Alexia♎/27/CA ~Multi-Fandom Blog~ Welcome to my kingdom of absolute trash! If you're expecting any sort of standards, you have come to the wrong place. Thank you for stopping by and have a trash filled day!!!
A pretty bold faced lie, considering you’re about three steps from the entrance to the Nest. Sylus hums on the other side of the phone, clearly none the wiser.
“How fitting. I’m just waking up.” He doesn't sound too tired but you don't press the subject. The last thing you need is for him to get suspicious.
"Well, alright, I'll call you when I wake up? Goodnight, love you!" You hang up quickly, slipping inside the dark club.
You hate to lie to Sylus, really you do. A relationship is built on trust after all. Especially given his line of work. He doesn't lie to you, and you don't lie to him.
Well, at least before tonight.
"This is an interesting outfit for bed, sweetie." Sylus relaxes in a rather ornate chair, while you stand before him, sighing. Apparently, your lead on a big deal tonight had been wrong. Or, more likely, it had been right, but the buyer wasn't exactly someone you planned to hand over to the Association. At least, not until you kill him.
"Just waking up, huh?" You scoff, walking over to sink into his lap. The various men in the room are quick to slip out, not wanting to get tangled in Sylus's personal life.
"Shall we call it a truce?" His arms come around you, resting his chin on your shoulder possessively.
"...Fine. But answer this. Did you set this up on purpose?"
He leans back in the chair, eyes running over you and the expensive outfit you'd donned to "fit in" to the clubs interior.
inspired by this ask that sweet @rafayelkisses left, i love ur brain so much mwah
"Slap me."
The words, spoken in his husky, wanting voice, makes your movements falter on his lap.
"What?"
Sylus groans, one large hand cupping your ass and forcing you right back into an unforgiving rhythm on his cock.
"You heard me, sweetie." His nose brushes along your neck before he pulls back. One eyes pulses with need so intense it makes your cheeks warm. "Slap me. On the face."
Your fingers curl against his shoulders. You bite your lip as you rise and fall on his length, each thrust dragging a rough sound from his throat.
Slowly, you lift your hand.
Your fingers twitch with hesitation before your palm connects with his cheek. It's not gentle by any means. But it isn't hard, either.
Sylus exhales sharply, his aether core immediately flaring brighter. His grip on your skin tightens, jaw flexing as he starts meeting your thrusts until his mushroom tip is bullying your cervix.
"Harder," he growls.
You mewl, nails raking down his chest, unable to think of anything coherent for a brief second.
"S-Sy—!"
Sylus, impatient in a way he usually never is, allows his hand to come down on your ass cheek, hard.
The provoking slap rings out alongside the wet sounds of your joining, and the sting makes you gasp. His fingers immediately squeeze the tender flesh afterwards, as if daring you to give him exactly what he's asking for.
Fine.
You lift your hand and smack it across his cheek with real effort this time, hard enough that his head turns from the force. When he looks back at you, his cheek is blooming pink.
Or maybe he's just blushing.
"F-Fuck, kitten," he moans, the sound quite needy from someone who had been so demanding only seconds ago.
He leans forward to steal a kiss, but the moment his lips crash into yours, his cock throbs violently inside you. Sylus shudders as he cums, trembling against your mouth.
Cw: Smut. Oral. P in V. Thigh riding. Size kink. Panty sniffer Caleb Jealous Xavier. It includes links to 🌽 videos on X for visual examples on what was sent. 🔞 MDNI🔞
Sylus/Xavier/Rafayel/Zayne/Caleb
Yeah*sigh*I'm ovulating again. Enjoy 😝
The blue light of your phone screen is the only thing cutting through the darkness of your bedroom. You really should have been asleep an hour ago, instead, you’re spiraling down a rabbit hole you didn't even know existed.
Size kink.
You’d never really thought about it before, not until you started dating Sylus and tonight you were just scrolling, looking for something to satisfy the empty ache Sylus left all week.
This video is something you had never seen before or even thought was possible. You watch, mesmerized by the way the woman’s stomach subtly shifts a visible bulge as he stretches her out.
Heat pools instantly between your thighs, making your breath hitch and a dizzying sensation of fullness hit your gut. He's always so careful with you, so agonizingly gentle, as if you’re something precious he might break if he breathes too hard. But looking at this... a dark part of your brain wonders what it would feel like if he didn't hold back.
"Holy shit..." you whisper to the empty room.
Your hand moves instinctively, fingers sliding down to find slick heat. The video is playing on a loop. Bulge. Stretch. Deep. Repeat. You watch it while your imagination runs wild, replacing the stranger on the screen with the man who owns your heart. You’re picturing his heavy weight pinning you down, his eyes blown wide, filling you until you can’t even scream.
You’re chasing a peak that feels miles away until, suddenly, it isn't. You hit your first orgasm with a stifled gasp, back arching off the mattress, only to find yourself immediately chasing the second one, body trembling and spent in the wake of the first.
By the time the second wave of pleasure ebbs away, you’re a puddle of limbs and heavy eyelids. You’re half conscious, drifting in that beautiful limbo between wakefulness and dreams. In a daze of post orgasmic euphoria, you squint at the screen, your thumb hovering over the comment section.
"How do I send him this without actually sending it to him 😳"
You tap 'send' with a clumsy thumb. You meant to just post it as a thought, a digital scream into the void. But as your eyes flutter shut, your hand twitches a final, involuntary spasm of exhausted muscle. Your thumb slips. It slides across the 'Share' icon, hovers over the very first contact at the top of your recent list, and taps.
Sent.
You don't hear the subtle whoosh of the outgoing message. Delivered directly to the man who at this very moment is probably staring at a security feed or sipping red wine.
Sylus.
You just fall into a deep, blissful sleep, completely unaware that you've just lit a fuse.
“Come on, sweetie, don’t give up on me now" Thrust. The impact is heavy, forcing a breathless gasp from your lungs. “You can take it, can’t you?”
He isn't being the gentle, careful man you know. Not today. His hand is hooked firmly behind your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, forcing you to watch the unmistakable, fat bulge stretching the skin of your lower abdomen, proof to just how deep he’s buried himself inside you.
“You wanted this, now you have to take it and you are going to watch.”
And there it is. The reality of it. It’s visceral. It’s exactly what you saw in that video, but it’s a thousand times more intense because it’s him. It’s real.
Your vision swima and just as the shock of it all starts to settle, he shifts. He changes the angle of his hips in a calculated move that hits your G spot dead on. An uninhibited scream tears from your throat, echoing through the room.
“I've been trying to behave,” he says, and the words come out rougher than he probably intended, an edge of frustration bleeding through his usual composure “But you make it so difficult... fuck... by sending me your filthy little thoughts.”
His hand settles against your belly, firm and heavy, and the second he presses down, your body reacts with a sharp inhale. You tense instinctively, muscles coiling around him, but you don't pull away. You can't.
“Can you feel me here?” he asks, breath coming in uneven bursts. He’s buried balls deep and for a split second, you see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. You make a face, a strange, overwhelmed expression of fullness, and he looks like he might actually pull back to give you a moment to breathe. He thinks he’s pushing too hard.
He’s wrong.
Don't you dare.
Driven by a desperation you didn't know you possessed, you move your hips in a searching rhythm, pressing his hand down harder against your stomach. You want the pressure. You want to feel the exact point where he meets your skin from the inside.
He lets out a loud groan at the sensation. Your narrow walls clamp down on him, tighter than they've ever been. Every millimeter of space between you feels like it’s disappearing, leaving nothing but friction and heat.
You don't have the words to tell him that you never want him to stop, so your body does the talking. You cling to him, legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you there, keeping you exactly where you are until your breathing turns unsteady.
Until your body softens in momentary surrender and tightens again a second later, as if you're fighting a war with yourself, trying to decide whether to let go or to hold on tighter.
In the end, you don't choose. You do both.
The world dissolves into a hot haze of pleasure. It couldn't be called an orgasm because this feels like a total system failure. You’re sobbing his name or maybe you’re just gasping for air, you can’t tell anymore as waves of pleasure crash over you, violent and unrelenting. Your pussy seizes around him in long pulses, milking him, begging for the very thing that’s pushing you past your limit.
He follows you a few seconds later, burying himself soooo deep you feel the hot rush of him filling you.
Slowly, the fog begins to lift, leaving you in a state of blissful, heavy lethargy. The hand that was just pressing so ruthlessly into your belly softens, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin.
"You really are a menace." he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.
The shame you expected to feel, the embarrassment of that accidental video is nowhere to be found. Instead, there is only a sense of immense satisfaction.
"Next time," he whispers into your hair "don't bother sending a link. Just tell me. I'll give you everything you desire. Every single time."
The problem with being in love with a man like Xavier is that your brain is constantly a minefield of "what ifs."
He’s incredible, truly, but you’ve noticed the way he pulls back sometimes. When he’s brooding or when that possessive jealousy starts to prickle at him, he becomes almost too careful. Like he’s afraid he might actually break you if he lets go of that restraint.
So, naturally, you’ve been doing a little "research" to keep the inspiration alive.
Now, you’re sitting on the edge of your bathtub, scrolling through your feed, a habit that’s becoming a bit of a vice, when a video catches your eye. A girl pinned to a mattress, her head pressed down by her partner as he fucks her from behind. Hard. The sound of her moans echoes in your ears through your headphones and suddenly the bathroom feels about ten degrees too hot.
God, yes.
You quickly save the link to your "later" folder, a digital stash of things you want him to eventually try, and then scribble a quick, thirsty comment on the video "This but with my boyfriend dressed as Lumiere 🤤 " and set your phone down.
Buzz. Buzz.
A notification lights up the screen. It’s him.
[Xavier]: Found a new hot pot place. Apparently, the broth is spicy enough to kill a Wanderer. Want to go tonight? Please say yes so I can stop thinking about food and start thinking about you.
A soft laugh escapes you. He’s so predictable, yet so devastatingly charming when he wants to be. Your answer is an immediate "sure" because you’d say yes to a lukewarm bowl of water if he was the one serving it.
But he always forgets to look at the menu and ends up ordering something way too spicy or something you're not in the mood for, so you look for the restaurant's menu.
You see the link. Tap it. Copy. Paste. Add "Look at the options! The spicy broth looks insane." Send.
Funny thing is, you don't actually copy the menu's URL, you just cut it. You don't even realize you just sent him the very un culinary link to the video you were just watching to fuel your own delusions.
Little typing bubbles appear. They dance for a long time. They disappear. They reappear.
He's so indecisive.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
"Lumiere?" the name sounds like a curse "You wanted Lumiere to pin you down?"
Your face is pressed so firmly into the mattress that the fabric feels like a part of your own skin, the scent of laundry detergent mixing with the heat of the moment. Every time he thrusts into you, the world tilts, your vision blurring into white light and dark shadows. The Xavier who kisses your forehead and cuddles with you is buried somewhere deep inside the man currently fucking you breathless.
"Xavie..." you try to speak, but his name dies in your throat as he shifts his weight.
"Tell me," he demands, losing the battle with his own restraint. He hits you hard, a deep, soul shaking thrust that forces a broken moan from your lips. "Tell me you don't need a costume to feel this."
You try to answer, to tell him he's being ridiculous...
Smack!
The sting of his palm against your ass makes you gasp, your fingers clawing at the mattress for purchase.
"You sent it to me on purpose," he mutters as he leans down, his chest pressing hard against your back. "You wanted to see me like this, didn't you? You wanted to see if I could be as rough as him."
He doesn't want an answer. He doesn't wait for one. He just wants to hear you whimper his name when he hits that perfect spot.
His hand presses your face down even harder into the mattress, muffling your cries. It's everything you were craving when you were scrolling through your phone earlier, but the reality is a thousand times better.
You start to move, trying to meet him halfway, trying to grind back against him to find the friction that will push you over the edge.
"Faster..." you beg, trying to turn your head to tell him that there is no Lumiere, there is only him, but he just presses you back down, his thumb grazing your hip bone with trembling pressure.
"Shhhhhh, just a little bit more," he lets out a long groan, his forehead dropping to rest against the back of your neck for a fleeting second before he surges upward again. "You should see the way your pussy is taking my cock right now, so greedy. Just for me."
His hand shifts. It leaves the back of your head to find the column of your throat. His thumb and middle finger curl around your neck not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he is in total control.
He stills for a heartbeat, his middle finger softly tapping the pulsing vein in your neck. "Every beat belongs to me tonight"
You just nod, a jerky movement, because you are standing on the very edge of a precipice, and the fall is coming. The tension in your lower belly is wound so tight it’s almost painful.
"Say it," he breathes, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his words a warm, humid ghost of a sensation, his control fraying at the edges.
"Yours," you finally whisper, like secret you’ve been holding in your lungs for far too long, finally allowed to breathe.
The moment the word leaves your lips, he loses the last of his mercy.
He pulls back almost entirely, leaving you aching and empty for a fraction of a second only to drive back in, bottomless and bruising. It’s a cycle of withdrawal and overwhelming fullness that leaves you reeling.
"Give me what's mine" the command vibrates through your entire body.
The world dissolves into white light as your head falls forward, muscles spasming in the violent quake of your climax, but he catches your hair, tugging just enough to force your head up, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark and swirling with a hunger that could swallow the stars.
"Good girl," he whispers against your parted, trembling lips.
He thrusts one last time, deep and final, spilling molten heat as your name breaks from his lips, torn in half by bliss before he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. For now, the jealousy is gone. There is only the quiet, heavy reality of being his.
The video catches your eye instantly. The lighting is a soft purple, casting a surreal glow over the two people on screen. A girl is on top, her movements slow and agonizingly deliberate as she drags her pussy over her partners cock, the rhythm of it making your cunt clench.
Tonight you are in a "no filter" mood. You need to share this. You need to tell Tara.
With a smirk, you tap the share icon, copy the link, and switch over to your messages. You find Tara’s profile pic or so you think and start typing with the kind of unhinged energy only a best friend can appreciate.
You and Tara have long since abandoned the concept of "boundaries" when it comes to your filthy late night chats.
“Omg Tara, look at this. Raf’s cock is so pretty, I swear if he’d just let me do this to him, I’d never leave the bedroom again 🥵💦”
You hit send with a satisfied whoosh and let out a long, dramatic sigh. Silence follows. For a few minutes you go back to scrolling, blissfully unaware that you have just dropped a digital bomb into the inbox of a man who is already struggling to maintain his composure.
Your phone vibrates.
It’s not a "LOL" or a "Damn" from Tara.
It’s a notification from Rafayel.
Rafayel: Is that so?
Your heart skips a beat. You frown, squinting at the name at the top of the chat.
Wait.
Your face goes from pale to a shade of red that would put a sunset to shame. You stare at the screen, wanting to physically crawl inside the phone and disappear forever. You want to delete it. You want to throw the phone out the window. You want to move to a different planet.
But then, the little typing bubbles appear again.
Rafayel: Don't just sit there blushing, cutie. I'm coming to your place and you are going to show me exactly what you want"
🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧
You’ve lost track of time. Your thighs are starting to ache, every muscle in your legs feels tight, strained from holding yourself upright, yet you keep moving. You have to. The friction is the only thing keeping you grounded.
You’re straddling him, your knees digging into the soft linens, focused on the way your cunt drags over his cock. Slippery. Hot. Wet.
Every time you slide down, the underside of him, that thick ridge presses ruthlessly against your clit. You can feel the vein running along his length pulse in perfect synch with your clit.
Thump thump. Thump thump.
"Slow down..." he groans, gripping your hips "You're going to... fuuuuck... you're going to kill me"
The friction is creating a heat of its own, a sliding friction that makes your head spin. You watch slightly delirious, as the light from the moon filters through the window, catching the sheen of sweat on his pale skin and the way his hair is plastered to his forehead. He looks wrecked. He looks beautiful. He looks like he belongs entirely to you.
But his hands are far from weak. They are heavy weights anchored to your hips, and he uses them to sabotage you. Just when you think you’ve found a rhythm that might actually save you, he tightens his grip, forcing your hips to slow, dragging the slide of your pussy out into a long, shallow glide.
It’s cruel. A sadistic kind of torture, making the night feel endless, as if the clock has stopped just to watch you suffer.
He wants to stretch this out. He wants to milk every drop of anticipation from your veins until your entire body begins to tremble, not from pleasure, but from the weight of the climax that refuses to arrive. He wants to push you to that edge where even your silence sounds filthy, where the quiet between your breaths is thick with the unspoken things you want to do to him.
Once he’s satisfied with the slow pace, his hands begin to wander. They trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your breasts, learning your body the way a sinner learns to pray. Like hunger learning the art of restraint just long enough to make the eventual feast mean something.
You slide back just a fraction, settling the heat of your pussy directly over his balls and then you reach down.
Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, just like you saw in that video. You begin to stroke him while simultaneously rotating your hips in a circular grind over the heavy fullness of his balls.
The sound that tears from his throat is something unhuman, a vibration that feels like it's coming from the depths of the ocean.
Your name is caught between his teeth in a soft, sinful exhale. He sounds undone, completely unraveled by the sight of you taking exactly what you claimed you wanted in that accidental text.
He’s right there, on the edge of an unravelling collapse.
And because you are just like him, a creature of beautiful, chaotic impulse, you don't let him have it. Not yet.
You release his cock, hand slipping away just as the tension reaches its peak, and drag your soaked cunt back up the entire length of him in one loooong slide.
It feels like a collision of two fires.
In your desperation to feel everything you let your entire weight drop. The clench of your pussy as you cum wraps around the underside of his cock, squeezing him with a force that leaves him absolutely helpless.
He has no choice but to follow you into the fire.
Spurts of his cum paint the pale skin of his stomach, the liquid warmth spreading in thick, white streaks, pooling in his belly button.
For a few seconds, neither of you moves. There is only the sound of your breathing and the humid scent of your shared exhaustion.
“Was that pretty enough for you, cutie?” he teases, though his hand trembles slightly as he reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His thumb lingers on your cheek, like he’s constantly checking to make sure you haven't vanished into the night. "Or do we need to do it again?"
It’s late, way past the time Zayne would usually be nudging you to sleep but he’s still tucked away in his office, probably buried under a mountain of medical charts or surgical reports.
Your eyes are glued to your phone screen, watching a VIDEO of a girl grinding against a man’s thigh, bodies pressed together, his hands steady even as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. The guy in the video is wearing pajamas that look disturbingly similar to the ones Zayne is wearing right now.
Suddenly, the empty space in your bed feels a little too vast, your mind drifting to the office down the hall, aching to be that girl, to climb onto his Zayne's lap while he’s buried in medical charts and just... fuck yourself stupid.
You want to reach down and touch yourself but you’re a loud sleeper and an even louder moaner. If you start now, there’s no way he won't hear you through the walls, and you aren't quite ready for that kind of intimacy yet. So, you settle for a bit of digital venting. With a flushed face, you type out a quick comment on the video: "God, I wish I could do this while he's working..."
You go to save the link to your "Filthy Things" folder for a proper session tomorrow morning, but just as your thumb hovers over the screen, your phone starts vibrating. It’s Simone. She’s calling, probably to gossip about something trivial. In your rush to swipe the call and answer her, your finger taps the wrong folder.
And because Zayne is a man who is always, always connected to his devices for work... he’s going to see the notification the exact second it pops up.
🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺
It didn't take long. After that little "digital accident," the silence between you two wasn't awkward so much as it was heavy. Charged. He didn't even tease you about the comment. He didn't even blush. He just looked at you with those piercing eyes, a tiny, knowing quirk at the corner of his mouth, and silently commanded you to come to him.
And now, here you are. Perched on his lap, doing the same thing you saw on that video. Your lower half is completely bare, your thighs hugging his muscular one as you press yourself flush against him.
The friction is driving you completely insane.
Zayne, however, is a man of terrifying discipline.
His left hand is braced on your lower back, while his right hand moves across his keyboard. He’s actually working. He’s reviewing files, typing out notes, behaving as if you aren't currently trying to melt into his lap. Every so often, he’ll pause, not to stop you, but to lean in. His breath, cool and smelling faintly of mint, brushes against the shell of your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine.
"Ah... Zayne..." you whimper against his neck as you press yourself harder against him. The sound is loud, far too loud for his quiet office and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.
"Hush now," he doesn't even look away from the monitor, though you notice the slight tightening of his jaw. "I need to focus. These reports won't write themselves."
He’s being difficult. He’s being a tease. And you love him for it.
You try to be "good." You force yourself to still when he has to write something long on his computer. You sit there, trembling slightly, waiting for him to acknowledge the havoc you're wreaking on his concentration.
A moment passes. The only sound is the soft click clack of the keyboard. Then, you feel his hand slide from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you just a fraction of an inch closer, a subtle command for you to keep going.
"Good girl," he whispers, the words a warm caress against your ear.
His expression is completely professional, but the way his fingers linger on your skin tells a completely different story. He’s still working, yes but he’s also letting you feel exactly how much of a distraction you really are.
Every time your thighs tense up, every time you desperately bite your lower lip to stifle a moan that threatens to shatter the silence, the air thickens with indecency.
He’s struggling. You aren't blind. You can feel the insistent twitch of his cock beneath you, reacting to every open mouthed kiss you press against the pulse of his neck, the sharp line of his collarbone, and the smooth expanse of his Adam's apple. He’s trying to maintain that surgeon’s calm, but his body is betraying him with every shuddering breath you take.
You’re right on the edge. Your clit is catching perfectly against the fabric of his pajamas, the material already damp and clinging to you from the amount of arousal you're leaking.
"Look at me."
His voice cuts through the air, forcing your gaze up. He wants to see the exact moment your eyes glaze over, the moment your breath hitches and tells the truth that your lips are trying so hard to hide.
When his hand slides up to cup your jaw, it isn't the gentle, comforting touch you're used to during a quiet movie on the couch. It's different. It's possessive. It’s a disciplined kind of dominance, a reminder that while he is the composed Zayne in the daylight, there is a much darker man caged behind that professional composure and you are the only one who knows how to let him out.
"You are close, aren't you, love?" he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath.
You can barely manage a nod, your lungs feeling too small for the air you're trying to pull in. You're breathing directly into his slightly parted mouth.
"Cum for me, then," he exhales, a rare flush creeping up his cheeks, betraying just how much this is affecting him too.
He shifts his thigh, bouncing it up and down in a rhythmic motion that catches your clit perfectly.
The world tilts. You feel your eyes lose focus and you can't tell if it's the shaking of your limbs or the pounding of your heart that's making you tremble so violently.
"Zaynie... Zayne..."
His name becomes your entire vocabulary, there are no words left, only the sound of his name on your lips and the crashing sensation of finally, finally letting go.
You are flicking through a never ending stream of mindless clips and memes. It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon, just a bit of scrolling to kill the time until Caleb comes back, but then there...
A VIDEO pops up. It’s not your usual aesthetic travel vlog or a cooking hack.
You freeze, your heart doing a weird, little skip in your chest. You know you should probably swipe past it, but your eyes are glued to the screen. It’s a girl, her lace panties completely drenched. The guy in the video isn't even taking them off, he’s just sliding the tip of his cock against her through the wet lace.
A sudden warmth blooms deep in your belly, spreading down until it feels like you’re melting into the cushions. God, you’ve been craving that. The teasing, the slow, agonizing buildup. You’ve spent so much money on delicate, expensive little sets, thinking maybe Caleb would appreciate the way they look on you, but hes a fucking dog. He doesn't do "slow." He usually just rips them or tugs them off with impatience, going straight for the heat of you. You just want him to play with you like that. To linger.
Your inhibitions are a little frayed from the visual, and before your brain can catch up to your impulse, your thumbs are flying. You tap the comment section, the screen a mess of unhinged messages from strangers, and you add your own little confession: “I really need him to play with me like this, but he prefers to eat it raw from the start😢”
You hit send, a tiny, embarrassed flush creeping up your neck, and immediately swipe the video away, feeling a bit silly for being so vulnerable to a bunch of internet strangers.
You toss the phone onto the cushion next to you a second later, completely oblivious to one mortifying detail. He’d logged into his account on your phone earlier when his own battery died, and you hadn't bothered to switch back.
In his office, the most dangerous man in Skyhaven is about to watch, in explicit detail, how you want to be ruined.
🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷
It turns out your assessment of him was spot on. The man is a fucking dog.
He hasn't taken your underwear off. That’s the part that’s driving you absolutely insane. The delicate lace is currently soaked, clinging to your pussy like a second, translucent layer of skin. He’s been working his tongue against the fabric, licks so long and heavy they feel like they’re reaching deep inside you. You’ve already been hit by two earth shattering, toe curling orgasms, your vision blurring every time his mouth finds your clit through the damp cloth. He hasn't even slowed down. If anything, it's getting worse.
“This is the reason I usually take off those pretty panties you wear” he presses his face into you, his broad tongue sweeping up in one stroke against your entire slit. You let out a choked, broken sound, fingers tangling desperately in his dark hair, trying to push him away just to catch your breath.
“Your scent is so fucking addictive,” he groans against your skin, “Especially after wearing them all day... knowing you've been walking around, smelling like this, just waiting for me.”
Then, he says something that makes your heart skip a beat not out of fear, but out of pure shock.
“You have no idea, do you?” he pants, nose brushing against your clit. “Last two years of High School... I spent them stroking my cock raw just to the smell of your panties. Thinking about you. Wishing you were right there."
Your vision blurs. Your hips jerk upward involuntarily as a third wave of pleasure crashes over you. You cum hard, your entire body shaking as you spill yourself directly onto his tongue, voice breaking into a high, desperate sob of his name.
He doesn't pull away. He just drinks you in, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he tastes exactly what he's been craving.
The moment your legs stop trembling he hooks his fingers into the soaked gusset and drags it to the side, baring your swollen folds and your pulsing clit, sensitive from his relentless attention.
He doesn't thrust in. He doesn't go for the full stretch you’ve been silently praying for. Instead, he slides the drooling tip of his cock over your slit. He isn't even entering you yet, he's just... slapping it against your clit, teasing the very edge of your tolerance.
You wanted the lace, the play, the slow burn... but God, you also wanted him to fuck you until you couldn't remember your name. You wanted the stretch.
But Caleb is a man who listens. Or rather, he's a man who has spent a lifetime studying every detail of your desires and right now he is giving you exactly what you asked for.
He leans down, his eyes dark, watching the way your face contorts with pleasure and frustration. He doesn't give you the release of a full thrust, he just feeds you the tip. He slides just the head of his cock into your pussy, a teasing invasion that barely makes a dent.
The reaction is instantaneous. Your walls react to him like a living thing, clenching around him, desperately trying to suck him deeper, to pull the rest of him in. The sensation is so perfectly matched that a synchronized moan breaks from both of you.
He pulls out just a fraction and then he thrusts the tip back in. Over and over again.
“Please,” you whimper, the word sounding pathetic even to your own ears. “Baby, please...”
You’re trying to force him to go deeper. But he’s in total control. His left hand is working the length of his cock, pumping with a desperate rhythm, while his right hand finds your clit.
His eyes are pinned to yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face as if he’s trying to memorize the way you fall apart.
And then, the teasing ends.
His mushroom tip, still nestled just inside your entrance, begins to pulse. Warm, thick spurts of cum hit your sensitive walls, flooding the tiny space he’s occupied.
Your pussy clenches around the tip of his cock, trying to suck every last drop out of him while his hand squeezes the rest of his length, forcing the remainder of his seed into you, filling you up until his cum starts to leak out.
He finally collapses against you, the weight of his body pressing you deep into the mattress.
"You're so loud when you're happy," he murmurs before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple, then your cheek, before finally settling his lips against yours in a kiss that tastes of salt and everything you are to him.
He pulls back just a bit, his gaze dropping to where the soaked lace of your panties still clings to your thighs, then back up to your eyes. There’s a flicker of that obsessive intensity returning to his expression.
"There isn't a single thing in this world you could ask for that wouldn't make me crawl to you. So don't hold back, Pips."
I have said it before on many occasions but it's worth reminding people that Sylus is a WHORE. And I love it.
He gives major fuck you in the bathroom on the first date before dessert arrives energy.
Think about it.
In his vampire myth, this man was ten seconds in from meeting MC and had every single intention to kill her and he STILL made out with her. Zero memory who she is, ready to impale her to death after bleeding her dry and has the audacity to be like “hold on, give me a kiss real quick,” LMAO!
In his dragon myth when MC was sneaking him, and she started acting like she was trying to fuck cause she feels bored did you see the look on his face? He was down!
I'm convinced if it wasn't for her hating his guts on sight in main story, because despite that she does admit he is hot as fuck so I KNOW he would have taken her amnesia having ass to base and slutted her out regardless. All she had to do was say when.
Nobody can tell me otherwise.
Sylus is easy. And I love that about him.
Fake sleeping so he can get handcuffed to his bed wearing nothing but a silk robe.
Just stamp the words “Fuck me whenever” on your forehead Onychinus leader cause we all see you're about that life.
Caleb walks around like an absolute slut—not an ounce of shame in his body—when he’s covered in love bites. He loves them.
Claw marks across his back and shoulders, lipstick stains along his abs, hickeys covering his neck, teeth indents around his nipples—
His late night activities were apparent to anyone.
“Are you sure you wanna go out like…that?” you almost cringed as Caleb exits the hotel bathroom dressed for the hot springs. Duh, he looked sexy as hell, but it wasn’t unreasonable to think he looked like he got mauled by a beast.
His pride multiplied at the—in his eyes—praise from you, yet he played dumb as he approached you, his grip finding your waist. “Hm? What’s wrong with it?”
When you explained your concerns over the markings littering his skin, he only hummed, head bowing so his lips could graze the curve of your ear.
“Now, after all this time…” he rasped, placing an open kiss below your ear, “after how long I waited to have you…” another kiss to your collarbone, “why would I possibly…” a final kiss, as he straightened, to your lips.
“…want to hide that I’m yours?”
So, when he returned to work the following week, of course he made no effort to conceal the hickeys along his jaw or Adam’s apple that his uniform couldn’t quite cover. Unasked questions prompted by prying eyes were silenced from a single glance from Colonel Caleb, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of the bruises.
“Had a nice vacation, colonel?” Liam asked as the duo stood juxtaposed within a Farspace cruiser’s elevator.
“I suppose you could say that,” Caleb replied in a curt manner. However, his mind was racing.
A nice vacation? Any mention of it, any kind of reminder had lewd images of you flashing through his mind… it was the best vacation of his goddamn life. All he wanted to do was fly home and get marked up and fu—
‘Shit,’ he mentally cursed.
…Now with an uncomfortable ‘situation’ in his pants, he briskly hopped off the elevator, sped to his office, and locked the door before scrambling to call you.
Caleb fucking loves love bites.
a/n: the hot spring cards are actual insanity. infold, you have my soul. thank you.
Sylus adores kissing you. It's quickly become his favorite activity. Every time he sees you, you're pulled into his lap, his big hands squeezing your hips as his lips crash into yours. Sometimes he's rough, other times he's slow, like he's savoring the moment. You never know what to expect from him, but all you know is that he has your pussy dripping within like a minute.
Now isn't any different.
You're straddling his lap, knees digging into the velvet of his chair, while your fingers dive into the silver strands at the nape of his neck, desperately trying to tug him closer. You kiss him like you're trying to steal the breath from his lungs, like you want him to be just as hot and bothered as he makes you. You know he's hard. You can feel his cock just underneath you, pressing right against your clothed cunt like it belongs there. You suppose it does, but with Sylus holding you so firmly, you have no choice but to sit there and try to ignore the way it would feel so good to grind against.
Sylus kisses exactly like he speaks. Demanding and utterly in control. You debate pushing at his shoulders, whining how it's not fair that he still seems so composed, but then his tongue is licking into your mouth. You shiver against him, your hands tugging at his hair. It's ridiculous how easy he has you undone and eager for him to fuck you.
He lets you set the pace, lets you be the one to scramble and claw, but you can feel how intentional he is. Every brush of his lips against yours, every slide of his tongue has you melting into a puddle right there on his lap, and he's well aware of it.
It's just how he likes you, after all. Needy and wet just from a few of his kisses. He hasn't even touched you yet, but he knows if he were to slip his hand into your pantes, he'd find you soaking.
When he finally pulls back to allow you a ragged breath, a thin, glistening string of saliva momentarily connects your lips before it breaks. Your lips are puffy and slick, your cheeks flushed a pretty pink. He's ruinously handsome in the dim lighting, his hair a mess from your frantic hands and his mouth wet. You watch him, breathless and aching while he just watches you with that dark, focused way of his, looking perfectly pleased with how much of a mess he's made of you.
You lean back in, desperate to lose yourself in him, desperate to feel his mouth on yours, but his hand moves faster than your clouded mind can track. His long fingers fan out across your jaw, firm and unyielding, stopping you just inches from his mouth. You let out a quiet gasp of surprise, but then he's tilting your head from side to side, his eyes fixated on your lips like he's admiring a particularly interesting piece of art.
"Patience, Kitten." He rasps.
You don't listen. You want him too badly. You try and close the distance once more, earning a teasing huff from him.
"Sylus, please..." You whimper.
"I'm not done looking at you yet." He tells you. The denial has another broken, frustrated whine leaving your lips. You can't believe his audacity, though you consider yourself lucky at the same time. He could have pushed you off his lap, really made you work for him, but he didn't. He's kept you there, and now that he isn't holding your hips so tightly, you take the opening while you still have it.
You roll your hips right into him, the layers of clothing between you two muting the feeling of his cock against you. You don't care. It's good enough for now. You want to see his composure to crack, to feel him lose his breath the way you've lost yours.
But Sylus is not a man who easily gives up control. If anything, your bold display amuses him. Still, the hand on your hip tightens, his thumb hooking into the waistband of your jeans as he grinds back slow and steady. This steals the air right out of your lungs in a pathetic little moan as he guides your rhythm, his hand dictating exactly how and when you move against him.
"Look at you." He murmurs, leaning in to brush his damp lips against the corner of your mouth. "So eager to skip to the end, kitten. And here I thought you were enjoying yourself."
He's mocking you, and you're well aware of it. Usually you'd snap back with some sharp comment, maybe tell him to mind his damn business, but for right now, you don't care. You like it. You like knowing that he knows what he does to you.
But even so, you're done waiting.
"I would enjoy it more if you took my pants off."
This makes Sylus pause. His eyes flick down to the denim hugging your thighs before he meets your gaze once more, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. He's well aware of what you want, but he can't help wanting to tease you a bit. He likes the anticipation.
"I know." He responds as he trails his mouth down your cheek, along your neck, nipping and sucking little bruises onto your skin as if he's perfectly content to do it all day.
Little shit.
"You are such a fucking tease." You whine even as you tilt your head for him. Even as you arch into him. Even as you continue to rub yourself against the bulge in his pants. You wonder if he's going to make you wait all day after all. Just the thought has your pussy clenching around nothing.
But Sylus relents. His hands easily maneuver you in his lap as he gives a sharp tug at your waistband, yanking the denim down your thighs. Within seconds, your jeans are tossed to the floor, his thumb pressed against your aching clit through the thin layer of your slick panties. He's slow as he drags his thumb against you, watching the way your hips twitch, listening to the quiet moans that escape you.
His free hand moves to his own pants, unzipping the leather until he can shove it down his legs and free his cock. He's so hard it physically hurts, precum smeared all along the tip. Your mouth waters at the sight, but he doesn't give you the chance to reach for him. He guides your hips, positioning you just above him before his fingers tug your damp panties to the side.
"This what you wanted, kitten?" He asks, smug as ever. Then he's guiding you down onto him, his fat cock instantly stretching your cunt exactly the way you love. Your velvety walls clench around him, coaxing him deeper, begging for more until the tip is kissing your cervix.
You shudder against him your hands tugging at his hair. You feel so deliciously full, all you can focus on is the way he guides your hips, the wet sound of skin on skin each time he thrusts up into you. It's obscene, the way he fucks you right in the middle of his lounge, but you don't care. You just want more.
One hand shifts away from your hips, dipping behind you only to smack against your ass. The sharp crack echoes in the room, punctuated only by the brutal, wet glide of skin on skin. Your hands grasp weakly at his shirt, incoherent moans and whimpers tumbling from your lips before you can bite them back.
Each thrust is deep, meant to drive the air from your lungs and leave you wondering where you end and he begins. A tell-tale sign of how his composure was barely hanging on. Crack. He smacks your ass again, squeezing the supple flesh before he shifts to the other side.
Crack. Crack-crack-crack.
You writhe on top of him, seeking more of him even while you feel the heat of the sting blooming across your skin. You wonder if he'll leave a nice handprint on your ass if you ask him. You wonder if he already has.
"You want me to cum in this pretty little pussy?" He asks you suddenly, his voice a low, ruined rasp as he squeezes your hips, his movements more deliberate as he guides you down on his cock over and over again. You mumble a response, try to tell him you obviously don't want him to pull out, but it's swallowed by your moans.
So instead, you clamp onto him, honeyed walls squeezing him like a vice. He responds by finding your swollen clit once more, rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves until you're falling apart around him. A choked cry leaves your lips, high-pitched and desperate as you squirm on his cock. His red eyes never leave your face, watching intently as you cum around him.
He follows a minute later with a ragged groan, his hands squeezing your hips hard enough to leave bruises later. His hips stutter underneath you as he pulls you flush against him, rocking into you like he's trying to ensure his cum remains deep inside your cunt.
For a moment, the only sound in the room is your frantic, broken breathing as you both try to come down from the high. You collapse onto him, burying your face in the crook of his neck as his arms wrap around you. He holds you so gently like he's scared you might disappear at any moment, a stark difference from the way he'd just been slamming into your cervix.
His thumbs rub small, soothing circles into your lower back as he tilts his head against the back of the velvet chair, a smug sort of pride flashing across his features as he feels you trembling against him.
"You're a mess." He says, his voice low in your ear, an amused huff following soon after. "But stay right here, sweetie. I've got you."
The first time Sylus is a bit too rough with you, it absolutely terrifies him.
He has you bent over the kitchen island, his large hands anchoring your hips with a possessive, unyielding grip as he drives his fat cock into you over and over again. His thrusts are frantic and desperate, driven by a rare lapse in his usual calculated composure. Caught in the surge of adrenaline and raw desire, he reacts on instinct. One hand leaves your hip only to smack against your ass with a sharp crack.
It's a heavy strike, meant to be a sting of pleasure, but delivered with far too much weight. The sound that falls from your lips isn't the breathless moan he expects. It's a sharp, jagged hitch of breath, followed by a small, wounded whimper.
Sylus instantly freezes, the predatory energy that he usually radiates vanishing in the blink of an eye to leave behind a sudden, jarring silence.
He hurt you.
"Wait." He rasps, his voice stripped of all its playful edge. His movements are slow as he pulls out, agonizingly careful and gentle as if he's scared to push you too far again. One hand remains on your hip, holding you steady while the other moves to your ass. His fingers trace the large welt against your skin, an uncharacteristic flicker of guilt in his red eyes.
"I went too far. I heard you." He says as he coaxes you to turn around, guiding your movements until your lower back is pressed against the kitchen island. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing along your lower lip in a silent apology.
His mouth follows seconds after, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that's less about desire and more about the need to undo the sting his own hand caused. Your hands find his hair, tangling in those silver strands even as you arch into him, still desperate and needy for him despite the stinging heat against your skin.
You whisper that it's okay, that you want him to keep going, that you want him to finish what he's started. But Sylus just shakes his head, his jaw clenched even as he trails his kisses down to your throat. He nips at your skin, far softer than usual, before his tongue finds your pulse point.
"Not like that." He murmurs, his voice a low vibration against your skin. "I was careless. I lost my lead."
He ignores the way you arch toward him, the way your body is practically begging for him to slide back home and continue stretching your cunt. He ignores the way you shift to settle on the edge of the counter top, but he doesn't miss the slight hiss in your breath as the cold marble hits your flushed skin.
He's decided his own punishment. He won't allow himself to lose himself in you again for now. He won't allow himself to bury his cock into your pretty little pussy until all you can both focus on is the way your velvety walls squeeze him just right. He doesn't trust the adrenaline still humming in his veins.
He doesn't trust that he won't push too far. As much as he loves being rough with you, his intent is never to truly hurt you. Instead, he sinks to his knees before you, his big hands easily pulling your thighs over his shoulders.
He doesn't give you the chance to argue with him.
The first lick is a long, flat stripe from entrance to clit that has a sharp, high-pitched moan falling from your lips. It's deliberate, meant to savor the taste of you. Sylus groans like he's tasting something exquisite, his hands pulling you further against his face.
Then his thumb settles against your clit, rubbing soft, slow circles while his tongue pushes inside you. Your hips jerk against his face, your hands tugging at his hair as he curls his tongue like he's trying to catalogue every little reaction. It's filthy, the way you're instantly dripping down his chin and coating his mouth, but he eats you as if you're his last meal.
The thumb on your clit stills for a second, quickly replaced with his mouth as he licks and sucks at you. Every hitch of your breath, every pathetic little moan that falls from your mouth only fuels his movements as he easily slips two long fingers into your dripping cunt.
He's relentless, his tongue flicking fast and hard, his fingers curling and pumping with ruthless, skilled precision. It's loud and sloppy, echoing in his kitchen and mixing with the sounds of your whimpers and whines. He's so hard it hurts, but he refuses to stroke himself as punishment for your pained cry earlier.
You're so close, so agonizingly close, when he suddenly stops, his red eyes flicking up towards your face. The sudden stillness is deafening. You're arched back, fingers tangled so tightly in his silver hair that your knuckles are white, your body trembling on the precipice of an orgasm that he just... snatched away.
It's ridiculous how your first instinct is to tilt your hips towards him, tug at his hair to try and bring his mouth back on your clit. He doesn't budge. He enjoys the way you're practically vibrating with need, but he's determined to set the terms.
"Tell me." He commands, his voice rough with the need he's suppressing even as he lazily pumps his fingers inside you. "Do you still feel that sting from earlier? Or is this all you can think about now?"
You can barely find your words, reduced to whimpering and whining as you rock against his hand, needing his fingers deeper. Needing more. He waits a few seconds to ensure that you're so lost in him that the pleasure has completely overriden the pain before he leans back in, his tongue finding your swollen clit with a renewed, relentless vigor.
"Good." He grunts against your skin, his gaze fixated on your face as your thighs squeeze his head. The build-up he forced upon you makes your orgasm hit twice as hard. Your back arches, your heels digging into his shoulders as your hips jerk and twitch against his face.
It’s not a quiet release. It’s a loud, unspooling cry that echoes off the kitchen cabinets, your fingers tightening in his hair until you’re practically pulling his head against you. Everything goes white for a second, the low light of the kitchen, the smell of his cologne, the hum of the refrigerator, all of it vanishes behind the pulsing, rhythmic squeezing of your honeyed walls around his fingers.
Sylus doesn't pull away immediately. He stays right there, holding you through the tremors as his fingers and tongue coax more out of you until you're slumped against the counter, limbs feeling like lead. Here, he finally withdraws with one last slow drag of his tongue against your clit.
The entirety of his mouth is slick because of you, but he doesn't seem to mind. If anything, he looks a bit smug. His movements are slow and deliberate as he stands up, his height looming over you once more. Seeing you completely undone by pleasure seems to have finally balanced the scales in his mind for the mistake he made earlier.
"There you are." He murmurs, his voice a dark, satisfied velvet. "Back where you belong."
He doesn't mention his own discomfort, doesn't mention how he'd give anything to bury himself inside your tight pussy, though the tension in his jaw and the way he avoids looking down at his own frame betrays how much he’s still holding back. Instead, he simply hooks his arms under your knees and back, lifting you off the counter as if you weigh nothing, intent on carrying you away from the cold marble and toward something much softer.
This banner is so cute. Just another reimagining of this scenario. Kinda makes sense to be in your birthday suit tho if you transform from a cat then back to being a human 😂
You're frustrated. So deeply, incredibly frustrated that you could cry. Your night was supposed to be perfect. You'd cracked open the expensive wine Sylus had gifted you forever ago, intenting on getting drunk, using your favorite vibrator until your legs were shaking, then having the best sleep of your life.
Only the first part was going to plan.
You're a drunk mess, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy as you stare at the sleek silicone device in your hands. Usually it's perfect. Usually it does its job well. But tonight, you just can't figure it out. You would get so close, so stupidly, agonizingly close, but then it would fail. Right at the last second, it would somehow end up two inches above or below your aching clit, leaving you incredibly frustrated.
So you do the only thing your drunk brain can make sense of.
You call Sylus.
The ringing doesn't last long. It never does when you call him.
"It's three in the morning. This better be a crisis, kitten." He says, his voice deep and surprisingly alert considering how late it was. Part of you wonders if he ever sleeps when he's not with you.
"Sylussssss." You whine, the name rolling off your tongue. "Issa... it's a 'mergency. A real one. My fav'rit... It's broke. Won't work 'nymore."
There's a brief sharp silence on the other end before you hear the muffled rustle of clothes. You can only assume Sylus is putting his jacket on.
"What stopped working? Are you hurt?"
"No, m'annoyed!" You huff, kicking a leg out from underneath your heavy comforter. "I need it. S'like it's avoidin' me..."
"I'll be there in ten minutes. Stay put." He commands, the protective, possessive edge of his tone sending a shiver down your spine.
"Yessir." You mumble before the line goes dead.
True to his word, you hear the front door open ten minutes later, the lock clicking softly. Then, the heavy thud of combat boots against your floor, growing louder until the bedroom door swings wide open. Sylus stands in the threshold, a dark silhouette against the hallway light. His crimson eyes immediately sweep the room for a threat.
He notes the half-empty bottle of expensive red on the nightstand, the precarious tilt of the empty glass, and then finally, he sees you curled up underneath the sheets and that lavender vibrator just a few inches away.
He exhales a sharp, controlled breath, the tension leaving his shoulders only to be replaced by that smug cockiness of his. He's found something much more interesting than sleep.
"A real emergency, hm?" He drawls as he strides into the room, the leather of his jacket creaking softly. He stops at the edge of the bed, arms crossed over his chest as he watches you try and properly focus on him.
You look up at him, your vision swimming just enough to make you see two of him standing right at the foot of your bed.
"S'defective." You groan, gesturing vaguely at the device. "I try... it jus'moves! It's mean."
You hear Sylus huff in amusement, though you don't have a sharp remark to give him in return. Your mind is too foggy from the wine, too focused on fixing your damn vibrator so you can just go to bed.
Sylus reaches out, his large hands making the toy look impossibly small by comparison. He turns it over once, his thumb grazing the power button. The soft hum fills the silence of the room. He blinks at it before glancing back at you, amusement written all over his features. He clicks it off once more.
"It seems perfectly functional to me, kitten."
You just shake your head at him.
He tosses the device back onto the bed as he shrugs off his leather jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a heavy thud. He doesn't care. He's far more focused on the idea that you'd essentially been edging yourself for god knows how long because you were too drunk to hold the damn toy in place.
"You called me here at three in the morning because you can't figure out how to work your vibrator?" He asks as his hands find the edge of the sheet you've somehow managed to get tangled up in. With a firm tug, he yanks the blanket off of you, his breath hitching just seconds later.
You're bare from the waist down, and Sylus's red eyes instantly roam your body without an ounce of shame. You shift against the pillows, your thighs falling open. The sight nearly brings him to his knees. You're soaked, pussy dripping as if he'd been doing nothing but fucking you with his tongue for hours.
"Oh sweetie... You should have just told me you were lonely. I'm much better at following orders than a piece of silicone." He purrs as he moves around to the side of the bed, his fingers ghosting up your thigh. He stops himself before he reaches your cunt, knowing if he touches you, he won't be using that precious vibrator like you want.
"S'fast. And it... doesn't talk back. Good at gettin' the job done." You mumble, watching as Sylus sits on the edge of your bed to undo his combat boots. You giggle at him as if having him there is the funniest thing in the world to you, too drunk to notice that he's fighting back his own wants to make sure your need is satisfied.
Within moments, he's settling between your knees, vibrator in his large hands as he stares down at you. You're a mess of drunken need, but he's never been able to turn you down, especially when you look so desperate to be ruined.
His free hand finds your hip as he drags the tip of the silicone through your glistening folds, clicking it back on the moment it reaches your swollen clit. Your back instantly arches off the bed, your breath leaving you in a loud cry. It had felt so good when you'd been holding it, but now that it was Sylus instead, it was even better.
"Just lay back and relax. I have you." He murmurs, taking in the way your hands grasp onto the sheets like you might tear them. He drinks in every little response from you. The way he has to coax your legs back open because you've clamped your thighs around his hand, the way you tremble just underneath the lowest setting.
Perhaps if he was nicer, he might have left it on the lowest setting and gently brought you to the edge. He doesn't care that you're probably overstimulated and overly sensitive. If anything, it just makes him want to be even more mean.
With two clicks of the button, he has the vibrator on the highest setting. Your hips immediately buck underneath him, head thrashing against your pillows as a loud, shattered moan leaves your mouth. It's too much, far too much for you to handle, and yet you don't have it in you to beg him to turn it down.
His free hand grasps your hip firmly, pushing you down into the mattress as he circles your clit with that little buzzing piece of silicone.
"That's why it hasn't been working for you. You can't run when it gets intense, kitten. That's not how it works." He tells you, though you can barely focus on it, too caught up in the sensation of a strong vibration against your already sensitive clit.
"Sylus!" You manage to gasp out, your legs clamping shut around his hand. This time, he doesn't coax them open. He simply throws his leg over your thigh, using his body weight to keep you nice and spread for him all while he keeps that steady vibration against you.
You can feel how hard he is against your thigh, how much his cock is straining against his leather jeans.
"You can take it. Can't you?" He asks with absolutely no intentions of clicking back to a lower setting. You shake your head, too gone to speak properly even as you try to move away, shift your hips away from the intense vibrations.
Sylus just holds you still, forcing you to take it. You manage to lock eyes with him, intending on pleading for mercy, but you don't get the chance.
Your orgasm is intense, has you arching off the bed until you're certain your spine might snap, your choked moan echoing within the silence of your room. Sylus immediately pulls the vibrator away, replacing it with his thumb as he rubs small circles against your clit, watching the way you squirm underneath him.
His touch is slow, light, gentle compared to the vibrations that were held against you, meant to slowly bring you down from that high. You squeeze your eyes shut, your entire body trembling as you try to catch your breath. It's nearly impossible with the way Sylus is still rubbing your clit, so you weakly swat at his hand, trying to squirm away.
"S'too much..." You whimper. Sylus hums in response, but for once, he actually listens. His thumb stills against your clit, momentarily dipping down to your slick entrance before he forces himself to tear his hand away, finally turning off the toy you'd been so convinced was broken. His hands then move to your thighs, watching you clench around nothing. He really should go, should let you sleep off the wine, but it would be a shame to leave you so wet.
"You... S'your turn..." You mumble, already trying to move to sit up against the pillows.
"Don't worry about me, sweetie. You're exhausted."
But you aren't letting him slip away so easily. Not when he gave you what was probably the best orgasm of your life.
"No. Your pants... Take them... Mm, gimme." You hum.
"You're drunk. No."
"Want it. Gimme." You argue.
He finally gives in with a heavy sigh. This wouldn't be the first time you two have had sex while drunk, and judging by how eager you are for him to take his pants off, he's guessing it won't be the last time either.
"You're lucky you're cute." He says as his hands move to his waistband, unzipping his pants before tugging the leather down just enough to free his cock. You squirm just in front of him, eager and wanting despite the orgasm he'd already granted you. Any other time, he would have teased you relentlessly.
Now, he simply slides the tip through your silky folds, brushing against your sensitive clit just to hear you whimper before he pushes into your tight heat. A low groan leaves him at the feeling of your velvety walls gripping him so deliciously, his hands finding the back of your thighs to keep you spread and open for him.
He isn't rough like he usually is. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he went too far while you were drunk. Instead, his pace is slow and deep, his hips grinding into you with every thrust, meant to savor the feeling of being buried in your cunt.
Your hands find his shoulders, weakly trying to pull him down while you moan for him. He doesn't make you wait. He doesn't even make you beg. He simply leans down, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His hands guide your legs around his waist. This is probably the most gentle he's ever been with you.
His teeth lightly scrape against your skin as he pushes impossibly deeper, your bedframe creaking softly, keeping perfect rhythm with his softer pace. It's not the obscene, filthy fucking that you always crave from him, but it has you whimpering his name as your arms wrap around him, your hands grasping onto his shirt as your hips clumsily move against his.
It doesn't take long for you to cum again, his slower, deeper pace coaxing a second orgasm. You fall apart around him, your cunt clamping down onto him like a vice as he fucks you so gently. You hear him let out a long groan, followed by a guttural curse as his rhythm falters, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.
Sylus rocks into you, slow and steady as his hands knead your thighs. He's quiet for a long moment, savoring the way you squeeze him so tightly, savoring how wet you are. It's only when you go limp underneath him that he finally lifts his head, a flicker of fond amusement crossing his features as he sees that you're finally fast asleep.
He stays a moment longer than necessary, his hand coming up to brush a stray strand of your hair out of your face. You look so peaceful, he doesn't have it in him to wake you to clean up.
❥ pairing: sugar daddy/ceo!sylus qin x assistant!reader
❥ summary: “She has spent three years loving a man she cannot have. He has spent three years wanting a woman he won’t allow himself to reach for — until the day he decides, quietly and without hesitation, to reach anyway. What neither of them realises is that they’ve been finding each other all along. She just doesn’t know he’s the one on the other side of the screen yet.”
❥ genre: fluff + angst + smut (18+ mdni)
❥ word count: 50K+??? (I am insane and not normal about sylus <3)
❥ status: ongoing - march 2026
❥ warnings/tags: sugar daddy!sylus, alternative universe, ceo!sylus, yearning/longing, sylus is 39 in this, assistant!reader, sugar baby!reader, power imbalance, eventual boss/employee relationship, idiots in love, mild hurt/comfort, emotional/sensitive!reader, very long fic, banter, sylus the rage baiter. mutual masturbation, sexting, size difference. reader is shorter than sylus. reader is always audhd coded in my writing but anyone can read it. sylus is soft for reader, flirting/teasing, inexperienced/virgin!reader. dry humping, grinding, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom sylus, just in overall soft!sylus. sub!reader, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, overstimulation, size kink, full on daddy kink… I mean… it’s a sugar daddy au. so… <3, oral fixation, breeding kink, praise kink, pet names (kitten. sweetie. sweetheart etc.), multiple sex positions, pleasure dom!sylus, aftercare. mc loves the color pink a lot.
⟶ a/n: HIIIIII here I am with a new fic. as of the moment I am writing this it's still a wip. this fic is probably gonna be over 60k words. either way I still wanted to share the post on tumblr already. I always wanted to write a sugar daddy au BUT didn't find inspiration until RECENTLY. so in the lads server I'm in they are currently doing a 'kink bingo'. it's a little event that writers can participate and write a story around a certain trope. I went with sugar daddy 🤭💖 I said I wasn't gonna write for a while but what can I say… sylus brainrot. he's literally my muse. EITHER way. I hope you enjoy this story. 🥺💖 for anyone wondering… this is how I imagine sylus his build. either way I never know how to write fic in a short format so enjoy another lengthy fic from me again! also because I don’t wanna post it in parts you’ll have a sneakpeek on tumblr but to read the story in its full length you’ll have to head to ao3. thank you and I hope y'all love it as much as I loved writing it! 💘 title inspired by the song 'provider' by sleep token. (I don't normally listen to that type of music but my bestie leah recommended me this song for the fic) 💕💕💕
ps: for anyone wondering… this is how I imagine sylus his build. (without the blood and scratches) 🤭😋🤤🥵🥴🫠😵💫
this goes without saying, but if you don’t like it don’t read it <3
AO3 • masterlist
New York City does not care about your feelings.
This is something you’ve made your peace with over the years — the way it moves around you without slowing down, all noise and glass and cold wind off the Hudson in the early mornings when you’re walking the four blocks from the subway to Linkon Tower, coffee cup in hand, trying to remember if you forwarded that document last night or only dreamed that you did. The city asks nothing of you emotionally. It simply expects you to keep moving.
You are, in this way, well-suited to New York.
What you are less well-suited to — what you have been quietly, privately, catastrophically less well-suited to for approximately three years now — is being in love with your boss.
The elevator opens on the fifty-third floor.
You are fine.
“Good morning.”
His voice reaches you before you’ve fully stepped through the glass doors of the executive suite — low and unhurried, carrying the particular warmth he reserves for very few people, and you are, for reasons that keep you awake sometimes, one of them. Sylus is already at his desk, as he always is, as he has always been every single morning in the three years you’ve worked for him, because the man apparently does not sleep like a normal person. The Manhattan skyline stretches silver and pale behind him through the floor-to-ceiling windows. In the early light, he looks almost painterly — silver hair, dark suit, those red eyes lifting from the document in his hand to find you the moment you walk in, the way they always do, like he has a sense for you specifically.
Like he was waiting.
“Good morning,” you say, and you are very proud of how normal your voice sounds.
“How was the commute?” He asks it with genuine interest, setting his document down, which is one of the things that got you in trouble in the first place. The way he actually listens. The way Sylus, who runs a multi-billion dollar enterprise from this office and commands rooms full of people who are intimidated just by his posture, always has time to ask how your commute was.
“Cold,” you say, unwinding your scarf. “The L train decided this morning was a good time to have an existential crisis.”
“The L train always does that.” He tilts his head slightly. “You should have taken the car.”
“I’m not taking your car to work, Sylus.”
“You could.”
“I know I could. I’m choosing not to.” You drop your bag at your desk and pull out your tablet, already scrolling to his schedule. “It makes me feel like a kept woman.”
The silence that follows is approximately one beat too long.
You look up. Sylus is watching you with an expression you can’t fully decode — something that passed through his eyes too quickly, smoothed back over by the composed, unreadable surface he wears most of the time. The corner of his mouth curves.
“Heaven forbid,” he says mildly, and goes back to his document.
You turn back to your tablet and breathe.
Three years, you remind yourself. You have survived three years of this. You will survive today.
｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡
Here is what three years has taught you about Sylus:
He takes his coffee black, no sugar, too hot for comfort, and he drinks it while standing at the window with Manhattan spread out below him like something he’s quietly fond of. He is pathologically early to everything and has zero patience for people who aren’t, with the single exception of you — for you, he simply comes to find you, appearing at your workspace door with that unhurried patience, as though waiting for you specifically is a different category than waiting in general.
He reads physical documents even though everything could be digital because he thinks better with paper in his hands. He keeps the office two degrees warmer than the building standard because he noticed, in your first winter working for him, that you were always cold. He has never once mentioned this to you directly. You figured it out yourself, six months in, when you checked the building’s climate control records out of sheer curiosity, and you had to sit with that knowledge quietly for a long time afterward.
He is privately, genuinely funny — not the performative wit he turns on in meetings, but something dryer and warmer that surfaces only in the quiet moments, usually aimed at you. He reads in at least four languages. He grew up far from here, far from any of this, and there are moments when something in his expression goes distant and careful and you sense the geography of everything he’s built between himself and whatever came before.
He has never raised his voice at you. Not once. In three years of high-pressure deadlines and impossible situations and the particular chaos that seems to follow a man of his ambition, he has never directed anything at you that wasn’t measured, and considered, and — underneath its careful composure — surprisingly kind.
He is also tall — unreasonably, almost absurdly tall, the kind of tall that means the rest of the world simply exists lower than him — broad-shouldered, white-haired, and red-eyed, and standing next to him, which requires you to tilt your head back at an angle you’ve gotten quietly used to, makes you feel both very small and, inexplicably, very safe.
This is the problem.
This is the entire problem.
｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡
“You have the Meridian Capital call at nine,” you say, following him into his office with your tablet. This is another part of the choreography — the morning briefing, where you trail after him and he listens without looking at you directly, which you have learned means he’s paying the most attention. “Board review at eleven. You have a lunch block—”
“Clear it.”
You glance up. “You specifically asked for that block last week.”
“I know what I asked for last week.” He settles into his chair, leaning back in that easy way of his, long legs stretched under the desk. Even seated, the man is an unfair amount of presence. “Book somewhere for lunch instead. Somewhere quiet — not the Meridian district, I’ll have been on a call with those people for an hour and I’ll want a change of air.” His eyes come to you, and they’re soft in the way they sometimes are when it’s just the two of you and the morning is still early. “Somewhere you’d like. You choose.”
You pause. “You want me to choose.”
“Is that not what I said?”
“You’re very particular about restaurants, Sylus.”
“I’m particular in general,” he concedes. “But I trust your taste.” A brief pause. The softness in his expression doesn’t waver. “Lunch for two, somewhere you’d like. That’s all.”
You look at him for a moment too long — which you do sometimes, which you’ve been doing for three years, and he always holds the look, always lets you, like he has nothing to hide and all the time in the world, which is terrifying because it makes you feel seen — and then you nod and look back at your tablet.
“I’ll find somewhere,” you say.
“I know you will.” He picks up his pen. “You always do.”
｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡
The Meridian call runs long, as you predicted, and you have reorganized two schedules and soothed one very anxious junior analyst by the time it wraps. Sylus emerges from his office at eleven-oh-three, jacket on, expression still and composed from the professional armor he wears in those spaces, and crosses directly to your desk.
He sets a cup of tea down at your elbow.
Your tea — your specific order, the one you’d mentioned offhandedly to him eight months ago and apparently never needed to mention again — brewed at the temperature you like, with the little paper sleeve because the cup gets hot.
“Your eleven o’clock moved to eleven-fifteen,” you tell him, not trusting yourself to acknowledge the tea directly, “which means you have twelve minutes, and also I found a restaurant — it’s on the Upper West Side, French-American, supposed to be very quiet on weekdays—”
“Perfect.” He’s reading something on his phone, already walking, and he pauses at the edge of your workspace and glances back.
“You barely ate this morning.”
You blink. “I ate some cereal. How could you possibly—”
“You have the look,” he says, simply, like this is a perfectly reasonable thing to say. “The one that means you ate something that technically qualified as food and decided it counted.” The faintest curve of his mouth. “It doesn’t count.”
“It absolutely—”
“Book a table for twelve-thirty.” He’s already moving again, unhurried, like the conversation is entirely settled. “I’m not signing a single thing until I know you’ve had a real meal.”
Then he’s gone, moving down the hallway toward the boardroom, and you’re left staring at the empty doorway with your mouth still open and the faint, traitorous warmth of being known so precisely by someone spreading all the way up to your ears.
You close your mouth.
You book the table and then pick up your tea.
It is perfect.
You are in so much trouble.
｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡
The restaurant he lets you choose is a small place tucked between a bookshop and a dry cleaner on West 74th — French in its bones but soft around the edges, the kind of room that smells like butter and old wood and feels completely removed from the city outside. You’re not sure how it stays so quiet in Manhattan. Maybe it exists slightly outside of time.
Sylus ducks slightly to come through the door.
He does this — accommodates the world’s architectures with a patient, practiced ease, as though he accepted a long time ago that most spaces weren’t built for him and has made his peace with it. You notice this more than you should. You notice the way he instinctively adjusts when he’s close to you too — angles himself, shortens his step, never makes you feel like the difference in your heights is anything other than simply the way things are.
The host seats you at a corner table. The light is golden and low.
“This is nice,” Sylus says, and he means it. You’ve gotten good at knowing when he means things.
“I thought you’d like it.” You unfold your menu. “It feels like somewhere you’d eat if you didn’t have to perform anything.”
He goes still for just a moment. Then, quietly: “That’s a very accurate read.”
“Three years,” you say simply.
Something in his expression moves — warm and careful at once, like he’s handling something he doesn’t want to drop. He looks at you across the small table, and in the golden light of this room outside of time he looks different than he does in the office. Younger, almost. Softer. Like the thing he usually holds back with both hands is closer to the surface.
“You’re distracted this week,” he says eventually. Not an accusation — an observation, offered gently, the way he offers you most things. “You hide it well. But I know your face.”
Your heart catches.
I know your face. Said like it’s simply a fact, something true and uncontested, filed away somewhere in him.
“I found something,” you say, because you can never not tell him things, in the end. He does something to your defenses — doesn’t dismantle them, exactly, just makes you feel like they’re not necessary with him, which might be worse. “An apartment. A loft.” You look at your water glass. “I’ve been dreaming about my own place for years. You know how New York is — I’ve been in the same sublet since I moved here, and it’s fine, it’s always been fine, but it’s not mine. Nothing in it is mine.” You smile, self-deprecating. “I walked past a listing last weekend. A loft in the West Village — high ceilings, big windows, exposed brick. There’s a little terrace that looks out over the rooftops and I just — I stood on the sidewalk and looked at it for a long time.”
Sylus is watching you with his full attention — the specific quality of stillness he gets when you’re saying something he wants to remember. His hands are folded on the table. He’s not eating. He’s just listening.
“It needs renovation,” you continue, quieter now. “A lot of it, still. Which is part of why the price is—” You exhale. “The price is a lot. More than a lot. My savings are good, I’ve been careful, but between the listing and the renovation costs it’s just—” You shake your head. “It’s not realistic right now.”
A long pause.
“Tell me about it,” Sylus says.
You blink. “I just—”
“Not the numbers.” His voice is gentle. “The place. Tell me about the loft.”
Oh.
Oh.
You look at him. He looks back, patient and entirely serious, and something in your chest aches in a way you don’t have good language for.
And so you tell him — the arched windows and the way the afternoon light would fall across the floors, the exposed brick that runs the whole length of the far wall, the little wrought-iron terrace barely big enough for two chairs and a plant but somehow perfect, the ceiling height, the bones of it. The way you’d stood on that sidewalk and seen, with a clarity that surprised you, exactly what it could become. What it could be. You tell him all of it, more than you meant to, more than is probably professional over a two-person lunch that you’re already trying not to read too much into.
Sylus listens to every word.
When you finish, he’s quiet for a moment. There’s something in his expression that’s gone a little careful.
“What’s the address?” he says.
You study him. “Why?”
“Because you’ve just described the place you want most in the world,” he says, very simply, “and I’m interested in things that matter to you.”
The ache in your chest deepens. You look at him for a long moment — this man who runs a company from the fifty-third floor of a Midtown tower, who is a decade older than you and a foot taller than you and should by any reasonable accounting be the most intimidating person in your life, and who instead feels, in moments like this, like the safest one.
You give him the address.
You don’t know what he’ll do with it.
You just know, the way you know most things about Sylus, that he’ll do something.
｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡
The afternoon passes the way good afternoons in the office do — with a steady rhythm of tasks and small exchanges, the comfortable back-and-forth that you’ve built between you over three years like a language that only the two of you speak fluently. He stops by your desk at three to ask if you want anything from the coffee cart downstairs, which he would never do for anyone else, and brings you back a hot chocolate without commenting on it. You catch him at five-forty-five standing in the doorway of his office watching you finish up for the day with an expression you aren’t supposed to have seen — unguarded, quiet, something in it that sits low and warm in your stomach for the whole subway ride home.
It doesn’t mean what you want it to mean, you tell yourself, earbuds in, Manhattan rushing past outside the windows.
He’s just kind. He’s kind to you because you work for him and you’ve earned it and that’s all it is.
Forty-three blocks uptown, Sylus stands at his office window with your address on a notepad in his hand and thinks, for a very long time.
I noticed a lot of people liked the manga-style Sylus. I decided to make another one. And based on the card from the game. Sleepy Dragon for your feed. =3
─ ❧ READ WITH CARE: mdni, explicit language, hunter/prey, somewhat hints at reader being extra horny during her ovulation, Sylus the good old cycle tracker, too much teasing and sarcasm, "independent" reader, praise, pet names, edging, a bit of Evol abuse, fingering, mentions of size difference, he's quite drunk on reader's scent
─ ❧ WORD COUNT: 4.4k
─ ❧ LINKS: sylus masterlist | general masterlist | AO3
𖤝 PREMISE: One night, Sylus snuck up on you while you couldn't sleep… which revealed more than one might have ever expected. How not just one part revels in the hunt, but another may enjoy being hunted, or at least entirely caught off guard by his sudden presence. It will lead to more instances of surprise, attitude, and desire.
𖤝A/N: I would like to entirely put the blame on @hayatoseyepatch for enabling too much Sylus talk in private and tickling my brain with her beautifully manicured claws
You should have realised much earlier that giving a man like Sylus access to every tiny reaction your body can offer was a catastrophic mistake.
You always knew he was perceptive. But who could have thought that a startled little whimper would be enough for the fiend to find this much joy in using his Evol less like a weapon and more like a personal tool for amusement?
That tiny sound you let out the first time he appeared soundlessly behind you was the starting shot to a wonderful little game.
You are innocently standing barefoot in his kitchen at three in the morning wearing one of his shirts and absolutely nothing else.
The city glows beyond the penthouse windows, all red lights and distant traffic, while you lean sleepily against the marble counter while waiting for the kettle to finish boiling. You're half-awake at best, hair mussed from the bed and sleep, with an expression so soft that Sylus can't help but treasure it far too much.
You don't hear him arrive, which is barely a surprise since he likely snuck around a few places again. So, one moment you are alone while absentmindedly rubbing at your tired eyes, then the next, there is suddenly warmth. A solid, broad, masculine warmth which presses against your spine as an arm slides around your waist.
Your breath catches so quickly it is most impossible to hide it.
"Sylus—" The sound leaves you embarrassingly soft. More breath than word, and in response, his grip tightens.
"Oh?" His voice drifts against the shell of your ear, velvet-smooth and devastatingly pleased with himself. "That was cute."
The mist still curling around him dissipate slowly as his Evol fades, revealing broad shoulders draped in black and crimson eyes now fixed entirely on you as he perches his chin on your shoulder. His hand remains warm against your hip above the fabric of his shirt, his fingertips flexing once to test whether you'll make that sound again.
Heat flashes through your stomach at the shit-eating grin you can hear in his voice. "You absolute prick—"
"You were smiling before I interrupted you." His nose nudges slowly beneath your jaw, where he breathes in the lingering notes of your perfume with shameless indulgence. "You were thinking about me."
"I was trying to make myself some tea because I couldn't sleep in that big bed on my own." Nothing but a sweet attempt at keeping your dignity, if the intention wasn't so utterly charming.
"Mhm.. that's even sweeter, kitten." The low hum vibrates with amusement.
You hate how quickly you fold around him. The way your pulse flutters the second he touches you. The way your thighs threaten to press together when his mouth lingers too long against your neck.
His fingers flex once more at your waist before his head lowers slightly for his hair to tickle your temple as he inhales yet again—slower and far more obvious.
Mortification floods your body when you hear him chuckle.
"Sylus." You try to warn him, try your best at keeping your pride, but you both know very well what he is referring to with that amused tone.
"You're rather sensitive tonight," murmured most charmingly with gentle lips that tickle the shell of your ear.
"I am not! You simply frightened me!" Your bravery roars into a hissy fit, though his chuckle practically melts against your skin. "But I love the fact that I can hear your heartbeat racing. It is adorable, sweetie."
You open your mouth to argue, only for his fingers to slide slowly beneath the hem of the shirt resting against your thigh. "Do you need me?" breathed along the curve of your neck, as if he can sense the slick between your thighs from his mere presence.
You try to twist away from him, only for his other hand to brace against the cupboards beside your head, so he may cage you in effortlessly. The movement is lazy and entirely too self-assured, because Sylus knows you won't get very far.
"Don't keep doing that," you mumble, but he cuts you off with a challenge. "Doing what?" He acts so sweetly innocent with his head tipped to the side while adoring that flustered anger in your expression.
"This creepy sneaking up on me and disappearing thing!" The fantastically composed explanation of his Evol causes Sylus to actually sound amused as he coos at you most sarcastically and echoes, "creepy?"
"You appear out of nowhere!" You begin in disbelief over the fact he seems so oblivious to what he does to your heart. "Yes, but…" he chimes in softly, "you made that pretty little noise for me. How could I not be tempted to do it more often from now on?"
Oh, he is unbearable tonight. You can feel the smugness radiating off him now.
Crimson eyes meet yours beneath the low lighting, though one of them radiates that energy that always pulls you in too deep.
Sylus enjoys studying every reaction he drags from your body, he is a collector of the finest and rarest things… and you fall right into that category, too.
"You know," he muses while lazily brushing his thumb along your jaw, "I originally only did it because you seemed so oblivious for once."
Your stomach tightens and your system feels like someone overfloods it with information. "Originally?" Barely more than a whisper as you stare up at his eyes.
"Mhm," Sylus hums for you while his gaze drops to your mouth.
"And now?" The question comes out even quieter than intended, causing one corner of his mouth to lift.
"Now? Forgive me, but it seems as though you want me to continue, sweetie." The honesty in his voice makes heat crawl all the way down your spine. "Ah, so you do want me to continue, as well." That dangerous, fascinated expression he gets whenever he discovers something new about you reappears upon those added words. Ruby eyes sharpen to the point Sylus looks like he wants to you pull apart and examine you with greedy hands.
"You're aroused already," he notes softly out of left field. That startles you for sure, and lands a punch against his shoulder paired with another warning hiss of "Do you have a death wish!?"
With a feigned look of hurt that is soon covered up beneath a satisfied smirk he continues his verbal attack on your dignity as he whispers, "will you make that sound for me again then?"
Then he leans down slightly to encapsulate your figure entirely while his lips brush near your ear. "Do it again."
The whisper alone nearly ropes you in. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the counter as his hand continues its slow path higher along your bare thigh beneath the oversized shirt. Not enough to truly touch, just enough to make your pulse race.
"Sylus," you warn weakly since your voice sounds more like desire than rejection.
"Yes, sweetheart?" His nose drags lightly beneath your jaw as he inhales yet again, then, he sighs under his breath. "Oh, you poor thing," murmured almost sympathetically despite the smugness woven through every word. "Now I understand."
"Understand what?"
"Why I can't stop doing it." And before you can recover, he vanishes again.
You blink in disbelief before searching the kitchen for him. But there is no energy for you to expose, there is nothing but the beating of your heart at the sudden emptiness surrounding you. "Sylus?"
Silence. The penthouse suddenly feels too large and too quiet and too much.
You still don't understand what he was talking about, but you also leave yourself little time to wonder since your feet carry you through the darkened rooms.
Though you barely have enough time to blink before arms wrap around your waist from the opposite side of where you were looking. You practically jolt out of your skin with a sharp gasp that dissolves into another helpless whine when Sylus's chest meets your back again.
And this time? This time he groans, he actually groans right against your neck. "Fuck," a low muttered curse to himself rather than to you. His pants feel uncomfortable already thanks to the sound of your fear.
Your face burns hot enough to melt steel due to his antics. "You are genuinely sick in the head." But your body reacts just as much as his to this game of hunter and hunted—far too much for your liking.
Plus, you can't possibly say such mean things and expect Sylus not to revel in it. The back-and-forth, the hissy sound of your voice, the smell of your arousal… it is all most adorable. "And yet, you like it," he whispers into your soul before pressing a kiss against your neck.
"I do not."
"Sweetheart." His lips brush the sensitive spot beneath your ear. "You're trembling with want."
Unfortunately, you are. Because something about Sylus focusing on you like this feels catastrophic. His attention is overwhelming on a normal day; but when he becomes fixated on something, it turns dangerous very quickly.
And right now? Right now he seems utterly obsessed with the way your body reacts to him.
— ❦
The second notable instance happens weeks later, after Sylus has become utterly intolerable about it. By now, he sneaks up on you constantly; be it in corridors, in lifts, in the foggy bathroom.
Sometimes he will simply do it to amuse himself. Other times because he enjoys watching your composure collapse the second his voice appears beside your ear. But the worst of all? Your body has started anticipating him. And you hate that he has caught up on that.
Tonight, you're searching for him in one of the clubs he owns, the shared tracker led you here after the hour ran way later than what was agreed on. The lower floors are still alive with music and chatter, all gold lights and expensive perfume, but the private halls upstairs remain dim and quiet.
Here, you round the corner toward his office with careful steps, because something has been feeling off ever since you stepped foot into the location. As if many eyes were already on your back; and that feeling didn't stop. Not when you ascended the stairs, not even when you made it into the furthest corner of the building.
Rather than knocking, you freeze in the darkened space because you realise exactly what just happened. You anticipated to be scared again, a little part of your brain hoped for Sylus to step out of the shadows and overwhelm you again.
You want to curse yourself for it, but there is little time for such a gesture once a familiar laugh sounds from the darkness ahead; a low and knowing sound that pricks at your pride.
"Kitten…" The voice drawls most smug and so satisfied that heat floods your face and a snarky little "Shut up," follows right away.
Sylus emerges from the shadow near the doorway, tall and unbothered as always, though the loosened collar and rolled sleeves suggest a very long evening. "You slowed down," his gaze sweeps slowly over you before it lingers on your expression with unconcealed joy.
"I did not." The retort makes him smile; smile in a way he never would in front of anyone else because you are simply too cute to resist.
"You did," Sylus whispers as he boops the tip of your nose like a man ready to die. "You expected me tonight. Or did you miss me too much? Is that why you came out here? At this an hour?"
Creased brows, a down-turned mouth, and lastly a roll of your eyes. All signs of danger a wild animal would understand and grace you with space. Sylus, instead, crowds you further.
Because you grow so cute when he pushes just a little too much. When the walls crumble from the sheer attention he places solely on you now that you are once again trapped between his body and the next best object.
"N-no," Curse yourself and that little stutter Sylus steals from you. With a sigh you gather your wits and add, "I expected you to be annoying. But you didn't come back to the base at all."
"Mhm, similar things." He leans towards you leisurely, with hands tucked into his pockets while you instinctively retreat a single step. The smile that spreads across his face is catastrophic. "You were supposed to be tucked away in bed. And yet you're out here, looking for me. You're a little too brave."
"And you're impossible," yet another defenceless however defensive grumble.
"And you," he murmurs with almost too much love laced into every syllable, "have become very snappy again." He notes while his hand reaches up to cup your face and lightly squeeze your cheeks.
The hallway suddenly feels too narrow, much too warm. Slowly, Sylus adjusts his hold to brush his knuckles along your cheek with infuriating gentleness. "You know what interests me most?" he asks quietly.
You don't mean to entertain Sylus further, you know these trick question will always lead to your downfall. And yet here you are, much less like the feisty kitten and more like a lamb led to the slaughter, as you tilt your head up and ask, "What?"
His thumbs drags over your lower lip first while his gaze follows the movement with envy, then Sylus speaks. "The anticipation before I touch you," mentioned casually while he still admires the softness of your lips before finally focusing on your gaze again. "You have started reacting before I even lay a hand on you now."
Your body shifts instinctively, which turns out to be an immediate mistake on your part as you can witness in real time how his expression changes.
A flutter of your lashes is needed to adjust your sight, because momentarily you imagined his pupils to look like thin slits before they suddenly dilate. Intrigue or perhaps possessiveness flickers across his features before being buried beneath calm amusement once more.
And something about your reaction seems to wreck Sylus equally so. Perhaps it was that soft inhale of air, or the fact he can feel your cheeks burning against his fingertips.
"Sweetheart." The pet name snaps you out of it, brings you back to focus on the man standing in front of you now that Sylus leans in closer and brushes his lips against yours. "You're making it very difficult to behave."
Your stomach swoops dangerously at the roughness in his voice while a nervous chuckle seems like your best attempt at a reaction as your bravado flutters away in time with your heart. "You never behave."
A chaste kiss that leaves you starving for more and a almost guilty sounding murmur of "True," are the last traces of Sylus before he suddenly disappears inside the club. You stumble forward into the space he just occupied, your mind still clouded by the kiss before the cold reality of emptiness greets you.
There is a split second after Sylus vanishes where your body betrays you completely as anticipation crackles through your bloodstream before your mind can catch up.
"No, Sylus!" You hiss out into the thrumming boom of the music below and the empty space on the top floor. You know what he wants, you know he wants you to go find him, to stumble around again only for Sylus to sweep you off your feet. And you're having none of it, nothing at all.
"I'm not falling for this!" You speak more to yourself than to the man in question. Every nerve ending lights up at once as your palm presses against the wall for some fickle sense of security. You said you wouldn't fall for it, and yet, your feet have already begun to move.
You quietly follow along the carpet-lined hallway that should lead to Sylus's office. You know he's close, you are very sure he is watching. And the worst part? You wait for him too, because you like the game he plays.
But his office is empty and almost entirely dark safe for the desk lamp which flickers lightly. It bothers you more than you would ever care to admit that Sylus did in fact not startle you, that he didn't reappear and drape himself over your back like a weighted blanket.
Yes, you feel disappointed and a little empty… and quite impatient. Until warm hands slide up your curves and around your waist from behind, which causes your spine to stiffen. Sylus's chuckle is muffled as his forehead settles briefly against your shoulder. "Boo."
You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, try to compose whatever joy you felt and instead sigh deeply to feign annoyance. "Please stop sounding so pleased with yourself."
"But kitten, I am pleased." His fingers flex against your stomach again to hold you just a little tighter against himself then. "Very." He adds for you to understand how much he means these sarcastic words.
Then, Sylus exhales harshly against your neck. "God." Your knees nearly weaken at the sudden shift of his tone again, and perhaps it is a good thing he has already been eager to stabilise your weight.
"Sylus…"
"Your scent…" His hand splays against your stomach possessively while his lips travel slowly along the curve of your throat. If he could, he would most likely savour the way your breathing keeps falling apart for him. "You smell incredible when I catch you off guard," he admits quietly. "Not just then, but especially tonight again..."
The confession sends heat spiralling straight through you down to your core, where you tighten around nothing and yearn for everything Sylus could give.
Unfortunately for you, you fail to notice the way your ass rubs against his crotch. Fortunately for Sylus, he is very much aware of the way you're grinding on him. "Oh, sweetheart," he says softly, though you feel the amused huff of air he exhales. "Have I trained you already?"
Before you can recover, he shifts again. What was once solid, has turned untouchable as red mist swirls around you in an almost playful way. It feels warm yet cool all at once, and the breath leaves your lungs in frustration. "Sylus, don't you dare—"
Of course he wouldn't dare too much, not when you sound this needy. Right away, he stands between the cramped space of the desk and your body to wrap his arms around you and pull you flush against him. It's a delicious feeling now that your breasts are squished against his own and your breathing mingles in the scant space between.
And the worst part? The absolute worst part? The sound that leaves you then. So needy and soft enough to barely exist. But Sylus hears it anyway, actually, his entire body registers your desire. "You are so cute," he murmurs.
"Sylus…" Then one large hand slides up the back of your neck, for his fingers to thread into your hair as he searches the depths of your soul with pupils blown dark beneath crimson irises. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
You can't think of a witty response. Not when he's looking at you like he wants to consume you whole. His thumb coaxes your mouth to open, for him to tug lightly on your bottom lip. "I could spend hours sneaking up on you just to hear it again."
He notices your fluttering pulse too, obviously. It's the sole reason for that brief smirk ghosting across his mouth before he leans down. "Poor thing," he whispers against your mouth, then nudges the tip of his nose against yours. "We should go home now, wouldn't you like that?"
— ❦
The third note-worthy time happens late at night in his bedroom after an argument. Not a serious one. Just enough bickering to leave tension simmering beneath your skin.
You're irritated with him. Sylus is entertained by you being irritated with him. A disastrous combination.
You finish changing in the adjoining bathroom before stepping back into the darkened bedroom while wearing little more but a thin camisole and shorts. The curtains remain open for crimson moonlight to spill across the sheets and dark furniture.
The room appears empty, which causes your eyes to narrow immediately. It's suspiciously empty. "Sylus?"
When no answer follows, you feel your pulse beginning to flutter. It's like your willingly stepping into yet anotjer trap, because this is exactly the sort of thing he would do.
"You're childish," you mutter while climbing into bed anyway. Yet the silence remains.
While you pretend at ignoring the awareness prickling over your skin, your mind is running at top speed. He could be anywhere—watching, waiting for precisely the right moment to pounce.
The thought alone sends warmth curling low in your stomach. Which is exactly why you're doomed.
But you fail to notice the flicker of the bedside lamp before strong arms suddenly cage you against the mattress.
A gasp tears from your throat as Sylus materialises directly above you, one hand planted beside your head while the other catches your waist beneath the blankets.
And the sound you make, that helpless, breathy whimper absolutely ruins him. His eyes close briefly as though physically pained by it. "Again," he says immediately, voice rougher than you've heard all evening during the tense conversation.
"Sylus!"
"You can't be angry with me anymore." He exhales shakily against your cheek before ghosting his lips far too close to yours. "Not when you react so perfectly still."
The familiar temperature spike greets you once more, as the hand resting on your waist slides lower beneath the blankets. Sylus traces slowly over your hip through thin fabric while his gaze remains fixed on your face.
"You anticipated me tonight," he murmurs. "I could smell it the second I walked into the room."
Mortification crashes through you because you would never want to admit such a thing after an argument.
"You're awful," is your best chance at denial.
"And you're very… instinct-driven tonight," Sylus whispers before kissing your cheek. You know immediately what he is referring to. How your emotions were a little more aggravated again, how the entire argument even took place, and how you now look at him like his attention would be enough to fix your attitude.
His mouth brushes yours lightly to coax you further into forgiveness. "Should I make it better?" Sylus whispers into your ear in that suggestive tone he reserves just for you, no mocking to be found at the moment.
He hears the breath leave your lungs, feels your fingers trail along his biceps before they come to rest at his nape and curl into his hair.
"Yes."
The whispered consent is enough to bring a smile to your lover's lips.
There is a brief pause before his fingers finally slip beneath the waistband of your shorts. You gasp softly into his mouth, and he groans in response to finding out just how wet you are.
"There," he mutters, while peppering kisses left and right against your cheek and throat. "You like it this much when I scare you?" he can't refuse but tease you just a little to feel your hips buck against his fingers. "Or is our argument to blame?" he muses while gathering more of your slick.
"Sylus…" You already sigh his name in that slightly annoyed however needy way. His forehead presses briefly against yours, offering you comfort while a single digit pushes into you.
By no means deep, and never enough to satisfy the aching warmth pooling low in your stomach. "You become so soft when I surprise you," he says quietly. "And so responsive, kitten."
Your fingers fist against his shirt as another trembling sound escapes you the moment his touch grows firmer. "I know," he breathes most comfortingly while visibly losing his composure now. "Sweetheart…"
The tension in the room thickens rapidly after that. Every small reaction of yours feeds him. Each gasp and startled little whine, every shaky breath he manages to drag from your lungs with those torturously slow touches that rub your clit so perfectly.
One second his mouth is against your throat, then a soft smack against the sensitive bundle of nerves startles you to claw lightly at his broad shoulders before all sensation vanishes entirely.
You're panting now, heart hammering not just from excitement but the realisation that this… charming asshole has edged you just to get a rise out of this once more. Like he hasn't been able to enjoy overwhelming you enough as of late.
A groan of annoyance cuts through the stillness of the moment as you try to find your big girl voice, not the trembling mess Sylus has made of you. But before you can truly will yourself up, before too much lust between your thighs disappears, you are pulled back when you least expect it.
Suddenly you're not just held against Sylus, but seated on top of him with your legs spread wide over his own and your ass nestled against his aching bulge. The momentum steals another helpless cry from your lips as his hands roam your body.
"Sylus—" Though by the time you manage to moan his name, his fingers have long reclaimed all he abandoned before. His big hand covers your pussy, where his fingers dive deep into your fluttering walls while his palm pressures relentlessly against your clit for your body to quiver and twitch from pleasure.
"I've got you," Sylus murmurs so softly, while kissing along your neck like the sweetest angel. You feel his touch change, the intention behind it shifting for waves of pleasure to ripple inside your core.
Like a man utterly consumed by the sight before him, Sylus lingers on your profile as he watches every expression that crosses your face like it's an unholy confession.
The slight parting of your lips followed by the devastatingly cute gesture of you pressing your mouth shut once you try your best to suppress those exact noises he feeds off. Though it's the telltale sign of your thighs tensing whenever the deep thrusts of his fingers catch you off guard again, that frees them.
Those sweet, involuntary little noises he has grown addicted to. "Beautiful," he murmurs as your breathing finally breaks apart completely. "Look what happens when we play together," Sylus goes on, though his whispers are almost overshadowed by the squelching wetness of your pussy as he works you towards your high.
You can barely think by then. Especially not when he keeps mumbling into your skin about how good you feel and how sweet you smell with a voice warm enough to melt ice while sensation winds tighter and tighter inside you.
Your head falls back against his shoulder in surrender just as your legs snap shut around his thrusting fingers, burying the cruel instruments of pleasure until his knuckles are coated in your juices and the tremors of your orgasm squeeze tightly.
A whiny cry, much louder than those adorable noises he's been enjoying so very much as of late, follows upon the coaxing, "There you go," Sylus says quietly.
"That's my girl." The final startled whimper he pulls from your throat sends you completely over the edge. And Sylus looks devastatingly satisfied about it as he helps you work yourself through your high and come down from this intoxicating little game.
please consider reblogging if you managed to read up to here :)
Finished all the Spring banner stories and my thoughts are lingered on the Sylus one. 👀
Sylus x fem!reader — you smell amazing | smut |
warnings: breeding, mating press, squirting. >.> not beta’d we die 💀
ever since you’ve landed in these hot springs, your mind is dizzy. sylus’ scent changes to the exact thing that you want. when you want. he’s awfully smug about it these days too. all animals are latched onto him like he is their messiah, and then… there’s you. gulping loudly, swallowing thickly, sweating at the forehead and awfully distracted because your man has never been more… sexier. your body is reacting on a physical level to this shit. god damn…
“someone is very obvious now.” sylus hums smugly, watching your nose glide against his bicep like he’s cocaine. and you’re a struggling addict.
you pinch him gently, “i know you love this all too much, me acting like an omega in heat.” you huff, but you don’t move from him. you are bold, yes, but this is making you nauseatingly needy.
you straddle his lap next, making sure to nestle yourself perfectly on his bulge. “i can’t… just let you be smug all you want.” you hold his face in one hand.
sylus’ eyes are glowing, a lazy grin plastered on his face as he raises his hands in mock surrender. “uh oh, this kitten loves her catnip.”
his large and looming hands knead at your ass. “didn’t you want to go out on an adventure today?” he purrs, leaning in against the shell of your ear in a low, reverberating hum that echoes through your core. “or do you want to change plans into staying at home. unable to move… when i’m done with you, hm?”
before you could retort in a sarcasm laced response, his big hand wraps around your neck, squeezing at the sides and reminding you just how good it feels to be loved by sylus. you gasp softly, and that opportunity is bagged by your dragon instantly. tongue shoved against your mouth with a carnal, almost-brute like growl.
you suckle at his tongue, shoulders slumping in relaxation, it’s short lived. the heat pooling in your gut is the biggest distraction that makes you greedy and insatiable right now. sylus chuckles softly, his melodious, borderline mocking laugh. he is reveling in this. being wanted. he is always wanted, however… this scratches an itch in his brain that is only animalistic. you are going crazy on his scent.
you feel feverish with the way goosebumps prickle on your skin, body having a mind of her own as you grind up against him. he purrs, “it’s okay kitten. i will give you what you want. until you beg me to stop.”
oh this man—
before you could say anything else. you’re flipped on your back on the bed, sylus mounting you instantly, your clothes are ripped off, the sound of fabric giving up only makes you giggle. it signifies that you’re not the only one who is insatiable; matched with his glowing eyes and the way he smirks… like he would eat you alive. bones and soul.
your legs are hiked up, knees on your shoulders as your leaking cunt gets exposed to him. “oh… kitten. this is the scent that beats all others…” sylus purrs, leaning into it and taking a deep whiff of you. you whine at his words, and the way your walls twitch around nothing for more.
your brain is numbed, yet, your hands reflexively lean up to fondle with his pants and zip. “ah ah…” he swats your hand with a hum. “be patient, kitten.”
his thick, vein decorated cock nestles against your bare skin. reaching your navel. angry and pulsing on his own. “i will ruin you so good...” he chuckles, watching it, musing with a sickness and imagining first hand how deep his cock will reach. it gives him a dirty satisfaction. your body unable to do anything at all but take, and take, and take what he plans to give you.
he slides in to the hilt, white happy trail caressing your clit as he shifts his hips to bury his cock deep. the way it feels is almost violating all the time. no matter how many times you take sylus, no matter how many times you’ve cockwarmed him. it feels like something that shouldn’t exist. your poor rim stretches paper thin around his base.
“hnn- oh god-“ you shake your head. “please- sylus-“
then he starts moving, not slow. oh- shit— not slow at all. every thrust feels like he is ploughing your body from the inside. balls slapping against your crack. the way his scent engulfs you right now, makes you dizzy. eyes rolling backwards in pure, unadulterated surrender.
your gaze has never turned submissive more quickly, it’s all him. the way you squirm for relief, hands pinned above your head instantly. “no no. don’t you dare run away from me.” he taps your cheek softly, no— it’s not a slap. it does ground you innately however.
“i told you kitten-“ his voice sounds jerky with the way his cock is bullying your pussy. thrusts sharp and brutal, kissing your cervix every single time. fat mushroom tip spearing your insides hollow. “i will make sure you stay here and take it. you wanted this didn’t you?”
you nod like a bobble head. “hnngh- ha- yeah- yeah i wanted this-“ you shake your head, lean it back. anything and everything to get used to the mind-numbing pleasure he is giving you.
“then spray on me. hmm? go on… i won’t let you go unless you squirt on me.” he chuckles darkly, hand leaning down to rub your clit in circles, all in tandem with his thrusts. his hand wrapping around both your wrists pinning and tightening further.
you feel the familiar coil in your body snap, and gush around him. spraying down his abs and orgasming so intensely it feels like you’re seizing. “oh good girl-“
“that’s it, gooood girl.” his cock jumps against your fluttering pussy. “massage my cock, just like that.” he commands, watching how your core twitches and clenches. he topples off the edge, hot and sticky seed breeding and coating your walls.
it satiates something inside you that you couldn’t name. but knew it needed to be satiated…
he turns you on your belly immediately after, one crisp slap falling on the curve of your ass cheek. “oh? did you think we’re done, kitten?”
it’s going to be a long night. good thing you’re just as insatiable as your dragon. 🙂↔️
Anime Trashbin @loquacious-libra - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
