The soft evening light filtered through the apartment windows as Xavier dozed on the couch, one arm draped over his face. The TV played quietly in the background, some documentary about astronomy he’d insisted on watching but had fallen asleep to within minutes.
You approached quietly, smiling at how peaceful he looked in these rare moments of complete relaxation. On impulse, you leaned down close to his ear and let out a soft, suggestive moan.
The effect was immediate. Xavier’s eyes snapped open, all traces of sleep vanishing instantly. He turned to face you, his gaze suddenly alert and focused entirely on your face.
“Was was that?” he asked like he can’t believe of what he had just heard.
“Nothing,” you replied with a teasing smile.
He sat up straighter, watching you with that gaze that seemed to look straight through you. “You wouldn’t wake me up like that without purpose.”
The apartment felt suddenly quieter, the documentary’s narration fading into the background as he continued to observe you, waiting. He remained still, but there was a visible tension in his posture now.
“Did you want something specific?”
You tilted your head slightly. “I thought you might prefer me to your documentary. Was I wrong?”
When you didn’t elaborate further, he reached for your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours. You noticed the slight quickening of his breath.
“If you’re suggesting what I think you are,” he said, his voice dropping slightly lower, “then perhaps we should move to the bedroom.”
He stood up, still holding your hand, the documentary completely forgotten. “You woke me up,” he stated simply, tugging you in a hurry toward the hallway. His thumb traced small circles on your skin as you walked.
“Now,” he said quietly, closing the door behind you, “I’ll make you make that sound again.”
𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄
The home office was Zayne’s sanctuary, even on his rare days off. The space was meticulously organized—medical journals stacked neatly, his laptop open to patient files he was reviewing despite technically being off-duty.
You hesitated at the doorway before deciding to proceed with your little experiment. Approaching his desk, you leaned over his shoulder as if to see what he was working on. Then, close to his ear, you let out a deliberately provocative moan.
His fingers froze mid-keystroke. For a moment, he remained perfectly still, the only movement the slow rise and fall of his chest as he took a deep breath.
“I have ten more minutes of work,” he said, his voice even but with an edge to it. His eyes, when they met yours, had darkened. “Wait for me in the bedroom.”
“What if I don’t want to wait?” you challenged.
His jaw tightened as he checked his watch. “Ten minutes,” he repeated firmly. “I need to finish these notes. After that...” He stood up, closing some of the distance between you. His hand reached out, fingers brushing along your jawline before he leaned in close.
“After that, I’ll give you something real to moan about,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. He pulled back, his expression once again composed as he returned to his chair. “Ten minutes,” he said one final time, already refocusing on his work, though you noticed his typing speed had increased considerably.
“I’ll be timing you,” you said, leaning against the doorframe. You lingered, watching as he tried to concentrate on the screen before him. The slight tremor in his hands revealed how affected he truly was. His perfectionist nature wouldn’t allow him to leave work unfinished, but his usually impeccable focus was clearly compromised.
You wondered if he would actually last the full ten minutes, or if his self-control would finally break.
𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋
The afternoon sun streamed through the windows of Rafayel’s studio, illuminating half-finished canvases and scattered art supplies. He stood before his painting, brush in hand, lost in the world of his creation. Thomas had been trying to contact him all morning about an upcoming exhibition, but Rafayel had switched his phone off hours ago.
You approached quietly from behind, admiring how the light caught in his hair as he worked. On impulse, you leaned close and breathed a soft, sensual moan directly into his ear.
The paintbrush clattered to the floor, splattering tiny dots of colors across the floor. Rafayel stood frozen, his hand still suspended in the air where it had been working moments before.
Slowly, he turned to face you, his eyes wide and unfocused. “That’s... that’s not fair,” he managed, his voice unusually strained.
“I didn’t know I needed to play fair,” you replied with an innocent smile. “Did I break your concentration?”
You took a step back, amused at his reaction, but he quickly closed the distance.
“No, no retreating now,” he said, a mix of playfulness and seriousness in his voice. “You can’t just do that and walk away.”
“Maybe I just wanted your attention,” you said.
His hands reached for yours. “Do you know what sounds like that do to me?” he asked, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together.
“Why don’t you show me?” you suggested, your voice barely above a whisper.
“My sweet darling,” he murmured against your neck. “Always knowing exactly how to distract me.”
Without warning, he scooped you up, abandoning his painting without a second thought. “This can wait another day,” he declared, carrying you toward the door. As he walked toward his bedroom, he paused only long enough to press his lips to your ear. “Make that sound again,” he whispered.
“Like this?” you breathed, repeating the moan directly against his skin.
His heart hammered against your side where he held you close, his usually steady artist’s hands trembling slightly with barely contained desire.
“Mmm, some masterpieces require a different kind of canvas.”
𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒
Warm evening light cast long shadows through the expansive windows of the private residence. Sylus reclined on the plush sofa, a book balanced in one hand while the other absently swirled a glass of deep red wine. These quiet moments were rare—moments where he set aside the mantle of leadership and simply existed in the comfort of his own space.
You approached silently across the thick carpet, observing how the fading light caught the sharp angles of his profile. On impulse, you leaned close to his ear and let out a soft, deliberate moan.
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Sylus went perfectly still, only his eyes moving as they flicked up from the page. Without rushing, he marked his place in the book and set it aside, followed by the wine glass.
“How interesting,” he said, voice deceptively casual despite the sudden intensity of his gaze. “I was just thinking the evening was lacking something.”
“Were you now?” you asked, maintaining eye contact. “Happy to provide a distraction.”
In one fluid motion, he pulled you down onto the couch beside him, his hands settling possessively on your waist. “Is there something you want from me?” he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “Or are you simply trying to capture my attention?”
“Maybe both,” you replied, not backing down from his intensity. “Is it working?”
When you didn’t elaborate further, his grip tightened slightly. “You know better than to start games you don’t intend to finish.”
“Who says I don’t intend to finish?” you challenged, this time straddling his lap.
He shifted, bringing your faces closer together. “Right here? On this couch? I’m perfectly willing to accommodate if that’s what you’re asking for.” His thumb traced your lower lip, his expression equal parts challenge and desire. “Just say the word.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” you whispered against his finger.
Sylus seemed perfectly content to let you decide the next move. One hand moved slowly up your back, coming to rest at the nape of your neck.
“Well?” he prompted, one eyebrow raised in that particular way that made it impossible to tell if he was challenging you or genuinely asking. “What will it be?”
𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁
Afternoon sunlight streamed through the large windows of the home office where Caleb had been working for hours. Despite being off-duty, he remained dedicated to reviewing the latest training protocols for the newest batch of Fleet officers.
When you entered, he acknowledged you with a quick smile before returning his attention to the document in front of him. “Just need to finish this section,” he explained, not looking up from his work. “Shouldn’t be much longer.”
“You said that two hours ago,” you reminded him gently, approaching his desk.
You observed the focused concentration on his face—so different from his usual playful demeanor when you were alone together. On impulse, you leaned down close to his ear and let out a soft, suggestive moan.
His hand froze mid-note, digital pen pressing so hard against the tablet that the screen glitched momentarily. You watched as the muscles in his shoulders tensed beneath his casual t-shirt, his entire body going rigid.
When he finally turned to look at you, his eyes had darkened, all thoughts of work evidently forgotten. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting your attention,” you replied innocently. “Is it working?”
You took a small step back, a smile playing at your lips, but Caleb was faster. His chair scraped against the floor as he stood in one fluid motion, catching your wrist before you could retreat further.
“You don’t get to do that and just walk away,” he said firmly, pulling you closer until you were trapped between his body and the desk.
“I wasn’t walking away,” you meet his intense gaze.
With one sweep of his arm, he cleared a space on the desk, documents and tablets pushed unceremoniously to the side. He lifted you onto the cleared surface.
“I was trying to work,” he murmured against your neck, his hands already finding their way beneath your shirt. “But clearly you had other ideas for how I should spend my afternoon.”
“Maybe I was tired of sharing you with your work,” you admitted, tilting your head to give him better access.
His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “You’re going to have to deal with the consequences of that little sound you just made.”
"You know, Tarus City can have flowers bloom everywhere, as far as the eye can see. But only for one person."
"How can I witness and hold such beauty once more...? If I were to bury my heart within your sweet lips…”
"If you were also an art piece, then whoever created you... must have loved you dearly"
“You are my unforgivable sin in the fabric of eternity, the very thing that has imprisoned me.”
“Your truest self will forever be etched into the fabric of my soul.”
“And you happen to be the only element that can ignite my passion”
"You should know very well that I adore you. There is no love purer than mine"
"Shivanika, Shivanika, Shivanika"
One of my favorite things about Sylus is his habit of casually and out of thin air drop the most beautiful romantic lines you've ever heard. Stating them like facts. Because to him they are. In his eyes MC is the most gorgeous and invaluable masterpiece in existence — his "Purus Opalus" — and he will say it. Time and time again without hesitation.
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