is something about him that screams luxury. Maybe it is the way he walks and talks, at ease yet authoritative, like he owns the place, or maybe, you realize, it's the Rolex sitting on his wrist, thick and heavy.

You are so busy staring at him that it takes a long moment for you to realize he is staring at you staring at him. He is the first one to break the silence, saving you from further embarrassment. “Let me take a guess. This really isn’t your scene.” He waves his hand around.

A soft burst of laughter comes out of your mouth. “Is it that obvious?”

“It kind of is.” He smirks, his deep brown eyes twinkling with something unreadable, and your stomach starts doing backflips. You have to take a step back and grab onto the backrest of the seat to make sure you don’t fall.

“My ideal weekend is sleeping in and ordering takeout.” You shrug.

“That has its own appeal, I must agree.”

“Yeah…” you trail off, unable to hold eye contact with him any longer. Your heart is racing inhumanely fast in your chest, and you are half worried that you are getting a heart attack. For God’s sake, that’s a fucking stranger and for sure, someone’s boyfriend or husband, though you don’t see a ring. You cannot be drooling over him like that.

You need to get laid.

“Well, it was lovely talking to you. We are gonna head out now.” He stands straighter, fixing his cap, his blonde hair peeking from the sides. “I am once again, really sorry about that,” he motions to your jeans. “I’ll send you the money.”

“You really don’t have to.” You object, watching him climb up the stairs.

“Don’t worry about that.” He shakes his head before turning to look at you. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.” Chewing on your lower lip, you watch the absolute hunk of a man walk away. With a heavy sigh, when you turn back around, you find Jeanie looking at you with the evilest of smiles, like a cat that ate the canary.

“Ugh, please,” you huff, hiding your face, making an attempt to leave. “Let me go, I need to pee!”

“Mhmm,” she hums, wrapping her arms around you and dragging to down next to her. “What was all that, huh? You were practically eye fucking him. And giving him your number, my god, girl!”

“Ugh, shut up! He asked for it.”

“Mhmm, I’m sure he will be asking for a lot more things soon when he gives you a booty call.”

You roll your eyes, shoving Jeanie’s face away from yours. Inside, the idea of him calling you does make your stomach flutter more than it should.

You should get a check-up done. And get laid.

— 

You do not get a call from him. Instead, the next morning, after you wake up, you find the money sent to your number along with a message that says, 

Sorry for the trouble once again. — Choi Seungcheol

Choi Seungcheol. The name rolls off your tongue nicely as you keep gazing at your mobile screen, dumbfounded at the amount he sent you. No dry cleaning costs that much, and you debate a while with yourself, wondering whether you should call him, send him a text, or send some of the money back.

Hoping that he may text you for a follow-up, you get on your day, preparing to get ready for work. The day, however, comes to an end with no response from him. Not a text or a call checking if you have received the money. Finally, at night when you are in bed, you decide to text him.

Hi. It’s ___ from the game yesterday. 

Five minutes later, your phone starts ringing. It is Seungcheol.

“Hello?” You half whisper, your voice suddenly catching in your throat.

“Hi.” His voice is deeper on the phone. “Sorry, I am too tired to text, so I just called you. I hope that is okay?”

“No, it’s completely fine.” You hurry. “It’s my fault for calling you this late. I’m sorry for disturbing.”

“Don’t worry about that. I just had a long day at work. But anyway, how can I help you?”

“Umh,” you take a moment to oragnize your thoughts. “I wanted to say thank you for sending the money. I really appreciate it, but the amount is much more than necessary.”

“It’s okay. You could use that to buy a pair if the stain does not come off.”

“And still I would be left with enough to grab dinner.” You joke.

“You love takeouts, right? So why not?” He hums from the other side. He remembers. You smile, chewing on your lower lip. And then, an idea pops into your head.

“I have a better idea. Let me treat you to dinner.” You state, and then squeeze your eyes shut as you hold your breath waiting for his reply. 

“Why?” he sounds confused.

“Just as a token of gratitude.” You reply, still holding your breath. The line stays silent for a few seconds, and just as you start thinking you will get rejected, he answers. “Sure. When is a good time for you?”

You have to hold back a squeal. “This Friday?”

“Works for me.”

“Great!” You quip, trying not to sound too excited. “See you then!”

“Have a good night, ___.”

— 

The week could not have been slower. By the time Friday rolls around, you are bone tired from all the work that came along with the new merger of your company. Still, you manage to leave work a little early and have a shower before getting ready. Seungcheol let you choose the restaurant, and you decided to go to a sleek Italian restaurant tucked away on the upscale side of town.

By the time you get into your Uber, Seungcheol texts you, stating that he is already there. Thankfully, there is not a lot of traffic, so you do not keep him waiting for long. 

You find him seated at a couple’s table by the large floor-to-ceiling windows, sipping on a glass of wine as he talks to someone over the phone. He is quick to spot you, however, and as soon as he sees you, he hangs up the phone, stands up, and pulls your chair out for you.

“Hi,” You murmur, voice breathy as you come to a stand in front of him. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” You let your eyes wander all over him, and boy, does he look good—black formal shirt with black pants and a nice watch. He looks effortlessly hot, especially the way a bit of his skin peeks through the top unbuttoned space of his shirt and the way his arms flex, the veins shining in the warm light because of his rolled-up sleeves, and the way the fabric of the shirt remains tight against his solid, hard chest.

You feel like a Victorian man laying his eyes upon a woman’s ankles.

“No worries at all,” he ushers you to sit down. “I took the liberty of ordering us some appetizers and a bottle of wine. I hope you do not mind.”

“Not at all,” you reply bashfully as you sit down, and he goes back to his chair. “I am actually quite hungry. I haven’t had anything since breakfast.”

“Why?”

“Oh, work has been crazy.” You sigh.

“Hm,” he nods softly. “I heard your company is going through a merger currently.”

Swallowing a gulp of water, you look at him, impressed. “Looks like you stay updated.”

He chuckles, with a subtle shake of his head, his hand reaching out for your goblet to pour you some wine. 

“I googled you, by the way.” You announce with a cheeky smile. The man raises a thick eyebrow, and involuntarily, you press your thighs together underneath the table. Setting the bottle of wine down, he leans back in his chair and softly rubs his index fingers across his chin. “Oh really?”

“I was really curious.” You explain, reaching for the wine. “Turns out you are a record label owner.”

“Yeah, it is nothing special.” He waves a hand dismissively. You roll your eyes and lean closer to him, your elbows resting on the table. “Are you serious? Literally Woozi—the Woozi is your artist. That’s insane!”

“You are a fan, I assume?”

“I am. I really like his songs.” You nod. 

You are interrupted for a moment as the appetizers come alongside another server, who takes the orders for your main course. Once they are gone, Seungcheol serves you each of the dishes while saying. “I will see if I can get you an autograph.”

Quietly, you watch him load up your plate and set it down in front of you before serving himself. His thoughtful gesture gives butterflies in your stomach, and you murmur a shy “thank you”, hoping he understood that it was not because he said he would get you Woozi’s autograph.

“But enough talking about an old man like me.” He says, taking a bite of his food. “I would much rather hear about you.”

His words leave you flustered, especially as he keeps his gaze on you, his eyes unwavering. You supply information about your family, friends, and work between mouthfuls, surprised at how attentively he listens and asks thoughtful but not intrusive questions. The main course comes, and your conversations keep flowing smoothly, from your life to your hobbies to his and then to his nephew Ethan. The chemistry between the two of you is undeniable, at least that is what you think, but you have no way of knowing what is going on in his mind. He never crosses any lines or makes any attempt to touch or flirt with you, and by the time dessert is over, in the back of your mind, you are questioning yourself.

What does he think of you? A friend? A clingy young girl who was desperate to have dinner with him? 

You are so lost in your head that when the bill is set down on the table, Seungcheol is the one to grab it, exceptionally fast at that, and you watch him with an open mouth. 

“Hey!” You attempt to snatch the bill out of his hands but fail miserably as he simply puts his black card inside and hands it back to the waiter. “I was supposed to pay!”

“I know,” his voice is soft as a feather. “But I had a lovely evening today, and trust me when I say that it is my absolute pleasure to cover the bill.”

His tone, paired with the most sincere look in his eyes, leaves you at a loss for words, and you don’t know what to say, too busy trying to calm your racing heart. You manage to utter a soft “thank you,” and he returns it with a warm smile and a sincere “welcome.”

God damn it, this man is so perfect. The date is coming to an end, and you have no idea where you stand and what you should do to figure that out. With your head clouded in worries, you follow him out.

— 

The drive goes by in relative silence, and you are at your place too quickly to your liking. Seungcheol gets out of the car to walk you to the front of your apartment complex while his driver parks the car.

“Well then, I hope you had a great time tonight.” He offers a smile as you stand in front of the entrance to your building. “I did.” You nod, hoping your voice conveys your sincerity. “It would have been greater if you let me pay, but—”

“Don’t mention it.” He cuts you off with a cheeky smile. 

“Thanks again. For the dinner and for dropping me home.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” His smile is warm. “I’ll leave after you go inside.” He states and extends his hand as a polite way of urging you in. “Right, um, goodnight.” You rush, hastily turning around as your mind races with endless thoughts.

Will you see him again? He did not mention any other meeting, so that seems highly unlikely. You have his number, but can you call him? Should you call him? Would he call you?

Four steps in, you stop and turn back around. “Seungcheol?”

“Hm?”

“Would you like to date me?” You blurt out, marvelling at the steadiness of your voice as you lay all your cards out on the table. 

The man in front of you blinks, once, twice, thrice and then keeps staring at you with the flattest yet most expressive face of surprise. The silence is suffocating, but you refuse to speak, worried you would embarrass yourself. After a long moment, he replies. “I don’t think it is a good idea.”

Wow.

You should say, “understandable, have a nice day,” and take your leave, but you cannot resist asking, “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He pauses. “I am much older than you.”

Wait, that is why?

“Seriously?” You have to resist rolling your eyes.

He seems surprised at your attitude. “I am almost ten years older than you, if my assumption is correct. That is a pretty big issue. Trust me, you would not want to date someone like me.”

You frown. “I don’t like how you are telling me what I should and should not want.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “That is not what I meant. Our worlds are too different. I’m not telling you how you should feel, I am just warning you.”

Your fingernails dig into your palms, which are clenched into fists. You stare at him, hard and unblinking, trying to gather your thoughts. He looks apologetic, his sharp eyes soft and guilty, and it only angers you.

“I understand,” you nod, your voice quiet. “Thank you for today. I hope you get home safely. Goodbye, Seungcheol.”

With that, you march into your apartment building.

— 

“I am telling you, he was the perfect man until he started warning me about how it would not work.” You huff, your phone pressed to your ear as you arrange all the papers laid out on your desk.

“I mean, I saw that guy, right?” Jeanie continues. “Physically, he is like an eleven out of ten. And from the way you describe his mannerisms, he is like a complete gentleman.”

“Right?” You cry, shoving all the papers in a drawer of your cubicle. 

Normally, you don’t waste time worrying about your personal affairs at the workplace. This, however, is an exception. Jeanie was gone for a trip with her fiancé during the weekend, and you had to prepare for the upcoming company gala as well, so you spent the last two days glued to your laptop, drowning your pain in work and coffee.

“But you know, I kinda like how he turned you down. I mean, at least he is not a weirdo who jumps at the offer of getting into a young girl's pants, right? If Google is correct and he is 35 years old, that means he is a good nine years older than you. I am just surprised that he understood the problems of this dynamic.”

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes, slumping down on your chair. “Can you stop taking his side? He is so annoying. I wish I could just delete that guy from my mind.”

“Right, like that Kate Winslet movie.”

“Exactly,” you pause, noticing your boss coming towards your cubicle. “I’ll call you later.”

“Someone is worked up early in the morning,” Linda saunters over and leans against your cubicle. “And I know it is not work that has you stressed. So what is it?”

“I just um…” Got dumped by a hot dilf who is rich as fuck and hot as fuck and actually has a conscience. “It’s nothing.” You force a smile. "Just some personal stuff.”

“Mhm.” She hums. “If it’s a man, don’t worry too much. The right one will find his way to you.”

“Yeah,” you give her an awkward smile. Linda grins before turning on her heel, “Alright then. Conference room, five minutes. Bring those reports from the last quarter.”

— 

It is the night of the gala.

This is by far Linda’s most ambitious project, throwing a party on this huge scale. The preparations leading up to this were absolutely crazy, and you have never seen everyone work so hard in your three years at this company, meticulously going through everything from the decorations to the guest list, which included every big name from CEOs to actors.

As the guests pour in, you walk behind Linda as her shadow, carrying an iPad in your hand as you tackle one guest after another, welcoming them and then moving on to the next. Halfway through, you feel your feet getting numb, and you wish you were at home dressed in your pajamas, eating takeout instead of being here, dressed in a satin gown and high heels, after working like a dog all week.

However, you soon realize things are going to get much worse for you. As Linda chats with a few investors, you spot Seungcheol, Choi Seungcheol, standing a few feet away, talking to a few other men with a smile on his face. You shift on your feet, trying to get a good look and make sure it is indeed him. 

Yes, it is. Dressed in a navy blue three-piece suit, he looks like a million bucks and a flashing sign of your embarrassing history. As soon as Linda is done talking to her guests, you pull her away and whisper-yell, “Why is Choi Seungcheol here?”

“What do you mean? He was on the guest list.”

“I know but why is he here?” 

Linda blinks, registering your words. She whips her head around, whispering, “Holy shit, he is here. He has never attended these parties…ever!”

“Exactly!” You hiss. 

“This really is our lucky year,” Linda murmurs before heading towards him in determined strides. “No!” You yelp softly, shifting left and right, thinking of a way to escape, knowing very well that there is none. With your head down, you trail after her, standing behind her to avoid making eye contact. After a brief chat, your boss introduces you to Seungcheol, forcing you to look at him.

His eyes lock with yours, and you freeze, panicking. Should you pretend not to know him? He saves you from the trouble and, shockingly, says, “Yes, I know her.”

Your boss is surprised. “Really? How?”

Oh fuck. “Um…” your voice catches in your throat, but he takes the lead. “We met at a Dodgers game a couple of weeks ago. My nephew spilled juice over her, so it was a whole thing.” He chuckles, playing it off, and you nod, smiling along.

Your boss laughs, saying something to him, but you zone out, too caught up with what just happened. He could have pretended not to know you. What was even the point of sharing all that? Now you cannot even ignore him without looking suspicious because you are supposed to know each other.

Can you not catch a break?

Linda is suddenly called away by a couple of people, and she leaves you with Seungcheol, saying, “Keep him company, will you?” With a squeeze on your shoulder, she is gone. You don't dare to turn around and look at him, thinking about ways to smoothly run away, but he stops those thoughts immediately by grabbing your wrist and spinning you around to face him.

Holy shit. He is too close to you. So close that you smell his cologne, feel his breath on your skin. Your breath stutters. “What are you doing?”

“I have been wanting to talk to you all evening.” He says, his voice soft, his gaze devoted to your face. Your body aflame, you manage to free his grip on your waist. “Okay, what can I help you with?”

“Let’s talk somewhere private.”

“I cannot. I am working.”

“10 minutes.”

“I am busy, Seungcheol. My boss is the host of this party.”

“5 minutes.”

You bite your lower lip, your train of thought scattering as your eyes fall on his lips. “After dinner.” You manage to whisper, eyes still glued to his lips. You know he is looking at you, but you find it much harder to meet his eyes than being caught ogling him.

“You look very beautiful.” He murmurs close to your ear. You swallow, your fingers clenching the device. Why is he behaving like this? One moment, he is cold, and the next, he is all up against you, whispering things in your ear. His behaviour utterly confuses you, and you cannot help but think he is playing with you.

“Enjoy the party, Mr. Choi,” you state, turning away immediately, your heart galloping like a racehorse in your chest.

— 

You have dinner at the same table. He sits right next to you, facing Linda and a few other important guests. It is stifling, being so close to him, and so dinner goes by in a blur for you. All the food tastes the same, and you have a hard time digesting everything, too wired at the reminder that you will see him alone later.

That moment comes in a flash, as the dessert plates are cleared away and the guest starts leaving the tables. You stand up, hoping to get a moment by yourself at the ladies' room, but Seungcheol springs up immediately.

“Is it okay if I steal  ___ now?” He asks Linda without any hesitation the moment dinner is over. His hand is casually against the small of your back, ready to whisk you away as you stand by his side, tense. Linda looks at him and then you, and you see a knowing smile bloom on her lips. She probably thinks you are sleeping with him.

Ugh. You want to dig a hole and stay inside forever.

“Of course. I had her work a lot the entire night. She is all yours now, Seungcheol.” She assures, and you don’t miss the loadedness in her voice. As Seungcheol ushers you away, Linda winks at you, and you stare at her until she is out of sight, utterly gobsmacked. In silence, Seungcheol leads you towards the elevators.

“Where are we going?” You peer at him in perplexity as the doors close and he presses the button to the basement. 

“Home.” He replies decidedly, leaving you stunned. Half dazed in shock, you follow him into his BMW, quietly taking a seat in the passenger seat. He is quick to strap himself in and start the engine, pulling out of the parking with a deep rumble of the engine. 

“I’m sure the irony is not lost on you.” You comment, your eyes trained on the window, still marvelling at the ludicrous events of the evening. The universe is out to test you tonight.

“Huh?” He glances at you.

“Mr. Choi, the last time we met, we had dinner, and after that, I asked if I could date you. Do you remember what your reply was?” You turn your head and direct your gaze at him, your eyes narrowed and sharp, matching the bite in your voice. The man next to you remains silent, clenching his jaw.

You continue. “You said I was too young for you. And now, a week later, you—the man who rarely attends any parties—show up to my company’s gala and, without explanation, kidnap me.”

“I did not kidnap you.” He clarifies.

“Ugh,” you close your eyes shut, rubbing your temples. “What is it that you want, Mr. Choi?” You finally breathe out a long sigh.

“First of all,” he glances at you, his gaze stern, “stop calling me that. You never called me that.”

“Well, the only relationship we have now is professional.” You quip, crossing your arms and looking out the window.

“Whatever,” he huffs, his tone impatient. “Don’t call me that.”

Silence.

The SUV carries on through the sparse streets, the night sky drifting by overhead.

“And, I regret what I said that night.” He adds after a pause.

You shift, turning your head back to look at him. His face stays unreadable, eyes focused ahead on the street. You swallow a sudden lump in your throat, staring at him for a few moments, watching the city lights reflect on his handsome face. “I don’t believe that,” you mutter, your voice much softer than before, focusing your eyes out of the window.

“I understand. I hope I can change your mind.” He says, his voice tender, but you choose not to reply. The scenery shifts as you slip into the richer side of the town, sleek towers rising overhead, tall and glittering, the wide roads stretched out in hushed emptiness. A couple of minutes later, he pulls into the underground parking of a sleek skyscraper, the security gates parting smoothly at his pass, and parks the BMW in his assigned spot. 

Quickly, he gets out of the car and jogs over to hold your door open for you as you gather your purse and fix the strap of your heels. Then, you silently follow him to the elevator, which takes you all the way to the penthouse, the doors opening to reveal a grand foyer. The place is dusted in brown, cream, grey and black, tasteful and meticulously chosen pieces that sit in perfect harmony. You are drawn to the beautiful grand piano placed by the floor-to-ceiling windows, and as Seungcheol fixes him a drink, you walk over to the instrument, tracing your fingertips on the shiny surface.

“Would you like something to drink?” He calls.

“Just water,” you reply, slowly padding over to the windows, admiring the breathtaking view of the city skyline.

A moment later, he returns, placing your mug of water on the coffee table with a soft thud, his whiskey in his left hand as he walks towards the end of the foyer and to some other part of the huge apartment. He returns a couple of minutes later, carrying something with him.

“Here you go.” He holds out his hand to you. It is a physical album of Woozi’s latest release, his autograph scrawled over the cover, directed to you. Seungcheol sits down next to you on the couch and takes a sip of his drink, “Got it signed for you a couple of days ago.”

You hold the album in your hands, trying not to appear too gleeful. “That is really kind of you, but I don’t think I can accept this.”

“You always have a hard time accepting gifts from me.” He states matter-of-factly, his eyes laser-focused on you. You sigh. “Because we never had a relationship where it could be easy or normal,” you reply, setting the album down and taking a sip.

“Right,” he murmurs and then empties the glass of whiskey before setting it on the coffee table. “Would you like a tour?”

You look at him for a moment. “Why am I here, Seungcheol?”

He exhales a loud breath, running his hands through his spiky blond hair and staring at the ground. “I…I’m sorry. I was being avoidant. I wanted to apologize for my behaviour that night and…I wanted to talk to you.”

You sit back on the couch, shifting your body to better face him. “Go ahead then.”

“God,” he groans, sitting up and looking at you. “I don’t know how to do this without sounding weird…but I regret letting you go that night.”

You snort sarcastically. “What made you change your mind? Suddenly you found me attractive?”

His gaze shifts, his eyes suddenly becoming darker. “You have misunderstood me. I thought you were attractive the moment I laid eyes on you.”

His words set your heart on fire, but you keep your guard up. “Well, you never expressed that. That night, during dinner, I really thought you would make a move because I kept dropping hints, but you were so…polite and professional and distant.”

“I was holding myself back.” He whispers, his eyes set on you at an intensity that gives you goosebumps.

“From what?”

“From this. I thought I could forget you. Ignore my feelings for you, but I cannot, and I hate myself for it.”

You frown, “Is being attracted to me that bad?”

He smirks, shaking his head as he unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt. “If you could read my mind, you would hate me too.” He pauses, setting his eyes on you once more. Involuntarily, your toes curl and your stomach dips and suddenly, the air is too thick to breathe in. “The things I want to do to you…I know for a fact you have never dated someone like me, and that is a good thing. You know why?”

“Why?” Your voice is feather light. He leans closer to you, “Because I am very, very possessive. Especially about the things I like. But you know what the real danger was? The way you looked at me that day in the stadium and the way you are looking at me now.”

“Which is?” You croak.

“Like you want me to rip your clothes off and fuck you right here. It drives me insane...the way you keep eye-fucking me.” 

Yeah, you might have had an orgasm just from his words. Also, it looks like you were not so subtle after all.

You look away, your face flushed with heat, sweat beading on your temples. Seungcheol’s arm reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek to force your eyes back on him. “I know for a fact that you want me and god, do I want you. I want to do a lot of things to you, and when I remember how older I am compared—”

“I like older guys.” You speak without thinking. He pauses, the look in his eyes shifting into something more feral. You add, “Believe it or not, you are my ideal type. A DILF.”

He blinks, “DILF?”

A chuckle slips past your lips. Right, he would not know that. “Daddy-I-would-like-to-fuck.”

He throws his head back and laughs, easing the tension in the air. “See? This is why I said no to you. Our worlds are too different. I am too old for you.”

Feeling much more at ease with yourself, you scoot closer to him, pressing your body against his and putting a hand on his. “I think you would be perfect for me. Besides, we won’t know if we don’t try. If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t.”

His eyes are dark and sincere when he whispers, “I don’t think I could ever let you go.”

Your stomach does backflips, and you have to hold back a grin. “Good. That makes the two of us.” Craning your head upwards, you slowly let your eyes fall closed, murmuring, “Will you kiss me now?”

His lips are on yours immediately. He shoves his tongue inside you, tasting your mouth like a starved man while his hands envelop your body, feeling every inch of your skin. The warmth from his body and the movement of his lips against yours blankets you in an addictive sense of comfort and desire—like you always belonged here. Your body submits, relaxing against his as you let yourself feel every bit of the sensations. When he pulls away, the space between the two of you charges with tension, the heat increasing with the way his eyes bore into yours.

“I wanted to do that since this evening.” He breathes, his voice gruff.

“Just this evening?” You tease, catching your breath. Your lips are swollen, his bruising kiss lingering on your lips as you unconsciously lick them, trapped in the dark pools of his eyes. With a huff, he stands up and suddenly picks you up in his arms, carrying you away towards the bedroom. “You will get the tour later,” he announces, as you cling onto him, mortified at how easily he is carrying you in his arms. 

He takes you to his bedroom, setting you down on the bed with a soft thump and quickly works on undoing his shirt. The view is a feast for your eyes as you unashamedly drink him in, letting your eyes slowly trail over his abs, his unbelievably broad chest and even broader shoulders.

Girl dinner or whatever they call it. 

Left only in his boxers, he climbs on the bed, his hands reaching for you, his fingers tracing your back before pulling down the zipper of your dress. While his fingers do their job, his lips find yours, kissing and sucking, his tongue intertwined with yours, swallowing your moans. Your fingers grip his bicep, feeling the muscles flex underneath your skin, and you have to press your thighs together, trying to ignore the discomfort of your panties sticking to your skin.

Seungcheol helps you take off the dress, leaving you in your bra and panties only as goosebumps break onto your skin. Once again, you reconnect your lips to his, your hands pulling down his boxers while he undoes your bra. Shamelessly, you cup his length in your hands, your fingers tracing over the soft skin before giving it a few slow, deliberate strokes. The man groans against your lips and the sound goes straight between your legs, giving you an idea. 

“I want to suck you off.” You announce, pulling back from his lips, your hazy eyes matching his.

“What?” He blinks. You get to work, gently pushing him off the bed until he is on his feet, kicking away his boxers, and then you are on your knees in front of him. He is thick, girthy and hard and as intimidating as it looks, you cannot wait to have it inside you, both in your mouth and your pussy.

“Fuck,” you hear him curse under his breath, his hands snaking around your head to remove the hairs from your face and hold them back. With a determined exhale, your tongue darts out, giving his tip a kittenish lick before sucking the tip of his cock.

Seungcheol throws back his head in a loud groan. Fueled by his reaction, you keep on going, taking deeper in your mouth, your tongue swirling around his member. His grip on your hair tightens as you continue sucking, covering more of his length, adding an inch bit by bit to get used to the feeling of him in your mouth. Soon, he starts to thrust in and out of your mouth in shallow movements, your hands coming to rest on his hips to balance yourself.

“Fuck, you look so hot like this,” he pants, his eyes trained on your face, your swollen, spit-coated lips wrapped around his length as you look up at him with doe eyes. “You are going to drive me insane, fuck.” He grunts, increasing his pace, his thick length going deeper and making you gag, the filthy sound of him hitting the back of your throat, his length slick with saliva and pre cum echoing through the otherwise quiet room. The heat between your legs is almost too much to bear, the thought of him buried inside you driving you wild, making you press your thighs together to ease the ache.

“You need to stop, baby.” Seungcheol pants, his grip on you fastening. “I need to fuck you right now. The only place I will be cumming is your tight pussy.

Oh god. You take your mouth off his length, inhaling large gulps of air as he places you back on the bed. Pushing you down, he peels off your panties, and you don’t miss the way his eyes flash seeing the wet spot in the fabric. Empowered by his reaction, you give him a seductive smile and open your legs wide, giving him an unrestricted view. “Well then, hurry up, old man.”

His jaw tightens, matching his grip on your thighs. “I swear to god, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” 

“Promises, promises.” You tease, biting your lip. “I did not know you were such a brat. Looks like I have to teach you a lesson.” He murmurs and then lands a slap right on your clit.

“Fuck!” You fall back on the bed, the slap ringing through your entire nervous system, your body twitching. “You like that, little brat?” He lands another, much harder slap on your clit, and you swear you see stars. Tears bead in your eyes, your toes curling, and your body arching off the bed as you moan louder and louder. He gives you a few more slaps, each one stronger than the last, blurring your mind with an addictive combination of pain and pleasure so intense, it is unlike anything you have ever felt before. By the time he stops, you are out of breath and motionless on the ground, a drop of tear rolling down your eye as you stare at the ceiling and pant.

Smirking at your state, he climbs on top of you and grabs your wrists, pins them above your head. Lazily, he whispers in your ear, “If you want me to fuck you, you’re gonna be a good girl. Is that clear?” You answer him with a slow nod, but he isn’t satisfied as he lands a sudden slap on your breast this time, making you squeal. “Yes. I’m sorry!” You heave for breaths, pussy throbbing from his rough treatment.

“Good girl,” he praises, placing a soft kiss on your cheek before lining his cock up to your entrance, intense eyes watching you as he whispers, “Take a deep breath, baby.” You nod as you feel him entering you, his girth taking up every inch of space inside you. Your jaw hangs loose as he keeps going deeper, making you feel like you're on the brink of exploding. A tinge of pain and a lot more pleasure surge through you, but what steals most of your focus is how incredibly full you feel. 

“Fuck, you are going to be the death of me,” he hisses, gritting his teeth as he keeps pushing inside steadily, and you wonder just how big his cock is when it finally stops. Pausing for a moment, he pulls back slowly until his tip rests inside you, and then he thrusts so hard that you scream out loud as he hits that spot inside you. “Fucking hell, you are so tight.” He pants, his warm breath hitting the side of your face. His grip on your wrists loosens, and you use that to free your hands and bring them around his body, pulling him closer and closer to you.

“Shit,” you shudder, head full of bliss as your mouth hangs open in pleasure. The ethereal sight of him on top of you, sweaty, full of desire and determination, has you clenching around him. You wrap your arms tightly around his back, your fingernails digging into his skin as he increases his pace. “Harder,” you beg almost mindlessly.

“Yeah? You want more, baby?”

You hold onto him tighter. “Yes, please.” You whine, clinging to him. He grunts, doubling his pace if that’s even possible. You feel like you are gonna break into two, in the best possible way, as he keeps hitting your sweet spot that has you moaning so loud it overpowers the squeaking of the bed.

“Say my name. Who’s making you feel this good?” He hisses in your ear, thrusting erratically, his grip bruise-like on your body. “You, Seungcheol! Please, I’m gonna cum!” You cry, your body twitching and tensing, the coil in your belly about to snap.

“Yeah? Cum then. Choke my cock. Milk it dry.” He bites your earlobe as one of his hands reaches down to circle your clit in tight motions, making you shudder violently. The coil in your belly snaps, and with a raw scream of his name, you come, pussy spasming around his length as wetness gushes out of you. On top of you, Seungcheol continues his ruthless pace, his thrusts slicker because of your wetness and even harder than before, to the point you worry the bed will break. He’s merciless, continuing his torture on your clit even after you come, and the oversensitivity settles. “Seungcheol, please…” You plead, absolutely drained. “One more. You can do one more, baby. Come with me,” he pants, whispering, “Let me fill this tight hole up.”

“Oh god,” You clench around him, delirious. The thought of him filling you up sends your body into overdrive as he pinches your clit, making you come once more with a scream of his name. The orgasm ripples through you like an earthquake, shaking your whole body and making your toes curl as your fingernails dig into his back. He orgasms with you, warm spurts of his seed filling you up continuously, so much that some of it leaks out. He slumps down on the bed, lying next to you, his arms still wrapped around you, holding you close. You float between reality and dreamland for a while, catching your breath and lying completely still, your brain chemistry permanently altered.

A while later, Seungcheol helps you clean up before dragging you back to bed, his arms wrapped around you tightly as he spoons you from behind. 

“You okay?”

“I think I died and went to heaven,” You whisper, eyes closed. The man softly chuckles behind you, and you almost find it annoying how attractive that simple action is. “Remember how you were saying you could never let me go?” You mumble. “It is I who will not be letting you go. I will lock you up and keep you all to myself.” You know he is smiling as he wraps his arms tighter around you and nuzzles your neck. “Good. That’s where I would rather be.”

Turning around, you cup his cheeks and pull him in for a kiss, his arms enveloping you, his fingers tracing your upper back and your waist as his tongue finds its way inside your mouth. Looks like round two is about to start.

For a bonus, extra special scene, click here or head over to my Patreon! This work is cross-posted on AO3. Please support me over there as I recently opened my account!

© startlightxsvt 2025 | All Rights Reserved. Do not copy, translate, adapt, or repurpose any of my works.

a/n 2: atp, just call me a cheol fic blog because he's all I'm writing about. no worries, the next fic i am working on is a DK fic which will probably come out in october end or november. anyway, this was a purely self indulgent fic lol so thank you for reading this filth. i can never write pwp because somehow, the lore ends up being too long. still, thank you for making it till the end and i would love it if you left a comment and reblogged! thank you for your time and until next time, stay safe!

on a separate note, please keep yourself updated with the current state of the world, esp the ongoing genoc!de and wars. free 🇵🇸🇸🇩🇨🇩

[apple-crunch]

Caleb twt links 🔞 — ! acc must be logged in !

⌗ CALEB

. . . he's definitely the type of guy to fuck you deep and hard, making sure that you feel all inches of his dick inside of you

. . . as much as he hates being away from you, he just can't help but love how clingy and needy you get for him when he returns

. . . you just won't tell him what he wants to hear so he has no choice but to break you:( making use of military grade cuffs he just so happened to have laying around

. . . you're just so greedy! you already have the real thing but still keep the fake one with you... since you can't seem to be satisfied, why not fill both holes?

. . . why not make good use of your toys by stretching you good and open before he actually fucks you with his dick? just have to stand there and take it

. . . you put so much effort for his birthday that he can't help but just take you on the couch! too horny and rilled up from all the waiting he'd done

. . . one of the gifts caleb specifically requested from you was to make a compilation of you fucking so he can have something to jerk off to will he's away! the website just isn't doing it anymore for him after he's had you

. . . he sounds so pretty and lovely <3 all tied up and helpless, at the mercy of your mere hands just as always, letting you have your way knowing he can just break free whenever he wants to

. . . something about seeing you all shaky underneath him as he continues to fuck you slowly knowing damn well how overstimulated you are

. . . sometimes all he needs is a good riding to calm his mind from all the stress he gets, being a colonel isn't easy after all

. . . his favourite food above anything and everything, he needs your weight above him while he indulges your yummy pussy

. . . it's not too bad if it doesn't go in right? maybe if he just takes his dick out.. and maybe if you just put your panties to the side..

. . . all leaky and creamy on him, oh you're like a broken sink, too horny to even fully take your panties off that he just rips it in half

. . . oh he loooovesssss taking you from behind, pinning your waist down so you can take him as deep as possible!

. . . kissing his cheek on his graduation in front of hundreds of people? and getting away with it? absolutely not

[ A/N : feel free to imagine as the other lads boys ;) ]

[maisoll]

⟢ TWITTER/X LINKS

multiple characters | 18+, mdni

one ❤︎.ᐟ

soaking his cock size kink need him to cum inside

two ❤︎.ᐟ

he loves taking you from behind pussy-drunk boy he can be rough!

three ❤︎.ᐟ

bouncing you on his cock got horny in the morning riding his face

four ❤︎.ᐟ

mirror so you can see how good he ruins you your thighs are his weakness messing up your cute underwear

five ❤︎.ᐟ

when you've been a brat worships you when you ride playing with his pretty dick

PSA:

must be logged in to view links | they might not be available in europe due to new restrictions!

[healmydesires]

I wanna be your provider

❥ pairing: sugar daddy/ceo!sylus qin x assistant!reader

❥ summary: “She has spent three years loving a man she cannot have. He has spent three years wanting a woman he won’t allow himself to reach for — until the day he decides, quietly and without hesitation, to reach anyway. What neither of them realises is that they’ve been finding each other all along. She just doesn’t know he’s the one on the other side of the screen yet.”

❥ genre: fluff + angst + smut (18+ mdni)

❥ word count: 50K+??? (I am insane and not normal about sylus <3)

❥ status: COMPLETED - 1st of April

❥ warnings/tags: sugar daddy!sylus, alternative universe, ceo!sylus, yearning/longing, sylus is 39 in this, assistant!reader, sugar baby!reader, power imbalance, eventual boss/employee relationship, idiots in love, mild hurt/comfort, emotional/sensitive!reader, very long fic, banter, sylus the rage baiter. mutual masturbation, sexting, size difference. reader is shorter than sylus. reader is always audhd coded in my writing but anyone can read it. sylus is soft for reader, flirting/teasing, inexperienced/virgin!reader. dry humping, grinding, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom sylus, just in overall soft!sylus. sub!reader, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, overstimulation, size kink, full on daddy kink… I mean… it’s a sugar daddy au. so… <3, oral fixation, breeding kink, praise kink, pet names (kitten. sweetie. sweetheart etc.), multiple sex positions, pleasure dom!sylus, aftercare. mc loves the color pink a lot.

⟶ a/n: HIIIIII here I am with a new fic. as of the moment I am writing this it's still a wip. this fic is probably gonna be over 60k words. either way I still wanted to share the post on tumblr already. I always wanted to write a sugar daddy au BUT didn't find inspiration until RECENTLY. so in the lads server I'm in they are currently doing a 'kink bingo'. it's a little event that writers can participate and write a story around a certain trope. I went with sugar daddy 🤭💖 I said I wasn't gonna write for a while but what can I say… sylus brainrot. he's literally my muse. EITHER way. I hope you enjoy this story. 🥺💖 for anyone wondering… this is how I imagine sylus his build. either way I never know how to write fic in a short format so enjoy another lengthy fic from me again! also because I don’t wanna post it in parts you’ll have a sneakpeek on tumblr but to read the story in its full length you’ll have to head to ao3. thank you and I hope y'all love it as much as I loved writing it! 💘 title inspired by the song 'provider' by sleep token. (I don't normally listen to that type of music but my bestie leah recommended me this song for the fic) 💕💕💕 ps: for anyone wondering… this is how I imagine sylus his build. (without the blood and scratches) 🤭😋🤤🥵🥴🫠😵‍💫

this goes without saying, but if you don’t like it don’t read it <3

AO3 • masterlist • extra part of the story here

New York City does not care about your feelings.

This is something you’ve made your peace with over the years — the way it moves around you without slowing down, all noise and glass and cold wind off the Hudson in the early mornings when you’re walking the four blocks from the subway to Linkon Tower, coffee cup in hand, trying to remember if you forwarded that document last night or only dreamed that you did. The city asks nothing of you emotionally. It simply expects you to keep moving.

You are, in this way, well-suited to New York.

What you are less well-suited to — what you have been quietly, privately, catastrophically less well-suited to for approximately three years now — is being in love with your boss.

The elevator opens on the fifty-third floor.

You are fine.

“Good morning.”

His voice reaches you before you’ve fully stepped through the glass doors of the executive suite — low and unhurried, carrying the particular warmth he reserves for very few people, and you are, for reasons that keep you awake sometimes, one of them. Sylus is already at his desk, as he always is, as he has always been every single morning in the three years you’ve worked for him, because the man apparently does not sleep like a normal person. The Manhattan skyline stretches silver and pale behind him through the floor-to-ceiling windows. In the early light, he looks almost painterly — silver hair, dark suit, those red eyes lifting from the document in his hand to find you the moment you walk in, the way they always do, like he has a sense for you specifically.

Like he was waiting.

“Good morning,” you say, and you are very proud of how normal your voice sounds.

“How was the commute?” He asks it with genuine interest, setting his document down, which is one of the things that got you in trouble in the first place. The way he actually listens. The way Sylus, who runs a multi-billion dollar enterprise from this office and commands rooms full of people who are intimidated just by his posture, always has time to ask how your commute was.

“Cold,” you say, unwinding your scarf. “The L train decided this morning was a good time to have an existential crisis.”

“The L train always does that.” He tilts his head slightly. “You should have taken the car.”

“I’m not taking your car to work, Sylus.”

“You could.”

“I know I could. I’m choosing not to.” You drop your bag at your desk and pull out your tablet, already scrolling to his schedule. “It makes me feel like a kept woman.”

The silence that follows is approximately one beat too long.

You look up. Sylus is watching you with an expression you can’t fully decode — something that passed through his eyes too quickly, smoothed back over by the composed, unreadable surface he wears most of the time. The corner of his mouth curves.

“Heaven forbid,” he says mildly, and goes back to his document.

You turn back to your tablet and breathe.

Three years, you remind yourself. You have survived three years of this. You will survive today.

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

Here is what three years has taught you about Sylus:

He takes his coffee black, no sugar, too hot for comfort, and he drinks it while standing at the window with Manhattan spread out below him like something he’s quietly fond of. He is pathologically early to everything and has zero patience for people who aren’t, with the single exception of you — for you, he simply comes to find you, appearing at your workspace door with that unhurried patience, as though waiting for you specifically is a different category than waiting in general.

He reads physical documents even though everything could be digital because he thinks better with paper in his hands. He keeps the office two degrees warmer than the building standard because he noticed, in your first winter working for him, that you were always cold. He has never once mentioned this to you directly. You figured it out yourself, six months in, when you checked the building’s climate control records out of sheer curiosity, and you had to sit with that knowledge quietly for a long time afterward.

He is privately, genuinely funny — not the performative wit he turns on in meetings, but something dryer and warmer that surfaces only in the quiet moments, usually aimed at you. He reads in at least four languages. He grew up far from here, far from any of this, and there are moments when something in his expression goes distant and careful and you sense the geography of everything he’s built between himself and whatever came before.

He has never raised his voice at you. Not once. In three years of high-pressure deadlines and impossible situations and the particular chaos that seems to follow a man of his ambition, he has never directed anything at you that wasn’t measured, and considered, and — underneath its careful composure — surprisingly kind.

He is also tall — unreasonably, almost absurdly tall, the kind of tall that means the rest of the world simply exists lower than him — broad-shouldered, white-haired, and red-eyed, and standing next to him, which requires you to tilt your head back at an angle you’ve gotten quietly used to, makes you feel both very small and, inexplicably, very safe.

This is the problem.

This is the entire problem.

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

“You have the Meridian Capital call at nine,” you say, following him into his office with your tablet. This is another part of the choreography — the morning briefing, where you trail after him and he listens without looking at you directly, which you have learned means he’s paying the most attention. “Board review at eleven. You have a lunch block—”

“Clear it.”

You glance up. “You specifically asked for that block last week.”

“I know what I asked for last week.” He settles into his chair, leaning back in that easy way of his, long legs stretched under the desk. Even seated, the man is an unfair amount of presence. “Book somewhere for lunch instead. Somewhere quiet — not the Meridian district, I’ll have been on a call with those people for an hour and I’ll want a change of air.” His eyes come to you, and they’re soft in the way they sometimes are when it’s just the two of you and the morning is still early. “Somewhere you’d like. You choose.”

You pause. “You want me to choose.”

“Is that not what I said?”

“You’re very particular about restaurants, Sylus.”

“I’m particular in general,” he concedes. “But I trust your taste.” A brief pause. The softness in his expression doesn’t waver. “Lunch for two, somewhere you’d like. That’s all.”

You look at him for a moment too long — which you do sometimes, which you’ve been doing for three years, and he always holds the look, always lets you, like he has nothing to hide and all the time in the world, which is terrifying because it makes you feel seen — and then you nod and look back at your tablet.

“I’ll find somewhere,” you say.

“I know you will.” He picks up his pen. “You always do.”

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

The Meridian call runs long, as you predicted, and you have reorganized two schedules and soothed one very anxious junior analyst by the time it wraps. Sylus emerges from his office at eleven-oh-three, jacket on, expression still and composed from the professional armor he wears in those spaces, and crosses directly to your desk.

He sets a cup of tea down at your elbow.

Your tea — your specific order, the one you’d mentioned offhandedly to him eight months ago and apparently never needed to mention again — brewed at the temperature you like, with the little paper sleeve because the cup gets hot.

“Your eleven o’clock moved to eleven-fifteen,” you tell him, not trusting yourself to acknowledge the tea directly, “which means you have twelve minutes, and also I found a restaurant — it’s on the Upper West Side, French-American, supposed to be very quiet on weekdays—”

“Perfect.” He’s reading something on his phone, already walking, and he pauses at the edge of your workspace and glances back.

“You barely ate this morning.”

You blink. “I ate some cereal. How could you possibly—”

“You have the look,” he says, simply, like this is a perfectly reasonable thing to say. “The one that means you ate something that technically qualified as food and decided it counted.” The faintest curve of his mouth. “It doesn’t count.”

“It absolutely—”

“Book a table for twelve-thirty.” He’s already moving again, unhurried, like the conversation is entirely settled. “I’m not signing a single thing until I know you’ve had a real meal.”

Then he’s gone, moving down the hallway toward the boardroom, and you’re left staring at the empty doorway with your mouth still open and the faint, traitorous warmth of being known so precisely by someone spreading all the way up to your ears.

You close your mouth.

You book the table and then pick up your tea.

It is perfect.

You are in so much trouble.

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

The restaurant he lets you choose is a small place tucked between a bookshop and a dry cleaner on West 74th — French in its bones but soft around the edges, the kind of room that smells like butter and old wood and feels completely removed from the city outside. You’re not sure how it stays so quiet in Manhattan. Maybe it exists slightly outside of time.

Sylus ducks slightly to come through the door.

He does this — accommodates the world’s architectures with a patient, practiced ease, as though he accepted a long time ago that most spaces weren’t built for him and has made his peace with it. You notice this more than you should. You notice the way he instinctively adjusts when he’s close to you too — angles himself, shortens his step, never makes you feel like the difference in your heights is anything other than simply the way things are.

The host seats you at a corner table. The light is golden and low.

“This is nice,” Sylus says, and he means it. You’ve gotten good at knowing when he means things.

“I thought you’d like it.” You unfold your menu. “It feels like somewhere you’d eat if you didn’t have to perform anything.”

He goes still for just a moment. Then, quietly: “That’s a very accurate read.”

“Three years,” you say simply.

Something in his expression moves — warm and careful at once, like he’s handling something he doesn’t want to drop. He looks at you across the small table, and in the golden light of this room outside of time he looks different than he does in the office. Younger, almost. Softer. Like the thing he usually holds back with both hands is closer to the surface.

“You’re distracted this week,” he says eventually. Not an accusation — an observation, offered gently, the way he offers you most things. “You hide it well. But I know your face.”

Your heart catches.

I know your face. Said like it’s simply a fact, something true and uncontested, filed away somewhere in him.

“I found something,” you say, because you can never not tell him things, in the end. He does something to your defenses — doesn’t dismantle them, exactly, just makes you feel like they’re not necessary with him, which might be worse. “An apartment. A loft.” You look at your water glass. “I’ve been dreaming about my own place for years. You know how New York is — I’ve been in the same sublet since I moved here, and it’s fine, it’s always been fine, but it’s not mine. Nothing in it is mine.” You smile, self-deprecating. “I walked past a listing last weekend. A loft in the West Village — high ceilings, big windows, exposed brick. There’s a little terrace that looks out over the rooftops and I just — I stood on the sidewalk and looked at it for a long time.”

Sylus is watching you with his full attention — the specific quality of stillness he gets when you’re saying something he wants to remember. His hands are folded on the table. He’s not eating. He’s just listening.

“It needs renovation,” you continue, quieter now. “A lot of it, still. Which is part of why the price is—” You exhale. “The price is a lot. More than a lot. My savings are good, I’ve been careful, but between the listing and the renovation costs it’s just—” You shake your head. “It’s not realistic right now.”

A long pause.

“Tell me about it,” Sylus says.

You blink. “I just—”

“Not the numbers.” His voice is gentle. “The place. Tell me about the loft.”

Oh.

Oh.

You look at him. He looks back, patient and entirely serious, and something in your chest aches in a way you don’t have good language for.

And so you tell him — the arched windows and the way the afternoon light would fall across the floors, the exposed brick that runs the whole length of the far wall, the little wrought-iron terrace barely big enough for two chairs and a plant but somehow perfect, the ceiling height, the bones of it. The way you’d stood on that sidewalk and seen, with a clarity that surprised you, exactly what it could become. What it could be. You tell him all of it, more than you meant to, more than is probably professional over a two-person lunch that you’re already trying not to read too much into.

Sylus listens to every word.

When you finish, he’s quiet for a moment. There’s something in his expression that’s gone a little careful.

“What’s the address?” he says.

You study him. “Why?”

“Because you’ve just described the place you want most in the world,” he says, very simply, “and I’m interested in things that matter to you.”

The ache in your chest deepens. You look at him for a long moment — this man who runs a company from the fifty-third floor of a Midtown tower, who is a decade older than you and a foot taller than you and should by any reasonable accounting be the most intimidating person in your life, and who instead feels, in moments like this, like the safest one.

You give him the address.

You don’t know what he’ll do with it.

You just know, the way you know most things about Sylus, that he’ll do something.

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

The afternoon passes the way good afternoons in the office do — with a steady rhythm of tasks and small exchanges, the comfortable back-and-forth that you’ve built between you over three years like a language that only the two of you speak fluently. He stops by your desk at three to ask if you want anything from the coffee cart downstairs, which he would never do for anyone else, and brings you back a hot chocolate without commenting on it. You catch him at five-forty-five standing in the doorway of his office watching you finish up for the day with an expression you aren’t supposed to have seen — unguarded, quiet, something in it that sits low and warm in your stomach for the whole subway ride home.

It doesn’t mean what you want it to mean, you tell yourself, earbuds in, Manhattan rushing past outside the windows.

He’s just kind. He’s kind to you because you work for him and you’ve earned it and that’s all it is.

Forty-three blocks uptown, Sylus stands at his office window with your address on a notepad in his hand and thinks, for a very long time.

Then he sits down at his desk.

Opens his laptop.

And begins to type.

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

read the rest on ao3 <3

[healmydesires]

⋆˚ ✉︎⋆｡˚ enchanted

❥ pairing: prince!sylus qin x fem!servant reader

❥ summary: “You’ve been in love with the prince for god knows how long. For the longest time you were content with admiring him from afar, knowing your adoration for your favourite prince could never be revealed. Until one day, everything changed.”

❥ genre: fluff + angst + smut

❥ word count: 32k+ (buckle up!)

⟶ warnings: royal!au. childhood best friends to lovers. fools/idiots to lovers. forbidden romance. one bed trope / forced proximity. secret admirer!sylus au. mutual pining that they think is unrequited. reader is shorter than sylus. inexperienced/virgin!reader, sylus is technically also a virgin but yeah, won’t be as noticeable. loss of virginity, unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom sylus, ok… just overall soft sylus, sub!reader, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, bit of breeding kink, overstimulation, size kink, praise kink, lots of pet names (kitten, sweetie, angel, my love, my beloved, baby… etc). this is not beta read sorry!

⟶ A/N: man it’s been a long time coming… ever since I got into the lads fandom I wanted to write my own sylus fanfic. took me some time because I had so many scenarios and ideas but it was hard to settle with one. this fic means the world to me! I’ve written the beginning a long while ago for another fandom but never came around to finish it. it was always a wip sitting in my drafts. waiting to be finished and shared. never had the energy or motivation to continue this story but here I am now. and I hope everyone enjoys it as much as I loved writing it 🥹 it’s my biggest fic yet! also english isn’t my first language so I’m sorry for the errors <3 (also I ran out of space so I am sorry for not tagging 🥺)

this goes without saying, but if you don’t like it don’t read it <3

AO3 • masterlist

You had worked at the palace of the kingdom Onychinus for as long as you could remember. You knew every nook and cranny—every secret passage and hidden room in that palace. It was practically your home. You took care of it, making sure that it was clean and pretty every day. Your childhood wish was to work for the royal family, just like your parents did. Your family had served the royal family as maids and whatnot for generations, so it only made sense that you grew up around them, and subsequently, their child.

Sylus Qin.

You don’t regret it. Working for royalty.

In fact, if anything, you’re grateful. Because if not for your position now, how could have you crossed paths with a soul like him?

You still remember the day you met him. Clear as day.

Such a sweet sweet day it was. The memory is still fresh in your mind, like the scent of your childhood room. A scent you never quite forgot. It faded over time, sure. But if you strained your memory even now, you can still smell it. The scent of comfort.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Decidedly, there have been many days in your life. Some happy, some sad. Some you remember better than others while others fade away into the back of your mind. Some are ingrained so deep in your mind that when you close your eyes, you can see every detail as if it’s currently happening. None, however, do you remember more clearly than the day you met Sylus. It had been almost two decades ago; when you were five, and he was six.

You remember being nervous — your parents had brought you along to the castle, to introduce you to the royal family — you used to be a very lonely child, not being able to make friends easily. You were in awe as you walked through the luxurious castle with wide eyes, seeing it for the first time, it was truly a beautiful place.

As a reward for your family’s many generations of loyalty, they got the honour of working directly for the royal family. Your parents were close to the royal family despite that they were working for them. When you were very young, your mother was a personal attendant to the young prince.

It had all been incredibly overwhelming back then, and you’d only hidden further behind your mother’s legs. Until, you’d spotted a boy, looking just as lonely and nervous as you, also behind his mothers legs. The prince.

A fond smile curls on your face as you remember Sylus’ little frame. With cute round cheeks, curious crimson eyes, long silver hair, dressed in fine fabrics that were only made for royal people. He had sparked your curiosity, his intriguing eyes looking at you as if he longed for your friendship already.

Your parents pushed you into his direction, you’d approached him hesitantly. Immediately, he’d give you the brightest gummy smile once you were in front of him. And that one action — that one smile — had sealed it between the two of you. Ever since then, Sylus has been your best friend. He’d stick out his hand for you to take and would tug you along with him down the hall, showing you around the palace as you both giggled.

Nostalgia cascades through you as you continue mulling over your relationship with prince Sylus. You’ve lived twenty-five years, and throughout the vast majority of it - he has been your only constant.

And for as long as you could remember, you’ve had an intense and hopeless crush on the prince, Sylus Qin.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

It was completely unprofessional, of course, your feelings for Prince Sylus, and nothing could ever come to grow from them. You knew that. But you refused to ignore them. Partly because you hadn’t allowed for them to interfere with your work, and if they weren’t hurting anyone, then what was the harm in letting them blossom? But most importantly because they had been a part of you for so long—rooted themselves so deeply in your heart—that you were afraid it would be impossible even if you tried.

So you were trying to be content in admiring him secretly while being his childhood friend. And though you knew he could never be yours, it didn’t stop you from revelling in the sweet swell of your heart whenever he smiled, or from imagining at night what it would be like if he was. You loved Sylus, so deeply and irrevocably, your whole heart and mind was consumed by him at all times.

Of course, you knew that one day, probably sooner than later, he would take a spouse, as was his duty. A noble woman or man, fit to rule by his side. Or perhaps someone from another nation or country, one that would strengthen the bonds between their countries.

Because no matter how badly it may hurt you when the time comes, no matter how much you’d cry, you knew you would try to be happy for him. When he managed to find someone to love, even though that someone would never be you, you would try. Because you wanted nothing but Sylus to experience happiness and true love, even if it wasn’t you.

And you tried to tell yourself you were content, your feelings remaining completely unknown to anyone but yourself.

Or so you thought.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You sighed dreamily as you stared at him. Prince Sylus, stood across the room, leaning against the wall of the castle's kitchens as he looked over what he wrote on a sheet of paper, probably something important that had to do with the kingdom.

He was ethereal. The way he concentrated, his crimson eyes focused on the paper, scanning his handwriting over and over again. His beautiful long silver hair constantly fell before his eyes, and he’d run a hand through it in a gesture that made your breath catch every single time. His soft lips mouthed the words he’d written as his brows furrowed from time to time, almost as if he wasn’t satisfied with his own work. And most likely, he wasn’t—he was such a perfectionist.

“Quit staring, he’ll notice,” Tara whispered, snapping you out of your reverie. Your fellow servant and best friend didn’t even look up from her work, but somehow she always knew.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and you tried to hide it with a glare sent her way.

“I wasn’t staring. I was deep in thought,” you murmured, forcing your eyes back to the strawberries you were supposed to be cutting ages ago. The ones that Caleb, one of the kitchen’s cooks, had assigned you two to prepare for a cake.

“Deep in thoughts about Sylus.” she snickered, and you threw a strawberry at her. It bounced satisfyingly off her shoulder and tumbled to the floor.

She was still laughing, and you frowned at her, throwing a quick nervous glance at Sylus—who was already looking at you. Your heart leapt into your throat. You forced a tight smile as the corner of his lips lifted up before he focused his eyes back on the paper. Sighing, you turned back to Tara.

“Stop it! This isn’t funny. Don’t you have any work to do?” you asked through gritted teeth, hating how observant and sharp she could be.

It didn’t help that she moved right next to you, ostensibly to cut several other fruits, which meant she certainly wouldn’t leave you alone now.

“I wasn’t trying to be funny—I was being honest. And yes, but I love annoying you more,” she teased, sticking her tongue out at you like a child.

“Maybe you should focus on your tasks instead of invading my personal space,” you said as sweetly as you could manage.

Tara rolled her eyes. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You should really find the courage to confess your feelings to him.”

Your eyes widened almost immediately, your mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. Then you shrugged and turned your attention back to the strawberries in front of you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible over the kitchen noise.

“Oh please, don’t lie to me. It’s obvious that you do,” she said with a knowing smile that made you want to disappear into the floor.

You were quiet, awfully so, which made Tara’s smile widen with satisfaction. She took your silence as the confession it was.

“See,” she said with that same teasing grin.

You sighed, your shoulders dropping in defeat.

“There’s one thing you seem to forget… he’s a prince and I’m well… me.”

You were ready to steal one last glance at Sylus, but it turned out to be futile—the place where he’d been leaning against the wall was empty, and Sylus was nowhere in sight. Where the hell had he disappeared to?

“What are you two whispering about?”

A low but soft voice sounded beside you, and you nearly jumped out of your skin to find Sylus standing mere centimeters from your table. The scent of vanilla soap and your favourite musky smell filled your nostrils, while a feeling of comfort and familiarity flooded your heart. His silver hair was parted more to his right side, revealing his beautiful, smooth forehead. His crimson-colored eyes twinkled with mischief as he grinned, looking between you two.

You were about to open your mouth to say something—anything—but Tara beat you to it.

“Actually, we were talking about you, silly!” She smiled devilishly as she stared directly at you.

Every ounce of blood in your entire body rushed to your face in a tsunami of total, abject mortification. Your eyes widened at her words. “W-what?” you spluttered, feeling as though your heart might actually beat its way out of your chest. She couldn’t be serious.

“Oh really?” Sylus questioned curiously, his smile growing with amusement that made your stomach flip.

You felt as if the whole world had stopped as you held your breath, waiting for your friend’s next words.

“Yes—about how annoying you are,” she said with a grin before turning back to the fruit in front of her, as casual as if she’d been discussing the weather.

Your whole body instantly relaxed, the tension draining away. You were so relieved she hadn’t told him the truth that you could have kissed her. A small smile formed on your lips as you looked at your two friends. Sylus, on the other hand, looked genuinely offended. His face fell at your friend’s words, and he rolled his eyes as he scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’s a fact,” she shrugged, continuing to cut pieces of banana after finishing her batch of strawberries.

Sylus then turned to you with the biggest, most exaggerated pout you’d ever seen on his handsome face—a look so ridiculous and endearing that you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?” you said with a small smile, moving back to your task at hand, trying desperately to appear nonchalant.

He huffed dramatically before sneaking a hand between you and Tara to steal a strawberry from right in front of you.

“Hey! Those are for a cake,” you gasped, giving him a playful push as you turned just enough to watch him pop the fruit into his mouth with the biggest, most self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“I’m the prince. I can do whatever I want,” he said cheekily before quickly snatching a piece of banana from Tara’s cutting board.

“Don’t make us kick you out!” Tara warned, jabbing a finger into his ribs with surprising force.

“Ow!” Sylus grumbled under his breath, rubbing his hand against his ribs as he backed away from both of you with an expression of mock betrayal. “And to think I call you both my friends.”

“Be happy that we put up with you, Prince Qin!” Tara shouted after him, using his formal name with exaggerated reverence.

You watched him shake his head from side to side, that small smile still playing on his lips, before he walked out of the kitchen. Even his exit was graceful.

Tara shifted her body, facing you once again as you chuckled at the interaction. She leaned closer, her expression turning serious. “Just because I saved your ass doesn’t mean you get to lie to me.”

You sighed, leaning both of your arms on the table and looking at the ceiling in the most dramatic, depressive way possible.

“Wow, you really do have a crush on him.”

“He’s not my crush! Besides, he’s the prince, which makes it forbidden or something,” you rolled your eyes, took the knife back into your hand, and twirled it around with a frown settling on your lips.

“So? True love always finds its way,” she said with a little smirk, showing her hopelessly romantic side.

You rolled your eyes again before sighing as you continued to cut the strawberries. It was forbidden to feel or show any romantic feelings for a royal when you were a servant. Tara knew this very well, yet she refused to let it go.

“So what if I had feelings? It wouldn’t change anything. He’s a prince, and he’s meant to marry someone from a royal family or someone else important,” you said, looking down at the table as if it were suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. “We all know I’m not someone important.”

Tara sighed before whispering your name softly. “You might not be someone of royal descent, but you’re one of the most important people in his life.” She looked at you seriously, her usual teasing tone completely gone. “Hell!” She snorted, “I’m pretty sure you’re the most important person he’s ever met.”

You bit your lip nervously as you looked up at her. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Tara said firmly, moving closer. Her eyes softened as she took in your nervous and uncertain expression. “Come here.” She wrapped her arms around you, enveloping you in a hug that smelled like honey and home. You felt yourself melt and relax into her embrace. “I know I shouldn’t be giving you all this hope, but…” she sighed, “I can’t help but tell you the truth.”

“Thank you, Tara. I appreciate it,” you whispered as you pulled away from her.

Tara smiled warmly before turning back to the fruit in front of you both. “Now, let’s continue before Caleb kills us for talking too much,” she nudged you playfully.

You giggled at her words, shaking your head in disbelief. A smile lingered on your face as you continued cutting the berries. She never ceased to amaze you with her ability to uplift your mood and make your days more bearable, even when your heart ached with impossible longing.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Later that evening, you were reading one of your favourite comfort books in bed when you heard commotion outside your chamber. The noise persisted relentlessly, making it impossible to concentrate. You found yourself reading the same paragraph over and over, the words blurring together meaninglessly. Your curiosity overwhelmed you. Finally, you placed your bookmark between the pages, closed the book, and slid out of bed.

You stepped out of your room into the main hall of the servant headquarters when someone suddenly bumped into you.

You were about to apologize when the person spoke first.

“Oh my god, here you are! I was looking for you,” Tara exclaimed breathlessly.

You barely had time to turn around and greet your friend before she tugged you along the hall. The place was filled with servants, all chatting loudly, and as you passed through the crowd, you heard some of them whispering while stealing glances at you.

Anxiety crept up your spine. You felt increasingly uncomfortable with the idea that they might be talking about you.

“Tara—” you started.

Your name rang out within the crowd. Both you and Tara came to a halt as you realised the voice belonged to one of the royal guards. Anxiety bubbled inside you even more intensely as you made eye contact with the guard. Multiple possibilities swam through your head as you tried to think of a reason why they would be looking for you.

What if your secret had come out?

“Why are they looking for me?” you whispered to your friend. She shrugged at your words, but you could see she was just as nervous about the situation as you were.

The crowd dispersed as two guards made their way toward you. Luke and Kieran—Sylus’s personal and favourite guards. They were twins who always wore their dark masks while on duty. You’d never once seen them remove them while guarding Sylus. Except for moments like these.

Silence fell over the room as they both stopped right in front of you. They gave you a serious look, scanning you up and down before both of them broke into matching grins.

“We have a delivery for you,” Kieran announced, looking at you before opening his satchel to retrieve something from it.

Your body relaxed slightly at his words, anxiety dissipating slowly. Though the whispering in the room continued, now with renewed vigor.

“A delivery? For me?” you questioned. Normally no one sent you anything. You didn’t have many friends outside the castle, and most of your friends and family lived and worked for the royal family, so there was no reason for you to receive anything.

“Aha, here it is!” one of the twins exclaimed triumphantly. In his hands was a deep magenta-colored velvet book. He dusted off the cover with exaggerated care before turning to face you.

His eyes twinkled as he extended the book toward you. You took the object carefully, inspecting it. The velvet material felt luxurious and soft beneath your fingertips. You flipped the book to its cover, and your eyes widened as you read the golden printed letters embossed there:

“THE SECRET LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS”

Your heart stuttered. This book was one of the things you’d always wanted—had dreamed about for years. You loved flowers, but above everything else, you were a hopeless romantic. People close to you knew you’d always wanted to learn about the language of flowers. You’d first seen this book years ago when running errands in town, displayed in a cute little bookshop’s window, and you’d been dreaming about owning it ever since.

You knew the palace had a vast library with countless books you wished you could read one day. Sylus had shown you the room once, knowing how much you loved reading. Unfortunately, you hadn’t had the chance to go there and lose yourself among the shelves because of your demanding work schedule.

You’d always loved learning and were so eager to educate yourself in every way possible. Everyone knew how desperately you wanted to understand the world and its people and everything that existed on this planet and beyond.

But who would have gotten you this book?

“I think there must be a mistake—” you furrowed your brows, still staring at the book in disbelief.

“No, it was meant to be given to you,” Luke interrupted cheerfully.

“By who?” you whispered, finally looking up at him.

“We don’t know,” he said with an exaggerated shrug. You looked at them suspiciously, trying to decipher whether they were lying.

The men tried to keep their faces as serious as possible, but you caught the corners of their mouths twitching upward.

“Luke, Kieran—” Tara complained, crossing her arms.

“Tara,” the guards mimicked her tone in perfect unison, which would have been funny under different circumstances.

“I know you both know who gave it,” Tara narrowed her eyes, poking a finger into both of their chests simultaneously.

“Hey—”

“You three know each other?” you asked, looking between them in confusion.

“Yeah, we’re friends,” Kieran replied with a big smile.

“In your dreams,” Tara teased.

“Hey! That’s not very nice,” they both pouted in perfect synchronization, looking so ridiculous that you almost laughed despite your confusion.

Your friend laughed. “I’m just messing with you guys.”

“Okay,” you said with a deep sigh, rolling your eyes at their antics. “Still, this doesn’t make any sense.”

“What?” Tara questioned.

“This!” you whisper-yelled, pointing at the book you were clutching in one hand like a lifeline. You felt anxiety creeping back as you focused on the whispers of the other servants, your eyes darting all over the room while you gnawed at your bottom lip.

Luke sighed before turning to address the other people in the room. He cleared his throat authoritatively before speaking. “Please return to your chambers. There’s nothing to see here.”

Reluctantly, the servants dispersed, some returning to their chambers while others occupied themselves far enough away to avoid the guards’ glares.

“What’s so interesting about me getting a delivery?” you exhaled deeply, fatigue evident in your sigh.

“Maybe because the twins here made a whole theatrical entrance and announcement about having a gift for you,” Tara chuckled.

“A gift?” You furrowed your brows, staring at Luke and Kieran.

“Yeah,” the men smiled sheepishly, simultaneously scratching the backs of their necks in an endearing display of awkwardness.

“Who would want to give me a gift?” you asked, mostly to yourself, your voice small and uncertain.

Both of them shrugged in perfect unison, matching smirks spreading across their faces, which only made you groan in frustration. “Come on, I feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t know.”

Tara shook her head. “I don’t know, but I’m sure these two do!” She gestured to the twins before crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Luke let out a grunt of protest. “I do not know! Besides,” he said, an amused smile spreading over his lips as he leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “even if I did know, I wouldn’t reveal your secret admirer’s identity.”

“Secret admirer?” you nearly yelled, your voice echoing in the now-quiet hall.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

A few days had passed, and you still couldn’t get the gift out of your mind. You couldn’t seem to wrap your head around the fact that you had a secret admirer. Let alone the note that had been tucked inside the book.

You called it a note. Tara, on the other hand, called it a love letter—and in her defense, it was far too lengthy and heartfelt to be a mere note. She was right, though you couldn’t quite allow yourself to accept that you could be desired in such a way.

You’d read the words written on the “letter” so many times that you’d memorized them within days, carrying them in your heart like a precious secret:

“My moonlight,

I knew how much you wanted this book, so I thought I’d give it to you. A wonderful person like you deserves everything their heart desires. I cannot believe it has taken me so long to tell you how I feel about you. Unfortunately, I do not have the courage to express my feelings to you in person yet. I hope one day I’ll be able to confess to you who I am, but for now, writing to you will have to suffice. There are no words adequate enough to tell you how I truly feel. When I first met you, I knew immediately that there was something very special about you. You’re truly the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, though I think your heart is even more beautiful. You are kind and so warm to people, and I can see that you treat everyone around you with respect and genuine care. You’re so intelligent and funny. Your smile lights up any room you walk into, like the sun breaking through clouds. You deserve to know that there is someone out there who thinks you’re the greatest person that exists. I am truly enchanted and enamoured by you.

I hope my words have brought warmth to your heart and a smile to your face.

With all my love,

Your Secret Admirer”

You had no idea who would send you such a beautiful letter. Reading it felt like being wrapped in a warm embrace, like being seen and cherished in a way you’d never experienced before. And though you tried not to hope, tried not to let your heart imagine impossible things, you couldn’t help but wonder, couldn’t help but dream, about who might have written such tender words meant only for you.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

It went on for days—this secret correspondence that had become the highlight of your existence. You found yourself rushing to your room multiple times throughout the day, your heart fluttering with anticipation as you checked for a new little note or letter. It had started simply enough, once a day: quotes from your favorite authors carefully transcribed in that now-familiar angular script, or little poems you already knew by heart but somehow meant more when written in his hand.

After a while, your collection of letters grew, tucked carefully into your bedside table drawer like precious treasures. Each one made you smile wider than the last. The letters were always personal, intimate in a way that made your chest ache. You could tell some of the passages were written specifically for you—original words that could only have come from someone who truly saw you, who paid attention to the smallest details of who you were. You would always look around afterward with a grateful smile, hoping that somehow, wherever your secret admirer was hiding, they could see how much these messages meant to you.

One afternoon, you found yourself in the horse stables, tending to the pregnant mare you’d been worrying over for weeks. The moment you’d heard that your favourite horse, Magnolia—a beautiful dark brown mare with soulful eyes and a gentle temperament—was about to give birth to her foal, you’d rushed down to the stables with the biggest surge of excitement you’d experienced in a while. There was something pure about it, something that made you feel like a child again, full of wonder and hope.

You and the veterinarian worked together to care for Magnolia through her labour. While the vet guided the mare with practiced expertise, you took your time to caress her coat, running your hands along her neck and shoulder in long, soothing strokes. You whispered soft words of encouragement to her, your voice low and gentle, telling her she was doing wonderfully, that she was so strong, that it would all be over soon. Magnolia’s dark eyes would find yours occasionally, and you could swear she understood, could feel the love and support you were trying to convey through your touch.

The labor was difficult—longer and more complicated than anyone had anticipated. There were moments when worry knotted tight in your stomach, when the vet’s expression grew tense and focused. You stayed by Magnolia’s side through all of it, never letting go, your hand steady even when your heart raced with concern. You murmured prayers under your breath, bargaining with whatever forces might be listening to keep both mother and baby safe.

After what felt like an eternity but was really only a couple of long, arduous hours, she finally gave birth to her foal. The little baby was just as beautiful as his mother—all long, gangly legs and soft brown coat, still damp and struggling to understand this strange new world. Your breath caught at the sight of him. There was something miraculous about witnessing new life, something that made tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“He’s perfect,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as the foal took his first shaky breaths.

You took your time afterward, moving slowly and carefully as you cleaned the stable. The scent of fresh hay and horse and new life filled your lungs as you worked, occasionally pausing to tend to both Magnolia and her newborn. You were cooing softly as you gently wiped down the little foal with a clean cloth, marveling at how delicate he was, how his tiny ears flicked at every sound. “You’re going to be so strong, just like your mama,” you told him, your voice sing-song and full of affection. “So beautiful and brave.”

Magnolia watched you with those intelligent dark eyes, her head turning to follow your movements as you cared for both her and her baby. There was trust there, deep and unshakeable. She knew you would never hurt them, that your hands were safe. It made your heart swell with tenderness—this simple, profound act of being trusted by another living being.

Little did you know, you weren’t alone in the stables.

Your secret admirer stood in the shadows near the entrance, partially concealed by the wooden beam and the angle of the afternoon light streaming through the cracks in the stable walls. He had followed you here, not for the first time, though he’d never admit to how often he found excuses to be wherever you were.

He watched, transfixed, as you moved around the stable with such gentle purpose. The way you spoke to the animals with genuine affection, your voice soft and melodic. The way your face had lit up with pure, unguarded joy when the foal had been born, tears glistening on your cheeks that you’d quickly brushed away. The way you’d stayed through the entire difficult labor, never once complaining, your dedication absolute.

This was what he loved most about you—this boundless capacity for care, for tenderness, for finding beauty in simple moments. The way you treated every living thing with respect and kindness, whether it was a prince or a horse or a kitchen mouse you’d once refused to let Caleb trap. You had the gentlest heart he’d ever known, and watching you like this, unobserved and completely yourself, made his chest ache with an affection so profound it nearly overwhelmed him.

He should leave. He knew that. It felt like a violation somehow, to watch you in these private moments, even though his intentions were pure. Even though all he wanted was to memorise every detail—the way the fading sunlight caught in your hair, the soft smile on your lips as you stroked the foal’s nose, the smudge of dirt on your cheek that you hadn’t noticed.

But he couldn’t make himself move. Couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.

You were humming now, some old lullaby he vaguely recognized, and the sound drifted through the stable like something sacred. The foal’s eyes were beginning to droop, lulled by your voice and gentle touch. Even Magnolia looked peaceful, her breathing deep and steady now that the ordeal was over.

And you—you looked radiant. Happy in a pure, uncomplicated way that made his heart clench with longing.

Something tightened in his chest, a fierce, aching want that went beyond mere desire. He wanted to be the reason for that smile. Wanted to fill your days with moments like this, simple and pure and beautiful. Wanted to spend a lifetime watching that expression of contentment cross your face, knowing he’d put it there.

But patience was something he’d mastered long ago. So he remained concealed, content to simply watch over you. You were light itself—his moonlight cutting through the perpetual darkness of his carefully constructed world. The heart he’d thought too guarded, too controlled to truly feel had surrendered to you completely, irrevocably. Falling for you hadn’t been a choice—it had been inevitable, unavoidable, like gravity pulling him into your orbit. And now that he’d fallen, there was no going back.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The next day, you found another note from your secret admirer in the kitchen.

A single note clung to a small bouquet of gardenias, the ink slightly smudged at the end of the writing:

“My affection and admiration for you grows stronger and fonder every day.”

You stared at it for a second too long. The kitchen bustled around you—pots and pans clanking against each other, the sizzle of food cooking on the stove, the chattering and yelling of cooks at one another—but your ears tuned it all out as you reread the handwriting. Angular and sharp cursive letters. A slight right slant. You couldn’t place it, though something about it tugged at the edges of your memory.

“Someone’s got a secret admirer,” Caleb sang, catching sight of the note as he passed by.

Tara snickered next to him as you glanced up at them both. Warmth spread across your cheeks and throughout your entire body as you grew flustered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Caleb snorted. “Sure you don’t.”

Rafayel, passing by with a hefty sack of flour tucked under his arm, paused just long enough to lift a perfectly sculpted brow. “Wait—who has a secret admirer?”

Tara and Caleb said your name in perfect unison.

“No way!” Rafayel exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with delight. “Hold on, let me put this sack away. I need to know everything.”

“Raf, it’s nothing!” you groaned, clutching the note a little tighter. “There’s no need to make a big deal out of it.”

The purple-haired man practically tossed the flour bag onto a nearby counter before rushing back to join the three of you by the chopping table, looking far too invested already.

“It is a big deal!” he said, leaning against the table with a cheeky smile that rivaled Tara’s. “It’s about time someone told you what everybody already sees.”

“And what is that?” you questioned, genuinely curious despite yourself.

“How beautiful and wonderful you truly are,” Rafayel said matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Right,” you murmured softly before continuing, “I don’t think this person means anything serious by this.”

“Sure,” Tara hummed, not even trying to hide her knowing grin. “You literally received a love letter a week ago along with a book about ‘the language of flowers’—your favorite, might I add—and you mean to tell me that all of this means nothing?”

You felt heat crawl up your neck. You picked up the note from your secret admirer, turning it over in your hands nervously, when Sylus entered the kitchen.

Your breath caught in your throat as you took him in—hair still slightly damp at the ends from his bath, the strands curling softly against his neck in a way that made your fingers itch to touch them. He wore a loose black button-up shirt with the top few buttons undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his toned chest, paired with loose dark trousers. And for once, he was wearing his glasses, which sat low on the bridge of his nose, giving him an unfairly attractive scholarly look.

He looked so… normal and effortlessly handsome. Like he wasn’t literally royalty. Like he was just a man who’d overslept. He looked like a dream you didn’t dare have in daylight. Like every secret longing you’d ever tucked away in your heart had taken physical form just to torment you.

The moment his crimson eyes locked onto yours, he walked deliberately toward you, and your heart kicked into a gallop. The scent of him reached you first, vanilla soap from his bath and that intoxicating musky undertone that was purely him, familiar and comforting yet somehow making your knees weak.

Your friends somehow—suspiciously—found something else to do, busying themselves with chores around the kitchen and leaving you completely alone with him.

“Morning, sweetie,” he said, his voice warm and a little rough around the edges, like he hadn’t spoken yet today. The intimacy of it made your stomach flip. “What were you all talking about?”

His question sent a burning heat rushing across your face, from your neck to the tip of your nose, prickling just beneath the surface. You looked anywhere but at him, suddenly finding the carrots in front of you fascinating, hoping your newfound interest in vegetables would somehow ease the fire tightening beneath your skin.

Quickly, you tried to regain some semblance of normalcy. You cleared your throat. “You look like you just rolled out of bed,” you said teasingly instead of answering his question, desperately trying to deflect.

Sylus laughed—a rich, genuine sound that made your heart ache. Then slowly, a knowing smirk spread across his face—the kind that made your stomach flip dangerously. “Maybe I did,” he said, leaning one hip against the table beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “I was up late last night. Woke up late because of it too.” He pushed his glasses up with one finger in a gesture that was somehow both casual and devastatingly attractive. “Haven’t eaten yet, so I thought I’d come find you. Come have breakfast with me.”

It wasn’t really a question, more like a statement wrapped in velvet, and the confidence in his tone made your pulse quicken. You didn’t answer right away. Because his eyes had flicked toward the chopping table, specifically toward the little bouquet of gardenias sitting at the edge. And the note attached to its stems.

He froze. Just for a second. A micro-hesitation. One breath caught too long in his chest. It’s nothing, you told yourself.

Except… it wasn’t nothing. You’d known him too long not to notice.

His jaw tensed almost imperceptibly. His fingers twitched at his side. And for just a moment, something flickered behind those crimson eyes—something that looked almost like panic, or maybe longing, or perhaps both tangled together.

Then it was gone, replaced by that easy confidence as he shifted his gaze back to you. But his voice had dropped lower, more intimate. “So what do you say? Want to eat breakfast with me? Or do I have to resort to begging?”

The way he said it, the slight tease layered over something more serious, made your cheeks burn hotter.

“Sy, it’s literally almost noon,” you said with a small giggle, grateful your voice came out steadier than you felt. “It’s a bit late for breakfast, don’t you think?”

He tilted his head, and the movement made a strand of silver hair fall across his forehead. “When have I ever cared about convention?” His smirk deepened. “Besides, remember what we used to say? It’s never too late for breakfast.”

“We were kids back then, Sylus.”

“And?” He leaned in just slightly—not enough to be improper, but enough that you had to tilt your head up to maintain eye contact. “Some things don’t change. Like how much I enjoy and cherish your company.” His voice softened on those last words, and the sincerity beneath the playfulness made your heart stutter.

You tried to compose yourself, pretending to consider his request even though you both knew you’d never refuse him. “Hmmm… I suppose if you ask Caleb nicely to make us a ‘late’ breakfast, I could be persuaded.”

“Persuaded?” Sylus chuckled, a rich, warm sound that seemed to wrap around you. “I’ll take those odds.” He straightened, his hand coming to rest briefly on your shoulder—a touch that was both casual and possessive, his thumb brushing once against your collarbone before he pulled away. “Don’t go anywhere, kitten. I’ll be right back.”

Then he was gone, striding toward your friends and teasing them about something you couldn’t quite hear. But whatever he said made Caleb laugh and shove him playfully, made Tara shake her head with fond exasperation, made Rafayel throw a dish towel at his head. The easy camaraderie between them all made you smile despite the confusion swirling in your chest.

You were left standing there, staring at the flowers. At the note.

You ran your thumb over the last letter again—that elegant, looping y—studying how cursive and pretty it looked. There was something oddly familiar about the penmanship. Almost perfect. Neat and romantic, controlled yet passionate, like whoever wrote it had been very deliberate with every word. Like they’d meant every single syllable. As if the person who wrote it couldn’t stop once they’d started.

Your mind drifted back to that moment, the way Sylus had gone still when he’d seen the flowers. The intensity in his eyes before he’d masked it. The way his voice had dropped lower, more possessive.

You couldn’t help but think about the meanings of the flowers you’d received along with the note.

You thought about gardenias, and what they might mean in the language of flowers.

About how they symbolized love, purity, trust, and refinement. But they also represented secret love or affection, and sometimes signified themes of hope, renewal, and sincerity.

You didn’t say it aloud, not even to yourself, but the truth was whispering at the edge of your consciousness.

It looks like his. It feels like his.

But no. That would be— Sylus Qin was thoughtful, sure. With you mostly. He was the kind of person who remembered how you liked your food and always let you lean on him when you needed to. He held doors and rarely interrupted, and he stayed up late with you when you were still working even though he technically didn’t need to.

He was the kind of person who brought you a jacket during late-night walks without asking. He was the kind of person who made you laugh without trying.

But he couldn’t be the secret admirer.

…Could he?

No, you told yourself firmly. Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a prince. Your childhood best friend. He could never—

You glanced toward the direction where he’d been standing just a minute ago. You couldn’t see him at the moment, but you could still feel him. The way his presence always lingered, somehow warmer to you than everyone else’s. Gentle.

You tucked the note into one of the front pockets of your skirt.

Just in case.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Later that evening, Sylus had asked you to meet him in the royal gardens. Specifically, at your favorite spot—the heart of the mini labyrinth tucked away in the garden’s farthest corner, where few others ventured.

The labyrinth itself was a masterpiece of carefully trimmed hedges that twisted and turned in an intricate pattern, creating a sense of delicious isolation from the rest of the world. But it was the center that took your breath away every single time. A small pond sat like a mirror beneath the evening sky, its surface so still it reflected the heavens perfectly. Multiple cherry blossom trees surrounded the water, their branches heavy with delicate pink blooms that drifted down like snow whenever the breeze stirred. Red lanterns were scattered throughout the space—hanging from branches like glowing fruit, nestled between roots, floating on the pond’s surface—bathing everything in a warm, ethereal light that transformed the already beautiful spot into something almost otherworldly.

The air was perfumed with cherry blossoms and night-blooming jasmine, sweet and intoxicating. Petals carpeted the ground in soft pink drifts, muffling your footsteps as you made your way to the wooden bench positioned to face the pond. The lantern light danced across the water’s surface, creating rippling patterns of gold and shadow that seemed alive, magical.

It wasn’t just your own favourite spot—it was yours and Sylus’s collective sanctuary. Your shared spot.

You came here often when your heart raced too fast with feelings you couldn’t name, when thoughts of him consumed you so completely you could barely breathe. Whenever your mind scattered in a thousand directions, you’d find your way here to seek inner peace, to let the tranquil beauty calm the chaos inside you.

As you settled onto the familiar bench, you let yourself sink into the serenity of the moment. The gentle whisper of leaves, the quiet lap of water against stone, the soft glow of lantern light—it all wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. You let your eyes slide shut, tilting your face up slightly to catch the cool evening breeze. Your shoulders dropped, tension melting away as the calm atmosphere worked its magic on your restless body and racing thoughts.

Here, you could almost pretend that loving him wasn’t impossible. That the ache in your chest was something that could be soothed rather than endured.

You didn’t hear his approach—Sylus moved too quietly for that, with that predatory grace he’d always possessed—but you felt him. The way you always felt him, like a shift in the air itself, a change in temperature that made every nerve ending come alive. Your awareness of him was instinctive, immediate, as if your body recognized his presence before your mind did.

The bench dipped slightly as he sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, and could catch that familiar scent of vanilla and musk that made your heart stutter. Close enough to touch, if you were brave enough. If you had the right.

You didn’t know how long you both sat there in comfortable silence, but you cherished every second of it. These quiet moments together had become precious, sacred even—increasingly rare as his duties pulled him in a dozen different directions. But here, in your hidden sanctuary with lantern light painting his features in gold and shadow, with cherry blossoms falling like blessings around you both, it felt like time stopped. Like the world beyond the labyrinth ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you and this perfect, fragile peace.

Your heart ached with how much you loved him. With how badly you wanted to reach out and take his hand, to lean against his shoulder, to turn this friendship into something more. But you held still, held silent, content to simply exist beside him for as long as he’d allow.

Sylus was the first to break the silence. “It’s so magical here during spring,” he murmured, his voice low and soft, almost reverent. He released a breath that sounded relieved, like he’d been holding tension you hadn’t noticed. “I love how this is our spot. How we always come here whenever we need it. How it’s just… ours.”

The way he said that last word—ours—made something flutter dangerously in your chest.

You hummed in response, not trusting your voice, content to listen to him speak. You could listen to his deep voice forever, you thought. Would gladly let him read every book you owned, every poem you’d memorized, just to hear that rich timbre wrap around the words. His voice brought you so much joy, soothed something restless and yearning inside you whenever you were alone together like this. It felt like a gift, these moments when his voice was meant only for your ears.

But it wasn’t just soothing—it also set your entire body aflame. There was something sensual in the way he spoke when it was just the two of you, something intimate in the lower register he used, the careful way he shaped words. It left you flustered and warm.

You talked for a while after that, the conversation flowing easily between comfortable silences. You discussed everything and nothing—his frustrations with a particularly tedious council meeting, your favorite passages from a book in the library he’d given you, childhood memories that made you both laugh, observations about the stars beginning to emerge overhead. Just like old times.

In many ways, nothing had really changed between you, your bond remained strong, your friendship as solid as ever. Except now you were both older, more aware. His duties had multiplied, responsibilities weighing heavier on his shoulders. And your feelings had deepened from childhood affection into something far more dangerous, far more consuming.

And sometimes, in moments like these, you wondered if perhaps you weren’t the only one feeling the shift.

“There’s something I need to discuss with you,” Sylus said suddenly, his tone changing.

Your heartbeat picked up immediately, pulse thrumming in your throat. He sounded so serious, so solemn—so unlike the easy warmth of just moments before. There was a weight to his words that made anxiety spike through your veins, sharp and immediate.

But there was something else too. Unless you were imagining it, he also sounded… nervous? Uncertain? Your eyes snapped to his face, studying him in the flickering lantern light. And unless it was a trick of the golden glow, there was definitely a light dusting of pink across his cheekbones, creeping up to the tips of his ears. His jaw was tight, and he wouldn’t quite meet your gaze.

Your breath caught. Prince Sylus Qin—confident, controlled, unshakeable Sylus—looked genuinely nervous.

That couldn’t be right. You had to be seeing things, reading too much into shadows and wishful thinking.

So you ignored the flutter of hope trying to take wing in your chest. You straightened slightly, folding your hands in your lap to keep them from trembling. “Okay, S-Sylus,” you managed, cursing the little stutter that betrayed your own nerves. “So, um… What is it you wanted to speak with me about?”

You would do anything he asked. Anything at all. Because he was a prince—the future king—and because you loved him with every fiber of your being, even if he could never know it.

A conflicted look crossed his handsome face, emotions flickering too quickly to name. His jaw worked as if he were trying to find the right words, and you watched, transfixed, as he took a deep breath that made his shoulders rise and fall. “I, um—” He paused, cleared his throat, and the pink on his cheeks definitely deepened. His fingers drummed once against his thigh before he caught himself, stilling the nervous gesture. “I wanted to tell you—”

“Your Majesty.”

The voice cut through the moment like a blade, shattering the intimate bubble you’d created. Both of you jumped slightly, heads turning toward the entrance of the clearing where a royal guard stood, looking apologetic but insistent. “Your Majesty, the King is requesting your immediate presence. It’s urgent.”

The disappointment that crashed over you was physical, painful. You felt your shoulders sag, felt something vital deflate in your chest. Another moment stolen. Another conversation interrupted. Another chance lost to his endless, inescapable duties.

You caught the flash of frustration that crossed Sylus’s face—the tightening around his eyes, the way his hands curled into brief fists before he forced them to relax. He looked at you for a long moment, and the longing in his crimson eyes was so raw, so naked, that it made your breath catch. Like he was on the verge of saying something important, something that couldn’t wait. Like he was trying to memorise your face in the lantern light.

But duty called, as it always did. As it always would.

“Right,” Sylus said finally, his voice carefully neutral though you could hear the thread of resignation beneath it. He stood with that fluid grace you’d always admired, and suddenly the bench felt too empty, too cold without him beside you.

He turned to face you fully, and what he did next made your heart stop entirely.

He took a bow—a proper, formal bow that a prince should never give to a servant—and then reached for your hand. His fingers were warm as they enclosed yours, his touch gentle yet somehow possessive. He lifted your hand slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving yours, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles.

The touch of his lips against your skin sent fire racing through your veins. You felt branded by it, claimed, like he’d marked you as his even though that was impossible.

“Have a good night, kitten,” he whispered, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register that was meant only for you. The nickname—one he only used for you, one that felt dangerously affectionate—made your stomach erupt with butterflies.

Your entire body burned with heat, skin too tight and too sensitive. Words completely failed you. Your mind went blank except for the feeling of his lips on your skin, the warmth of his breath, the intensity in his eyes as he finally pulled back and straightened.

All you could manage was a jerky nod, your hand still tingling where he’d kissed it.

He regarded you for a second too long, his gaze searching yours as if giving you one final opportunity to speak, to say something, anything. The moment stretched taut between you, filled with unspoken words and swallowed confessions.

The guard cleared his throat pointedly, and the spell broke.

Sylus’s expression shuttered, that careful princely mask sliding back into place. With one last lingering look he turned and walked away, his footsteps muffled by fallen petals. The guard followed, and then you were alone.

Alone with your whirling thoughts and racing heart. Alone with the ghost of his kiss still burning on your skin. Alone in your sanctuary that suddenly felt too empty, too quiet without him.

You lifted your hand slowly, staring at your knuckles as if they held answers. Your fingers trembled slightly as you touched the spot he’d kissed, finding it still warm.

What just happened? What had he been about to tell you before the interruption?

The cherry blossoms continued to fall around you like pink snow, and the lanterns cast their warm glow across the pond’s surface, but the magic of the evening had shifted into something else entirely. Something that felt like possibility. Like hope.

Like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t the only one whose heart ached with impossible longing.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The castle was alive with an energy that hummed through every corridor and chamber. Servants rushed through the halls with purpose, their footsteps echoing off stone walls as they prepared for the evening’s unexpected event. The King had invited select staff members and his closest advisors to a private dinner—an unusual occurrence that had set the entire household buzzing with speculation.

It was meant to be something small, intimate even, yet everyone was curious. Whispers followed you throughout the day as you went about your duties. What could this be about? Did the King have an announcement to make? Was it about the prince? The questions multiplied with each passing hour, spreading like wildfire through the servant quarters and into the kitchens.

You’d tried not to think about it, tried to focus on your tasks, but the anxious flutter in your stomach refused to settle.

The preparations had begun at dawn. The dining room—the one reserved for family gatherings and private councils—was transformed throughout the day. You’d glimpsed servants carrying in fresh flowers, polishing silver until it gleamed, pressing linens until they were crisp and perfect. Caleb had been in the kitchens since sunrise, barking orders and tasting dishes, his usual easy demeanor replaced by focused intensity. The menu was refined, elegant: roasted pheasant with herbs from the royal gardens, vegetables glazed in honey and butter, delicate pastries that looked almost too beautiful to eat.

Tara had found you in the afternoon, her eyes bright with nervous excitement. “Have you heard anything? Do you know what this is about?” You’d shaken your head, though the weight in your chest suggested you knew exactly what this might be. You just didn’t want to voice it aloud, as if speaking the words would make them real.

The atmosphere in the castle had shifted as evening approached. The nervous energy transformed into something more formal, more significant. Servants changed into their finest uniforms. Advisors arrived in their formal attire, their expressions serious and speculative. You’d dressed carefully, your hands trembling slightly as you smoothed down your skirts, as if looking presentable could somehow protect you from whatever was coming.

When the doors to the dining room finally opened that evening, your breath caught in your throat.

The space had been transformed into something magical, almost dreamlike. Candles were everywhere—tall tapers in silver candelabras marching down the center of the long table, smaller votives clustered on every surface, their flames dancing and flickering with each breath of air. The grand chandelier overhead had been lit as well, its dozens of crystals catching the candlelight and scattering it across the room in glittering fragments, casting a warm but vibrant glow that made everything seem to shimmer and pulse with life.

Red, black, and golden accents were woven throughout the room—the kingdom’s colors displayed with elegant intentionality. Deep crimson table runners flowed down the center of the table like rivers of wine. Black napkins were folded into perfect shapes at each place setting, each one held by a golden ring embossed with the royal crest. The chairs were upholstered in black velvet with golden embroidery, and crimson curtains framed the tall windows, pulled back to reveal the darkening sky beyond. Even the china bore the kingdom’s emblem in gold leaf—a striking design that reminded everyone present exactly where they were and who they served.

The table itself was a work of art. Crystal glasses sparkled at each setting, catching and refracting the candlelight into tiny rainbows. Polished silver gleamed against the white tablecloth beneath the runners. Arrangements of deep red roses mixed with black calla lilies and gold-painted branches created dramatic centerpieces that somehow managed to be both opulent and tasteful.

It was beautiful. Breathtaking, even.

Soon, the royal family arrived. The door at the far end of the dining room opened, and a hush fell over the gathered guests. The King entered first, his posture straight despite his years, the weight of the crown he’d worn for decades evident in the dignified way he carried himself. The Queen followed at his side, elegant and serene, her hand resting lightly on his arm. And then came Sylus.

Your breath stuttered in your chest.

He was dressed in formal attire—a deep black jacket with red embroidery that caught the candlelight, the kingdom’s crest embroidered over his heart in crimson thread. His silver white hair was mostly styled back from his face, revealing the sharp lines of his features, and those crimson eyes swept across the room with calm authority. He looked every inch the prince he was born to be. Every inch the king he would become.

He looked untouchable.

They entered with such graceful, measured steps—a family born to rule, moving through the world with the quiet confidence of those who’d never questioned their place in it.

“Welcome,” the King said warmly, positioning himself near the head of the table. A small, grateful smile graced his weathered face as he looked around at the assembled guests—advisors who’d served him faithfully, servants who’d become like extended family over the years. “Please, come. Let us all sit together.”

He gestured broadly, an invitation that somehow felt more intimate than formal, and the gathered group began to move toward their designated seats.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you found your place at the table. The seating arrangement had been carefully planned. You could tell by the small name cards written in elegant script at each setting. You were positioned diagonally across from where Sylus would sit, close enough to see his face clearly but far enough to maintain propriety. Close enough to hurt.

Zayne, the royal doctor and a mutual friend to many in the room, took the seat to your right. He was a handsome man in his own quiet way—tall and lean with dark hair and intelligent green eyes that seemed to notice everything. He’d always been kind, always took the time to speak with everyone regardless of their station, to genuinely care about their wellbeing. As he sat, he offered you a small, polite nod and a gentle smile that you tried to return.

Tara claimed the seat on your left, and you felt an immediate rush of gratitude for her presence. She reached under the table and gave your hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. She knew you were anxious. Of course she knew. She always knew.

Around you, others settled into their places. Luke and Kieran sat further down, their usual playful energy subdued by the formality of the occasion. Caleb was there, looking exhausted but pleased, no doubt already critiquing his own cooking in his mind. Various advisors and senior staff members filled the remaining seats, their expressions ranging from curious to knowing.

Once everyone was seated, the King remained standing, and the nervous energy in the room intensified. You felt your nerves return tenfold, anxiety coiling tight in your stomach like a living thing. The candlelight seemed too bright suddenly, the room too warm, the air too thin.

“Now that everyone is seated,” the King began, his voice carrying easily through the room, “I’d like to express my gratitude—for this wonderful meal, for the care everyone took to make this evening so beautiful, and for your years of loyal service to this kingdom and to my family.”

The atmosphere was strange, caught between celebration and anticipation. Some guests smiled warmly, already raising their glasses in premature toasts. Others looked curious, almost nervous, sensing that something significant was coming. The advisors wore careful, neutral expressions that suggested they already knew what would be announced—they’d probably been part of the discussions. But for the staff, for people like you and Tara and Caleb, this was unknown territory.

You could feel the weight of expectation pressing down on the room like a physical force.

Soon, servants began bringing out the first course, and the dinner officially commenced. Plates were set with quiet efficiency—Caleb’s and the other cooks beautiful creations arranged like works of art. The pheasant was perfectly golden, the vegetables gleaming with their honey glaze, everything plated with meticulous care.

Everyone began to eat, the soft sounds of silverware against china filling the spaces between murmured conversations.

But you felt Sylus’s gaze on you almost immediately. It was like a touch, tangible and warm, impossible to ignore. You didn’t look up—didn’t dare—but you could sense his eyes tracking your movements as you picked up your fork, as you took careful, mechanical bites of food you couldn’t taste.

The King continued to speak as the meal progressed, his voice a steady backdrop to the quiet dining. He talked about the kingdom’s prosperity, about successful harvests and peaceful borders, about alliances strengthened and problems solved. He spoke with pride about his council, about the people who’d helped build and maintain everything they’d achieved.

You mostly tuned it out, focusing instead on the physical act of eating, chewing, swallowing and breathing. Trying to keep your expression pleasant and neutral while your mind raced with dark possibilities. Trying not to let yourself think about why you were all really here.

But then the King’s tone shifted, became more serious, more weighted with meaning.

“I know everyone is probably curious about why I’ve hosted this special dinner,” he said, and the room fell into complete silence. Even the servants along the walls seemed to still, sensing the importance of the moment.

The King stood fully now, setting down his napkin with deliberate care. His expression was solemn but peaceful, resigned in the way of someone who’d made a difficult decision and found peace with it.

“I have an announcement to make.”

The pause felt eternal. You could hear your own heartbeat, could feel Tara’s leg pressed against yours under the table—grounding you, keeping you present.

“I have been feeling the weight of my years more heavily lately,” the King continued, his voice gentle but firm. “I have ruled this kingdom for nearly five decades, and it has been the greatest honor of my life. But I am tired.” He smiled, almost apologetically. “I feel in my bones that it is time to step down, to pass the crown to someone with the strength and vision to lead us into the future. To my son—Sylus Qin.”

The dining room erupted in gasps and sharp intakes of breath. Murmurs rippled through the gathered guests like a wave—some shocked, some clearly having suspected, all affected by the magnitude of what had just been announced.

You felt as if your heart had stopped entirely before lurching back into a frantic, painful rhythm that made your chest ache. Your fingers tightened around your fork until your knuckles went white.

You’d known this was coming. Of course you had. You’d always known that someday Sylus would be king. But someday had always felt distant, theoretical—a problem for a future version of yourself to handle. You’d hoped, foolishly, that you’d have more time. That someday wouldn’t arrive so soon, wouldn’t feel so immediate and inevitable and real.

But here it was. One month. In one month, everything would change.

“It is time, Sylus,” the King said, his voice warm with paternal pride. He lifted his glass, and the candlelight caught in the crystal, sending fractured light dancing across his face. “To my son, who will be an amazing leader to our kingdom. Who will be crowned king in one month’s time.”

The room lifted their glasses in unison, a chorus of “To Prince Sylus” echoing from every throat.

Except yours. You managed to lift your glass, managed to move your lips in some approximation of the words, but no sound came out. Your throat had closed completely, and you felt nauseous, your stomach churning dangerously. The food on your plate that had already been difficult to swallow now seemed impossible, the smells suddenly overwhelming and wrong.

Your eyes found Sylus’s face almost against your will. He was looking at his father, his expression carefully composed—grateful, humble, dutiful. Everything a crown prince should be. But you knew him, had known him your entire life, and you could see the tightness around his eyes, the way his jaw was clenched just slightly, the tension in his shoulders that no one else would notice.

Then Sylus stood, the movement fluid and graceful, commanding every eye in the room. He placed his hand over his heart and bowed—a gesture of respect and acceptance that somehow managed to be both humble and regal.

“It would be my greatest honor to serve as your king,” he said, his deep voice carrying clearly through the room. “I promise to lead with wisdom, justice, and care for all who call this kingdom home. I will do everything in my power to be worthy of the crown my father has worn so well.”

It was a perfect response. Exactly what everyone needed to hear.

The room erupted in applause, genuine and warm, and Sylus straightened, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Then he sat back down, and you thought perhaps the worst was over. Perhaps you could survive this dinner, could escape to somewhere private and let yourself fall apart in peace.

But the King wasn’t finished.

“Of course,” he continued, still standing, still holding his glass, “a king needs a queen to rule beside him.”

The bottom dropped out of your world.

No. No, please, not yet—

“I’ve been in discussions with several noble families over the past months,” the King went on, seemingly oblivious to the way all the air had been sucked from your lungs. “We’ll be hosting potential matches here at the castle in the coming weeks. The Duke of Verlaine has a daughter of marriageable age. The Prince Xavier of the Pagrarus has expressed interest. There are others as well.” He smiled benevolently, as if he were announcing something wonderful rather than driving a knife through your chest. “We want to ensure Sylus has the opportunity to meet suitable candidates, to find a partner worthy of standing beside him.”

Your whole world was collapsing. The walls of the beautiful dining room seemed to be closing in, the candlelight too bright, too hot, suffocating. It took every ounce of strength you possessed not to break down right there in front of everyone—not to let the sob building in your throat escape, not to let the tears burning behind your eyes fall.

It took every shred of willpower you’d ever had to simply sit there and smile. To blink rapidly, forcing back the wetness threatening to spill over. To keep your breathing steady when your chest felt like it was being crushed.

The room erupted again—cheers, applause, excited chatter. Everyone was so happy, so celebratory. Advisors were already discussing which alliance would be most advantageous. Some of the female staff were sighing dreamily about how romantic it would be. Caleb was grinning, already planning what feasts he’d prepare for the visiting nobles.

You tried to paste on the fakest, brightest smile you could muster. You brought your hands together in applause, the sound hollow and distant to your own ears. You watched yourself from somewhere far away as you played the part of the loyal servant, the supportive friend, the person who was thrilled for her prince.

But inside, you were screaming.

All you could feel was numb—a blessed, horrible numbness that spread through your limbs like ice water, dulling the overwhelming pain and sadness threatening to consume you entirely. It was a mercy and a curse, this numbness. It kept you functional, kept you upright and smiling.

But you knew that later, when you were alone, it would melt away. And then you would shatter completely.

Your eyes met Sylus’s across the table—just for a moment, just a heartbeat—and what you saw there made everything so much worse.

Because he wasn’t smiling either. Not really.

And when his eyes locked with yours, the carefully neutral expression he’d maintained for everyone else cracked—just for you, just for a second. The expression on his face nearly undid you completely. His eyes traced over you with intimate familiarity—cataloging the rigidity of your posture, the false brightness of your smile, the way you’d stopped breathing properly. No one else in this room would notice, but he did. He always did. The raw concern in his gaze, layered with his own barely concealed anguish, told you everything: he knew exactly what this announcement was doing to you, and it was killing him to watch.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The night had already slipped well past the acceptable hour for a young lady to be awake, but sleep had refused to claim you, fluttering just out of reach like a skittish bird evading capture. The royal family had hosted a dinner that evening to celebrate the announcement that Sylus would be crowned soon—a gathering meant to be warm and celebratory, filled with laughter and music and polite admiration. And while it had been all of those things to everyone else, there had been something else lurking beneath the surface whenever Sylus’s eyes found yours across the table, something that tightened the air between you until your breath caught without warning.

You weren’t just nervous.

It was anxiety and sadness that braided together so tightly you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

You’d known this would be coming for a long while. It was only a matter of time before Sylus would have to find a bride—a princess or prince or someone else of importance and station. You’d told yourself you’d make peace with it once it happened, had practiced acceptance in the quiet hours of night, had built walls around your heart to protect it from the inevitable. But now that the time had actually come, now that it was real and immediate and inescapable, you found you couldn’t be happy for him at all. Your heart broke a little more with every second, shattering further the more you allowed yourself to think about it.

You’d slipped out to the gardens wrapped in a thin shawl, desperate for air that didn’t taste like champagne and false smiles. The cool night breeze brushed over your heated skin like a gentle caress, and you let it wash over you, hoping it might carry away some of the heaviness pressing down on your chest.

The royal garden was one of your favorite places in all the world. It was a sanctuary where you could lose yourself in the beauty of nature and the serene quiet that felt increasingly rare. The scent of roses and cherry blossoms wafted through the air, carried by a gentle breeze that rustled the leaves and made the flowers dance in the darkness. The gravel path crunched softly underfoot as you walked deeper into the garden, your feet carrying you automatically toward the labyrinth, toward the hidden center where you and Sylus had shared so many stolen moments.

You breathed slowly, deliberately, trying to settle your racing thoughts. But they wouldn’t quiet.

It felt impossible that Sylus would be King in only a handful of weeks. Impossible that his life was about to change so completely, so irreversibly. Impossible that Sylus would marry someone soon—some beautiful princess or elegant noble who deserved to stand beside him—and it wouldn’t be you. It would never be you.

Your mind began to spiral downward, consuming your whole soul as the gravity of the situation crashed down on you like a wave. With trembling fingers, you carefully pulled out the first love letter from your front pocket—the one you’d been carrying close to your heart like a talisman. You felt tears well up in your eyes as pain overwhelmed you, wracking your body with silent sobs as you reread the familiar words.

“My moonlight, I knew how much you wanted this book…”

The words blurred as tears spilled over, and you didn’t bother wiping them away.

Soon, you heard footsteps behind you—soft but deliberate on the gravel path—and you turned on the bench, expecting perhaps Tara sent to find you, to drag you back inside before anyone noticed your absence. Quickly, hastily, you tried to fold the letter and tuck it back into your pocket, to hide the evidence of your foolish hopes.

But the moment you saw him, tall and unmistakable in the dim lantern light, your heart leapt into your throat and lodged there, making it impossible to breathe.

Sylus.

He stopped a few feet away, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders straight but not stiff. The formal jacket he’d worn to dinner was gone, leaving him in just his white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, the top buttons undone. He looked less like a prince and more like the boy you’d grown up with, the one who used to climb trees with you and steal pastries from the kitchen.

His expression softened the moment he took in your tear-stained face, his brows drawing together with immediate concern.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked quietly, his voice a warm rumble in the still night air, gentle and careful like he was afraid of startling you.

“No,” you admitted, trying desperately to sound calm even as your voice wavered. “Too much thinking.”

Sylus stepped closer, slowly, until the soft glow of the nearest lantern touched his face and revealed something achingly tender in his eyes—something raw and vulnerable that he rarely let anyone see. “About what?”

“About everything.” You hesitated, your fingers twisting in your lap, crumpling the letter still clutched in your hand. “I don’t know what to think anymore. I feel… lost.”

Sylus’s eyes softened even further, as though he understood that feeling better than anyone in the world. As though he’d been feeling exactly the same way. “What are you feeling?” he questioned softly, taking another step closer.

You exhaled shakily, your gaze drifting toward the garden—toward the cherry blossoms swaying in the breeze, their petals occasionally falling like pink snow. Anywhere but at him. Instead of answering his question directly, you countered with your own, deflecting. “Aren’t you overwhelmed?”

Sylus moved so quietly, with such fluid grace, that you didn’t realize he’d stepped directly beside you until the warmth of him brushed against your arm. You looked up, startled by his proximity, by how close he was standing—close enough to touch, close enough to see the flecks of deeper crimson in his eyes.

But you weren’t displeased. You could never be displeased by his nearness.

Your breath caught in your chest. “Are you?” you whispered, needing to know, needing to understand if he was suffering too.

“Yes,” he murmured, his voice rough with honesty as he nodded slowly. “I know it was a long time coming, that I’ve always known this day would arrive. But I thought I had more time.” He paused, and something flickered across his face—pain, regret, frustration. “I feel overwhelmed about all the changes that are about to happen, about everything that’s going to be different.”

He took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice dropped even lower, more intimate. “But I’m more worried about how you’re feeling. About what this is doing to you.”

You lowered your eyes, unable to hold his gaze as the burning sensation behind your eyes intensified, threatening to spill over again. You’d grown accustomed to his charm over the years, to his intelligence and wit, to his occasional bursts of honesty. But when he spoke with this kind of raw sincerity, when his voice softened like silk and honey, when he looked at you like you were the only person in the entire world who mattered—you felt undone in ways you couldn’t name, couldn’t protect yourself against.

As you stayed silent, unable to form words past the lump in your throat, Sylus took a seat beside you on the bench. The wood creaked softly under his weight, and then his hand found yours, found the hands that were wringing anxiously in your lap, still clutching that damned letter.

His touch was warm and gentle as he covered your trembling fingers with his own, his thumb brushing soothingly across your knuckles. He squeezed softly, grounding you, anchoring you to this moment.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, and the endearment nearly broke you.

You shook your head frantically, and despite your best efforts, tears finally slid down your cheeks in silent streams. You refused to voice how you were feeling, couldn’t bring yourself to share the burden crushing your chest. Not only because you didn’t want to weigh him down with your pain, but also because you knew that speaking it aloud would make it real, would drown you even deeper in the sadness and grief threatening to consume you whole.

Sylus released a soft, pained sigh. Then his other hand lifted, cupping your cheek with infinite tenderness, tilting your face toward his so gently you could have resisted if you’d wanted to.

But you didn’t want to.

“Sweetie…” he breathed as he took in the devastation written across your features, the tears tracking down your face, the way your lips trembled as you tried not to sob. His thumb brushed away your tears with such care it made your chest ache. “I hate seeing you like this. It’s killing me.”

“Sy—” you started, but your voice broke.

He shook his head, cutting off whatever you’d been about to say. “This shouldn’t have happened this way. I should’ve been honest with myself a long time ago,” he said, his voice thick with regret and determination.

You looked at him carefully, your vision blurred by tears, but you could see the intensity burning in his crimson eyes. Curious. Hopeful. Terrified.

“I should’ve been honest with you and my parents a long time ago,” he continued, his hand still cradling your face like you were something precious and fragile.

“What do you mean?” you croaked, your heart hammering so hard you thought it might bruise your ribs.

Sylus took a slow, deliberate breath, searching your face with an intensity that made your pulse race wildly. His hand remained on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with such tenderness that fresh tears spilled over. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have said that night in the garden, and every single day since then—”

“Your Majesty, forgive the intrusion.”

The voice cut through the moment like a blade, and you both froze.

Zayne stood at the entrance to your hidden sanctuary, his expression apologetic but serious. “The King has requested your presence. He said—” The doctor’s words died as his eyes landed on you, taking in your tear-stained face, the way Sylus was holding you. “Are you unwell?” His tone shifted immediately to professional concern. “Should I examine—”

“Can you please give us a moment?” Sylus interrupted, his voice tight with barely restrained frustration. His jaw clenched, and though his eyes never left yours, you could feel the tension radiating from him like heat.

“The King insisted that it was urgent, Your Majesty,” Zayne responded respectfully, though his gaze kept drifting to you with obvious concern.

Sylus closed his eyes, and the expression that crossed his face was so painful it made your heart twist. When he opened them again, they were filled with frustration and resignation and something that looked heartbreakingly like desperation.

He sighed—a sound that seemed to come from the depths of his soul—before slowly standing. But before he pulled away completely, he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered there for a moment too long, warm and soft and achingly gentle, as if he were trying to pour everything he couldn’t say into that single touch.

When he finally straightened, you could see the reluctance in every line of his body.

“I want to continue this conversation,” Sylus said, his voice rougher now, edged with gentle determination as he looked down at you. “Tonight. Please…” His voice dropped, became almost pleading in a way you’d never heard from him before. “Wait for me. Please don’t leave. Promise me.”

Your chest tightened at his tone, at the raw need in his voice. He sounded like he was begging, like your answer might determine the course of his entire life.

Sylus waited, his crimson eyes locked on yours, searching, hoping, needing your response.

Words failed you completely, your throat too tight with emotion to form them, so all you could do was nod. A small, jerky movement, but it was enough.

Relief flooded Sylus’s features, and he gave you a small but genuinely hopeful smile—the first real smile you’d seen from him all evening. Then, surprising you completely, he bowed to you. A real bow, deep and respectful, the kind a prince should never give to a servant.

He hesitated for just a moment, his eyes drinking you in as if memorizing this moment, before finally turning away. His footsteps were reluctant as he walked toward the entrance of your beautiful sanctuary, disappearing into the labyrinth’s shadowed paths, the cherry blossoms falling around him like a benediction.

The silence he left behind felt deafening.

After Sylus departed, Zayne lingered, standing a respectful distance away but clearly unwilling to leave you alone in your current state. After a moment, he moved closer and sat down beside you on the bench. Silence fell between you—not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken things.

And then the tears you’d been trying so desperately to hold back came more frequently, harder, until you were shaking with the force of suppressed sobs.

The doctor didn’t speak. He simply, silently, offered his handkerchief—a square of soft white linen that you accepted with trembling fingers.

As you cried, as your shoulders shook and your breath came in gasps, Zayne offered quiet comfort. His hand came to rest gently on your back, rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades the way one might comfort a distressed child. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t press for explanations. He simply sat with you in your grief, a steady presence in the darkness.

“I apologize for the interruption,” he said quietly once your breathing had evened out slightly. “I wouldn’t have intruded if the King hadn’t been so insistent.”

You shook your head, wiping at your eyes with his handkerchief. “It’s not your fault,” you managed, your voice hoarse. “You were just doing your duty.”

“Perhaps,” Zayne said carefully. “But I know timing when I see it. And mine was spectacularly poor.”

Despite everything, you let out a watery laugh at that.

Zayne waited until you’d calmed down completely, until your tears had slowed to occasional sniffles and your breathing had steadied. Only then, when he was certain you were stable enough, did he speak again.

“Whoever wrote those letters is a fool if they don’t fight for you.”

He said it with such serious determination, such unflinching honesty, that it left you speechless for a long moment. You turned to look at him, finding his expression completely sincere.

“How did you—” you whispered, your eyes widening in shock and embarrassment.

Zayne interrupted gently, “I know because I once saw you reading those letters in the library, and I’ve noticed you carry them with you wherever you go.” He continued with a small, knowing smile. “And also because Tara told me. She’s quite worried about you.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “This is so embarrassing! I feel like almost everyone knows at this point.”

“Not everyone,” he assured you, and there was something kind in his tone. “But either way, I stand by my statement. You deserve someone who will treasure you, who will fight for you. And whoever is writing those letters—” He paused meaningfully. “They would be a fool to let you slip away without trying.”

Silence fell as you absorbed his words. He was so serious, so earnest about it, and there was something in the way he looked at you that made you wonder if he meant more than he was saying.

Then he stood gracefully, brushing off his trousers. “Please allow me to escort you back to the servants’ quarters. I want to ensure you get back safely. It’s late, and you shouldn’t be walking alone.”

You hesitated, glancing back toward the labyrinth where Sylus had disappeared. He’d asked you to wait for him. Had made you promise. But how long would he be? What if he couldn’t get away? What if his father kept him occupied for hours?

What if you waited and he never came?

The fear was almost paralyzing.

“I…” you started, uncertainty thick in your voice.

“You can decide what to do once you’re back in your room,” Zayne said gently, reading your hesitation accurately. “But out here, in the garden at this hour, alone and upset—it’s not safe. Not for your physical wellbeing or your reputation.”

He was right, of course. Reluctantly, you stood, your legs slightly unsteady beneath you.

You walked together in heavy silence through the garden paths, the gravel crunching beneath your feet, the night air cool against your tear-stained cheeks. Zayne kept a respectful distance but stayed close enough that his presence felt protective rather than intrusive.

Once you arrived at the entrance to the servants’ quarters, he turned to face you fully.

“You are someone extraordinary,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of absolute conviction. “And you deserve someone who will fight for you and your love every single day. Someone who won’t let duty or station or fear stand in the way. Remember that.”

Your eyes widened at his words, at the intensity behind them. As you stood there processing what he’d said, trying to understand if there were layers of meaning beneath the surface, silence stretched between you.

Was he talking about Sylus? About himself? About the mysterious letter writer?

Eventually, the doctor spoke again, breaking the spell. “Goodnight,” he said your name with such unexpected gentleness that it made your chest ache all over again.

“Goodnight, Zayne,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He gave you a small, respectful bow before turning and walking away with that same quiet grace, his footsteps fading into the night. Soon he was swallowed by shadows, leaving you standing alone at the threshold of your quarters, left to ponder and process everything that had happened.

Sylus’s almost-confession. His desperate plea for you to wait. Zayne’s knowing words and careful comfort.

The letters that suddenly felt heavier in your pocket.

The impossible hope trying to bloom in your chest despite every attempt to crush it down.

You looked back toward the garden one last time, torn between the promise you’d made and the fear of what keeping it might mean.

In the end, fear won.

You slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind you, and didn’t wait for him to return.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

As the days crawled by, each one blurring into the next in an endless cycle of forced normalcy, you threw yourself into work with desperation. You tried so desperately to keep yourself busy, to fill every waking moment with tasks and duties so there would be no space left to think about Sylus. No room for memories of his hand cupping your cheek, his voice breaking as he’d tried to tell you something important, his lips warm against your forehead.

You also became uncharacteristically social, a shift that didn’t go unnoticed by those who knew you well. You started accepting every invitation, volunteering for extra shifts, participating in activities with other servants that you’d normally decline. You helped in the kitchens even when it wasn’t your assigned duty, joined the laundry maids in their gossip sessions, accompanied the groundskeepers on their rounds. Anything. Everything. As long as it kept you occupied, kept your mind from wandering to places that would break you.

You smiled until your cheeks ached. You laughed at jokes you didn’t find funny. You pretended that everything was fine, that your world hadn’t shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces.

But exhaustion clung to you like a second skin. Dark circles bloomed under your eyes no matter how much sleep you pretended to get. Your appetite had vanished. Your hands trembled when you thought no one was looking, and sometimes you’d find yourself staring at nothing, lost in thoughts you couldn’t escape.

Tara obviously saw right through your carefully constructed facade. She knew you too well, had been your friend for too long to be fooled by false smiles and deflecting conversation. She could see how much pain you were in, could read it in every forced laugh and averted gaze. She tried to be there for you, tried to create opportunities for you to talk, to let it out, to lean on her the way friends should.

But you pushed her away every time, your voice bright and brittle as glass.

“We knew this would happen sooner or later,” you’d say with a shrug that was meant to look casual but came across as defensive. “It’s not a surprise. I’m fine, really.”

Or: “We should be happy for Sylus. This is what he was born for. It’s a good thing.”

The words tasted like ash in your mouth, but you kept saying them. As if repetition could make them true. As if you could convince yourself along with everyone else.

Tara would look at you with such sadness, such frustration, but she didn’t push. Not yet. She just stayed close, a silent presence reminding you that when you were ready to stop pretending, she’d be there to catch you.

Whenever you crossed paths with Zayne, which happened more frequently than you’d like, he would look at you with an expression that combined professional care with deep personal sympathy. His eyes would search your face, cataloging the signs of your suffering with a physician’s attention to detail—the exhaustion and the barely concealed grief.

Somehow you felt as if he knew. Not just that you were struggling, but the specific nature of your pain. He knew about your feelings for the prince, understood the impossible situation you’d found yourself in. And though the knowledge should have embarrassed you, should have made you avoid him out of shame, there was something comforting about being seen. About not having to pretend, at least with him.

Deep down, you knew he would never share your secret with anyone else. Zayne was nothing if not discreet, bound by both professional ethics and personal honor.

Still, you found yourself trying to avoid the doctor as well, because he reminded you too vividly of that night in the heart of the labyrinth. Every time you saw him, you were transported back to those moments—Sylus’s hand on your cheek, his desperate “wait for me,” the promise you’d made and then broken. The hope that had bloomed so brilliantly in your chest before you’d crushed it down out of fear.

You’d had so much hope in that moment, had let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, the impossible could become possible.

But it was too good to be true. It had to be. Sylus was a prince, soon to be king, and you were just a servant. The love you carried for him—vast and consuming and eternal—could never be reciprocated. Not in any way that mattered. Not in any way that could overcome the insurmountable distance between your worlds.

When you were finally alone at night, though, when all the distractions fell away and there was nothing left but you and the darkness and the truth you couldn’t outrun, your mind wouldn’t let you rest. The thoughts you’d managed to suppress all day would come flooding back with a vengeance, drowning you in what-ifs and if-onlys and the echo of Sylus’s voice saying things you couldn’t let yourself believe.

You’d pull out those letters—those beautiful, devastating letters—and read them until the words blurred, until you’d memorized every loop and curve of the handwriting, until your tears made the ink run.

“My moonlight… I am truly enchanted by you… My affection and admiration for you grow stronger and fonder every day…”

The words that had once filled you with such joy now felt like cruel mockery.

You spiraled in those dark hours, your thoughts turning vicious and self-destructive. And unfortunately, shamefully, you cried yourself to sleep almost every single night, your pillow damp with silent sobs, your chest aching with a grief that had no outlet.

And Sylus?

You avoided him like the plague, like he carried some contagion that would destroy you if you got too close—which, in a way, he did.

You always manufactured excuses when he tried to summon you through official channels or when he sent messages asking for a private moment. “I’m needed in the kitchens.” “I’ve been assigned to help with the guest chambers.” “I’m not feeling well.” The lies came easier each time, though they tasted more bitter.

Whenever he tried to enter spaces or rooms where he knew you’d be—the library where you used to read together, the kitchens during meal preparations, the servants’ dining hall—you would either studiously refuse to look at him, keeping your eyes fixed on your work with desperate intensity, or you’d excuse yourself from the room entirely. Mumbling something about forgotten duties or remembered tasks, fleeing before he could corner you, before he could say whatever it was he’d been trying to say that night.

You just couldn’t face him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

The cowardice of it ate at you, but the alternative—actually talking to him, hearing whatever explanation or gentle rejection he had prepared—felt impossible to survive.

And whenever you did avoid him, whenever you felt his gaze on you and deliberately turned away, whenever you saw him entering a room and immediately found a reason to leave, you couldn’t help but notice the pain that flickered across his face.

It was brief, quickly masked behind princely composure, but it was there. In the tightening around his eyes, the way his jaw would clench, the slump of his shoulders when he thought no one was watching.

You knew Sylus was hurting. Of course you did—you knew him better than anyone, could read him like one of your beloved books.

Except you never once believed it could be for the reasons your traitorous heart wanted to imagine. No, you told yourself firmly, he was hurt because his best friend was pulling away. Because the person he’d relied on for support and companionship since childhood was suddenly unavailable. It was the pain of losing a friend, nothing more.

It couldn’t be anything more.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t see because you’d been so careful to avoid him—was the true extent of Sylus’s torment.

You didn’t see how he’d return to his chambers each night and stand at his window, staring out at the gardens, at the labyrinth where he’d almost told you everything, his reflection in the glass looking haunted and hollow.

You didn’t know that he’d stopped writing the letters because what was the point when you wouldn’t even look at him? When you’d promised to wait and then disappeared?

You didn’t see him during his meetings with potential brides and their families, how he’d go through the motions with mechanical politeness while his eyes remained empty, how he’d compare every woman to you and find them all wanting.

You didn’t know that Luke and Kieran had started avoiding him during his darker moods, when his temper would fray and his control would slip, when the mask of the perfect prince would crack to reveal the desperate man underneath.

You didn’t see him clutching the letter he’d written but never sent—the one that explained everything, that laid his heart bare—his knuckles white, his hands shaking.

You didn’t know that he’d asked about you obsessively. “How is she? Is she eating? Is she sleeping? Did she seem well?”

You didn’t know that your absence was slowly destroying him.

One day, unbeknownst to you, Sylus sought out Tara, his desperation finally overcoming his pride.

He found her in one of the many halls of the castle, carrying fresh linens toward the guest wings. His heart hammered in his chest as he called out, his voice rougher than he’d intended, “Tara. A word, please.”

She stopped and turned slowly, and the moment her eyes met his, Sylus felt the full force of her anger like a physical blow.

Tara had never been particularly good at concealing how she truly felt, had never bothered to master the art of courtly composure. And right now, she looked visibly irritated—no, beyond irritated. She looked furious in a way that would have made most people back away.

She glanced around the corridor, noting the other servants passing by, the guards stationed at intervals. She waited, jaw tight, until the last person had rounded the corner and they were as alone as they could be in the castle’s public spaces.

Then she marched toward him with such aggressive intent that Sylus actually took a step back.

“You better fix this,” she hissed, jabbing a finger hard into his chest—hard enough that he felt it through the layers of his formal jacket. Her eyes blazed with protective fury. “I don’t care how you do it, but you need to fix this mess you’ve created. Now.”

The disrespect of it—a servant speaking to a prince this way, touching him without permission, making demands—would have been shocking to anyone else. But Sylus had known Tara almost as long as he’d known you, and he understood that her anger came from a place of love. Love for you. Her best friend who was falling apart.

“She won’t talk to me, Tara,” Sylus said, and he hated how desperate he sounded, how his careful princely facade crumbled in the face of her righteous anger. His hands clenched at his sides. “She won’t even look at me. How am I supposed to fix this if she won’t give me a chance to explain?”

“You’re smart, Sylus. Everyone’s always going on about how brilliant you are, how strategic, how you’re always three steps ahead.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm that cut like a blade. “So use that big brain of yours and figure it out.”

She stepped closer, her voice dropping but losing none of its intensity. “She deserves better than whatever this nightmare is, and you know it. She deserves better than secret letters and almost-confessions and being left in the dark while noble families parade their daughters in front of you like prize horses.”

The prince stood there in heavy silence, each word landing like a physical blow. The inner turmoil that had been building for days—weeks, if he was honest—was becoming unbearable. He felt like he was being torn apart, caught between duty and desire, between what was expected of him and what his heart demanded.

“I know you’re hurting too, Sylus,” Tara said, and her tone shifted slightly, became marginally more sympathetic though still edged with frustration. “I can see it. You look almost as bad as she does.”

For a moment, something vulnerable flickered across his face.

“But she doesn’t deserve someone who whispers the prettiest words in secret but never has the courage to back them up with action,” Tara continued, and the sympathy vanished, replaced by disappointment that somehow hurt worse than the anger. “She doesn’t deserve to be kept in the dark, to be made to hope and then abandoned. She doesn’t deserve to cry herself to sleep every night while you hide behind your duties and your crown.”

At her words, Sylus’s eyes widened, genuine shock breaking through his composure. “She’s been—” He couldn’t finish the sentence. The image of you crying alone, suffering because of him, because of his cowardice, made something crack in his chest. “I didn’t… I thought she was avoiding me because she didn’t—”

“Didn’t what? Didn’t care?” Tara laughed bitterly. “Are you really that clueless?”

“I—” Sylus started, but Tara quickly cut him off.

“Sylus, I’ve known you for years. Since we were children running through these halls together.” Her expression softened just slightly, became almost pitying. “I know how you look at her. I’ve seen it since we were young—the way your eyes follow her across a room, the way you smile differently when she’s around, the way you’ve always made excuses to be near her.”

She crossed her arms, fixing him with a knowing stare. “It was pretty easy to connect the secret admirer letters to you. Who else writes with that specific slant? Who else knows all her favorite things? Who else would use phrases like ‘my moonlight’?”

Sylus felt heat creep up his neck. He’d thought he’d been so careful, so subtle.

“I know you’re in a difficult position,” Tara continued, and now her voice carried genuine understanding alongside the frustration. “I know the pressure you’re under, the expectations, the weight of the crown. I’m not unsympathetic to that.”

She stepped forward one final time, her voice dropping to something fierce and protective and absolutely unyielding.

“But if you truly love her the way you wrote that you do in those beautiful letters, if even half of what you said was real, then you need to fight for her like your life depends on it. Because hers certainly feels like it does.”

The words hung in the air between them, a challenge and a plea all at once.

Sylus stood frozen, his mind racing, his heart hammering. Everything Tara had said was true. Every accusation, every disappointed observation, every demand. He had been a coward. He had let his fear of duty, of disappointing his father, of the complications and scandal override what mattered most.

You.

He’d let you slip away when he should have been holding on with both hands.

“She deserves the best,” Tara said, and her voice cracked slightly with emotion—worry for her friend, frustration with the situation, exhaustion from watching two people she cared about destroy themselves. “And right now? This is a literal nightmare for her. She’s breaking, Sylus. Slowly but surely, she’s breaking apart.”

She turned to leave, but paused, throwing one final look over her shoulder.

“So fix it. I don’t care what it takes, what rules you have to break, what expectations you have to shatter. Just… fix it. Before it’s too late. Before she’s so broken that even your pretty words can’t put her back together.”

And then she was gone, leaving Sylus standing alone in the corridor, her words echoing in his mind like a death knell.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

Then, slowly, determination began to harden in his chest, replacing the despair and helplessness that had been consuming him.

Tara was right. He’d been a coward. He’d been letting circumstance and duty dictate his life when he should have been fighting for what—for who—mattered most.

He thought of you crying yourself to sleep. Of you avoiding him because you thought he didn’t want you. Of you suffering while he suffered, both of you too afraid to bridge the distance between you.

No more.

He was done with secret letters and stolen moments and almost-confessions. He was done letting fear win.

If he had to defy his father, if he had to cause a scandal, if he had to turn the entire kingdom upside down—so be it.

You were worth it. You had always been worth it.

He just had to make you believe that too.

And he knew exactly how to do it.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

A day after Sylus had his confrontation with Tara, he summoned you.

You’d been in the laundry rooms, mechanically folding linens with the other servants, your mind blissfully blank from the repetitive work, when Luke and Kieran appeared in the doorway. The moment you saw them, your stomach dropped. You knew—instantly, instinctively—why they were there.

“His Majesty requests your presence,” Luke said, his usual playfulness notably absent. His expression was serious, almost apologetic.

“In his private office,” Kieran added. “Immediately.”

You felt panic spike through your veins, sharp and immediate. Your hands stilled on the sheet you’d been folding, gripping the fabric too tightly. “I… I’m in the middle of—”

“It wasn’t a request,” Luke interrupted gently but firmly, cutting off your excuse before you could fully form it.

The words hung heavy in the air. Not a request. An order.

Your mouth went dry. In all the years you’d known Sylus—through childhood games and adolescent adventures and the complicated feelings of adulthood—he had never once used his title or position to command you. Never pulled rank, never treated you as anything less than an equal despite the vast difference in your stations. He would only do so now if it was absolutely necessary, if he’d exhausted every other option.

Which meant you couldn’t refuse. Couldn’t make another excuse. Couldn’t run.

“I see,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You carefully set down the linen with trembling fingers, smoothing out wrinkles that didn’t exist. “Of course. I’ll… I’ll come now.”

You followed the twins through the castle corridors, your heart hammering against your ribs with each step. Nervous didn’t even begin to cover what you were feeling. Anxious as hell was closer. Terrified was probably most accurate.

Your mind raced with possibilities. What could he possibly want? Was he going to formally ask you to stop avoiding him? Demand an explanation? Tell you that your behavior was inappropriate and you were being reassigned? Or worse—much worse—was he going to gently, kindly, tell you that he knew about your feelings and that while he cared for you as a friend, that was all it could ever be?

The walk felt endless and far too short all at once.

When you finally reached the ornate doors of his private office—a room you’d been in countless times before but which suddenly felt foreign and intimidating—Luke knocked twice.

“She’s here, Your Majesty,” Kieran called through the heavy wood.

There was a pause, a moment of suspended silence, and then you heard his voice. That deep, familiar voice that haunted your dreams.

“Let her in.”

The twins pushed open the doors and stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter. You caught Kieran giving you an encouraging look, something almost pitying in his expression, before the doors closed behind you with a soft, final click.

And then you were alone with him.

Your anxiety and nerves multiplied tenfold, flooding your system until you felt almost lightheaded. Your hands began shaking at your sides, and you clasped them together tightly to hide the tremor.

Sylus stood near the window, backlit by the afternoon sun streaming through the glass, and for a moment he was just a silhouette—tall and broad-shouldered and achingly familiar.

Then he turned to face you fully, and your breath caught in your throat.

When his eyes—the very same piercing red eyes you love—find yours across the room, they ignite with a spark of longing, and you swear your whole world stops spinning.

As you regarded him—truly looked at him for the first time in over a week of careful avoidance—you couldn’t help but notice how utterly exhausted he looked. How truly bad he looked in a way that made your chest constrict painfully.

There were dark circles under his eyes that rivaled your own, deep shadows that spoke of sleepless nights. His silver hair, usually immaculate, looked like he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly. His formal jacket was slightly rumpled, his collar not quite straight.

He looked like a man who’d been suffering. Like a man who’d been slowly coming apart at the seams.

You didn’t know if it was even possible, but somehow seeing him like this made you feel even more heartbroken than you already were. Because he was hurting too, and some terrible part of you had hoped—had needed to believe—that at least he was fine. That your absence hadn’t affected him beyond mild inconvenience.

But clearly, devastatingly, that wasn’t true.

He looked at you with such raw vulnerability, such naked longing, that it did something to you—cracked something open in your chest that you’d been trying desperately to keep sealed shut. His crimson eyes traced over your face like a man dying of thirst finally seeing water, drinking in every detail as if he’d been starved for the sight of you.

You both stood there in heavy silence for a long moment, neither moving, neither speaking. Just staring at each other across the space of his office like there was a chasm between you instead of a few feet of expensive carpet.

The air felt charged, electric with everything unsaid.

“Sy—” you whispered finally, your voice cracking on his name.

“Sweetie,” he breathed at the exact same moment, and the endearment nearly broke you. “I can’t express how sorry I am.” His voice was rough, raw with emotion he wasn’t bothering to hide. “How much I’ve missed you. How empty everything feels without you.”

He took a half-step forward, his hand lifting slightly before falling back to his side, as if he’d stopped himself from reaching for you.

“I’m sorry for how much I’ve hurt you,” he continued, his voice dropping to something more gentle, more tender. “I never wanted that. God, I never wanted that. But I… I handled everything wrong, and you paid the price for my cowardice.”

The sincerity in his voice, the genuine remorse and pain, made your eyes burn with unshed tears. A small voice inside your head—the part of you that loved him desperately and wanted nothing more than to close the distance between you—told you to accept his words. To listen and believe what he was trying to tell you. To let him explain, to give him the chance he was asking for.

But the destructive part of you, the part that had been whispering cruel things in the darkness for weeks, that had convinced you that you weren’t worthy of being loved by someone like him—that part wouldn’t let you. Couldn’t let you.

You felt your hands tremble even more violently as you stood there, frozen between wanting to run toward him and wanting to flee entirely. Your throat tightened, making it hard to breathe, hard to speak.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. You looked away from his intense gaze, unable to hold it, unable to face the vulnerability and honesty you saw there. “I’ve just been busy. That’s all. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

His jaw ticked in response, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. You could see the disappointment flash across his face, the way his shoulders tensed. He’d hoped—desperately hoped—that you would believe him, would listen to him, would meet him halfway.

But you couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

The silence that stretched between you then felt suffocating, uncomfortable in a way silence with Sylus had never been before. It left you wanting to squirm, to apologize, to take back your words.

But you stayed still. Stayed quiet.

Finally, Sylus spoke again, and his voice had shifted—still gentle, but with an undercurrent of determination that made you look up despite yourself.

“I asked you to come here for two reasons,” he said carefully, watching your reaction. “One, I needed to tell you everything I wanted to say that night in the garden. Everything I’ve been trying to say for weeks, for months—maybe for years if I’m being honest with myself.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

“But I can see that you need more time,” he continued, and something that looked like pain flickered across his face. “That you need more than just words from me. You need proof. Action. Something tangible.”

He paused, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have much time to give you. Which brings me to the second reason I summoned you.”

You finally looked up at him fully, meeting his gaze with wide, uncertain eyes. Your pulse thrummed in your throat.

Sylus straightened slightly, and you caught a glimpse of the prince he was—the leader he was about to become. Authoritative. Decisive. But underneath it, you could still see the man you loved, vulnerable and hopeful and desperate.

“I’m being summoned to one of the borders of our kingdom,” he explained, his tone becoming more formal, more official. “The region that borders our neighboring country of Athana. There have been some tensions, some concerns about our alliance. They need me there to strengthen diplomatic relations, to negotiate, to ensure peace.”

He took a breath, and his voice softened again, became more personal.

“It will be several days’ journey, and I’ll need to stay for at least a week, possibly longer depending on how the negotiations proceed.” His eyes searched yours, intense and unwavering. “And there’s no one I trust more than you. No one whose counsel I value more, whose presence I need more.”

Your breath caught as you realized what he was about to say.

“So I want you to come along on this trip. As my personal advisor. My companion.”

The word hung between you, loaded with meaning.

“Surely there’s someone else more qualified—” you started automatically, your mind scrambling for escape, for any excuse that might save you from days of forced proximity, from the torture of being near him while maintaining your walls. “One of your actual advisors, or—”

“No,” Sylus interrupted, and his voice carried such controlled determination, such absolute certainty, that it cut through your protests like a blade. “And it wasn’t a request.”

There it was again. The authority. The command.

You gulped nervously, your throat clicking audibly in the quiet room. You couldn’t look away from him, caught in the gravity of his gaze like a moon trapped in orbit.

For a moment, Sylus’s commanding expression melted into something infinitely more gentle. His hands, which had been clasped behind his back in a formal pose, twitched at his sides as if fighting the urge to reach for you. His eyes roamed over your face with such tender concern it made your chest ache.

You looked so beautiful to him, even exhausted and hurting. Maybe especially then, because at least you were real and present and in front of him instead of a ghost he kept catching glimpses of around corners.

He wanted to cross the room and pull you into his arms. Wanted to hold you until you stopped trembling, until you believed that he would never willingly hurt you. Wanted to pour his heart out in a way that left no room for doubt or fear. Wanted to console you, to take care of you, to prove with actions what his words hadn’t been able to convey.

But he held himself still. Held himself back. Because he could see you weren’t ready for that yet. Could see that you’d bolt if he pushed too hard, too fast.

So instead, he just whispered with aching sincerity, “There’s no one else better. There’s no one else I want by my side. Just you. It’s always been you.”

The words landed between you like a confession, like a promise.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, unable to form a response. Your mind was spinning, your heart racing so fast you felt dizzy.

Sylus held your gaze for one more long moment, letting the weight of his words settle, before he straightened again and added with quiet finality, “We leave tonight. I’ll have someone sent to your quarters to help you pack. Be ready by sunset.”

It wasn’t a discussion. Wasn’t a negotiation.

And somehow, despite your fear, despite every instinct screaming at you to refuse, to run, to protect yourself—you found yourself nodding.

Because maybe Tara was right. Maybe Sylus was right.

Maybe you did need more than words.

Maybe you needed time. Proximity. A chance to see beyond your own fears and insecurities.

Maybe this trip would break you completely.

Or maybe—just maybe—it would finally put you back together.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The journey was long and excruciating in ways that had nothing to do with the rutted roads or the endless miles.

The ride in the carriage felt interminable, each hour stretching into eternity as you sat across from Sylus in a space that was somehow both too small and too vast. You weren’t able to talk to him no matter how hard he tried to draw you out, and the silence between you felt like a living thing—heavy and suffocating and wrong in a way that silence with Sylus had never been before.

It hurt you just as much as it clearly hurt him. You could see it in the way his jaw would tighten when you gave another one-word answer, in the flicker of pain that crossed his face each time you looked away. But you just couldn’t find the words, couldn’t push past the wall you’d built around yourself. You felt numb and hurt and so desperately confused that speaking felt impossible.

Sylus tried, though he was careful not to push too hard. He’d offer gentle conversation starters, then let them fade naturally when you didn’t respond. He never pressed, never demanded engagement—just left the door open for you whenever you might be ready to walk through it.

He’d point out landmarks as they passed, his voice soft and undemanding. “That tree marks the border between regions,” he’d mention quietly, not expecting a response. Or he’d share a brief story about a previous trip, keeping his tone light and easy, giving you the option to listen or let the words wash over you like background noise.

He talked about small things—the beauty of the countryside, a funny incident from his childhood, observations about the changing landscape. Never anything heavy. Never anything that required you to engage beyond your comfort level.

And you? You sat mostly silent across from him, your hands folded in your lap, your eyes fixed on the passing scenery outside the window. Occasionally you’d nod or offer a soft “mm-hmm” of acknowledgment, and each time you did, you’d catch the small, grateful smile that would flicker across his face. As if even that tiny bit of interaction was a gift.

In your defense—not that you were sure you deserved defending—you were honestly exhausted from all the traveling. The constant jostling of the carriage, the lack of proper sleep, the emotional turmoil that had been your constant companion for weeks now. It all weighed on you until even keeping your eyes open felt like a monumental effort.

You stopped occasionally for meals at small roadside inns, and to camp out overnight when no suitable accommodations could be found. During these stops, Sylus was quietly attentive without being overbearing.

He’d make sure food was available for you but never forced you to eat more than you wanted. He’d suggest you sit closer to the fire if the evening was cold, but accepted without comment if you preferred to stay where you were. He’d ask once if you were comfortable, if you needed anything, and then let it be.

It was gentle care—the kind that didn’t demand gratitude or acknowledgment, that didn’t make you feel smothered or pitied. Just… thoughtful. Considerate. The way Sylus had always been with you, even as children.

The sleeping arrangements were decided quietly on the first night. “You should take the carriage,” he’d said simply. “It’s more comfortable and private. I’ll be fine with Luke and Kieran.”

You’d started to protest, feeling guilty, but he’d just given you a small, tired smile. “Please. I’d feel better knowing you were resting properly. That’s all I ask.”

And because it was phrased as a request rather than a command, because he’d looked at you with such quiet hope that you’d accept this one small thing, you’d agreed.

He was respectful in a way that made you feel cared for without feeling obligated. There was no hovering, no constant checking—just quiet consideration that left space for you to breathe.

But the destructive part of you—that terrible, insidious voice that had taken up permanent residence in your head—would whisper that it was just friendship. Just the natural kindness of someone who’d known you forever and felt responsible for you.

*He’s only being considerate because you’ve been friends since childhood. It doesn’t mean anything more.*

Yet whenever you tried to sleep, alone in the dark carriage with only the sound of the horses and the distant murmur of voices around the campfire, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

About the man who was so respectful of your boundaries that he’d give you space even when you could see it hurt him. About how he’d looked at you in his office with such quiet longing. About the almost-confession in the garden that haunted your dreams. About the letters from your secret admirer, those beautiful letters that spoke of devotion and enchantment.

You felt safe in the carriage, surrounded by his scent and wrapped in blankets he’d quietly arranged before stepping away. But you also felt restless, your mind refusing to quiet, your heart aching with want and fear in equal measure.

You didn’t sleep much during those nights. Couldn’t sleep, really. Just dozed fitfully, waking at every sound, every shift of the carriage, replaying conversations and moments over and over until they lost all meaning.

Sylus noticed, of course he did. He’d always been quietly observant when it came to you, noticing things without making you feel watched or scrutinized.

On the third day of travel, after you’d nearly dozed off during a rest stop, he’d mentioned gently, “There’s an inn about three-quarters of the way to the border. We could stop there tonight if you’d like. Proper beds, a chance to rest.”

He’d phrased it as an option, not a decision he’d made for you. Giving you the choice.

“That… that would be nice,” you’d admitted quietly, and the soft relief in his expression made your chest ache.

As evening approached and the landscape began to shift from open countryside to a small village, you felt your heart rate pick up with nervous anticipation. The thought of a real bed, a proper room, maybe even a bath—it sounded like heaven.

The inn appeared as the sun was setting, bathing everything in warm golden light. It was a large, cozy-looking building with smoke curling from multiple chimneys, warm light glowing in the windows, flower boxes beneath the sills even this late in the season. It looked welcoming. Safe.

As soon as the carriage rolled to a stop in the courtyard, Sylus stepped out first with fluid grace. But instead of walking toward the entrance, he turned back and stood beside the carriage door, his hand outstretched toward you.

Not demanding. Just… offering. His crimson eyes soft in the fading light.

Your breath caught at the gesture—so simple, so gentlemanly, yet somehow intimate in a way that made your pulse quicken. You placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours, the gentle strength as his fingers closed carefully around yours.

He helped you down from the carriage with such careful attention, his other hand hovering near your waist—not quite touching, just there in case you needed the support. When your feet touched the ground and you wobbled slightly from stiffness, his hand settled lightly at your side to steady you.

The touch was brief, respectful, but it burned through the layers of your traveling clothes, making you acutely aware of every point of contact between you.

For a moment, you were standing close enough that you could see the flecks of deeper crimson in his eyes, could feel the warmth radiating from him in the cooling evening air.

Your eyes met and held.

Time seemed to slow, the sounds of the inn and the village fading into insignificance. His hand was still wrapped gently around yours, not gripping or holding tight—just connected. Present.

You could see everything in his gaze—the longing he couldn’t quite hide, the tenderness, the quiet hope. It was all there, offered freely without demand or expectation.

Your heart thundered in your chest. Heat crept up your neck and into your cheeks, and you knew he could feel your pulse quicken through your hands.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. You just stood there, hands clasped, lost in a moment that felt fragile and precious.

You were the first to break it, looking away with a flustered and shy expression, your eyes dropping to focus somewhere around his collar. You couldn’t handle the intensity, the vulnerability, the way looking at him made you want things you’d convinced yourself you couldn’t have.

From your peripheral vision, you caught the small, soft smile that curved his lips—not triumphant or possessive, but gentle. Understanding. As if he knew you needed to look away and didn’t hold it against you.

He released your hand slowly, his fingers trailing against yours for just a moment before letting go completely. Then he stepped back slightly, giving you space, before gesturing toward the inn with a quiet, “Shall we?”

His hand settled at the small of your back as you walked—so light you almost couldn’t feel it, just enough to guide without controlling.

Once you both entered the building, you were greeted by warmth and the smell of woodsmoke and cooking food. The interior was cozy and well-maintained, with dark wooden beams, a large fireplace crackling in the main room, and the general atmosphere of a well-loved establishment.

Luke and Kieran were already at the front desk, speaking with the innkeeper—a rotund, friendly-looking man with a welcoming smile. But as you approached, you noticed the twins’ expressions looked… odd. Confused. Almost suspiciously so.

Luke glanced up as Sylus approached, and something flickered across his face. “Ah… Your Majesty, there seems to be an issue with the accommodations.”

Sylus, who looked quietly exhausted from the long journey, simply waited. “What kind of issue?”

Kieran spoke up, his tone sheepish in a way that felt almost… deliberate. “The rooms we reserved ahead of time… well, there was apparently a miscommunication with the courier.” He gestured apologetically at the ledger. “They only have one suite available. The rest of the rooms are occupied by some Duke’s entourage who arrived earlier today.”

Your heart plummeted straight to your stomach.

One room. One suite.

“I can stay in the servants’ quarters,” you said immediately, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Or—or I’m sure there’s a small room somewhere, even a storage room would be fine—”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Sylus said quietly, and there was something almost hesitant in his voice. Not commanding. Almost… asking. “The suite should have a sitting area, and I can take the couch. Would that… would that be acceptable to you?”

He was giving you the choice. Actually asking rather than deciding for you.

You looked at him—at the exhaustion in his face, the gentle hope in his eyes, the way he was clearly trying not to pressure you while also obviously not wanting to be separated.

“I…” you started, your cheeks burning. “If you’re certain it’s not… I mean, if it’s not improper…”

“I’ll be perfectly respectful,” he said softly. “I promise. I just…” He paused, something vulnerable crossing his face. “I’d sleep better knowing you were safe and comfortable. But only if you’re comfortable with the arrangement.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he was leaving the decision entirely in your hands, made something loosen in your chest.

“Alright,” you whispered. “We can share the suite.”

The relief that flooded his features was so profound it made your heart ache.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

As Sylus opened the door to your room, you both stepped inside and took in the view together.

The room was bathed in the warm, flickering glow of candlelight, casting soft shadows on the walls and pooling on the wooden floor. The space was cozy and inviting in its simplicity. Warm wooden furniture gave the room a rustic charm—a sturdy dresser, a small table with two chairs near the window, and a wardrobe in the corner. Fluffy cream-colored rugs were scattered across the floor, soft enough to sink into. A stone fireplace sat ready to be lit when the evening chill set in, with a neat stack of firewood beside it. The balcony doors were slightly ajar, allowing the cool evening breeze to drift in, carrying with it the scent of pine and distant rain. Beyond the balcony was a picture-perfect view of the distant forest and dreamy landscape—rolling hills disappearing into twilight, the first stars beginning to emerge.

The room was beautiful in its simplicity. Intimate. Sweet. And there, dominating the center of the space, was one large bed with a quilted coverlet and an abundance of pillows.

Just one bed.

No couch. No chaise. No secondary sleeping option whatsoever.

You heard Sylus swear quietly under his breath behind you, the curse so soft you almost missed it. When you glanced at him, you saw he’d stopped in the doorway, his expression caught somewhere between resignation and concern as he took in the sleeping arrangements.

“Look, I can always just sleep on the floor,” Sylus said quickly, already moving into problem-solving mode. He grimaced slightly, scrubbing a hand over his face in a gesture of exhaustion before walking toward the plush rug positioned beside the bed. “It’ll be fine. This rug looks comfortable enough.”

You swallowed nervously, your heart suddenly beating too fast, your palms going damp. You tried to steady your breathing the best you could before speaking.

A thousand thoughts overwhelmed your mind as you watched him lower himself to sit on the rug, testing it as if genuinely considering spending the night there. Your chest tightened with a mixture of emotions—guilt that he’d sacrifice his comfort, confusion about what this meant, and something else. Something warm and terrifying that you didn’t want to examine too closely.

This was Sylus. Your Sylus. The man who’d just traveled for days, who looked exhausted, who’d been sleeping on the ground to give you the carriage. And now he was prepared to sleep on the floor again rather than make you uncomfortable.

“Sy, wait,” you whispered, cringing internally at how desperate you sounded. The plea came out softer than you’d intended, more vulnerable. “The bed is clearly big enough for the both of us.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied, and to demonstrate, he laid back on the rug and stretched his limbs out as if to prove its adequacy. “See? Comfy.”

But you could see the lie in the tension of his shoulders, in the way he shifted almost immediately to find a better position.

“Sylus…” you sighed, crossing your arms loosely in front of your chest—more to give your hands something to do than out of any real frustration. “We both know that’s not true.” You huffed out a nervous laugh, your eyes darting around the room to avoid direct eye contact with him. Your hands trembled slightly as you picked up your bag from where you’d set it down, carrying it carefully to the wooden dresser across from the bed.

“And besides,” you continued, your voice quiet but firm, “you’ll be sore tomorrow and won’t get proper sleep. You need rest too.”

You smiled nervously, timidly, at him as you pushed some stray hair back behind your ear—a nervous gesture you’d had since childhood. Your cheeks felt warm.

Sylus remained sitting on the rug, looking up at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. Uncertainty? Hope? Fear?

“Please,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself. “We’re both adults. And you’re the future king—you shouldn’t be sleeping on the floor like… like you’re being punished or something.”

There was a long pause. You could hear your own heartbeat in the silence.

“Right,” Sylus finally replied, and his voice was just as nervous as yours, touched with something almost shy. He sat up slowly, running a hand through his silver hair. “Are you sure?” he tried again, and you could see genuine concern in his eyes. “I truly don’t want to make you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I want.”

“Sy,” you looked at him properly then, your hands fidgeting nervously at your sides as you frowned slightly. All your previous worries came rushing back tenfold, crashing over you like a wave.

Of course he wouldn’t want to share a bed with you. You were sure you looked like a wounded kitten right now, but you couldn’t help it. The thought that sharing a bed with you might terrify him or disgust him made something crack in your chest.

“Am I really that awful to share a bed with—” you started, your voice small and hurt.

“No!” He cut you off immediately, standing up as his eyes went wide with something close to panic. The word came out too quickly, too forcefully, and he seemed to realise it because he cleared his throat, a blush coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears in obvious embarrassment.

“I mean, no, of course not,” he said more gently, softer. “I just… I truly don’t want to make you uncomfortable. That’s all. I’d never—you could never be awful. That’s not… that’s not what this is about at all.”

Your heart warmed at his words, at the sincerity bleeding through every syllable. Relief flooded through you, loosening the knot of anxiety in your stomach.

“You won’t make me uncomfortable, I promise,” you reassured him with a small but genuine smile that you hoped conveyed your honesty. “As long as you’re fine with it too? I don’t want to force you into anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Sylus’s expression softened into something achingly tender. Slowly, carefully, he reciprocated your smile and nodded. “Of course, sweetie. If you’re certain, then… yes. Thank you.”

They both stood there, smiling at each other across the small room, and for a moment everything else fell away. The awkwardness, the tension, the confusion of the past weeks—it all dimmed in the warmth of that shared smile. In the familiar comfort of just being together.

The moment stretched, gentle and sweet and fragile.

Then you realised you’d been staring at him for too long, and warmth flooded your cheeks and neck, rising up like a tide. You felt flustered and shy and completely exposed under his soft gaze, like he could see every thought racing through your mind, every feeling you’d tried so hard to hide.

“S-sorry,” you stammered, mentally cursing yourself for the stutter. “Let me go find my nightgown.”

You turned quickly, reaching for your pack with slightly trembling hands. When you pulled out your nightgown—a simple, modest thing—reality struck you like cold water.

There was no changing screen. No separate room. No privacy. How were you supposed to change in front of him? You hadn’t thought this through at all.

You stood there frozen, clutching the nightgown, feeling increasingly foolish.

“What are you apologising for?” Sylus questioned gently from behind you, his voice closer than you’d expected but not uncomfortably so. “There’s nothing to apologise for.”

Your back was still turned to him, and you felt vulnerable, exposed in a way that had nothing to do with clothing. But his gentle words worked like a balm, and you felt your stiff shoulders begin to relax despite your nervousness.

You heard the soft sound of Sylus walking from the rug, heard his careful footsteps as he walked slowly toward you. Not rushing. Not demanding. Just… approaching.

At your continued silence, he spoke again, his voice low and achingly soft.

“If anything, I should be the one apologising.”

Your eyes widened. You froze completely, your hands stilling on the fabric you’d been nervously twisting. Your whole body felt like a live wire, every nerve ending aware of his proximity. Slowly, trembling slightly, you turned around to face him.

The breath left your lungs in a rush.

He was so close. Close enough that you could see the exact shade of crimson in his eyes, could count the individual strands of silver in his hair. Close enough that his warmth seemed to wrap around you like an embrace. Your whole body felt like it was burning, heat spreading from your chest outward until even your fingertips tingled.

“Why didn’t you stay that night?” Sylus asked quietly, and there was such raw vulnerability in the question it made your throat tight.

“Sy…” you whispered, looking away from his intense stare because it was too much, too open, too honest.

“I just can’t help but wonder why you didn’t—or wouldn’t—wait for me,” Sylus continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I understand that I probably ruined everything with my cowardice, with my inability to just tell you the truth when I had the chance. But I had hoped…” He paused, swallowing hard. “I’d hoped you might give me the chance to explain myself. To make things right.”

You could see his hands twitch at his sides, could see how badly he wanted to reach for you but was holding himself back. Could see the desperate need to comfort you, to close the distance, to touch you—but he remained still, respectful of your space even as it clearly cost him.

“I know I probably don’t deserve you,” he added, even more quietly, and the pain in his voice made your chest ache. “I know I’ve handled everything terribly. But I also know that I want to fight for you. That I need to fight for you. That you’re worth fighting for.”

His eyes found yours again, holding them with gentle intensity.

“I’m tired of being a coward,” he said, and there was steel beneath the softness now. Determination. “It’s time I’m honest with you. Honest with everyone. No more hiding. No more fear.”

Your eyes started to burn with the telltale prickle of tears, and your whole body trembled beneath his gaze—not from fear, but from the overwhelming emotions crashing over you. Slowly, you tilted your head back up to look at him properly.

And what you saw there nearly broke you. He looked vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before. Open and raw and hurting. But also hopeful. So desperately, achingly hopeful.

Sylus took a shaky breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely audible.

“I wrote those letters.” The world seemed to stop spinning. “I am your secret admirer.”

Your eyes widened impossibly further as you gasped quietly, the sound catching in your throat. Your mind went blank, then flooded with a thousand thoughts all at once.

“You?” The word came out as barely a breath. “H-how? When? Why didn’t you—”

You couldn’t finish any of the questions tumbling through your mind. Couldn’t process what he’d just said.

Sylus closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering his courage, drawing on some inner strength. When he opened them again, they were bright with unshed tears and blazing with gentle, intense determination.

“My moonlight, you are everything I desire,” he whispered, and the words landed like a physical touch.

You took in a deep, shuddering breath as Sylus moved closer—slowly, carefully, giving you every opportunity to step back if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

His hands lifted, trembling slightly, and cupped your face with infinite gentleness. His palms were warm against your cheeks, his fingers spreading to cradle more of you, as if you were something infinitely precious that might shatter if held too tightly.

“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of you,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “Not a single day where you don’t consume my thoughts. I dream of you every night. When I wake, you’re my first thought. When I sleep, you’re my last.”

His thumbs brushed across your cheekbones with such tender care it made fresh tears spring to your eyes.

“There is no one as mesmerising as you. No one as enchanting. No one who makes me feel the way you do.” He paused, swallowing hard, his eyes never leaving yours. “You consume my very being. Every part of me belongs to you—has always belonged to you.”

He breathed out your name like a prayer, like a confession, like the most important word in any language.

“You’re the love of my life,” he whispered, and his voice cracked slightly on the words. “I love you. I’m so deeply, hopelessly, completely in love with you.”

The tears that had been gathering in your eyes finally spilled over, sliding down your cheeks in warm streams. A sob hiccupped out of you as you looked at him—this man you’d loved for so long, who was looking at you like you hung the moon and stars.

“Y-you love me?” you stammered, needing to hear it again, needing to be sure this wasn’t some beautiful dream you’d wake from. You blinked repeatedly, trying to clear your vision through the tears that kept forming. “You really—”

“Yes, kitten,” he smiled with such profound tenderness it stole what little breath you had left.

The endearment made your heart skip. You’d heard him call you that before, but now it felt different. Weighted with meaning. With love.

His thumbs continued their gentle stroking across your cheeks, catching tears as they fell with such careful devotion.

“I’ve loved you from the moment I met you,” he continued, his voice soft but absolute. “Do you remember? We were children. You’d just arrived at the castle, so small and frightened, and you looked at me with those eyes and I just… knew. Even then, I knew you’d be important to me.”

A watery laugh escaped you at the memory—you, barely seven years old, overwhelmed by the massive castle and all the strangers, and Sylus offering you his hand and a shy smile.

“I’ve always loved you,” he went on, and you could hear the tears in his voice now too. “Always adored you. You were always the only one I wanted. The only one I needed. I am so hopelessly, so deeply, so irrevocably in love with you. There’s never been anyone else. There never could be.”

As you looked into his eyes—those beautiful crimson eyes that had always seen you, truly seen you—all you could see was pure adoration and love written in them. Devotion so complete it took your breath away.

For all those years, you’d been so terrified to tell him how you felt. Had convinced yourself it was impossible, that you were foolish for even hoping. Had spent countless nights crying into your pillow over the love you thought you could never have.

Only to discover he’d felt the same way all along.

You’d always been his. From the very first moment. Just as he’d always been yours.

But fear still lingered, creeping in despite the joy. Reality crashing back.

“B-but what about your parents?” you whispered, confusion and worry threading through your voice. “I mean, the King and Queen? You’re going to be King soon. They’ll never accept—I’m not noble, I’m not—”

Your breathing quickened with anxiety. This felt too good to be true. There had to be some obstacle, some reason why this couldn’t work.

Then Sylus smiled—widely, brilliantly, like the sun breaking through clouds.

“Before I summoned you to my office, I told them the truth,” he said, and relief was evident in every word. “I told my father and mother that I only wanted you. That I refused to marry out of duty alone, that I wouldn’t accept any match made for political gain. That I would only marry for love. That I would only marry you.”

Your breath caught. Your heart felt like it might burst from your chest.

“My father struggled with it initially,” Sylus admitted honestly. “He’s a traditional man, and he wanted to uphold certain expectations. But he was never truly against the idea of me being with you. He’s known how I felt about you for years—I think everyone has except you.”

A soft, slightly watery laugh escaped him.

“And my mother?” His smile grew impossibly softer. “She’s been hoping for this since we were children. She’s always loved you. She told me I was a fool for waiting so long, that she was beginning to think she’d have to orchestrate situations to force me to confess.”

He paused, his eyes searching yours.

“They gave us their blessing. Both of them. Completely. You’re already part of our family—you have been for years. This just… makes it official. Makes it real.”

A sob wrecked through your body as you took in his words, the reality of them sinking in like warmth spreading through frozen limbs.

“You—you truly love me?” you asked again in disbelief, shaking your head because this couldn’t be real, couldn’t be happening. “This isn’t… I’m not dreaming?”

“My kitten,” he whispered with such tenderness and intimacy it made you shiver. “I’ve only ever loved you. I will always only want you, need you, desire you, adore you. In this life and every life after.”

Then he pulled you into his arms—gently, carefully, as if you might break. He wrapped his arms around you securely but not tightly, holding you close against his chest.

“You’re the love of my life,” he murmured into your hair. “My soulmate. My everything.”

You felt like you were floating, like this had to be one of your dreams. The beautiful, impossible dreams you’d had countless times before, only to wake up alone and heartbroken.

“Am I dreaming?” you hiccupped against his chest, your hands clutching at his shirt. “Please tell me I’m not dreaming. I don’t think I could bear waking up from this.”

“No, my beloved,” he cooed softly, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head while the other rubbed soothing circles on your back. “It’s real. I’m real. This is real. I promise you.”

You nuzzled your head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat—strong and steady and real—as more sobs wracked through you. These weren’t tears of sadness anymore. They were tears of relief, of joy, of overwhelming emotion you didn’t have words for.

“I’ve been in love with you since the first time we met,” you confessed, your voice soft and muffled against him but steady with truth. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything for anyone else besides you. Ever. It’s always been you.”

You felt him tense slightly, felt his breath catch, and then he was pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were bright with unshed tears, his smile trembling with emotion.

You were still trembling against him, crying with the weight of all these overwhelming feelings—years of longing and fear and hope finally finding release.

“You’re my everything,” Sylus whispered, cupping your cheeks again with such reverence, such tenderness.

Then slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, he leaned down and pressed the softest, most gentle kiss against your forehead. His lips lingered there, warm and tender, and you felt more tears slide down your cheeks.

When he pulled back just enough to look at you again, his thumbs brushed away your tears with such loving care.

His grin was contagious, warmer than the fire that’s crackling in the fireplace, brighter than the sun on a warm summer day and you swear that in that moment you felt as if it’s just the two of you in this universe.

You leaned your face closer to his to then graze your nose against Sylus’.

“My kitten,” He smiled, blinding and it only widened when you looked at him timidly. His nose then moved down to press against your cheek, lips just brushing yours.

“My Sylus.” You whispered as you bit your bottom lip bashfully.

Slowly he brushed his lips against yours before pulling away just slightly. His tongue poked out to wet his lips, and you had to hold back a moan at the delicious, inviting sight. “Kitten,” he whispered lowly, sending shivers down your spine, as his gaze shifted from your lips to your eyes repeatedly. “Can I…?”

Your heart stopped, then started again at triple speed.

“Please,” you breathed.

And then his lips were on yours, soft and gentle and perfect. The kiss was tender, almost chaste—a question and an answer all at once. You felt his hands trembling slightly as they cradled your face, felt your own hands come up to grip his shirt, anchoring yourself to him.

You whimpered as he gave your bottom lip a little nip, swiping his tongue against it afterwards to soothe the sting. You gasped, and Sylus took the opportunity to access the inside of your mouth with his tongue. You moaned, feeling lightheaded and dizzy as the kiss turned more heated.

You always knew that he’d be an amazing kisser, but this was something else. His hands gripped you and crushed your body to his with fervour as he licked and sucked at your tongue. All you could do was melt into him, your arms hanging loosely around his shoulders. You let out more little moans and sighs into his lips as he continued to massage the inside of your mouth with his tongue just right.

When you finally parted, both of you were breathing hard, foreheads resting together.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips.

“I love you too,” you whispered back. “So much. For so long.”

And standing there in the quiet inn room, wrapped in each other’s arms with tears drying on your cheeks and the taste of your first kiss still lingering, you finally let yourself believe it.

This was real. He loved you. And everything was going to be okay.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Throughout the evening, neither of you could stop touching, holding, or kissing each other—like two souls trying to memorise every second. You eventually moved to the bed, both curled up on the bed, nestled in his lap, lips moving languidly together in an unhurried rhythm that spoke of longing and tenderness. Every kiss deepened with time, slow and reverent, before turning more fervent—more hungry—as his hands began to explore your body through the barrier of your clothes.

The air was thick with anticipation, a heady mix of desire and nervousness that seemed to cling to every surface. Sylus sat underneath you, his tall frame commanding yet gentle, his crimson eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter. His lips, full and inviting, found yours once more, the kiss deepening as his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you tighter against him. You could feel the heat of his body through the fabric of your dress and little panties, his heart racing against your chest, his breath mingling with yours, hot and much deeper.

“I love you… my Sylus,” you whispered breathlessly, as he leaned he reconnected your mouths together and kissed you passionately on the mouth, his blunt nails digging into your plush hips. “I love you so much.”

“Please, will you say it again baby? I need to hear you say it once more.” He pleaded as his eyes fluttered.

“I love you.” You whimpered as his mouth connected with yours again.

He groaned into you, tilting his head to kiss you deeper, and you opened your mouth for him when you felt his tongue tracing your lower lip and licking into your mouth. His hand raised to cup your cheek, the other wrapping tighter around you as he kept your body pressed to his.

His mouth then moved from your lips to your cheeks as he whispered his love for you again and again. He started to trail long, hot kisses down your jaw and neck. You whimpered pitifully as he suckled lightly on the side of your neck, tilting your head back instinctively to bare more of your soft skin to him.

As he continued to move lower down your skin, Sylus his tongue would poke out every now and then to lavish your skin with it. Lapping, kissing and sucking at your body. His kisses became longer, hotter and more fervent as he continued on. You whined, squeezing your eyes shut as you pulled him closer against you.

Sylus groaned and bit down gently on the junction of your neck and shoulder. You cried out, impulsively grinding your hips against his in a desperate search for some much-needed friction against your aching core.

You gasped, your eyes flew open at the hard bulge you felt against your pussy. You whined as your core instinctively started clenching around nothing, begging for attention, his attention.

Instinctively you started moving your hips against his making him groan against your skin. The feeling of his desire pressed against your heated skin is heavenly, and you roll your hips down into his to feel some friction against your throbbing clit.

“Need you so bad baby,” he groaned against your skin. You shuddered against him and felt a heated and wet sensation pool down low between your thighs. You were certain that your tiny underwear was ruined by now.

A high pitched whimper slipped past your lips as he started to move along with you, grinding against your clothed cunt.

“My kitten,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine. His hands were trembling slightly, his fingers brushing the hem of your dress as he spoke. “Can I… can I undress you? Let me help you into your nightgown.”

You hesitated for only a moment, your breath catching in your throat as you considered the weight of his words. This was it—the moment you had both been wanting and needing to happen for so long, the moment that would change everything. Your voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with a mix of excitement and nervousity. “Yes,” you replied, “please.”

With hands that were both gentle and reverent, Sylus began to unlace your dress. His fingers moved slowly, deliberately, each movement a tender caress as he exposed your skin inch by inch. The room was silent except for the soft rustle of fabric and the sound of his soft kisses against your skin and your shared breaths, heavy and anticipatory. As the dress slowly fell away from your shoulders, pooling at your waist, you sat before him in your shift, your body eager and flushed with heat.

You trembled beneath his warm, intimate, and intense gaze, waiting for what he would do next. You felt yourself grow nervous under his watchful, hungry eyes. As much as you wanted him, anxiety bubbled up in the pit of your stomach.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, worry threading through his voice. “You’re trembling.”

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered before exhaling shakily. “Are you sure you want me?”

“Yes, of course,” he replied gently, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “There’s no one I want more than you.”

You took a shuddering breath, bracing yourself for what you were about to confess. “I want you too… so badly. I just— I’ve never done this before. I’m afraid you might be disappointed.”

You nibbled your bottom lip as his eyes widened in realization. He understood what you were admitting. You were a virgin.

You wanted Sylus so much, you had dreamed of this for so long, but you would have been lying if you said your nerves weren’t fraying.

“Baby,” Sylus murmured softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your temple as he wrapped you in his arms. Your body relaxed instantly beneath his affectionate touch. “I’m certain you could never disappoint me. It doesn’t matter whether you’re experienced or not—you’ll always be the best lover I could ever ask for. Because you’re perfect for me.”

Then, in a quieter voice, he added, “Besides, my sweet girl… this would be my first time as well.” He looked at you with so much tenderness that you melted against him all over again. “Please don’t worry about that,” he whispered, nudging his nose against yours with a warm smile. “I’ll take good care of you.”

He gazed at you with such adoration and love that it stole the breath from your lungs. “I trust you, Sy,” you whispered with a timid nod—just before he leaned down to claim your lips in a slow, deep kiss.

Warmth spread through your body as his hands began to wander. You whimpered into his mouth when his palms traced the length of your thighs, his touch both grounding and electrifying. Your head grew hazy with desire, with the overwhelming love you felt for him. Your thoughts dissolved into soft, sweet nothingness as your lips moved together in hungry, passionate kisses.

Slowly, his hands traced your naked skin, gliding toward your lower back as his fingertips followed the soft contours there. You began to move your hips desperately against his, moaning into his mouth, hoping Sylus would understand your silent plea soon enough.

The kiss deepened with an intensity that had you gasping for breath. You rolled your hips into his, rubbing your throbbing clit against him just to gain a bit of friction against your aching core. You moaned into his mouth as you pressed harder, and the front of his dress pants strained as he ground against you in return.

Suddenly everything felt overwhelming—the rising heat in the room, the wandering warmth of his touch sliding over your skin, and the head-spinning truth that you were crossing into unfamiliar yet deeply intimate territory with your best friend. You felt hot all over, your body thrumming with need.

He groaned when you kept grinding against him, his hands tightening around your hips to still your movements. You whined in protest, and in one fluid motion he rolled you both over, hovering above you as he gently pinned your arms against the mattress. You were so desperate to feel him again.

“So impatient,” he chuckled, a devious smile curving his lips as he pulled back just long enough to catch his breath. “Such a needy kitten, begging for my touch.”

“Please,” you whined, your voice soft and desperate as you squirmed beneath him.

Moments later his mouth claimed yours again. The kiss grew hotter, deeper, each pass of your lips stoking the fire between you. His hands moved down your body once more while yours slid to the back of his head, your fingers tangling in his hair. When you gave a soft tug, he moaned into your mouth. One of his hands trailed slowly up your stomach while the other held firmly at your hip. His touch made you weak, heat pooling between your thighs as you kissed and touched each other with unrestrained hunger.

His fingers brushed delicately along the sides of your ribs, moving up and down in slow, reverent sweeps, his fingertips tracing every dip and curve as if memorizing your body.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered against your lips. A moment later, his hands slipped away from your ribs only to settle at the hem of your little dress. “Can I take this off, sweetie?”

You bit your lip and nodded frantically, unable to find your voice in that moment. His smile deepened as his hands slipped beneath your dress for just a second before he hooked his fingers into the fabric and slowly drew it upward. You raised your arms to help him remove it, the air brushing your newly exposed skin.

Heat bloomed across your body under the way his eyes roamed over you, drinking in every detail. The way Sylus looked at you—eyes filled with nothing but love, awe, and adoration—made you feel so alive.

You didn’t know what to do with your hands. They trembled helplessly, and your core trembled just as much, while he tossed the discarded clothing aside and lowered his mouth to your collarbone. His lips moved there with such affection that it sent a sweet shiver down your spine.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, letting his mouth wander over every inch of exposed skin. “So divine… ethereal.”

Your bare chests pressed together, skin against skin, every point of contact setting you ablaze. You stared up at him with wide, overwhelmed eyes as he continued kissing his way across your body.

His large hands slid to the curve of your waist where it met your hips, gripping you firmly as he scattered damp kisses and gentle nips over your shoulders and down the path to your breasts. You whimpered softly when he traced the tip of his nose over the swell of your breast, savoring the moment before his lips followed.

He leaned down and pressed the softest, sweetest kiss to the side of your breast before lifting his gaze to yours. “Are you okay?” he murmured. His forearms rested on either side of your body, caging you in gently. When you nodded, he brought one hand up to stroke your cheek, his thumb warm and tender against your skin. “Kitten… if we’re gonna go any further, I need you to talk to me. I need verbal communication. Think you can do that?”

You stared at him for a moment, breath catching, then nodded again. He raised a brow and gave you that knowing look that sent warmth spreading through your chest. “Sorry,” you whispered. “Y-yes, Sy. Yes… I think I can do that.”

“Good girl,” he praised softly, a gentle smile curving his lips. “And if you want me to stop—” His mouth pressed back to your heated skin, trailing barely-there kisses down the valley of your breasts. Your eyes fluttered shut as your fingers twisted in the sheets. “—you tell me right away. Okay?” he muttered, his voice raw and strained with want.

“Y-yes, Sylus… I understand,” you whimpered.

“Good.”

He breathed in through his nose, inhaling your scent, and you shivered when he exhaled warm breath directly over your nipple. “Fuck, angel… you’re so beautiful.”

Then he wrapped his lips around your nipple, teeth skimming lightly over sensitive skin as he sucked and licked with slow, hungry passion.

“Sy…” you mewled, hips lifting helplessly as your cunt sought any kind of friction.

Sylus looked up at you, his mouth curling into a soft, adoring smile. Heat crawled up your skin under his gaze. He could see everything on your face—want, need, desperation—and he welcomed it. His lips returned to you, long, slow, lavish licks from the flat of his tongue over your pebbled nipple while his other hand rose to squeeze your other breast, kneading gently.

Impatient, trembling, you guided the hand on your breast downward—down your stomach, down to the heat between your thighs. His breath hitched. As his fingers slipped beneath the band of your underwear and down to where you needed him most, his mouth fell open with a loud, helpless groan right against your nipple. His fingers slid between your slick folds, tracing your pussy softly, savoring.

He worshipped you there for a moment—just his fingers teasing, learning every response—before he suddenly pulled back. Completely away from you.

You whimpered as he sat up, watching through hazy eyes as he took his time removing his clothes. Every button, every movement felt agonizingly slow. You shut your eyes briefly, whining, desperate to feel him again, desperate for his heat on your skin.

When he stripped down to just his underwear, you felt the bed dip as he moved back over you. He leaned down, his lips immediately finding your neck, licking and sucking softly as his hands cupped your sensitive breasts and massaged them with tender, reverent fingers. Heat flooded your body as Sylus kissed down your shoulders, then your chest, his mouth leaving warm, fluttering trails.

Your trembling hands slid into his silver hair, threading through the strands as he continued to kiss and taste every inch of exposed skin. Sylus’ lips moved slowly down your body, worshipping you with unhurried kisses, while his hands traced the lines of your shaking form—mapping every curve, every soft place, every breath you took beneath him.

He leaned forward, breathing in the heat of your core as he ran his nose slowly along the patch of dampness clinging to your panties. You tugged at his hair when he inhaled your scent, his breath catching. “Fuck, kitten,” he hummed, looking up at you with an intense, hungry gaze. His hands left your skin to curl into the waistband of your panties. “You smell so good… I can’t wait to taste you.”

A shuddering breath slipped past your lips as you lifted your hips instinctively, silently begging him to take them off. He slid the fabric down your legs, and once he pushed your thighs open for him, you whimpered as the cool air kissed your wet slit. Sylus stilled for a moment, his eyes devouring the sight of you—your glistening center clenching around nothing as he watched your pussy pulse with need.

He licked his lips slowly before leaning down, placing lingering kisses along your inner thighs. His tongue dragged warm, teasing strokes over your soft skin, sucking gently, worshipping. His mouth was so close to where you needed him most, but each kiss felt like sweet torture, keeping him just out of reach.

“So pretty,” he murmured as he guided your legs up and over his shoulders, settling you perfectly beneath him.

You were about to beg—about to plead for him—when his lips left your thigh… only for him to nuzzle directly against your pussy a moment later. He smeared your slick across his lips, savoring the taste as he opened you for his tongue.

You gasped, your body arching as his wet tongue finally met your throbbing heat.

He pulled back again briefly, only long enough for his fingers to slide in and spread your outer lips for him. Sylus smirked as he eased a single finger inside you, watching your body react—the way your hips twitched, the way your walls fluttered around the intrusion, how greedily your wet hole swallowed his digit. You moaned into the pillow beside you, trying to muffle the desperate sounds.

Those little whines—soft, needy, helpless—only drove Sylus to chase more of those heavenly noises from your lips.

“Fuck… such a tight little pussy,” he moaned as your cunt clenched repeatedly around his finger.

Your whines grew louder as the pleasure washed over you. His fingers were so much bigger than yours—just one of his was more overwhelming, more delicious, than anything you had ever done to yourself.

You whimpered as your core kept fluttering and gripping around him, silently begging for more. He pumped his finger in and out of you at a slow, unhurried pace, savoring every reaction. Instinctively, your hips began to move with it, grinding into his hand. Sylus groaned at the sight, his gaze burning into you as he continued to finger-fuck you. His eyes couldn’t stay still—they drifted over your face, down your trembling body, drinking in the way you writhed beneath him.

You panted heavily, thoughts dissolving, barely able to think as he slid two more fingers inside you. Sylus worked them slowly at first, giving your tight pussy time to adjust to the stretch. It was overwhelming, but the kind that felt so unbelievably good. Little whimpers spilled from your lips as he fucked you with his fingers, curling them deep, then spreading them apart. He leaned down and kissed you, swallowing every mewl as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling at the strands, your body moving helplessly with the rhythm he set.

You gasped when his tongue slipped into your mouth, kissing you with desperate devotion. “That feels good, doesn’t it, baby girl? You like it when I touch you like this?” Sylus groaned—right as his thumb found your clit. You bucked into him, nodding frantically.

“Use your words, kitten,” he teased darkly.

“Yes—please, Sy, please… feels so good,” you whimpered, voice breaking.

He kissed his way down your body again, making you whine and beg in soft, breathless sounds—even as his fingers kept thrusting inside you.

Sylus inhaled your scent as soon as he settled between your thighs, but he didn’t keep you waiting. He wet his lips, then dipped his head to drag his tongue in a slow stripe from your dripping folds to your clit.

“Fuck, Sylus!” you shrieked, hips lifting off the mattress.

Senseless, needy noises poured from your throat. Your hips stuttered against him, and he simply sighed—like there was nothing in this world he wanted more than to eat you out right here, right now.

His name tumbled from your lips again and again, chanted like a prayer. Tears pricked your eyes as pleasure overwhelmed you. His mouth wrapped around your clit, his fingers still pumping inside you while his other hand held your hip down, pinning you to the sheets as you bucked, urging him to give you even more.

He worked your arousal expertly—his fingers curling to hit that spongy spot inside you while his tongue flicked and suckled at your clit. The familiar coil in your belly wound tighter and tighter. Your abdomen clenched as he quickened his pace, fingers stroking that sweet spot with perfect precision. Your toes curled, thighs shaking as they squeezed around his head.

“Aah—too much!” you squeaked, voice strangled as you teetered on the edge. “T-too— I-I—fuck!”

“Easy, kitten,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your thigh as his fingers stilled for a moment.

“Sylus…” you mumbled, face buried in the pillow.

“It’s okay, baby. I know. I’ve got you,” he cooed, his voice teasing but tender. “It’s a lot. Will you let me continue?”

“Y-yeah… just—just wait a second,” you whined.

“Anything for you.”

But waiting became unbearable—your body aching, throbbing, desperate. And he felt it too. Sylus leaned down, tongue sliding between your folds before licking upward to your clit.

You sighed at the same moment he did—yours high and breathy, his deep and dreamy. He lapped at you with clear intention, fucking you with slow, careful strokes of his fingers this time, keeping you just where you needed to be.

“Oh—my god,” you whimpered, trembling hands gripping his silver hair with one hand while the other clamped over your mouth to silence yourself. “F-Fuck… Sy, f-fuck…”

He moaned into your pussy, lips sealing around your clit. You jerked at the sensation. “Fucking hell— you taste so good. You feel so good. You’re everything,” he groaned against you.

“Fuck, baby—oh my fucking god,” you cried out. He sucked lazily on your clit while curling his fingers inside you, then sucked harder as he circled your little bud with his tongue. His fingers moved faster, deeper, hitting your sweet spot over and over. You moaned his name between breathless mewls, now gripping his hair with both hands.

Your whole body trembled violently, heat spreading everywhere, your hips grinding helplessly into his face and hand.

“A-Ah! I’m coming—please, please—”

“Cum for me, kitten,” he murmured before sucking your clit again.

Your body snapped tight as your orgasm tore through you. Your mind exploded into blinding stars, pleasure crashing through your nerves so sharply you cried out his name. You trembled uncontrollably as you came against his mouth, your soul unwinding in his hands.

“You’re doing so well for me, sweetie,” he whispered proudly as his fingers slowed, sliding out to softly rub your swollen slit while he kept licking your clit—guiding you gently through every last wave.

You were a sputtering, helpless mess, trembling as he pushed you right to the edge of overstimulation.

As your senses returned in shaky pieces, you felt his fingers slip away from your heat. Your pussy clenched around nothing, desperate and empty. You felt like a fevered storm, soaked from the waist down, dripping onto the sheets, whimpering helplessly.

You needed him. Badly. Your pussy pulsed insistently—begging to be filled again. Begging for his cock.

Your eyes were still closed when you felt your legs being spread open even wider by his strong hands. A loud, broken moan spilled from your lips as Sylus dove between your thighs again, licking a slow stripe up through your folds and teasingly dipping his tongue into your needy hole before traveling up to your clit, spreading you with his wet muscle and sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth.

You practically cried at the sensation, your back arching slightly off the bed. Your whole body trembled, desperate and overwhelmed. You needed more—so much more. Instinctively, you tried to grind your wetness against his lips, chasing any friction as your body shook uncontrollably.

But his arms locked around your thighs, biceps caging your hips in place, holding you still despite your attempts to ride his mouth.

“Taste so good, kitten… could eat this pussy all day,” he growled against you.

The man you loved more than anyone in the universe was between your legs, sliding his tongue up and down your soaked slit. Every soft mewl, every helpless noise escaping your lips only urged him on. His mouth returned to your clit, sucking the nub softly between his lips, savouring every reaction you gave him.

Eventually he leaned in deeper, slipping his tongue into your entrance. He curled it upward, brushing your walls, and the way your fingers bunched the sheets in a tight, trembling grip made him repeat the motion with even more intent.

You were a mess—his mess—a whimpering, needy ruin beneath him. Your hips kept trying to move against his face as breathless moans tumbled out of you uncontrollably. Writhing beneath him, you felt him lick up again, pressing his tongue against a sensitive spot inside that made your vision blur, your hips bucking hard against his mouth. Your thighs clamped around his head as another orgasm drew frighteningly close.

Greed and desperation overtook you. Your fingers dove into his silver hair, tugging harder than before, your hips pushing against his face to force his tongue deeper into your aching cunt.

“Ahh—Sylus…” you moaned, voice breaking. You were so close—you just needed one more push.

You moved your hips against him helplessly, fucking yourself on his tongue as he pressed firmly into that sensitive spot inside you. His thumb circled your clit in slow, perfect circles that made stars dance behind your eyes.

“Be a good girl and come for me,” Sylus moaned against your pussy before plunging his tongue back inside you.

That did it. With the added pressure on your clit and the sound of his deep, commanding voice, you came with a loud, shattered whine. Your vision went white, your ears rang, and your movements against his face turned sloppy and uncoordinated.

Your hips stuttered until the final waves of aftershocks rolled through you. He stayed with you gently, lapping at your release until the overstimulation made you twitch away.

“You did so well, angel… so good to me. So beautiful. And you taste so good. So sweet,” he murmured against your inner thigh, voice thick with praise.

You whimpered softly at his words, gently trying to pull your hips away from his mouth. He grinned up at you, eyes locked with yours as he brought his glistening fingers to his lips.

Your whimpers shifted into embarrassed giggles as he licked his fingers clean, and you brought your hands up to hide your heated cheeks. But Sylus wasn’t having it. He caught your hands and kissed them all over—soft, slow kisses—before pulling them gently down. Then he leaned in, peppering kisses across your nose, your forehead, your cheeks, until finally his mouth landed on your lips with a smile, both of you laughing softly between each kiss.

He pulled back with a satisfied sigh, his expression warm and tender as he reached to touch the side of your neck, tracing his fingertips up and down.

You melted at the gentle contact and pressed a kiss to his thumb when it brushed your lips. Your still-shaky legs wrapped around his hips as you gazed into his eyes, breathless and utterly in love.

“I think I’m ready.”

His breath stilled. “Sure?” he asked softly, as though he was afraid to sway you either way.

“Yes.” You nodded, voice small but sure, and reached between your bodies to cradle his cheek. Your thumb brushed his skin in a tender little stroke that made his eyes soften instantly.

“We can stop at any moment if it becomes too much,” he reminded you in that gentle tone he saved only for you. “I need you to know that.”

You pouted up at him, letting your fingers trace his soft skin. “I know I’m nervous,” you admitted, voice fragile. “But I… I don’t want to stop.”

His expression melted. “My sweet girl,” he breathed, brushing his nose against yours. “I only want you comfortable. If you changed your mind, I would hold you just the same. I would adore you just as much.”

Your chest tightened. Tears welled helplessly at the tenderness in his voice. No one had ever loved you like this. No one made you feel so treasured, so safe, so seen. You wanted him with every trembling beat of your heart, and somehow—and impossibly—his gentleness and reassurance only made you want him more.

You inhaled shakily and lifted both hands to cup his face. He held your wrists lightly, reverently, as if your touch alone steadied him.

“I want to experience this with you,” you whispered, eyes locked with his. “I trust you. I love you with everything that I am.”

The look he gave you then nearly undid you—pure adoration, awe, a devotion that made you feel like you were something sacred placed into his hands. Your cheeks warmed, your heart fluttered, but your nerves eased beneath the warmth of his gaze.

He lowered his head, kissing you deeply—slowly first, then with a growing hunger—as he cupped your face. Your legs tightened around his hips, drawing him closer. You felt his hard cock pressing against your soaked core through the thin barrier of his underwear, and the slow drag of heat made your breath catch.

Letting instinct guide you, you let your hands glide from his jaw down the sculpted lines of his torso, pausing when your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his boxers. He inhaled sharply, watching you with parted lips, his entire body attuned to your touch. When your hands stilled on the band, he exhaled softly and sat back just enough to slip them off.

He dragged the fabric down his legs, tossing it aside. And suddenly he was bare to you—completely, beautifully bare.

Your breath hitched as your gaze roamed over him. He was… breathtaking. And also massive. Thick and long, heavy, flushed with desire, precum leaking from the tip, catching in the low light. Heat surged straight to your still-clenching core as you imagined him filling you—stretching you—yet the sight also sent a tremor of nerves through your belly.

Sylus moved back over you, brushing a soft kiss to your lips, then another. It felt like he was trying to soothe every tremor inside you. “What is this beautiful mind of yours thinking?” he murmured against your mouth.

“H-how…?” you whispered, wide-eyed, cheeks burning.

A quiet laugh escaped him—warm and fond and impossibly gentle. “I promise, angel, I’ll fit,” he whispered, cupping your cheek with his big, warm hand. “I’ll go slow. I’ll take such good care of you.”

You melted into his touch.

He aligned himself with you, the warm tip of his cock brushing your entrance, and the contact made you shiver. Sylus rested his forehead against yours, eyes locked with yours as if grounding you.

You rolled your hips up in a shy, needy motion, wanting to feel him. Slick heat spread as your wetness coated him. A deep, strained moan vibrated through his chest as he moved with you, letting the head of his cock glide through your folds.

“I love you,” you breathed, nudging your nose against his before kissing him softly.

His eyes glowed with a warmth that wrapped around your heart like a promise. “And I love you,” he whispered, sealing your mouth with another slow kiss. “More than anything.”

Your lips moved lazily together, savoring each stolen breath. But soon the kisses deepened, slow turning hungry, your fingers curling against his back while his hands held your hips. Every moment burned sweeter than the last.

Holding his length in one hand, he dragged the head of his cock from your entrance up over your clit—slowly, teasingly. You gasped softly at the sensation, your body arching into him. He circled your sensitive bud with the slick tip, spreading his precum and your arousal together until you were trembling beneath him.

He groaned as he watched you writhe. “You’re so wet for me,” he whispered, voice low and reverent. “So perfect.”

And he kept teasing you, dragging back down to your entrance, then up again—drawing out every soft whimper you gave him like it was a gift.

The thought of Sylus finally entering you — really having him inside you — made your body grow impossibly wetter, a molten ache blooming deep in your core. Sylus swallowed every trembling whine you gave him, kissing you with a hunger that made your head spin, rolling his hips slowly with yours as if he could soothe the anticipation building inside your entire body.

You trembled beneath him, every inch of you alive with need. His body covered yours completely, warm and solid, grounding and overwhelming all at once. You writhed softly, helplessly, yearning for him to fill you, to be inside you so deeply that the world blurred into white.

“I’ll try to go slow, okay, kitty?” he murmured in that low velvet tone, brushing a brief kiss to your parted lips. His hand slid down between you both, curling around the base of his cock as he lined himself up. The head of him pressed gently between your slick folds, rubbing slow, deliberate strokes that sent sparks across your skin.

“P-please, Sylus,” you stuttered, voice breaking beautifully. Your body trembled even harder beneath him. “P-put it in, please…”

He exhaled shakily, clearly as affected as you were, and kept teasing himself up and down your slit — spreading your wetness, feeling you. You arched your back in desperation, a broken whine ripping free of your throat.

“Relax, little kitten,” he whispered against your lips, brushing them again as if he could calm your trembling through touch alone.

His forehead rested against yours. His breath warmed your cheek. And then — finally — he nudged the tip of his cock against your entrance. Your legs quivered around his hips, nerves and need tangling together.

The moment he notched himself inside you, both of you gasped. It was only the tip, but the stretch already stole your breath. Sylus moved so carefully it almost broke you — inching forward as though he was afraid to hurt you, his muscles trembling with the effort of restraint.

A long, fragile whine spilled from your lips as he slowly pushed deeper, and deeper still. He was so big. So impossibly thick.

“Too big, Sy…” you mewled, voice broken and trembling.

Slowly—carefully—he pushed just a little further inside you, his breath warm against your cheek as he whispered, “You can take it, my kitten. You’re doing so so good for me. Such a good little kitten.”

You tangled your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling gently, clinging to him as he breathed heavily above you. His forehead pressed to yours, his warm breath fanning your lips as he inched forward. The sting of the stretch made your eyes squeeze shut, but his slow, deliberate pace kept it from ever tipping into too much.

He pressed another centimeter into you — then another — until your nails dug into his scalp and a sharp gasp tore from you. He stilled instantly.

His hands framed your face, kissing your cheeks, your temple, your lips. “Doing so good for me, kitten,” he whispered between each kiss. “So, so good.”

“Please…” you whimpered, eyes fluttering shut as tears prickled.

He kept moving with excruciating patience, letting you adjust to every bit of him. After a moment, your body began to relax around him, slowly easing into the stretch. You clutched his shoulders, your walls fluttering around him helplessly as pleasure began to unfurl in the pit of your stomach.

“Such a good girl,” he breathed — and your body clenched around him, growing even wetter at the praise.

At last, with a deep, shuddering breath, he bottomed out. A soft, startled gasp escaped you as the head of his cock kissed your cervix. You could feel his precum mixing with your slick, hot inside you, and tears finally spilled freely down your cheeks — a mix of the overwhelming fullness, the relief, the trust, the love, all of it tangled together.

He held you tenderly, lips brushing your forehead as he whispered encouragement, soft as prayer.

When you finally opened your eyes, he was already watching you with deep concern, thumb brushing away your tears. “I’m fine,” you whispered with a shaky smile, nodding. “It’s just… a lot.”

And it was. You felt stretched perfectly around him, filled in a way that made your entire body buzz. As you adjusted, the fullness began to bloom into something sweeter — deeper.

You clenched around him without meaning to, and Sylus groaned low in his chest, his face tightening with restraint.

“Sy…” you breathed, lifting one shaking hand to brush the hair away from his eyes. “You can move.”

His eyes softened into something tender, grateful, undone. When your hips tilted up, inviting him, he let out a deep moan and lowered his forehead to yours again. His lips grazed your cheek as he pulled back just slightly—

Then he rolled his hips forward in one slow, deep stroke.

You gasped, back arching at the sensation. His thrusts were careful, controlled, slow enough that you felt every inch of him dragging through you. He didn’t pull out far — only enough to rock inside you, the movement gentle and intimate and achingly deep.

The sting faded quickly, replaced by a warmth that curled into your bones. Every slow glide had your breath hitching, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your walls fluttering around him with every tender, deliberate thrust.

He kissed your lips, your cheek, your jaw. “You’re perfect,” he whispered against your mouth. “So warm… so tight… so good for me.”

And he kept moving — slow, deep, worshipful — as if savoring every second inside you.

Slowly, you were getting used to his girth, anticipating it every time he pulled out of you before sliding forward again. Your legs were splayed open on either side of his hips as he ground his cock into you. The angle was perfect—so deep, so consuming—that Sylus gradually picked up his pace, leaving you a whimpering, breathless mess beneath him. As he fucked into you with long, languid strokes, the room filled with the wet, desperate sound of slick skin meeting slick skin.

Every time he sank into you, his pelvic bone dragged against your throbbing clit, making you cry out his name in pure, helpless ecstasy.

“You’re taking me so well, sweetie… doing so, so good for me,” he whispered against your skin, his voice warm and adoring as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

Soft grunts fell from Sylus’ lips whenever he hit that specific deep spot inside you. You whimpered as his mouth returned to yours, capturing your lips in a heated, dizzying kiss. One of his hands slipped down between your bodies, finding your clit with practiced ease as he rubbed two slow, deliberate circles over your sensitive nub.

When he slid into a hidden pressure point deep in your core—paired with the relentless way his fingers circled your clit—you clenched around him like a vise. Your eyes rolled back as pleasure surged violently through you, overwhelming and new. Your whimpers climbed higher in pitch as he picked up his pace, fucking you deeper, the sound of his breath growing ragged as he watched you unravel.

“Feeling good, baby?” Sylus moaned, lips curling into a soft, tender smile as he admired the way your face contorted in pleasure—so overwhelmed, so beautifully undone just for him. Filth and praise slipped from his mouth like honey. “This pussy was made for me.”

His mouth covered yours again, swallowing all your little noises, smothering your trembling breaths. The tightness in your belly returned, coiling and pulling tighter with every thrust, every touch, every kiss he gave you.

Your whimpers and gasps grew louder as ecstasy and warmth flooded your senses.

His hands couldn’t get enough of you—sliding over your hips, your waist, your back—touching every part of you like he wanted to memorize it. You whimpered at the speed of his thrusts, feeling another orgasm build rapidly, your legs locking tightly around his hips. He felt it too—the way you squeezed around him with every thrust—so he drove harder into your heat, shifting his hips, searching for the exact spot he knew would shatter you.

Your arms trembled as they wrapped around him, nails digging into his back, earning a deep, helpless groan from him. The coil in your belly tightened, tingling down to your legs—ready to snap at any moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice strained, cursing softly when you purposefully tightened your walls around him. “Bet you’d look even prettier with my cum inside you… all full and messy.”

“Please…” you moaned, your mind hazy with want. “Please, Sy… baby… fill this pussy up.”

He groaned into your neck, fucking you harder, the bed rattling beneath both of you with every desperate thrust.

“You want to cum, sweetheart?”

You nodded frantically, your eyes squeezing shut as you bit your lip, your body trembling beneath him. You bucked up instinctively, nails sinking into his skin as his hand moved back to your clit. His other hand found yours, intertwining your fingers before pinning them gently to the bed. He rubbed your clit with firm, perfect pressure—just enough to push you over.

“Cum for me, kitten,” Sylus demanded softly, his voice a warm breath against your cheek.

And when he nudged that one perfect spot inside you—paired with his deep, commanding voice—you exploded.

You shattered, coming undone so violently it ripped a cry of his name from your throat. Blood rushed wildly in your ears, drowning out the sound of your own sobbing breaths as Sylus crashed his lips onto yours, swallowing every broken noise. Your head fell back, your back arching sharply as your body twisted under the force of your release.

Sylus groaned into your ear as your walls spasmed around him, clenching desperately, begging for him—needing him to fill you.

“Fuck…” he moaned, pushing himself up as he thrust harder, deeper, the head of his cock hitting your spot repeatedly. “You want me to fill this pussy up? Make it all messy?”

You were dazed, trembling, but still able to nod vigorously, whining as overstimulation mixed with need. Your pussy squeezed around him with greedy pulses. “Please…”

His hips stuttered, thrusts turning sloppy as the pleasure overtook him. Then—

with a raw, broken moan—he spilled inside you.

Warmth flooded your core, spreading thickly through your walls as he kept himself buried deep. You whimpered when he finally pulled out, his cum dripping out of you and down your thighs.

Everything was a soft, blurred haze when you came back to yourself. Your body ached, but in the sweetest way—completely relaxed, thoroughly ruined, and glowing with the kind of exhaustion that felt like bliss.

Once both of you had caught your breaths, Sylus leaned his forehead against yours and kissed you tenderly.

“That was…” he breathed, smiling in awe at the beautiful mess beneath him—your hair tousled, your skin flushed, your lips swollen from his kisses.

“Oh yeah… that was amazing.” Your voice came out hoarse, softened by pleasure. You cleared your throat gently and smiled up at him.

Your skin was sweaty and sticky, but he didn’t seem to care at all. He pulled you closer, hands roaming lovingly over every inch of skin he could reach, still dazed by how breathtaking you looked coming apart for him—because of him.

Overwhelmed with affection, you cupped his cheeks in both hands and pulled him down into another slow, tender kiss—soft, deep, and full of emotion.

And that’s how the rest of the night went, tender kisses and soft and intimate touches shared between you two as you enjoyed each other’s company. Feeling so loved and at home as you melted in his embrace.

You’d once thought Sylus was forever out of reach—close enough to touch but impossibly far from claiming. But as his arms tightened around you and his lips pressed another gentle kiss to your forehead, as he whispered your name like a prayer in the darkness, you understood the truth: he’d never been out of reach at all. He’d been yours from the very beginning, just as you’d always been his. You’d just both needed time to find the courage to bridge the distance. And now, finally, gloriously, there was no distance left at all. In the quiet hours before dawn, with moonlight spilling through the balcony doors and Sylus’s heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you finally understood what the poets meant when they wrote about love—this overwhelming sense of rightness, of completeness, of coming home to a place you’d been searching for your entire life.

And as his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back and he murmured sleepy words of devotion against your hair, you knew with absolute certainty that this was only the beginning. That every day forward would be filled with moments like these—tender, true, and entirely yours.

[luvcaleb]

SECRET TIMES: DESIRE.

nsfw (18+). this is the ovulation talking sorry in advance. today's fic will be a bit different than the usual; the entire piece consists of only dialogue (aka filthy filthy indulgent dirty talk). includes unprotected sex, implied marathon sex, squirting, usage of gege, caleb has a breeding kink (what's new). likes and reblogs will be very appreciated!

“...fuck, fuck, you're too tight— ah, fuck, I'm gonna cum, I'm cumming—”

“Shit, I came so much...”

“Hey, keep it all inside. Squeeze that pussy for me. Yeah, that's right... fuck... feels so good...”

“Who knew you would be such a slut? Moaning so shamelessly — mm, yeah, move just like that — I could hear you all the way from my room.”

“You didn't... ngh...! Didn't even close the door properly. I could see you fucking yourself on your fingers and making a mess of your sheets. Just like here, see? So fucking soaked. You act all coy but you're a squirter.”

“Haha, did you just cum again? So cute. You're practically cumming every time I thrust. You like it here? Hm? You like it when I rub your clit? Ah, you squeezed me so tightly.”

“Feels good, huh? Should've fucked you a long time ago if I knew you were such a whore. Every time you bent down and I saw your panties, you drove me crazy. I had to jerk off in the bathroom to calm down. If I knew you liked dick so much, I would've just had my way with you right then and there.”

“You're so messy, pips... I'm covered in your juices. Everything's so sticky. But you like it when we get dirty, right? Come on, cum. Cum, cum, cum... shit, there we go. That's a good girl. I love it when you clamp around me.”

“Stick out your tongue.”

“Mm... ngh... more... open your mouth... you taste so sweet... Wanna eat you out again...”

“Do you want it? Want my tongue licking up your wet pussy again? You came so much in just half an hour, haha. Squealing so much when I hadn't even gotten my cock inside you.”

“Mn... so good, you feel so fucking good... Your tits are bouncing each time I thrust inside, hah.”

“Do you think our neighbors heard us? Heard you screaming my name? It felt so good, right? Ah, ah... I wanna stay like this forever, just cumming inside you... Mn... You feel so good around my cock...”

“Fuck, baby, I'm gonna cum again. Do you want another creampie? Huh? Gege's going to cum inside you. I'm going to cum so hard, you're gonna get knocked up.”

“Ah, hn, fuck, here it comes... gege's cumming inside... oh, fuck...!”

“Shit, my hips can't stop moving on their own— fuck, take every drop of my cum, baby— yeah, that's right, fuck!”

“Open your mouth, hn, ah... mn... ngh... This feels so good... You're so fucking sexy...”

“One more... Come on, don't pass out on me. We can't stop here, we're going all night.”

“Fuck, you're so full with my cum, it's crazy. You're so fucking hot... gege's gonna plug your hole with his cock, okay?”

“Your clit is so hard, it looks like a small dick. Feels good when I rub it, yeah?”

“Your nipples are so sensitive, lemme suck them.”

“Mn... If I suck hard enough, will milk come out? Haha, I'm just kidding.”

“Hn... ahh... so good... you're so good for me... my pretty girl... all mine... Love it when your pussy sucks my cock back in...”

“Haha, you're so loud. You really want everyone to hear us, don't you? Adam lives just beside us, you know. Poor guy's going to get jealous if he sees you bouncing on my cock. He's always had a stupid little crush on you.”

“Hm? Why would I be jealous? I'm the one fucking you right now. I'm the only one you'll be fucking from now on.”

“You liked that, didn't you? You just clenched around me so tight. Do that again, fuck...”

“Shit, princess, you're dripping all over my balls, haha. So damn messy. Since you already ruined the sheets, I'll make you cum so much, you'll turn crazy.”

“Hah, this pussy was made for me... god, you're so fucking cute...”

“Go on, cum. Gege's gonna ruin you until I'm the only one you can think about.”

[notmedicli]

⋆˙⟡ TEACH ME, TRAIN ME, GUIDE ME! ♡ ࿐

about ♱ losing your virginity to the experienced lads men!

pairing ♱ xavier ⌇zayne ⌇rafayel ⌇sylus ⌇caleb [ separate ] x f!r

content warning ♱ virginity loss, slight jealousy/insecurity, a bit of hurt comfort, mentions of blood, possessiveness, slight corruption, innocence kink, body worship, fingering, mentions of oral (f. receiving), heavy pet name usage, unprotected sex, creampie, unrealistic smut, established relationships (except caleb is readers bsf) lowkey plot heavy sorry — MINORS DNI 18+

kit says ♱ so i accidentally made zayne’s angsty … apologies. also this isn’t my best, but i'm still proud of it! i hope everyone enjoys! it’s my longest one so far yayy. feedback + comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated ⭑.ᐟ

沈星回 ⟢ #XAVIER

your relationship had always been soft—gentle kisses, intertwined hands, quiet nights spent tangled together beneath blankets. it was sweet, almost innocent. but beneath that sweetness, xavier’s been aching for more.

of course, he was patient with you, but in truth, xavier’s waited months for this. for the words to slip out of your mouth so coyly with pretty, innocent doe eyes. for you to look at him the way you are now and say,

“xavie… do you think we could… um,” you can barely say the words, a lump forming in your throat out of sheer mortification. “have sex?” you end on a whisper. 

and xavier’s breath catches instantly, a rush of heat pooling low in his stomach. you’re just so impossibly cute that he wonders how he’s managed to hold himself back for so long without pouncing on you. maybe it’s his hand that has kept him sane this whole time. every night, he’d go back to his place, haunted by your sweet voice and pretty face, and stroke himself for hours thinking about you—thinking about the way your tight walls would wrap around him. thinking about how you wouldn’t know a damn thing. 

“a-are you sure?” he needs confirmation. he needs to hear you say it with no hesitation whatsoever. 

and when you respond with a meek nod and, “i’m sure… you know i’ve never done anything like this before and… i want you to be my first. i trust you.”

xavier sees red. his mind blanks, reason slipping through his fingers as a rush of emotion crashes over him all blurring together until he can’t tell one from the other. maybe you’re wrong to trust him. maybe you should run. 

but xavier controls himself and lets his dreams come true. you’re in his bed, tucked beneath him in cute, mismatched lingerie. it’s your first time, and even as he steadies himself for you, the thought fills him with a quiet, reverent joy. you’re his now, and the moment feels sacred. 

your teeth tug on your bottom lip anxiously as he hovers above you—he knows you’re nervous, but he can’t help but feel elated. he’s claiming you tonight… you’ll be completely and utterly his—the way you were destined to be. 

he preps you extensively—rubbing you over your panties, then slipping his fingers underneath the soaked fabric and playing with your untouched clit then finally pushing a single digit into your warm, velvet walls. and you cry, you sob, you moan, every broken sound is some variation of his name and he almost comes untouched. instead, he adds a second, watching your face scrunch up in pained pleasure. 

he gets you right to the edge and when you’re teetering on your orgasm, he pulls them out. he feels his cock twitch wildly in his all too tight boxers when you cry helplessly. he reminds you that you can’t have your first orgasm like this—that it needs to be on his cock and you just nod dumbly, heating up in shyness all over again. 

your panties are off instantly and his eyes zero in on your drooling cunt, watching your barely stretched hole twitch and beg for his cock. he moans at the sight, pinning your legs open when you try to close them shyly under his intense gaze. “no, honey, keep ‘em open so i can see all of you, yeah?”

you arch your back gasping for something to dull the ache in your pussy, “xavier… please,” 

and he nods, panting. he pulls his boxers down, freeing his cock and letting it slap against his bare abdomen and you choke, eyes widening. he notices immediately and your fear shouldn’t turn him on but it does. so much. 

“you ready f’me, baby?” he asks hotly.

you nod, responding with a watery voice. “yeah, please… wanna be yours, xav,”

and xavier is so scared because the moment his cock presses into you and he feels you stretching around him to take him, he knows he’s going to ruin you. he knows he won’t be able to go slow the way you need him to. especially when you’re losing your innocence right before him. 

he’s groaning, self control fraying at your mewls and sobs. “f-fuck, angel… s’tight. squeezing the fuck out of me. rela—hah! relax.”

and your arousal—brought by his face, his moans, his words, his cock— streams out of you and coats his length allowing him to inch in more and more with every passing second. 

“can-can i keep moving, honey?” he gasps, dick throbbing at the new, tight space. “you okay?”

you nod and he parrots, sliding himself in and feeling you tense underneath him before relaxing—or attempting to. he moans, intertwining your fingers before leaning down to kiss you with such intensity you almost don’t notice that he shoves himself in. 

you almost wouldn’t have had his fat tip not bumped right against your cervix causing a scream to erupt into his mouth. 

xavier falters, the control he’s known for unraveling in an instant. his touch turns desperate, almost trembling, and his words spill out between shallow breaths and sloppy kisses. his hands squeeze yours tight enough to hurt as he attempts to anchor himself. 

he lets you adjust… tries to be patient with you as you make all these cute sounds and whimper out his name while your pussy holds him tight. it’s the least he can do.

but when you give him the okay to move? you almost regret it. he pistons in and out of you, releasing one of your hands to sneak his between your bodies and rub at your clit.

“god, you’re so perfect—ah, my perfect stargirl.” he moans, his abdomen tightening up the same way your pussy does when he flicks at your clit faster and faster. “cum for me, yeah? cum all over me.”

you do just that with a cry of his name and it only triggers his orgasm. you both feel his warm seed filling your cunt and it’s so overwhelming for the both of you—moans of each other’s names and heavy panting before he’s collapsing onto your body. 

you’re his. every single part of you. his sweet girl is finally all his. he mumbles into your neck.

“no one will ever have you like this except for me, okay?”

夏以昼 ⟢ #CALEB

you’ve only ever trusted caleb. he’s instilled the fact that he’ll be the only man in your life—the only man who would never, ever hurt you almost from the moment you met. you hurt yourself? you call caleb. you need a ride because it’s pouring rain and you forgot your umbrella? you call caleb. you need anything at all? you call caleb.

…you want to lose your virginity?

well, who else would you call other than caleb?

you don’t call, but text him—too embarrassed to even say the words out loud—and he’s at your door within the hour, breath uneven, brows drawn tight. there’s confusion in his eyes, maybe even a flicker of anger, but beneath it all, something else you can’t quite name.

he bulldozes his way into your apartment and his voice is low when he speaks. “so… you want to have sex… any particular reason?” no niceties. just straight to the point.

you shut the door and face away from him, timidly responding. “‘m just curious, my girlfriends are always talking about their sex lives and you know i know nothing. i just wanted to get it over with, but with someone i trust… so i wanted it to be you.” you babble anxiously. you turn to see him standing there, tense and unmoving with his hands in his pockets. “is that weird? if it is, then we can just forget it, i’ll ask—”

he cuts you off with haste, gritting his words out. “pips, i swear you better not say you’ll ask someone else.” he stalks towards you and the intensity of his gaze on you has you backing up against the door. “i will take care of you like i always do, isn’t that right, baby?”

baby. caleb has called you that before, but in a degrading, teasing way, but it doesn’t seem like he’s teasing. your breath catches at the foreign name, but you nod anyway. 

but a nod isn’t enough for him, you can see it in his raised, expectant eyebrow. he wants you to say it. he needs to hear you say how much you want him. “yes caleb… yes, please. help me?”

then his lips are on yours and he’s pulling you in for a searing kiss. it’s messy—too full of want to be graceful—and for a fleeting second, you’re grateful it’s him. your caleb, your childhood best friend. the very same caleb who once taught you how to kiss is now the one undoing you with his lips.

and caleb is meticulous. he starts with his head between your thighs, lapping at your messy cunt muttering on and on about how a real man will always eat his pretty girl out before fucking her. he has you falling apart on his mouth, his nose, his fingers—over and over and over until you’re a shaking, writhing mess under him. 

now his cock is rubbing up and down your sensitive slit, coating himself in your slick while you twitch and pant. he’s holding onto every bit of self restraint he has left. “tell me what to do, baby.”

you don’t know how, but your pussy craves something it's never had. craves the weight of his thick cock. especially when he presses the bulbous tip of his cock at your entrance. “please… put it inside me. need you to fuck me ple—ah!”

you’re cut off again by the painful stretch of his length finally pressing into you. his thumb catches your clit, rubbing circles into the sensitive bud as a ploy to distract you from the way he rips you apart, but with his size? there’s nothing that can take your mind off the pain. 

you sob and he moans at the sound… the feeling. there’s a lump in his throat almost like he could cry. he’s wanted this for years. he’s wanted to make you his for fucking lifetimes and now he finally has you. he’ll never give you away to any man after today. you’re his forever. 

“hurts…” you whisper, tears free falling from your tightly shut eyes.

his entire body goes rigid as he twitches beneath your vice like velvet walls. “shhh, i know, baby, i know,” he coos, but even his voice is shaky. then he notices the blood, further confirmation that he’s your first… your only. “fuck, i’m almost in, okay? gonna make it feel s’good for ya, promise.”

you nod, breathing the way he instructs you to, discerning every inch that fills your cunt. then he bottoms out, his tip nestled so deep that you feel him everywhere. 

you gasp, “f-fuck, caleb!” your shaking hand splays over your stomach, pressing down and feeling the evidence of him. you find yourself loving the pressure of him inside of you and your body needs more. you know it’s greedy and you probably should let your body adjust to his thick length, but you can’t wait. “more, need more. you promised you’d make me feel good,” you pant. “so please move,”

he laughs incredulously, backing out of your heat just to shove himself back in. “gonna drive me crazy, pips… gonna make me make this pretty pussy mine.” 

and you squeeze him so tight, branding the shape of him into you. because you’ve longed to hear those words from him and you had a slight inkling that he’d been waiting just as long to say them to you. 

your body tightens, a familiar tension coiling deep inside you. it’s a sensation you’ve only felt a handful of times before—all consuming—until the ache in your belly blooms into something electric, something that borders on euphoric. the testimony slips past your lips as a moan as you feel yourself unravelling around him. “caleb…fuck! i-it’s yours… always been yours.”

“that’s right, baby, all fuckin’ mine.”

秦彻 ⟢ #SYLUS

you’ve never given much thought to sylus’s previous relationships. you know he’s experienced. he knows how to kiss you, knows how to eat you out and he knows how to make you cum and cry and everything in between. you also know that kind of experience doesn’t just come out of nowhere. as much as you like to believe sylus was simply born perfect, you know better. someone else must’ve come before you—someone he learned with, practiced with—long before he ever fell in love with you.

the thought of sylus being intimate with someone else left a sour taste in your mouth and made your stomach sink. it’s irrational—you’re hyper aware of that, but it can’t be helped. there’s a big possibility that he was, like you assumed, born perfect and you’re his first partner, but there’s no way to know unless you ask.

so you ask, bold and brave at first but when he gives you a sheepish look, you falter and it’s obvious that his non-committal answer hurts you, even if it’s only a little. 

“sweetie, why does it matter if i’ve had prior partners? none of them could ever hold a candle to you.” he confirms, voice so matter of fact.

there’s still a flicker of hurt in your eyes when you look up at him. “how can you be so confident when we’ve never even had sex? what if all the girls you fucked in the past are a million times better than i am?”

he gives you a look you can’t discern before his hands cup your cheeks, squishing them and laying a chaste kiss lips on your puckered lips. “because i love you, sweet girl. not for your body or for your face— even though i believe you’re the most gorgeous person alive—but for who you are and how alive you make me feel.” and every word rolls off his tongue so confidently, so reassuringly. “sex doesn’t matter to me. i could go lifetimes without it as long as i get to be with you.”

and his words are all the justification you need. you’ve been saving yourself—holding yourself back for the right person, the one who makes you feel safe, seen, understood. sylus has never given you a reason to doubt that it’s him. he’s the one you trust, the one you love. your one. your only. 

you gulp before inhaling sharply and letting a surge of confidence take you over. you push him onto his bed and straddle him, movements a little uncoordinated, but he steadies you like he always does. “don’t want you to go lifetimes without it… i wanna do it.” you whisper. “i want to go all the way.”

he searches your eyes for even the slightest bit of hesitation, but you stand firm on your decision. it makes his cock harden beneath you, digging into your clothed core. you grind against him gently, inconsistently as extra confirmation that you want him and his breath hitches. 

now you’re on top of him, his warm, tender hands rubbing up and down your sides as you hover over his cock. he’s prepped you, of course. sylus spent eons prying you open so you could take him… but he’s still huge and you’re still too tight. 

he looks up and your chest heaving as your arousal drips down his tip. he murmurs to you, “go as slow as you want, baby. we can stop when—shit.” 

he’s immediately cut off by your tight heat stretching over his mushroom head, trapping him there as a moan rips through you. it hurts, he knows it does. his size is one of the other main reasons you avoided having sex. he was just too big. 

“fuck, ease up, sweetie. ‘s gonna hurt if you keep squeezing me like that.” his voice is gravelly, practically a grunt. “let me open you up.”

you nod, determined to keep going, your breaths coming out in shaky rhythm as sylus steadies you with soft praise and gentle murmurs. his words wrap around you like a warm embrace, and with every one, arousal gushes out of you—spilling over, pooling down to where you’re joined, until all you can feel is him.

“you’re taking me so well, baby,” he says, squeezing your hips and pulling himself up to smother his face against your tits. “there’s no one but you. never going to be anyone but you. understand?”

you cry, sliding yourself all the way down until he’s bottomed out inside of you. “yes, all mine,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, feeling so full of his cock and love that you forget about the ache and the pressure. you can only think about him being lodged against your sweet spot causing a knot to quickly form in your stomach, both ends of the sting pulling tighter and tighter until…

snap!

and your eyes are rolling back, your head rids of every word just to cling onto his name in which you repeat like a prayer over and over and over. your pussy convulses, walls spasming as you become mush in his arms. 

sylus resorts to his default smug smile, pulling away from your breasts to look at you, his crimson eyes gleaming with mirth. “you just came from putting my cock inside you, sweetheart.”  

it’s not a question, it’s a statement. a fact, at that. you whimper, nodding, before raising your hips that still have a tremor from your orgasm and sliding back down. 

“w-want you… t’give me everything, sy.” you whimper, digging your nails into his pale shoulders, leaving red crescent shapes in their wake. “want you s’bad it hurts.” he laughs breathily, heart pounding and blood thrumming beneath his skin. “whatever you want, sweetie. it’s yours—i’m yours. take as much as you want.”

黎深 ⟢ #ZAYNE

there’s nothing you want more than zayne to fuck you. yes, you were a virgin, that much was clear, but that never meant you didn’t get urges. you fantasized about zayne for years before he finally asked you out. you refused to go on dates, you refused to kiss other men and you most certainly rejected any advances that were made on you—you could’ve lost your virginity if you really wanted to, but above all, you only wanted one man to have it. your man.  

but even after several weeks of being his girlfriend, he still denies you. he can’t seem to bring himself to go past third base with you. he’ll kiss you, play with your tits, and fuck you with his fingers, but the second you mention going all the way, his hands are off you like he’s been burned. 

you’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting. you always knew he was experienced—he was humble about his ability to work a woman’s body—but that only made his hesitation more confusing. why did he pull away whenever sex with you came up? why did he act like the thought of being with you in the most intimate way possible was something he had to avoid?

you tried so hard not to let it show, to pretend his distance didn’t bother you—but tonight, you’re at your breaking point. the ache for him is one you can feel in your cunt and deep in your bones, a slow, relentless burn that pulls every buried feeling to the surface. all the want you’ve swallowed down for years, all the insecurity and fear you’ve tried to bite back—they’re rising now, thick in your throat, threatening to spill out of your mouth if he didn’t finally fuck you. 

but he refuses, once again with a flicker of guilt in his eyes as he pulls his fingers out of you sopping, needy pussy. “not tonight,” he says thickly. 

and you can’t help it. the tears blurring everything until the warmth of the moment feels cold. what started as pleasure twists into something raw and aching. “do you just not want me or something?” you whisper, words broken and zayne freezes, heart splintering at the sound. “i’ve wanted you for so long, zayne. i’ve liked you since i could even process what the feeling was.”

“sweetheart—”

“i saved everything for you…all my firsts like a fucking idiot on the off chance that you would finally see me, and you would want me… and then i got so lucky and you did want me,” you say, tearily. “at least i thought you did, but now i try to give you all of me and you repeatedly reject me. so what is it, zayne? do you want me or not because i only want to be with someone who does.”

his voice is tight when he responds, hazel jade eyes going dark. “i’ve always wanted you. i’ve never wanted anyone the way i want you and it scares me.” he whispers, sounding pained. “i do want you, sweetheart… more than that, i need you. every fiber of my being needs you and i can’t control it. it’s why i keep saying no… i just can’t bear to lose control and hurt you. your first time deserves to be perfect.”

your breath hitches at his words, pussy weeping at the idea of zayne losing control. you want that. desperately. you take his hands and place them on your thighs, “hurt me, i don’t care. just please… give it to me, zayne.”

and all the self control he’s built over the years dissipates in an instant. his lips are on yours, tongues and teeth clashing with a mixture of spit coating your chins. zayne is both rough and gentle with his movements, hands squeezing at any bit of your flesh he can grab. he’s in between your legs in no time with his cock in his hand, pumping himself and watching how you admire him in awe. 

“tell me,” he pants. “please, sweetheart. tell me how bad you want it.” 

you whimper and shoot him pleading eyes. “i need it s’bad. need you, please don’t make me wait any longer.”

zayne wouldn’t even dream of making you wait. he takes a few deep breaths before pushing into you, instantly met with resistance. you gasp and wince at the stretch, but you welcome the pain and the pressure of him because you’ve dreamed of this for what feels like an eternity. 

you tell him to move despite the evidence of blood and the obvious pain you’re enduring. he’s hesitant, he always is when it comes to intimacy, but you’re convincing when you want to be and, at the end of the day, he could never truly deny you. 

and so he moves, stretching you open, splitting you on his cock while he tries his damndest to keep from completely losing it and fucking you stupid. the truth is, it’s taking everything out of him to be a good man to you. to be the man you deserve. 

luckily, it doesn’t take long for you to adjust to the foreign feeling and the discomfort—slowly, but surely it turned into something tolerable then finally, the feeling of immense pleasure. especially when you snake a hand between your bodies and play with your clit… just like you used to when you would fantasize about this moment. 

you can see zayne is holding back, with his set jaw and his eyes squeezed shut, but that’s the last thing you want.

“don’t hold back, zayne.” you moan and he responds with something short of a whimper. a noise that sounds like it begrudgingly crawled out of his throat. 

“i love you,” he heaves, the words strained like it’s taking everything not to ravage you. he didn’t want to say it like this, but he’s overwhelmed by you—your pussy, your pretty face, your even prettier sounds. he can’t help but let the words he’s been holding onto for so long spill out of him. “love you. i’ve loved you for so long… ‘m sorry for hurting you, sweetheart. so, so sorry.” he falls on top of you, tearing up with his head in the crook of your neck while he continues to thrust into you at a steady pace. 

you wrap your legs around him, drawing him in closer. “and i love you so much,” you whisper, heart in your throat. “i want you to show me. let go and love me the way you want. you won’t hurt me.” 

祁煜 ⟢ #RAFAYEL

the early days of your relationship with rafayel were rocky. you wanted him—god, you wanted him more than anything—but every time your intimacy got too intense, you’d pull away. you’d mumble some excuse about having to go, or pretend something suddenly needed your attention.

you saw the disappointment flicker across his face each time, that quiet look he never dared to question, and it tore you apart because you knew it was killing him. you could see the want… the need for you in his eyes, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to allow things to move further.

it was a cruel loop—you wanted him, you wanted sex with him, but fear always won. fear that you’d be horrible at it, that he’d see you differently, that once you crossed that line, he wouldn’t look at you with the same softness anymore. that he wouldn’t think you were his pretty girl anymore. 

but your distance is wearing him down. rafayel’s trying to be patient, but you can feel it—the way he’s unraveling, the way he wishes he could just crawl into your head and understand what’s holding you back.

rafayel doesn’t do well with distance. he’s prone to spiraling and losing every ounce of inspiration without you, and you’re the rock that steadies him. he needs you, so he invites begs you to come over and your guilt has you obliged. 

but when you arrive and see his entire home lit with candles, you feel your palms clam up and your throat get dry. you blurt your insecurities before he has the chance to even greet you. 

“i want to, ahem… have sex… with you,” you start, awkwardly, cringing at yourself. “but i… can’t. because i don’t think you’ll like having sex with me.”

his brows draw in and a small scowl rests on his face. “you think i wouldn’t like having sex with you? the love and light of my life?” 

“well… yeah?” you say, shrinking under his scrutiny. “what if… i’m too awkward or i’m not actually as pretty as you think i am? i don’t… i don’t want you to not like it. does that make sense?”

“no,” he says flatly. “you know i think you’re the prettiest princess in the world and sea, nothing underneath your clothes could change the way i feel about you. i’m offended you’d think i’m that shallow.” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “you trust me, don’t you?”

you nod slowly, “more than anything.”

“then let me show you how much i adore and worship you.” 

and rafayel is so slow and gentle when he cradles your face and pecks your lips. so tender when he coaxes your mouth open so he can push his tongue in. so sweet when he’s guiding you into his bedroom without pulling away from you. 

your clothes disappear before you can realize it, save for your bra and panties. you feel the need to cover up, feeling overly exposed and vulnerable before him and his darkening eyes. your arms cross over your breasts and stomach and he shakes his head, peeling your hands away from your body and pinning them above your head. 

“don’t… don’t hide from me. i think you’re perfect, you’re so pretty.” he murmurs, keeping your hands above your head before he’s pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck and down your chest. his free hand tugs at your bra until your breasts spill out and his mouth finds your tight, peaked nipple. 

you gasp, arching your back to which he chuckles. “i think your body wants me, princess.”

and it does. he can feel just how badly when his mouth trails down further and finds your cunt dripping through your panties. 

as much as rafayel wants to eat your pretty pussy till you’re squirming and gushing, his cock begs for attention. instead, he pushes his finger into you, stretching you slowly before adding a second finger. he watches you wince and hears your sharp gasp with every little movement. when he deems you ready, he pulls out, watching your pussy gape and hearing your little cry at the loss of contact.

he sits back, little purple strands sticking to his forehead as the heat in the room seems to rise. “we can still stop if you really want to, but i—i need you to tell me now, because…” you notice the way he twitches in his pants and you’re mesmerized by his full body shudder. “i need you… and i won’t be able to stop once i get inside of you.”

you shake your head, meekly. “n-no… i want you.”

it’s the only confirmation he needs before he’s freeing himself from the confines of his pants and you from your uncomfortably sopping panties, tossing everything to the side.

he lines himself up with your drooling hole, dragging the tip of his cock up and down your slit. then he takes a breath and pushes inside your warm, wet walls, and the room is immediately filled with the sounds of your mixed whines. 

s length has your fingers clutching the sheets, knuckles losing color as the fabric threatens to tear beneath your grip. “raf,” you sob, voice breaking as your mouth falls open and your eyes squeeze shut, overwhelmed by the way he fills you.

“does it—fuck, cutie, you’re so fucking tight. gosh, y-you’re gonna ruin me,” he pushes in further, thankful that you’re honey like arousal makes it easier to slip in. “does it hurt? you–you’d tell me, right?”

“f-feels strange… but it doesn’t hurt.” you pant, feeling more and more full with every inch he pushes inside of you. “i’ll tell you if it hurts, just… keep going.”

it’s all the encouragement he needs to sink the rest of the way in, eyes locked on the way you take him—slowly, completely—until there’s nothing left between you. until his skin is against yours and you’re so full of him that he’s all you can think about. 

“you don’t know how long i’ve waited to have you like this.” he murmurs, pulling out before shoving himself back inside. “my pretty girl. you’re finally all mine.”

© all works belong to MEDICLI 2025. do not copy or repost.

[notmedicli]

𐔌 . ˚ IN YOUR FANTASY ┆LOVE & DEEPSPACE ֹ ₊ ꒱

the lads men discover your secret kink when they stumble upon all the x-rated videos you’ve been hoarding on twitter. busted... but why hide it when your boyfriend’s more than willing to take a seat in your fantasy? — wc. 6.1k

STARRING ♱ xavier ⌇zayne ⌇rafayel ⌇sylus ⌇caleb

WARNINGS ♱ X-RATED VISUALS ARE LINKED. must be logged in to twitter/x to view. fem!reader, ungodly amount of pet names, heavy praise — (sylus) free use, bondage, cum eating/swapping, switch!sy, oral (f. receiving) — (zayne) spanking, meanie!zayne, heavy praise, use of good girl, lowk cervix fking — (rafayel) dubcon-ish (?), somnophilia, degradation (use of slut), mean dom!raf, some yandere themes — (caleb) facesitting/fucking, some use of gravity evol, brief mention of insecurities — (xavier) sub!xavier, begging, edging (m. receiving) — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+

KIT’S NOTE ♱ hehe new year, new medicli layout >:3 i hope you all enjoy my first multi hc of the year! if u see any mistakes, no u didn’t! reblogs and comments are so greatly appreciated, i’d love to hear y’all’s thoughts on this :)<3

ᯓ 秦彻 ⟢ SYLUS ˖᯽ ݁˖ — big bf lets you have your way with him #freeuse

sylus shouldn’t pry—this much he knows. there are boundaries that should never be crossed and this? this is one of them. 

your phone is open to a twitter profile. some blank account with an obscure user and the locked symbol next to your name. it’s a private twitter account following 20 people with 5 followers. but it’s the most recent tweet that catches his attention—a man naked and bound to a chair with a blindfold covering his eyes and a woman using him how she pleases.

he picks up your phone with a dry throat and his cock hardening under his slacks. the retweet reads, ugh wish he’d let me use him like this </3

you walk out of his bathroom to see his back facing you and you perk up immediately. “sy, you’re back!” you say, cheerily, but when he turns around with his jaw clenched and your phone that quietly plays the sound of one of the many videos you were watching on twitter moments prior, your smile drops. 

“i didn’t realize you were into amateur adult films, sweetie.” he drawls nonchalantly, like his cock isn’t aching for your touch. but you can sense an edge that isn’t typically there. 

you stammer on an excuse, feeling your face burn in mortification at having been caught retweeting porn on your alt account. “i—it’s… well, i-it’s not what it looks like.”

“yeah? because it looks like you want to use me… just like this.” he stalks towards you and waves the phone in your face, a small smile pulling at his lips. “is that true? you want to tie me to a chair, blindfold me and have your way with me?”

you pull your lip between your teeth, gnawing at the flesh anxiously. you avert your eyes, staring at your sock clad feet before you feel his fingers tip your chin up and force you to look him in the eye. 

“c’mon, sweetheart. you’ll tell me, won’t you?” he murmurs, thumb pulling your bottom lip from your teeth. 

“yes,” you respond, throat dry and voice wavering in lack of confidence. “i want to have my way with you.”

he gives you a wolfish grin and all he says is, “okay then.”

—

you never thought you’d see sylus like this. in a chair with rope wrapped around his torso and one of his silk ties covering his eyes. there’s a permanent smirk plastered on his face and it makes you buzz with excitement. 

“don’t make me wait for so long, kitten.” he drawls, his cock bobbing up and down in dire need of attention. 

you grab his neck, tipping his face up and pressing your lips against his for a sloppy kiss. you push your tongue into his mouth, savoring the deep groan that rumbles in his throat. the kiss doesn’t last long—you pull away just as he starts to get needy, watching how he chases your lips with a growl.

your hand trails down his chest, squeezing at his peck before turning around, back facing him, and grabbing his cock. a small gasp of surprise fills the room right before it’s replaced with the sound of your paired moans as you sink onto his cock. 

“shit,” he curses, the word coming out breathless. his hands itch to grab you and they could if he really wanted to. he could break free from the lousy restraints, but he knows how much you want this and he wouldn’t dare rob you of this experience. 

and you take him like you were made from it, bouncing on his cock, your ass clapping with every thrust. you whine for him, testing his patience. “does it feel good, sy?”

another deep growl fills your ears and shoots straight to your core. “you know it does, sweetheart. what about you, hmm? does, hah fuck, does using my cock like this satisfy you?”

you choke out a sob, sitting on him completely and grinding your hips against him with vigor. “mmhm, you’re such a good boy, baby,” you moan out, feeling his cock throb at the praise. “b-but you know what would make me feel even better?” you ask, voice cracking. 

he tries to thrust into you, but you don’t give him a chance. he’s stuck in this chair with you on top of him so all he can do is pant out a strained, “what?”

“if you—mmm, if you came inside of me,” you whimper. “fuck, sy, please? please fill me up with your cum. want you to shoot it so deep inside of me, please please please?”

your pleas are so desperate, almost as if you aren’t already taking everything you want. as if you aren’t already making his cock twitch and his stomach tighten. as if you aren’t already milking him dry while he lets out a drawn out groan. 

a happy moan rips from your throat when you feel his cum spray inside you, filling you so deep just how you wanted. you let him empty himself, waiting till every drop of cum is spilled into you before pulling off his cock, grabbing a fistfull of his hair and bringing his face to your messy, filled cunt. 

his surprised moan is muffled by your pussy. you figured he’d rip through the rope and push you away, but he happily laps and sucks at your hole, licking up every bit of your mixed arousal that leaks out of you. 

you whine, heat flooding your body as you grind your ass against his face. “y-yeah, eat your cum out of me, just like that, sy,” 

“dirty girl,” he murmurs against your cunt before devouring you whole, the sounds of smacking and slurping and groaning resuming. 

your knees nearly give out, the only thing holding you up is the death grip you have on his silver locks. you jolt and tremble before him and he doesn’t need to see to know you’re close. 

all it takes is a raspy, “cum on my face, sweet girl,” for you to completely unravel, legs shaking uncontrollably as you paint his face in syrupy arousal. you’re reduced to whines and whimpers of his name and sylus just wishes he could see you. 

and his wish is granted mere seconds later when you’re weakly tugging the blindfold off of him, taking his gleaming face in your hand and pressing your lips to his to taste the two of you on him. 

he groans, passing the release into your mouth while pulling on the restraints in a need to grab you. 

“you did so well for me, sy.”

“mmm, thank you, sweetie. and,” his voice drops to a whisper. “next time you want to recreate something… just tell me.”

ᯓ 黎深 ⟢ ZAYNE ˖᯽ ݁˖ — meanie!bf makes you ask for permission to cum #spanking

zayne never uses social media. especially not twitter. but you convinced him to download it so you could send him funny tweets and cute cat videos. he shook his head and downloaded the app just to get you to shut up, but he never actually opened it. 

one rare and quiet day, with nothing on his schedule and you stuck at work, curiosity finally got the better of him. he made an account on a whim, and that’s when he saw it: suggested accounts. yours, right at the top, labeled as someone he “may know.” a small, fond smile curved his lips as he tapped on your profile, warmth blooming in his chest at the sight of your cute icon staring back at him.

but that smile fell just as quick as it came when he scrolled a bit too far and found a quote retweet captioned, “does anyone wish their bf would do this to them too??? :((( being spanked then doted on… sigh.” 

he watched the video with a dry throat and widened eyes. the first thought that came to mind was that you posted this on your public profile—but then he noticed you only had 15 followers. still, he’ll have to remind you of your digital footprint. 

once the initial shock wore off… he watched the video again. is this what you wanted? to be ruthlessly fucked from the back and spanked… by him?

zayne closes the app, clears his throat and throws his head back against the couch he’s sitting on. he pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a shaky exhale. 

if that’s what you want… then that’s what you’ll get. 

—

he waits patiently for you to trudge past the door, trying to keep himself busy with god knows what till he hears it. the sound of your keychains rattling and the click of the door as you unlock it and walk in. 

“hi, zaynie,” you breathe, skipping towards him and pressing a wet kiss to his cheek. one whiff of you and all he can think about is doing all the naughty things you’ve been secretly wanting. his cock aches. his blood thrums. he needs it now. 

“are you okay?” you pull back, concerned by his silence and even more deterred when you see his hardened face. 

when he speaks, it’s low and stern. a voice you’ve only heard a handful of times. “bedroom. now, please.”

you let out a confused chuckle. “what for?”

when he raises an eyebrow at you, you cower, nodding your head and scurrying to the bedroom like he asked. 

it’s nothing like what you expected. you didn’t expect zayne to walk in and strip you bare without a word, didn’t expect him to bend you over the bed and press himself into your tight, waiting warmth. and you definitely didn’t expect his hand to come down hard on your ass—the sharp, thunderous crack filling the room, followed instantly by your startled squeak.

“this is what you wanted, is it not?” he pants, fucking into you with vigor melting at the sound of your sweet, surprised moans. “this is what you were talking about on your twitter, right?” 

your voice comes watery, confused. “wh-what?” you ask, hands fisting at the sheets, your body jolting with every sharp, rough thrust. 

his hand comes down, your other cheek meeting the same fate and it has another desperate moan crawling out of you. “you wanted to, what was it? get spanked and doted on, huh?” 

and then it hits you suddenly—vividly. you remember the video. it was a faceless man taking a faceless girl from behind, ruthless, almost cruel in the way he fucked her. you remember the sharp smack of his hand against her skin, how badly you’d wished it were you and zayne instead. but what turned you on the most—what lodged itself deep inside your core—was the contrast of it all. the way the stranger’s rough, unyielding actions clashed with the softness of his words. the concept of being fucked like a slut while being praised like a good girl. it made you spin. 

it only made you think of zayne. zayne and his large, calloused hands. zayne and his sweet voice. zayne and his cock that stretched and fucked you so good that it makes you cry. 

and you’d be lying if you said the thought of him realizing this… realizing it’s what you’d wanted all along… didn’t make heat pool low in your stomach all over again.

you clench tightly around him, turning your heated face into the pillow that smelled just like him. this only makes him laugh, humorlessly. 

“yeah, you’re remembering now, aren’t you, my darling girl?” his throaty voice only turns you on further. you arch your back and wiggle your ass as an invitation. an invitation for him to give you more. to go hard. “that’s it. good girl.”

you shudder at the praise. “f-fuck,” the curse is whimpered against the silk fabric of his pillow. “fuck, zayne, it’s s-so—god! so deep. feels so good!” you feel him everywhere, but especially in your tightening stomach. you’re already at the precipice of an orgasm and it only makes zayne want to fuck you right to the finish line. 

zayne hums, spanking you again just to hear a giggly moan and it makes his heart want to beat out of his chest. “you’re so precious,” he whispers before his hand laces in your hair and pulls your face away from the pillow. “did you want me to find that tweet, sweetheart? so i could spank you and pull at your hair? so i could fuck you stupid on my cock?”

you don’t bother hiding it. you wanted this more than anything. you craved this more than anything. “yes, yes, yes! please!” 

“gooood girl,” he murmurs softly. it’s a perfect contradiction to the way his cock drives into you, the tip just barely brushing your cervix. it’s too much. you’re wound tight as hell, a dam on the brink of bursting, and zayne feels it instantly.

“you wanna cum?”

you can barely form the words, desperation breaking your voice as you beg, “can i…? please?”

“yes, baby. cum for me,” he grunts, fist tightening in your hair, pulling you into a deeper arch. “come on. cum all over me.”

you shatter almost instantly. your body trembles as you come apart on his cock, a needy, broken moan slipping free while the tight knot in your stomach unravels and you soak him completely.

he doesn’t stop—he only fucks you through it, steady and relentless, before pressing a gentle kiss to your spine. 

“you did so well,” you feel his lips curve into a smile as he murmurs against your slick, overheated skin, “he but we’re not done yet.”

ᯓ 夏以昼 ⟢ CALEB ˖᯽ ݁˖ — bf lets you sit on his pretty face #facesitting 

it was no secret that caleb kept tabs on you. he was very open about it—he has all your post notifications on, he knows where you are at all times, and he always knows what you’re up to. it didn’t bother you in the slightest, he’s always been protective of you—watching over you like it was his life’s purpose. 

but there’s one secret that you keep from caleb. and it’s nothing major, truly! it’s just… an alt twitter account you use to retweet your soft porn. while there’s no reason to keep this from your boyfriend, you don’t have the heart to show it to him. it’s the home of all your fantasies, more than anything, it’s embarrassing. 

even so, the last thing you want is for caleb to know. you’ve done everything in your power to keep this secret. you used an obscure email to create the account, a password with a series of random numbers and letters that he’d never be able to guess and an alias. it was practically impossible for him to trace it back to you. 

one day, you were scrolling on said account, thighs pressed together as you came across a video of a girl sitting on a guy's face, tugging at his hair while she glided across his mouth and nose. all you could think about is caleb—how good it would feel to fuck his face like you were in heat.

it was something you thought about often. you’ve had caleb eat you out before, yes, but you’ve never asked to try this in fear that you’d either A. suffocate him or B. he’d be turned off. 

so you do what you always do, quote retweeting it with a caption that read: “wanna sit on my bf’s pretty face just like this :,(” 

you shut out the app and flop back onto your bed, trying—failing—to chase the thoughts of him away. especially the image of him stretched out against these very pillows and you hovering over him while your arousal drenches his face. you lose yourself in the fantasy, hands sliding down your body in need.

but then your phone starts to blow up—message after message lighting the screen, all from your boyfriend:

caleb ♥︎: baby, are you serious?

caleb ♥︎: is that really what you want? 

caleb ♥︎: you wanna sit on my face?

caleb ♥︎: forget it, I’ll be there in an hour. we’ll talk about this when I see you.

your breath hitches and brows knit in confusion—then it clicks. your tweet. maybe you should’ve been more careful before hitting send. maybe the app glitched. either way, when you open the app again, dread crashes over you as you confirm that you’ve posted it from the wrong account—the account where caleb has your notifications on. meaning he saw it immediately. 

you delete it in a panic, humiliated, praying none of your other mutuals caught it in time. there’s nothing you can say or do to stop caleb from coming over. so you stand, pace, draw in a shaky breath and wait. 

—

caleb lets himself in, shuts the door, and locks it behind him. the talk he mentioned in his text never comes. no greeting. no anger. instead, he strips down to his boxers and climbs into your bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you’re frozen where you stand, lip caught between your teeth, thighs pressed tightly together. when he settles against the pillows, he lifts his gaze to you so calm that it almost scares. he looks at you expectantly.

“well?” he starts. “what are you waiting for? i’m here. you wanted to sit on your boyfriend’s pretty face, did you not?”

you exhale a sharp, nervous laugh, “c-caleb, we don’t have to…” you let shyness take over. “i’ll—i’ll suffocate you. it probably won’t feel good for you either…”

he scoffs incredulously. “come sit on my face before i make you. you do remember my evol, don’t you?”

you barely have time to process it before you feel weightless, a surprised yelp slipping out as he drags you toward him with nothing more than a flick of his hand.

you give in instantly, nodding as you stumble, “okay okay!”

he lets go and watches with hungry, unblinking eyes as you push your shorts and panties down, letting them pool at your feet. you climb onto the bed and crawl toward him slowly until you’re hovering just above his throat, suspended in the tension and your own personal fear.

“caleb, are you sure i won’t be too heavy?” you whisper. 

“i’m sure, baby.” he says reassuringly, his hands grabbing your hips and lifting you till your cunt is just inches away from his face. “come on, sit. lemme taste you.”

you let out a shaky breath and start to lower yourself before you can talk yourself out of it, but his arms hook beneath your thighs and force you all the way down, drawing a satisfied moan from him and a startled gasp from you. your hands fly to his hair, fingers threading through the silky strands as you cling to him, grounding yourself before your strength gives out entirely.

you bite your lip, desperate to keep your moans quiet, but the drag of his nose against your clit paired with the warm suction of his mouth has your resolve shattering. it feels even better than you ever imagined. and when his hands come up to palm at your breasts? his fingers tweaking your nipples? you’re a goner.

“fuck,” you whimper, fingers tugging at his roots hard enough to draw a pained groan from him, though it barely registers. all you can focus on is the way he devours you like he’s starving, the vibration of his moans coursing through your body and lighting your nerves on fire, the relentless grind against your swollen, sensitive clit.

“caleb,” you cry, breathlessly, “ah! feels so good.”

“keep fuckin’ my face, pretty girl,” he moans, the words muffling into your cunt. “wanna taste you cummin’ all over me. you can do it.”

he pulls you onto him harder. like he wants to run out of oxygen. 

and you obey—even if you wanted to stop, you couldn’t. not when you’re this close—not when caleb wants this just as bad as you do. you hump his face desperately, like a woman depraved, chasing your orgasm. you let your moans out freely, high pitched and needy, letting them join the sounds of slurping and smacking.

your body trembles violently, fingers fisting in caleb’s hair as you shatter, a mix of arousal and slick cum painting his face while you squeal his name like a broken record. “caleb, caleb, caleb—” his name is all that exists—all you can cling to at the moment.

he groans into you, relentless, licking and sucking every last trace, his hips lifting off the bed with desperate urgency. his cock throbs in his boxers, twitching with need for a taste of your cunt. 

a sob tears from your chest when he doesn’t slow. “w-wait!” you gasp, legs shaking, body on the verge of giving out. “i’m s-sensitive, ca-caleb!”

“no, baby, please,” he whimpers, raw and earnest. “please let me keep going. you don’t know how bad i’ve wanted this.”

“w-what?” you breathe, dazed.

“for so long, pips,” he admits softly. “just sit there… let me do all the work. please?”

ᯓ 祁煜 ⟢ RAFAYEL ˖᯽ ݁˖ — crazy bf fucks you while you pretend to be asleep #somno

despite his bubbly, sassy exterior, rafayel carried his demons quietly. the kind that kept him watching you—both in real life and through the glow of a screen. the thought of losing you makes something dark twist in his chest. you’re his cutie, his heart, his muse, his entire world wrapped into one person.

he knows it’s wrong to have all your passwords. knows it crosses a line. so he tells himself he’s careful—only checks when he has to, when the ache gets too loud to ignore.

it’s been a while since he last logged into your account, but it’s also been days since he’s seen you. that has to count for something, right? just a quick look. just to scroll through what you’ve seen, what you’ve liked. just enough to feel close to you again.

a smile touches his lips when he sees all the silly tweets you’ve liked. 

but then he sees it. a tweet that looks so out of place in the midst of cute cat videos and senseless jokes. a tweet that reads “gf who pretends to be asleep x bf who was gonna fuck her either way,” along with a video of just that. the smile falls immediately, his lips pressing into a thin line while his brows furrow. 

his darkened gaze catches on the yellow bookmark, curiosity winning out before he can stop himself. the moment he opens your bookmarks aka the little trove of soft porn, his cock hardens. it’s all amateur and intimate, but worse, there’s a pattern. a theme. every two minute video was a girl getting fucked while she slept. fucked. bred. all while she laid pliant, eyes closed. 

rafayel’s eyes drag over the captions again and again, each one making his thoughts spin faster. he loses track of time, an entire hour slipping by as he clicks through every video, cock aching and heart racing, torn between guilt and the thrill curling tight in his chest.

he pictured you like that—lying awake at night, thoughts circling him…his cock… until you finally drifted asleep. he imagined the wetness that pooled in your panties when you drifted off, the way desire followed you even into your dreams. it made something deep in him ache.

how long had you wanted this? with the sheer number of tweets tucked away in your bookmarks, he can’t help but think this fantasy has lived with you for a long time now, growing quietly… patiently.

but why not make your fantasy a reality?

—

rafayel asked you to spend the night, and of course you said yes please. you’d been missing your boyfriend like crazy, and with work constantly getting in the way, time together had become frustratingly scarce.

when you arrived, he’d planned something sweet—movies, cuddling, takeout you both loved. an innocent night in. except you wanted more. every subtle advance you made was met with a gentle deflection. he ignored them all, letting the tension build until you were needy with it. you were wound tight, and he still refused to touch you the way you ached for.

by the end of the night, you felt coiled and restless, yet too perverted to voice what you wanted aloud, especially after being brushed off. so you climbed into his bed with a sulky “goodnight,” a pout tugging at your lips, and tried to will yourself to sleep.

it didn’t come easily. all you could think about was him. your eyes squeezed shut, brows knitting together as the ache lingered, basically impossible to ignore. you were wet beyond belief. and only after you felt slumber slowly pulling at you, you felt your boyfriend press against you.

you felt his hard cock through his pants as he slowly, subtly rocked himself against you with barely steady breaths. your heart raced, holding in the little gasp that’s threatening to spill out of you.

“i saw all the videos you’ve been watching on twitter, princess,” he whispers, rutting against you a little harder, the words hitting just as deep as the motion. “all those videos of girls getting fucked while they sleep… is that what you want?”

both your heart and your thoughts stutter at once. for a split second you think you’re dreaming—but you can feel him, and you can differentiate fantasy and reality. the truth finally settles in as his hand slides beneath your sleep shorts, drifting lower, touching you in a way that leaves no doubt at all. this is real. 

he hums when his fingers are immediately met with your slick arousal. “the idea of getting fucked while you’re unconciouis gets you this wet?”

you swallow the whimper trying to break free and let your deepest fantasy unfold. you force yourself to relax, to go pliant in the way you’ve always imagined this—but the moment rafayel circles your clit, your body betrays you, tensing on instinct.

“this slutty pussy wants me to fuck her, doesn’t she, baby? your body’s practically begging for me…” he groans into your ear, grinding deeper into you. “it would be so bad for me to fuck you while you sleep, though. i’d be such a bad boyfriend…”

you want to scream when he slows down. when he starts to retract his hand like it’s some bad idea. 

“i shouldn’t touch you while you’re trying to sleep.” he murmurs, a hint of amusement threading through his words. 

his hand nearly slips away from your shorts when a frayed plea falls from your lips. “please,” you whimper—and that’s really all the confirmation rafayel needs. he flips you onto your stomach and presses over you like a man starved.

your shorts are barely tugged down and his sweats are pushed just low enough for him to free himself. his hot, thick cock slaps against your bare skin and the contact makes you squeak. he pushes into you, filling you in one deep motion. gasps and moans spill from both of you in tandem, but he doesn’t give either of you time to settle. his hands grip your ass, fingers digging in as your flesh spills through the gaps all while he drives into you relentlessly.

“i knew you were pretending to sleep,” he grunts and it’s barely loud enough to be heard over the sounds of his skin slapping against yours.

you’re breathless when you manage to answer. “h-how?” the question breaks on a whine as his cock drives deeper with every hard thrust.

“i could hear how fast your heart was beating,” he chuckles darkly, never slowing, his pace mean. ruthless. “the way your breathing changed the second you felt me behind you.” his grip tightens as he leans in. “you were just waiting for me to take your clothes off and fuck you, weren’t you?”

you whimper, utterly exposed. “yes…”

“naughty, naughty girl.” he laughs. “should’ve told me you wanted to get fucked while you slept.”

you moan, clamping tightly around him and taking the painful stretch in stride. your back arches for more. like your body needs his cock or you’ll die. the knot in your stomach has been winding tighter all night, waiting for this exact moment, and you’re already embarrassingly close.

“no need to hold back,” he whispers. “soak my fucking cock like the slut you are.”

his sharp words tear a mewl from you, your walls clenching around his cock so tight it steals the breath from his lungs. you break as he drives into you without mercy. you fall apart around him with a beg, “please, please, please—” the word dissolving into a wrecked sob that fills the room.

“good girl,” he breathes. “now go back to sleep and let me have my fun, yeah?”

ᯓ 沈星回 ⟢ XAVIER ˖᯽ ݁˖ — dom!bf lets you edge him and begs you to cum #edging

tara is your best friend in the entire world. the kind of best friend who knows every corner of your life, including the private parts you don’t share with anyone else. especially when it comes to you and xavier.

at first, her curiosity overwhelmed you. her questions were invasive, relentless, sometimes overly embarrassing. but over time, you got used to it. more than that—you started to look forward to it. your weekly dates where you can rant about work at the association and the gory details of your relationship with xavier. 

telling tara everything became its own kind of thrill. the late night giggles when she’d come over, the hushed voices so he couldn’t hear anything while he lived in the apartment above you, the way she’d squeal or gasp at every insane detail. it felt good to have someone who wanted to hear it all.

you’d even told her about wanting to try something new with him—something you were pretty sure he’d never agree to. you wanted xavier to be the one begging you for once. he was always so dominant in bed that the idea of flipping the script… of him giving in and taking everything you had to offer, felt almost absurd… which was exactly why you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

you remember when you saw the video of your ideal fantasy on twitter. a video of a guy being dominated by a girl. she made him beg for permission while she rode him and all you could think about was him. how cute he’d be with his blushy cheeks and the yearning look in his eyes. how pretty he’d sound whimpering out pleas and begs to cum inside of you. it shook you to your core. you saved the video to your bookmarks immediately and came back to it from time to time just to fantasize. 

the night after you told tara about said fantasy, you decided to send her a visual, just so she knew exactly what you wanted. it’s not like you wanted to tie him up, you just wanted to watch him break underneath you. 

@/starringmc: this is exactly what i want to do to xavier!!! 

you hadn’t heard anything from tara for a while. you half expected her to open your dm immediately. she’s basically chronically online whenever she’s not on a mission or training, but there was nothing. 

a knock at your door pulls you from your scrolling, brows knitting as you get up to answer it. when you swing the door open, your breath catches. xavier stands there, cheeks flushed, posture oddly sheepish.

“xavier? come in.” you step aside automatically, shutting the door behind him before turning back, confusion etched across your face. “what are you doing here? did we have plans?” worry slips into your voice.

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he lifts his phone and turns the screen toward you—the twitter dm meant for tara, unmistakable.

your throat runs dry. heat rushes through you, mortification blooming in your chest, your face, the tips of your ears.

“i-i can…” you start, words tangling as his gaze pins you in place. “i can explain?”

he cocks his head to the side and asks. “so you don’t want to do this to me?”

“no! i mean—y-yes, but i… i just didn’t mean… i didn’t mean to send that to you.” you splutter. “this is not how i envisioned telling you that i wanted to try something like this. i’m sorry.”

“let’s do it.” he says, tossing his phone on your couch. “let’s recreate it—i want to.”

—

xavier sensed you were nervous. it took you a minute to fully get into it—the headspace, the dominance, but you eventually got there and he believes it’s the sexiest you’ve ever been. 

you sat on his cock, slowly grinding against him like you were trying to tease him. your hands gripped at his pecs, palming and squeezing them in a way that made him breathless. 

it was a struggle… to let his guard down, to let you dominate him. his hands were on your hips and he urged you to move faster. he wanted you to bounce on his cock till he came, but you said no. 

“beg for it.” you whisper. “i won’t move the way you want me to unless you beg.” 

he whimpers, the beg slipping past his lips all mumbly and cute—just the way you imagined they would. “please. please, go faster. i want you to go faster.”

you hum, delighted, your walls hugging him nice and tight as his words shoot straight to your core. you kindly oblige, lifting your hips and dropping them to which xavier lets out a blissed out moan. his brows knit in the utmost pleasure and his eyes flutter close. 

his hands slide up to your waist, gripping you tight and holding you in place while his cock rams in and out of you. you let out little squeaks with every thrust and it only makes his cock throb intensely, loud whimpers following your sounds in suit.

he tries to hold back. to not get so close, but he can’t help it. you look so pretty riding him with your tits bouncing in his face and your pussy tightening around him like a vice. it makes him twitch frantically. 

and you can feel it. the way he jerks and shakes—you know he’s close. you find it oddly endearing…how he’s been reduced to this, but you bite back the smile and school your features into something firm instead. “don’t cum,” you warn quietly. “you can’t cum… not yet.”

his hands still you, keeping you grounded and speared on his length as he begs for permission. “fuck, please—please let me cum.” he pleads, voice broken. 

“no, not yet.” and the sound it pulls from him makes your chest ache—the choked, desperate sob torn from his throat at the denial, raw enough to make your heart constrict. “keep fucking me, xavie.”

he shakes his head incessantly, “i c-can’t, baby—fuck, i’ll–i’ll cum!”

“you can hold it.” you say, breathlessly, resuming your wicked motions. “be good ‘n fuck me faster.” 

he clenches his teeth, pounding into you just the way you want. his hips snap against you with vigor while his cock helplessly throbs. he wants nothing more than to press deep inside and spill his load into you. 

“i wanna cum, please, please, please. baby, please—i’ll do anything.”

you can’t resist him… his pretty face, his sweet voice. you offer a saccharine smile, lean in so your lips ghost over his and whisper. “cum inside of me, xavie.” 

a loud, relieved groan slips out of him, his hands grip on you bruising as he pounds into you before he stills. his tip kisses your cervix before he’s pouring his hot, long awaited release into your cunt. 

he crashes his mouth against yours, allowing you to swallow his moans as his arms wrap tight around you. he pulls you flush to his chest before he rolls you beneath him, hard cock still pressed inside of you. you squeal into the kiss, breathless and startled as the world tilts.

when he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless, foreheads pressed against one another. you catch the darkness in his eyes, the heat flushing his cheeks, the way restraint is barely holding.

“can i make you beg now?” he whispers, voice low. then, softer… much more vulnerable, “please?”

© all works belong to MEDICLI 2026. do not copy or repost.

[luvcaleb]

SECRET TIMES: DESIRE.

nsfw (18+). this is the ovulation talking sorry in advance. today's fic will be a bit different than the usual; the entire piece consists of only dialogue (aka filthy filthy indulgent dirty talk). includes unprotected sex, implied marathon sex, squirting, usage of gege, caleb has a breeding kink (what's new). likes and reblogs will be very appreciated!

“...fuck, fuck, you're too tight— ah, fuck, I'm gonna cum, I'm cumming—”

“Shit, I came so much...”

“Hey, keep it all inside. Squeeze that pussy for me. Yeah, that's right... fuck... feels so good...”

“Who knew you would be such a slut? Moaning so shamelessly — mm, yeah, move just like that — I could hear you all the way from my room.”

“You didn't... ngh...! Didn't even close the door properly. I could see you fucking yourself on your fingers and making a mess of your sheets. Just like here, see? So fucking soaked. You act all coy but you're a squirter.”

“Haha, did you just cum again? So cute. You're practically cumming every time I thrust. You like it here? Hm? You like it when I rub your clit? Ah, you squeezed me so tightly.”

“Feels good, huh? Should've fucked you a long time ago if I knew you were such a whore. Every time you bent down and I saw your panties, you drove me crazy. I had to jerk off in the bathroom to calm down. If I knew you liked dick so much, I would've just had my way with you right then and there.”

“You're so messy, pips... I'm covered in your juices. Everything's so sticky. But you like it when we get dirty, right? Come on, cum. Cum, cum, cum... shit, there we go. That's a good girl. I love it when you clamp around me.”

“Stick out your tongue.”

“Mm... ngh... more... open your mouth... you taste so sweet... Wanna eat you out again...”

“Do you want it? Want my tongue licking up your wet pussy again? You came so much in just half an hour, haha. Squealing so much when I hadn't even gotten my cock inside you.”

“Mn... so good, you feel so fucking good... Your tits are bouncing each time I thrust inside, hah.”

“Do you think our neighbors heard us? Heard you screaming my name? It felt so good, right? Ah, ah... I wanna stay like this forever, just cumming inside you... Mn... You feel so good around my cock...”

“Fuck, baby, I'm gonna cum again. Do you want another creampie? Huh? Gege's going to cum inside you. I'm going to cum so hard, you're gonna get knocked up.”

“Ah, hn, fuck, here it comes... gege's cumming inside... oh, fuck...!”

“Shit, my hips can't stop moving on their own— fuck, take every drop of my cum, baby— yeah, that's right, fuck!”

“Open your mouth, hn, ah... mn... ngh... This feels so good... You're so fucking sexy...”

“One more... Come on, don't pass out on me. We can't stop here, we're going all night.”

“Fuck, you're so full with my cum, it's crazy. You're so fucking hot... gege's gonna plug your hole with his cock, okay?”

“Your clit is so hard, it looks like a small dick. Feels good when I rub it, yeah?”

“Your nipples are so sensitive, lemme suck them.”

“Mn... If I suck hard enough, will milk come out? Haha, I'm just kidding.”

“Hn... ahh... so good... you're so good for me... my pretty girl... all mine... Love it when your pussy sucks my cock back in...”

“Haha, you're so loud. You really want everyone to hear us, don't you? Adam lives just beside us, you know. Poor guy's going to get jealous if he sees you bouncing on my cock. He's always had a stupid little crush on you.”

“Hm? Why would I be jealous? I'm the one fucking you right now. I'm the only one you'll be fucking from now on.”

“You liked that, didn't you? You just clenched around me so tight. Do that again, fuck...”

“Shit, princess, you're dripping all over my balls, haha. So damn messy. Since you already ruined the sheets, I'll make you cum so much, you'll turn crazy.”

“Hah, this pussy was made for me... god, you're so fucking cute...”

“Go on, cum. Gege's gonna ruin you until I'm the only one you can think about.”

[wetforsylus]

Mistakenly Yours | 秦彻

☆ summary. sylus was struggling to find love, while you were struggling to be loved. even after being recommended a dating app by your friend, you still managed to get rejected – until, one wrong swipe made you... find your match?

pairing. sylus x fem!reader

warnings. virgin!sylus, neighbour!sylus, dating app, luke and kieran mentioned, bad flirting, fluff, first times, kissing, oral (f! receiving), car oral sex, p in v, pussydrunk sylus, overstimulation, porn with some plot, creampies, marathons, loud sex, pet names, dirty talk, learning to love (in bed), confessions

wc. 6.3k

a/n. happy 3 months to this account? here’s a little something i tried cooking up </3 if theres mistakes please don't mind, okay?

Your dating life was a mess.

Well, that’s exaggerated. It was fine when you thought you were with the right people. But when they leave you months later, the thought of finding someone new starts to sicken you. 

When you complained to Tara about it, she only consoled you. She told you about the worst in men and how you shouldn’t spend time with them, and instead you should focus on yourself. But you’ve been past that stage. You just wanted someone who wouldn’t leave you.

“Honestly, what else could work? The bar is horrible, and the club is even worse.” Various complaints left your lips and Tara didn’t have a definitive answer, she just sighed at your fuss and tapped on the table, trying to think of a response.

A moment of silence passed between the two of you. The shuffle of Tara’s clothing was the only thing filling the secluded room, making the scene even more awkward. Before you were going to change the topic, Tara spoke.

“How about this, try a dating app.”

You lift your head out of your arms and stare at Tara, confused. Tilting your head to the right, raising an eyebrow, the recommendation having piqued your interest. “Dating app? Aren’t those only for good fucks? Never seen anyone go past a month with their relationship using an app.”

Tara giggled at your response and shook her head, “Trust me, there are some people who’ve gone past a month, they’re probably married now. Why don’t you give it a try?” 

You let her words sink in. Was it really going to work? Honestly, you haven’t tried a dating app because of the reasons you said, and you were worried you’d fall into the same loophole of someone loving then leaving you. Taking this idea to consideration, you decide… maybe it wouldn’t be bad to try, just one time.

-

“Sylus!” Luke cheered, skipping in Sylus’ room, stopping meters away from the man who was currently fixing his vinyl collection.

Sylus acknowledged Luke’s presence and hummed, lazily staring at the twin with a raised eyebrow. “What is it?” 

“Aren’t you getting bored here?”

Sylus scoffed. “Bored? No? I’m doing fine.” 

Luke huffed and crossed his arms, “No you’re not. I think it’s time for you to find someone. This apartment is practically collecting dust. Kieran and I have nothing to do.” 

“Poor you. Should I send you off to another family so you could get the ‘entertaining’ life you want?”

A defeated sigh left Luke's lips and he knew he shouldn’t argue further, but it was genuinely getting to a point where he wanted someone new to enter Sylus’ life. A mechanical bird and twin brother wasn’t enough. A deep gut feeling inside him, knew that Sylus was feeling the exact same way. 

“How about you go to a club tonight?”

“Not interested.” 

“Karaoke? Maybe you could find a singing partner there?” 

“Already got that at home, no?” Sylus sighed.

“How about the woman downstairs?” 

Sylus stayed silent, hesitating to say something. Before words could even utter out of his lips, Luke, thankfully, interrupted him.

“Okay, if not that… Then how about a dating app?”

“Dating app?” The words slid off his tongue in a questioning, there was a bemused lilt in his voice, he couldn’t tell if Luke was serious, or joking. 

Luke nodded eagerly, finally catching Sylus’ attention. Before he was going to go along his script he had planned, Sylus shook his head. 

“Sounds childish, I don't think the relationship would last long.” 

“What- Come on, at least hear me out! You never know until you try?” 

Sylus shut his lips and considered hearing him out, or he could just leave his room and move along with life, totally forgetting this conversation. So when Sylus stayed still, not moving an inch of his body, Luke silently cheered to himself and started speaking.

After the painfully long lecture, Sylus learned nothing except for the basis on how the app works. Unfortunately he fell into the so-called trap of learning “how a dating app actually helps you get a partner.” and instead of getting factual information, here he was, filling the last few parts of his profile. Damn you, Luke. 

“Aand… done.” Luke patted Sylus’ shoulders and stepped back, a menacing grin flickered on his lips and Sylus couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Alright, so now I start swiping? Left means no, and right means yes. Correct?” 

“Yup! Told you my lecture was great.” 

Sylus shook his head at that awful excuse because he only just found that out in the middle of Luke teaching him how to set up his profile. Either way, he averted his eyes back to the screen and looked at the profiles which were nearly begging to be swiped.

“I’ll let you know how it goes, see you later.” 

A nod left the twin and he waved goodbye before closing the door shut. And Sylus swore he heard a little “good luck” stumbling away from him.

Yeah, he hopes he finds someone. 

-

Swipe after swipe, you were getting tired. This was probably the worst thing Tara has recommended to you. In the past hour you were on this app, you could've walked to the club, hit up someone, and ended up in their bed moments after talking.

But no. Every swipe right to the nice profiles left you with no match, and it was getting frustrating. As you were on your last few swipes of the day, you carefully considered the last few profiles. 

One profile showed a beautiful lavender eyed man posing in his pilot uniform and he looked good, great actually, he caught your eye. But fuck, when you swiped right and expected the words ‘its a match’ to pop up on your screen, disappointment washed all over you. 

“Ugh.” 

You were on your final two swipes. And you had a plan. The next profile, which was the one you were on right now, you’d swipe right, in hopes that it's a match, then the last profile you would swipe left. Simple. So your finger hovered over the heart as you quickly examined the man's profile.

A beautiful artist around your age, posing with his canvas while the light glistened on him, reflecting his pretty purple hair, and flawless skin. You were totally starstruck. As you admired his picture just a little longer, getting ready to swipe, the sound of a phone call alerted you from your daze and your finger slipped.

“Shit,shit,shit!” 

Panic boiled through your whole body and you groaned in annoyance, slapping your forehead, not even caring that the next person was going to get swiped right. Without staring at your screen, you let your head stay buried in your curled arm and just used your thumb to swipe right.

Then…

A beat of silence echoed through the room, the light buzzing blared louder and louder. You were worried to check your phone. Expecting to see another rejection, you lift your head to see the words ‘its a match’ on your screen.

“Huh?” 

-

“Hey. Luke, Kieran.” Sylus called out, beckoning for the twins to come his way. 

Luke nodded and stopped meters away from Sylus, asking what was wrong. Sylus sighed and showed his phone, the notification of him having a match popped out to the twins, practically glowing in their faces like it was a beam of light. 

“Oh! You got a match?! O-”

Kieran nudged Luke's shoulder and he cleared his throat, “Glad you got a match but to actually go forward in the relationship, you need to text her first. Do you know who it is?” 

Sylus rested his finger on his chin, examining your profile but he can’t seem to pinpoint who exactly you were. There was some familiarity with your looks, he felt like he’s seen it somewhere. 

The twins asked to show the profile and Sylus handed his phone over, watching their reactions intently, and then both of them, just like the twins they were, reacted the same way, like their brain was connected. 

“Oh, that’s that neighbour downstairs. Didn’t you talk about her when we moved in?” 

Sylus’ expression didn’t change much, but it was surprising. He wondered if you recognized him too. “Small world huh.” The twins laughed at his response and handed his phone back, instructing him to text you first instead of straight up going to your door. 

When Sylus soaked in the heavy instructions they gave, he hesitantly headed over to the chat and sent something quick.

me: Hey.

-

You stared at the message, hovering your fingers over the keyboard, trying to figure out the nicest possible way to say you never meant to swipe right on his profile but nothing was clicking to you.

So instead you play along.

me: hi! hru?

sylus: Good. When will you be free so we could plan a date?

The question lingered for a moment and you checked your calendar, any day should be fine. So that's what you tell him. He surprisingly responds quickly, and his responses were professional which made you second think about playing along.

Another thing about this man was that he was, fortunately, really good looking. And you were still in denial that the two of you were a match. 

The conversation went along for a few more minutes before he had to go. You both planned a date in a few days, and you were actually excited.

But when you reached closer to the date, you were starting to get nervous. You didn’t even know what to wear, and Sylus happens to take you to the most expensive place, which was pretty strange for a first date from someone you met online. 

Either way, you called Tara to help you and thank god she was supportive about it. It only took around twenty minutes to get a good outfit. Perfect. Now you have to wait for the day to actually come. 

As you were packing up your outfit a bzzt alerted through your phone and you checked to see who it was, and lo and behold it was Sylus. What a coincidence. 

sylus: Need your address to pick you up. Please send it when you can.

You quickly send your address but an idea sparked above your head like a light bulb. Maybe a little teasing and joking around would make this man more interested in you. Even though you weren’t sure of his true feelings about you.

me: there's my address, come early if you want ;) 

sylus: Will do.

You raised an eyebrow at his response and you weren't sure if he was agreeing because he needed to, or.. was it because he didn't catch the wink? You scoff, about to switch off your phone until another text flashed at you.

sylus: Also, I think it’s time we get each other's numbers. So also send that when you can.

“Oh?” 

After only four days of talking back and forth on the dating app, the thought of exchanging numbers didn't cross your mind until he mentioned it. A stupid grin creeped up your lips as you typed out your number and sent it. 

Unknown number: Hi. 

That was fast. 

me: just wondering what time you’ll be at my place tomorrow?

sylus: You said come early, so don’t be surprised when I show up in the morning.

You laughed at his joke and was about to type out a snarky response, but his text bubbles appeared again. You let the little dots bob up and down for a moment and watched intently. What could he be saying now?

sylus: See you tomorrow, neighbor.

-

Neighbor? 

The thought of meeting your neighbor on a dating app was something you didn’t even think would happen. Yes, there was a part where you could see how far the person you matched with was, but it didn't specify that Sylus was extremely close to you. 

Now you were thinking about this whole thing. It wasn’t like you saw him anywhere on your floor, or matter of fact, anywhere in your apartment building. He must've moved in recently? Hundreds of questions circled your mind and you tried to look at his picture again, trying to remember where you last saw him… but…nothing. 

The sun peeked through your blinds, creating rays of light blinding you as you got up to get ready. But your worst nightmare happened. 

Knock,knock,knock

You weren't even ready yet?!

This man was unfortunately true to his word and actually came to your house early! You slowly crept to the door with wrinkled pyjamas, hair looking like you walked through a tornado.

Your hand rests on the doorknob and you pull it open to see Sylus all dressed up, looking lavish, and expensive, and you were so close to shutting the door in his face, in embarrassment.

But no, you instead greet him like you were also ready, letting him in your humble abode. 

“Came too early?” Sylus chuckled, walking around your little apartment, as he toured himself around before sitting on your couch, crossing his legs and throwing his head back.

“This is gonna be a long morning, it’s a shame the date starts at six.” 

You head over to your bedroom, about to walk in until you paused in your tracks, “you can always come back later, since you surprisingly live close.” 

“Mmh..” 

A beat of silence sparked between the two of you and the idle man's body suddenly twitches back alive and he shrugs, “don’t worry. I’ll wait.”

Of course you will.

-

Once you got finished getting ready, Sylus was still on the couch in the same position, except this time, his eyes were closed and the tv was playing in the background.

He was already comfortable? That was cute.

You strutted over to Sylus and tapped his shoulder. His eyes fluttered open and he quickly checked the time on his watch.

“We got a bit of time, would you just want to go early?”

Your eyes flicker down his outfit and you completely forget what he said, it was so confusing to understand your feelings for this man, like you said, you didn’t know if he was sincere with his feelings either. So you just nod to whatever Sylus said and he just chuckled. “Alright, let's go.”

You take his hand and walk out of your apartment together.

On the drive to the restaurant, Sylus mentioned how he lived in the penthouse above your place. So that's why you never saw him. Well, from his extravagant looks, you could tell he didn’t live on your floor. Either way, the rest of the conversation ran smoothly, you both talked comfortably and you also found out Sylus had two kids and a mechanical bird, great.

You reached the restaurant earlier than expected. Hopping out of the car, you both walk in and, as if everyone knew Sylus, without needing the name for reservation, the waitress took you both to your table.

When you got seated, got your food, you felt a shift in the air. It wasn’t the place in general. Even if it was way too fancy for your likings, there was something off in the atmosphere. Glancing at Sylus who was still eating, he glanced back at you, chuckling.

“So...What made you get this dating app?” 

“I complained to my friend about how every man leaves me and I can't find someone that could stay. So she actually recommended I try using a dating app.” the words left your lips, hesitant. You didn't know why you were worried to even say this to him.

“Ah,” Sylus tipped the fork on his lip, thinking about what to say next. “Do you think I'll do that?” 

You ponder the question for a minute. Realistically, you’ve met him around five days ago so you didn’t know his true intentions. Would he seem like the type of person to leave you after months of dating? From his looks, he looked intimidating. But his actions were totally different. He was a green flag at first glance, yet again, that could just be to impress you.

As you think harder about it, a brief moment of silence flickered between the two of you. The tension starts to rise, creating a force of heat tugging the two of you closer. Just as you were about to say something the unexpected happened.

Sylus chuckled. 

Chuckled? Laughed? A bark of a sound left his lips and you stare at him dumbfounded. “Whats wrong?” the question slid out your lips in concern. Just now, you were seriously thinking about his question and before you even got to answer, here he was, laughing.

“Don’t worry, sweetie.” He caught his breath putting a piece of food in his mouth, slowly chewing on it as a subtle smile stayed glued on his lips. He finished chewing, and looked up at you, a teasing glint flickered in his eyes and he continued. “I was just teasing, I don't think I'd do that to you. Honestly, I never had anyone before so this is my first time.”

“Never?” 

“Never.” 

But you thought he had experience, well from his looks it looked like he had experience. But you guess you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. 

It was cute though. Alluring, like he was doing it on purpose. 

“But since it's my first time I want to learn and..." he paused. "teach you.” he was careful with his words. He quickly dabbed his mouth then stared at you with the same gaze you could drown into, forever. Anyway, question lingered in your mind for a bit, it was strange how he already had this effect on you. 

“Think about i-”

“I’ll do it.” 

Sylus’ eyes widened and then he smirked. Your eyes flicker to his lips for a moment and then, before either of you could say a thing, the waitress came over with the check. Check already? Time was awfully going by too fast. 

When Sylus paid for the early dinner, you both left the restaurant with a feeling of a string pulling you both closer and closer. The tension was unbearable, you couldn’t handle it. You needed more.

When you both headed in his car, the moment he closed the door, the deafening silence lingered for a moment, just a moment before the jingling of keys broke it. You glanced at Sylus, fidgeting your fingers before looking back at the window. He hadn't started the car yet.

The question in the back of your mind creeped closer to leaving your lips. “What would you like to learn first?” 

Sylus, who was about to turn the key to start the car, froze. You assumed he didn’t have an answer yet so you signaled him to just drive. But he didn’t listen to you. Instead, he just avoided your gaze, muttering something under his breath. 

“Hm?” 

Sylus looked back at your eyes, a hint of desire sparked in it, you noticed his pupils dilating in and out, slowly. “How about we start with a kiss?” 

You stifle a laugh and Sylus looks at you with confusion.

“What's wrong with that, sweetie? Didn’t you say you’d help me learn?”

Your laugh got cut off when Sylus magically leaned in closer, his face was just inches away from yours, so close, way too close, you could just kiss him right at this moment. But you held back, keeping eye contact with him. 

His breathing started to get uneven, you didn't know if it was because he was super close to you, or was it because he was nervous? The signals were everywhere and you couldn't seem to read him properly.

“I did say I’d help you learn.” you mumble, inching closer, lips ghosting over him, “just a kiss, okay?”

Sylus gulped, and nodded and then, the patience he was saving couldn’t be held forever. He caught your lips with his. Surprisingly he was a good kisser, really good for his first time too. His hands found their way to the sides of your face and he cupped your delicate skin, pulling you closer, capturing more of your taste.

He already seemed addicted to you. His kisses grew more desperate, more eager, he needed more. He was practically devouring you like you were a five course meal. Even if he was stuffed having dinner with you, there was still enough space for any part of you. 

Sylus pulled away, leaving a trail of saliva following your lips, as his steady breaths mingled in the crowded car, you continued to stare at him with desperation filled in your gaze.

His eyes flickered to your lips once more. And, without starting the car, again, he initiated a second kiss. This time, he lunged himself further against you, almost collapsing on top of you. His large body shadowed over yours, making the secluded car you were in, even more crowded.

Sylus cradled one of his long legs against your hip, soon doing the same with the other. His tongue drags along your skin, sloppy, wet, desperate lips latching onto you like you were a lollipop. His kisses draw lower, peppering on your neck, soon trailing down to your collarbone, then your chest, and then your stomach. But that's where he stops.

His nose nuzzled against the fabric of your clothing which was slowly tearing apart by the second, his hands linger on the draped fabric and he slowly tugs on it, capturing your attention. You look down at him with an amused grin and he only chuckles in response.

“Teach me…” he whispered, snaking his fingers to the waistband of your pants, lightly tugging at it before continuing,  “teach me one more thing.” 

“Like what?”

“How to kiss..” he then kissed on your lower stomach, darting his tongue, dragging lower, then he stops. Gazing at you with hunger fuelling his eyes. “Over here.” 

-

“N-ngh- good, yeah-”

“Tastes so good..” Sylus groaned, latching his lips back to your sweet pussy, drinking and kissing you up. Words leave your lips in a slur, you nod repeatedly to whatever Sylus said, throwing your head back trying to ignore his tongue dragging along your slick, teeth grazing against your skin, and his heavy breaths, breathing down your clit, making you shiver.

“S-Sylus don’t you thi-nnkk- hngh-” unable to utter any words, Sylus plunges himself deeper. His hands gripped on your thighs tighter, causing handprints imprinting in your skin. 

A low growl left his lips, vibrating through your body, making you moan, loud. “Think what, sweetie?” he mumbled against your heat, quickly glancing at you before devouring you for a second time. You couldn't even get a chance to breathe, speak, or move. He was on you like an animal.

“Think the car is too- crowded?” 

Sylus laughed, “think so? Hm… Should I pull your seat back for more space?” he teasingly glides his hand along the seat you were sprawled on, tugging at the knob at the side and in a blink of an eye you were yanked back. 

The thud of your head hitting the headrest echoed through the car and a loud yelp left your lips. Sylus didn’t waste anymore time–now that he had even more space–before sinking his head between your quivering legs, latching his lips onto yours, sucking up the last drops you had left.

You clench around him, fluttering against his parted lips, feeling yourself closer and closer to cumming. Gripping the seat, nails digging in the tough fabric, you throw your head back, bucking your hips against his working mouth.

“Thaats it..” Sylus mused, gulping against you, feeling your sensitive heat pound against him, making his eyes roll back. “Let yourself go.”

Stuttered, broken moans skipped out of your lips and your hands made their way to Sylus’ hair, fingers sliding in his silver locks, holding onto them as you rode out your excruciating orgasm. 

A pleased hum left Sylus' lips and he smiled against your inner thigh, kissing it before lifting his head to look at you. 

You chuckled at his poor attempt at being innocent again. Patting his head, he nuzzled in your touch before lifting himself off of the ground. 

“Thank you for the lessons,” Sylus muttered, wiping his lip before quickly heading to the driver’s seat, patting himself, making him look proper before looking back at you, who was still flushed and speechless at the situation.

Just a kiss, my ass. You figured he wanted more, and you did too. But you didn’t think he’d actually go for it in the car?! 

When the two of you got to your apartment you rushed out, not even considering saying goodbye to him, and went to your room immediately. 

-

The next day rolled along and Sylus couldn’t sleep at all last night. The moment you rushed back to your place he didn't call out to you, he instead just watched and tried to understand what had happened. So after Sylus went back to his room–after second thinking if he should knock on your door and ask if you’re okay–he immediately thought about you.

And he felt ashamed, really ashamed he couldn't even bring himself to remember how he sat in bed last night, thinking about you while slowly and regretfully pumping his cock, remembering your scent, your taste, the way your lips curled in an ‘o’ shape as beautiful sounds sang out of your lips like a mantra.

He was already addicted.

And, unfortunately, he had to silently thank Luke and Kieran for this dating app idea.

As Sylus got ready, he checked his phone, expecting at least something from you, hoping for one message and, thank the lords, you actually showed up in his notifications. 

pretty: sorry for leaving so suddenly, wanna meet up later so i could apologize? and teach you something else…?

A cheesy grin creeped up Sylus’ lips as he was already typing out his response. 

me: Sure. See you tonight.

Yeah, maybe last night wasn’t so bad. 

-

Time went by slowly. The painful ticking on your wall grew louder every second that passed, you were honestly bored. Waiting for Sylus was taking way too long. So, just out of pure boredom you decide to go to his floor. 

Since there was only one penthouse above, you knew it was his. When you got to the floor, walked around and lingered near his door for a moment, before you were going to leave, the sounds of the knob twisting and shuffling on the other side of his door made you freeze.

You slowly turn around watching the fancy door creak open and then you see him. Sylus froze when he saw you, and then his teasing persona was back. He stepped back, opening the door wider for you. 

Hesitating, you glance at him, quickly nodding before walking in his room. Fancy. Way too fancy.

“This is a surprise.” Sylus chuckled, touring you around before you both ended up in his bedroom, sitting on the bed as the same awkward silence swirled past you like wind. “Were you that impatient? I was about to come any minute.” 

You open your mouth, about to say something but then when no words left your lips you just shut them and stayed quiet, nodding. 

“Anyway, what did you want to apologize for?” Sylus continued, looking down at the ground as he patiently waited for your answer. 

You chuckle and shake your head, “It’s nothing serious. Just because I might've left too early last night and I didn’t want to make you worried.” 

“Don’t worry, I didn't think much of that, but…”

Sylus’ fingers fidgeted on his blanket, picking at it like he was removing thorns from a rose. “What did you want to teach me, sweetie?”

“Oh, that.” 

The nervousness that was once in your body moments ago, was painted with a wave of confidence. “What’s one thing you haven’t done with a woman before?” you ask, placing your hand over his, looking into the crimson gaze that could practically kill you if you stare any longer.

-

Sylus stayed silent, but there was a hint of challenge in his gaze, he knew you knew the answer to what he was thinking, but he couldn’t spit it out, not just like that. He needed to prove that he wanted you without being vulnerable, giving you the answer just like that. 

So, he intertwined his fingers with yours, bringing your hand to his lips, giving it a small kiss while his dangerous gaze was still fixated on you. When you smiled at his response, Sylus knew he had to try harder.

“You wanted to learn, did you? So I wont know what to teach you if you can’t answer.” your voice was taunting, like it was a mouse trap, luring him closer and closer, like he was your prey, ready to get eaten by its predator.

“What was the question?” 

Acting dumb wouldn’t work, he’ll fall into your trap again. But surprisingly, you stayed silent to his bait. Fuck.

Sylus continued to pepper kisses along your hand, trailing lower to your arm. He could do this for hours, kiss every curve and inch of your body, wanting to worship and praise you endlessly.

“Sylus?” 

“Tch.” he shut his eyes, trying to ignore his name getting called, as if that didn’t do something to him, and continued kissing your arm. But the drag of his mouth was going in a completely different direction, gliding up to your shoulder, then to your collarbone, and soon, to your lower stomach. 

Sylus rested his lips there, looking up at you with the same challenging glint, soon being shadowed over desire. What was it about you that made him break that persona?

“Do you have an answer?”

“One thing I haven't done?…” Sylus pondered the question like it was the hardest equation in the world, trying to think of an answer that could satisfy you. But he was blanking. 

“Maybe..” 

-

“A-and then you- ngh- c’mon i think you know how this works!” you mewl, spitting out more instructions for Sylus, just for him to stare at you like a lost puppy as his fingers continued to pump in and out of you, stimulating and stretching you out.

His large digits fucked your sweet pussy, feeling like they were multiplying at every stroke. He was a professional at this too! You yank your head back, feeling his fingers sink deeper, stimulating your sweet spots, making you groan.

“Alright enough- next-” 

Sylus listened, cupping your knee with one hand and slowly removed the other from your dripping pussy. But for some reason, Sylus seemed distracted. His gaze was nowhere on your face, but instead on your gaping, leaking hole, begging to be fucked any second now.

Sylus snarled at the sight and cupped your legs, spreading them further apart before pressing his length against yours. He glanced at your dazed state, checking for any reactions of not wanting anything but when there were only positive signs, he couldn’t help but smile.

“This is my first time so…ngh-” he didn't even put the tip in, but his fat head was already stretching you out even further, making him wince. As he slowly pushed himself deeper, huffs and groans left his lips at every inch sinking further inside you.

“Hah-’ he whined, throwing his head back as he started to move. Rolling his hips against yours, slapping his skin with yours, creating a smack,smack,smack sound to echo through his bedroom. 

Sylus continued to fuck your pussy like it was a delicacy, being careful and precise with it, leaving you and him breathless at every move. Why hasn't he done this before? God, he was glad he saved it for the right person because you just felt so..

“So good- sweetie.” 

Sylus’ noises grew louder like it was the only thing you could hear in the house. "F-feels.. you feel so.. ungh-" his words started to pool out in a stutter, making you only agree to whatever he was spewing.

"c- ughh sylus!"

"I'm here, sweetie." Sylus mused, rubbing his thumb under the wet spot on your eyelid, wiping away your tears. As he started to get comfortable, feeling how warm he was inside, he started to quicken the pace.

His long, hard length pummelled in you, suffocating your tight walls, and stretching out your bruised folds, Sylus grinned at the sight, pressing his thumb on your clit before stretching you out to see the mess. 

You whine, watching Sylus’ lusted gaze admire the scene. His teeth sunk in his rosy lips, causing them to bleed. You notice his pupils dilating, and he just couldn’t get his eyes off of you. His thumb continues to stay pressed on your nub as he thrusts in and out of you, making you jolt every time.

“Few more- mmh-” Sylus groaned in pleasure as his tip pressed against your sweet spots, pounding in and out, tip kissing your cervix, you felt like you were on cloud nine. His breathing grew heavier and you could feel his breath cooling down your face. 

“The dating app was s-so worth it, huh?” Sylus chuckled, cupping your face to get a better look at it. Your eyes were still shut as you mindlessly nodded to whatever he was saying. 

“Like I- ngh- said, i’ll learn and- hah- and teach you.”

"Y-yeah?"

"Yeah. Wanna s-see a future with you- fuck!" Sylus cursed, holding onto your sides tighter. The feeling of your pussy clenching around him, draining him as he thrusted the last few drops he could, made him go insane.

"Look at that, raise your hips higher.. Mmh, good."

Sylus threw his head back as spurs of his cum drowned in your aching pussy. He glances down at the scene, eyes locked on the mess pooling out your hole, making him shudder.

"I wanna try again. Can you do another round?"

You catch your breath, whining a yes in response before Sylus grinned, slowly pulling out, making a quiet pop sound trailing off as he dragged his dick out.

His fingers trailed on your sides, memorizing every curve and inch of you. Mumbled praises slipped out of his lips, making you blush. He tried to take his time with you, savor you like you were something that needed patience with, but he couldn't hold back.

In the blink of an eye, Sylus wrapped both his hands on your sides and flipped you over, making you yelp. You embarrassingly grip on the bed sheet, sinking your face in the soft mattress as he continues trailing his dangerous touch down your skin. 

Sparks of flames erupt on your skin, you feel your whole body tensing and burning up at every measured touch. Your breath shudders as Sylus stops at the lower part of your back, lightly pressing down, making you drag a low groan, rumbling through the mattress. 

Sylus chuckled, continuing to apply a light amount of pressure on your back, trying to make you sing out the noises he's been craving. But the few minutes of teasing seemed to last an unbearable amount of time, ‘cause his distracted fingers seemed to be sliding lower, and lower, stopping right at your fluttering pussy.

You grunt, feeling one of his large hands cup your ass, lightly gripping a little harder on it, while his other hand was ghosting over your pussy. 

Sylus stayed silent as he pummelled his fingers in you, sinking his large digits in your used heat. “Have you done this before, sweetie?” the question slid off his lips in a teasing tone, making you consider if you should actually answer, or if he was just asking so you could teach him.

“Yes..” 

Sylus hummed, sliding his fingers out of you before raising your hips higher, pressing his already erect cock against your hole. Slowly pushing himself in for the second time. The same satisfying feeling he got from the first time he fucked you, came right back to him. 

“Hngh”

“Ah- sylus!” you shudder, nails digging in his silken bedsheet, feeling bad if you might ruin it. But he doesn't care enough to notice, he could always just buy a new one. 

With the call of his name, Sylus didn’t respond with words, but instead, he quickened the pace, comfortably sliding in and out of you at a steady pace. Hopeless weeps leave your lips, quivering as he pounded you harder.

"Gonna treat you so- well-"

You hum at his words, trying to think of a response but your mind was blanking, the only thing that you could focus on was his cock sinking deeper and deeper, making your eyes roll back.

"Do you think we could work out, sweetie?"

"Yes!"

"Huh-" he thrusts harder, movements growing more desperate, hips snapping into yours with more force, feeling your fragile skin smack against yours.

"S-Sylus-" you whine, arching your back to seek more of his pleasure. Feeling his fingers skip down to your pussy, stretching you out further, watching his mess pool down you as he tries to fit his full length deep in you.

"Hm?"

"Will you- Leave me like everyone else?" your words were filled with genuine curiosity, just because everyone else you've met left you after a good fuck, so you assumed Sylus would do the same.

But he stayed silent, slowing down the pace.

Sighing, you try to change the topic, but then, Sylus spoke.

"I was worried you'd do that to me," he chuckled, fingers gliding up on your body, soon finding the sides of your face and turned your head towards his, lightly peppering kisses on your face.

"But if you want more then...I'm willing to give you the love you deserve."

"And I'll never leave you."

a/n: writing everything but kinktober... trust they got married at the end

[healmydesires]

⋆˚ ✉︎⋆｡˚ enchanted

❥ pairing: prince!sylus qin x fem!servant reader

❥ summary: “You’ve been in love with the prince for god knows how long. For the longest time you were content with admiring him from afar, knowing your adoration for your favourite prince could never be revealed. Until one day, everything changed.”

❥ genre: fluff + angst + smut

❥ word count: 32k+ (buckle up!)

⟶ warnings: royal!au. childhood best friends to lovers. fools/idiots to lovers. forbidden romance. one bed trope / forced proximity. secret admirer!sylus au. mutual pining that they think is unrequited. reader is shorter than sylus. inexperienced/virgin!reader, sylus is technically also a virgin but yeah, won’t be as noticeable. loss of virginity, unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom sylus, ok… just overall soft sylus, sub!reader, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, bit of breeding kink, overstimulation, size kink, praise kink, lots of pet names (kitten, sweetie, angel, my love, my beloved, baby… etc). this is not beta read sorry!

⟶ A/N: man it’s been a long time coming… ever since I got into the lads fandom I wanted to write my own sylus fanfic. took me some time because I had so many scenarios and ideas but it was hard to settle with one. this fic means the world to me! I’ve written the beginning a long while ago for another fandom but never came around to finish it. it was always a wip sitting in my drafts. waiting to be finished and shared. never had the energy or motivation to continue this story but here I am now. and I hope everyone enjoys it as much as I loved writing it 🥹 it’s my biggest fic yet! also english isn’t my first language so I’m sorry for the errors <3 (also I ran out of space so I am sorry for not tagging 🥺)

this goes without saying, but if you don’t like it don’t read it <3

AO3 • masterlist

You had worked at the palace of the kingdom Onychinus for as long as you could remember. You knew every nook and cranny—every secret passage and hidden room in that palace. It was practically your home. You took care of it, making sure that it was clean and pretty every day. Your childhood wish was to work for the royal family, just like your parents did. Your family had served the royal family as maids and whatnot for generations, so it only made sense that you grew up around them, and subsequently, their child.

Sylus Qin.

You don’t regret it. Working for royalty.

In fact, if anything, you’re grateful. Because if not for your position now, how could have you crossed paths with a soul like him?

You still remember the day you met him. Clear as day.

Such a sweet sweet day it was. The memory is still fresh in your mind, like the scent of your childhood room. A scent you never quite forgot. It faded over time, sure. But if you strained your memory even now, you can still smell it. The scent of comfort.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Decidedly, there have been many days in your life. Some happy, some sad. Some you remember better than others while others fade away into the back of your mind. Some are ingrained so deep in your mind that when you close your eyes, you can see every detail as if it’s currently happening. None, however, do you remember more clearly than the day you met Sylus. It had been almost two decades ago; when you were five, and he was six.

You remember being nervous — your parents had brought you along to the castle, to introduce you to the royal family — you used to be a very lonely child, not being able to make friends easily. You were in awe as you walked through the luxurious castle with wide eyes, seeing it for the first time, it was truly a beautiful place.

As a reward for your family’s many generations of loyalty, they got the honour of working directly for the royal family. Your parents were close to the royal family despite that they were working for them. When you were very young, your mother was a personal attendant to the young prince.

It had all been incredibly overwhelming back then, and you’d only hidden further behind your mother’s legs. Until, you’d spotted a boy, looking just as lonely and nervous as you, also behind his mothers legs. The prince.

A fond smile curls on your face as you remember Sylus’ little frame. With cute round cheeks, curious crimson eyes, long silver hair, dressed in fine fabrics that were only made for royal people. He had sparked your curiosity, his intriguing eyes looking at you as if he longed for your friendship already.

Your parents pushed you into his direction, you’d approached him hesitantly. Immediately, he’d give you the brightest gummy smile once you were in front of him. And that one action — that one smile — had sealed it between the two of you. Ever since then, Sylus has been your best friend. He’d stick out his hand for you to take and would tug you along with him down the hall, showing you around the palace as you both giggled.

Nostalgia cascades through you as you continue mulling over your relationship with prince Sylus. You’ve lived twenty-five years, and throughout the vast majority of it - he has been your only constant.

And for as long as you could remember, you’ve had an intense and hopeless crush on the prince, Sylus Qin.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

It was completely unprofessional, of course, your feelings for Prince Sylus, and nothing could ever come to grow from them. You knew that. But you refused to ignore them. Partly because you hadn’t allowed for them to interfere with your work, and if they weren’t hurting anyone, then what was the harm in letting them blossom? But most importantly because they had been a part of you for so long—rooted themselves so deeply in your heart—that you were afraid it would be impossible even if you tried.

So you were trying to be content in admiring him secretly while being his childhood friend. And though you knew he could never be yours, it didn’t stop you from revelling in the sweet swell of your heart whenever he smiled, or from imagining at night what it would be like if he was. You loved Sylus, so deeply and irrevocably, your whole heart and mind was consumed by him at all times.

Of course, you knew that one day, probably sooner than later, he would take a spouse, as was his duty. A noble woman or man, fit to rule by his side. Or perhaps someone from another nation or country, one that would strengthen the bonds between their countries.

Because no matter how badly it may hurt you when the time comes, no matter how much you’d cry, you knew you would try to be happy for him. When he managed to find someone to love, even though that someone would never be you, you would try. Because you wanted nothing but Sylus to experience happiness and true love, even if it wasn’t you.

And you tried to tell yourself you were content, your feelings remaining completely unknown to anyone but yourself.

Or so you thought.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You sighed dreamily as you stared at him. Prince Sylus, stood across the room, leaning against the wall of the castle's kitchens as he looked over what he wrote on a sheet of paper, probably something important that had to do with the kingdom.

He was ethereal. The way he concentrated, his crimson eyes focused on the paper, scanning his handwriting over and over again. His beautiful long silver hair constantly fell before his eyes, and he’d run a hand through it in a gesture that made your breath catch every single time. His soft lips mouthed the words he’d written as his brows furrowed from time to time, almost as if he wasn’t satisfied with his own work. And most likely, he wasn’t—he was such a perfectionist.

“Quit staring, he’ll notice,” Tara whispered, snapping you out of your reverie. Your fellow servant and best friend didn’t even look up from her work, but somehow she always knew.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and you tried to hide it with a glare sent her way.

“I wasn’t staring. I was deep in thought,” you murmured, forcing your eyes back to the strawberries you were supposed to be cutting ages ago. The ones that Caleb, one of the kitchen’s cooks, had assigned you two to prepare for a cake.

“Deep in thoughts about Sylus.” she snickered, and you threw a strawberry at her. It bounced satisfyingly off her shoulder and tumbled to the floor.

She was still laughing, and you frowned at her, throwing a quick nervous glance at Sylus—who was already looking at you. Your heart leapt into your throat. You forced a tight smile as the corner of his lips lifted up before he focused his eyes back on the paper. Sighing, you turned back to Tara.

“Stop it! This isn’t funny. Don’t you have any work to do?” you asked through gritted teeth, hating how observant and sharp she could be.

It didn’t help that she moved right next to you, ostensibly to cut several other fruits, which meant she certainly wouldn’t leave you alone now.

“I wasn’t trying to be funny—I was being honest. And yes, but I love annoying you more,” she teased, sticking her tongue out at you like a child.

“Maybe you should focus on your tasks instead of invading my personal space,” you said as sweetly as you could manage.

Tara rolled her eyes. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You should really find the courage to confess your feelings to him.”

Your eyes widened almost immediately, your mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. Then you shrugged and turned your attention back to the strawberries in front of you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible over the kitchen noise.

“Oh please, don’t lie to me. It’s obvious that you do,” she said with a knowing smile that made you want to disappear into the floor.

You were quiet, awfully so, which made Tara’s smile widen with satisfaction. She took your silence as the confession it was.

“See,” she said with that same teasing grin.

You sighed, your shoulders dropping in defeat.

“There’s one thing you seem to forget… he’s a prince and I’m well… me.”

You were ready to steal one last glance at Sylus, but it turned out to be futile—the place where he’d been leaning against the wall was empty, and Sylus was nowhere in sight. Where the hell had he disappeared to?

“What are you two whispering about?”

A low but soft voice sounded beside you, and you nearly jumped out of your skin to find Sylus standing mere centimeters from your table. The scent of vanilla soap and your favourite musky smell filled your nostrils, while a feeling of comfort and familiarity flooded your heart. His silver hair was parted more to his right side, revealing his beautiful, smooth forehead. His crimson-colored eyes twinkled with mischief as he grinned, looking between you two.

You were about to open your mouth to say something—anything—but Tara beat you to it.

“Actually, we were talking about you, silly!” She smiled devilishly as she stared directly at you.

Every ounce of blood in your entire body rushed to your face in a tsunami of total, abject mortification. Your eyes widened at her words. “W-what?” you spluttered, feeling as though your heart might actually beat its way out of your chest. She couldn’t be serious.

“Oh really?” Sylus questioned curiously, his smile growing with amusement that made your stomach flip.

You felt as if the whole world had stopped as you held your breath, waiting for your friend’s next words.

“Yes—about how annoying you are,” she said with a grin before turning back to the fruit in front of her, as casual as if she’d been discussing the weather.

Your whole body instantly relaxed, the tension draining away. You were so relieved she hadn’t told him the truth that you could have kissed her. A small smile formed on your lips as you looked at your two friends. Sylus, on the other hand, looked genuinely offended. His face fell at your friend’s words, and he rolled his eyes as he scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’s a fact,” she shrugged, continuing to cut pieces of banana after finishing her batch of strawberries.

Sylus then turned to you with the biggest, most exaggerated pout you’d ever seen on his handsome face—a look so ridiculous and endearing that you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?” you said with a small smile, moving back to your task at hand, trying desperately to appear nonchalant.

He huffed dramatically before sneaking a hand between you and Tara to steal a strawberry from right in front of you.

“Hey! Those are for a cake,” you gasped, giving him a playful push as you turned just enough to watch him pop the fruit into his mouth with the biggest, most self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“I’m the prince. I can do whatever I want,” he said cheekily before quickly snatching a piece of banana from Tara’s cutting board.

“Don’t make us kick you out!” Tara warned, jabbing a finger into his ribs with surprising force.

“Ow!” Sylus grumbled under his breath, rubbing his hand against his ribs as he backed away from both of you with an expression of mock betrayal. “And to think I call you both my friends.”

“Be happy that we put up with you, Prince Qin!” Tara shouted after him, using his formal name with exaggerated reverence.

You watched him shake his head from side to side, that small smile still playing on his lips, before he walked out of the kitchen. Even his exit was graceful.

Tara shifted her body, facing you once again as you chuckled at the interaction. She leaned closer, her expression turning serious. “Just because I saved your ass doesn’t mean you get to lie to me.”

You sighed, leaning both of your arms on the table and looking at the ceiling in the most dramatic, depressive way possible.

“Wow, you really do have a crush on him.”

“He’s not my crush! Besides, he’s the prince, which makes it forbidden or something,” you rolled your eyes, took the knife back into your hand, and twirled it around with a frown settling on your lips.

“So? True love always finds its way,” she said with a little smirk, showing her hopelessly romantic side.

You rolled your eyes again before sighing as you continued to cut the strawberries. It was forbidden to feel or show any romantic feelings for a royal when you were a servant. Tara knew this very well, yet she refused to let it go.

“So what if I had feelings? It wouldn’t change anything. He’s a prince, and he’s meant to marry someone from a royal family or someone else important,” you said, looking down at the table as if it were suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. “We all know I’m not someone important.”

Tara sighed before whispering your name softly. “You might not be someone of royal descent, but you’re one of the most important people in his life.” She looked at you seriously, her usual teasing tone completely gone. “Hell!” She snorted, “I’m pretty sure you’re the most important person he’s ever met.”

You bit your lip nervously as you looked up at her. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Tara said firmly, moving closer. Her eyes softened as she took in your nervous and uncertain expression. “Come here.” She wrapped her arms around you, enveloping you in a hug that smelled like honey and home. You felt yourself melt and relax into her embrace. “I know I shouldn’t be giving you all this hope, but…” she sighed, “I can’t help but tell you the truth.”

“Thank you, Tara. I appreciate it,” you whispered as you pulled away from her.

Tara smiled warmly before turning back to the fruit in front of you both. “Now, let’s continue before Caleb kills us for talking too much,” she nudged you playfully.

You giggled at her words, shaking your head in disbelief. A smile lingered on your face as you continued cutting the berries. She never ceased to amaze you with her ability to uplift your mood and make your days more bearable, even when your heart ached with impossible longing.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Later that evening, you were reading one of your favourite comfort books in bed when you heard commotion outside your chamber. The noise persisted relentlessly, making it impossible to concentrate. You found yourself reading the same paragraph over and over, the words blurring together meaninglessly. Your curiosity overwhelmed you. Finally, you placed your bookmark between the pages, closed the book, and slid out of bed.

You stepped out of your room into the main hall of the servant headquarters when someone suddenly bumped into you.

You were about to apologize when the person spoke first.

“Oh my god, here you are! I was looking for you,” Tara exclaimed breathlessly.

You barely had time to turn around and greet your friend before she tugged you along the hall. The place was filled with servants, all chatting loudly, and as you passed through the crowd, you heard some of them whispering while stealing glances at you.

Anxiety crept up your spine. You felt increasingly uncomfortable with the idea that they might be talking about you.

“Tara—” you started.

Your name rang out within the crowd. Both you and Tara came to a halt as you realised the voice belonged to one of the royal guards. Anxiety bubbled inside you even more intensely as you made eye contact with the guard. Multiple possibilities swam through your head as you tried to think of a reason why they would be looking for you.

What if your secret had come out?

“Why are they looking for me?” you whispered to your friend. She shrugged at your words, but you could see she was just as nervous about the situation as you were.

The crowd dispersed as two guards made their way toward you. Luke and Kieran—Sylus’s personal and favourite guards. They were twins who always wore their dark masks while on duty. You’d never once seen them remove them while guarding Sylus. Except for moments like these.

Silence fell over the room as they both stopped right in front of you. They gave you a serious look, scanning you up and down before both of them broke into matching grins.

“We have a delivery for you,” Kieran announced, looking at you before opening his satchel to retrieve something from it.

Your body relaxed slightly at his words, anxiety dissipating slowly. Though the whispering in the room continued, now with renewed vigor.

“A delivery? For me?” you questioned. Normally no one sent you anything. You didn’t have many friends outside the castle, and most of your friends and family lived and worked for the royal family, so there was no reason for you to receive anything.

“Aha, here it is!” one of the twins exclaimed triumphantly. In his hands was a deep magenta-colored velvet book. He dusted off the cover with exaggerated care before turning to face you.

His eyes twinkled as he extended the book toward you. You took the object carefully, inspecting it. The velvet material felt luxurious and soft beneath your fingertips. You flipped the book to its cover, and your eyes widened as you read the golden printed letters embossed there:

“THE SECRET LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS”

Your heart stuttered. This book was one of the things you’d always wanted—had dreamed about for years. You loved flowers, but above everything else, you were a hopeless romantic. People close to you knew you’d always wanted to learn about the language of flowers. You’d first seen this book years ago when running errands in town, displayed in a cute little bookshop’s window, and you’d been dreaming about owning it ever since.

You knew the palace had a vast library with countless books you wished you could read one day. Sylus had shown you the room once, knowing how much you loved reading. Unfortunately, you hadn’t had the chance to go there and lose yourself among the shelves because of your demanding work schedule.

You’d always loved learning and were so eager to educate yourself in every way possible. Everyone knew how desperately you wanted to understand the world and its people and everything that existed on this planet and beyond.

But who would have gotten you this book?

“I think there must be a mistake—” you furrowed your brows, still staring at the book in disbelief.

“No, it was meant to be given to you,” Luke interrupted cheerfully.

“By who?” you whispered, finally looking up at him.

“We don’t know,” he said with an exaggerated shrug. You looked at them suspiciously, trying to decipher whether they were lying.

The men tried to keep their faces as serious as possible, but you caught the corners of their mouths twitching upward.

“Luke, Kieran—” Tara complained, crossing her arms.

“Tara,” the guards mimicked her tone in perfect unison, which would have been funny under different circumstances.

“I know you both know who gave it,” Tara narrowed her eyes, poking a finger into both of their chests simultaneously.

“Hey—”

“You three know each other?” you asked, looking between them in confusion.

“Yeah, we’re friends,” Kieran replied with a big smile.

“In your dreams,” Tara teased.

“Hey! That’s not very nice,” they both pouted in perfect synchronization, looking so ridiculous that you almost laughed despite your confusion.

Your friend laughed. “I’m just messing with you guys.”

“Okay,” you said with a deep sigh, rolling your eyes at their antics. “Still, this doesn’t make any sense.”

“What?” Tara questioned.

“This!” you whisper-yelled, pointing at the book you were clutching in one hand like a lifeline. You felt anxiety creeping back as you focused on the whispers of the other servants, your eyes darting all over the room while you gnawed at your bottom lip.

Luke sighed before turning to address the other people in the room. He cleared his throat authoritatively before speaking. “Please return to your chambers. There’s nothing to see here.”

Reluctantly, the servants dispersed, some returning to their chambers while others occupied themselves far enough away to avoid the guards’ glares.

“What’s so interesting about me getting a delivery?” you exhaled deeply, fatigue evident in your sigh.

“Maybe because the twins here made a whole theatrical entrance and announcement about having a gift for you,” Tara chuckled.

“A gift?” You furrowed your brows, staring at Luke and Kieran.

“Yeah,” the men smiled sheepishly, simultaneously scratching the backs of their necks in an endearing display of awkwardness.

“Who would want to give me a gift?” you asked, mostly to yourself, your voice small and uncertain.

Both of them shrugged in perfect unison, matching smirks spreading across their faces, which only made you groan in frustration. “Come on, I feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t know.”

Tara shook her head. “I don’t know, but I’m sure these two do!” She gestured to the twins before crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Luke let out a grunt of protest. “I do not know! Besides,” he said, an amused smile spreading over his lips as he leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “even if I did know, I wouldn’t reveal your secret admirer’s identity.”

“Secret admirer?” you nearly yelled, your voice echoing in the now-quiet hall.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

A few days had passed, and you still couldn’t get the gift out of your mind. You couldn’t seem to wrap your head around the fact that you had a secret admirer. Let alone the note that had been tucked inside the book.

You called it a note. Tara, on the other hand, called it a love letter—and in her defense, it was far too lengthy and heartfelt to be a mere note. She was right, though you couldn’t quite allow yourself to accept that you could be desired in such a way.

You’d read the words written on the “letter” so many times that you’d memorized them within days, carrying them in your heart like a precious secret:

“My moonlight,

I knew how much you wanted this book, so I thought I’d give it to you. A wonderful person like you deserves everything their heart desires. I cannot believe it has taken me so long to tell you how I feel about you. Unfortunately, I do not have the courage to express my feelings to you in person yet. I hope one day I’ll be able to confess to you who I am, but for now, writing to you will have to suffice. There are no words adequate enough to tell you how I truly feel. When I first met you, I knew immediately that there was something very special about you. You’re truly the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, though I think your heart is even more beautiful. You are kind and so warm to people, and I can see that you treat everyone around you with respect and genuine care. You’re so intelligent and funny. Your smile lights up any room you walk into, like the sun breaking through clouds. You deserve to know that there is someone out there who thinks you’re the greatest person that exists. I am truly enchanted and enamoured by you.

I hope my words have brought warmth to your heart and a smile to your face.

With all my love,

Your Secret Admirer”

You had no idea who would send you such a beautiful letter. Reading it felt like being wrapped in a warm embrace, like being seen and cherished in a way you’d never experienced before. And though you tried not to hope, tried not to let your heart imagine impossible things, you couldn’t help but wonder, couldn’t help but dream, about who might have written such tender words meant only for you.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

It went on for days—this secret correspondence that had become the highlight of your existence. You found yourself rushing to your room multiple times throughout the day, your heart fluttering with anticipation as you checked for a new little note or letter. It had started simply enough, once a day: quotes from your favorite authors carefully transcribed in that now-familiar angular script, or little poems you already knew by heart but somehow meant more when written in his hand.

After a while, your collection of letters grew, tucked carefully into your bedside table drawer like precious treasures. Each one made you smile wider than the last. The letters were always personal, intimate in a way that made your chest ache. You could tell some of the passages were written specifically for you—original words that could only have come from someone who truly saw you, who paid attention to the smallest details of who you were. You would always look around afterward with a grateful smile, hoping that somehow, wherever your secret admirer was hiding, they could see how much these messages meant to you.

One afternoon, you found yourself in the horse stables, tending to the pregnant mare you’d been worrying over for weeks. The moment you’d heard that your favourite horse, Magnolia—a beautiful dark brown mare with soulful eyes and a gentle temperament—was about to give birth to her foal, you’d rushed down to the stables with the biggest surge of excitement you’d experienced in a while. There was something pure about it, something that made you feel like a child again, full of wonder and hope.

You and the veterinarian worked together to care for Magnolia through her labour. While the vet guided the mare with practiced expertise, you took your time to caress her coat, running your hands along her neck and shoulder in long, soothing strokes. You whispered soft words of encouragement to her, your voice low and gentle, telling her she was doing wonderfully, that she was so strong, that it would all be over soon. Magnolia’s dark eyes would find yours occasionally, and you could swear she understood, could feel the love and support you were trying to convey through your touch.

The labor was difficult—longer and more complicated than anyone had anticipated. There were moments when worry knotted tight in your stomach, when the vet’s expression grew tense and focused. You stayed by Magnolia’s side through all of it, never letting go, your hand steady even when your heart raced with concern. You murmured prayers under your breath, bargaining with whatever forces might be listening to keep both mother and baby safe.

After what felt like an eternity but was really only a couple of long, arduous hours, she finally gave birth to her foal. The little baby was just as beautiful as his mother—all long, gangly legs and soft brown coat, still damp and struggling to understand this strange new world. Your breath caught at the sight of him. There was something miraculous about witnessing new life, something that made tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“He’s perfect,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as the foal took his first shaky breaths.

You took your time afterward, moving slowly and carefully as you cleaned the stable. The scent of fresh hay and horse and new life filled your lungs as you worked, occasionally pausing to tend to both Magnolia and her newborn. You were cooing softly as you gently wiped down the little foal with a clean cloth, marveling at how delicate he was, how his tiny ears flicked at every sound. “You’re going to be so strong, just like your mama,” you told him, your voice sing-song and full of affection. “So beautiful and brave.”

Magnolia watched you with those intelligent dark eyes, her head turning to follow your movements as you cared for both her and her baby. There was trust there, deep and unshakeable. She knew you would never hurt them, that your hands were safe. It made your heart swell with tenderness—this simple, profound act of being trusted by another living being.

Little did you know, you weren’t alone in the stables.

Your secret admirer stood in the shadows near the entrance, partially concealed by the wooden beam and the angle of the afternoon light streaming through the cracks in the stable walls. He had followed you here, not for the first time, though he’d never admit to how often he found excuses to be wherever you were.

He watched, transfixed, as you moved around the stable with such gentle purpose. The way you spoke to the animals with genuine affection, your voice soft and melodic. The way your face had lit up with pure, unguarded joy when the foal had been born, tears glistening on your cheeks that you’d quickly brushed away. The way you’d stayed through the entire difficult labor, never once complaining, your dedication absolute.

This was what he loved most about you—this boundless capacity for care, for tenderness, for finding beauty in simple moments. The way you treated every living thing with respect and kindness, whether it was a prince or a horse or a kitchen mouse you’d once refused to let Caleb trap. You had the gentlest heart he’d ever known, and watching you like this, unobserved and completely yourself, made his chest ache with an affection so profound it nearly overwhelmed him.

He should leave. He knew that. It felt like a violation somehow, to watch you in these private moments, even though his intentions were pure. Even though all he wanted was to memorise every detail—the way the fading sunlight caught in your hair, the soft smile on your lips as you stroked the foal’s nose, the smudge of dirt on your cheek that you hadn’t noticed.

But he couldn’t make himself move. Couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.

You were humming now, some old lullaby he vaguely recognized, and the sound drifted through the stable like something sacred. The foal’s eyes were beginning to droop, lulled by your voice and gentle touch. Even Magnolia looked peaceful, her breathing deep and steady now that the ordeal was over.

And you—you looked radiant. Happy in a pure, uncomplicated way that made his heart clench with longing.

Something tightened in his chest, a fierce, aching want that went beyond mere desire. He wanted to be the reason for that smile. Wanted to fill your days with moments like this, simple and pure and beautiful. Wanted to spend a lifetime watching that expression of contentment cross your face, knowing he’d put it there.

But patience was something he’d mastered long ago. So he remained concealed, content to simply watch over you. You were light itself—his moonlight cutting through the perpetual darkness of his carefully constructed world. The heart he’d thought too guarded, too controlled to truly feel had surrendered to you completely, irrevocably. Falling for you hadn’t been a choice—it had been inevitable, unavoidable, like gravity pulling him into your orbit. And now that he’d fallen, there was no going back.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The next day, you found another note from your secret admirer in the kitchen.

A single note clung to a small bouquet of gardenias, the ink slightly smudged at the end of the writing:

“My affection and admiration for you grows stronger and fonder every day.”

You stared at it for a second too long. The kitchen bustled around you—pots and pans clanking against each other, the sizzle of food cooking on the stove, the chattering and yelling of cooks at one another—but your ears tuned it all out as you reread the handwriting. Angular and sharp cursive letters. A slight right slant. You couldn’t place it, though something about it tugged at the edges of your memory.

“Someone’s got a secret admirer,” Caleb sang, catching sight of the note as he passed by.

Tara snickered next to him as you glanced up at them both. Warmth spread across your cheeks and throughout your entire body as you grew flustered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Caleb snorted. “Sure you don’t.”

Rafayel, passing by with a hefty sack of flour tucked under his arm, paused just long enough to lift a perfectly sculpted brow. “Wait—who has a secret admirer?”

Tara and Caleb said your name in perfect unison.

“No way!” Rafayel exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with delight. “Hold on, let me put this sack away. I need to know everything.”

“Raf, it’s nothing!” you groaned, clutching the note a little tighter. “There’s no need to make a big deal out of it.”

The purple-haired man practically tossed the flour bag onto a nearby counter before rushing back to join the three of you by the chopping table, looking far too invested already.

“It is a big deal!” he said, leaning against the table with a cheeky smile that rivaled Tara’s. “It’s about time someone told you what everybody already sees.”

“And what is that?” you questioned, genuinely curious despite yourself.

“How beautiful and wonderful you truly are,” Rafayel said matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Right,” you murmured softly before continuing, “I don’t think this person means anything serious by this.”

“Sure,” Tara hummed, not even trying to hide her knowing grin. “You literally received a love letter a week ago along with a book about ‘the language of flowers’—your favorite, might I add—and you mean to tell me that all of this means nothing?”

You felt heat crawl up your neck. You picked up the note from your secret admirer, turning it over in your hands nervously, when Sylus entered the kitchen.

Your breath caught in your throat as you took him in—hair still slightly damp at the ends from his bath, the strands curling softly against his neck in a way that made your fingers itch to touch them. He wore a loose black button-up shirt with the top few buttons undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his toned chest, paired with loose dark trousers. And for once, he was wearing his glasses, which sat low on the bridge of his nose, giving him an unfairly attractive scholarly look.

He looked so… normal and effortlessly handsome. Like he wasn’t literally royalty. Like he was just a man who’d overslept. He looked like a dream you didn’t dare have in daylight. Like every secret longing you’d ever tucked away in your heart had taken physical form just to torment you.

The moment his crimson eyes locked onto yours, he walked deliberately toward you, and your heart kicked into a gallop. The scent of him reached you first, vanilla soap from his bath and that intoxicating musky undertone that was purely him, familiar and comforting yet somehow making your knees weak.

Your friends somehow—suspiciously—found something else to do, busying themselves with chores around the kitchen and leaving you completely alone with him.

“Morning, sweetie,” he said, his voice warm and a little rough around the edges, like he hadn’t spoken yet today. The intimacy of it made your stomach flip. “What were you all talking about?”

His question sent a burning heat rushing across your face, from your neck to the tip of your nose, prickling just beneath the surface. You looked anywhere but at him, suddenly finding the carrots in front of you fascinating, hoping your newfound interest in vegetables would somehow ease the fire tightening beneath your skin.

Quickly, you tried to regain some semblance of normalcy. You cleared your throat. “You look like you just rolled out of bed,” you said teasingly instead of answering his question, desperately trying to deflect.

Sylus laughed—a rich, genuine sound that made your heart ache. Then slowly, a knowing smirk spread across his face—the kind that made your stomach flip dangerously. “Maybe I did,” he said, leaning one hip against the table beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “I was up late last night. Woke up late because of it too.” He pushed his glasses up with one finger in a gesture that was somehow both casual and devastatingly attractive. “Haven’t eaten yet, so I thought I’d come find you. Come have breakfast with me.”

It wasn’t really a question, more like a statement wrapped in velvet, and the confidence in his tone made your pulse quicken. You didn’t answer right away. Because his eyes had flicked toward the chopping table, specifically toward the little bouquet of gardenias sitting at the edge. And the note attached to its stems.

He froze. Just for a second. A micro-hesitation. One breath caught too long in his chest. It’s nothing, you told yourself.

Except… it wasn’t nothing. You’d known him too long not to notice.

His jaw tensed almost imperceptibly. His fingers twitched at his side. And for just a moment, something flickered behind those crimson eyes—something that looked almost like panic, or maybe longing, or perhaps both tangled together.

Then it was gone, replaced by that easy confidence as he shifted his gaze back to you. But his voice had dropped lower, more intimate. “So what do you say? Want to eat breakfast with me? Or do I have to resort to begging?”

The way he said it, the slight tease layered over something more serious, made your cheeks burn hotter.

“Sy, it’s literally almost noon,” you said with a small giggle, grateful your voice came out steadier than you felt. “It’s a bit late for breakfast, don’t you think?”

He tilted his head, and the movement made a strand of silver hair fall across his forehead. “When have I ever cared about convention?” His smirk deepened. “Besides, remember what we used to say? It’s never too late for breakfast.”

“We were kids back then, Sylus.”

“And?” He leaned in just slightly—not enough to be improper, but enough that you had to tilt your head up to maintain eye contact. “Some things don’t change. Like how much I enjoy and cherish your company.” His voice softened on those last words, and the sincerity beneath the playfulness made your heart stutter.

You tried to compose yourself, pretending to consider his request even though you both knew you’d never refuse him. “Hmmm… I suppose if you ask Caleb nicely to make us a ‘late’ breakfast, I could be persuaded.”

“Persuaded?” Sylus chuckled, a rich, warm sound that seemed to wrap around you. “I’ll take those odds.” He straightened, his hand coming to rest briefly on your shoulder—a touch that was both casual and possessive, his thumb brushing once against your collarbone before he pulled away. “Don’t go anywhere, kitten. I’ll be right back.”

Then he was gone, striding toward your friends and teasing them about something you couldn’t quite hear. But whatever he said made Caleb laugh and shove him playfully, made Tara shake her head with fond exasperation, made Rafayel throw a dish towel at his head. The easy camaraderie between them all made you smile despite the confusion swirling in your chest.

You were left standing there, staring at the flowers. At the note.

You ran your thumb over the last letter again—that elegant, looping y—studying how cursive and pretty it looked. There was something oddly familiar about the penmanship. Almost perfect. Neat and romantic, controlled yet passionate, like whoever wrote it had been very deliberate with every word. Like they’d meant every single syllable. As if the person who wrote it couldn’t stop once they’d started.

Your mind drifted back to that moment, the way Sylus had gone still when he’d seen the flowers. The intensity in his eyes before he’d masked it. The way his voice had dropped lower, more possessive.

You couldn’t help but think about the meanings of the flowers you’d received along with the note.

You thought about gardenias, and what they might mean in the language of flowers.

About how they symbolized love, purity, trust, and refinement. But they also represented secret love or affection, and sometimes signified themes of hope, renewal, and sincerity.

You didn’t say it aloud, not even to yourself, but the truth was whispering at the edge of your consciousness.

It looks like his. It feels like his.

But no. That would be— Sylus Qin was thoughtful, sure. With you mostly. He was the kind of person who remembered how you liked your food and always let you lean on him when you needed to. He held doors and rarely interrupted, and he stayed up late with you when you were still working even though he technically didn’t need to.

He was the kind of person who brought you a jacket during late-night walks without asking. He was the kind of person who made you laugh without trying.

But he couldn’t be the secret admirer.

…Could he?

No, you told yourself firmly. Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a prince. Your childhood best friend. He could never—

You glanced toward the direction where he’d been standing just a minute ago. You couldn’t see him at the moment, but you could still feel him. The way his presence always lingered, somehow warmer to you than everyone else’s. Gentle.

You tucked the note into one of the front pockets of your skirt.

Just in case.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Later that evening, Sylus had asked you to meet him in the royal gardens. Specifically, at your favorite spot—the heart of the mini labyrinth tucked away in the garden’s farthest corner, where few others ventured.

The labyrinth itself was a masterpiece of carefully trimmed hedges that twisted and turned in an intricate pattern, creating a sense of delicious isolation from the rest of the world. But it was the center that took your breath away every single time. A small pond sat like a mirror beneath the evening sky, its surface so still it reflected the heavens perfectly. Multiple cherry blossom trees surrounded the water, their branches heavy with delicate pink blooms that drifted down like snow whenever the breeze stirred. Red lanterns were scattered throughout the space—hanging from branches like glowing fruit, nestled between roots, floating on the pond’s surface—bathing everything in a warm, ethereal light that transformed the already beautiful spot into something almost otherworldly.

The air was perfumed with cherry blossoms and night-blooming jasmine, sweet and intoxicating. Petals carpeted the ground in soft pink drifts, muffling your footsteps as you made your way to the wooden bench positioned to face the pond. The lantern light danced across the water’s surface, creating rippling patterns of gold and shadow that seemed alive, magical.

It wasn’t just your own favourite spot—it was yours and Sylus’s collective sanctuary. Your shared spot.

You came here often when your heart raced too fast with feelings you couldn’t name, when thoughts of him consumed you so completely you could barely breathe. Whenever your mind scattered in a thousand directions, you’d find your way here to seek inner peace, to let the tranquil beauty calm the chaos inside you.

As you settled onto the familiar bench, you let yourself sink into the serenity of the moment. The gentle whisper of leaves, the quiet lap of water against stone, the soft glow of lantern light—it all wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. You let your eyes slide shut, tilting your face up slightly to catch the cool evening breeze. Your shoulders dropped, tension melting away as the calm atmosphere worked its magic on your restless body and racing thoughts.

Here, you could almost pretend that loving him wasn’t impossible. That the ache in your chest was something that could be soothed rather than endured.

You didn’t hear his approach—Sylus moved too quietly for that, with that predatory grace he’d always possessed—but you felt him. The way you always felt him, like a shift in the air itself, a change in temperature that made every nerve ending come alive. Your awareness of him was instinctive, immediate, as if your body recognized his presence before your mind did.

The bench dipped slightly as he sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, and could catch that familiar scent of vanilla and musk that made your heart stutter. Close enough to touch, if you were brave enough. If you had the right.

You didn’t know how long you both sat there in comfortable silence, but you cherished every second of it. These quiet moments together had become precious, sacred even—increasingly rare as his duties pulled him in a dozen different directions. But here, in your hidden sanctuary with lantern light painting his features in gold and shadow, with cherry blossoms falling like blessings around you both, it felt like time stopped. Like the world beyond the labyrinth ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you and this perfect, fragile peace.

Your heart ached with how much you loved him. With how badly you wanted to reach out and take his hand, to lean against his shoulder, to turn this friendship into something more. But you held still, held silent, content to simply exist beside him for as long as he’d allow.

Sylus was the first to break the silence. “It’s so magical here during spring,” he murmured, his voice low and soft, almost reverent. He released a breath that sounded relieved, like he’d been holding tension you hadn’t noticed. “I love how this is our spot. How we always come here whenever we need it. How it’s just… ours.”

The way he said that last word—ours—made something flutter dangerously in your chest.

You hummed in response, not trusting your voice, content to listen to him speak. You could listen to his deep voice forever, you thought. Would gladly let him read every book you owned, every poem you’d memorized, just to hear that rich timbre wrap around the words. His voice brought you so much joy, soothed something restless and yearning inside you whenever you were alone together like this. It felt like a gift, these moments when his voice was meant only for your ears.

But it wasn’t just soothing—it also set your entire body aflame. There was something sensual in the way he spoke when it was just the two of you, something intimate in the lower register he used, the careful way he shaped words. It left you flustered and warm.

You talked for a while after that, the conversation flowing easily between comfortable silences. You discussed everything and nothing—his frustrations with a particularly tedious council meeting, your favorite passages from a book in the library he’d given you, childhood memories that made you both laugh, observations about the stars beginning to emerge overhead. Just like old times.

In many ways, nothing had really changed between you, your bond remained strong, your friendship as solid as ever. Except now you were both older, more aware. His duties had multiplied, responsibilities weighing heavier on his shoulders. And your feelings had deepened from childhood affection into something far more dangerous, far more consuming.

And sometimes, in moments like these, you wondered if perhaps you weren’t the only one feeling the shift.

“There’s something I need to discuss with you,” Sylus said suddenly, his tone changing.

Your heartbeat picked up immediately, pulse thrumming in your throat. He sounded so serious, so solemn—so unlike the easy warmth of just moments before. There was a weight to his words that made anxiety spike through your veins, sharp and immediate.

But there was something else too. Unless you were imagining it, he also sounded… nervous? Uncertain? Your eyes snapped to his face, studying him in the flickering lantern light. And unless it was a trick of the golden glow, there was definitely a light dusting of pink across his cheekbones, creeping up to the tips of his ears. His jaw was tight, and he wouldn’t quite meet your gaze.

Your breath caught. Prince Sylus Qin—confident, controlled, unshakeable Sylus—looked genuinely nervous.

That couldn’t be right. You had to be seeing things, reading too much into shadows and wishful thinking.

So you ignored the flutter of hope trying to take wing in your chest. You straightened slightly, folding your hands in your lap to keep them from trembling. “Okay, S-Sylus,” you managed, cursing the little stutter that betrayed your own nerves. “So, um… What is it you wanted to speak with me about?”

You would do anything he asked. Anything at all. Because he was a prince—the future king—and because you loved him with every fiber of your being, even if he could never know it.

A conflicted look crossed his handsome face, emotions flickering too quickly to name. His jaw worked as if he were trying to find the right words, and you watched, transfixed, as he took a deep breath that made his shoulders rise and fall. “I, um—” He paused, cleared his throat, and the pink on his cheeks definitely deepened. His fingers drummed once against his thigh before he caught himself, stilling the nervous gesture. “I wanted to tell you—”

“Your Majesty.”

The voice cut through the moment like a blade, shattering the intimate bubble you’d created. Both of you jumped slightly, heads turning toward the entrance of the clearing where a royal guard stood, looking apologetic but insistent. “Your Majesty, the King is requesting your immediate presence. It’s urgent.”

The disappointment that crashed over you was physical, painful. You felt your shoulders sag, felt something vital deflate in your chest. Another moment stolen. Another conversation interrupted. Another chance lost to his endless, inescapable duties.

You caught the flash of frustration that crossed Sylus’s face—the tightening around his eyes, the way his hands curled into brief fists before he forced them to relax. He looked at you for a long moment, and the longing in his crimson eyes was so raw, so naked, that it made your breath catch. Like he was on the verge of saying something important, something that couldn’t wait. Like he was trying to memorise your face in the lantern light.

But duty called, as it always did. As it always would.

“Right,” Sylus said finally, his voice carefully neutral though you could hear the thread of resignation beneath it. He stood with that fluid grace you’d always admired, and suddenly the bench felt too empty, too cold without him beside you.

He turned to face you fully, and what he did next made your heart stop entirely.

He took a bow—a proper, formal bow that a prince should never give to a servant—and then reached for your hand. His fingers were warm as they enclosed yours, his touch gentle yet somehow possessive. He lifted your hand slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving yours, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles.

The touch of his lips against your skin sent fire racing through your veins. You felt branded by it, claimed, like he’d marked you as his even though that was impossible.

“Have a good night, kitten,” he whispered, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register that was meant only for you. The nickname—one he only used for you, one that felt dangerously affectionate—made your stomach erupt with butterflies.

Your entire body burned with heat, skin too tight and too sensitive. Words completely failed you. Your mind went blank except for the feeling of his lips on your skin, the warmth of his breath, the intensity in his eyes as he finally pulled back and straightened.

All you could manage was a jerky nod, your hand still tingling where he’d kissed it.

He regarded you for a second too long, his gaze searching yours as if giving you one final opportunity to speak, to say something, anything. The moment stretched taut between you, filled with unspoken words and swallowed confessions.

The guard cleared his throat pointedly, and the spell broke.

Sylus’s expression shuttered, that careful princely mask sliding back into place. With one last lingering look he turned and walked away, his footsteps muffled by fallen petals. The guard followed, and then you were alone.

Alone with your whirling thoughts and racing heart. Alone with the ghost of his kiss still burning on your skin. Alone in your sanctuary that suddenly felt too empty, too quiet without him.

You lifted your hand slowly, staring at your knuckles as if they held answers. Your fingers trembled slightly as you touched the spot he’d kissed, finding it still warm.

What just happened? What had he been about to tell you before the interruption?

The cherry blossoms continued to fall around you like pink snow, and the lanterns cast their warm glow across the pond’s surface, but the magic of the evening had shifted into something else entirely. Something that felt like possibility. Like hope.

Like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t the only one whose heart ached with impossible longing.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The castle was alive with an energy that hummed through every corridor and chamber. Servants rushed through the halls with purpose, their footsteps echoing off stone walls as they prepared for the evening’s unexpected event. The King had invited select staff members and his closest advisors to a private dinner—an unusual occurrence that had set the entire household buzzing with speculation.

It was meant to be something small, intimate even, yet everyone was curious. Whispers followed you throughout the day as you went about your duties. What could this be about? Did the King have an announcement to make? Was it about the prince? The questions multiplied with each passing hour, spreading like wildfire through the servant quarters and into the kitchens.

You’d tried not to think about it, tried to focus on your tasks, but the anxious flutter in your stomach refused to settle.

The preparations had begun at dawn. The dining room—the one reserved for family gatherings and private councils—was transformed throughout the day. You’d glimpsed servants carrying in fresh flowers, polishing silver until it gleamed, pressing linens until they were crisp and perfect. Caleb had been in the kitchens since sunrise, barking orders and tasting dishes, his usual easy demeanor replaced by focused intensity. The menu was refined, elegant: roasted pheasant with herbs from the royal gardens, vegetables glazed in honey and butter, delicate pastries that looked almost too beautiful to eat.

Tara had found you in the afternoon, her eyes bright with nervous excitement. “Have you heard anything? Do you know what this is about?” You’d shaken your head, though the weight in your chest suggested you knew exactly what this might be. You just didn’t want to voice it aloud, as if speaking the words would make them real.

The atmosphere in the castle had shifted as evening approached. The nervous energy transformed into something more formal, more significant. Servants changed into their finest uniforms. Advisors arrived in their formal attire, their expressions serious and speculative. You’d dressed carefully, your hands trembling slightly as you smoothed down your skirts, as if looking presentable could somehow protect you from whatever was coming.

When the doors to the dining room finally opened that evening, your breath caught in your throat.

The space had been transformed into something magical, almost dreamlike. Candles were everywhere—tall tapers in silver candelabras marching down the center of the long table, smaller votives clustered on every surface, their flames dancing and flickering with each breath of air. The grand chandelier overhead had been lit as well, its dozens of crystals catching the candlelight and scattering it across the room in glittering fragments, casting a warm but vibrant glow that made everything seem to shimmer and pulse with life.

Red, black, and golden accents were woven throughout the room—the kingdom’s colors displayed with elegant intentionality. Deep crimson table runners flowed down the center of the table like rivers of wine. Black napkins were folded into perfect shapes at each place setting, each one held by a golden ring embossed with the royal crest. The chairs were upholstered in black velvet with golden embroidery, and crimson curtains framed the tall windows, pulled back to reveal the darkening sky beyond. Even the china bore the kingdom’s emblem in gold leaf—a striking design that reminded everyone present exactly where they were and who they served.

The table itself was a work of art. Crystal glasses sparkled at each setting, catching and refracting the candlelight into tiny rainbows. Polished silver gleamed against the white tablecloth beneath the runners. Arrangements of deep red roses mixed with black calla lilies and gold-painted branches created dramatic centerpieces that somehow managed to be both opulent and tasteful.

It was beautiful. Breathtaking, even.

Soon, the royal family arrived. The door at the far end of the dining room opened, and a hush fell over the gathered guests. The King entered first, his posture straight despite his years, the weight of the crown he’d worn for decades evident in the dignified way he carried himself. The Queen followed at his side, elegant and serene, her hand resting lightly on his arm. And then came Sylus.

Your breath stuttered in your chest.

He was dressed in formal attire—a deep black jacket with red embroidery that caught the candlelight, the kingdom’s crest embroidered over his heart in crimson thread. His silver white hair was mostly styled back from his face, revealing the sharp lines of his features, and those crimson eyes swept across the room with calm authority. He looked every inch the prince he was born to be. Every inch the king he would become.

He looked untouchable.

They entered with such graceful, measured steps—a family born to rule, moving through the world with the quiet confidence of those who’d never questioned their place in it.

“Welcome,” the King said warmly, positioning himself near the head of the table. A small, grateful smile graced his weathered face as he looked around at the assembled guests—advisors who’d served him faithfully, servants who’d become like extended family over the years. “Please, come. Let us all sit together.”

He gestured broadly, an invitation that somehow felt more intimate than formal, and the gathered group began to move toward their designated seats.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you found your place at the table. The seating arrangement had been carefully planned. You could tell by the small name cards written in elegant script at each setting. You were positioned diagonally across from where Sylus would sit, close enough to see his face clearly but far enough to maintain propriety. Close enough to hurt.

Zayne, the royal doctor and a mutual friend to many in the room, took the seat to your right. He was a handsome man in his own quiet way—tall and lean with dark hair and intelligent green eyes that seemed to notice everything. He’d always been kind, always took the time to speak with everyone regardless of their station, to genuinely care about their wellbeing. As he sat, he offered you a small, polite nod and a gentle smile that you tried to return.

Tara claimed the seat on your left, and you felt an immediate rush of gratitude for her presence. She reached under the table and gave your hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. She knew you were anxious. Of course she knew. She always knew.

Around you, others settled into their places. Luke and Kieran sat further down, their usual playful energy subdued by the formality of the occasion. Caleb was there, looking exhausted but pleased, no doubt already critiquing his own cooking in his mind. Various advisors and senior staff members filled the remaining seats, their expressions ranging from curious to knowing.

Once everyone was seated, the King remained standing, and the nervous energy in the room intensified. You felt your nerves return tenfold, anxiety coiling tight in your stomach like a living thing. The candlelight seemed too bright suddenly, the room too warm, the air too thin.

“Now that everyone is seated,” the King began, his voice carrying easily through the room, “I’d like to express my gratitude—for this wonderful meal, for the care everyone took to make this evening so beautiful, and for your years of loyal service to this kingdom and to my family.”

The atmosphere was strange, caught between celebration and anticipation. Some guests smiled warmly, already raising their glasses in premature toasts. Others looked curious, almost nervous, sensing that something significant was coming. The advisors wore careful, neutral expressions that suggested they already knew what would be announced—they’d probably been part of the discussions. But for the staff, for people like you and Tara and Caleb, this was unknown territory.

You could feel the weight of expectation pressing down on the room like a physical force.

Soon, servants began bringing out the first course, and the dinner officially commenced. Plates were set with quiet efficiency—Caleb’s and the other cooks beautiful creations arranged like works of art. The pheasant was perfectly golden, the vegetables gleaming with their honey glaze, everything plated with meticulous care.

Everyone began to eat, the soft sounds of silverware against china filling the spaces between murmured conversations.

But you felt Sylus’s gaze on you almost immediately. It was like a touch, tangible and warm, impossible to ignore. You didn’t look up—didn’t dare—but you could sense his eyes tracking your movements as you picked up your fork, as you took careful, mechanical bites of food you couldn’t taste.

The King continued to speak as the meal progressed, his voice a steady backdrop to the quiet dining. He talked about the kingdom’s prosperity, about successful harvests and peaceful borders, about alliances strengthened and problems solved. He spoke with pride about his council, about the people who’d helped build and maintain everything they’d achieved.

You mostly tuned it out, focusing instead on the physical act of eating, chewing, swallowing and breathing. Trying to keep your expression pleasant and neutral while your mind raced with dark possibilities. Trying not to let yourself think about why you were all really here.

But then the King’s tone shifted, became more serious, more weighted with meaning.

“I know everyone is probably curious about why I’ve hosted this special dinner,” he said, and the room fell into complete silence. Even the servants along the walls seemed to still, sensing the importance of the moment.

The King stood fully now, setting down his napkin with deliberate care. His expression was solemn but peaceful, resigned in the way of someone who’d made a difficult decision and found peace with it.

“I have an announcement to make.”

The pause felt eternal. You could hear your own heartbeat, could feel Tara’s leg pressed against yours under the table—grounding you, keeping you present.

“I have been feeling the weight of my years more heavily lately,” the King continued, his voice gentle but firm. “I have ruled this kingdom for nearly five decades, and it has been the greatest honor of my life. But I am tired.” He smiled, almost apologetically. “I feel in my bones that it is time to step down, to pass the crown to someone with the strength and vision to lead us into the future. To my son—Sylus Qin.”

The dining room erupted in gasps and sharp intakes of breath. Murmurs rippled through the gathered guests like a wave—some shocked, some clearly having suspected, all affected by the magnitude of what had just been announced.

You felt as if your heart had stopped entirely before lurching back into a frantic, painful rhythm that made your chest ache. Your fingers tightened around your fork until your knuckles went white.

You’d known this was coming. Of course you had. You’d always known that someday Sylus would be king. But someday had always felt distant, theoretical—a problem for a future version of yourself to handle. You’d hoped, foolishly, that you’d have more time. That someday wouldn’t arrive so soon, wouldn’t feel so immediate and inevitable and real.

But here it was. One month. In one month, everything would change.

“It is time, Sylus,” the King said, his voice warm with paternal pride. He lifted his glass, and the candlelight caught in the crystal, sending fractured light dancing across his face. “To my son, who will be an amazing leader to our kingdom. Who will be crowned king in one month’s time.”

The room lifted their glasses in unison, a chorus of “To Prince Sylus” echoing from every throat.

Except yours. You managed to lift your glass, managed to move your lips in some approximation of the words, but no sound came out. Your throat had closed completely, and you felt nauseous, your stomach churning dangerously. The food on your plate that had already been difficult to swallow now seemed impossible, the smells suddenly overwhelming and wrong.

Your eyes found Sylus’s face almost against your will. He was looking at his father, his expression carefully composed—grateful, humble, dutiful. Everything a crown prince should be. But you knew him, had known him your entire life, and you could see the tightness around his eyes, the way his jaw was clenched just slightly, the tension in his shoulders that no one else would notice.

Then Sylus stood, the movement fluid and graceful, commanding every eye in the room. He placed his hand over his heart and bowed—a gesture of respect and acceptance that somehow managed to be both humble and regal.

“It would be my greatest honor to serve as your king,” he said, his deep voice carrying clearly through the room. “I promise to lead with wisdom, justice, and care for all who call this kingdom home. I will do everything in my power to be worthy of the crown my father has worn so well.”

It was a perfect response. Exactly what everyone needed to hear.

The room erupted in applause, genuine and warm, and Sylus straightened, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Then he sat back down, and you thought perhaps the worst was over. Perhaps you could survive this dinner, could escape to somewhere private and let yourself fall apart in peace.

But the King wasn’t finished.

“Of course,” he continued, still standing, still holding his glass, “a king needs a queen to rule beside him.”

The bottom dropped out of your world.

No. No, please, not yet—

“I’ve been in discussions with several noble families over the past months,” the King went on, seemingly oblivious to the way all the air had been sucked from your lungs. “We’ll be hosting potential matches here at the castle in the coming weeks. The Duke of Verlaine has a daughter of marriageable age. The Prince Xavier of the Pagrarus has expressed interest. There are others as well.” He smiled benevolently, as if he were announcing something wonderful rather than driving a knife through your chest. “We want to ensure Sylus has the opportunity to meet suitable candidates, to find a partner worthy of standing beside him.”

Your whole world was collapsing. The walls of the beautiful dining room seemed to be closing in, the candlelight too bright, too hot, suffocating. It took every ounce of strength you possessed not to break down right there in front of everyone—not to let the sob building in your throat escape, not to let the tears burning behind your eyes fall.

It took every shred of willpower you’d ever had to simply sit there and smile. To blink rapidly, forcing back the wetness threatening to spill over. To keep your breathing steady when your chest felt like it was being crushed.

The room erupted again—cheers, applause, excited chatter. Everyone was so happy, so celebratory. Advisors were already discussing which alliance would be most advantageous. Some of the female staff were sighing dreamily about how romantic it would be. Caleb was grinning, already planning what feasts he’d prepare for the visiting nobles.

You tried to paste on the fakest, brightest smile you could muster. You brought your hands together in applause, the sound hollow and distant to your own ears. You watched yourself from somewhere far away as you played the part of the loyal servant, the supportive friend, the person who was thrilled for her prince.

But inside, you were screaming.

All you could feel was numb—a blessed, horrible numbness that spread through your limbs like ice water, dulling the overwhelming pain and sadness threatening to consume you entirely. It was a mercy and a curse, this numbness. It kept you functional, kept you upright and smiling.

But you knew that later, when you were alone, it would melt away. And then you would shatter completely.

Your eyes met Sylus’s across the table—just for a moment, just a heartbeat—and what you saw there made everything so much worse.

Because he wasn’t smiling either. Not really.

And when his eyes locked with yours, the carefully neutral expression he’d maintained for everyone else cracked—just for you, just for a second. The expression on his face nearly undid you completely. His eyes traced over you with intimate familiarity—cataloging the rigidity of your posture, the false brightness of your smile, the way you’d stopped breathing properly. No one else in this room would notice, but he did. He always did. The raw concern in his gaze, layered with his own barely concealed anguish, told you everything: he knew exactly what this announcement was doing to you, and it was killing him to watch.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The night had already slipped well past the acceptable hour for a young lady to be awake, but sleep had refused to claim you, fluttering just out of reach like a skittish bird evading capture. The royal family had hosted a dinner that evening to celebrate the announcement that Sylus would be crowned soon—a gathering meant to be warm and celebratory, filled with laughter and music and polite admiration. And while it had been all of those things to everyone else, there had been something else lurking beneath the surface whenever Sylus’s eyes found yours across the table, something that tightened the air between you until your breath caught without warning.

You weren’t just nervous.

It was anxiety and sadness that braided together so tightly you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

You’d known this would be coming for a long while. It was only a matter of time before Sylus would have to find a bride—a princess or prince or someone else of importance and station. You’d told yourself you’d make peace with it once it happened, had practiced acceptance in the quiet hours of night, had built walls around your heart to protect it from the inevitable. But now that the time had actually come, now that it was real and immediate and inescapable, you found you couldn’t be happy for him at all. Your heart broke a little more with every second, shattering further the more you allowed yourself to think about it.

You’d slipped out to the gardens wrapped in a thin shawl, desperate for air that didn’t taste like champagne and false smiles. The cool night breeze brushed over your heated skin like a gentle caress, and you let it wash over you, hoping it might carry away some of the heaviness pressing down on your chest.

The royal garden was one of your favorite places in all the world. It was a sanctuary where you could lose yourself in the beauty of nature and the serene quiet that felt increasingly rare. The scent of roses and cherry blossoms wafted through the air, carried by a gentle breeze that rustled the leaves and made the flowers dance in the darkness. The gravel path crunched softly underfoot as you walked deeper into the garden, your feet carrying you automatically toward the labyrinth, toward the hidden center where you and Sylus had shared so many stolen moments.

You breathed slowly, deliberately, trying to settle your racing thoughts. But they wouldn’t quiet.

It felt impossible that Sylus would be King in only a handful of weeks. Impossible that his life was about to change so completely, so irreversibly. Impossible that Sylus would marry someone soon—some beautiful princess or elegant noble who deserved to stand beside him—and it wouldn’t be you. It would never be you.

Your mind began to spiral downward, consuming your whole soul as the gravity of the situation crashed down on you like a wave. With trembling fingers, you carefully pulled out the first love letter from your front pocket—the one you’d been carrying close to your heart like a talisman. You felt tears well up in your eyes as pain overwhelmed you, wracking your body with silent sobs as you reread the familiar words.

“My moonlight, I knew how much you wanted this book…”

The words blurred as tears spilled over, and you didn’t bother wiping them away.

Soon, you heard footsteps behind you—soft but deliberate on the gravel path—and you turned on the bench, expecting perhaps Tara sent to find you, to drag you back inside before anyone noticed your absence. Quickly, hastily, you tried to fold the letter and tuck it back into your pocket, to hide the evidence of your foolish hopes.

But the moment you saw him, tall and unmistakable in the dim lantern light, your heart leapt into your throat and lodged there, making it impossible to breathe.

Sylus.

He stopped a few feet away, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders straight but not stiff. The formal jacket he’d worn to dinner was gone, leaving him in just his white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, the top buttons undone. He looked less like a prince and more like the boy you’d grown up with, the one who used to climb trees with you and steal pastries from the kitchen.

His expression softened the moment he took in your tear-stained face, his brows drawing together with immediate concern.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked quietly, his voice a warm rumble in the still night air, gentle and careful like he was afraid of startling you.

“No,” you admitted, trying desperately to sound calm even as your voice wavered. “Too much thinking.”

Sylus stepped closer, slowly, until the soft glow of the nearest lantern touched his face and revealed something achingly tender in his eyes—something raw and vulnerable that he rarely let anyone see. “About what?”

“About everything.” You hesitated, your fingers twisting in your lap, crumpling the letter still clutched in your hand. “I don’t know what to think anymore. I feel… lost.”

Sylus’s eyes softened even further, as though he understood that feeling better than anyone in the world. As though he’d been feeling exactly the same way. “What are you feeling?” he questioned softly, taking another step closer.

You exhaled shakily, your gaze drifting toward the garden—toward the cherry blossoms swaying in the breeze, their petals occasionally falling like pink snow. Anywhere but at him. Instead of answering his question directly, you countered with your own, deflecting. “Aren’t you overwhelmed?”

Sylus moved so quietly, with such fluid grace, that you didn’t realize he’d stepped directly beside you until the warmth of him brushed against your arm. You looked up, startled by his proximity, by how close he was standing—close enough to touch, close enough to see the flecks of deeper crimson in his eyes.

But you weren’t displeased. You could never be displeased by his nearness.

Your breath caught in your chest. “Are you?” you whispered, needing to know, needing to understand if he was suffering too.

“Yes,” he murmured, his voice rough with honesty as he nodded slowly. “I know it was a long time coming, that I’ve always known this day would arrive. But I thought I had more time.” He paused, and something flickered across his face—pain, regret, frustration. “I feel overwhelmed about all the changes that are about to happen, about everything that’s going to be different.”

He took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice dropped even lower, more intimate. “But I’m more worried about how you’re feeling. About what this is doing to you.”

You lowered your eyes, unable to hold his gaze as the burning sensation behind your eyes intensified, threatening to spill over again. You’d grown accustomed to his charm over the years, to his intelligence and wit, to his occasional bursts of honesty. But when he spoke with this kind of raw sincerity, when his voice softened like silk and honey, when he looked at you like you were the only person in the entire world who mattered—you felt undone in ways you couldn’t name, couldn’t protect yourself against.

As you stayed silent, unable to form words past the lump in your throat, Sylus took a seat beside you on the bench. The wood creaked softly under his weight, and then his hand found yours, found the hands that were wringing anxiously in your lap, still clutching that damned letter.

His touch was warm and gentle as he covered your trembling fingers with his own, his thumb brushing soothingly across your knuckles. He squeezed softly, grounding you, anchoring you to this moment.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, and the endearment nearly broke you.

You shook your head frantically, and despite your best efforts, tears finally slid down your cheeks in silent streams. You refused to voice how you were feeling, couldn’t bring yourself to share the burden crushing your chest. Not only because you didn’t want to weigh him down with your pain, but also because you knew that speaking it aloud would make it real, would drown you even deeper in the sadness and grief threatening to consume you whole.

Sylus released a soft, pained sigh. Then his other hand lifted, cupping your cheek with infinite tenderness, tilting your face toward his so gently you could have resisted if you’d wanted to.

But you didn’t want to.

“Sweetie…” he breathed as he took in the devastation written across your features, the tears tracking down your face, the way your lips trembled as you tried not to sob. His thumb brushed away your tears with such care it made your chest ache. “I hate seeing you like this. It’s killing me.”

“Sy—” you started, but your voice broke.

He shook his head, cutting off whatever you’d been about to say. “This shouldn’t have happened this way. I should’ve been honest with myself a long time ago,” he said, his voice thick with regret and determination.

You looked at him carefully, your vision blurred by tears, but you could see the intensity burning in his crimson eyes. Curious. Hopeful. Terrified.

“I should’ve been honest with you and my parents a long time ago,” he continued, his hand still cradling your face like you were something precious and fragile.

“What do you mean?” you croaked, your heart hammering so hard you thought it might bruise your ribs.

Sylus took a slow, deliberate breath, searching your face with an intensity that made your pulse race wildly. His hand remained on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with such tenderness that fresh tears spilled over. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have said that night in the garden, and every single day since then—”

“Your Majesty, forgive the intrusion.”

The voice cut through the moment like a blade, and you both froze.

Zayne stood at the entrance to your hidden sanctuary, his expression apologetic but serious. “The King has requested your presence. He said—” The doctor’s words died as his eyes landed on you, taking in your tear-stained face, the way Sylus was holding you. “Are you unwell?” His tone shifted immediately to professional concern. “Should I examine—”

“Can you please give us a moment?” Sylus interrupted, his voice tight with barely restrained frustration. His jaw clenched, and though his eyes never left yours, you could feel the tension radiating from him like heat.

“The King insisted that it was urgent, Your Majesty,” Zayne responded respectfully, though his gaze kept drifting to you with obvious concern.

Sylus closed his eyes, and the expression that crossed his face was so painful it made your heart twist. When he opened them again, they were filled with frustration and resignation and something that looked heartbreakingly like desperation.

He sighed—a sound that seemed to come from the depths of his soul—before slowly standing. But before he pulled away completely, he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered there for a moment too long, warm and soft and achingly gentle, as if he were trying to pour everything he couldn’t say into that single touch.

When he finally straightened, you could see the reluctance in every line of his body.

“I want to continue this conversation,” Sylus said, his voice rougher now, edged with gentle determination as he looked down at you. “Tonight. Please…” His voice dropped, became almost pleading in a way you’d never heard from him before. “Wait for me. Please don’t leave. Promise me.”

Your chest tightened at his tone, at the raw need in his voice. He sounded like he was begging, like your answer might determine the course of his entire life.

Sylus waited, his crimson eyes locked on yours, searching, hoping, needing your response.

Words failed you completely, your throat too tight with emotion to form them, so all you could do was nod. A small, jerky movement, but it was enough.

Relief flooded Sylus’s features, and he gave you a small but genuinely hopeful smile—the first real smile you’d seen from him all evening. Then, surprising you completely, he bowed to you. A real bow, deep and respectful, the kind a prince should never give to a servant.

He hesitated for just a moment, his eyes drinking you in as if memorizing this moment, before finally turning away. His footsteps were reluctant as he walked toward the entrance of your beautiful sanctuary, disappearing into the labyrinth’s shadowed paths, the cherry blossoms falling around him like a benediction.

The silence he left behind felt deafening.

After Sylus departed, Zayne lingered, standing a respectful distance away but clearly unwilling to leave you alone in your current state. After a moment, he moved closer and sat down beside you on the bench. Silence fell between you—not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken things.

And then the tears you’d been trying so desperately to hold back came more frequently, harder, until you were shaking with the force of suppressed sobs.

The doctor didn’t speak. He simply, silently, offered his handkerchief—a square of soft white linen that you accepted with trembling fingers.

As you cried, as your shoulders shook and your breath came in gasps, Zayne offered quiet comfort. His hand came to rest gently on your back, rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades the way one might comfort a distressed child. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t press for explanations. He simply sat with you in your grief, a steady presence in the darkness.

“I apologize for the interruption,” he said quietly once your breathing had evened out slightly. “I wouldn’t have intruded if the King hadn’t been so insistent.”

You shook your head, wiping at your eyes with his handkerchief. “It’s not your fault,” you managed, your voice hoarse. “You were just doing your duty.”

“Perhaps,” Zayne said carefully. “But I know timing when I see it. And mine was spectacularly poor.”

Despite everything, you let out a watery laugh at that.

Zayne waited until you’d calmed down completely, until your tears had slowed to occasional sniffles and your breathing had steadied. Only then, when he was certain you were stable enough, did he speak again.

“Whoever wrote those letters is a fool if they don’t fight for you.”

He said it with such serious determination, such unflinching honesty, that it left you speechless for a long moment. You turned to look at him, finding his expression completely sincere.

“How did you—” you whispered, your eyes widening in shock and embarrassment.

Zayne interrupted gently, “I know because I once saw you reading those letters in the library, and I’ve noticed you carry them with you wherever you go.” He continued with a small, knowing smile. “And also because Tara told me. She’s quite worried about you.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “This is so embarrassing! I feel like almost everyone knows at this point.”

“Not everyone,” he assured you, and there was something kind in his tone. “But either way, I stand by my statement. You deserve someone who will treasure you, who will fight for you. And whoever is writing those letters—” He paused meaningfully. “They would be a fool to let you slip away without trying.”

Silence fell as you absorbed his words. He was so serious, so earnest about it, and there was something in the way he looked at you that made you wonder if he meant more than he was saying.

Then he stood gracefully, brushing off his trousers. “Please allow me to escort you back to the servants’ quarters. I want to ensure you get back safely. It’s late, and you shouldn’t be walking alone.”

You hesitated, glancing back toward the labyrinth where Sylus had disappeared. He’d asked you to wait for him. Had made you promise. But how long would he be? What if he couldn’t get away? What if his father kept him occupied for hours?

What if you waited and he never came?

The fear was almost paralyzing.

“I…” you started, uncertainty thick in your voice.

“You can decide what to do once you’re back in your room,” Zayne said gently, reading your hesitation accurately. “But out here, in the garden at this hour, alone and upset—it’s not safe. Not for your physical wellbeing or your reputation.”

He was right, of course. Reluctantly, you stood, your legs slightly unsteady beneath you.

You walked together in heavy silence through the garden paths, the gravel crunching beneath your feet, the night air cool against your tear-stained cheeks. Zayne kept a respectful distance but stayed close enough that his presence felt protective rather than intrusive.

Once you arrived at the entrance to the servants’ quarters, he turned to face you fully.

“You are someone extraordinary,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of absolute conviction. “And you deserve someone who will fight for you and your love every single day. Someone who won’t let duty or station or fear stand in the way. Remember that.”

Your eyes widened at his words, at the intensity behind them. As you stood there processing what he’d said, trying to understand if there were layers of meaning beneath the surface, silence stretched between you.

Was he talking about Sylus? About himself? About the mysterious letter writer?

Eventually, the doctor spoke again, breaking the spell. “Goodnight,” he said your name with such unexpected gentleness that it made your chest ache all over again.

“Goodnight, Zayne,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He gave you a small, respectful bow before turning and walking away with that same quiet grace, his footsteps fading into the night. Soon he was swallowed by shadows, leaving you standing alone at the threshold of your quarters, left to ponder and process everything that had happened.

Sylus’s almost-confession. His desperate plea for you to wait. Zayne’s knowing words and careful comfort.

The letters that suddenly felt heavier in your pocket.

The impossible hope trying to bloom in your chest despite every attempt to crush it down.

You looked back toward the garden one last time, torn between the promise you’d made and the fear of what keeping it might mean.

In the end, fear won.

You slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind you, and didn’t wait for him to return.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

As the days crawled by, each one blurring into the next in an endless cycle of forced normalcy, you threw yourself into work with desperation. You tried so desperately to keep yourself busy, to fill every waking moment with tasks and duties so there would be no space left to think about Sylus. No room for memories of his hand cupping your cheek, his voice breaking as he’d tried to tell you something important, his lips warm against your forehead.

You also became uncharacteristically social, a shift that didn’t go unnoticed by those who knew you well. You started accepting every invitation, volunteering for extra shifts, participating in activities with other servants that you’d normally decline. You helped in the kitchens even when it wasn’t your assigned duty, joined the laundry maids in their gossip sessions, accompanied the groundskeepers on their rounds. Anything. Everything. As long as it kept you occupied, kept your mind from wandering to places that would break you.

You smiled until your cheeks ached. You laughed at jokes you didn’t find funny. You pretended that everything was fine, that your world hadn’t shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces.

But exhaustion clung to you like a second skin. Dark circles bloomed under your eyes no matter how much sleep you pretended to get. Your appetite had vanished. Your hands trembled when you thought no one was looking, and sometimes you’d find yourself staring at nothing, lost in thoughts you couldn’t escape.

Tara obviously saw right through your carefully constructed facade. She knew you too well, had been your friend for too long to be fooled by false smiles and deflecting conversation. She could see how much pain you were in, could read it in every forced laugh and averted gaze. She tried to be there for you, tried to create opportunities for you to talk, to let it out, to lean on her the way friends should.

But you pushed her away every time, your voice bright and brittle as glass.

“We knew this would happen sooner or later,” you’d say with a shrug that was meant to look casual but came across as defensive. “It’s not a surprise. I’m fine, really.”

Or: “We should be happy for Sylus. This is what he was born for. It’s a good thing.”

The words tasted like ash in your mouth, but you kept saying them. As if repetition could make them true. As if you could convince yourself along with everyone else.

Tara would look at you with such sadness, such frustration, but she didn’t push. Not yet. She just stayed close, a silent presence reminding you that when you were ready to stop pretending, she’d be there to catch you.

Whenever you crossed paths with Zayne, which happened more frequently than you’d like, he would look at you with an expression that combined professional care with deep personal sympathy. His eyes would search your face, cataloging the signs of your suffering with a physician’s attention to detail—the exhaustion and the barely concealed grief.

Somehow you felt as if he knew. Not just that you were struggling, but the specific nature of your pain. He knew about your feelings for the prince, understood the impossible situation you’d found yourself in. And though the knowledge should have embarrassed you, should have made you avoid him out of shame, there was something comforting about being seen. About not having to pretend, at least with him.

Deep down, you knew he would never share your secret with anyone else. Zayne was nothing if not discreet, bound by both professional ethics and personal honor.

Still, you found yourself trying to avoid the doctor as well, because he reminded you too vividly of that night in the heart of the labyrinth. Every time you saw him, you were transported back to those moments—Sylus’s hand on your cheek, his desperate “wait for me,” the promise you’d made and then broken. The hope that had bloomed so brilliantly in your chest before you’d crushed it down out of fear.

You’d had so much hope in that moment, had let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, the impossible could become possible.

But it was too good to be true. It had to be. Sylus was a prince, soon to be king, and you were just a servant. The love you carried for him—vast and consuming and eternal—could never be reciprocated. Not in any way that mattered. Not in any way that could overcome the insurmountable distance between your worlds.

When you were finally alone at night, though, when all the distractions fell away and there was nothing left but you and the darkness and the truth you couldn’t outrun, your mind wouldn’t let you rest. The thoughts you’d managed to suppress all day would come flooding back with a vengeance, drowning you in what-ifs and if-onlys and the echo of Sylus’s voice saying things you couldn’t let yourself believe.

You’d pull out those letters—those beautiful, devastating letters—and read them until the words blurred, until you’d memorized every loop and curve of the handwriting, until your tears made the ink run.

“My moonlight… I am truly enchanted by you… My affection and admiration for you grow stronger and fonder every day…”

The words that had once filled you with such joy now felt like cruel mockery.

You spiraled in those dark hours, your thoughts turning vicious and self-destructive. And unfortunately, shamefully, you cried yourself to sleep almost every single night, your pillow damp with silent sobs, your chest aching with a grief that had no outlet.

And Sylus?

You avoided him like the plague, like he carried some contagion that would destroy you if you got too close—which, in a way, he did.

You always manufactured excuses when he tried to summon you through official channels or when he sent messages asking for a private moment. “I’m needed in the kitchens.” “I’ve been assigned to help with the guest chambers.” “I’m not feeling well.” The lies came easier each time, though they tasted more bitter.

Whenever he tried to enter spaces or rooms where he knew you’d be—the library where you used to read together, the kitchens during meal preparations, the servants’ dining hall—you would either studiously refuse to look at him, keeping your eyes fixed on your work with desperate intensity, or you’d excuse yourself from the room entirely. Mumbling something about forgotten duties or remembered tasks, fleeing before he could corner you, before he could say whatever it was he’d been trying to say that night.

You just couldn’t face him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

The cowardice of it ate at you, but the alternative—actually talking to him, hearing whatever explanation or gentle rejection he had prepared—felt impossible to survive.

And whenever you did avoid him, whenever you felt his gaze on you and deliberately turned away, whenever you saw him entering a room and immediately found a reason to leave, you couldn’t help but notice the pain that flickered across his face.

It was brief, quickly masked behind princely composure, but it was there. In the tightening around his eyes, the way his jaw would clench, the slump of his shoulders when he thought no one was watching.

You knew Sylus was hurting. Of course you did—you knew him better than anyone, could read him like one of your beloved books.

Except you never once believed it could be for the reasons your traitorous heart wanted to imagine. No, you told yourself firmly, he was hurt because his best friend was pulling away. Because the person he’d relied on for support and companionship since childhood was suddenly unavailable. It was the pain of losing a friend, nothing more.

It couldn’t be anything more.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t see because you’d been so careful to avoid him—was the true extent of Sylus’s torment.

You didn’t see how he’d return to his chambers each night and stand at his window, staring out at the gardens, at the labyrinth where he’d almost told you everything, his reflection in the glass looking haunted and hollow.

You didn’t know that he’d stopped writing the letters because what was the point when you wouldn’t even look at him? When you’d promised to wait and then disappeared?

You didn’t see him during his meetings with potential brides and their families, how he’d go through the motions with mechanical politeness while his eyes remained empty, how he’d compare every woman to you and find them all wanting.

You didn’t know that Luke and Kieran had started avoiding him during his darker moods, when his temper would fray and his control would slip, when the mask of the perfect prince would crack to reveal the desperate man underneath.

You didn’t see him clutching the letter he’d written but never sent—the one that explained everything, that laid his heart bare—his knuckles white, his hands shaking.

You didn’t know that he’d asked about you obsessively. “How is she? Is she eating? Is she sleeping? Did she seem well?”

You didn’t know that your absence was slowly destroying him.

One day, unbeknownst to you, Sylus sought out Tara, his desperation finally overcoming his pride.

He found her in one of the many halls of the castle, carrying fresh linens toward the guest wings. His heart hammered in his chest as he called out, his voice rougher than he’d intended, “Tara. A word, please.”

She stopped and turned slowly, and the moment her eyes met his, Sylus felt the full force of her anger like a physical blow.

Tara had never been particularly good at concealing how she truly felt, had never bothered to master the art of courtly composure. And right now, she looked visibly irritated—no, beyond irritated. She looked furious in a way that would have made most people back away.

She glanced around the corridor, noting the other servants passing by, the guards stationed at intervals. She waited, jaw tight, until the last person had rounded the corner and they were as alone as they could be in the castle’s public spaces.

Then she marched toward him with such aggressive intent that Sylus actually took a step back.

“You better fix this,” she hissed, jabbing a finger hard into his chest—hard enough that he felt it through the layers of his formal jacket. Her eyes blazed with protective fury. “I don’t care how you do it, but you need to fix this mess you’ve created. Now.”

The disrespect of it—a servant speaking to a prince this way, touching him without permission, making demands—would have been shocking to anyone else. But Sylus had known Tara almost as long as he’d known you, and he understood that her anger came from a place of love. Love for you. Her best friend who was falling apart.

“She won’t talk to me, Tara,” Sylus said, and he hated how desperate he sounded, how his careful princely facade crumbled in the face of her righteous anger. His hands clenched at his sides. “She won’t even look at me. How am I supposed to fix this if she won’t give me a chance to explain?”

“You’re smart, Sylus. Everyone’s always going on about how brilliant you are, how strategic, how you’re always three steps ahead.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm that cut like a blade. “So use that big brain of yours and figure it out.”

She stepped closer, her voice dropping but losing none of its intensity. “She deserves better than whatever this nightmare is, and you know it. She deserves better than secret letters and almost-confessions and being left in the dark while noble families parade their daughters in front of you like prize horses.”

The prince stood there in heavy silence, each word landing like a physical blow. The inner turmoil that had been building for days—weeks, if he was honest—was becoming unbearable. He felt like he was being torn apart, caught between duty and desire, between what was expected of him and what his heart demanded.

“I know you’re hurting too, Sylus,” Tara said, and her tone shifted slightly, became marginally more sympathetic though still edged with frustration. “I can see it. You look almost as bad as she does.”

For a moment, something vulnerable flickered across his face.

“But she doesn’t deserve someone who whispers the prettiest words in secret but never has the courage to back them up with action,” Tara continued, and the sympathy vanished, replaced by disappointment that somehow hurt worse than the anger. “She doesn’t deserve to be kept in the dark, to be made to hope and then abandoned. She doesn’t deserve to cry herself to sleep every night while you hide behind your duties and your crown.”

At her words, Sylus’s eyes widened, genuine shock breaking through his composure. “She’s been—” He couldn’t finish the sentence. The image of you crying alone, suffering because of him, because of his cowardice, made something crack in his chest. “I didn’t… I thought she was avoiding me because she didn’t—”

“Didn’t what? Didn’t care?” Tara laughed bitterly. “Are you really that clueless?”

“I—” Sylus started, but Tara quickly cut him off.

“Sylus, I’ve known you for years. Since we were children running through these halls together.” Her expression softened just slightly, became almost pitying. “I know how you look at her. I’ve seen it since we were young—the way your eyes follow her across a room, the way you smile differently when she’s around, the way you’ve always made excuses to be near her.”

She crossed her arms, fixing him with a knowing stare. “It was pretty easy to connect the secret admirer letters to you. Who else writes with that specific slant? Who else knows all her favorite things? Who else would use phrases like ‘my moonlight’?”

Sylus felt heat creep up his neck. He’d thought he’d been so careful, so subtle.

“I know you’re in a difficult position,” Tara continued, and now her voice carried genuine understanding alongside the frustration. “I know the pressure you’re under, the expectations, the weight of the crown. I’m not unsympathetic to that.”

She stepped forward one final time, her voice dropping to something fierce and protective and absolutely unyielding.

“But if you truly love her the way you wrote that you do in those beautiful letters, if even half of what you said was real, then you need to fight for her like your life depends on it. Because hers certainly feels like it does.”

The words hung in the air between them, a challenge and a plea all at once.

Sylus stood frozen, his mind racing, his heart hammering. Everything Tara had said was true. Every accusation, every disappointed observation, every demand. He had been a coward. He had let his fear of duty, of disappointing his father, of the complications and scandal override what mattered most.

You.

He’d let you slip away when he should have been holding on with both hands.

“She deserves the best,” Tara said, and her voice cracked slightly with emotion—worry for her friend, frustration with the situation, exhaustion from watching two people she cared about destroy themselves. “And right now? This is a literal nightmare for her. She’s breaking, Sylus. Slowly but surely, she’s breaking apart.”

She turned to leave, but paused, throwing one final look over her shoulder.

“So fix it. I don’t care what it takes, what rules you have to break, what expectations you have to shatter. Just… fix it. Before it’s too late. Before she’s so broken that even your pretty words can’t put her back together.”

And then she was gone, leaving Sylus standing alone in the corridor, her words echoing in his mind like a death knell.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

Then, slowly, determination began to harden in his chest, replacing the despair and helplessness that had been consuming him.

Tara was right. He’d been a coward. He’d been letting circumstance and duty dictate his life when he should have been fighting for what—for who—mattered most.

He thought of you crying yourself to sleep. Of you avoiding him because you thought he didn’t want you. Of you suffering while he suffered, both of you too afraid to bridge the distance between you.

No more.

He was done with secret letters and stolen moments and almost-confessions. He was done letting fear win.

If he had to defy his father, if he had to cause a scandal, if he had to turn the entire kingdom upside down—so be it.

You were worth it. You had always been worth it.

He just had to make you believe that too.

And he knew exactly how to do it.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

A day after Sylus had his confrontation with Tara, he summoned you.

You’d been in the laundry rooms, mechanically folding linens with the other servants, your mind blissfully blank from the repetitive work, when Luke and Kieran appeared in the doorway. The moment you saw them, your stomach dropped. You knew—instantly, instinctively—why they were there.

“His Majesty requests your presence,” Luke said, his usual playfulness notably absent. His expression was serious, almost apologetic.

“In his private office,” Kieran added. “Immediately.”

You felt panic spike through your veins, sharp and immediate. Your hands stilled on the sheet you’d been folding, gripping the fabric too tightly. “I… I’m in the middle of—”

“It wasn’t a request,” Luke interrupted gently but firmly, cutting off your excuse before you could fully form it.

The words hung heavy in the air. Not a request. An order.

Your mouth went dry. In all the years you’d known Sylus—through childhood games and adolescent adventures and the complicated feelings of adulthood—he had never once used his title or position to command you. Never pulled rank, never treated you as anything less than an equal despite the vast difference in your stations. He would only do so now if it was absolutely necessary, if he’d exhausted every other option.

Which meant you couldn’t refuse. Couldn’t make another excuse. Couldn’t run.

“I see,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You carefully set down the linen with trembling fingers, smoothing out wrinkles that didn’t exist. “Of course. I’ll… I’ll come now.”

You followed the twins through the castle corridors, your heart hammering against your ribs with each step. Nervous didn’t even begin to cover what you were feeling. Anxious as hell was closer. Terrified was probably most accurate.

Your mind raced with possibilities. What could he possibly want? Was he going to formally ask you to stop avoiding him? Demand an explanation? Tell you that your behavior was inappropriate and you were being reassigned? Or worse—much worse—was he going to gently, kindly, tell you that he knew about your feelings and that while he cared for you as a friend, that was all it could ever be?

The walk felt endless and far too short all at once.

When you finally reached the ornate doors of his private office—a room you’d been in countless times before but which suddenly felt foreign and intimidating—Luke knocked twice.

“She’s here, Your Majesty,” Kieran called through the heavy wood.

There was a pause, a moment of suspended silence, and then you heard his voice. That deep, familiar voice that haunted your dreams.

“Let her in.”

The twins pushed open the doors and stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter. You caught Kieran giving you an encouraging look, something almost pitying in his expression, before the doors closed behind you with a soft, final click.

And then you were alone with him.

Your anxiety and nerves multiplied tenfold, flooding your system until you felt almost lightheaded. Your hands began shaking at your sides, and you clasped them together tightly to hide the tremor.

Sylus stood near the window, backlit by the afternoon sun streaming through the glass, and for a moment he was just a silhouette—tall and broad-shouldered and achingly familiar.

Then he turned to face you fully, and your breath caught in your throat.

When his eyes—the very same piercing red eyes you love—find yours across the room, they ignite with a spark of longing, and you swear your whole world stops spinning.

As you regarded him—truly looked at him for the first time in over a week of careful avoidance—you couldn’t help but notice how utterly exhausted he looked. How truly bad he looked in a way that made your chest constrict painfully.

There were dark circles under his eyes that rivaled your own, deep shadows that spoke of sleepless nights. His silver hair, usually immaculate, looked like he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly. His formal jacket was slightly rumpled, his collar not quite straight.

He looked like a man who’d been suffering. Like a man who’d been slowly coming apart at the seams.

You didn’t know if it was even possible, but somehow seeing him like this made you feel even more heartbroken than you already were. Because he was hurting too, and some terrible part of you had hoped—had needed to believe—that at least he was fine. That your absence hadn’t affected him beyond mild inconvenience.

But clearly, devastatingly, that wasn’t true.

He looked at you with such raw vulnerability, such naked longing, that it did something to you—cracked something open in your chest that you’d been trying desperately to keep sealed shut. His crimson eyes traced over your face like a man dying of thirst finally seeing water, drinking in every detail as if he’d been starved for the sight of you.

You both stood there in heavy silence for a long moment, neither moving, neither speaking. Just staring at each other across the space of his office like there was a chasm between you instead of a few feet of expensive carpet.

The air felt charged, electric with everything unsaid.

“Sy—” you whispered finally, your voice cracking on his name.

“Sweetie,” he breathed at the exact same moment, and the endearment nearly broke you. “I can’t express how sorry I am.” His voice was rough, raw with emotion he wasn’t bothering to hide. “How much I’ve missed you. How empty everything feels without you.”

He took a half-step forward, his hand lifting slightly before falling back to his side, as if he’d stopped himself from reaching for you.

“I’m sorry for how much I’ve hurt you,” he continued, his voice dropping to something more gentle, more tender. “I never wanted that. God, I never wanted that. But I… I handled everything wrong, and you paid the price for my cowardice.”

The sincerity in his voice, the genuine remorse and pain, made your eyes burn with unshed tears. A small voice inside your head—the part of you that loved him desperately and wanted nothing more than to close the distance between you—told you to accept his words. To listen and believe what he was trying to tell you. To let him explain, to give him the chance he was asking for.

But the destructive part of you, the part that had been whispering cruel things in the darkness for weeks, that had convinced you that you weren’t worthy of being loved by someone like him—that part wouldn’t let you. Couldn’t let you.

You felt your hands tremble even more violently as you stood there, frozen between wanting to run toward him and wanting to flee entirely. Your throat tightened, making it hard to breathe, hard to speak.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. You looked away from his intense gaze, unable to hold it, unable to face the vulnerability and honesty you saw there. “I’ve just been busy. That’s all. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

His jaw ticked in response, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. You could see the disappointment flash across his face, the way his shoulders tensed. He’d hoped—desperately hoped—that you would believe him, would listen to him, would meet him halfway.

But you couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

The silence that stretched between you then felt suffocating, uncomfortable in a way silence with Sylus had never been before. It left you wanting to squirm, to apologize, to take back your words.

But you stayed still. Stayed quiet.

Finally, Sylus spoke again, and his voice had shifted—still gentle, but with an undercurrent of determination that made you look up despite yourself.

“I asked you to come here for two reasons,” he said carefully, watching your reaction. “One, I needed to tell you everything I wanted to say that night in the garden. Everything I’ve been trying to say for weeks, for months—maybe for years if I’m being honest with myself.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

“But I can see that you need more time,” he continued, and something that looked like pain flickered across his face. “That you need more than just words from me. You need proof. Action. Something tangible.”

He paused, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have much time to give you. Which brings me to the second reason I summoned you.”

You finally looked up at him fully, meeting his gaze with wide, uncertain eyes. Your pulse thrummed in your throat.

Sylus straightened slightly, and you caught a glimpse of the prince he was—the leader he was about to become. Authoritative. Decisive. But underneath it, you could still see the man you loved, vulnerable and hopeful and desperate.

“I’m being summoned to one of the borders of our kingdom,” he explained, his tone becoming more formal, more official. “The region that borders our neighboring country of Athana. There have been some tensions, some concerns about our alliance. They need me there to strengthen diplomatic relations, to negotiate, to ensure peace.”

He took a breath, and his voice softened again, became more personal.

“It will be several days’ journey, and I’ll need to stay for at least a week, possibly longer depending on how the negotiations proceed.” His eyes searched yours, intense and unwavering. “And there’s no one I trust more than you. No one whose counsel I value more, whose presence I need more.”

Your breath caught as you realized what he was about to say.

“So I want you to come along on this trip. As my personal advisor. My companion.”

The word hung between you, loaded with meaning.

“Surely there’s someone else more qualified—” you started automatically, your mind scrambling for escape, for any excuse that might save you from days of forced proximity, from the torture of being near him while maintaining your walls. “One of your actual advisors, or—”

“No,” Sylus interrupted, and his voice carried such controlled determination, such absolute certainty, that it cut through your protests like a blade. “And it wasn’t a request.”

There it was again. The authority. The command.

You gulped nervously, your throat clicking audibly in the quiet room. You couldn’t look away from him, caught in the gravity of his gaze like a moon trapped in orbit.

For a moment, Sylus’s commanding expression melted into something infinitely more gentle. His hands, which had been clasped behind his back in a formal pose, twitched at his sides as if fighting the urge to reach for you. His eyes roamed over your face with such tender concern it made your chest ache.

You looked so beautiful to him, even exhausted and hurting. Maybe especially then, because at least you were real and present and in front of him instead of a ghost he kept catching glimpses of around corners.

He wanted to cross the room and pull you into his arms. Wanted to hold you until you stopped trembling, until you believed that he would never willingly hurt you. Wanted to pour his heart out in a way that left no room for doubt or fear. Wanted to console you, to take care of you, to prove with actions what his words hadn’t been able to convey.

But he held himself still. Held himself back. Because he could see you weren’t ready for that yet. Could see that you’d bolt if he pushed too hard, too fast.

So instead, he just whispered with aching sincerity, “There’s no one else better. There’s no one else I want by my side. Just you. It’s always been you.”

The words landed between you like a confession, like a promise.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, unable to form a response. Your mind was spinning, your heart racing so fast you felt dizzy.

Sylus held your gaze for one more long moment, letting the weight of his words settle, before he straightened again and added with quiet finality, “We leave tonight. I’ll have someone sent to your quarters to help you pack. Be ready by sunset.”

It wasn’t a discussion. Wasn’t a negotiation.

And somehow, despite your fear, despite every instinct screaming at you to refuse, to run, to protect yourself—you found yourself nodding.

Because maybe Tara was right. Maybe Sylus was right.

Maybe you did need more than words.

Maybe you needed time. Proximity. A chance to see beyond your own fears and insecurities.

Maybe this trip would break you completely.

Or maybe—just maybe—it would finally put you back together.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The journey was long and excruciating in ways that had nothing to do with the rutted roads or the endless miles.

The ride in the carriage felt interminable, each hour stretching into eternity as you sat across from Sylus in a space that was somehow both too small and too vast. You weren’t able to talk to him no matter how hard he tried to draw you out, and the silence between you felt like a living thing—heavy and suffocating and wrong in a way that silence with Sylus had never been before.

It hurt you just as much as it clearly hurt him. You could see it in the way his jaw would tighten when you gave another one-word answer, in the flicker of pain that crossed his face each time you looked away. But you just couldn’t find the words, couldn’t push past the wall you’d built around yourself. You felt numb and hurt and so desperately confused that speaking felt impossible.

Sylus tried, though he was careful not to push too hard. He’d offer gentle conversation starters, then let them fade naturally when you didn’t respond. He never pressed, never demanded engagement—just left the door open for you whenever you might be ready to walk through it.

He’d point out landmarks as they passed, his voice soft and undemanding. “That tree marks the border between regions,” he’d mention quietly, not expecting a response. Or he’d share a brief story about a previous trip, keeping his tone light and easy, giving you the option to listen or let the words wash over you like background noise.

He talked about small things—the beauty of the countryside, a funny incident from his childhood, observations about the changing landscape. Never anything heavy. Never anything that required you to engage beyond your comfort level.

And you? You sat mostly silent across from him, your hands folded in your lap, your eyes fixed on the passing scenery outside the window. Occasionally you’d nod or offer a soft “mm-hmm” of acknowledgment, and each time you did, you’d catch the small, grateful smile that would flicker across his face. As if even that tiny bit of interaction was a gift.

In your defense—not that you were sure you deserved defending—you were honestly exhausted from all the traveling. The constant jostling of the carriage, the lack of proper sleep, the emotional turmoil that had been your constant companion for weeks now. It all weighed on you until even keeping your eyes open felt like a monumental effort.

You stopped occasionally for meals at small roadside inns, and to camp out overnight when no suitable accommodations could be found. During these stops, Sylus was quietly attentive without being overbearing.

He’d make sure food was available for you but never forced you to eat more than you wanted. He’d suggest you sit closer to the fire if the evening was cold, but accepted without comment if you preferred to stay where you were. He’d ask once if you were comfortable, if you needed anything, and then let it be.

It was gentle care—the kind that didn’t demand gratitude or acknowledgment, that didn’t make you feel smothered or pitied. Just… thoughtful. Considerate. The way Sylus had always been with you, even as children.

The sleeping arrangements were decided quietly on the first night. “You should take the carriage,” he’d said simply. “It’s more comfortable and private. I’ll be fine with Luke and Kieran.”

You’d started to protest, feeling guilty, but he’d just given you a small, tired smile. “Please. I’d feel better knowing you were resting properly. That’s all I ask.”

And because it was phrased as a request rather than a command, because he’d looked at you with such quiet hope that you’d accept this one small thing, you’d agreed.

He was respectful in a way that made you feel cared for without feeling obligated. There was no hovering, no constant checking—just quiet consideration that left space for you to breathe.

But the destructive part of you—that terrible, insidious voice that had taken up permanent residence in your head—would whisper that it was just friendship. Just the natural kindness of someone who’d known you forever and felt responsible for you.

*He’s only being considerate because you’ve been friends since childhood. It doesn’t mean anything more.*

Yet whenever you tried to sleep, alone in the dark carriage with only the sound of the horses and the distant murmur of voices around the campfire, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

About the man who was so respectful of your boundaries that he’d give you space even when you could see it hurt him. About how he’d looked at you in his office with such quiet longing. About the almost-confession in the garden that haunted your dreams. About the letters from your secret admirer, those beautiful letters that spoke of devotion and enchantment.

You felt safe in the carriage, surrounded by his scent and wrapped in blankets he’d quietly arranged before stepping away. But you also felt restless, your mind refusing to quiet, your heart aching with want and fear in equal measure.

You didn’t sleep much during those nights. Couldn’t sleep, really. Just dozed fitfully, waking at every sound, every shift of the carriage, replaying conversations and moments over and over until they lost all meaning.

Sylus noticed, of course he did. He’d always been quietly observant when it came to you, noticing things without making you feel watched or scrutinized.

On the third day of travel, after you’d nearly dozed off during a rest stop, he’d mentioned gently, “There’s an inn about three-quarters of the way to the border. We could stop there tonight if you’d like. Proper beds, a chance to rest.”

He’d phrased it as an option, not a decision he’d made for you. Giving you the choice.

“That… that would be nice,” you’d admitted quietly, and the soft relief in his expression made your chest ache.

As evening approached and the landscape began to shift from open countryside to a small village, you felt your heart rate pick up with nervous anticipation. The thought of a real bed, a proper room, maybe even a bath—it sounded like heaven.

The inn appeared as the sun was setting, bathing everything in warm golden light. It was a large, cozy-looking building with smoke curling from multiple chimneys, warm light glowing in the windows, flower boxes beneath the sills even this late in the season. It looked welcoming. Safe.

As soon as the carriage rolled to a stop in the courtyard, Sylus stepped out first with fluid grace. But instead of walking toward the entrance, he turned back and stood beside the carriage door, his hand outstretched toward you.

Not demanding. Just… offering. His crimson eyes soft in the fading light.

Your breath caught at the gesture—so simple, so gentlemanly, yet somehow intimate in a way that made your pulse quicken. You placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours, the gentle strength as his fingers closed carefully around yours.

He helped you down from the carriage with such careful attention, his other hand hovering near your waist—not quite touching, just there in case you needed the support. When your feet touched the ground and you wobbled slightly from stiffness, his hand settled lightly at your side to steady you.

The touch was brief, respectful, but it burned through the layers of your traveling clothes, making you acutely aware of every point of contact between you.

For a moment, you were standing close enough that you could see the flecks of deeper crimson in his eyes, could feel the warmth radiating from him in the cooling evening air.

Your eyes met and held.

Time seemed to slow, the sounds of the inn and the village fading into insignificance. His hand was still wrapped gently around yours, not gripping or holding tight—just connected. Present.

You could see everything in his gaze—the longing he couldn’t quite hide, the tenderness, the quiet hope. It was all there, offered freely without demand or expectation.

Your heart thundered in your chest. Heat crept up your neck and into your cheeks, and you knew he could feel your pulse quicken through your hands.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. You just stood there, hands clasped, lost in a moment that felt fragile and precious.

You were the first to break it, looking away with a flustered and shy expression, your eyes dropping to focus somewhere around his collar. You couldn’t handle the intensity, the vulnerability, the way looking at him made you want things you’d convinced yourself you couldn’t have.

From your peripheral vision, you caught the small, soft smile that curved his lips—not triumphant or possessive, but gentle. Understanding. As if he knew you needed to look away and didn’t hold it against you.

He released your hand slowly, his fingers trailing against yours for just a moment before letting go completely. Then he stepped back slightly, giving you space, before gesturing toward the inn with a quiet, “Shall we?”

His hand settled at the small of your back as you walked—so light you almost couldn’t feel it, just enough to guide without controlling.

Once you both entered the building, you were greeted by warmth and the smell of woodsmoke and cooking food. The interior was cozy and well-maintained, with dark wooden beams, a large fireplace crackling in the main room, and the general atmosphere of a well-loved establishment.

Luke and Kieran were already at the front desk, speaking with the innkeeper—a rotund, friendly-looking man with a welcoming smile. But as you approached, you noticed the twins’ expressions looked… odd. Confused. Almost suspiciously so.

Luke glanced up as Sylus approached, and something flickered across his face. “Ah… Your Majesty, there seems to be an issue with the accommodations.”

Sylus, who looked quietly exhausted from the long journey, simply waited. “What kind of issue?”

Kieran spoke up, his tone sheepish in a way that felt almost… deliberate. “The rooms we reserved ahead of time… well, there was apparently a miscommunication with the courier.” He gestured apologetically at the ledger. “They only have one suite available. The rest of the rooms are occupied by some Duke’s entourage who arrived earlier today.”

Your heart plummeted straight to your stomach.

One room. One suite.

“I can stay in the servants’ quarters,” you said immediately, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Or—or I’m sure there’s a small room somewhere, even a storage room would be fine—”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Sylus said quietly, and there was something almost hesitant in his voice. Not commanding. Almost… asking. “The suite should have a sitting area, and I can take the couch. Would that… would that be acceptable to you?”

He was giving you the choice. Actually asking rather than deciding for you.

You looked at him—at the exhaustion in his face, the gentle hope in his eyes, the way he was clearly trying not to pressure you while also obviously not wanting to be separated.

“I…” you started, your cheeks burning. “If you’re certain it’s not… I mean, if it’s not improper…”

“I’ll be perfectly respectful,” he said softly. “I promise. I just…” He paused, something vulnerable crossing his face. “I’d sleep better knowing you were safe and comfortable. But only if you’re comfortable with the arrangement.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he was leaving the decision entirely in your hands, made something loosen in your chest.

“Alright,” you whispered. “We can share the suite.”

The relief that flooded his features was so profound it made your heart ache.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

As Sylus opened the door to your room, you both stepped inside and took in the view together.

The room was bathed in the warm, flickering glow of candlelight, casting soft shadows on the walls and pooling on the wooden floor. The space was cozy and inviting in its simplicity. Warm wooden furniture gave the room a rustic charm—a sturdy dresser, a small table with two chairs near the window, and a wardrobe in the corner. Fluffy cream-colored rugs were scattered across the floor, soft enough to sink into. A stone fireplace sat ready to be lit when the evening chill set in, with a neat stack of firewood beside it. The balcony doors were slightly ajar, allowing the cool evening breeze to drift in, carrying with it the scent of pine and distant rain. Beyond the balcony was a picture-perfect view of the distant forest and dreamy landscape—rolling hills disappearing into twilight, the first stars beginning to emerge.

The room was beautiful in its simplicity. Intimate. Sweet. And there, dominating the center of the space, was one large bed with a quilted coverlet and an abundance of pillows.

Just one bed.

No couch. No chaise. No secondary sleeping option whatsoever.

You heard Sylus swear quietly under his breath behind you, the curse so soft you almost missed it. When you glanced at him, you saw he’d stopped in the doorway, his expression caught somewhere between resignation and concern as he took in the sleeping arrangements.

“Look, I can always just sleep on the floor,” Sylus said quickly, already moving into problem-solving mode. He grimaced slightly, scrubbing a hand over his face in a gesture of exhaustion before walking toward the plush rug positioned beside the bed. “It’ll be fine. This rug looks comfortable enough.”

You swallowed nervously, your heart suddenly beating too fast, your palms going damp. You tried to steady your breathing the best you could before speaking.

A thousand thoughts overwhelmed your mind as you watched him lower himself to sit on the rug, testing it as if genuinely considering spending the night there. Your chest tightened with a mixture of emotions—guilt that he’d sacrifice his comfort, confusion about what this meant, and something else. Something warm and terrifying that you didn’t want to examine too closely.

This was Sylus. Your Sylus. The man who’d just traveled for days, who looked exhausted, who’d been sleeping on the ground to give you the carriage. And now he was prepared to sleep on the floor again rather than make you uncomfortable.

“Sy, wait,” you whispered, cringing internally at how desperate you sounded. The plea came out softer than you’d intended, more vulnerable. “The bed is clearly big enough for the both of us.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied, and to demonstrate, he laid back on the rug and stretched his limbs out as if to prove its adequacy. “See? Comfy.”

But you could see the lie in the tension of his shoulders, in the way he shifted almost immediately to find a better position.

“Sylus…” you sighed, crossing your arms loosely in front of your chest—more to give your hands something to do than out of any real frustration. “We both know that’s not true.” You huffed out a nervous laugh, your eyes darting around the room to avoid direct eye contact with him. Your hands trembled slightly as you picked up your bag from where you’d set it down, carrying it carefully to the wooden dresser across from the bed.

“And besides,” you continued, your voice quiet but firm, “you’ll be sore tomorrow and won’t get proper sleep. You need rest too.”

You smiled nervously, timidly, at him as you pushed some stray hair back behind your ear—a nervous gesture you’d had since childhood. Your cheeks felt warm.

Sylus remained sitting on the rug, looking up at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. Uncertainty? Hope? Fear?

“Please,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself. “We’re both adults. And you’re the future king—you shouldn’t be sleeping on the floor like… like you’re being punished or something.”

There was a long pause. You could hear your own heartbeat in the silence.

“Right,” Sylus finally replied, and his voice was just as nervous as yours, touched with something almost shy. He sat up slowly, running a hand through his silver hair. “Are you sure?” he tried again, and you could see genuine concern in his eyes. “I truly don’t want to make you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I want.”

“Sy,” you looked at him properly then, your hands fidgeting nervously at your sides as you frowned slightly. All your previous worries came rushing back tenfold, crashing over you like a wave.

Of course he wouldn’t want to share a bed with you. You were sure you looked like a wounded kitten right now, but you couldn’t help it. The thought that sharing a bed with you might terrify him or disgust him made something crack in your chest.

“Am I really that awful to share a bed with—” you started, your voice small and hurt.

“No!” He cut you off immediately, standing up as his eyes went wide with something close to panic. The word came out too quickly, too forcefully, and he seemed to realise it because he cleared his throat, a blush coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears in obvious embarrassment.

“I mean, no, of course not,” he said more gently, softer. “I just… I truly don’t want to make you uncomfortable. That’s all. I’d never—you could never be awful. That’s not… that’s not what this is about at all.”

Your heart warmed at his words, at the sincerity bleeding through every syllable. Relief flooded through you, loosening the knot of anxiety in your stomach.

“You won’t make me uncomfortable, I promise,” you reassured him with a small but genuine smile that you hoped conveyed your honesty. “As long as you’re fine with it too? I don’t want to force you into anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Sylus’s expression softened into something achingly tender. Slowly, carefully, he reciprocated your smile and nodded. “Of course, sweetie. If you’re certain, then… yes. Thank you.”

They both stood there, smiling at each other across the small room, and for a moment everything else fell away. The awkwardness, the tension, the confusion of the past weeks—it all dimmed in the warmth of that shared smile. In the familiar comfort of just being together.

The moment stretched, gentle and sweet and fragile.

Then you realised you’d been staring at him for too long, and warmth flooded your cheeks and neck, rising up like a tide. You felt flustered and shy and completely exposed under his soft gaze, like he could see every thought racing through your mind, every feeling you’d tried so hard to hide.

“S-sorry,” you stammered, mentally cursing yourself for the stutter. “Let me go find my nightgown.”

You turned quickly, reaching for your pack with slightly trembling hands. When you pulled out your nightgown—a simple, modest thing—reality struck you like cold water.

There was no changing screen. No separate room. No privacy. How were you supposed to change in front of him? You hadn’t thought this through at all.

You stood there frozen, clutching the nightgown, feeling increasingly foolish.

“What are you apologising for?” Sylus questioned gently from behind you, his voice closer than you’d expected but not uncomfortably so. “There’s nothing to apologise for.”

Your back was still turned to him, and you felt vulnerable, exposed in a way that had nothing to do with clothing. But his gentle words worked like a balm, and you felt your stiff shoulders begin to relax despite your nervousness.

You heard the soft sound of Sylus walking from the rug, heard his careful footsteps as he walked slowly toward you. Not rushing. Not demanding. Just… approaching.

At your continued silence, he spoke again, his voice low and achingly soft.

“If anything, I should be the one apologising.”

Your eyes widened. You froze completely, your hands stilling on the fabric you’d been nervously twisting. Your whole body felt like a live wire, every nerve ending aware of his proximity. Slowly, trembling slightly, you turned around to face him.

The breath left your lungs in a rush.

He was so close. Close enough that you could see the exact shade of crimson in his eyes, could count the individual strands of silver in his hair. Close enough that his warmth seemed to wrap around you like an embrace. Your whole body felt like it was burning, heat spreading from your chest outward until even your fingertips tingled.

“Why didn’t you stay that night?” Sylus asked quietly, and there was such raw vulnerability in the question it made your throat tight.

“Sy…” you whispered, looking away from his intense stare because it was too much, too open, too honest.

“I just can’t help but wonder why you didn’t—or wouldn’t—wait for me,” Sylus continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I understand that I probably ruined everything with my cowardice, with my inability to just tell you the truth when I had the chance. But I had hoped…” He paused, swallowing hard. “I’d hoped you might give me the chance to explain myself. To make things right.”

You could see his hands twitch at his sides, could see how badly he wanted to reach for you but was holding himself back. Could see the desperate need to comfort you, to close the distance, to touch you—but he remained still, respectful of your space even as it clearly cost him.

“I know I probably don’t deserve you,” he added, even more quietly, and the pain in his voice made your chest ache. “I know I’ve handled everything terribly. But I also know that I want to fight for you. That I need to fight for you. That you’re worth fighting for.”

His eyes found yours again, holding them with gentle intensity.

“I’m tired of being a coward,” he said, and there was steel beneath the softness now. Determination. “It’s time I’m honest with you. Honest with everyone. No more hiding. No more fear.”

Your eyes started to burn with the telltale prickle of tears, and your whole body trembled beneath his gaze—not from fear, but from the overwhelming emotions crashing over you. Slowly, you tilted your head back up to look at him properly.

And what you saw there nearly broke you. He looked vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before. Open and raw and hurting. But also hopeful. So desperately, achingly hopeful.

Sylus took a shaky breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely audible.

“I wrote those letters.” The world seemed to stop spinning. “I am your secret admirer.”

Your eyes widened impossibly further as you gasped quietly, the sound catching in your throat. Your mind went blank, then flooded with a thousand thoughts all at once.

“You?” The word came out as barely a breath. “H-how? When? Why didn’t you—”

You couldn’t finish any of the questions tumbling through your mind. Couldn’t process what he’d just said.

Sylus closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering his courage, drawing on some inner strength. When he opened them again, they were bright with unshed tears and blazing with gentle, intense determination.

“My moonlight, you are everything I desire,” he whispered, and the words landed like a physical touch.

You took in a deep, shuddering breath as Sylus moved closer—slowly, carefully, giving you every opportunity to step back if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

His hands lifted, trembling slightly, and cupped your face with infinite gentleness. His palms were warm against your cheeks, his fingers spreading to cradle more of you, as if you were something infinitely precious that might shatter if held too tightly.

“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of you,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “Not a single day where you don’t consume my thoughts. I dream of you every night. When I wake, you’re my first thought. When I sleep, you’re my last.”

His thumbs brushed across your cheekbones with such tender care it made fresh tears spring to your eyes.

“There is no one as mesmerising as you. No one as enchanting. No one who makes me feel the way you do.” He paused, swallowing hard, his eyes never leaving yours. “You consume my very being. Every part of me belongs to you—has always belonged to you.”

He breathed out your name like a prayer, like a confession, like the most important word in any language.

“You’re the love of my life,” he whispered, and his voice cracked slightly on the words. “I love you. I’m so deeply, hopelessly, completely in love with you.”

The tears that had been gathering in your eyes finally spilled over, sliding down your cheeks in warm streams. A sob hiccupped out of you as you looked at him—this man you’d loved for so long, who was looking at you like you hung the moon and stars.

“Y-you love me?” you stammered, needing to hear it again, needing to be sure this wasn’t some beautiful dream you’d wake from. You blinked repeatedly, trying to clear your vision through the tears that kept forming. “You really—”

“Yes, kitten,” he smiled with such profound tenderness it stole what little breath you had left.

The endearment made your heart skip. You’d heard him call you that before, but now it felt different. Weighted with meaning. With love.

His thumbs continued their gentle stroking across your cheeks, catching tears as they fell with such careful devotion.

“I’ve loved you from the moment I met you,” he continued, his voice soft but absolute. “Do you remember? We were children. You’d just arrived at the castle, so small and frightened, and you looked at me with those eyes and I just… knew. Even then, I knew you’d be important to me.”

A watery laugh escaped you at the memory—you, barely seven years old, overwhelmed by the massive castle and all the strangers, and Sylus offering you his hand and a shy smile.

“I’ve always loved you,” he went on, and you could hear the tears in his voice now too. “Always adored you. You were always the only one I wanted. The only one I needed. I am so hopelessly, so deeply, so irrevocably in love with you. There’s never been anyone else. There never could be.”

As you looked into his eyes—those beautiful crimson eyes that had always seen you, truly seen you—all you could see was pure adoration and love written in them. Devotion so complete it took your breath away.

For all those years, you’d been so terrified to tell him how you felt. Had convinced yourself it was impossible, that you were foolish for even hoping. Had spent countless nights crying into your pillow over the love you thought you could never have.

Only to discover he’d felt the same way all along.

You’d always been his. From the very first moment. Just as he’d always been yours.

But fear still lingered, creeping in despite the joy. Reality crashing back.

“B-but what about your parents?” you whispered, confusion and worry threading through your voice. “I mean, the King and Queen? You’re going to be King soon. They’ll never accept—I’m not noble, I’m not—”

Your breathing quickened with anxiety. This felt too good to be true. There had to be some obstacle, some reason why this couldn’t work.

Then Sylus smiled—widely, brilliantly, like the sun breaking through clouds.

“Before I summoned you to my office, I told them the truth,” he said, and relief was evident in every word. “I told my father and mother that I only wanted you. That I refused to marry out of duty alone, that I wouldn’t accept any match made for political gain. That I would only marry for love. That I would only marry you.”

Your breath caught. Your heart felt like it might burst from your chest.

“My father struggled with it initially,” Sylus admitted honestly. “He’s a traditional man, and he wanted to uphold certain expectations. But he was never truly against the idea of me being with you. He’s known how I felt about you for years—I think everyone has except you.”

A soft, slightly watery laugh escaped him.

“And my mother?” His smile grew impossibly softer. “She’s been hoping for this since we were children. She’s always loved you. She told me I was a fool for waiting so long, that she was beginning to think she’d have to orchestrate situations to force me to confess.”

He paused, his eyes searching yours.

“They gave us their blessing. Both of them. Completely. You’re already part of our family—you have been for years. This just… makes it official. Makes it real.”

A sob wrecked through your body as you took in his words, the reality of them sinking in like warmth spreading through frozen limbs.

“You—you truly love me?” you asked again in disbelief, shaking your head because this couldn’t be real, couldn’t be happening. “This isn’t… I’m not dreaming?”

“My kitten,” he whispered with such tenderness and intimacy it made you shiver. “I’ve only ever loved you. I will always only want you, need you, desire you, adore you. In this life and every life after.”

Then he pulled you into his arms—gently, carefully, as if you might break. He wrapped his arms around you securely but not tightly, holding you close against his chest.

“You’re the love of my life,” he murmured into your hair. “My soulmate. My everything.”

You felt like you were floating, like this had to be one of your dreams. The beautiful, impossible dreams you’d had countless times before, only to wake up alone and heartbroken.

“Am I dreaming?” you hiccupped against his chest, your hands clutching at his shirt. “Please tell me I’m not dreaming. I don’t think I could bear waking up from this.”

“No, my beloved,” he cooed softly, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head while the other rubbed soothing circles on your back. “It’s real. I’m real. This is real. I promise you.”

You nuzzled your head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat—strong and steady and real—as more sobs wracked through you. These weren’t tears of sadness anymore. They were tears of relief, of joy, of overwhelming emotion you didn’t have words for.

“I’ve been in love with you since the first time we met,” you confessed, your voice soft and muffled against him but steady with truth. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything for anyone else besides you. Ever. It’s always been you.”

You felt him tense slightly, felt his breath catch, and then he was pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were bright with unshed tears, his smile trembling with emotion.

You were still trembling against him, crying with the weight of all these overwhelming feelings—years of longing and fear and hope finally finding release.

“You’re my everything,” Sylus whispered, cupping your cheeks again with such reverence, such tenderness.

Then slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, he leaned down and pressed the softest, most gentle kiss against your forehead. His lips lingered there, warm and tender, and you felt more tears slide down your cheeks.

When he pulled back just enough to look at you again, his thumbs brushed away your tears with such loving care.

His grin was contagious, warmer than the fire that’s crackling in the fireplace, brighter than the sun on a warm summer day and you swear that in that moment you felt as if it’s just the two of you in this universe.

You leaned your face closer to his to then graze your nose against Sylus’.

“My kitten,” He smiled, blinding and it only widened when you looked at him timidly. His nose then moved down to press against your cheek, lips just brushing yours.

“My Sylus.” You whispered as you bit your bottom lip bashfully.

Slowly he brushed his lips against yours before pulling away just slightly. His tongue poked out to wet his lips, and you had to hold back a moan at the delicious, inviting sight. “Kitten,” he whispered lowly, sending shivers down your spine, as his gaze shifted from your lips to your eyes repeatedly. “Can I…?”

Your heart stopped, then started again at triple speed.

“Please,” you breathed.

And then his lips were on yours, soft and gentle and perfect. The kiss was tender, almost chaste—a question and an answer all at once. You felt his hands trembling slightly as they cradled your face, felt your own hands come up to grip his shirt, anchoring yourself to him.

You whimpered as he gave your bottom lip a little nip, swiping his tongue against it afterwards to soothe the sting. You gasped, and Sylus took the opportunity to access the inside of your mouth with his tongue. You moaned, feeling lightheaded and dizzy as the kiss turned more heated.

You always knew that he’d be an amazing kisser, but this was something else. His hands gripped you and crushed your body to his with fervour as he licked and sucked at your tongue. All you could do was melt into him, your arms hanging loosely around his shoulders. You let out more little moans and sighs into his lips as he continued to massage the inside of your mouth with his tongue just right.

When you finally parted, both of you were breathing hard, foreheads resting together.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips.

“I love you too,” you whispered back. “So much. For so long.”

And standing there in the quiet inn room, wrapped in each other’s arms with tears drying on your cheeks and the taste of your first kiss still lingering, you finally let yourself believe it.

This was real. He loved you. And everything was going to be okay.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Throughout the evening, neither of you could stop touching, holding, or kissing each other—like two souls trying to memorise every second. You eventually moved to the bed, both curled up on the bed, nestled in his lap, lips moving languidly together in an unhurried rhythm that spoke of longing and tenderness. Every kiss deepened with time, slow and reverent, before turning more fervent—more hungry—as his hands began to explore your body through the barrier of your clothes.

The air was thick with anticipation, a heady mix of desire and nervousness that seemed to cling to every surface. Sylus sat underneath you, his tall frame commanding yet gentle, his crimson eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter. His lips, full and inviting, found yours once more, the kiss deepening as his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you tighter against him. You could feel the heat of his body through the fabric of your dress and little panties, his heart racing against your chest, his breath mingling with yours, hot and much deeper.

“I love you… my Sylus,” you whispered breathlessly, as he leaned he reconnected your mouths together and kissed you passionately on the mouth, his blunt nails digging into your plush hips. “I love you so much.”

“Please, will you say it again baby? I need to hear you say it once more.” He pleaded as his eyes fluttered.

“I love you.” You whimpered as his mouth connected with yours again.

He groaned into you, tilting his head to kiss you deeper, and you opened your mouth for him when you felt his tongue tracing your lower lip and licking into your mouth. His hand raised to cup your cheek, the other wrapping tighter around you as he kept your body pressed to his.

His mouth then moved from your lips to your cheeks as he whispered his love for you again and again. He started to trail long, hot kisses down your jaw and neck. You whimpered pitifully as he suckled lightly on the side of your neck, tilting your head back instinctively to bare more of your soft skin to him.

As he continued to move lower down your skin, Sylus his tongue would poke out every now and then to lavish your skin with it. Lapping, kissing and sucking at your body. His kisses became longer, hotter and more fervent as he continued on. You whined, squeezing your eyes shut as you pulled him closer against you.

Sylus groaned and bit down gently on the junction of your neck and shoulder. You cried out, impulsively grinding your hips against his in a desperate search for some much-needed friction against your aching core.

You gasped, your eyes flew open at the hard bulge you felt against your pussy. You whined as your core instinctively started clenching around nothing, begging for attention, his attention.

Instinctively you started moving your hips against his making him groan against your skin. The feeling of his desire pressed against your heated skin is heavenly, and you roll your hips down into his to feel some friction against your throbbing clit.

“Need you so bad baby,” he groaned against your skin. You shuddered against him and felt a heated and wet sensation pool down low between your thighs. You were certain that your tiny underwear was ruined by now.

A high pitched whimper slipped past your lips as he started to move along with you, grinding against your clothed cunt.

“My kitten,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine. His hands were trembling slightly, his fingers brushing the hem of your dress as he spoke. “Can I… can I undress you? Let me help you into your nightgown.”

You hesitated for only a moment, your breath catching in your throat as you considered the weight of his words. This was it—the moment you had both been wanting and needing to happen for so long, the moment that would change everything. Your voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with a mix of excitement and nervousity. “Yes,” you replied, “please.”

With hands that were both gentle and reverent, Sylus began to unlace your dress. His fingers moved slowly, deliberately, each movement a tender caress as he exposed your skin inch by inch. The room was silent except for the soft rustle of fabric and the sound of his soft kisses against your skin and your shared breaths, heavy and anticipatory. As the dress slowly fell away from your shoulders, pooling at your waist, you sat before him in your shift, your body eager and flushed with heat.

You trembled beneath his warm, intimate, and intense gaze, waiting for what he would do next. You felt yourself grow nervous under his watchful, hungry eyes. As much as you wanted him, anxiety bubbled up in the pit of your stomach.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, worry threading through his voice. “You’re trembling.”

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered before exhaling shakily. “Are you sure you want me?”

“Yes, of course,” he replied gently, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “There’s no one I want more than you.”

You took a shuddering breath, bracing yourself for what you were about to confess. “I want you too… so badly. I just— I’ve never done this before. I’m afraid you might be disappointed.”

You nibbled your bottom lip as his eyes widened in realization. He understood what you were admitting. You were a virgin.

You wanted Sylus so much, you had dreamed of this for so long, but you would have been lying if you said your nerves weren’t fraying.

“Baby,” Sylus murmured softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your temple as he wrapped you in his arms. Your body relaxed instantly beneath his affectionate touch. “I’m certain you could never disappoint me. It doesn’t matter whether you’re experienced or not—you’ll always be the best lover I could ever ask for. Because you’re perfect for me.”

Then, in a quieter voice, he added, “Besides, my sweet girl… this would be my first time as well.” He looked at you with so much tenderness that you melted against him all over again. “Please don’t worry about that,” he whispered, nudging his nose against yours with a warm smile. “I’ll take good care of you.”

He gazed at you with such adoration and love that it stole the breath from your lungs. “I trust you, Sy,” you whispered with a timid nod—just before he leaned down to claim your lips in a slow, deep kiss.

Warmth spread through your body as his hands began to wander. You whimpered into his mouth when his palms traced the length of your thighs, his touch both grounding and electrifying. Your head grew hazy with desire, with the overwhelming love you felt for him. Your thoughts dissolved into soft, sweet nothingness as your lips moved together in hungry, passionate kisses.

Slowly, his hands traced your naked skin, gliding toward your lower back as his fingertips followed the soft contours there. You began to move your hips desperately against his, moaning into his mouth, hoping Sylus would understand your silent plea soon enough.

The kiss deepened with an intensity that had you gasping for breath. You rolled your hips into his, rubbing your throbbing clit against him just to gain a bit of friction against your aching core. You moaned into his mouth as you pressed harder, and the front of his dress pants strained as he ground against you in return.

Suddenly everything felt overwhelming—the rising heat in the room, the wandering warmth of his touch sliding over your skin, and the head-spinning truth that you were crossing into unfamiliar yet deeply intimate territory with your best friend. You felt hot all over, your body thrumming with need.

He groaned when you kept grinding against him, his hands tightening around your hips to still your movements. You whined in protest, and in one fluid motion he rolled you both over, hovering above you as he gently pinned your arms against the mattress. You were so desperate to feel him again.

“So impatient,” he chuckled, a devious smile curving his lips as he pulled back just long enough to catch his breath. “Such a needy kitten, begging for my touch.”

“Please,” you whined, your voice soft and desperate as you squirmed beneath him.

Moments later his mouth claimed yours again. The kiss grew hotter, deeper, each pass of your lips stoking the fire between you. His hands moved down your body once more while yours slid to the back of his head, your fingers tangling in his hair. When you gave a soft tug, he moaned into your mouth. One of his hands trailed slowly up your stomach while the other held firmly at your hip. His touch made you weak, heat pooling between your thighs as you kissed and touched each other with unrestrained hunger.

His fingers brushed delicately along the sides of your ribs, moving up and down in slow, reverent sweeps, his fingertips tracing every dip and curve as if memorizing your body.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered against your lips. A moment later, his hands slipped away from your ribs only to settle at the hem of your little dress. “Can I take this off, sweetie?”

You bit your lip and nodded frantically, unable to find your voice in that moment. His smile deepened as his hands slipped beneath your dress for just a second before he hooked his fingers into the fabric and slowly drew it upward. You raised your arms to help him remove it, the air brushing your newly exposed skin.

Heat bloomed across your body under the way his eyes roamed over you, drinking in every detail. The way Sylus looked at you—eyes filled with nothing but love, awe, and adoration—made you feel so alive.

You didn’t know what to do with your hands. They trembled helplessly, and your core trembled just as much, while he tossed the discarded clothing aside and lowered his mouth to your collarbone. His lips moved there with such affection that it sent a sweet shiver down your spine.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, letting his mouth wander over every inch of exposed skin. “So divine… ethereal.”

Your bare chests pressed together, skin against skin, every point of contact setting you ablaze. You stared up at him with wide, overwhelmed eyes as he continued kissing his way across your body.

His large hands slid to the curve of your waist where it met your hips, gripping you firmly as he scattered damp kisses and gentle nips over your shoulders and down the path to your breasts. You whimpered softly when he traced the tip of his nose over the swell of your breast, savoring the moment before his lips followed.

He leaned down and pressed the softest, sweetest kiss to the side of your breast before lifting his gaze to yours. “Are you okay?” he murmured. His forearms rested on either side of your body, caging you in gently. When you nodded, he brought one hand up to stroke your cheek, his thumb warm and tender against your skin. “Kitten… if we’re gonna go any further, I need you to talk to me. I need verbal communication. Think you can do that?”

You stared at him for a moment, breath catching, then nodded again. He raised a brow and gave you that knowing look that sent warmth spreading through your chest. “Sorry,” you whispered. “Y-yes, Sy. Yes… I think I can do that.”

“Good girl,” he praised softly, a gentle smile curving his lips. “And if you want me to stop—” His mouth pressed back to your heated skin, trailing barely-there kisses down the valley of your breasts. Your eyes fluttered shut as your fingers twisted in the sheets. “—you tell me right away. Okay?” he muttered, his voice raw and strained with want.

“Y-yes, Sylus… I understand,” you whimpered.

“Good.”

He breathed in through his nose, inhaling your scent, and you shivered when he exhaled warm breath directly over your nipple. “Fuck, angel… you’re so beautiful.”

Then he wrapped his lips around your nipple, teeth skimming lightly over sensitive skin as he sucked and licked with slow, hungry passion.

“Sy…” you mewled, hips lifting helplessly as your cunt sought any kind of friction.

Sylus looked up at you, his mouth curling into a soft, adoring smile. Heat crawled up your skin under his gaze. He could see everything on your face—want, need, desperation—and he welcomed it. His lips returned to you, long, slow, lavish licks from the flat of his tongue over your pebbled nipple while his other hand rose to squeeze your other breast, kneading gently.

Impatient, trembling, you guided the hand on your breast downward—down your stomach, down to the heat between your thighs. His breath hitched. As his fingers slipped beneath the band of your underwear and down to where you needed him most, his mouth fell open with a loud, helpless groan right against your nipple. His fingers slid between your slick folds, tracing your pussy softly, savoring.

He worshipped you there for a moment—just his fingers teasing, learning every response—before he suddenly pulled back. Completely away from you.

You whimpered as he sat up, watching through hazy eyes as he took his time removing his clothes. Every button, every movement felt agonizingly slow. You shut your eyes briefly, whining, desperate to feel him again, desperate for his heat on your skin.

When he stripped down to just his underwear, you felt the bed dip as he moved back over you. He leaned down, his lips immediately finding your neck, licking and sucking softly as his hands cupped your sensitive breasts and massaged them with tender, reverent fingers. Heat flooded your body as Sylus kissed down your shoulders, then your chest, his mouth leaving warm, fluttering trails.

Your trembling hands slid into his silver hair, threading through the strands as he continued to kiss and taste every inch of exposed skin. Sylus’ lips moved slowly down your body, worshipping you with unhurried kisses, while his hands traced the lines of your shaking form—mapping every curve, every soft place, every breath you took beneath him.

He leaned forward, breathing in the heat of your core as he ran his nose slowly along the patch of dampness clinging to your panties. You tugged at his hair when he inhaled your scent, his breath catching. “Fuck, kitten,” he hummed, looking up at you with an intense, hungry gaze. His hands left your skin to curl into the waistband of your panties. “You smell so good… I can’t wait to taste you.”

A shuddering breath slipped past your lips as you lifted your hips instinctively, silently begging him to take them off. He slid the fabric down your legs, and once he pushed your thighs open for him, you whimpered as the cool air kissed your wet slit. Sylus stilled for a moment, his eyes devouring the sight of you—your glistening center clenching around nothing as he watched your pussy pulse with need.

He licked his lips slowly before leaning down, placing lingering kisses along your inner thighs. His tongue dragged warm, teasing strokes over your soft skin, sucking gently, worshipping. His mouth was so close to where you needed him most, but each kiss felt like sweet torture, keeping him just out of reach.

“So pretty,” he murmured as he guided your legs up and over his shoulders, settling you perfectly beneath him.

You were about to beg—about to plead for him—when his lips left your thigh… only for him to nuzzle directly against your pussy a moment later. He smeared your slick across his lips, savoring the taste as he opened you for his tongue.

You gasped, your body arching as his wet tongue finally met your throbbing heat.

He pulled back again briefly, only long enough for his fingers to slide in and spread your outer lips for him. Sylus smirked as he eased a single finger inside you, watching your body react—the way your hips twitched, the way your walls fluttered around the intrusion, how greedily your wet hole swallowed his digit. You moaned into the pillow beside you, trying to muffle the desperate sounds.

Those little whines—soft, needy, helpless—only drove Sylus to chase more of those heavenly noises from your lips.

“Fuck… such a tight little pussy,” he moaned as your cunt clenched repeatedly around his finger.

Your whines grew louder as the pleasure washed over you. His fingers were so much bigger than yours—just one of his was more overwhelming, more delicious, than anything you had ever done to yourself.

You whimpered as your core kept fluttering and gripping around him, silently begging for more. He pumped his finger in and out of you at a slow, unhurried pace, savoring every reaction. Instinctively, your hips began to move with it, grinding into his hand. Sylus groaned at the sight, his gaze burning into you as he continued to finger-fuck you. His eyes couldn’t stay still—they drifted over your face, down your trembling body, drinking in the way you writhed beneath him.

You panted heavily, thoughts dissolving, barely able to think as he slid two more fingers inside you. Sylus worked them slowly at first, giving your tight pussy time to adjust to the stretch. It was overwhelming, but the kind that felt so unbelievably good. Little whimpers spilled from your lips as he fucked you with his fingers, curling them deep, then spreading them apart. He leaned down and kissed you, swallowing every mewl as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling at the strands, your body moving helplessly with the rhythm he set.

You gasped when his tongue slipped into your mouth, kissing you with desperate devotion. “That feels good, doesn’t it, baby girl? You like it when I touch you like this?” Sylus groaned—right as his thumb found your clit. You bucked into him, nodding frantically.

“Use your words, kitten,” he teased darkly.

“Yes—please, Sy, please… feels so good,” you whimpered, voice breaking.

He kissed his way down your body again, making you whine and beg in soft, breathless sounds—even as his fingers kept thrusting inside you.

Sylus inhaled your scent as soon as he settled between your thighs, but he didn’t keep you waiting. He wet his lips, then dipped his head to drag his tongue in a slow stripe from your dripping folds to your clit.

“Fuck, Sylus!” you shrieked, hips lifting off the mattress.

Senseless, needy noises poured from your throat. Your hips stuttered against him, and he simply sighed—like there was nothing in this world he wanted more than to eat you out right here, right now.

His name tumbled from your lips again and again, chanted like a prayer. Tears pricked your eyes as pleasure overwhelmed you. His mouth wrapped around your clit, his fingers still pumping inside you while his other hand held your hip down, pinning you to the sheets as you bucked, urging him to give you even more.

He worked your arousal expertly—his fingers curling to hit that spongy spot inside you while his tongue flicked and suckled at your clit. The familiar coil in your belly wound tighter and tighter. Your abdomen clenched as he quickened his pace, fingers stroking that sweet spot with perfect precision. Your toes curled, thighs shaking as they squeezed around his head.

“Aah—too much!” you squeaked, voice strangled as you teetered on the edge. “T-too— I-I—fuck!”

“Easy, kitten,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your thigh as his fingers stilled for a moment.

“Sylus…” you mumbled, face buried in the pillow.

“It’s okay, baby. I know. I’ve got you,” he cooed, his voice teasing but tender. “It’s a lot. Will you let me continue?”

“Y-yeah… just—just wait a second,” you whined.

“Anything for you.”

But waiting became unbearable—your body aching, throbbing, desperate. And he felt it too. Sylus leaned down, tongue sliding between your folds before licking upward to your clit.

You sighed at the same moment he did—yours high and breathy, his deep and dreamy. He lapped at you with clear intention, fucking you with slow, careful strokes of his fingers this time, keeping you just where you needed to be.

“Oh—my god,” you whimpered, trembling hands gripping his silver hair with one hand while the other clamped over your mouth to silence yourself. “F-Fuck… Sy, f-fuck…”

He moaned into your pussy, lips sealing around your clit. You jerked at the sensation. “Fucking hell— you taste so good. You feel so good. You’re everything,” he groaned against you.

“Fuck, baby—oh my fucking god,” you cried out. He sucked lazily on your clit while curling his fingers inside you, then sucked harder as he circled your little bud with his tongue. His fingers moved faster, deeper, hitting your sweet spot over and over. You moaned his name between breathless mewls, now gripping his hair with both hands.

Your whole body trembled violently, heat spreading everywhere, your hips grinding helplessly into his face and hand.

“A-Ah! I’m coming—please, please—”

“Cum for me, kitten,” he murmured before sucking your clit again.

Your body snapped tight as your orgasm tore through you. Your mind exploded into blinding stars, pleasure crashing through your nerves so sharply you cried out his name. You trembled uncontrollably as you came against his mouth, your soul unwinding in his hands.

“You’re doing so well for me, sweetie,” he whispered proudly as his fingers slowed, sliding out to softly rub your swollen slit while he kept licking your clit—guiding you gently through every last wave.

You were a sputtering, helpless mess, trembling as he pushed you right to the edge of overstimulation.

As your senses returned in shaky pieces, you felt his fingers slip away from your heat. Your pussy clenched around nothing, desperate and empty. You felt like a fevered storm, soaked from the waist down, dripping onto the sheets, whimpering helplessly.

You needed him. Badly. Your pussy pulsed insistently—begging to be filled again. Begging for his cock.

Your eyes were still closed when you felt your legs being spread open even wider by his strong hands. A loud, broken moan spilled from your lips as Sylus dove between your thighs again, licking a slow stripe up through your folds and teasingly dipping his tongue into your needy hole before traveling up to your clit, spreading you with his wet muscle and sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth.

You practically cried at the sensation, your back arching slightly off the bed. Your whole body trembled, desperate and overwhelmed. You needed more—so much more. Instinctively, you tried to grind your wetness against his lips, chasing any friction as your body shook uncontrollably.

But his arms locked around your thighs, biceps caging your hips in place, holding you still despite your attempts to ride his mouth.

“Taste so good, kitten… could eat this pussy all day,” he growled against you.

The man you loved more than anyone in the universe was between your legs, sliding his tongue up and down your soaked slit. Every soft mewl, every helpless noise escaping your lips only urged him on. His mouth returned to your clit, sucking the nub softly between his lips, savouring every reaction you gave him.

Eventually he leaned in deeper, slipping his tongue into your entrance. He curled it upward, brushing your walls, and the way your fingers bunched the sheets in a tight, trembling grip made him repeat the motion with even more intent.

You were a mess—his mess—a whimpering, needy ruin beneath him. Your hips kept trying to move against his face as breathless moans tumbled out of you uncontrollably. Writhing beneath him, you felt him lick up again, pressing his tongue against a sensitive spot inside that made your vision blur, your hips bucking hard against his mouth. Your thighs clamped around his head as another orgasm drew frighteningly close.

Greed and desperation overtook you. Your fingers dove into his silver hair, tugging harder than before, your hips pushing against his face to force his tongue deeper into your aching cunt.

“Ahh—Sylus…” you moaned, voice breaking. You were so close—you just needed one more push.

You moved your hips against him helplessly, fucking yourself on his tongue as he pressed firmly into that sensitive spot inside you. His thumb circled your clit in slow, perfect circles that made stars dance behind your eyes.

“Be a good girl and come for me,” Sylus moaned against your pussy before plunging his tongue back inside you.

That did it. With the added pressure on your clit and the sound of his deep, commanding voice, you came with a loud, shattered whine. Your vision went white, your ears rang, and your movements against his face turned sloppy and uncoordinated.

Your hips stuttered until the final waves of aftershocks rolled through you. He stayed with you gently, lapping at your release until the overstimulation made you twitch away.

“You did so well, angel… so good to me. So beautiful. And you taste so good. So sweet,” he murmured against your inner thigh, voice thick with praise.

You whimpered softly at his words, gently trying to pull your hips away from his mouth. He grinned up at you, eyes locked with yours as he brought his glistening fingers to his lips.

Your whimpers shifted into embarrassed giggles as he licked his fingers clean, and you brought your hands up to hide your heated cheeks. But Sylus wasn’t having it. He caught your hands and kissed them all over—soft, slow kisses—before pulling them gently down. Then he leaned in, peppering kisses across your nose, your forehead, your cheeks, until finally his mouth landed on your lips with a smile, both of you laughing softly between each kiss.

He pulled back with a satisfied sigh, his expression warm and tender as he reached to touch the side of your neck, tracing his fingertips up and down.

You melted at the gentle contact and pressed a kiss to his thumb when it brushed your lips. Your still-shaky legs wrapped around his hips as you gazed into his eyes, breathless and utterly in love.

“I think I’m ready.”

His breath stilled. “Sure?” he asked softly, as though he was afraid to sway you either way.

“Yes.” You nodded, voice small but sure, and reached between your bodies to cradle his cheek. Your thumb brushed his skin in a tender little stroke that made his eyes soften instantly.

“We can stop at any moment if it becomes too much,” he reminded you in that gentle tone he saved only for you. “I need you to know that.”

You pouted up at him, letting your fingers trace his soft skin. “I know I’m nervous,” you admitted, voice fragile. “But I… I don’t want to stop.”

His expression melted. “My sweet girl,” he breathed, brushing his nose against yours. “I only want you comfortable. If you changed your mind, I would hold you just the same. I would adore you just as much.”

Your chest tightened. Tears welled helplessly at the tenderness in his voice. No one had ever loved you like this. No one made you feel so treasured, so safe, so seen. You wanted him with every trembling beat of your heart, and somehow—and impossibly—his gentleness and reassurance only made you want him more.

You inhaled shakily and lifted both hands to cup his face. He held your wrists lightly, reverently, as if your touch alone steadied him.

“I want to experience this with you,” you whispered, eyes locked with his. “I trust you. I love you with everything that I am.”

The look he gave you then nearly undid you—pure adoration, awe, a devotion that made you feel like you were something sacred placed into his hands. Your cheeks warmed, your heart fluttered, but your nerves eased beneath the warmth of his gaze.

He lowered his head, kissing you deeply—slowly first, then with a growing hunger—as he cupped your face. Your legs tightened around his hips, drawing him closer. You felt his hard cock pressing against your soaked core through the thin barrier of his underwear, and the slow drag of heat made your breath catch.

Letting instinct guide you, you let your hands glide from his jaw down the sculpted lines of his torso, pausing when your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his boxers. He inhaled sharply, watching you with parted lips, his entire body attuned to your touch. When your hands stilled on the band, he exhaled softly and sat back just enough to slip them off.

He dragged the fabric down his legs, tossing it aside. And suddenly he was bare to you—completely, beautifully bare.

Your breath hitched as your gaze roamed over him. He was… breathtaking. And also massive. Thick and long, heavy, flushed with desire, precum leaking from the tip, catching in the low light. Heat surged straight to your still-clenching core as you imagined him filling you—stretching you—yet the sight also sent a tremor of nerves through your belly.

Sylus moved back over you, brushing a soft kiss to your lips, then another. It felt like he was trying to soothe every tremor inside you. “What is this beautiful mind of yours thinking?” he murmured against your mouth.

“H-how…?” you whispered, wide-eyed, cheeks burning.

A quiet laugh escaped him—warm and fond and impossibly gentle. “I promise, angel, I’ll fit,” he whispered, cupping your cheek with his big, warm hand. “I’ll go slow. I’ll take such good care of you.”

You melted into his touch.

He aligned himself with you, the warm tip of his cock brushing your entrance, and the contact made you shiver. Sylus rested his forehead against yours, eyes locked with yours as if grounding you.

You rolled your hips up in a shy, needy motion, wanting to feel him. Slick heat spread as your wetness coated him. A deep, strained moan vibrated through his chest as he moved with you, letting the head of his cock glide through your folds.

“I love you,” you breathed, nudging your nose against his before kissing him softly.

His eyes glowed with a warmth that wrapped around your heart like a promise. “And I love you,” he whispered, sealing your mouth with another slow kiss. “More than anything.”

Your lips moved lazily together, savoring each stolen breath. But soon the kisses deepened, slow turning hungry, your fingers curling against his back while his hands held your hips. Every moment burned sweeter than the last.

Holding his length in one hand, he dragged the head of his cock from your entrance up over your clit—slowly, teasingly. You gasped softly at the sensation, your body arching into him. He circled your sensitive bud with the slick tip, spreading his precum and your arousal together until you were trembling beneath him.

He groaned as he watched you writhe. “You’re so wet for me,” he whispered, voice low and reverent. “So perfect.”

And he kept teasing you, dragging back down to your entrance, then up again—drawing out every soft whimper you gave him like it was a gift.

The thought of Sylus finally entering you — really having him inside you — made your body grow impossibly wetter, a molten ache blooming deep in your core. Sylus swallowed every trembling whine you gave him, kissing you with a hunger that made your head spin, rolling his hips slowly with yours as if he could soothe the anticipation building inside your entire body.

You trembled beneath him, every inch of you alive with need. His body covered yours completely, warm and solid, grounding and overwhelming all at once. You writhed softly, helplessly, yearning for him to fill you, to be inside you so deeply that the world blurred into white.

“I’ll try to go slow, okay, kitty?” he murmured in that low velvet tone, brushing a brief kiss to your parted lips. His hand slid down between you both, curling around the base of his cock as he lined himself up. The head of him pressed gently between your slick folds, rubbing slow, deliberate strokes that sent sparks across your skin.

“P-please, Sylus,” you stuttered, voice breaking beautifully. Your body trembled even harder beneath him. “P-put it in, please…”

He exhaled shakily, clearly as affected as you were, and kept teasing himself up and down your slit — spreading your wetness, feeling you. You arched your back in desperation, a broken whine ripping free of your throat.

“Relax, little kitten,” he whispered against your lips, brushing them again as if he could calm your trembling through touch alone.

His forehead rested against yours. His breath warmed your cheek. And then — finally — he nudged the tip of his cock against your entrance. Your legs quivered around his hips, nerves and need tangling together.

The moment he notched himself inside you, both of you gasped. It was only the tip, but the stretch already stole your breath. Sylus moved so carefully it almost broke you — inching forward as though he was afraid to hurt you, his muscles trembling with the effort of restraint.

A long, fragile whine spilled from your lips as he slowly pushed deeper, and deeper still. He was so big. So impossibly thick.

“Too big, Sy…” you mewled, voice broken and trembling.

Slowly—carefully—he pushed just a little further inside you, his breath warm against your cheek as he whispered, “You can take it, my kitten. You’re doing so so good for me. Such a good little kitten.”

You tangled your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling gently, clinging to him as he breathed heavily above you. His forehead pressed to yours, his warm breath fanning your lips as he inched forward. The sting of the stretch made your eyes squeeze shut, but his slow, deliberate pace kept it from ever tipping into too much.

He pressed another centimeter into you — then another — until your nails dug into his scalp and a sharp gasp tore from you. He stilled instantly.

His hands framed your face, kissing your cheeks, your temple, your lips. “Doing so good for me, kitten,” he whispered between each kiss. “So, so good.”

“Please…” you whimpered, eyes fluttering shut as tears prickled.

He kept moving with excruciating patience, letting you adjust to every bit of him. After a moment, your body began to relax around him, slowly easing into the stretch. You clutched his shoulders, your walls fluttering around him helplessly as pleasure began to unfurl in the pit of your stomach.

“Such a good girl,” he breathed — and your body clenched around him, growing even wetter at the praise.

At last, with a deep, shuddering breath, he bottomed out. A soft, startled gasp escaped you as the head of his cock kissed your cervix. You could feel his precum mixing with your slick, hot inside you, and tears finally spilled freely down your cheeks — a mix of the overwhelming fullness, the relief, the trust, the love, all of it tangled together.

He held you tenderly, lips brushing your forehead as he whispered encouragement, soft as prayer.

When you finally opened your eyes, he was already watching you with deep concern, thumb brushing away your tears. “I’m fine,” you whispered with a shaky smile, nodding. “It’s just… a lot.”

And it was. You felt stretched perfectly around him, filled in a way that made your entire body buzz. As you adjusted, the fullness began to bloom into something sweeter — deeper.

You clenched around him without meaning to, and Sylus groaned low in his chest, his face tightening with restraint.

“Sy…” you breathed, lifting one shaking hand to brush the hair away from his eyes. “You can move.”

His eyes softened into something tender, grateful, undone. When your hips tilted up, inviting him, he let out a deep moan and lowered his forehead to yours again. His lips grazed your cheek as he pulled back just slightly—

Then he rolled his hips forward in one slow, deep stroke.

You gasped, back arching at the sensation. His thrusts were careful, controlled, slow enough that you felt every inch of him dragging through you. He didn’t pull out far — only enough to rock inside you, the movement gentle and intimate and achingly deep.

The sting faded quickly, replaced by a warmth that curled into your bones. Every slow glide had your breath hitching, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your walls fluttering around him with every tender, deliberate thrust.

He kissed your lips, your cheek, your jaw. “You’re perfect,” he whispered against your mouth. “So warm… so tight… so good for me.”

And he kept moving — slow, deep, worshipful — as if savoring every second inside you.

Slowly, you were getting used to his girth, anticipating it every time he pulled out of you before sliding forward again. Your legs were splayed open on either side of his hips as he ground his cock into you. The angle was perfect—so deep, so consuming—that Sylus gradually picked up his pace, leaving you a whimpering, breathless mess beneath him. As he fucked into you with long, languid strokes, the room filled with the wet, desperate sound of slick skin meeting slick skin.

Every time he sank into you, his pelvic bone dragged against your throbbing clit, making you cry out his name in pure, helpless ecstasy.

“You’re taking me so well, sweetie… doing so, so good for me,” he whispered against your skin, his voice warm and adoring as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

Soft grunts fell from Sylus’ lips whenever he hit that specific deep spot inside you. You whimpered as his mouth returned to yours, capturing your lips in a heated, dizzying kiss. One of his hands slipped down between your bodies, finding your clit with practiced ease as he rubbed two slow, deliberate circles over your sensitive nub.

When he slid into a hidden pressure point deep in your core—paired with the relentless way his fingers circled your clit—you clenched around him like a vise. Your eyes rolled back as pleasure surged violently through you, overwhelming and new. Your whimpers climbed higher in pitch as he picked up his pace, fucking you deeper, the sound of his breath growing ragged as he watched you unravel.

“Feeling good, baby?” Sylus moaned, lips curling into a soft, tender smile as he admired the way your face contorted in pleasure—so overwhelmed, so beautifully undone just for him. Filth and praise slipped from his mouth like honey. “This pussy was made for me.”

His mouth covered yours again, swallowing all your little noises, smothering your trembling breaths. The tightness in your belly returned, coiling and pulling tighter with every thrust, every touch, every kiss he gave you.

Your whimpers and gasps grew louder as ecstasy and warmth flooded your senses.

His hands couldn’t get enough of you—sliding over your hips, your waist, your back—touching every part of you like he wanted to memorize it. You whimpered at the speed of his thrusts, feeling another orgasm build rapidly, your legs locking tightly around his hips. He felt it too—the way you squeezed around him with every thrust—so he drove harder into your heat, shifting his hips, searching for the exact spot he knew would shatter you.

Your arms trembled as they wrapped around him, nails digging into his back, earning a deep, helpless groan from him. The coil in your belly tightened, tingling down to your legs—ready to snap at any moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice strained, cursing softly when you purposefully tightened your walls around him. “Bet you’d look even prettier with my cum inside you… all full and messy.”

“Please…” you moaned, your mind hazy with want. “Please, Sy… baby… fill this pussy up.”

He groaned into your neck, fucking you harder, the bed rattling beneath both of you with every desperate thrust.

“You want to cum, sweetheart?”

You nodded frantically, your eyes squeezing shut as you bit your lip, your body trembling beneath him. You bucked up instinctively, nails sinking into his skin as his hand moved back to your clit. His other hand found yours, intertwining your fingers before pinning them gently to the bed. He rubbed your clit with firm, perfect pressure—just enough to push you over.

“Cum for me, kitten,” Sylus demanded softly, his voice a warm breath against your cheek.

And when he nudged that one perfect spot inside you—paired with his deep, commanding voice—you exploded.

You shattered, coming undone so violently it ripped a cry of his name from your throat. Blood rushed wildly in your ears, drowning out the sound of your own sobbing breaths as Sylus crashed his lips onto yours, swallowing every broken noise. Your head fell back, your back arching sharply as your body twisted under the force of your release.

Sylus groaned into your ear as your walls spasmed around him, clenching desperately, begging for him—needing him to fill you.

“Fuck…” he moaned, pushing himself up as he thrust harder, deeper, the head of his cock hitting your spot repeatedly. “You want me to fill this pussy up? Make it all messy?”

You were dazed, trembling, but still able to nod vigorously, whining as overstimulation mixed with need. Your pussy squeezed around him with greedy pulses. “Please…”

His hips stuttered, thrusts turning sloppy as the pleasure overtook him. Then—

with a raw, broken moan—he spilled inside you.

Warmth flooded your core, spreading thickly through your walls as he kept himself buried deep. You whimpered when he finally pulled out, his cum dripping out of you and down your thighs.

Everything was a soft, blurred haze when you came back to yourself. Your body ached, but in the sweetest way—completely relaxed, thoroughly ruined, and glowing with the kind of exhaustion that felt like bliss.

Once both of you had caught your breaths, Sylus leaned his forehead against yours and kissed you tenderly.

“That was…” he breathed, smiling in awe at the beautiful mess beneath him—your hair tousled, your skin flushed, your lips swollen from his kisses.

“Oh yeah… that was amazing.” Your voice came out hoarse, softened by pleasure. You cleared your throat gently and smiled up at him.

Your skin was sweaty and sticky, but he didn’t seem to care at all. He pulled you closer, hands roaming lovingly over every inch of skin he could reach, still dazed by how breathtaking you looked coming apart for him—because of him.

Overwhelmed with affection, you cupped his cheeks in both hands and pulled him down into another slow, tender kiss—soft, deep, and full of emotion.

And that’s how the rest of the night went, tender kisses and soft and intimate touches shared between you two as you enjoyed each other’s company. Feeling so loved and at home as you melted in his embrace.

You’d once thought Sylus was forever out of reach—close enough to touch but impossibly far from claiming. But as his arms tightened around you and his lips pressed another gentle kiss to your forehead, as he whispered your name like a prayer in the darkness, you understood the truth: he’d never been out of reach at all. He’d been yours from the very beginning, just as you’d always been his. You’d just both needed time to find the courage to bridge the distance. And now, finally, gloriously, there was no distance left at all. In the quiet hours before dawn, with moonlight spilling through the balcony doors and Sylus’s heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you finally understood what the poets meant when they wrote about love—this overwhelming sense of rightness, of completeness, of coming home to a place you’d been searching for your entire life.

And as his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back and he murmured sleepy words of devotion against your hair, you knew with absolute certainty that this was only the beginning. That every day forward would be filled with moments like these—tender, true, and entirely yours.