Sylas of Dregbourne/Sylas X reader
It's my first time writing, something like this so I hope it will be readable. English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes.
Tw. NSFW, minors do not interact!!
You weren’t born with magic. In Demacia, that should have made you safe - another loyal citizen, head down, serving the kingdom like any other person. But years of watching the Mageseekers drag people away, of seeing fear in the eyes of children who accidentally lit a candle with more than a match, changed you. You were a tactician by trade: sharp-minded, trained in strategy, logistics, and turning ragtag groups into something dangerous. When Sylas escaped and the rebellion began to stir, you made your choice.
You joined them.
At first, they were suspicious. A Demacian non-mage with a high-ranking position offering help? But you proved your worth quickly. You mapped secret supply routes that avoided patrols, recruited disillusioned soldiers and common folk who had no magic but plenty of rage against the unjust system. You turned whispers into coordinated strikes. Your strategies helped them ambush convoys, steal weapons, and spread the message that the revolution wasn’t just for mages - it was for anyone tired of living under tyranny.
And through it all, Sylas watched you.
The rebel leader was a force of nature, his presence alone could silence a room. Yet he started seeking you out after every successful operation. Late-night strategy meetings turned into long conversations about justice, freedom, the demacia's better future. He respected your mind. You admired his fire.
Respect slowly became something hotter. Lingering touches when passing maps. Intense eye contact across the fire. The way his voice softened just a fraction when he said your name.
Tonight, after a particularly bold raid that went off without a hitch thanks to your planning, the rebels celebrated in one of their hidden forest camps. Cheap, strong Demacian beer flowed freely. You’d had more than a few mugs yourself, cheeks flushed, laughing with the others at camp. Sylas sat beside you on a fallen log, his massive frame taking up most of the space. He’d been drinking too, though it took a lot more to affect him. His usual intense stare had softened into something softer.
“You’ve done a lot to our cause, more than some mages.” he said lowly. His hand rested on your knee, thumb tracing slow circles. “Why? You could’ve stayed safe in the city living a more comfortable life.”
You looked up at him. “Because it’s right. I hate watching people disappear, families being destroyed, children being punished for something they don't control."
The air between you crackled. The celebration continued around you, but the world narrowed to just the two of you. Sylas’s grip tightened. Without another word, he stood and pulled you up with him, leading you away from the firelight into the shadows of the trees to his own tent.
Inside, the tent was dimly lit by a single lantern. Simple furs covered the ground, maps and weapons lay scattered on a low table, and a sturdy cot stood against one side. Sylas poured two more mugs of alcohol from a jug on the table and handed you one.
He took a long drink, then leaned against the table watching you with those piercing eyes.
“Tonight we hit one of their supply lines,” he said, voice low and thoughtful. “But it’s never enough. The nobles sit in their golden halls, feasting while the rest of us scrape by. The Mageseekers, the elite families, the king’s lapdogs, they hoard power and fear everything that may take it away. We need to do more for Demacia to turn into the better place” His lips curled into a dark smile. “We need to strip Demacia of its rotten aristocracy until nothing’s left but ashes and a chance to build something new.”
You took a sip of the beer stepping closer. The words sent a thrill through you: dangerous, righteous, intoxicating. “The ones like me who’ve watched people disappear. We’re all tired of being told our place is to serve and stay silent. Your revolution… it’s giving people like me a blade too.”
Sylas’s eyes darkened with approval. He set his mug down and closed the distance, towering over you. One large hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle.
“You’re not just useful,” he murmured, voice dropping. “You understand. Most people fight for themselves or their families. You fight for everyone. That mind of yours… the way you turn their own system against them… it’s more dangerous than you think” His thumb traced your lower lip. “You make me believe we can actually win.”
The tension that had been building for months thickened in the small space. You reached up, resting your palm against his broad chest. You could feel the steady thrum of his heart and the faint glow of magic pulsing beneath your fingers.
“I truly believe we will win because regimes as unjust as Demacia always fall” you whispered. “I want to be part of this. With you.”
Sylas exhaled sharply, he cupped your face with both hands and kissed you - slow at first, as if savoring the moment. But hunger quickly took over. The kiss deepened, turning heated and possessive. His tongue swept into your mouth, tasting of alcohol and smoke, while his hands slid down your sides, pulling your body flush against his.
He walked you backward until your legs hit the edge of the cot, then lowered you onto the furs without breaking the kiss. His massive frame settled over you, careful not to crush you, but heavy enough that you felt deliciously pinned. His mouth moved to your jaw, then your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin leaving marks, until you were gasping and arching beneath him.
“Every night I’ve thought about this,” he growled against your throat, his voice rough with need. “Watching you lean over those maps"
His hands were everywhere, pushing up your shirt, calloused palms sliding over your bare skin. He pulled the fabric over your head and tossed it aside, then did the same with the rest of your clothes until you laid completely bare beneath him. Sylas sat back on his knees for a moment, drinking in the sight of you with dark, hungry eyes.
“Beautiful,” he muttered. “So fucking precious"
He leaned down again, mouth latching onto one of your breasts. His tongue swirled around your nipple before he sucked it into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to make you moan. His other hand kneaded your other breast, pinching and rolling the nipple between his fingers. You tangled your fingers in his dark hair, holding him close as heat pooled between your thighs.
Sylas didn’t rush. He worshipped your body with his mouth - kissing down your stomach, nipping at your hips, spreading your thighs wide with his strong hands. He settled between your legs, his hot breath teasing your core.
“Look at you,” he rasped, eyes locked on your wet folds. He dragged his tongue slowly up your slit, savoring the taste. You cried out, hips bucking. Sylas chuckled darkly and held you down with one arm across your hips. Then he devoured you - licking, sucking, and fucking you with his tongue like a man starved. Two thick fingers joined soon after, curling deep inside you and stroking that perfect spot while his mouth focused on your clit.
The pleasure built relentlessly. Your thighs trembled around his head, moans spilling freely as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. Just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled back, lips shiny with your arousal, and kissed his way back up your body.
“Not yet,” he murmured against your lips. “I want to feel you come around me.”
You reached down, palming the massive bulge in his pants. He groaned at your touch. With impatient hands, you helped free him—his thick, heavy cock springing out, flushed and leaking. You stroked him slowly, marveling at his size and the way he throbbed in your hand.
Sylas chuckled through his teeth, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Careful… or this will end faster than I want.”
He gently moved your hand away and positioned himself between your thighs. The blunt head of his cock rubbed against your slick entrance, teasing, coating himself in your wetness. Then, with a slow, powerful thrust, he pushed inside.
You gasped at the stretch, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you inch by inch until he was buried to the brim. Sylas groaned deeply, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.
“Fuck… so tight. So perfect.”
He stayed still for a long moment, letting you adjust, kissing you deeply. Only when you started rocking your hips did he begin to move - long, deep strokes that made the cot creak beneath you. The chains on his wrists clinked rhythmically with every thrust. He kept the pace steady at first, grinding against your clit with each roll of his hips, then gradually fucked you harder, deeper, losing himself in the feeling.
One hand gripped your thigh, spreading you wider. The other braced beside your head as he drove into you. Sweat glistened on his skin. Your moans mixed with his growls, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the tent.
“Sylas-please-harder-”
He obliged, pounding into you with powerful strokes. His mouth found your neck again, sucking fresh marks as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you.
“Come for me,” he commanded. The orgasm hit you like a storm - walls pulsing hard around his cock as you cried out his name, body shaking. Sylas followed moments later with a deep groan, burying himself as deep as possible while he spilled inside you, hot and thick.
He collapsed over you, careful to keep most of his weight on his elbows. For a long while, only heavy breathing filled the tent. He finally rolled to the side and pulled you against his broad chest, strong arms wrapping around you protectively, one hand stroking your back.
“You’re mine now,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “The revolution… and you. I protect what’s mine.”
You smiled, still flushed and satisfied, nuzzling into his warmth, thinking and dreaming about the fall of the cruel Demacian regime.