I couldn't stop myself, writing has become a sickness at this point. This art just...inspired me...
𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐘𝐨𝐮
[ 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥 ]
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 him like a second skin—damp with sweat, and the ghost-trace of her fingertips. Rafayel lay motionless, save for the slow, deliberate rise of his chest, his face half-buried in a pillow that still held her scent: sweet, faintly acidic, like citrus left too long in the sun.
Dried paint mapped erratic trails down his spine, cracking as he shifted—slow, feline, curling into the last warmth she’d left behind. He didn’t want to move. Not yet. Movement might break the spell.
He closed his eyes. Salt touched his lips—hers, his, indistinguishable now. His body still thrummed, raw and electric, as though his blood had been replaced by something lighter, more volatile. Ink. Light. Lust. He wasn’t sure anymore.
She hadn’t said a word when she left the bed—only a whisper of silk brushing skin, the clatter of a brush hitting the floor, and the delicate rattle of pearls spilling across the hardwood like shattered promises.
He should have stopped her. Should have said her name.
But instead, he’d stayed there, reverent, sprawled across the altar she’d made of him.
The memory pressed in like heat: her weight on his hips, her hands slick with color and certainty. How she’d dragged them down his back—nails first, then knuckles, then palms. She had painted him, not with pigment, but with hunger. Her brush had been her mouth. Her tongue. Her voice, thick and low as she’d whispered: Mine.
A shiver rippled through him.
He hated how much he liked that.
Hated more how hollow he felt without it.
He lay there, limbs slack but breath betraying him—too deep, too slow, as if he could summon her back by breathing her in. Her scent still clung to the sheets, to his skin, to the fading bite beneath his jaw. The room was quiet, but not empty. It pulsed with the residue of her—everything she had taken, everything she’d chosen to leave behind.
Rafayel pressed his forehead into the pillow, the coarse fabric etching itself into his skin. His body turned traitor again, the ache blooming low in his spine, slow and relentless. It wasn’t desire, not precisely. It was memory made flesh—each phantom touch reawakening nerves he thought she had burned out of him.
He shifted slightly beneath the tangle of sheets. Even that small motion brought friction, silk against skin, sharp enough to make his breath stutter. His cock stirred—half-hard and twitching, recalling her before he gave it leave to.
He exhaled slowly, as if restraint could be summoned through breath alone. It couldn’t.
He saw it again—her fingers slick with paint, curling around his throat, her thumb dragging pigment across his bottom lip before she kissed it away. Every motion had been intentional. Not hurried. Not hungry. Precise. Worship masquerading as desecration.
Rafayel swallowed hard.
He wasn’t used to being touched like that.
He wasn’t used to needing it.
The word tasted foreign on his tongue—raw, metallic, elemental. Need.
He had known hunger before. Carnal. Simple. Predictable. But this wasn’t that. This wasn’t a fire he could smother with friction and breath in the dark. This was quieter. More dangerous. It clung to his ribs and whispered between heartbeats.
His fingers curled into the sheets—they were cold now. She had taken all the warmth with her.
An ache bloomed in his chest and crawled downward, thickening in his abdomen, tightening low in his groin. He was hard now, fully, but it wasn’t a demand—not yet. It was a question. One his body asked in silence, over and over, without mercy.
Why does it feel like she carved herself into me?
He dragged his teeth across his bottom lip until the sting cut through the haze. Still, the heat in his belly twisted—deeper, darker.
He saw her in fractured flashes—
The angle of her wrists as she climbed atop him, paint dripping from her fingers like sugared venom.
The catch in her breath as she leaned close, dragging her teeth just below his ear—not biting, only threatening to.
The exact moment her thighs clamped around his hips and she looked down at him like he wasn’t real.
And gods—he hadn’t felt real.
He’d felt undone. Peeled open. Silenced in the most obscene, most beautiful way.
He could still see the curve of her spine as she arched over him—a living line etched in shadow and firelight, as if her body had been sculpted not from flesh, but from tension and intent.
She hadn’t spoken when she straddled him. Words would’ve broken the spell—whatever sacred thing they’d summoned with paint and patience. Instead, her breath hovered over his lips, slow and deliberate, as if deciding whether to kiss him or devour him whole.
Then her hips rolled forward—once. Just once.
But the pressure was devastating. It left him raw, stripped to the root.
He’d clenched his jaw. His hands, still slick with the oils she had smeared across his chest, gripped the sheets instead of her skin. It felt like a test—one he was barely passing.
She moved again. Slower this time. The slick, infernal heat of her dragging along the full length of him—not enough to take him in. Just enough to let him feel everything.
And he did. Gods, he did.
Every inch. Every aching, exquisite second.
She watched him—eyes half-lidded, lashes casting shadows as she reached between them, guiding him to her. Delicate. Precise. Like she was placing a blade against the soft hollow between her ribs.
The first slide into her was silk and heat—tight, wet, slow. She took him inch by inch, her thighs tightening as she sank down, a soft, strangled sound tearing from her lips. He hadn’t known he needed that sound until he heard it.
Rafayel gasped—quiet, desperate—his neck arching against the pillow. She didn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop.
And he hadn’t begged her to.
Even when he wanted to.
Even when it burned.
Now, in the hush of her absence, his hand moved low—almost without thought. The glide was slow, reverent, as if anything faster might rupture what lingered in the stillness. His palm traced the line of his abdomen, fingers curling loosely around the weight of himself. Still aching. Still slick with the echo of her.
He exhaled through his teeth, the sound nearly silent. The first stroke was hesitant, as though he needed permission. The second—deeper. His hips tilted slightly, feeding the movement like a man haunted by muscle memory.
She was everywhere—in the salt on his tongue, in the tremor of his thighs, in the scent of sweat mingled with something sweeter, something hers.
A whimper slipped from him before he could bite it back. Low. Raw.
And then—
"Still trying to finish without me?"
Her voice.
Low. Amused. Rough with sleep—or maybe restraint.
Rafayel’s eyes snapped open, breath catching in his throat.
She stood in the doorway. Barefoot. Wrapped in the oversized frame of his shirt. It hung open at her thighs, the fabric sheer enough to reveal the streaks of paint smeared across the delicate skin between them—red, violet, gold. As if she’d been claimed by his hunger, then marked with it.
His hand froze mid-motion. But shame didn’t come.
Only the sharper, darker edge of want.
She stepped forward—unhurried.
One foot, then the other. Bare soles whispering across the floor like silk over stone. She didn’t speak—not yet. Her silence was pressure, thick as smoke, curling into the hollows of him, filling the spaces he thought she’d left empty.
Rafayel couldn’t look away.
The shirt she wore—his—shifted as she moved, loose around her frame but parting just enough to reveal the lines of her hips, the soft dip of her navel, the skin below still streaked with paint. Wet in places. Smudged in others. As if she hadn’t bothered to clean herself after riding him into silence.
He didn’t speak. Couldn’t. His mouth was dry, his throat thick with the gravity of her gaze.
She stopped at the edge of the bed. Looked down at him.
Then lower—where his fingers still lingered, curled around the hard, flushed length of himself.
“Touch yourself for me,” she said.
Soft.
But not a suggestion.
Not a request.
His breath caught. He obeyed.
His hand moved again—slower now. Not for his own release, but because she’d asked it of him. Every glide stoked the fire twisting in his gut. And still, she watched him—unblinking—as though memorizing every twitch, every breath, every unspoken offering.
Her thighs brushed the edge of the mattress, and suddenly she was close enough for him to smell her—musk and sweat and paint and heat.
Tags: Sylus x fem!reader, brat taming, dom/sub undertones, spanking (with a belt), brat tamer, jealousy, orgasm denial, punishment, fingering, teasing, nicknames like kitten, sweetie, good girl, reader is very spoiled and bratty :3
Summary: Sylus never says no to you. He usually buys you whatever you want, whenever you want. But today he says it just to get a rise out of you. Fine...two can play that game. However, you will soon find out that even he has his limits when jealous...
"I must ask," he says conversationally, his breath warm against your ear, "Was it thrilling to take pictures for other men while in another mans bed? In clothes he bought you?"
His fingers tangle gently in your hair, not pulling, just establishing control. You don't answer him. You know better not to answer such a question. Your breath catches in your throat as he continues, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"For every...lets say $100, that's one hit with the belt."
AN: This was supposed to be a little drabble but I got carried away oops. I was inspired by the new phone call where Sylus gets so clearly jealous over that worker in the cafe...I mean what more can I say. Jealous Sylus is hot :33
"Please please pleaseeee," you whine, tugging at the hem of Sylus's coat and looking up at him with the biggest, sparkliest eyes you could muster. You even puff out your cheeks a little for added effect, knowing full well what kind of reaction that usually earned you.
"I need at least $1000 if I want to get every limited edition item before they sell out...they're going so fast," you say, tightening your arms around his waist like a koala refusing to be pried off a tree.
This little act wasn’t new. You’d done this routine more times than you could count—sweetly pouting, batting your lashes, and pressing your cheek against his chest as you begged him for your latest indulgent whim. And Sylus, your ever-indulgent partner, had always been so easy to sway. He’d never even hesitated. Whether it was sleek black cards slid into your palm or transfers pinged to your phone with a little kiss on your temple, he had always, always given in.
"How could I ever say no to my sweet girl?" he would murmur, like it was the most obvious truth in the world. Sometimes he'd even pick you up and give your face gentle kisses, like spoiling you was the highlight of his entire day.
But today...today was different.
He gave you a soft smile—still affectionate, still gentle—but then, to your absolute horror, he shook his head.
"Mmm...I think not today, kitten. Next time," he said, voice calm and maddeningly firm.
Your arms froze around him. Your expression dropped in real-time, eyes wide, mouth parting in disbelief. Did he just—did he actually—say no? He had quite literally never said no before. Not once. Not even when you asked for that ultra-rare imported skincare fridge that cost more than a mortgage. This had to be some kind of joke. Right?
You pulled back just enough to look up at him fully, lips wobbling, ready to protest again. You were already cycling through your arsenal of cute tricks—maybe a dramatic sigh? Teary eyes?—because surely this wasn’t how this ended. Not with a "no."
"But Sy..." you gently whined, faceplanting into his chest with an exaggerated pout. The nickname was your secret weapon, sweet and playful, something you knew always made his heart melt just a little. "It’s limited edition stuff! You know how fast those go. And I’ve been good too…" you added with a soft, teasing tone, slowly trailing your finger along the curve of his neck, the gesture feather-light and flirtatious.
You were confident this would do the trick. It always did. Your go-to routine of sweet pleading paired with just the right amount of clingy affection had never failed before. He’d usually cave within seconds, either sighing contently before handing over his card or laughing under his breath about you being spoiled while simultaneously transferring money to your account. But this time…
This time, all you got in return was that infuriating smirk of his.
"You look adorable with that expression, sweetie" he said casually, chuckling as he ruffled your hair in a way that felt more teasing than affectionate. "Perhaps I’ll let you keep it for today. For my amusement."
You froze in disbelief, blinking rapidly. That wasn’t a yes. That wasn’t even a maybe. That was—was he seriously refusing you right now? Your glare sharpened instantly as your lips jutted out into a full-blown pout. You thumped his chest—not hard, but pointedly—and let out a long, frustrated huff.
Oh. So he wanted to play games today? Fine. Game on.
You stepped back dramatically, throwing your arms up with an exaggerated sigh. “Whatever. Have it your way,” you huffed, spinning on your heel and stomping toward the car like an offended princess denied her crown. You made sure he saw the little toss of your hair, the extra sway in your hips—because if he wanted to be difficult, you were going to be impossible.
The date wrapped up without much drama—well, if you didn’t count the dramatic pout glued to your face all evening, or the way you stubbornly gave Sylus the cold shoulder from the moment he refused you. You sat across from him at the candlelit table, arms crossed tight beneath the linen napkin on your lap, chewing your steak with slow, deliberate bites like the food had personally offended you. You barely looked in his direction, except to shoot the occasional glare or let out a sigh so loud the table next to you probably heard. A whine here, a sharp huff there—just enough to make it painfully clear you weren’t going to let this go.
And Sylus? That cocky menace? He didn’t budge. He just sipped his wine with maddening calm, eyes twinkling like this was all an elaborate joke for his amusement. At one point, he leaned his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his palm, and smiled. "You know," he said, voice smooth and low, "kittens always make the same little noises when they’re upset."
You nearly dropped your fork.
Ooooh. This jerk. You wanted to launch a breadstick at his head. You wanted to crawl across the table and wipe that smug grin off his stupidly perfect face. But how? That was the problem. Sylus didn’t rattle. He didn’t flinch, didn’t fumble, didn’t even raise his voice at you. No matter what bratty storm you stirred up, he was always maddeningly patient, always one step ahead.
You sulked all the way to the car, all the way through the quiet drive home, arms folded like a fortress across your chest. Your mind raced the entire ride, cycling through schemes and petty revenges like flashcards. Maybe you’d text one of your admirers, just to provoke a reaction. Maybe you’d steal and attempt to max out his black card on purpose. Something—anything—to make him crack.
When the car finally pulled up to the mansion, you didn’t even wait for him to open your door. You climbed out with exaggerated grace, tossed your hair, and strutted up the stairs like an offended queen returning to her palace. But then, just as you stepped inside, fate handed you the perfect opening.
His phone rang.
He glanced at the screen, sighed, and gave you an apologetic smile. "Business. I’ll have to leave for a bit" He pressed a soft kiss to your lips—infuriatingly gentle—and disappeared out the door, already speaking in that cool, professional tone of his.
And just like that, you were alone. Whatever, not like you weren't used to his sudden disappearances by now.
Alone in his sprawling, high-ceilinged foyer, surrounded by leather furniture, dim lighting, and that faint scent of cologne that always lingered in the air. Unsupervised. Unchecked.
Your lips slowly curled into a smile.
Oh, Sylus. If he thought your tantrum was over…
You made your way upstairs to the bedroom, each step slow and deliberate, the cool floor a quiet contrast to the heat bubbling under your skin. The air was still, heavy with that faint scent of cologne and luxury that always clung to Sylus’s space, and it only fueled the spark of rebellion in your chest. If he thought he could brush you off with a smile and a kiss on the lips, he had another thing coming.
The second you entered the room, your eyes were locked on your shared closet. You didn’t hesitate. Determination hardened your gaze as you swung the doors open and began to dig. Silks, lace, structured jackets, soft cotton tees—none of it was what you needed. Your fingers moved quickly, flicking through hangers, rummaging through drawers, pausing only to toss aside a piece or two that got in your way.
Then, your fingertips brushed over something thin and impossibly soft. You froze. Pulled it out. And there it was.
Tucked neatly toward the back, untouched and still wrapped in soft tissue from the boutique: a white slip dress. Almost sheer, impossibly delicate. Not see-through enough to be scandalous, but sheer enough to spark the imagination. You held it up, letting it sway gently in your hands as a grin tugged at the corners of your lips. Oh yes—this would do nicely.
It was the kind of dress that was made to be seen by someone who wouldn’t be allowed to touch. Innocent in color, wicked in fit.
You stripped out of your clothes with little ceremony, letting your discarded outfit fall to the floor. Then you stepped into the slip dress, carefully pulling it over your shoulders and smoothing it down over your figure. The fabric was featherlight, almost like a second skin, clinging in all the right places and catching on the subtle curves of your body. The hem kissed the top of your thighs, the neckline dipping just low enough to draw the eye.
You adjusted the straps, letting one slip slightly off your shoulder before nudging it back into place. The mirror reflected back something soft, sultry, and calculated. You tilted your head, gave your reflection a slow once-over, and lifted the hem slightly to re-adjust where it clung a little too high at the hip.
It was a look that said, "Oops, did I wear this by mistake?" when every stitch was picked out with intent.
You even applied a light layer of gloss to your lips and tousled your hair a little, just enough to give it that messy, just-out-of-bed sheen. Not too perfect—no, that would ruin the effect. You wanted to look like a dream and a challenge all at once.
You stepped back, admiring the effect with a smirk that tugged at your lips.
Yeah. This would more than do.
You pulled out your phone and made your way to Sylus's bed, crawling onto the plush comforter with a wicked little smirk playing on your lips. The soft fabric of the dress slid over your skin as you moved, clinging tighter with every shift of your hips. It was like the dress had been made for this—barely-there, teasing just enough to be dangerous. You positioned yourself carefully, angling your body this way and that, letting the hem ride up a little higher each time, letting the neckline dip lower than it should. You knew your angles, and you weren’t afraid to use them.
Your hair spilled around your shoulders as you arched your back just enough to accentuate your figure, your lips parted slightly in a deliberately breathless expression. You cycled through poses—knees bent, laying on your side, half-turns that showed just enough. Each snap of the camera was a calculated strike, crafted to toe that perfect line between seductive and untouchable. Every glance at the lens carried a silent message: look, but don’t you dare touch.
You finally landed on the winning shot.
You were laying flat on your stomach, feet kicked up in the air behind you in an almost playful pose, your body stretched across the bed like a perfectly unwrapped gift. The camera angle was just right—your butt peeked into the edge of the frame, subtle but impossible to miss. The front of your chest was also faintly visible, pressed softly against the sheets, hinted at through the thin slip of fabric that caught the light in all the right places. The image was an illusion of innocence, cloaked in silk and suggestion. It whispered secrets without saying a word.
You giggled to yourself, the kind of giggle that came from knowing you’d just lit a match. Scrolling through filters, you picked one that added a warm, golden glow to your skin, bringing out the soft shadows and romantic lighting of the bedroom. Your cheeks looked naturally flushed, your eyes dreamy and a little wild.
Then came the real fun. You opened your social media app and navigated to your public Moments feed, fingers tapping away with ease. A single, sweetly cheeky caption. Nothing too obvious. Just the right amount of flirt. And then the hashtags—oh, you chose them carefully. Trending ones, flirty ones, ones that practically begged people to stop and stare. Ones that would ensure this photo didn’t just go unnoticed. It would explode.
Post.
You hit the button and watched as the image loaded, crisp and glowing on the screen. Your heart fluttered with anticipation, not nerves—but a thrill. You placed your phone down on the bed beside you, letting your body melt into the mattress, stretching out lazily like a cat in sunlight. You felt deliciously smug.
Now it was just a matter of time.
How long until Sylus saw it? How long before someone else did? How long before his phone started buzzing with the growing flood of likes and comments from strangers who had no business seeing you like this—but were absolutely going to anyway?
You tucked your chin into the pillow, smiling to yourself.
It did not take long at all for the post to get some traction.
Within the hour or so, your phone was buzzing nonstop, lighting up with a steady stream of likes, comments, shares, and those little heart notifications that came in quicker than you could keep track of. People were noticing. People were reacting. And you were lounging there on Sylus’s bed, basking in the slow-burning chaos you’d started.
The comments came in waves. Some were sweet, complimenting your beauty, your glow, the elegance of the dress—words like "ethereal" and "goddess" paired with heart-eye emojis and rose-colored filters. Others were...not so polite. Thirsty replies from strangers you didn’t know, saying things that made you cringe, made your brow furrow. A few were outright creepy. You deleted those on sight, blocking users without hesitation, but the damage was already done. The post was out there, and it was spreading fast.
You rolled onto your back with a sigh, your phone raised above your head as you continued scrolling. It was almost funny—how predictable it all was. You knew the moment you posted it what kind of reaction you’d get. You knew the hashtags would push it to the explore pages. You knew someone would tag a friend, then another, then another. But even so, seeing it all unfold made your chest buzz with adrenaline.
You giggled to yourself as you tapped through DMs—some from followers you recognized, others from complete strangers trying their luck. You deleted the worst of them, but not before archiving a few particularly flattering ones. Not because you were interested, of course, but because you knew Sylus might see them.
And that was the real game, wasn’t it?
The ultimate goal.
Then, right in the middle of clearing out a flood of unsolicited messages, a new notification popped up—distinct. Crisp. Your thumb hovered for half a second.
Sylus: I saw it. You can delete it now.
Seven words. Simple. No emojis. Nothing but cool, clean finality.
And yet, it hit like a sucker punch to the stomach. You stared at the message, pulse picking up. The smirk returned to your lips, slow and sly. He saw it. He saw it. You could practically feel the shift in the air, the subtle tension winding through the silence of the room like a live wire.
You reread the message. Once. Twice.
And then you did not delete the post.
Instead, you stretched your arms over your head, arching your back into the mattress like a content little cat, your smile widening as you tapped back into the moments app. Notifications were still flooding in. More likes. More reposts. More attention.
If Sylus thought that single message was enough to reel you back in, he clearly underestimated your mood tonight.
Now the real fun could begin.
"Mmmm. Not today. Maybe another time," you texted back, pausing just long enough for a flicker of doubt to creep in before you hit send.
Yeah, get a taste of your own medicine asshole.
The moment your message whooshed off into cyberspace, your heart skipped. Your face grew warm, the flush spreading all the way to your ears. A nervous little flutter worked its way through your chest as you set your phone down on the comforter, then immediately snatched it back up.
Had you gone too far?
You had teased Sylus plenty before—playfully, brattily, dramatically—but this was different. You had never really pushed him. Not like this. He had always let you be a little dramatic, indulging every pout, every sigh, every fake tear with maddening patience. But this? This was... direct defiance. And it made your stomach flip in a way that was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.
The screen lit up.
Three dots. He was typing.
Your pulse surged. You sat up straighter, fingers gripping the edge of your phone just a bit too tightly. Your eyes were locked on those three little dots like they were a countdown. Here it comes. The reaction. The reprimand. Maybe a taunt, maybe something sharper.
And then—
Nothing.
The dots vanished.
You stared at the screen in disbelief. Wait—what? That’s it? No reply? Not even a period? Just a seen at timestamp to cling to?
Your brows furrowed, confusion giving way to an irritated twist of your lips. No smug comeback? No passive-aggressive sarcasm? No "oh really, kitten?" Just...silence?
Bastard.
You let out a frustrated sound that was somewhere between a growl and a sigh, flopping back dramatically onto the pillows. Your hair spread out over the fabric like a halo as you stared at the ceiling, phone clutched against your chest like it might suddenly buzz with an explanation. But nothing came. Just silence, and your own thoughts chasing themselves in circles.
Was he actually mad this time? That didn’t sound like him. But what if he was? Or worse—what if he was ignoring you on purpose? Letting you stew? Was this part of his plan? Was this some next-level psychological warfare meant to make you squirm?
Well, it was working.
You sat up again with a sharp exhale, glaring at your screen as if you could will a response into existence. The nerve of him. Leaving you hanging like that? No reaction? No witty jab? He was definitely doing this on purpose. And maybe—just maybe—it was kind of hot.
Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, frustration tangling with something dangerously close to anticipation.
You don’t realize you had fallen asleep until the quiet creak of the bedroom door jolts you from your haze. Your body stiffens instinctively, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes flutter open to the soft golden hue of the bedroom lights. The sheets are still warm beneath you, and for a split second, everything feels still. Peaceful.
Until you see him.
Sylus steps into the room, his movements as smooth and controlled as ever. His face is unreadable—no trace of amusement, no hint of irritation. Just that usual calm, detached composure he always carried. It sends a ripple of nervous energy racing through your chest.
He looks...too calm.
You sit up quickly, heart beginning to race as you reach up to smooth your tousled hair. The silk dress clings to your body, creased slightly from where you’d fallen asleep in it, and your brain scrambles to remember how revealing your last pose had been. You grab your phone, pretending to check it, then think better of it and reach for the sheet instead, pulling it up and over yourself in a feeble attempt to look casual.
“Welcome back…” you murmur, voice soft and slightly hoarse. You force a smile—one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. It feels crooked and strained, too tight at the corners.
Sylus doesn’t answer at first. He walks over to the bed with that same quiet, deliberate ease and leans down toward you. One hand sinks into the mattress beside your hip as he lowers himself, and his lips press gently against yours.
Not rough. Not rushed. Just a slow, deliberate kiss.
You blink at him, lips parted slightly as he pulls back. Caught off guard. Completely disarmed.
"Were you sleeping?" he asks, adjusting his tie with one hand, his tone neutral. Almost bored.
It throws you off. He wasn’t going to mention the post?
“Huh?” you blink again, trying to play along. “Uh...yeah. I think today was pretty long for me.” You stretch your arms up in an exaggerated yawn, glancing away like you’re just now waking up. Inside, your thoughts are spinning.
He hums in acknowledgment, his crimson eyes drifting lazily across your figure before returning to the device in his pocket. He pulls it out and unlocks it, gaze cool as his thumb scrolls slowly along the screen.
Still no mention. Not even a look.
Your stomach does a slow, uneasy flip.
You watch him from the corner of your eye, trying to read him, trying to sense something—anything—but he’s a blank slate. Calm. Casual. Like he didn’t just leave you hanging for hours after you posted one of the most daring photos of your life. Like he hadn’t sent that short, pointed message. Like none of it had happened.
Your pulse ticks louder in your ears.
Was this his move now? Leaving you in suspense?
He stands there for a moment longer, thumb tapping occasionally, face unreadable as he scrolls. The silence stretches just a little too long, the air too thick with the tension you’re pretending not to feel.
Why wasn’t he saying anything?
Was this his way of letting you stew? Of reminding you he didn’t have to respond to your games? Or worse...was he unbothered?
Did he really not care?
You swallow hard, trying to keep your cool. But the pressure builds in your chest.
You hear the familiar ding of your phone and glance toward it cautiously. That tone—you knew it. Your heart skips as you reach over and grab the device, already feeling the anticipation coil in your chest. You unlock the screen, and sure enough, your eyes widen.
Bright and bold, the notification glows at you like some kind of digital miracle.
$1,000 deposited to your account from Sylus.
Holy shit. Your plan worked?
You press your lips together, trying—failing—to hide the smug little smile threatening to spill across your face. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye.
“Why so shocked?” Sylus says, tone light, but there’s something unreadable in his gaze. He watches you closely, head slightly tilted. “You still want to go shopping, don’t you?”
He doesn’t sound mad. He doesn’t look upset. But there’s something strange in the air—something you can’t quite name. Calm, but not idle. Soft, but edged.
“Yeah, of course, Sy…thank you!” you say, quickly standing up and throwing your arms around him in a hug. He smells like cologne and leather and something darker, something distinctly him.
He hugs you back just as easily, strong arms wrapping around your waist. But then he leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“Delete it, sweetie.”
It’s not a threat. Not a growl. Not even cold. But the words settle on your skin like steel. Gentle and final.
Your breath catches.
“Oh! Y-yeah…sorry,” you say quickly, stepping back, fingers already fumbling to grab your phone again. The moment’s playfulness sours ever so slightly as the weight of those words lingers.
He gently smiles at you like nothing happened.
But you know better.
You delete the post without another word.
After deleting the post quickly, you giddily log into your account on the store to start adding the items you so desperately wanted. Your heart is still fluttering from the thrill, and a wide smile plays on your lips as you eagerly pull up your wishlist. A tiny, delighted squeal slips out when you see everything still sitting there—limited edition shoes, accessories, that one impossible-to-find designer dress you’d bookmarked and obsessed over for weeks.
Your fingers move with dizzy excitement, tapping away as you add each item to your cart like it’s a race against time. The numbers keep rising, the total bill ticking higher, but you don’t care. You’re floating in the afterglow of your victory. A thousand dollars, just like that—gifted, deposited, yours.
Maybe you should push his buttons this way more often, you think with a smug little grin, biting your lower lip. Clearly, a little rebellion went a long way. You imagine how many more little indulgences he might cave to if you kept playing this game right. You can't help but bask in the moment, riding the rush of control you think you have.
That is…until a sound cuts through the quiet air, sharp and deliberate.
Click.
Your ears perk, body instinctively tensing.
The unmistakable sound of a belt coming undone.
You freeze, thumb hovering mid-tap over your phone screen. Your head slowly turns, curiosity getting the better of you despite the knot now forming in your stomach.
Sylus stands by the dresser, hands working with unhurried ease as he slips the leather strap free from the buckle. The soft clink of metal follows. His sleeves are rolled back just slightly, revealing the veins along his forearms as he finishes the motion with a practiced calm. There’s no rush. No warning.
He catches your stare and tilts his head ever so slightly, his expression unreadable.
Then, a slow, deliberate smile spreads across his lips.
"Don’t look back here," he says, his voice deceptively gentle—laced with something darker, heavier, undeniable. "Keep shopping."
Your breath catches in your throat.
Your eyes widen, pulse skipping a beat. There’s no edge to his tone, no visible anger, and yet the command feels like a velvet-gloved grip around your neck. Not harsh. Just final.
You don’t dare speak. You nod quickly and turn your gaze back to your phone, trying to focus, trying to act like nothing’s changed.
But everything has.
Your fingers are shaking slightly now as you tap your screen. The glowing images of handbags and shoes blur together. Your heartbeat thumps in your ears, and your thoughts scatter like marbles across a slick floor.
The room feels smaller now, quieter except for the occasional rustle of fabric as he moves behind you. You don't look back—you wouldn't dare—but every sense is straining to track his movements. Your phone suddenly feels slippery in your grip, and the shopping cart you were so excitedly filling moments ago now seems trivial, even foolish.
You force yourself to scroll through another page of items, pretending to be absorbed in your task. The $1,000 balance that had felt like such a victory now hangs like a weight in your conscience. What had seemed like a clever manipulation has transformed into something else entirely.
The floorboards creak softly behind you. He's moving slowly, deliberately. Your thumb hovers over a pair of shoes you'd been coveting, but you can't bring yourself to tap "add to cart." The game has changed, and you're no longer certain of the rules.
"Finding everything you want?" His voice comes from closer than you expected, making you flinch slightly. The question sounds innocent enough, but the undertone makes your skin prickle with awareness.
"Y-yes," you manage, hating the slight tremor in your voice. You clear your throat and try to project confidence. "Just finishing up."
You feel him approach, his presence like a gathering storm at your back. The air feels charged, electric. He stops just behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, but not touching. Not yet.
His hand comes into view as he reaches around you, gently taking the phone from your grasp. You release it without resistance, your fingers suddenly useless. He studies the screen for a moment, scrolling through your selections with casual interest.
"Quite the haul," he observes mildly, as if commenting on the weather. "You must be very pleased with yourself, sweetie."
There's a pause, heavy with expectation. You're not sure if you're meant to answer, if you should apologize, defend yourself, or remain silent. The uncertainty is maddening.
He hands your phone back to you, the screen still glowing with your abandoned shopping cart. Then his fingers brush against your shoulder, tracing a path up to the nape of your neck. The touch is feather-light, but it sends a shiver cascading down your spine.
"I must ask," he says conversationally, his breath warm against your ear, "Was it thrilling to take pictures for other men while in another mans bed? In clothes he bought you?"
His fingers tangle gently in your hair, not pulling, just establishing control. You don't answer him. You know better not to answer such a question. Your breath catches in your throat as he continues, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"For every...lets say $100, that's one hit with this belt."
His words hang in the air, precise and measured. Your breath catches, mind racing to calculate the total in your cart. You swear your heart just fell into your stomach. A belt??? The simple arithmetic becomes suddenly, terribly important.
"S-sylus, I'm really-"
"That's the exchange rate," he continues, calm as if discussing the weather. "Seems only fair, doesn't it? You wanted to play games...so let's play."
You feel his presence shift as he moves slightly, the leather of the belt sliding against itself with a soft, threatening whisper. Your mouth has gone dry, and the excitement of your shopping spree feels like it happened to someone else, in another lifetime.
"How much is in your cart right now?" he asks, though his tone suggests he already knows the answer. "Why don't you check for me, sweetie? Speak up."
Your fingers tremble as you reach for the phone, the screen now seeming to mock you with its bright display of luxury items. The total stares back at you, a number that had brought such satisfaction minutes ago now transformed into a countdown to something else entirely.
You had added way too much to your cart. Plus with the added shipping...it came up to a little past 2,000 dollars. You must've gotten carried away.
He waits patiently behind you, giving you time to absorb the full weight of your actions. The belt dangles from his hand, not threatening, simply present—a promise waiting to be kept.
"Well?" His voice is soft but expectant, leaving no room for evasion.
You shivered, tears welling up in your eyes as the intensity of the sensation overwhelmed you. "Its $2000. I...I accidentally added too much...let me just-" you started to explain, but your words were cut short as you felt the leather of the belt against the back of your leg, its roughness sending shivers through your body.
"Oh, but my sweet kitten, there's no need to take anything away," Sylus purred, his voice laced with amusement. "I'll happily pay for it all. What my kitten wants, she gets, right? You wanted this stuff so badly you were willing to flaunt yourself to get my attention. How adorable."
With a slow, deliberate motion, he lifted the back of your dress, exposing the smooth skin of your butt, the cool air contrasting with the heat of the room. Your body trembled, a mix of pleasure and apprehension, as you felt the leather glide across your sensitive skin, the roughness a stark contrast to the soft caresses you had experienced thus far.
"Now...you're gonna start counting after the first hit" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Squirm or move away and I'll make you add more stuff."
Your brain began to swim. More stuff...more spankings. You already have twenty. Shit. He's actually serious??
"Sylus...please, I'm really sorry," you whined, the words tumbling out as a tear slipped down your cheek. Yet, beneath the anxiety, a forbidden excitement simmered, igniting something deep within you. "Please, just let me give the money back..."
He shushes you, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look back at your phone. You feel him grabbing the hem of your underwear and pulling them down. You flinch in anticipation and you hear a chuckle behind you.
"Don't laugh at me-!"
You turned your head, words of protest leaving your lips, but they were abruptly stolen away by the sharp, searing kiss of the belt against your skin. A cry tore from your throat, raw and instinctive, as tears sprang forth, soaking into the pillow beneath you. He wasn't playing around; that strike was anything but gentle.
"Still trying to act like a brat hm? I don't want to hear anything but counting, kitten. Starting over."
The sound of leather slicing through the air made your skin prickle, a sharp whistle that seemed to echo through the room before it ever made contact.
The second lash hit with a quick, stinging snap across your thighs. Your breath caught in your throat as the shock bloomed into heat. It wasn’t just the pain itself that made you tremble—it was the anticipation, the weight of each second dragging between every strike. Your hands curled into the sheets as you forced your voice out.
"O-one," you stammered, your tone breathless and shaking.
Another followed. Lower. Sharper. The belt bit into the tender part of your ass and pulled a yelp from your lips.
"T-two," you gasped, teeth clenched.
The third landed with more force, sending a pulse of heat through your core that made you arch slightly, only to flinch from the tension in your spine.
"Three," you whispered, more air than sound.
The fourth came before you could fully prepare, and your voice cracked when you counted, "F-four."
The sting lingered, throbbing beneath the sheer fabric of your dress, heat spreading in slow, dizzy waves. The cool air did nothing to soothe the ache on your bare ass, if anything it made each lash feel more intimate, more deliberate. You bit your lip, body squirming on instinct as the fifth snapped down with a little more force, and your hips twisted to one side.
"Five—!"
But before you could adjust or reposition, Sylus shifted.
His knee came down over the back of your thigh, pinning your leg to the bed with unwavering pressure.
You froze, your entire body tensing beneath him.
"Start adding more things if you're gonna keep moving," he said, his voice a smooth, unbothered murmur. Not cruel. Not angry. But absolute.
The tone left no room for protest. Not from you.
"N-no, I won't move anymore, I promise..."
You swallowed hard, breath shuddering as you nodded without turning to look at him.
"S-six," you whispered, barely able to get the word out before the next hit made your legs twitch under the restraint of his knee.
The seventh landed with precision, and your voice cracked again. "Seven."
By the eighth, your body was trembling. Sweat dotted your lower back and your lips parted with a soft, desperate sound before you remembered to count. "Eight..."
The ninth and tenth came one after the other, timed and even, and you were almost too breathless to speak. Your chest heaved beneath you, and you had to close your eyes just to stay focused.
"Nine. Ten."
You were shaking all over now, a cocktail of pain, adrenaline, and something else you didn’t want to name twisting deep in your stomach. Your thoughts were a blur, your hands clenched around the sheets, your throat dry from trying to keep your voice steady.
But you were still counting.
Still obeying.
By the twelfth hit, you couldn’t take it anymore. The pain had gone from a sharp sting to a deep, burning ache that pulsed with every heartbeat. You buried your face into the pillow, sobbing openly now, the kind of messy, desperate crying that came from somewhere deeper than just your skin. Every part of you was trembling—your arms, your legs, your breath hitching violently as you tried to force your voice to keep counting.
Each strike felt heavier than the last, like Sylus knew just how close you were to breaking. And maybe he did. Maybe that was the point.
But you didn’t stop.
You couldn’t.
"Fourteen..." you choked, your voice hoarse, muffled by the pillow soaked with your tears.
You curled your fingers into the sheets, gripping them like they were the only thing anchoring you to reality. Your thighs burned, your back ached, and your skin felt hot everywhere he’d touched.
"Fifteen..." you whimpered, your whole body jolting at the next hit.
You tried to shift, to escape, just slightly—but the weight of his knee still pinned you down, reminding you that you weren’t going anywhere.
You gasped, eyes squeezed shut, the tears blurring everything.
"Seventeen..."
The numbers were slipping from your lips in broken sobs now, each one harder to say than the last. You didn’t know if he noticed how your breath was catching or how your voice kept cracking—but even if he did, he said nothing.
The silence was maddening.
And then finally, after what felt like an eternity—longer than you thought you could bear—the last strike landed.
"Twenty," you whispered, so faint you weren’t even sure it counted. Your voice was shredded, raw from crying, from counting, from enduring.
But it was done.
You clung to the pillow like a lifeline, tears still trailing down your cheeks as your lungs struggled to draw in a steady breath. Everything buzzed—your skin, your mind, the space between your thoughts.
And somewhere in the center of all that pain and exhaustion, a quiet pride stirred.
You had taken it all.
Every single one.
You held your breath, every muscle tense, waiting—until finally, the sound came.
Thud.
The belt hit the floor.
You let out a broken, shaky sob as relief rushed through you. It was over. The sharp sting, the counting, the pressure—done. The moment that sound registered, your body sagged into the mattress, the tension melting into a full-bodied, uncontrollable release. Tears spilled freely again, this time not from pain, but from the emotional flood that followed. You clutched the pillow beneath you even harder, burying your face into it as your shoulders trembled.
Sylus was gentle now, a complete contrast to the measured harshness he had displayed just moments before. He didn’t rush. His movements were calm, controlled, like he was shifting into a different role entirely. Slowly, carefully, he reached out to you, his fingers brushing your arm first as if to check if you could handle touch again. When you didn’t flinch, he slipped his arms around you and helped guide you onto your side.
Every shift of your sore backside made you wince, but there was no sharpness in his handling. Only softness. You whimpered softly at the movement, your skin raw and burning beneath the thin fabric of your slip. Still, when he pulled you against his chest, you didn’t resist. You melted into him like he was the only steady thing left in the room.
He began to rub slow, soothing circles into your thighs and butt, his fingers featherlight as they traced the reddened skin. He was so careful—almost reverent. The heat of his palms chased the sting from each mark he’d left, easing the tension in your muscles. Your sobs came slower now, quieter, as his touch steadied you.
He held you close, his breath warm and steady against your ear as he leaned in, his voice low and soft.
"Shh, shh…I know it hurts," he murmured, the tenderness in his tone wrapping around you like a blanket. His lips pressed soft kisses across your damp cheeks, your temple, your jaw. "You did such a good job, sweetie. I’m so proud of you."
You blinked through the blur of tears, your lashes sticky and your throat sore from crying. But his words—his praise—poured warmth into your chest. You felt it curl deep inside you, soothing something raw and aching. It didn’t erase the pain, but it dulled the edge of it, made it feel worth enduring.
You turned your face into his chest, inhaling his familiar scent. Leather. Clean linen. A trace of cologne. It grounded you. You clung to him, needing his presence, his calm. And when his hand continued to stroke your hair and rub gentle circles on your back, your breathing began to slow.
And slowly—finally—you allowed yourself to relax.
The worst had passed. The storm of sensation had come and gone, and you had weathered it.
The mattress shifted softly as Sylus adjusted beside you, his hands still warm against your skin. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he moved closer, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. You held your breath for a moment, your pulse quickening at the way his fingers brushed the soft fabric of your slip, teasing the edge of it without hurry.
Then, ever so slowly, he began to trace the outline of your body, his fingers dipping lower, circling the curve of your hips before edging closer to the juncture of your thighs. His touch was featherlight, almost teasing, as he explored the outer edges of your most intimate flesh. You whimpered softly, the sound muffled against his chest, as his fingers danced just beyond the line of your core, deliberately staying on the outside of your pussy.
As his fingers continued their slow, deliberate exploration, he leaned in close, his voice low and soothing as he whispered against your ear.
“You want to feel good now?” His words were a soft, inviting question, a gentle coax that sent a shiver down your spine. “You must've enjoyed that a little too much. You're soaked, kitten.”
Your eyelids fluttered, and you tilted your head slightly, subconsciously seeking more of his touch. His fingers slowed their motion, almost as though he were savoring the moment, before finally pressing just a little closer, brushing the swollen flesh of your clit with the lightest of pressures. You sucked in a breath, your hips instinctively shifting slightly beneath him, a soft moan escaping your lips.
Still, he held back, his fingers circling just around the edges of your core, coaxing a low, needy sound from you before slowly dipping lower, teasing the entrance to your pussy with a gentle pressure. “Oh,” you whispered, your voice tinged with both longing and relief,
“Please.”
He gave a gentle squeeze to your hip before slowly deepening his touch, his fingers finally brushing against the slick, sensitive folds of your cunt. You twitched slightly against him, your hands instinctively clutching at the sheets as the waves of pleasure began to build within you. But he moved with care, his touch both tender and deliberate, as though he were discovering every inch of you for the first time.
As his fingers worked their way deeper into your wet walls, your moans grew louder, more uninhibited, the sound of your pleasure filling the room. He hummed softly in response, his voice a low vibration against your ear as he praised you with quiet endearments, coaxing you further into the pleasure he was building within you.
You lay there, your body bathed in a wave of sensations as Sylus’s fingers moved inside you, each thrust echoing with a precision that left you gasping for air. At first, it was gentle, a slow, teasing rhythm that coaxed a moan from your lips. Then, as the pressure increased, his fingers curved just right, hitting the sweet spot inside you that made your entire body shiver with pleasure. Your hips bucked involuntarily, your nails digging into the sheets as you fought to hold onto control.
“You’re about to cum already?” he whispered, his voice low and triumphant. You could feel his smirk against your skin as he pressed harder, his thumb rubbing circles over your clit with skillful precision. “You want it, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you gasped, your voice trembling. “Please, I’m about to—”
He pulled back just enough to make you whimper in frustration, his fingers hovering just at the edge of withdrawal before thrusting back in with renewed force. “Tell me how sorry you are,” he demanded, his voice a mixture of dominance and affection that made your heart race. “Beg me, sweetie.”
At first you froze, feeling heat rise to your cheeks out of embarrassment, but when he fully began to pull his fingers away all reason flew out of your mind.
You were so close.
The words tumbled out of you before you could stop them, a desperate, breathless plea that echoed the raw emotion in your chest. “I’m sorry! Please, I’m sorry!”
He chuckled, the sound a low, gravelly vibration that sent shivers down your spine. “Good girl,” he murmured, his fingers finding that spot again, the pressure building to a point where you could barely think straight.
“Yes,” you whispered, your eyes squeezing shut as the aching burn in your core was tipping to its breaking point. “Please—just let me—”
But before you could finish the sentence, he pulled his fingers out entirely, leaving you trembling and unsatisfied, gasping for air as though you’d been deprived of oxygen. The abrupt withdrawal was almost as intense as the climax you’d been on the brink of, a cruel twist that left you feeling both frustrated and conflicted.
You turned to face him, your voice shaking with a mix of shock and disbelief. “W-what? I was right there! I did what you asked!”
He met your gaze steadily, his expression soft but unyielding. His eyes didn’t carry malice—there was no fire, no wrath—just a firm, patient certainty that made your skin prickle and your breath catch in your throat. The kind of quiet control that left no room for bargaining.
“I never said I'd let you even if you begged,” he said, the words rolling from his tongue in a tone so calm it only made the weight of them settle heavier in your chest. It was gentle, yes, but it carried the undeniable finality of someone who’d already made up their mind. "Did you honestly think I’d let you finish after a stunt like that?”
The way he said it, like he was almost surprised by your audacity, twisted your stomach. Not furious. Just disappointed. And that somehow hurt worse.
His tone didn’t rise. It never did. But that only made it worse—the fact that he could cut through your resistance with something as simple as stillness. The gravity in his voice hit harder than any belt, any reprimand. It made your throat tighten, your thoughts spin.
You were in shock.
Your body was still trembling, the aftershocks of denied ecstasy crashing through your nerves like static. You felt strung out, your limbs heavy, your skin flushed and oversensitive. Your muscles still twitched with that last wave of almost-release that had been ripped from you too soon.
It had been there. Right there. You had been on the edge—dangling. And he had pulled you back with terrifying precision.
No release.
No relief.
Just silence. And now, this still, crushing reminder of who held the reins.
Tears gathered in your lashes, fat and hot. You blinked rapidly, your lips trembling as you lifted your gaze to him. Your voice cracked as you spoke, brittle and hoarse from all the cries that had come before.
“P-please…” you whispered, reaching for him with fingers that barely had the strength to curl. “I said I was sorry. Sylus, please...”
Your voice broke halfway through his name, and the desperation behind it made your chest ache.
"Shh. Don’t whine," he murmured, his voice low and even, the kind of calm that wrapped around you like a heavy blanket—firm, enveloping, unshakable.
You hiccupped softly, your body still twitching with the lingering aftershocks, shivering from unsatisfaction, exhaustion, and the quiet vulnerability that always came after something so intense. Your limbs felt heavy and loose, barely responding as you shifted weakly against the sheets. Tears clung to your lashes, your cheeks damp and flushed. You let out a small, broken protest, the sound almost childish in its fragility.
But Sylus didn’t pause. He moved with deliberate care, like he’d done this a hundred times, like every movement was etched into him. Without saying another word, he crossed the room, retrieved a warm cloth, and returned to your side. You barely registered the soft sound of water dripping onto the towel or the way the mattress dipped as he sat beside you again.
The first touch made you flinch despite yourself. The cloth dragged over your sensitive, slightly bruised skin with a heat that was both soothing and startling. You whimpered, your hips twitching away on instinct, but he didn’t scold you. He simply placed a hand gently on your back, the silent reminder enough to still you.
"Starting today, until all your packages arrive," he continued, his tone calm yet authoritative, "I'm still going to kiss you, touch you, make you feel good. But you can't cum." His fingers paused for a moment, the weight of his words settling between you. "If you do cum before you have my permission, this whole process starts over, including the belt. No masturbating either. I'll know. Understood?"
The simple act of him speaking while wiping between your legs sent a shiver down your spine, your breath catching as you nodded, the gravity of his words sinking in. You felt the tension in your body, the way your muscles clenched involuntarily at the mere thought of being so close to climax only to have it taken away.
"Yes, Sy..." you whispered, voice cracking as it escaped your lips. You wanted to be mad. You wanted to scream, to shove at his chest, to demand why he was always one step ahead—but you couldn’t. The exhaustion in your limbs, the ache deep in your chest, and the rawness still lingering on your skin left you too hollow, too wrung out to fight. All that fire had dissolved into a pitiful, quiet ache, leaking from your eyes in soft, steady tears.
All you could do was cry. You had brought this on yourself.
Sylus didn’t say anything. He didn’t gloat or taunt. He just kept tending to you with that same deliberate, practiced care. His movements were slow, methodical, gentle in ways that made your chest ache even more. When he was done, he discarded the damp cloth and reached for you again, easing the rumpled slip dress over your head. The fabric peeled away from your flushed skin, clinging slightly before sliding off, leaving you cold, exposed, and vulnerable.
You whimpered, the sound soft and unsure, but he was already moving with purpose. He retrieved one of his shirts—oversized, warm, smelling of him—and a fresh pair of underwear. With all the patience in the world, he dressed you like you were something fragile, helping you into the shirt and smoothing it down, adjusting the sleeves and gently guiding your legs into the underwear. The motions were intimate, familiar, but not rushed. As though this was part of the ritual. As though he’d already known this was how the night would end.
Then he slipped away into the bathroom for a moment, and you lay there quietly, the bedsheets cool beneath you, your limbs too heavy to move. The room felt softer now, dim and hushed, like the storm had passed. Your eyes fluttered closed, though sleep didn’t come. Just more tears.
When Sylus returned, the mattress dipped beside you. He settled in close, his warmth immediately surrounding you, and without a word, he reached over and began wiping the fresh tears from your face. His thumb brushed slowly under each eye, lingering at your cheekbones, soft and unrelenting. You blinked up at him, your vision still blurry, your body aching in more ways than one.
He didn’t need to say anything. His touch said it for him: I still love you. I’m still here.
Then he picked up your phone from the nightstand, unlocking it like it was second nature. You peeked at him from the crook of your arm, face still pressed into his chest, and listened to the familiar taps as he scrolled.
Probably checking the damage, you thought bitterly.
Then came the chuckle. Soft. Low. Amused.
"Oh, sucks for you. One of these is on preorder," he said, tone light, like he wasn’t the reason you were too emotionally wrecked to argue. "Won’t get here for a few weeks. What a shame."
You groaned into his chest, letting your body sag against him like you were boneless. You didn’t need to look up to see the smug grin on his face—you could feel it in the rumble of his chest, the way his fingers casually stroked your back like you were some satisfied little cat.
He had won. Again.
There was no fighting it. No regaining the upper hand. Not now. Not when he’d read you like a book and written the ending before you even knew the chapter had started.
And now, one of the pieces you were most excited for was going to take weeks to arrive.
they give you a massage (sylus, caleb, xavier) / you give them a massage (zayne and rafayel).
mdni. 18+ only. fingering. handjob. oral (male and female giving and receiving). dry humping. creampie. overstimulation.
sylus
You've had a busy week at work and your body has been terribly sore, so Sylus offered to give to a massage.
Instead of feeling relaxed like he said you would be, you're gripping the bedsheet and biting down the back of your own hand, completely flustered and tensed.
Sylus knows exactly what he's doing with his hands and yet, he refuses to admit to his crimes by playing clueless.
As if you can't see his smirk after accidentally brushing his hands against the sides of your breast for the third time in just five minutes.
"What's wrong, sweetie? Didn't I tell you to relax? Just close your eyes and trust me. I'll make you feel good."
You're cursing Sylus so hard in your head.
You're on his bed, lying on your stomach with absolutely no cover.
You've once gotten a massage from an actual professional massage therapist before, so you know removing your clothing is just protocol.
What's different from the massage you're getting right now are all the 'accidental' touches that your unofficial massager has been doing.
Sylus is hovering over your figure with his knees on the sides of your hips and planted on the mattress while his hands are kneading your figure.
On one hand, the oil that he's using smells wonderful, and his strong hands really does wonders when he's pressing down and pulling at your tensed muscles the right way.
On the other hand, he's teasing you so much that you can't even feel at peace.
It started off with brief, almost unnoticable brushes on the sides of your breasts as his hands roam around your torso, feeling up your sore spots.
It wasn't until his hands began to linger a little too long on your ass that you grew suspicious of his actions.
You gave him the benefit of the doubt and kept quiet, closing your eyes and burying your face against the soft pillow. You thought, maybe, you can just fall asleep while he gives you a massage, even if he has to keep himself entertained along the way.
But you learned quickly that you will certainly not be able to fall asleep for as long as Sylus' hands are on you.
As he's stroking the back of your thighs, his hands traveled up to your ass once again, and this time his thumbs had gotten lost to graze the folds of your vagina.
Your head shot up in shock.
Sylus pretends not to notice.
He starts to hum a song while his hands slide down to your aching calves, giving them a good squeeze that had you wincing.
Only then did Sylus give you a look. "Something wrong, sweetie?"
"You...."
"Hmm?"
"You know what you're doing." You narrowed your eyes at him accusingly.
He tilted his head. "I'm not a professional, but of course I know what i'm doing. You have nothing to worry about."
You scoffed and put your face back down on the pillow. It looks like you're just going to have to deal with all the antics. You'll get your revenge later on.
Or so you thought.
The little not-so-accidental touches soon became more obvious and unbearable.
After several more minutes of Sylus' game of mixing in actual good massage techniques with lecherous caresses, he stopped trying to be subtle.
His fingers now had their undivided attention on your core and making their way inside you. Your hips reflexively raised as the wave of tingling sensation took over, and Slyus gently pushed them back down against the mattress.
"You're tensing up, sweetie."
There was that smirk again.
"And whose fault is that?!"
"Yours, obviously. You wouldn't need a massage if you didn't overwork yourself."
You hate that he's right even when he's trying to deflect your accusations. "Hmph."
After giving him a playful smack on the chest, you rested the side of your face against the pillow and closed your eyes.
Not a second later, his fingers are moving deeply in and out of your pussy, now wet with oil and from your arousal.
Your breath hitched at his fast pace, gripping the sheets of the bed with while listening to the lewd sounds of his sticky fingers going inside your oil-covered slit.
Your right arm reached behind you to capture his hand. You wanted to make him pause for a moment just to give yourself a moment to breathe before you burst right then and there.
He was quick to figure out your intention, so Sylus got your wrist first and pinned it on your back, just with one hand.
The bed shook slightly as he lowered his hips onto you. His placed his other hand on the mattress, right by the side of your chest to support his weight so that he's not crushing you.
His cock is pressed up right against your ass.
You were so distracted by his fingers that you failed to notice when he had pulled down his pants and boxers. Now, he's throbbing and rubbing his pre-cum on your skin.
Sylus took a moment to wipe a drop of sweat on your forehead before kissing it.
"This...isn't a massage, Sylus."
"I told you, didn't I? I'll make you feel good."
He slowly went into you.
And almost immediately, you clenched up at how good he felt. Sylus took a sharp breath before lowering his chest on your back and wrapping his left arm around your neck.
Not tight enough to choke you, but just so he could keep your face against him as he starts to move faster and harder.
All the oil he put all over your body during the massage had now been spread onto him too as every inch of him connected to you.
The air around you becomes heavy. His low groans and your muffled moans mingle with the sound of your bodies roughly colliding repeatedly.
He didn't stop for a second. Not until he was out of breath. Not until you came first. Only then did Sylus allow himself to come, right on your ass and back.
"Sylus...."
Out of breath, you flipped over as Sylus looks down at you while running a hand through his sweaty hair.
"You better not be giving anyone else a massage like the one you just gave me."
He chuckled. "Of course not, kitten. That special service is reserved only for you."
"Good." You winced as you felt your hips twinge. "Because you kinda suck. I'm now more sore than before the massage - hey, can you at least try not to look so proud?!"
zayne
It's not unusual for Zayne to be overworked, given his highly demanding job. That's why you often find yourself pampering him on his days off. This time, you decided to give him a massage so that you could help to relieve his tensed muscles.
You're not a professional, but you have learned from Zayne himself how to properly give a decent massage, as he had given you one a couple of times before. He was describing to you what he was doing and explaining what it does to your joints and muscles, so you can at least do the basics.
Right now, he's lying down on the white couch of his living room, stripped down to his boxers and facing the ceiling. You're by his side, kneeling down on the floor and sitting on the back of your feet so that you're in the same level and can easily move around.
His glasses are off and his eyes are closed, enjoying the way your hands are pressing his biceps while listening to you ramble about what you've been up to at work.
"Oh! and I just remembered something annoying that happened the other day!"
As you broke into a rant, you failed to notice that your hands had increased their strength as they moved around Zayne's lower abdomen.
Your fingers squeezed his abs, though your mind was mostly focused on giving Zayne the full details of a particular problem you had at work.
You didn't catch the way Zayne's heart skipped a beat, and the way his breath started to become uneven as your hands moved on to his thighs.
You were so distracted with your own thoughts that your ears didn't pick up the quiet groans coming out of Zayne's mouth as you rub down his quads.
His legs twitched as your fingers darted to the inside of his thighs, and he let out a cough when your fingers brushed against his bulge behind his boxers.
And yet, you still haven't caught on.
Zayne started to sweat nervously as he tries to keep his thoughts and his body tamed: to stop blood from rushing south.
But it's already too late.
He's already hard and throbbing.
Especially when you're patting him down all around the one place that's begging for your attention.
"Darling..."
"- and then I was like - huh?"
You snapped back to reality when one of Zayne's hand caught your right one.
"...here..."
Your gaze shifted from his red ears, to his adam's apple that bobbed as he gulped, and down to where he placed your hand, which was right on the big tent that formed in his boxers.
At last, you understood what he wanted and immediately granted his wish.
You tugged on the band of his boxers and pulled it down to his calves, and Zayne fully discarded it by moving his own feet and kicking it off him.
You wrapped one hand around his cock and rubbed your thumb against its tip, spreading the pre-cum that oozed out of it.
His stomach tightens up as your fist moved up and down, and low grunts emerged from his lips as you picked up your pace.
The sight of his flushed, swollen cock had your mouth and your core soaked with hunger.
You squeezed your thighs together as you placed your weight on your knees, then you moved your face towards his hips and ran your tongue from the tip to the base of his cock.
Zayne took a sharp breath once your mouth swallowed him down. He ran a hand across his chest, feeling his own heart racing as he watched your head bob up and down, with some strands of your hair falling out of place.
He closed his eyes as you moved faster. His hips jolted up reflexively, making you take even more of him. He forced himself to hold back on thrusting into your mouth, but you were the one that pulled him even farther down your throat while your hands took care of the rest that you couldn't reach.
Your name falls out of his lips before ropes of cum suddenly shoots into your mouth, spilling out from your lips.
Zayne's moans did nothing to your clenching cunt as you watch his cock continuously twitch, even after his release.
Though you didn't have to wait for long because without even giving himself time to recover from his orgasm, Zayne sat up and pulled you onto his lap.
His mouth desperately meets yours while his hands are already working on undressing you. "...need you..." he mutters between kisses.
You complied and helped him get rid of your underwear, then you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Still, you paused for a moment to ask, "Aren't you sore though? I don't want you to feel even more tired. I'll - "
"I'm fine." Zayne cuts you off with certainty in his tone and desire in his eyes. "I just want to feel you."
As a silent response, you kissed his lips and locked your thights around his hips. Zayne adjusted himself before his cock penetrates you completely.
You wanted to spare him from moving, since, despite of his reassurance, his muscles really are overworked. You swayed your hips against him, but it seems that Zayne couldn't stay still either because he continued to push his cock into you.
He buried his face against your neck and his mouth sucks off your skin while his hands grips your ass hard. His heavy breaths stutter as both of your strengths increase, causing your flesh to clash at every second.
You re-adjusted your steady grip on his shoulders before taking control by grinding down his cock hard and fast.
Zayne catches one of your breasts into his mouth and lightly bites your nipple, earning a loud gasp out of you. Your pussy clenched around his cock, and the noise you made had echoed from his own mouth.
"C-coming...!"
You reached your climax around the same time. Zayne didn't have time nor power to pull out and your hips felt stuck against his, so all of his load was shot inside of you.
Zayne softly pressed his lips on your left shoulder before resting his forehead against it as he catch his breath.
You combed your fingers through his hair before attempting to get off of him. Zayne, however, kept you trapped against him with his hands remaining on your ass, pressing you down on him.
"Let's just stay like this.... for a little longer...."
caleb
The very second he arrived at your apartment and saw your overall worn out appearance, Caleb declared himself as your butler for the weekend. Not only did he do all the cooking and cleaning, he also decided that you needed a massage.
So here you are, lying face down on your bed, only wearing your underwear, with Caleb hovering over you with his knees on the side of your hips, running his hands throughout your body to fix your aching muscles.
He's actually doing an amazing job. Only a few minutes after he started and you're already feeling your body loosening up.
"Have you ever given anyone else a massage before?" you asked curiously, lifting your face from your pillow for a moment.
"Nope." Caleb grins. "You're my very first customer, pip-squeak. Don't forget to rate me at the end of my service, okay?"
"Mhmm."
You assume he just did his research very well, as always. Since you're in good hands, you decided to give in to the warmth and comfort he's providing and closed your eyes for a little nap.
Little did you know...
Caleb couldn't be more glad you're not looking at him right now.
He's having a big problem and it's demanding to be freed and inserted into something. Into someone.
He truly did have the full intention of giving you the best massage you'll ever have. He noticed that your body isn't in good condition because of your work, and the least he could do is make you feel relaxed with a massage.
The good news is that it seems to be working well, and you're even starting to fall asleep, which means your body is relaxing.
The bad news is that he underestimated his self-control. He had taken showers with you without popping a boner, and yet....
The sight of you lying so beautifully underneath him only in your red bra and panty had gotten his mind wandering along with his hands.
Every time he massaged the insides of your thighs, his eyes automatically flickers to your crotch as he gets a glimpse of your pussy behind your underwear.
He wanted, so badly, to bury his face between your thighs and have a taste of you. But even more, he wanted your body to feel relaxed. He didn't want to disturb you right now, so Caleb suppressed his desires.
It's not the first time, anyways. Before you were aware of his feelings, before you became an official couple, he always had to hide his sexual urges from you.
So, this is nothing. That's what Caleb repeatedly told himself as he continues to give you a massage.
Still....
It's okay to adjust himself once every while, right? His boxers and pants are getting uncomfortably tight, after all. He just needs to adjust it for a second.
Caleb stuck a hand in pants to get rid of the discomfort.
Then, he pumped his cock a few times.
'Fuck...'
He lets out a shaky breath before withdrawing his hand and resting it on the small of your back. His own actions only made things worse because now, he's throbbing uncontrollably and his thighs are pulsing. His hands are sweating, his stomach is clenching, and his face is burning.
He forced himself to keep going with the massage, but he was only torturing himself. The more he touched you, the more he wanted you.
"Hmm? Caleb, are you done?" you asked as his hands no longer made contact with your body.
"I..." Caleb's incomplete response came out low and deep.
Suddenly, his chest fell against your back and his lips grazed your right ear. His heavy breaths tickled you before his lips softly met your skin.
"I need you."
He rutted his crotch against your ass and your eyes widen at the feeling of his stiff cock through his pants.
He growled under his breath before moving faster, causing your body to bounce against the mattress of your bed.
"Caleb..."
You raised your hips to meet his, and his hands quickly latches to your waist before humping you even harder.
You slowly turned around and put your hands on the back of his neck, then you kissed him deeply and pulled him down with you.
Caleb moans into the kiss while his hands quickly removed his pants and boxers. You pulled away for a moment to help him undress, then your bodies re-attached like magnets soon after.
He wasted no time putting his cock inside you, spreading your thighs farther apart so he could pound as much of him into you as far as possible.
Your bed creaked and shook at every moment he made. The air around you feels hot, and you found yourself gasping loudly and clutching onto his back as he picks up the pace.
You cried softly against his neck as you came, and your toes curled as he relentlessly chased after his own high, drilling into you while clasping your hands. Soon, his hips stutters and he pulls out right before shooting his load right across your chest.
After using his shirt to wipe your chest, Caleb collided beside you, catching his breath as he stares at the ceiling.
You propped on your elbow and faced him sideways with a grin on your face.
"Hey, Caleb." Your fingers toyed with the pendant of his necklace. "You wanted me to rate your service, right? I'd give it a 4.5 out of 5."
He lets out a laugh, catching your hand and kissing your fingers. "What was the 0.5 deduction for?"
"...need another round..."
"Oh?" Caleb raised a brow, unable to hold back a smirk at your flustered expression. "Weeeell then, please allow me to compensate."
rafayel
Rafayel accepted your offer to give him a massage, especially since his back and shoulders have been tensed after painting for days with very little to no rest.
You had been away for work so you couldn't scold him properly to take breaks, and now you want to make up for your absence by helping him relax.
Not even five minutes after you started, Rafayel wondered if he had made a bad decision.
Today, for some reason, he's extra sensitive and not just emotionally, but physically, too.
Earlier, you breathed too close to his neck and he got chills, and not out of fear. You put your hand on his chest for thirty seconds and his heart wanted to jump out of his body. You slid your fingers down to his stomach, and blood rushed below his hips.
Rafayel shifted nervously on his bed. He's only wearing a single towel wrapped around his hips, and he's facing down against the mattress so that you could have easy access to his back and shoulders.
As you heavily but carefully drew circles on his upper back, Rafayel groaned against his pillow. You took that as a positive sign that he's feeling good from your massage, so you continued.
You pressed down to his lower back and giggled at the way he twitched.
"I didn't know you're ticklish here, Raf."
"...I'm not..."
Your thumbs moved in circular patterns just above his hips, slightly nudging the towel covering him. He lets out another sigh of relief, so you exerted more pressure down to his muscles.
Your eyes darted to his face for a moment and you wondered why his ears have turner red. Was it because of the massage?
"Rafayel, am I doing okay? If you want me to stop, just tell me - "
"No, don't stop!" he replied a little too quickly. "I mean.... keep going. You're doing great, cutie!"
"If you say so. Just making sure I'm not hurting you, that's all."
"Not at all!"
Rafayel stiffens as your hands returned to his back, as that's where he told you is the most painful part of his body is.
However, he needed your hands somewhere else.
Rafayel took a deep breath before turning around to face the ceiling. He's doing his best to breathe calmly, but his thoughts are making it impossible.
"What's wrong? did I - "
Rafayel grabbed one of your hands and guided it to his chest and let it travel down to his stomach, then right below his hips. His cock was standing tall through his towel, aching for your touch.
"It hurts here, too. Will you help me?"
You silently agreed with a nod, unable to take your eyes off his reddening cock, feeling as if you're in a trance.
Wrapping your hands around his shaft tightly, you slowly began to stroke him. A shaky, quiet moan comes out of Rafayel's lips.
Just a brief touch and he already feels like he's going to burst. He's unable to stop himself from fucking your hand, legs spread out and fingers grasping the bed sheets.
Rafayel cursed under bis breath as he came faster than he'd liked. He had come right on your hand and some had gotten to your face.
You licked the cum that got lost to your lips and Rafayel's face flushed at such a lewd image. He pulled you into the bed and embraced you sideways to cover your neck with passionate kisses
While he distracted you by leaving hickies below your jaw, his hands got rid of your shorts. You gasped as his fingers made contact with the crotch of your panty.
You grinded your ass against his hips to encourage him to continue, and so Rafayel moved your underwear aside and put his cock in you, at the same time his fingers massaged your clit.
His name comes out of your mouth as your body curls up with pleasure, allowing him to fuck you at a better angle.
"So good..." he pants against your ear, struggling to move at a slow pace.
He wanted to take his precious time to feel you, yet he also wanted to go fast just like what his throbbing cock in desperate need for release wants him to do.
In the end, he managed to keep things slow and sensual, appreciating every inch of you without a rush.
You rolled your hips back against him to meet him half-way, coating his cock with your slick as you struggle to contain your own desire for him.
Rafayel whines from behind you as you feel him picking up speed. "C-coming..." He tightened his hold on your hips before losing all his control and hammering into you, causing you to match the loud moans that he was letting out.
He quickly pulls out and rubs his cock against your legs before painting your skin with strings of his cum.
After coming not a minute after him, you turned around to face him. You brought a hand to his hair and brushed some sweaty strands away from his face, then you kissed his nose.
"So this is what happens when you get a massage."
"...only from you." he pouts. "Now, I feel even more tired. I'll have to stay in bed all day tomorrow. You'll stay with me, right, cutie?"
"Hmmm... nope."
"Why?! Is it because you don't love me?"
You flicked his forehead with your fingers. "Someone has to stop Thomas from barging in the room to see my lazy, exhausted fishie slacking off."
"Ah." He smiles and hugs you tightly, nuzzling his face against yours. "my hero."
xavier
It's not that you're ticklish.
There's just something about the way Xavier is kneading your body that makes it difficult for you to suppress amused giggles.
It might have something to do with his soft touches that doesn't help much with your sore muscles, although it does make bring you lots of warmth, comfort and joy.
That's why you allowed Xavier to give you a massage. He insisted that he gives you one after reading online that it'll help with tensed joints and muscles, so he watched some tutorial videos beforehand.
Now, you're on your couch, lying down facing the ceiling. According to Xavier, the less clothes, the more effective the massage will be. So, you decided to strip down completely but put a small towel over your breasts and crotch.
You're not even really sure why you bothered to cover up, considering Xavier has seen you naked more than enough times to feel shy.
In fact, when he saw you with the towels, he looked a little confused, though he never asked about it. He only told you to lie down and get comfortable.
After following his instructions, Xavier's first step was to give a few drops of oil on your stomach. It's slightly warm on your skin, and its scent was something similar to the fragrances that you frequently use.
He gave your tummy a few rubs, and you couldn't help but smile at how careful and gentle he was being.
When it was time for him to take care of your sore spots, you bit the inside of your cheek to stop your laughter.
You did feel some pressure, which felt nice. It just didn't last for long, as Xavier didn't exert the right amount of force.
It's not that he doesn't have enough strength - of course, he does; he is a strong hunter, after all. More likely, he's unsure of how much pressure to apply, at what angle, and for how long.
While it's not the best massage you'll ever get, he's still making you feel happy and relaxed in his own way. That's all that matters.
"You're not hurt, are you?" Xavier asked as he pressed on your hamstrings.
The way his face lit up had you melting and wanting to cuddle him. He's just too precious for his own good.
"...."
Ten minutes later, your eyes snapped wide open as you felt something....different, touch your thighs.
"What was that...?"
You looked at your legs and caught Xavier red-handed, pressing his lips on your inner right thigh.
"It's fine." He smiles at you. "It's part of the massage."
"...is it?"
"Mhmm. Just relax. It'll make your body feel better."
He resumed on applying pressure with his hands on your legs, so you brought your head back down on your pillow and closed your eyes for a little nap.
A minute later, you felt another kiss on your other thigh. You decided not to question him and let him do whatever he wanted.
But after the third kiss, which was slightly higher than the previous two, your muscles tensed up. Particularly, your pussy clenched as his lips lingered dangerously close to your core.
He does it a few more times, and the moans he's muffling against your skin absolutely didn't help your case: it only made you wet. And with Xavier being so close, he might notice.
He's over here, sacrificing his time and energy to help you feel relaxed, and yet you're getting turned on.
No, no, no. You'll have to control yourself. At least, wait until after he's done.
"Ngggnnhh,,,"
Oh god, he's doing it again.
This time, his kisses are even louder and higher. His hands are holding up your thighs so he can make space for himself.
You didn't even notice until now that Xavier no longer stood by the side of the couch, but he's now on it, too. He's right between your legs.
While you're looking down, Xavier met your gaze and your held your breath for a second. You know that look. It's the same one he often gives you in the bedroom during intimate activities.
"Xavier...."
"...I'm adding my own special techniques in the massage."
He scooted closer to your hips and lowered his face to give your thighs more kisses.
"This might be more effective."
Your face burned as you felt his tongue slide against your sensitive skin. You were unable to look away from Xavier's intense gaze directly on you.
"It feels good, right?"
You failed to come up with a coherent response as the towel that poorly covered your crotch had been dropped on the floor.
"I know you're still sore, so just stay like that." Xavier lowered himself so his chest is not too far from touching the couch. He's propped on his elbows and peeking at you between your legs. "I'll help you relax."
With that, Xavier's mouth rams into your cunt. His tongue feels your folds while his hands clings onto your thighs, spreading them wider.
You arched your back and hissed at his actions. One of your hands reached to down Xavier's face, but he caught it with his left and intertwined his fingers with yours, letting it drop to your side.
He gave you no time to calm down; his lips and tongue worked fast on making you fall apart just within a few minutes, but only because he had other things in mind.
Xavier pulled down his pants and boxers and brushed his cock against your pussy, not a minute after your orgasm. You were still sensitive, so when his tip traced around your folds, you were unable to keep your volume quiet and your insides felt like exploding.
"Xavier!"
He put the back of your legs over his shoulders, giving himself more space before grinding dick right between your folds. His breathing quietly picked up at the feeling of your core that's soaked just for him.
His eyes darted over to your face for a moment to flash you a smile.
And as much as you love Xavier, you were cursing him in your head.
How could he smile like you like that, as if he's not teasing and torturing you and calling it a 'massage'?
You can't even hate him because every cell in your body craves for him in every way possible. Anytime he smiles at you, you're on your knees for him - sometimes, literally.
"Ah!"
You were pulled out of your trance as soon as Xavier put himself inside fully you in one hard thrust.
His face flushes and his eyes are fixed on your breasts, watching them move along with the rest of your body as he repeatedly snaps his hips against yours.
The couch budges and the wooden floor creaks at Xavier's heavy plunges. The grunts leaving his parted lips joins your cries of pleasure and the sounds that your bodies are making as they collide.
Xavier is too far from your reach and there was nothing for you to hold onto, so you ended up running your hands down to your chest and squeezing your breasts as you gasp for air.
He let out a low growl under his breath as he watched your movements. He fucked you even faster at the same time he lowered his face down to your chest.
He captured your hands and pinned them by your sides before his mouth sucks in your left breast, with his tongue circling around your nipple.
He then switched to do the same on your right breast, though his teeth slightly nipped you as he felt his hips tingling.
Xavier made sure to push his cock in the deepest part of you before cumming. His voice echoes throughout your living room as he released every drop inside you while still his rolling his hips, slower and slower until his stamina is drained.
Your release quickly followed after his cock was pulled out. Xavier rested his body on top of yours, with his face on your chest, listening to your racing heart.
While you breathe heavily, your index finger traced the shell of his left bright red ear. His skin is slightly glowing with white light, too, as his evol sometimes acts up during or after he has an orgasm.
You'll never not be in awe of him.
"Hey, Xavier. Are you feeling tired?"
"Mhmm..."
He's sleepy now.
"Do you...want a massage?"
He opened one eye to catch your teasing grin "....if it's like the one I gave you...yes, please..."
"By the way, what kind of massage tutorial videos did you watch? They're kinda not that effect- "
❥ you’re his mate, but you’re also human. his habits weird you out!
⭐︎
❥ he licks you! you could be sitting on the couch, minding your own business with a book in hand and sylus would come up right next to you and just start licking your cheek. you’d retract suddenly and look him up and down with a strange look on your face.
“what? i already explained this to you kitten.”
licking is his way of showing affection toward you. it’s supposed to tell you “i’m here to protect you” in a way. he also just loves tasting your skin and becoming more familiar with you since it brings him so much comfort. he’ll even lick your hair if he’s really getting into it!
❥ he feeds you really well. hungry? no you’re not, not with him at least. he’ll feed you until you’re completely and utterly satiated from his meals. when he sees you happy and drowsy from a full stomach it brings him very deep satisfaction.
sometimes he’ll put bags of snacks or containers of food where you frequent in hopes you’ll eat them. if you don’t, he’ll take offense or think he did something wrong and now you’re protesting!
❥ he makes you wear his treasures. part of being a dragon means hoarding pretty and shiny things. dragons are very protective and territorial about their things, but sylus makes an exception for you. he insists that you wear the jewels he’s collected and will drown you in his riches.
he especially loves it when you go out into public with his treasures on because it shows off his wealth via his beautiful mate. he’ll designate certain jewels or items just for you and if you’re even a little bit dissatisfied with them, he’ll throw them out right away.
❥ he builds nests for you. sylus will innocently steal your most precious items or the items that seem to bring you the most comfort and then bring them to an empty corner. it’s here that he piles up your cosmetics, clothes, bedsheets, pillows, stuffies—anything you could think of—and then he waits.
sylus would never force you to do anything, he wants you to come to the nest on your own volition without his input. he won’t even mention it, he’ll just wait until you find the nest and watch from afar what you do. if you finally do decide to nestle in, he’ll jump for joy knowing that you like it. he’ll also never come into your nest unless you ask him to, and if you do, let’s just say he’ll take care of you really well.
❥ he purrs, and really loudly too. you’ll hear him purring when you’re cuddling, when you’re eating, when you’re bathing, during sex, when you’re doing anything, really. dragons only purr when extremely content but sylus makes a habit out of it when he’s around you. the man is just very happy.
the sound of his purrs come from a deep place within his chest, making them loud and deep. even though they may startle you sometimes, the frequency and vibrancy brings you a sense of comfort and peace, and sylus knows this. whenever you’re upset or anxious, he’ll start purring loudly in hopes of calming you down.
❥ he walks around naked. of course, sylus only does this with you, but it never fails to catch you off guard. it’s not so much a sexual thing, per se, but more of a comfort thing. he’s so comfortable with your presence that he doesn’t feel the need to keep his tight, itchy clothes on when he’s alone with you. he’ll let everything hang and jiggle if he so calls for it.
although, there are times where he’ll purposefully walk around naked to seduce you like a peacock would. he thinks flaunting off his assets will make you want to pounce on him and make love to him all night—which is unfortunately true.
❥ he watches you while you sleep. at first it was cute, but when you awoke one night to his vibrant red eyes staring you down in the dark, it started to feel a little creepy. he explains it away by saying he needs to make sure you’re okay, which doesn’t really make much sense to you since you were in his secure territory.
because sylus doesn’t need much sleep, whenever you take your beauty rest, he feels the urge to look after you and your vulnerable form. he also just enjoys watching you do something so silly and human-like sleeping. this was one of your habits that he didn’t understand. he does finally back off a little bit after your complaining, though.
❥ he has a wild tail. sylus has full control over all of his body parts at any give time, so his tail is always indicative of how he’s feeling. he has a rather calm tail when you two are around others, but when alone with you? you have to dodge it sometimes from how erratic it is. he explains that it’s the equivalent of how your leg bounces. something you don’t even think about when it happens, but can have control over once you realize it.
it’s just another way of him saying to you that he’s comfortable enough around you to let loose with his body and do more natural, unconscious mannerisms.
sylus understands your hesitancy to make yourself vulnerable, but he also can't stand to see you unfulfilled. the first couple times he catches you staring at his lips, he offers nothing but lazy blinks and slow smirks, challenging you to come to him first. but when you look away in uncertainty one too many times, seemingly content to watch your own desires slip away as long as it saves you from embarrassment, he saunters toward you, maintaining eye contact all the way. placing one hand on your hip and the other on your chin, he bends to capture your lips with his, making you stumble with his intensity. his grip on you only tightens when he breaks the kiss, and before you can ask what he’s doing, he tugs you toward his lips. when you lose your balance and fall into his embrace, you realize his game: he’s making you kiss him first
zayne empathizes with your shyness and hesitancy, afraid to so much as look at you the wrong way in case he offends you. since you’re both too frozen in overthought to make the first move, you don’t become intimate as quickly as most couples, trading physical closeness for emotional understanding. when he walks you to your door after a visit to the bakery, he leaves you with a warm goodnight hug, and you both assume the other is satisfied. only when you think he’s asleep on the sofa one evening and press a fond kiss to his cheek does he realize you share his private desires. the next day, after stoically psyching himself up for 20 minutes, he finds you in the kitchen and kisses you deeply, a pink tinge on his cheeks when he pulls away
caleb wants you to kiss him first—or at least ask him to kiss you—but what if you won’t? he needs to know that you want him—that you’ll willingly give him the privilege of kissing you—so he gives you a few pushes in the right direction. he teases you with heated glances and not-so-accidental touches until you walk up to him, dumb with desire. when you stare up at him helplessly, he settles a large hand on your waist and hovers over your mouth, giving you the chance to push him away. when you don’t, he leans in slowly, tantalizingly, as if wanting to drive home the fact that you’re letting this happen to you—letting him claim your mouth in a slow, consuming kiss. this way, maybe, just maybe, you’ll find the courage to take what you want from him next time—if you let him taste you, there’s no need to be shy anymore, right?
you know rafayel, so you know he would be upset if you expected him to initiate everything—would it kill you to show a little interest in him? that said, you also know that initiating things isn’t really your thing. so, you find a trick that works like a charm: you goad him into kissing you. you’re comfortable enough with kisses to other places—anywhere but the lips—so you adorn his cheeks and neck with soft, chaste kisses until he’s riled up and flushed, his breath coming out in soft pants from the pleasure of feeling wanted. when you pull away, he chases your touch, and all it takes is an innocent giggle from you before he’s pinning you down and stealing your breath away, his tongue tangling with yours in passion and power.
xavier is confused and a bit discouraged when he realizes you never initiate—he thinks you just don’t want to kiss him. one afternoon, you find him sulking in bed, huddled under his comforter with the lights off. worried he’s sick or hurt, you ask what’s wrong, and he gives you 4 pouty non-answers before finally giving in. you can feel your face heat and gut tangle in guilt when he questions if you ever want to kiss him, and with one hand stroking his hair, you confess that you’re simply too shy to kiss him first. he responds with a blink and a whispered “so you do like me, then?”, and when you nod, he tackles you at the speed of light, pressing kisses all over your face before finally claiming your lips
a/n: anon who asked me if i’d ever write for zayne and i hinted at later this week this is not what i was talking about don’t worry, just an impromptu writing exercise to convince myself i’m not washed. also while this technically counts for xavier and raf i’m the least familiar with their cards so idk if/when i can write anything much longer than this for them (love them tho)
Sylus convinces you to spend one more night with him before returning to Linkon
Sylus x Reader
-:- some fluff -:- he loses control -:- consent is hot -:- Sylus worships her body -:-
Thank you to @ miaaa_n1Ø9 on twitter for the idea!
INTENDED FOR 18+ READERS. MINORS DNI
One More Night
It was always melancholic when you had to return to Linkon. Sylus had become home for you, a safe space where you were free to be everything you couldn’t as a Hunter. You even found yourself missing Luke and Kieran’s mischief when you were gone. And you’d even grudgingly say you missed Mephisto, too.
Sitting at the edge of Sylus’s bed, you bent to pick up an article of clothing you’d dropped. Your bag was almost packed, and you were delaying the inevitable as much as you could. Sylus lounged on the bed behind you, wordlessly observing your progress.
All that was left, now, was to gather your toiletries from his bathroom. He’d tried to convince you, once, to have your own set of everything at the base, so that travel between Linkon and his home would be easier and more streamlined. At first you fought the idea, not wanting to impose or form those kinds of attachments- after all, you weren’t immune to heartbreak and had experienced it far more than you cared to admit. But as time went, you were warming to the idea of leaving traces of your presence in his spaces.
Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize Sylus shifted behind you. Your forward motion was hindered when his arms wrapped around your waist to pull you back against him, and his breath fanned across the back of your neck. Soft kisses, feather light, landed across the nape of your neck. The sensation made your breath hitch and goosebumps raised on your skin.
“Stay,” he pleaded, his voice pitched to a low growl.
“I-“ you begin, cut off when he placed a more insistent kiss behind your ear.
“One.” His lips found your pulse.
“More.” He moved to the slope of your shoulder, tugging aside your shirt so he could have access.
“Night.” His voice was barely a whisper against your skin as you let him pull you flush against his chest.
Excuses to reject him jumped to the tip of your tongue, but they were left unvoiced. You wanted nothing more than to stay, despite knowing you shouldn’t. It would probably be easy enough to make your excuses at work. But would one night be enough to satisfy your craving for him?
You turned off the worries and just sunk into him. His hands lazily roamed your body and his lips blazed a trail on your skin. You tilted your head to the side, giving him full access to your neck. Small bites mingled with the kisses and you knew your face was flushed from it.
“Silence isn’t a yes, Kitten,” he growled, halting any further exploration until you answered him.
You pulled away to look fully at him. Your gaze shifted from his eyes, to his lips, and down his beautifully sculpted body before returning to that intense crimson regard once more.
“It’s not a no, either,” you say before slanting your lips over his. You kicked your bag away, leaning into his embrace. A rumble of approval emanated from him as you guided his hands to take your shirt off, which was swiftly followed by your bra. Elegant fingers drifted over your newly exposed skin while he coaxed you open so he could tangle his tongue with yours.
He pulled you under him, his weight pressing you into the silk sheets beneath you- sheets that felt like a cool whisper on your body compared to the heat radiating from him. He slipped effortlessly between your thighs, his narrow waist slotting so perfectly into place that you were almost certain he was made for you.
Your hands slid down his chest, exploring the valleys of his abdomen and daring to venture to the hemline of the sweatpants he wore slung low on his hips. He growled in approval, pressing his hips against yours so that you could feel how you were affecting him. The length of him was already standing at attention, resting heavy against your pelvis while still constrained in the soft fabric.
And still, his tongue plundered yours in an unhurried kiss that worked to build more heat in your core. The night was young, yet, and you wanted to be nowhere else but right there in his embrace with your hands exploring him. You were already so intimately familiar with the planes of his body, but you didn’t let that stop you from memorizing every valley, every hill that his muscles created.
Leaning on one arm, he pulled back with only enough space so that he could tug at the waistband of your leggings in silent question. You lifted your hips and helped him slide the clothing down your legs until you lay bare beneath him. His breathing turned erratic as his gaze followed the trail his hand made up your curves.
“Beautiful,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper as if he’d never seen you before, as if you were some profound work of art laid out for his eyes only. His head dipped and he left a hot path of kisses from neck to navel, rumbles of approval falling from him in between. And all you could do was watch as this beautiful creature all but worshipped your body, awestruck at how you could ever be so lucky to have this moment to add to your memories.
He trailed lower still, leaving you a squirming mess. A hiss escaped you when he bit down on the flesh of your inner thigh, a bite that turned into him latching onto the spot. Sucking and pulling, when he finally let go, a mark already began to form there. He flashed you that arrogant lopsided smirk of his, before burying his head between your thighs and using that damnably talented tongue to bring you to the brink. Your hands gripped into his silky hair, your own head thrown back as pleasure poured from you in a series of moans.
But before you could fall over the edge, he stopped. Your disgruntled complaint only made him chuckle as he crawled back over you. He moved slow, biting kisses trailing back up your body until he settled against you once more. His hips pressed into yours, his length somehow even harder than it’d been before he started.
“Sylus,” you sigh against his lips, folding your arms around the back of his neck.
“Mmh,” he growled. “I like it when you say my name like that, Kitten.”
You huffed a laugh, kissing him again. Your impatience finally won out and your hands found the waistband of his sweats, tugging at them in the same way he tugged at your. He chuckled and freed himself from them without much help from you, but you eagerly reached for him the moment he kicked the sweats away.
“Kitten,” he moaned, hips pushing his cock further into your grip. You tightened your hand on him and his breath hitched. His eyes were closed, brow drawn down as the muscle in his jaw feathered from the effort of maintaining what little control he had left. You loved watching him come undone, loved how he trembled over you just from such a simple touch. The sounds he made shot straight to your core and you ached for him, but you were enjoying this far too much to end it just yet.
So, he made the decision for you. With heavy breaths, he jerked his hips back and panted into your neck. He gripped your wrists, holding them on either side of your head so that you would stop touching him, so that he wouldn’t end up diving over the edge before he had a chance to take you.
“You still haven’t given me a yes, Kitten,” he groaned, pressing his hips into yours. His cock slid along your folds, but did not enter. “But I don’t know if I can hold back any longer.”
You hitched your legs around his waist, opening for him. The motion placed the head of his cock right against your slit, and you lifted your hips in an effort to make him slip inside. But still, he held back.
“Sylus,” you whimpered. “Please.”
“Please, what?” He growled, carrying his hips forward so just the tip of him edged into your slick folds.
“S-sy-“ was all you managed to say. Even just that small penetration was enough to turn your brain to mush. Your heart thundered in your ears, loud enough that you were sure he could hear it too. A gentle glide forward, and then a retraction, his cock dipped into you and then left you.
“Please, what, Kitten?”
“I need you inside me,” you breathed. A growled response, and then he obliged. He drove into you, far gentler than what you wanted at the moment. While you craved the primal devouring you knew he was capable of, you couldn't deny that the slow push and pull of his cock was intense in its own way. Each forward thrust ended with a hard grind of his hips on yours before retreating. It was slow and methodical, and he plunged his tongue into your mouth with the same tempo.
Your fingers threaded through his, using his hands like an anchor when you lifted your hips to meet his. His soft, sighing grunts mingled with your own whimpered moans. The feel of him inside you, the length and girth of him, drove you mad.
Enough so, that you were shocked when you felt the pleasure coiling low in your belly already. Your moans grew louder, needier, and you let your legs lift further so that he could take you deeper, harder.
“S-Sylus, fuck,” you whimpered, burying your face in his neck as pleasure steamrolled through you.
“Come, Kitten,” he groaned, even as your walls began to flutter around him. Your cries were barely muffled by his neck as you clung to him helplessly.
“Good girl,” he chuckled, pausing so that you could have a moment to come down from the high of the release. He kissed you unhurriedly, hands leaving yours to engulf your breasts. He teased your nipples into hardened peaks before he let his mouth drop to them to tantalize you further. Your back arched into him, the motion also working to clench your walls around his cock. A moan shuddered through him, a deep guttural sound that sent a thrill through you.
“I don’t know,” he said, kissing your jaw.
“If I will be able-“ he nipped your pulse.
“To hold back any longer.” The final words ended in a raspy whisper, where he dropped his forehead against your chest. The effort he expended to contain himself showed in the way he trembled in your embrace.
“Don’t, then. Let go, Sylus,” you tell him, pulling his face back to yours.
And so he let go of his inhibitions, his body colliding against yours desperately. All you could do is cling to him, whimpering and moaning into his ear while he pistoned in and out of you. His growls, grunts, groans rise to join your sounds, a perfect duet of passion. He had you rising and falling once more before you could even prepare for the climax, and his triumphant chuckle was cut off by a sharp moan when you bit into the slope of his neck.
“Sylus,” you breathed into his ear, your words trailing off into a breathless whisper. He huffed a heated breath, snapping his hips forward with a soft grunt.
“Fuck, Kitten, do that again,” he pleaded. The steady rhythm of his thrusts grew more erratic the closer he got to his climax.
“Sylus.” Your teeth raked his earlobe and he shuddered, a guttural moan escaping him. He set a punishing pace, slamming into you over and over as the final threads of his control snapped.
“F-fuck, I’m-“ All thoughts and words escaped him, lost as he was to the pleasure zipping up and down his spine.
“Come, Sylus,” you urge, locking your ankles at his back. A sharp inhale as he understood your intent with the motion, and then his climax was rolling over him before he could even think further.
He threw his head back, a guttural cry of pleasure filling the room as his body jerked and convulsed at the sheer intensity of the release. His cock twitched and pulsed as he flooded you, sending you into another spiraling orgasm right alongside him. You arched your back, pressing your body so impossibly close to him as he buried himself as deep as he could.
He collapsed atop you, planting lazy kisses all over your face. You couldn’t help the giggles that escaped you, and soon his chuckles filled the air too. He placed his forehead against yours as he tried to calm his breathing, his eyes boring into yours with a tenderness that was near painful. His hands cupped the back of your head, thumbs brushing your cheeks while his crimson gaze flickered over yours.
“I take it that means you’re going to stay?”
You playfully punched him in the shoulder and he let out a delighted laugh. He wrapped you in his arms, rolling off you so that you faced him on the bed. Exhaustion made you feel heavy, but you still missed the weight of him pressing you into the mattress. But, he didn’t give you time to rest before he was pulling you from the sheets and ushering you into a shower with him- where he proceeded to make a mess of you over and over again. It was nearing the early hours of the morning before he finally let you rest, nestled against his side with the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear.
You were right all along- one night was not nearly enough to satisfy your craving.
༓ Synopsis. In the stillness of a world built on shadow and steel, Sylus stands alone, the weight of her absence pressing against his chest. She lingers in every corner, in every detail — the gleam of his eyes, the quiet hum of the city, the cold touch of his sidearm.
༓ Content. Soft!Sylus, sfw, F!Reader, Established Relationship (?) comfort, Loneliness (?), Sylus misses you whilst you're away, fluff, Yearning, Domestic (?), Not proofread.
༓ Word Count. 1.3k
༓ A.N. This was super rushed but its almost 5am and I have been stuck with thoughts of Soft!Sylus whilst having Hozier's cover of 'Do I wanna know?' on constant loop. (I would recommend listening to that while reading this piece)
[Artwork by Petrus Van Schendel - 'Dutch Market by Moonlight', 1853]
The window was a fractured sheet of black glass, and beyond it, the vast sprawl of Onychinus bloomed in shades of dull copper and cold mercury. The city never slept — it simply lulled into a different kind of wakefulness, one that hummed with the murmur of distant engines and the low, syrup-thick din of voices lost between floors, beneath flickering neon eaves. Sylus stood before it, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up over the worn sinew of his forearms, a coin flipping between his fingers. The metal gleamed faintly in the dim light, its rhythm steady and almost meditative, like thoughts drifting into the quiet of the room, rising and fading into nothing.
He was waiting, though he would never call it that.
The apartment was too still without her, the silence swallowing the edges of the hours until they blurred together into one endless dusk. She’d been gone for days — maybe weeks — and though they had lived apart before, this time the absence ached differently. This time, she left her fingerprints on every surface she’d touched, and even in her absence, he felt her. In the hollow press of his pillow, in the half-drunk cup left on the counter, in the way her voice seemed to echo up from the floors themselves.
He wasn’t the kind of man who fumbled for words, but she had built herself a shrine in his mind without even trying. And it would be his curse — perhaps his only one worth bearing — to kneel before it willingly.
The phone buzzed on the glass table beside him, the screen illuminating briefly before dimming into a soft reflection of the room. Her name. A tether to the living world.
He let it ring once — twice — before answering, his voice low and indifferent, a thin veil over the frayed edges of his waiting.
"How are you?" Her voice was a warmth too tender for a world like his, too light to belong in the grip of a man like him.
Sylus laughed, a breathy, unguarded thing that slipped out before he could smother it. The kind of laugh that belonged in dark hallways or against the curve of her neck, close enough that no one else could steal it.
The phone rested lightly against his ear, but his gaze was fixed somewhere far beyond the windowpane, to where the sky peeled itself apart over the distant harbour, light bleeding into water like ink into silk.
He didn’t answer right away.
Because how could he tell her —
That every day without her was a hollow stretch, a penance paid in silence. That no matter how he occupied his hands — in deals, in schemes, in fights where blood became the only language spoken — she followed him.
She was in the weight of the guns he cleaned with meticulous fingers, in the cold press of steel that always reminded him of how her hands felt against his jaw — not soft, not fragile, but deliberate, certain, like she knew exactly what kind of man she was holding and didn’t flinch. She lingered in the polished chambers, in the oil-slick sheen of metal under dim light, each piece of his arsenal now a reliquary touched by her presence. Even the treasures he hoarded — the rings, the loose chains, the antique blades and strange glimmering artefacts collected in careless greed — all of it, touched now by her absence.
She was in the rain-slick streets beneath his shoes, the reflections of passing headlights gliding like ghosts beside him, the pulse of the city now syncopated to the memory of her heartbeat against his. A curse, perhaps. But if this was damnation, he’d bear it with the grace of a condemned man walking willingly into the mouth of hell.
Because Sylus — sharp-edged, gloved in the faint trace of dark woods and leather, the cool weight of steel a constant companion, with hands that had taken lives and seized fortunes — had known love first as a weakness. A blade turned against its wielder. A story with a ruinous end. But then there was her. Love, in the shape of her name. Love, not a thing that devoured, but something that held. Not a soft surrender, but a reckoning — two hands reaching into the dark and pulling him out without flinching at what they found.
He had told himself once that love was a thing best kept at a distance, lest it burn the house down around him. But now, even knowing the smoke would always follow, he could no longer resist standing in the heart of it.
She was there in the smallest details — the gleam of his carmine eyes when the light caught them just right, the weight of his jacket settling over his shoulders, the angle of his chair at the table where they sat together, knees brushing beneath wood. She was in the stories the city whispered, in the scars on his knuckles and the lingering taste of her on his tongue.
Her dragon, she had called him once — smoke and fire and ruin. And yet, it was she who wandered into his den, fearless and bright, leaving the scent of flowers in her wake. Perhaps he was the storm she wandered into — all steel winds and unyielding sky — and perhaps she was the quiet omen he had ignored until it was far too late to turn back. Or perhaps they were simply two souls damned to meet again and again, drawn together not by fate but by the quiet hunger of the earth itself.
It would not matter. If every lifetime led him back to this — the shape of her back beneath his hand, the sound of her voice softened by sleep, the way she pulled apart the silence between them with nothing but a glance — then Sylus would walk every damned path willingly. Sin, virtue, heaven, hell — none of it mattered if it meant keeping her. Not locked away, but free — because she chose to stay.
And what a thing that was. To be chosen by her.
"Did you miss me?" she asked, her voice a gentle needle, sliding between his ribs.
The window, cold against his fingertips. The city breathing outside. The distant gleam of headlights trailing like unspoken words between them.
"Haven’t had time to think about it," he said, his voice low, teasing, smooth as a blade sharpened on stone.
But they both knew.
And so the conversation slipped into silence — not uncomfortable, not empty — but the kind of silence built by people who knew every corner of each other. Her breath through the speaker, soft and even, and then — a quiet laugh, low and effortless, like a hand brushing through water. It was the kind of sound that lingered, curling around him even after it was gone. His fingers traced idle circles against the glass. They did not need to speak of longing. It was already there, woven into the space between every word, every inhale.
They existed in that place — a liminal space where shadow and steel met sunlight and skin, where dragon and archnemesis tangled together not in ruin, but in something softer. Something whole. And as the call ended, as the city stretched before him and the cold air pressed against the glass, Sylus stood alone — but not empty. Never empty.
Because even when she was gone, she was still there, as sure as the weight of his weapon resting within reach, as sure as the steady beat of his pulse in the quiet of the room.
Everywhere he went, she was already there.
And in every lifetime to come, in every heaven or hell, he would walk willingly beside her again.
Just to see her.
To have her, as she is — treasured and whole, free to be herself.
And for Sylus, that was enough.
A.N. I have been putting off reading Sylus' dragon myth for the longest time, so my details here might be a bit off, so please excuse me there! Hopefully my brain can generate more Sylus stuff :D Thank you for reading!!!!
word count: ~300-400 per lead
contains: lads men x non!mc reader, established relationship, they all adore you, jewelry descriptions, fluff, suggestive themes (sylus, rafayel, and caleb), and did i mention fluff? make it toothrotting.
a/n: it's midterm season so headcanons it is. again, these are headcanons so i'm not saying i'm right. just my silly little interpretations. inspired by my impulsive buy of a bracelet the other day. no, my wallet hasn't recovered. reblogs and comments are always appreciated!
tagged: @vvintqz (a little headcanon for xavier, lmk if u want me to stop tagging)
lads masterlist
sylus
necklaces all the way
has a preference for silver chains with red or black charms
it's his signature colors on your pretty neck
loves it even more when the charm rests between your collarbones
if you want his nose to bleed, wear a long necklace
yes, the one that goes all the way down to your chest
but if you really want to get him going
wear a choker
doesn't even have to be a chain type or have charms
if it's a choker, he'll fold, like dogs to a bone
you can't blame him
it enticingly accentuates the rest of your neck and collarbones, the two places he likes to leave marks on
don't worry if you're hypoallergenic (like me)
he only ever gets you the finest of materials, even if you point out the cost
not that you mind or anything
"sylus," you whine.
you're going to be late. again. all because of this silver-haired man who's refusing to leave your neck alone.
"sylus!" you gasp when he tugs down the choker, his dewy lips taking advantage of the newly exposed spot.
you're starting to regret wearing a choker (not really). you thought it went well with your outfit. and it did! it added a little pop to your look, and you were excited to wear it for the first time in a while.
"hey!" you squirm in his embrace when you feel the poke of his teeth. "no marks!"
"does it really matter, sweetie?" he asks nonchalantly before continuing his assault on your neck. he loves how his tongue occasionally meets with the smooth fabric of your choker. "this," he tugs on it some more, eliciting a soft whimper from you. "will cover them."
sighing, you make a mental note to apologize to your friends for being late when you meet them.
xavier
earrings
especially studs or the mini drop ones that come in cute graphic designs.
there's just something about the way the adorable little charms hang from your ears
really, he thinks they complement your face shape
and he loves to cup your face whenever
but when you wear the ones that are star-themed
he's looking at you as if you're the one who hung them up in the night sky
seriously, he's never seen anything more beautiful
it also strokes his jealousy (?) in a way (cuz yk he's all abt the stars)
but that's worth like...less than 1% of the experience
he just really loves seeing you wear them
don't worry if your ears aren't pierced
clip-ons are a thing, and he'll make sure to get that ones that are both high quality and comfortable
he also loves watching you put them on
his cheeks hurt from smiling too much. he tries to cover his rosy face when you lean towards the mirror.
you're adjusting the backing of your new star stud. furrowing your brows, you tilt your head to the side for a better look.
xavier swears he's never seen anything more beautiful in his life. here you are, making something so simple as adjusting an earring look so skillful and charming.
"done!" you secure the backing and spin around to show your boyfriend. "what do you think?"
"yeah," he nods softly. "i think you're glowing."
you giggle and embrace him tightly.
"thanks for surprising me with them," you chirp, peering up at him.
the stars on your ears shine. no different from your eyes.
"anything for you, starlight," he whispers, stroking your cheek with a thumb. "anything for you."
rafayel
bracelets
listen
we all know this man is a FIEND for our hands
i may not have all of his five-star cards
but tell me why it is that in all the ones i have, he's YEARNING for our hands at some point
jumps at every chance to help you put one on
has a thing for cuff bracelets
like the metal swirly ones that hold a jewel in the middle
they exude the sense of royalty in a way (he's a god so)
most definitely has designed some for you too
and by some, i mean numerous
what's really heartwarming about that though is that he collects the materials himself
the amount of seashells he has preserved for you
but back to him being down bad for our hands
there's something about the way cuff accompanies the bare skin of your wrist and gently presses against your pulse
he's in heaven whenever he nuzzles against your wrist and feels the cool metal graze his heated skin.
"wait," you squint at the bracelet rafayel just secured around your wrist. "did you design this?"
"yup," he answers with a puffed chest. "good eye, cutie. how'd you know?"
you roll your eyes lovingly.
"first of all, i'm your partner, raf." turning your wrist, you admire the intricate swirls of the cuff. "second of all, your works normally have a trademark."
"oh?" he grabs your wrist and pulls you to him, his lips already tracing your wrist. "and what would that be?"
you try not to shudder when his siren eyes meet yours.
"isn't this from one of your lemuria collections?" you shakily gesture towards the sapphire seashell crested on top. "you always reference lemuria in your works, right?"
"wrong," his tongue darts out, savoring your quickened pulse as punishment for your incorrect answer. "it's not just lemuria i always reference in my works."
he tightens the cuff.
"it's you, cutie."
zayne
rings
he loves the subtlety of them
especially the ones made out of thinner bands
they bring out the beauty of your fingers
he loves the way they shine whenever you move your hands too
let's say the two of you are at a cafe
sitting across from each other and reading novels
except he gets distracted (in a good way) whenever your flip a page
your ring glimmers in the sunlight that's peeking through the window
oh wow, not only is there a halo over your head, there's a halo around your finger too
he can't help but reach out at some point
and trace your left ring finger
imagining what it would be like to gift you one
a simple one that conveys an impactful message
one he hopes you'll say yes to
and bound not only both his and your left ring fingers
but also your souls to each other
"zayne? are you alright?"
he snaps out of his thoughts, lifting his chin from his palm.
"sorry," he apologizes as smoothly as he can. "could you repeat that?"
you smile endearingly. his heart beats rapidly.
"i asked if you were alright."
"yes," he answers before clearing his throat. "yes, of course. why?"
"oh, it's just," you giggle. "you're still tracing my finger."
zayne immediately retracts his hand.
"sorry," he apologizes again. this time profusely. "did i make you uncomfortable?"
"no, no," you immediately reassure. "i liked it. it's just you were doing it for a while..." you pause before continuing. "i thought you were checking for dead skin or something."
zayne blinks.
"you thought i was checking for dead skin?" he repeats incredulously.
you nod slowly. now it's your turn to be flustered.
at that, he chuckles with a shake of his head and returns to tracing your left finger, ignoring your amusing assurances about how you always wash your hands thoroughly.
yes, he's most definitely going to marry you.
caleb
anklets
this totally wasn't inspired by that one scene in the main story where he pins our leg down with his evol
nope not at all
i don't know what you're talking about
he likes the ones that come with dangly charms
this is because he can hear you whenever you move
interpret that however you want
but really, he loves how the sound gets louder and louder
because that means you're moving TOWARDS him
he wants to gift you a whole bunch of charms
specifically apple and sky themed
it's over for him if you wear it while your legs are exposed
that man is on the floor, his hands haphazardly roaming up and down your bare skin
and when he notices the anklet with the charms that he gifted?
it's over for you
his fingers are slipping underneath the anklet, wrapping around your ankle, and pulling you to him
where's his face at?
uhhhhh
you're trying to control your breathing. you really are. but it's hard to when there's a man, an incredibly gorgeous one with lavender eyes deep enough to engulf you whole, settled in front of you, specifically in between your legs.
thankfully (not really), he hasn't done anything yet. he's just kneeling there with his metal fingers snaked around your ankle and his eyes transfixed on the anklet you decided to wear.
"uhm," you start, nervously shifting on the couch. "is there something wrong with my ankle, caleb?"
he finally looks at you. you can't tell if he's angry. definitely not with your foot resting against his broad shoulder.
"nothing's wrong, pips." he speaks after an eternity.
you sigh in relief. eager to get out of this compromising position, you try to put your foot down. keyword: try.
"caleb, what-"
"when did you put the charm on?"
"oh, uh," you notice him looking at the anklet again, but more at the apple charm. it has a snake coiled around it. "a while ago? i think as soon as you gave it to me."
he breathes in sharply.
you think it's over when he releases you. you're proven wrong when he grabs both of your ankles and drags you to the end of the couch, his chin dangerously close to your core.
*.⋆ʚ MEETING OSAMU | requested by: @elitparadox my angel!
isabelle says: used a tfios quote bc it’s so prettyyy, also osamu is best boy hehe → haikyū masterlist <3
THE STEPS IN WHICH YOU TAKE THAT LEAD YOU TO A LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT WITH MIYA OSAMU…
*.⋆ʚ step #1: forget to take your bento to work - destiny has its own confusing way of showing you the path to love, and today it’s chosen to guide you using non other than an abandoned bento. the countless times you check your bag proves pointless as you still find yourself without a lunch. you give up, folding your arms atop your desk and burying your face into the crook of your arm with a small pout. your mind beginning to wander with ideas of what to do next
*.⋆ʚ step #2: almost trip over a stranger - as you lay in the outstretched arms of a gentle stranger your thoughts are stars you cannot fathom into constellations. in your hurry to find a place to buy food before the end of your break you fail to steer out the way of a grey haired man. what makes it worse is that he’s probably the most beautiful person you’ve ever met. stern features soften as he asks if you’re alright, moving one of his arms to push you upright by your waist. the handsome smile he has when you tell him you’re fine is small, but not unnoticeable
*.⋆ʚ step #3: explain your situation to newfound attractive man - ‘i’m so so sorry! i wasn’t looking where i was going and i forgot my bento this morning and- ugh can this day get any worse?’you drop your head lightly against his shoulder before realising you don’t actually know this man, instantly standing back up to distance yourself. ‘ah sorry i don’t know why i did that’ you confess with heated cheeks. he just laughs shaking his head fondly ‘it’s fine, no worries sweetheart’ he lifts an arm to scratch the back of his neck, narrowly avoiding your eyes, ‘well i actually own an onigiri shop an’ i’m about to open for today, i could make ya something if you’d like?’
*.⋆ʚ step #4: try extremely hard not to swoon -upon arriving at onigiri miya he leads you to the kitchen where he settles you on a metal stool. from where you sit you get the perfect view of how his face frames a flawless picture of concentration as he gets to work. his movements are precise and rehearsed, clearly proving his passion for his cooking. when he turns to catch your wondrous eyes he winks with a smirk before looking away and engaging you in a soft spoken conversation. minutes later, he hands you a clear container filled with an assortment of food which has you practically giving him heart eyes
*.⋆ʚ step #5: completely forget how to speak - a colourful confusion of emotions leave you speechless… before you’re able to leave the small shop osamu calls your name and jogs from behind the counter to where you stand in the doorway. he looks hesitant before finally deciding to take your hands into his, ‘er well…’ he starts, feeling himself flush a little. ‘if ya ever forget yer lunch again, i’m only a few streets away’ he laughs shyly before continuing ‘what I’m trying to say is i’d love it if you came back sometime’ he thinks you’re an angel
*.⋆ʚ step #6: admit that you sure are glad to have done step #1
MWAH! ଘ(ᵕ◡ᵕ) - reblogs are so appreciated + requests are open!
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