જ⁀➴ ✉︎ pairing: sylus x mc!reader | summary: after a mission gone wrong, you make your way to sylus' base and force yourself to train.
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ tags + warnings: angst, hurt to comfort, soft sylus, mentions of blood and injury, training until injury, self-deprecating thoughts, mentions of fighting, hugging and kissing, sylus offering comfort, protective sylus, no y/n, one-shot | wc: 1.9k+ | author's note: i think i tagged everything but pls let me know if i missed anything. title from heavy by the marias
you’re deep within the confines of sylus’ base, tucked inside a training room that was all black mats and stone walls. the stale air sits silently around you—the only thing permeating it the panting of your breath and the thumps of your fists as they assault a punching bag.
an artillery of weapons lines the walls around you. you neglect them all in favor of the rubber underneath your fists, inhaling the sting like you deserved it.
and didn’t you?
scenes from today's mission flash between your eyes. you were caught off guard, ambushed by wanderers because of your carelessness.
you throw a punch, and it is like you can feel their tendrils wrapping around you again. it’s suffocating.
in the end, you took one of them down before fleeing out the abandoned building you’d been sent to scout. you didn’t even accomplish your mission, instead, running back to headquarters like a dog with its tail between its legs.
at headquarters, you did your due diligence of reporting what had gone wrong, namely admitting to all the intel you didn't secure. how could you fail at the only thing in life you’ve ever wanted to work towards?
you punch harder. red bruises begin to bloom at the tips of your knuckle. a strange satisfaction blooms from this, as if seeing proof of your efforts will make you more adept.
this is, perhaps, the worst part. the mission had been relatively simple: get in, collect information, maybe take down a few wanderers along the way, and get out.
you had done almost none of that.
that’s why you’re here, opting to get as far away from the hunter’s association as possible. what better place than the n109 zone?
when you arrived earlier in the evening, sylus was nowhere to be found. such was what you were hoping for.
you had gotten patched up at the association just in case. after the battle, you were left with a shallow but nasty gash on your forehead and several bruises to the torso.
god forbid sylus see you with an open wound, otherwise, he'd raise hell before even asking what it was from.
it was only after you arrived though, did a memory from a few months ago surface. one that certainly didn't help the shame brewing in your chest.
it was a rare instance when the both of you had run into trouble in the n109 zone. a pack of petty thieves who had chosen the wrong people to target.
when the encounter escalated from verbal threats to physical, sylus had pushed you out of the way, absorbing a nasty punch all for the sake of protecting you.
he dealt with the rest of them no problem, and with your help, but after it was over—and the thieves lay half dead in the alleyway—you had turned to him with narrow eyes and a crease between your brows.
"why would you do that?" you asked, hand coming up to push against his shoulder.
he didn't budge.
"you mean protect you?" he said, with wide eyes and a look that bordered on shock. as if he couldn't believe you'd deny his protection.
"i didn't need you to take the hit for me," you had told him, turning away. "i can handle myself."
and from then on, sylus took care of you, but he didn't protect you. at least, not in the same way. he is always there, always hovering, but never overprotective, as if your brief confession to him was all-telling about the care you were willing to receive.
this memory lingers in your mind again as you continue your assault on the punching bag. your hand shoots out, harder than the last time, and you can't help but wonder if sylus sees something about you that you don't.
that maybe you can't handle yourself as well as you thought you could.
and if you couldn't even hold your own in a fight... then what else was there for you to claim prowess for?
the next punch breaks skin.
your knuckles sting as they split.
you wonder how far you can go until your body gives in.
by this hour of night, you feel the toll. the exhaustion settles deep in your lungs and heavy in your feet. but the pain does little to deter you.
in the back of your mind, there is a nagging voice. a fear that maybe one day, you will be ten times as injured and met with the presence of a wanderer.
you have to fight.
what will you have if you don't?
"weren't even going to tell me you were coming?"
a deep, velvet voice interrupts the room. for once, it is the last person you want to see right now.
you continue hitting, eyes locked on the poor bag in front of you.
"you can't expect to come into my home and ignore me, kitten."
you feel his presence approach you. his footsteps are almost as prominent as the thud of your punches.
you hit again and again.
and like a pin dropped to the ground, you can almost feel the moment he realizes what is going on.
the blood that stains the punching bag and your hands. the bandage pressed against your forehead. the sloppy fighting stance you're sure you've adorned but couldn't be bothered enough by to care.
a large hand wraps itself around your wrist before you can make contact again.
before you can throw yourself out of sylus' grasp, he pulls on your arm. it's not hard enough to hurt, but it is enough for you to be fully turned towards him, hands catching against his chest for balance as his arm wraps around your waist.
the look on his face is stern, red eyes automatically scanning down your face and body. it is a look he tries to make deliberate but one you recognize as frantic.
the last thing you wanted to do was worry him.
"i'm fine-"
"you're hurt."
you attempt to pull away from him, but his hold on you is firm. you remain flush against his chest with the only place to look being up at him. with breaths still heavy from exertion, you remain silent.
sylus raises a brow and tilts his head to the side, seemingly deciding that your injuries were not the highest of his concerns.
"you better have a damn good reason why you didn't tell me sooner," he says. his voice is lower than normal as if restraining himself from an outburst.
"i can-"
"and why you're injured."
"sylus-"
"and why there's blood on your hands."
he spits the words out. his breath is warm against your cheek. his grip tightens around you. you are so, so close to him.
it's hard to tell if your heart is pounding because of his intensity or his proximity.
you can tell sylus is angry. not at you, but at the helplessness he must feel.
you know sylus better than anyone, so you know his questions are an attempt at finding reason before blowing the roof off his own base.
beyond what he asks, you see the downward frown at the corner of his lips. the gleam in his eyes that are shining for you, only barely shadowed by fury.
there is something about this look in his eyes that breaks through to you.
and all of a sudden, every emotion you had attempted to harness under the guise of training came through in the form of tears.
all at once, you buckle into sylus' arms. ones that let go of your wrist and instead bring you even closer into his embrace. the two of you sink to the floor, and as the tears fall from your face, his arms are the only steady things in the room.
what you don't see is the way his expression cracks, just for a second, as if his heart is breaking just from the sound of your sobs. any ounce of anger he had been harboring disappeared all at once.
he rubs your back as you cry. gives you a minute, maybe two.
"tell me what happened."
and you do. every last bit of it. from the weakness you felt fighting the wanderers to your failure of a mission.
you don't even mean to confess all of it. just enough so he understands why you're crying, but once you start, it all comes spilling out.
the words tumble from your lips. you speak what must be incoherent sentences. this is all you have ever worked towards. it's the only thing you could trust yourself to do well.
you even tell him about the time he took the hit for you in the alley. something that is as simultaneously haunting as it is irrelevant.
and beneath what you say, sylus knows exactly why it is so important to you for you to protect yourself.
he responds to your confessions with soft hums and brief nods. at some point, his hand comes up to pat your head. you think the action makes you cry more.
sylus gives you time. for this, you are most grateful.
he lets your breathing even out and your tears slow their fall. it is only then does he pull back from the embrace he wrapped you in. you almost don't want to look him in the face knowing how the crying looks on your face.
but the look in his eyes when you meet them is anything but bothered by that. instead, it is a look you almost mistake for pity.
because in all the time you have known sylus, he has never looked at you with only love. it is always a fraction of the expression, mixed in with concern or curiosity or lust.
but in this moment, sylus looks at you with pure adoration. you feel it in the depth of his gaze. in the dilation of his pupils. in the way his entire being would bend the rules of the universe just to be here before you.
his thumb comes up to brush a tear from your cheek, and he cups your face in his hands.
"you are not a failure," he says it with more belief than you think you've ever had for yourself in your life.
"do you think you got to where you are by being weak? every battle is a testament to your strength, even the bad ones."
sylus leans back and moves to hold your hand, running a feather-light touch over the newly split cuts.
"i will not let you hurt the strongest person i know."
he brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your wounds. his words come slow and sincere.
"and if you ever feel like your hard work isn't enough, i will do everything in my power to get you where you want to be. just say the word."
at this, he brings both of your hands to his heart, bringing you ever so much closer. and slowly, as if asking for permission, he inches his lips towards yours.
the kiss is sweet.
his lips capture yours, and a heated warmth spreads through you. it is filled with all the love he cannot put into words. a promise of all the truths he has just expressed.
sylus is not the cure to your doubts, but he is a form of severance.
in the dim light of the training room, he embraces you so lovingly that you can't help but believe these doubts could one day dissipate.
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ author's note: is this one-shot just me projecting? maybe LMAO. this is my first time writing sylus and lads in general, so i hope you enjoyed! i've been deep in the lads rabbit hole, and it's the only thing on my mind lately lol. i know people who are taken aback by the concept or the nsfw aspects of it, which i understand isn't for everyone! but at the end of the day, lads is so special because of the comfort, adventure, and love it offers. that's part of what inspired me to write this :3 and for these reasons, #bringvalkoback!!! (ps thanks for reading my rant)
If it’s not clear by my reposts that I am in the somewhat miserable - need angst to comfort - of my luteal phase, then beware, and if you are too, read this😭
Summary: Your period gets Sylus incredibly horny. Unfortunately, it also dredges up some insecurities about a version of yourself that you don't fully remember. Sylus reassures you.
There's no need to be brave (7.3k words; Explicit)
🔗 Read on AO3 | Abridged Tags: Established Relationship, Menstrual Sex, Penis in Vagina Sex, Oral Sex, Grinding, Sylus Has a Praise Kink
Your awareness came back slowly as you tried to figure out what jostled you so—hard enough to wake you up. A deep sigh registered in your mind, coming from just above you. Slightly alarmed, you opened your tired eyes to see Sylus looking down at you, soft and resigned. You were held in his arms, you realized.
"I didn't mean to wake you," he murmured, starting to walk again and giving you a little apologetic squeeze. "I'm sorry, kitten."
"What's wrong?"
He must have understood your sleep-filled question, because he replied, "I'm just going to change the sheets. Don't worry about a single thing."
It was hard to argue against that, so you dozed off before he even set you down. You came to, again, from the sensation of fingers brushing against your hips.
"What are you doing?" you mumbled as Sylus dragged your underwear down your thighs.
If he was looking for sex, you were far too out of it to participate properly. Not that either of you were opposed to him doing all the work. He had relished the last time he fucked you while you were half-asleep, thanking you for the opportunity and kissing you fully awake once you both came—though the gratitude wasn't truly necessary, in your opinion. An orgasm from Sylus always left you feeling like you were floating on his ridiculously large pool, which was definitely far from a bad way to start the day.
He had asked permission a few nights before that, and after giving it to him, you fell asleep next to a Sylus that was practically purring in excitement.
"Why is your hand on my face?" His amused voice was muffled behind your fingers. You groaned.
"Stop looking smug, I can hear it from here," you griped and pressed down on his face, your fingers meeting the resistance of his elegant nose.
His breath tickled your palm as he gave a small laugh. "How could you possibly hear such a thing?" he wondered, his hand reaching up to encircle your wrist, his index finger stroking the skin. “My kitten has very sensitive ears. I’m impressed.”
"Just stop that—it's ridiculous. Save your smirk for the morning you actually do it."
"We," he insisted. "The morning we do it." He dragged your hand down and kissed it.
“Just changing your clothes, sweetie,” he said now. There was a brief pause before he pulled something up your legs, presumably another set of underwear. The faint pressure of his Evol wrapped around your hips, lifting them for a second. He set you back down, and there was a faint crinkling sound—he must’ve grabbed something?
He’d put a pad on it, you realized, and groaned at the implication. You covered your face with your hands.
“Sorry about the mess,” you said, already dreading the cramps that would come.
“It’s fine. I’m happy to take care of any mess you make,” he replied with that smile in his voice. You opened your eyes a little to witness the sweetness of it, but he had gone to the dresser. He returned with your pajama bottoms. “Can you help me put this on you?”
You shook your head. “I’ll sleep without it.”
“Okay,” he acquiesced, using his Evol to banish it to a nearby couch and climbing into bed beside you. He caressed your thigh, his gentle touch so different from his usual desperate grip on them in bed.
Your resulting shiver was accompanied by the relaxing of your muscles, and he smiled as you melted further onto the sheets, into his fingers, turned your face toward him like a plant towards the sun.
He nuzzled the side of your cheek with his nose. His breath was warm as it ghosted over you. “Tell me when it starts to hurt.”
“Mmm.”
---
It began eighteen hours later, and Sylus found you on the bed on your knees with your ass up in the air and your cheek pressed against his expensive sheets. He stopped in his tracks and presumably stared, because you heard his footsteps stop. You weren’t looking in his direction at all—you were staring out the window without really seeing it and wondering why you were born a woman.
“Sweetie…?”
“Kill me,” you mumbled.
“Never in a million years,” he replied.
You rolled your eyes—so cheesy—but gave him the explanation he wanted. “This position used to work,” you complained. “I already tried putting my legs up against the headboard. It still hurts.”
He made a noise of sympathy and strode over to the bed to caress your cheek, your temple. “I’ll be back, sweetie. Give me a minute,” he promised.
He returned with a pill in his hand and a glass of water. The glass was placed on the bedside table with an audible sound, which freed his other hand and allowed it to brush across your raised lower back placatingly. “Sit up,” he encouraged, an amused breath leaving him when you groaned, dramatic, but you obeyed. You reached for his hand for the pill, but he was quicker. He grasped your chin and said, “Open.”
Your glare at the childish treatment did nothing to deter him, his hand still caging within it the solution to all your problems, so you begrudgingly acquiesced. Now that you were ready to receive it, he produced the pill, which was tiny compared to his hand. You snickered at the combination.
“What’s so funny?” he wondered as he carefully put the pill into your waiting mouth, taking his time. When you closed it, he traced your bottom lip with his thumb. He tutted at its dryness, so you pursed your lips to wet them without accidentally dislodging the pill.
Accepting that he’d made the decision to dote on you—a parent with their sick child—you made no move to take the glass and let him bring it to your lips. As you sipped, he tipped it too far, making a few drops roll down your chin, to your neck.
Sylus made no mistakes.
Before the window of opportunity closed and you chastised him, he let go of the glass and pressed his mouth to your neck, laving his tongue over the trails left by the water, then moving to the side of your neck—an action for which he would have no excuse. His hands, now both free, roamed your waist and hips, squeezing, relishing the give of the flesh there. You spluttered a bit, not having managed to swallow yet, and he chuckled against your skin. Gripping his biceps, you dug your nails into the muscle. He didn’t acknowledge it.
The glass of water should have fallen onto the bed, but there had been no impact. You cast your gaze around and saw it hovering, in the grasp of the black tendrils of Sylus’ Evol, the remaining water still safely inside. There was no spill.
Tilting your head up, you forced the contents of your mouth down your throat. Unfortunately, it only gave him more access to previously dry areas of your neck and chin. He made a delighted sound and set about accomplishing his goal: to finish the job his mischievous hand and glass of water started.
He scraped his—even, perfect—teeth, closely followed by the warmth of his tongue, against the junction of your neck and shoulder. The meeting point of your jaw and ear. The underside of your chin. His breaths came like Morse code—the letter G, C, N—these long drawn-out inhales that exited as a sharp puff of air on your skin.
Was this what being puppy chow felt like, you wondered. Probably not. There was no dog bowl that felt as luxurious as the sheets on Sylus’ bed. No, the experience was more that of a bone marrow chew. But Sylus, obsessively licking the periosteum, still had yet to bite.
“You’re slobbering over me,” you complained, tugging at his hair. “Bad dog.”
“Woof,” he mumbled into your neck without even a hint of remorse, the assault on your neck not ceasing, his hands everywhere. Having had enough of his distance, you gripped his shirt and pulled him down to the bed on top of you. He chuckled. Getting with the program, he gripped one inner thigh, moved your legs apart, and slotted his knee between them.
It was his mouth that you needed between your legs, but his knee would do for now. The cotton twill of his ridiculous expensive pants that he insisted on wearing even in his private quarters barely soothed the ache between your legs. The fabric hardly budged, but your looser pajamas folded and bunched up towards the middle of your thighs. And your pad silently endured the abuse, your clit rubbing against the cotton material of it, but only a little. But it shifted a little with every movement, making it hard to control where the pressure went. You huffed, which he chuckled at. He was such a reprehensible little beast sometimes.
“Come on,” you muttered, annoyed, squirming a little when your attempts at grinding weren’t reciprocated.
“Come on, what?” He was putting on the oblivious act yet again—deliberately being infuriating to get your blood pumping. Your disapproval at this charade always made him smile, like now: his tender gaze beholding your scowl with barely-restrained glee.
“Sylus. You know what I want,” you all but growled at him.
“Let me hear it, beautiful.”
Ignoring the urge to punch his arm, you settled for taking your revenge on him by saying, in that low desperate tone he could never resist, “Sylus. Sylus, I want you—your mouth on me, please.” For good measure, you let your eyes go half-lidded, and left your lips parted, an invitation.
It was effective, as always, and you had to hide the smug grin that threatened to take over your face as his eyes widened—the surprise making his face seem younger somehow, more innocent, despite the subject matter at hand. His eyebrows raising, his lips slacking to part themselves from each other, as if he’d never even heard anything of the sort before, as if he’d never had you like this. But you were just as bad—to you, his reactions never got old.
You could have begged more—and in a more undignified way—but it was fascinating, the way you could make him fold with just the sound of his name on your lips and a preview of what your face would look like once he gave in. So you stared unabashedly as he took action as requested anyway.
He adjusted his position, grabbing your thighs and pulling your body towards him until your pad—and pussy—was snug against the bulge in his pants. Then his hands traveled to your hips, your waist, your ribs—his thumbs lightly kneading at the sides of your breasts.
"Very well," he murmured, almost reverent. "I aim to please, after all."
"More," you complained, gripping his hands until they rested over your breasts. "This is poor service. I'm going to leave a bad review."
"Oh no, we can't have that." He caressed them, gently squeezing your nipples between his gliding fingers, over and over, your sensitivity making the feeling on your buds even sharper, the sensation only serving to increase the wetness gathering in your aching pussy—and it certainly wasn't blood. You were certain some of it was trickling. His breath tickled your ear as he whispered, "But there's only one customer."
"And if—hah—if the customer stops…going…" you gasped as he rolled his hips against yours, determined to remind your poor neglected pussy that his dick was right there, "your business will tank."
"I'm sure there are ways to keep her coming," he said, and you giggled at the pun—oh, you hate him, he just caught you off-guard, it's not that funny. He smiled at the sound, despite his flustered state. You loved him like this: victorious, the beginnings of sweat forming on the sides of his face and neck, the red of his face and ears. Your hard worker.
You laughed again at the punnish thought, and Sylus demanded to know what else made you laugh—attacking you with wet kisses while teasing your nipples so that you kept on producing noises that were half indignant gasps and half moans, which you suspected were his true goal all along. You were convinced this man was trying to learn how to play you like an instrument, hellbent on touching you this way and that until you made the perfect notes so he could form some lewd melody only he would ever hear.
You said—in between gasps—that you weren't really in the mood to explain the dumb joke, so he relented and turned the attention of his mouth to your breast, replacing one hand with his lips—licking and sucking your nipple like he was trying to coax milk from it, as if he was a ravenous rapscallion of a husband stealing from your child. But from time to time, he'd kiss it tenderly or blow on it, replacing the heat of his mouth with cool air that made you squirm desperately, causing you to rub against him, which provided no relief still because your pad was in the way. There was no true escape, however—the weight of his body bore down on yours, keeping you fixed against him, leaving you with limited movement down below, because he was an awful man and loved to tease and wanted to keep you pinned to his bed doing nothing except allow him to ravage you.
Those eyes blazed—like pools of magma under the surface of the Earth—by the time he decided he was done torturing your nipple. He left it as it was, wet and flushed from his ministrations, and inched his way back up to kiss you like the forever-unsatisfied thing he was. One of his hands traveled downward to the inside of your panties, brushing against the garter then the hair on your mound, to find your clit. He circled it with the pad of his finger, rubbed just under it, and you sighed with the relief of now finally, truly being taken care of. You felt your panties being tugged down, and you glanced just in time to see his Evol toss it onto the floor.
"I like how wet it is down here," Sylus said, grinning like a predator and gathering a combination of blood and slick mucus from between your folds, using it to smoothen his circling of your clit. You moaned, closing your eyes, and pushed your hip upwards into his hand, over and over until you both found an enjoyable rhythm. But while he knew exactly how to coax pleasure solely from your clit, your pussy was throbbing too much from the combination of your arousal and your period, and you needed him to soothe its weeping, to put something in. His dick, his finger—anything would do, you just needed to feel something nestled within your walls. Your eyes were already tearing up at the ache.
You sobbed, "Sy, please. It—it hurts."
Instead of doing as you directed, you were devastated by the withdrawal of his hand. No, no, no, what was he doing?
"Where, sweetie? Where does it hurt?" he asked, sounding genuinely confused—ha, like you'd be fooled—and oh my God he was such an asshole, what more did he want, you were already begging…!
You opened your eyes to level him the most evil glare you could muster while already this wrecked, but instead of a smug face, he looked concerned—his brow furrowed and gaze searching your face for any clues, looking like he was ready to perform a pelvic examination right then and there—and you considered the possibility that perhaps he was a little too afraid of breaking you right now. Okay, maybe that was it.
To dispel his silent alarm: "No, not your fault," you groaned, "I mean…please, put something inside, I need to feel you inside me—there's nothing and it hurts."
You saw the moment it clicked and he exhaled a sigh of relief, pressing kisses to your now-sweaty forehead, your messed hair, your eyes which had fallen shut again—shushing you, "It's alright, I got it. I got you, kitten, don't worry, I'll fix it...Don't worry."
You felt him slink down the bed—to hover at your entrance like some ambush predator. "Poor thing," he says, caressing your puffy aroused entrance with his fingers with the reverence you would reserve for sacred imagery. "It is my fault. I've made you so upset, haven't I?"
"Sylus, seriously." You throw an arm over your face due to the secondhand embarrassment of listening to him talk to your pussy like it was his pet.
"Shhh, kitten. Something so beautiful needs to know when it's being appreciated."
Biting down on the urge to ask him if he was still right in the head, you gather air into your lungs to complain about being promised results and not getting it—but then he slid a finger inside, knuckle by knuckle, meeting no resistance. Your pussy accepted him gladly—no wonder, with all the arousal and blood coating your walls, all of it only for him.
He makes a noise of approval at the squelch his finger makes each time he pumps in and out, and adds another finger—this time meeting a little resistance due to the sheer size of his fingers. Your tiny, shy opening always had to be stretched a little to wrap around him, and his usual method was to suck you until your whole body was relaxed enough from orgasm, which he immediately set about doing with his usual fervor.
He set his mouth on your clit, treating it the same way he did your poor nipple, flicking his tongue against it and prodding the depths of the folds of your pussy occasionally. At this point, you couldn't help your hands flying to his hair to tug at his head especially when the sensation he coaxed from you was powerful enough to make you forget everything including who you were, the only thing remaining in your mind the fact that he was savoring the taste of you like he'd never be able to eat your pussy again.
Your legs kicked at the sheets helplessly as he spread your thighs further apart and pumped his fingers in and out, in and out, making sure to hit that spongy spot with each motion. Whenever he was far enough inside, he'd scissor them, making a space for himself to fit. His large fingers were perfect for this. "Aren't you a good girl, getting so wet for me," he praised—you? Your pussy?—in such an adoring tone, lips brushing against your pubic hair. Even the warm air from his mouth felt cold due to the fluids smeared on your pussy: his spit, your blood, your arousal. "I can't wait to feel you around me."
Once he was satisfied you were stretched out on his two fingers enough, he added a third into the mix, using the fingertip to negotiate his way into you—poking gently at the sides of your entrance as if asking, May I come in? This was obviously met with considerably more resistance than the second, so you kept still, willing your own body to relax so he'd succeed, which made it easier for him to lick not just your clit but also around your entrance—using his tongue to soothe you on the outside, his fingers on the inside. He rewarded you for it with kisses to the inside of your thigh from time to time, using his other hand to stimulate your clit by alternating between pinching it gently and stroking it like something precious.
Then you came with a low gasp, your swollen walls pulsing around his fingers, including the third that had worked so hard to earn your pussy's favor.
"Good girl," he said again, with unabashed pride, still working your pussy throughout your orgasm, "let me feel you. Let me know how good you're feeling—yes, just like that. That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Even though your walls continued to clench around him and all you could take were short breaths, you managed to laugh a little at how ridiculous he was being, at the understatement, at the way the movement of his chin tickled your hip as he spoke, making your hips jump and twist slightly around his fingers. You could feel some of the blood drying around your pussy, the mess you'd made together.
At your laughter, he said, half-serious, "It's not meant to be funny. It's necessary to provide positive reinforcement when you want to encourage behavior, sweetie."
"God, I love you," you breathed, giggling with a renewed wave of affection, looking down at him to see his reaction. His chin and mouth were covered in smeared blood, shining with your slick. It couldn't have been comfortable—blood dried so quickly—but he was always such a saint when it came to these things. Saintly or perverted. "I love you."
As much as he tried, he couldn't keep the smile off his face—he ditched trying to look serious and gazed at you, eyes soft and molten and half-closing adorably like a contented cat. "And you know how much I love you."
It was straightforward after that. He straightened up and took off his pants to reveal his dick, already standing at attention, darkly flushed and leaking so much that it looked like he already came.
Wait, he had—his dick was coated in white, and probably the inside of his stupidly expensive pants as well.
"Sy," you murmured, "you already…?"
"Sweetie," he replied, incredulous, "how couldn't I, when you were making all those noises?"
"I just thought… you've been so tired lately, I thought you'd have a little trouble. Not that it would have been a problem…"
He raised an eyebrow. "As long as you're in front of me, I'm not going to have any 'trouble'."
He almost sounded offended. You told him so, and he scoffed, saying that he was "correcting your misconceptions", and you laughed at the absurd pair of his offended demeanor and his debauched, blood-smeared face—wasn't it absolutely criminal, how easily he could make you laugh? The most dangerous man in the N109 Zone making it his mission to draw as many laughs out of you within a single lifetime.
He adjusted your positions, lining himself up with your entrance. You heard the sharp breath he took as he touched his dick, finally, after focusing only on you for so long. You stretched an arm out to invite his other hand into your own, and he took it immediately. His hand was warm but a little slimy from his mission, and when you complained, he vanished the mess without thought.
Only then did you initiate a resonance—the space between your hands swallowed by golden light. His shoulders sagged and his body lurched forward as he felt your bonelessness due to his attention, and you giggled when the remnants of his earlier delight and pride bloomed inside your chest—though feeling the sensation of his ignored arousal was not fun at all. Your own pussy throbbed again in sympathy, but also with the very real dissatisfaction his dick was feeling, as you both shared with one another the recent histories of your bodies, collapsing and blurring temporarily into each other.
Who was who? Did it even matter—were you not already inhabiting the same space anywhere? When he went on that mission in Dover almost a week ago and gazed out over the cliffs—watching them ritually wear away the white limestone coast with near-tenderness—were you not with him, the voice in his head telling him not to get too close to the edge or else he'd fall, or the wonder-filled eyes with which he saw France across the strait forever preventing the sky and the sea from meeting?
He was in you, and you were in him; while resonance let you experience the smell of the coming rain, the quiet roar of the water, and the whipping winds, you were already there with him when he saw it—he carried you wherever he went.
"Sy," you mumbled, dragging your consciousness away from his, even as his soul…made grabby hands—probably the best way to call it—reluctantly letting you part from him. "Come closer."
Of course he knew what you meant. "One second, sweetie," he murmured, taking his dick in hand once again and pumping it several times, then—entering you, the slide smoothened by the sheer amount of arousal.
You both sighed in the relief of being joined together—golden light once more flaring from your clasped hands as you initiated a short resonance. His contentment bled through the connection, and he felt the buzz from your slight excitement. This was one of the few times (though the amount was growing) that he'd entered so easily, without him needing to withdraw and prep you some more to eliminate the pain.
His hand caressed your waist, his mouth set in a small smile from delight at your happiness, at how well you fit together. "Are you okay?"
"Oh, I don't know, it's a little snug," you smilingly poked fun at him. His dick being slightly above average in both girth and length was a source of dismay for you sometimes because of how difficult it was to wrap your hand around it when you were getting him off, but he loved it for the sole reason that it meant spending a long time stretching you out. You were convinced he initiated penetrative sex more often for the primary purpose of eating out your pussy, even though he did that plenty enough at random times.
"How would my dearest and only customer rate it?" he asked, pulling your hand to his lips to kiss. "I'd love an…in-depth review."
"Sylus," you said sternly.
He blinked at you innocently and grasped your waist, with both hands now. "You're imagining things, sweetie." With that, he leaned over you, pulled out halfway, and gave his first shallow thrust.
"It's pretty firm," you said, in between his thrusts—he was settling into a rhythm, "lots of…interesting bas relief patterns. Reminds me of rivers." Referring, of course, to the veins on his dick.
"How—hah—about the sensation?" Despite playing along, his gaze was intent, wondering how you'd answer. You stroked his chest, making a pondering face, as if thinking through your answer.
"I've changed my mind," you whispered, prompting him to lean even closer. "The size—it's just right. I don't think there's anything like it—anything that could satisfy me like it does. Everything else's a bust."
His breath came ragged even at just the tamest bit of your praise within a bit of playacting.
"But I don't think it's reached its maximum potential, you know? I…think it's a little slow, mister salesman," you grinned, and a spark seemed to light in his eyes.
"Sure thing, sweetie," he muttered. "After this, I'm sure you'll have no choice but to give me a glowing review." He kissed you on the cheek, and sped up—his thrusts coming faster and deeper.
You got pushed slightly up the bed and yelped, so he held onto you even more firmly, his fingers digging in slightly, but never enough to hurt—Sylus was always afraid of overusing his strength ever since he accidentally left some mild bruises on your thighs in the shape of his fingertips while fucking you against a wall at a party some months ago. You tried to hide the evidence for days while they were healing by wearing pajamas around the base instead of just your shorts or underwear because he looked so sad and apologetic. You weren't sure if it helped though—he seemed to look that way even if the bruises weren't in his line of sight.
Once he was decided on the exact depth and timing of his thrusts (your Sylus was always so methodical), reasoning that "You're on your period, sweetie, I don't want to go too deep or I'll hurt you", he leaned back down and lavished your face with hungry open-mouthed kisses, the warmth of his mouth even more feverish than usual.
His face above you was now sweaty—he seemed unable to avoid closing his eyes and shuddering whenever you clenched your pussy around the hard length of his dick, or when you said, So good, Sy or even just a desperate Deeper, please. Your own heart practically gave out from fondness when he near-whined at your pussy tightening around him as he entered once again.
To tease him, you stroked the side of his face and asked, "You okay, baby?" knowing full well he had a weakness for getting endearments thrown back at him (which was why you mostly reserved them for special occasions).
"Sweetie," he panted, "you're going to kill me."
But you weren't left untouched either. In your effort to help him by meeting every roll of his hips by squeezing his body between your thighs and planting your feet on the bed for leverage, you'd worked up a sweat yourself.
You could feel him losing control of his thrusts—they became less measured, more uneven—and knew he was close. Wanting to come at the same time he did, you reached for your clit that—despite his efforts to also rub against it—wasn't getting stimulated much, but he caught on quickly, let go of your waist, and batted your hand away to rub your clit himself, leading you to gasp.
It was as if there was no friction left where your bodies met, just wetness and your blood and each other's pleasure. His fingers, practically sliding from said wetness, pinched and squeezed with just enough pressure to complement the feeling of his dick massaging the sore muscles between your legs.
All you could do at that point was wrap your arms around his neck and hold on, all of his movements becoming more frantic and rough as the pressure in your core built and demanded release. Your whole body felt like it was burning up. Your eyes squeezed shut, willing this to last forever, for the both of you to draw out sighs from the other for all eternity. It didn't help that even his unsteady breaths were beautiful, a symphony next to your ear. You knew he was holding back from letting his voice loose completely. One day, you'd make him moan—but for now you let him keep his shyness and his masculine pride.
Masculine pride…is that really what you think, kitten?, your mind's voice said. You smiled. Even inside your head, he had managed to wriggle his way inside. Like a burrowing owl, you thought, and giggled—partially releasing the tension held in your body from impending orgasm.
"Kitten," Sylus whispered. You blinked your eyes open and looked at him, then downwards—he was staring at golden light, emanating from where you joined. You both looked back at each other and smiled, breathless. Through his ears, you could hear the constant squelch of your core below which had escaped your own notice until now, and the hammering of his heart overtaking yours by miles.
The addition of his own pleasure to yours due to the resonance sent you over the edge, your pussy pulsing and coating his length through a few more thrusts until he came—you could feel his dick twitching inside you, and you caressed his sides as he lowered himself to press his face against yours, your sweat and breaths mingling. The resonance had concluded, with only the bedroom lights illuminating him. You kissed his cheek.
You both eventually peeled yourselves off of each other and the bed, which now looked like a small murder scene, and he carried you off to the bathroom to clean up. You took one look at him under the stark overhead light and laughed at how he looked like he'd gone crazy eating strawberry syrup.
Sylus sat you both down in the tub. You didn't part from him even once throughout the whole process—he merely sat down with you already in front of him, cradled between his thighs. You peeked down behind you and giggled at his now-limp but seemingly brutalized dick, which triggered something in him—he grabbed you and began blowing raspberries on your nape, making you shriek with laughter.
"So clingy. Scared I'll disappear?" you joke after the attack subsided, splashing him with the rising water as a retaliatory act.
He shook his head to cast off the water. "Yes, I'm afraid of my customer running off before paying her bill." The bill was cuddle time, obviously.
Once you had washed each other up, he dried himself off quickly, pressing yet another kiss to your cheek and telling you to yell if you needed anything. You opted to stay a little longer in the tub, the water now clear.
When you came out, the sheets were already replaced. You asked about whether you had leaked into the mattress, and Sylus gave you a smug look and reminded you that he changed the covers with leakproof ones whenever you started your period, which…you had actually forgotten about. Your period came earlier than usual this time, though, which was why he was caught off-guard yesterday.
You both climbed into bed, huddling close to one another, inevitable, like magnets. One of his arms wrapped around you, and he stroked your hair as you gazed at each other's face. His was serene, his usually sharp eyes gentle and heavy-lidded, like he was about to drift off.
Unable to help yourself, you pecked him on his wide, proud mouth, which he returned immediately and rapidly threefold: on your own lips and both your cheeks, taking you by surprise and making you splutter.
“Was I good?” he breathed against your cheek, eager, already knowing the answer but still hungry for it. Wanting to bask in the reminder of his own utility to you. He really was a dog, begging for some sign of approval, even excluding all the slobbering to which he was so inclined.
“Wonderful,” you said, and he relaxed at that, shifted his arms so he could wrap himself around you more effectively, like a koala. He was like a furnace. "You're so warm."
"Which is why you shouldn't leave the bed, or else you'll have to face the cold," came his very convincing argument. "And we wouldn't want that."
He needn't have worried—your eyelids were already surrendering to sleep. "Mhmm, yes."
The last thing you registered was a kiss on the top of your head before you went under.
---
On the third day of your period, you still felt uncomfortable—upon waking, you'd taken to laying down in a prone fetal position, wrapping yourself around a throw pillow. Since the start of your period Sylus had become obsessed with providing you with whatever dish you asked for, leading him to spend more time in the kitchen than usual due to his refusal to delegate the task of feeding you to anyone else (including yourself). The twins were left amazed and intrigued, and they jokingly asked about whether he was considering laying off his private chef who was apparently sweating bullets about the future of his employment.
This entire discussion occurred on the other side of the bedroom door, so you had to strain your ears to pick up on his reply, which only came after an uncomfortable silence (you imagined him sending a stern look at the twins): they needed to "stop being silly". You had half a mind to tell him to stop making his chef nervous, but the thought was dispelled when he entered the room, holding a heat pack.
His eyes softened at the sight of you rolling onto your side to face him. He chuckled at your hand reaching out to take the heat pack from him. Instead of giving it to you, he held it up and out of your reach as he sat down on the bed, making you glare at him. "Don't look so affronted, kitten," he said, "I'll rub your belly in a second."
To make good on his promise, he gathered you in his arms so that you were held by him as he leaned against the headboard. Once he saw you were comfortable, he pressed the heat pack to your abdomen, guided by your own hand. As the minutes passed, you melted in his arms, unfurling almost like a flower, as the temperature did its work.
However, certain cramps managed to evade the healing powers of Sylus' equipment—you found yourself wincing, squeezing your eyes shut whenever the pain radiated down to your ass, which was just completely unfair.
“I wish you didn’t have to suffer like this. This…” You opened your eyes to see him appraise your pained expression, and your hand unconsciously pushing down on his arm. “It’s not like you.”
His throwaway line hit harder than it should. Yes, it wasn’t like you—he loved you for the hard-headed, guns-blazing person you were for most of the month, not this hurting, cringing thing that couldn’t get out of bed and had to have her underwear changed by someone else. “Very astute,” you muttered, closing your eyes to try and hide how much the way he saw you affected you. Your grip on his arm relaxed, even as you squirmed and your brow furrowed at another wave of pain that rippled through your lower abdomen. It wasn’t your fault you were born with a uterus, for God’s sake, get a grip. It’s his problem. If he wants to leave you over something like this, he will. He’s not going to grit his teeth and bear it—he won’t keep you guessing.
But instead of berating you for your current weakness—which you didn’t really, truly expect from him, no matter how much self-loathing you were swimming in—he kissed your forehead and smoothed your hair back from your face. “Show me where you need the pressure,” he murmured softly.
You couldn’t resist one jab at him. “What? You’re okay with your ferocious hunter being a wuss after all?” you spat as best as you could, turning your face away from him, not wanting to see the way his face would change at your words—though you suspected you looked like nothing more than a hissing kitten to him.
“Is that the only thing you believe I like about you? Your … ferocity?” he chuckled.
You winced at your own choice of words, and at the undercurrent of disappointment in his voice.
“Kitten, I know it hurts right now, but please talk to me. What exactly are you thinking about?”
Having to say it out loud betrayed how ridiculous your thoughts were. You hated it, hated the way he never took the bait, never sunk down to your level—it was always “let’s discuss” with him. Because despite his intimacy with violence, he was just better than you at this kind of thing. Deescalation, conflict resolution, whatever.
You hated him, and you loved him for it, for soldiering on through your awful moods. You wondered when he would get tired of them, but his patience was always that of a saint’s. Guilt rose in the back of your throat. He had never been as uncharitable as your mind portrayed him sometimes, the way it did now. And he didn’t deserve to be described that way, when he’d shown you nothing but eagerness to see every side of you—despite your rocky start.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
“You haven’t done anything to apologize for, sweetie,” he reminded you, and you don’t deserve him, you don’t. You pressed your cheek to his own, turned your head to kiss the lobe of his ear, the junction of his jaw and his neck.
He’d gone absolutely still as you made your silent apology—silent, because you knew he’d fight you like a stubborn mule if he heard you say sorry again—the way that he always did when he was savoring your affection. When you pulled back, he had that signature dazed look on his face, like he couldn’t believe you were right there in front of him.
“I feel like I still have to live up to her,” you started. “The me that you know from…before.”
He tensed, his arms shifted around you, holding you tighter, but he lets you go on.
“From what little information I have, she seemed so self-assured, and I’m just…not like that. And I won’t ask about her, don’t worry.” You raised your hand to his strained face and smoothed your thumb across the edge of his eyebrow.
“Why not?”
“If you could see the look on your face whenever we even come close to bringing it up, Sy,” you breathed, “you wouldn’t dare ask either, if you were me. The look on your face right now—,” at that, he rushed to slacken his features, and you smiled sadly at his attempt, “—I don’t want to be the cause of your pain.”
“And what if I want you to ask me about her?” he said quickly.
“Is it your masochism talking right now?”
“No,” he insisted, grabbing your hand and holding it to his lips so that his breath ghosted across the back of it. “If you'd let me, I would show you all the ways in which you're the same, and the ways in which you're different, and how," he kissed the back of your hand, “I,” kiss, “love,” kiss, “everything,” kiss, “about you.”
"Then tell me something you like."
He takes a moment to think, rubbing circles on your hand all the while.
"You have the same voice," he started, nuzzling your hand with his cheek now. "You say my name the exact same way, whenever you're exasperated or delighted with me." He looked down and smiled at your joined hands, then looked up again at you, his eyes dancing with amusement. "And that glare of yours is the same as the one you gave me whenever you got your period before."
"Did I give you hell?"
"It was most welcome, kitten, believe me. One time, you scolded me for half an hour for moving your book. It was the first time you truly lost your temper with me. After a while, you came back and apologized with your tail between your legs," he said, rubbing his cheek against yours. "You had no idea how much I wanted to eat you at that moment."
"You want to eat me all the time though," you grumbled, "one way or another."
"Yes, you complained about that, too," he said with relish. "But only an insatiable little kitten like you could ever put up with me, don't you think?"
"Someone has to take one for the team," you pretended at being modest. "By which I mean all life in the universe."
"My Hunter is so noble," he agreed, making you swat lightly at him. He got his revenge in turn by kissing your face all over—asking, Is my praise not enough, oh noble Hunter?—until you were sputtering, It's more than enough!
You both quieted down a little after his assault on your face, him squeezing you whenever you winced and hid your face in his neck. Eventually, though, he broke the silence.
"What I need you to understand, sweetie, is that…I don't live in the past. I don't constantly compare versions of you like it's a sport," he chuckled. "Is it really so hard to accept, that I love you for who you are now, and not for who you were?"
You nodded into his neck, slightly ashamed—of your own doubt, your own inadequacy.
"Then I'll be here to remind you." He turned to kiss your forehead. "I'll remind you every single day until you do."
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ pairing: sylus x mc!reader | summary: after a mission gone wrong, you make your way to sylus' base and force yourself to train.
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ tags + warnings: angst, hurt to comfort, soft sylus, mentions of blood and injury, training until injury, self-deprecating thoughts, mentions of fighting, hugging and kissing, sylus offering comfort, protective sylus, no y/n, one-shot | wc: 1.9k+ | author's note: i think i tagged everything but pls let me know if i missed anything. title from heavy by the marias
you’re deep within the confines of sylus’ base, tucked inside a training room that was all black mats and stone walls. the stale air sits silently around you—the only thing permeating it the panting of your breath and the thumps of your fists as they assault a punching bag.
an artillery of weapons lines the walls around you. you neglect them all in favor of the rubber underneath your fists, inhaling the sting like you deserved it.
and didn’t you?
scenes from today's mission flash between your eyes. you were caught off guard, ambushed by wanderers because of your carelessness.
you throw a punch, and it is like you can feel their tendrils wrapping around you again. it’s suffocating.
in the end, you took one of them down before fleeing out the abandoned building you’d been sent to scout. you didn’t even accomplish your mission, instead, running back to headquarters like a dog with its tail between its legs.
at headquarters, you did your due diligence of reporting what had gone wrong, namely admitting to all the intel you didn't secure. how could you fail at the only thing in life you’ve ever wanted to work towards?
you punch harder. red bruises begin to bloom at the tips of your knuckle. a strange satisfaction blooms from this, as if seeing proof of your efforts will make you more adept.
this is, perhaps, the worst part. the mission had been relatively simple: get in, collect information, maybe take down a few wanderers along the way, and get out.
you had done almost none of that.
that’s why you’re here, opting to get as far away from the hunter’s association as possible. what better place than the n109 zone?
when you arrived earlier in the evening, sylus was nowhere to be found. such was what you were hoping for.
you had gotten patched up at the association just in case. after the battle, you were left with a shallow but nasty gash on your forehead and several bruises to the torso.
god forbid sylus see you with an open wound, otherwise, he'd raise hell before even asking what it was from.
it was only after you arrived though, did a memory from a few months ago surface. one that certainly didn't help the shame brewing in your chest.
it was a rare instance when the both of you had run into trouble in the n109 zone. a pack of petty thieves who had chosen the wrong people to target.
when the encounter escalated from verbal threats to physical, sylus had pushed you out of the way, absorbing a nasty punch all for the sake of protecting you.
he dealt with the rest of them no problem, and with your help, but after it was over—and the thieves lay half dead in the alleyway—you had turned to him with narrow eyes and a crease between your brows.
"why would you do that?" you asked, hand coming up to push against his shoulder.
he didn't budge.
"you mean protect you?" he said, with wide eyes and a look that bordered on shock. as if he couldn't believe you'd deny his protection.
"i didn't need you to take the hit for me," you had told him, turning away. "i can handle myself."
and from then on, sylus took care of you, but he didn't protect you. at least, not in the same way. he is always there, always hovering, but never overprotective, as if your brief confession to him was all-telling about the care you were willing to receive.
this memory lingers in your mind again as you continue your assault on the punching bag. your hand shoots out, harder than the last time, and you can't help but wonder if sylus sees something about you that you don't.
that maybe you can't handle yourself as well as you thought you could.
and if you couldn't even hold your own in a fight... then what else was there for you to claim prowess for?
the next punch breaks skin.
your knuckles sting as they split.
you wonder how far you can go until your body gives in.
by this hour of night, you feel the toll. the exhaustion settles deep in your lungs and heavy in your feet. but the pain does little to deter you.
in the back of your mind, there is a nagging voice. a fear that maybe one day, you will be ten times as injured and met with the presence of a wanderer.
you have to fight.
what will you have if you don't?
"weren't even going to tell me you were coming?"
a deep, velvet voice interrupts the room. for once, it is the last person you want to see right now.
you continue hitting, eyes locked on the poor bag in front of you.
"you can't expect to come into my home and ignore me, kitten."
you feel his presence approach you. his footsteps are almost as prominent as the thud of your punches.
you hit again and again.
and like a pin dropped to the ground, you can almost feel the moment he realizes what is going on.
the blood that stains the punching bag and your hands. the bandage pressed against your forehead. the sloppy fighting stance you're sure you've adorned but couldn't be bothered enough by to care.
a large hand wraps itself around your wrist before you can make contact again.
before you can throw yourself out of sylus' grasp, he pulls on your arm. it's not hard enough to hurt, but it is enough for you to be fully turned towards him, hands catching against his chest for balance as his arm wraps around your waist.
the look on his face is stern, red eyes automatically scanning down your face and body. it is a look he tries to make deliberate but one you recognize as frantic.
the last thing you wanted to do was worry him.
"i'm fine-"
"you're hurt."
you attempt to pull away from him, but his hold on you is firm. you remain flush against his chest with the only place to look being up at him. with breaths still heavy from exertion, you remain silent.
sylus raises a brow and tilts his head to the side, seemingly deciding that your injuries were not the highest of his concerns.
"you better have a damn good reason why you didn't tell me sooner," he says. his voice is lower than normal as if restraining himself from an outburst.
"i can-"
"and why you're injured."
"sylus-"
"and why there's blood on your hands."
he spits the words out. his breath is warm against your cheek. his grip tightens around you. you are so, so close to him.
it's hard to tell if your heart is pounding because of his intensity or his proximity.
you can tell sylus is angry. not at you, but at the helplessness he must feel.
you know sylus better than anyone, so you know his questions are an attempt at finding reason before blowing the roof off his own base.
beyond what he asks, you see the downward frown at the corner of his lips. the gleam in his eyes that are shining for you, only barely shadowed by fury.
there is something about this look in his eyes that breaks through to you.
and all of a sudden, every emotion you had attempted to harness under the guise of training came through in the form of tears.
all at once, you buckle into sylus' arms. ones that let go of your wrist and instead bring you even closer into his embrace. the two of you sink to the floor, and as the tears fall from your face, his arms are the only steady things in the room.
what you don't see is the way his expression cracks, just for a second, as if his heart is breaking just from the sound of your sobs. any ounce of anger he had been harboring disappeared all at once.
he rubs your back as you cry. gives you a minute, maybe two.
"tell me what happened."
and you do. every last bit of it. from the weakness you felt fighting the wanderers to your failure of a mission.
you don't even mean to confess all of it. just enough so he understands why you're crying, but once you start, it all comes spilling out.
the words tumble from your lips. you speak what must be incoherent sentences. this is all you have ever worked towards. it's the only thing you could trust yourself to do well.
you even tell him about the time he took the hit for you in the alley. something that is as simultaneously haunting as it is irrelevant.
and beneath what you say, sylus knows exactly why it is so important to you for you to protect yourself.
he responds to your confessions with soft hums and brief nods. at some point, his hand comes up to pat your head. you think the action makes you cry more.
sylus gives you time. for this, you are most grateful.
he lets your breathing even out and your tears slow their fall. it is only then does he pull back from the embrace he wrapped you in. you almost don't want to look him in the face knowing how the crying looks on your face.
but the look in his eyes when you meet them is anything but bothered by that. instead, it is a look you almost mistake for pity.
because in all the time you have known sylus, he has never looked at you with only love. it is always a fraction of the expression, mixed in with concern or curiosity or lust.
but in this moment, sylus looks at you with pure adoration. you feel it in the depth of his gaze. in the dilation of his pupils. in the way his entire being would bend the rules of the universe just to be here before you.
his thumb comes up to brush a tear from your cheek, and he cups your face in his hands.
"you are not a failure," he says it with more belief than you think you've ever had for yourself in your life.
"do you think you got to where you are by being weak? every battle is a testament to your strength, even the bad ones."
sylus leans back and moves to hold your hand, running a feather-light touch over the newly split cuts.
"i will not let you hurt the strongest person i know."
he brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your wounds. his words come slow and sincere.
"and if you ever feel like your hard work isn't enough, i will do everything in my power to get you where you want to be. just say the word."
at this, he brings both of your hands to his heart, bringing you ever so much closer. and slowly, as if asking for permission, he inches his lips towards yours.
the kiss is sweet.
his lips capture yours, and a heated warmth spreads through you. it is filled with all the love he cannot put into words. a promise of all the truths he has just expressed.
sylus is not the cure to your doubts, but he is a form of severance.
in the dim light of the training room, he embraces you so lovingly that you can't help but believe these doubts could one day dissipate.
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ author's note: is this one-shot just me projecting? maybe LMAO. this is my first time writing sylus and lads in general, so i hope you enjoyed! i've been deep in the lads rabbit hole, and it's the only thing on my mind lately lol. i know people who are taken aback by the concept or the nsfw aspects of it, which i understand isn't for everyone! but at the end of the day, lads is so special because of the comfort, adventure, and love it offers. that's part of what inspired me to write this :3 and for these reasons, #bringvalkoback!!! (ps thanks for reading my rant)
summary: punished for his greed, sylus has three months for a princess to kiss him or else his curse becomes permanent OR you are indebted to a talking crow and repeatedly deny his one request of a single kiss
wc: 10.1k
warnings: oral (f rec), fingering, piv, unprotected sex, pronebone, creampie, xav is a pos plot device sorry guys, the servants really like gossip
an: :)
It was a beautiful summer day, the sky crystal clear, a warm breeze carrying the scent of the wildflowers that dotted the landscape. You were free of lessons today, meaning you were free to enjoy the perfect day, your prized golden ball, a gift from your father, the plaything of choice. Up and down, up and down, it fell into your waiting palm, until it went up and then didn't return. You looked up curiously, eyes scanning the branches of the large oak tree that stretched into the bright blue sky, your gaze finally landing on the glint of your ball far above your reach. You huffed, annoyed that it had gotten stuck at all, but also distressed that your favorite toy might never come back down.
Tears welled up in your eyes, unbidden, as you continued to stare at your beloved toy lodged in the branches. Would your father be disappointed in you for losing it? The tears fell faster and faster until you were sobbing upon the ground. It was such a little thing to be so upset over, you knew that, but it meant so much to you.
“What ails you, princess?” Came a voice from high above you, but from whom you could not see. “You cry so miserably, even a stone would be moved to show pity.” A shadowy form descended until the black bird landed directly in front of you, its unnervingly intelligent eyes seemingly looking into your very soul.
You were taken aback. It was talking. The bird was speaking to you. And not just mimicking someone else’s voice, but truly speaking. All thoughts of your ball were wiped from your mind as you stared in awe at the feathered anomaly. It waited patiently for your response, calm as the breeze that flowed through the trunks.
“My ball,” you eventually stuttered out. You pointed where it was still lodged, the crow following the line of your arm to spy the golden bauble. “It’s stuck, and I can’t get it down.”
“No need to cry for that. I will help you, but what will you give me in return if I bring your plaything back down?” He asked, his shrewd eyes fixed on your own.
“Anything you desire,” you responded. “My clothes, my pearls and jewels, and even the crown on my head if that is what you wish.”
The crow tilted its head. “Anything? You should be more careful when making promises, especially to the unnatural. What if I asked for your heart? Or perhaps an eye. Would you give it to me?” Derision dripped from his every word.
You faltered. What nerve this feathered beast had. “I’ll give you what you wish so long as it is within reason, and I maintain the right to deny that which I am either unwilling or unable to fulfill. Does that satisfy you?”
The bird turned your words over in its mind, thinking carefully about your wording before answering that yes, that would do just fine. So up, up, up the bird flew, nudging your precious gift from where it had lodged itself so that it came falling back to earth with a solid thud. You reached out, your hand wrapping firmly around it. The bird landed in front of you once more, his request already decided.
“Thank you, Mr. Crow. What is it that you would like in return for helping me?”
“A kiss,” he answered confidently, not a shadow of a doubt that that was what he wanted.
You had expected gold or other such shiny things, something a crow might find enjoyment in, but reality was so far from your expectations that you were again stunned into silence.
“A kiss, your highness, that is all I ask for,” he pleaded, almost desperate. Why a crow was so insistent on a kiss was beyond you, but you would not grant it. It spoke like a person, so how could you be sure it was a crow at all and not some evil of the forest that only took the form of a crow? What if a kiss would bind you to it for all eternity?
“I cannot do that, Mr. Crow,” you declined.
“Cannot or will not? Your terms were that you could refuse my requests if you were unwilling or unable, so which is it?”
“Will not. My father is considering a betrothal with another kingdom. Whether you are a crow or something else, my kisses are reserved for the one whom I will marry.”
The crow looked disappointed, which you didn't even know was possible for a bird. “I would like to be your companion then. To eat and drink the same food, to sleep in the same quarters, to be at your side, always.”
You acquiesced, but the second the crow looked away from you, you fled back to the castle, trying to put as much distance between you and that unnatural bird as you could. He took to the air, following your retreating figure, squawking at you to wait, to come back, that he meant you no harm, you promised. But you did not listen, did not care to hear one more word the mysterious bird had to say. It shouldn't have had any words to say in the first place.
You didn't stop running until the castle doors were shut firmly behind you. You thought the crow wouldn't have dared leave its home in the forest, but it was waiting for you, adamant that you would hold up your end of the deal.
That night at dinner, you heard an insistent tapping at the window. Your father, the king, heard it as well, shooting a curious glance your way as if to ask if you heard it too. The dining room was not on the ground floor; no one should have been able to reach those high windows. You rose slowly, walking to the covered window to pull back the curtain. There, perched on the windowsill, was the crow from the forest. It stared at you directly through the thick pane of glass, its beady eyes narrowed. Yet, it never stopped the incessant tapping on the window with its beak. You yanked the curtains closed, returning to your seat and ignoring the infernal tapping upon the window.
“What is it?” your father asked, looking between you and the window.
“A crow,” you answered simply, drinking from your goblet to hopefully avoid saying more.
“Why is there a crow on the windowsill? It’s awfully late for a crow to be this active.”
You sighed heavily, telling your father of all that had transpired earlier in the day. How you had lost your ball, how the crow had retrieved it, how you had promised it a reward, and then how you hadn't fulfilled his wish. He looked angry, but not at the crow; no, he was angry with you. “That which you promised must be fulfilled. You are a princess. You cannot make such empty promises. Go, allow him in, and keep your word. He will eat and drink as you do, sleep as you do, and be at your side always.”
Though you greatly disliked it, you did as he said, approaching the window and once again parting the curtains to reveal the disgruntled bird. You scowled at it. Why couldn't it just stay in the woods? Or, better yet, have helped you just to be kind, and not ask for such ridiculous compensation.
You unlatched the window, allowing the bird to fly into the dining room where it perched on the chair across from yours, staring at you expectantly. You walked back to your seat after securing the window, not taking your eyes off the bird.
You didn't speak to the bird, ignoring it as best you could, whereas your father made polite conversation with it, as if there was nothing odd about conversing with a crow over dinner. Your father had called over a servant, requesting that both a meal and a drink be brought out for the bird. “What shall we call you?” your father asked politely.
“Your daughter called me Mr. Crow. That will do fine.”
“Don't you have a name of your own?”
He did, but it stuck in his throat when he tried to utter it. “No. I’m just a crow.” For now.
Your father nodded, not quite satisfied, feeling bad that a sentient creature such as the crow had not so much as a name to call its own. “Mr. Crow it is then.”
When dinner ended, he followed you to your bedroom, and almost followed you into the bathroom as well until you shut the door in his face. You dismissed the maids, insisting that you wanted to be alone. Obviously, the crow was here to stay, so you wanted all the alone time you could get. You scrubbed until your skin was angry and raw, wishing you could scrub the crow itself from both your memory and life. No ball, however sentimental, was worth such a headache.
You exited the bathroom, finding the crow stubbornly waiting for you just outside. You groaned, ignoring it, and it followed you all the way back to your room, making itself comfy on one of your pillows. Your distaste for the creature only deepened. “You're not sleeping in my bed,” you stated.
“Our agreement-”
“You requested the same quarters, not the same bed. It was you who said to word things carefully, no?”
He laughed, beyond amused. You were right, he did say both of those things. “Very well. Where would you have me sleep then, your highness?”
“Don't know, don't care. Get out of my bed.” You glared as you watched him settle himself on your writing desk. You crawled into bed, blowing the candle out to sleep, and hopefully, when you woke up, this would all have been a dream.
“Princess?” called the bird. “You've not given me a place to sleep.”
“Sleep on the floor for all I care,” you grumbled, pulling the covers up higher to cover your ears.
“How do you expect to care for your people one day if you cannot even care for a bird?” The bird goaded, amusement morphing into offense at your continual poor treatment of him.
“You're just a bird!” you spat at him.
“I’m your guest,” he corrected indignantly, pride running hot through his veins.
You shot up in bed, snatching the other pillow that he had been on and tossing it to the floor. “There! Is that what you wanted?” He hopped onto the plush cushion, making himself comfy.
“It is,” he said finally, content with his downy accommodations, even if not so pleased that he was still on the floor and not your bed. Just to add to your obvious irritation, he added, "Goodnight, princess.” He took immense satisfaction in your muffled groan from beneath the blankets you had buried yourself under.
The next morning, you woke from the light streaming in through the open window. You stretched, body still lethargic with sleep. You forced yourself into a sitting position, spotting the now-empty pillow on the floor, the only trace that the bird had been there at all. You dressed for the day, making your way to the dining room to join your father for breakfast.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” he greeted you warmly. “Sleep well?”
You hummed in affirmation, pouring yourself a cup of coffee from the carafe.
“And where is Mr. Crow?” he asked, not missing the absence of the newest resident of the castle.
You shrugged. “Don’t know. He was gone when I woke up. The window was open last night for fresh air.”
“You didn't throw him out of the window, did you?” he asked, eyeing you suspiciously.
“No! Of course not!” You wanted him gone, but you didn't want to actively terrorize the bird.
Your father still looked slightly suspicious of you, but let it go without further argument. He finished his food, excusing himself from the table to go to his office. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, telling you to take your time with breakfast and that your lessons had been postponed in favor of getting to know your new friend, absent though he was.
You sipped your coffee, taking in the early morning light. It was calm, relaxing, until that same wretched tapping as last interrupted the serenity. You sighed, placing your mug back on the table and rising from your seat. As you drew near, you could see that it had something in its beak, but you weren't quite sure what until you opened the window.
They were flowers. The bird had woken up early to pick flowers. He angled his head up, as if offering them to you. “For me?” you asked quizzically.
It nodded its feathered head, hopping closer. You took the modest bouquet, curious why he would do such a thing. You had done nothing to deserve such a gesture. “Thank you. They’re very pretty,” you said with a small smile, touched by the effort this must have taken for the small animal.
“Pretty enough to deserve a kiss?” He asked.
You shook your head. “I already told you I won't kiss you.”
Sylus was beginning to think he should have negotiated that kiss before helping you at all. “I’ll earn that kiss eventually, princess.”
You rolled your eyes, turning your back to him and returning to finish your now lukewarm coffee, the crow in pursuit. He nibbled at the spread, but didn't seem keen to eat much. He was a bird, and the phrase ‘eat like a bird’ had to come from somewhere, you guessed. In truth, he was planning and plotting how to get you to kiss him. He only had so much time before this was permanent, and his human consciousness was overridden and forgotten.
Days came and went in the same fashion. The bird continued sleeping on what you had designated as his pillow on the floor, ate every meal with you, and joined you for walks around the garden. He was your ever-present shadow, just as he had requested. Your annoyance with him decreased with each passing day, beginning to grow fond of his company, especially once you got used to his dry humor. On this particular day, he was perched on your chair in the garden’s gazebo, reading over your shoulder. When you had asked if he was even capable of reading, he had merely scoffed at you.
The two of you were reading in silence, and with him still securely perched on your chair, you knew it wasn't him hopping around beneath the table, so what was that brushing against your shoes?
You glanced beneath the table, jerking away with a scream that startled Sylus into the air. He landed on the ground, eyes zeroing in on the offender who had scared his princess so badly. It was just a small garden snake, something he could easily handle. He looked at you to see that you weren't just surprised by the snake, you were genuinely scared. That settled that, then. The snake had to go.
It was quick, but unable to evade Sylus forever, now squirming in his beak. He flew off with it, returning without it shortly, landing on the table. “Are you alright, your highness?”
“Yes, quite. Thank you, Mr. Crow,” you said gratefully, smiling at your feathered friend.
“I think my heroics ought to be rewarded. How about a kiss?”
You giggled. He was very persistent about receiving a kiss but would not tell you why, no matter how much you asked. You kissed the pads of two of your fingers, then brought them down on the bird’s beak. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he said, not impressed with your display.
He was even less impressed when Prince Xavier, the crown prince of one of the neighboring kingdoms, Philos, was invited by your father in the hopes of the two of you becoming amiable to a betrothal to unite your two nations. He was seething. It was supposed to be him! He was the one who was in talks with your father, not this boy who hadn't even ascended the throne yet. He would not sit idly by while his would-be bride was wooed by another, condemning him to life as a crow permanently.
Though Xavier was every bit the gentleman he was expected to be, Sylus also knew that Philos was suffering economically. Onychinus, on the other hand, was thriving. How unfortunate that the king had gone missing recently, leaving your father to explore other options for his daughter. It wouldn't last. Sylus would make sure of it.
Already, the young royal was on Sylus’ nerves, sitting in his spot across from you. He made his displeasure known, staring the prince down from his position on your chair, abstaining from the meal altogether in favor of glaring at the nuisance in his seat.
“Is he your pet?” Xavier asked, gesturing to the bird.
You glanced over at Sylus, shaking your head with a smile. “Mr. Crow? No, he's a friend more than a pet.” Sylus puffed his chest out proudly. “He’s usually more talkative than this, though,” you added, somewhat concerned with his new silence.
Xavier seemed confused for a moment before something clicked in his head. “Right, I’ve heard that corvids are wonderful at copying human speech. I hope to hear from Mr. Crow before I have to return to Philos.”
You pinched your lips together, deciding not to tell him that the bird could truly talk and didn't just copy phrases he heard. It almost felt special that he wouldn't talk to Xavier when usually he talked your ear off, his sarcastic remarks never failing to pull a giggle from you.
But his odd behavior didn't stop with his uncharacteristic silence. Cookies and tea were brought out, and before Xavier could take one from his plate, Sylus took it upon himself to snatch one.
“Hey!” you reprimanded, gently pushing him away from the plates, cookie still held in his beak. “What is wrong with you today?” It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but you didn't miss the pointed glare he directed at Xavier.
“He’s quite alright. I don't expect birds to have table manners. Would you like another?” he asked, nudging his plate towards Sylus, which was promptly ignored.
The intention was to anger the other royal, cause a tantrum, but all he had succeeded in doing was endearing you even more when Xavier had actually been kind to him.
Nothing was working. Not dropping a grasshopper on him in the gardens, not pulling the buttons of his coat, not even pecking at his hand when he tried to hold yours. He remained ever so patient. You, however, were losing yours. Xavier might believe that Mr. Crow was just a normal bird, but you knew better.
That night, when the castle was turning in for the night, you were confronting an audacious bird. “What was all that about today? I need him to like me!”
“Why? You're a princess; you have plenty of other options. You don't need anything from Prince Xander,” he dismissed. Based on his tone, if he were human, you would be convinced he would be inspecting his nails, bored, and acting as if the conversation was nothing of import.
“Xavier,” you corrected. “And I do need something from him. A marriage proposal would unite our kingdoms and-”
“And what?” Sylus interrupted. “Drag you into ruin with him? Philos is a failing kingdom, and he would only take Linkon down with it. He intends to use you to gain access to Linkon’s resources.”
The bird's cruel words cut you deeply. “You're just a bird. How could you possibly know any of that?”
He scoffed derisively. “Because he believes me to be just a bird, and, despite what you say, you know that’s not true. He doesn't watch his words around me the way he does with you.”
You were biting your bottom lip, brows furrowed in that oh-so-cute way he loved. He hated that it was born of insecurity, though. “Did he talk to you?” you asked timidly, trusting that he wouldn't lie to you, but still knowing that his answer would likely hurt.
“He did. When you excused yourself from the gardens. Said that ‘my owner’ is a foolish girl looking for love in the wrong places. That she was just a means to an end, and when he married you, the first thing he would do is get rid of me. Which I don't appreciate, by the way.” He saw your downcast face, hating that there was nothing he could do to make it better. “I’m sorry, your highness.”
You shook your head. “It’s not your fault. Thank you for telling me. I believe you, but can you prove it? Something tangible that I can show my father?”
“Consider it done.”
“Come back here, you odious beast!” the young prince’s voice followed him as he took flight from his room, returning to yours, the damning letter clutched in his beak. You were waiting for him by the windowsill, accepting the letter he proudly presented to you. Your eyes scanned its contents, your face expressing your anger more and more.
You were tempted to rip the letter into pieces, but you needed the evidence to show your father, preferably in one piece.
“Will that suffice?” Sylus inquired. “He walked in before I could finish reading it.”
“It’s exactly what I asked for. You couldn't have done any better.”
“I believe my hard work is worthy of a kiss, wouldn't you agree?” You were, in fact, inclined to agree with him this time. Were it not for him, you may have actually ended up betrothed to a man who thought you “foolish and airheaded” and described your dear friend Mr. Crow as “a ghastly thing that ought to be fed to the dogs.”
You nodded at the bird who was waiting for you to refuse him as you always did, but the refusal did not come. You nodded slowly, ever so grateful to the bird that you were willing to accept the one request he so often made. You pushed your hair behind your ear, leaning in to kiss the feathers atop the bird’s head, the bird himself eagerly waiting to be rid of this cursed form.
A knock at the door. It was a maid informing you that your father was requesting you in his office immediately. You smiled at the bird apologetically, his disappointment palpable. His time was dwindling. Already, he could feel the crow’s instincts overriding his conscious thoughts.
“Explain to me why Prince Xavier just stormed out of the castle! What happened?” Your father was livid, more so than he’d ever been with you. “You’re not a child anymore! You have your future to think about. He’s the crown prince of-”
“Of a kingdom on the brink of financial ruin. Here.” You thrust the stolen letter forth, watching your father’s anger at you redirect to the arrogant prince.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you, my dear child. After reading this, good riddance to him. But how did you get this letter?”
“Mr. Crow retrieved it. I left the two of them alone, and Prince Xavier talked to him, told him everything. Mr. Crow wouldn't speak in his presence, so the prince thought he was a normal bird. I asked for proof, and he brought me the letter the prince was penning back home.”
Your father nodded, not thrilled with the methods, but opting to turn a blind eye since it kept his precious daughter out of the hands of a man who only sought to use you. He lamented the disappearance of King Sylus. Regal, successful, and in need of a queen. In terms of a political match, he was perfect. For a love match, your father still thought that you would have made a lovely pair, your personalities balancing each other. Their letters of correspondence detailed likes, dislikes, the state of the kingdoms, policies, everything that was of any importance to a marriage as high-profile as yours would be. But then they’d stopped, and eventually the news reached him that the king was nowhere to be found, having gone off on a hunt and never returning.
There hadn’t been time to build such a relationship with Philos, a fact that greatly disheartened the king. You were of the age where royalty needed to wed, but you were still his daughter, and as any father would, he only wanted the best for you. Instead, he had nearly paired you with a worm.
“When you return to your room, can you inform Mr. Crow that I would like to see him? I want to thank him personally.” You nodded, closing the door softly behind you when you left.
When you returned, Mr. Crow was sifting through your jewelry box, sorting by both types of jewelry and gemstone color. “Well, aren't you nosy?” You teased.
“It’s a terrible mess in here. Have you ever organized it?” he said, his smooth voice echoing from where his entire head was still within the ornate box.
“I have, thank you.”
“Could have fooled me.”
You walked over to your vanity, prying the bird away from your priceless ornaments, a bracelet still dangling from his beak, which you relieved him of with your hand.
“My father wants to see you in his office,” you told him as you began to return your jewelry to its rightful place.
“I wasn't done with that,” Sylus told you, miffed that you were undoing all his hard work.
“You are now. Go, before my father comes looking for you.”
He heaved a great sigh, but set out through the open window. The summer breeze was lovely, but you really did need to start closing them if Xavier was a lesson to anyone.
-𓅨-
It was gone. You dumped out the entire box, sifted through every piece of jewelry you owned, and still couldn't find it. You had lost your mother’s necklace. You were panicking, hyperventilating. Since her death, you had kept that necklace safely tucked away, so how could it have disappeared? Fat tears rolled down your face, a deep ache settling in your chest.
“What’s wrong, princess? Are you hurt?” Mr. Crow’s deep velvety voice called from the windowsill.
“My necklace, my mother’s necklace, I can't find it, and I’ve looked everywhere. Did you see it when you were digging through it?”
“What does it look like?”
You described the necklace in as great detail as you could with your frazzled mind, and, unfortunately, Sylus knew exactly the one you were talking about. It was currently sitting in the tree he had initially taken up residence in, the one you had found him in that fateful day, squirreled away with a trove of other shiny pilfered items.
You would hate him. You would most definitely hate him after this, but he could not, in good conscience, allow you to believe that you were at fault for the loss of something so important to you. He took off from the windowsill, heading straight for the tree, tossing out all of his little treasures in his hunt for the one he should have never taken.
The second he found it, he was high-tailing it back to your room, hoping against hope that you would forgive him. And for a moment, when he landed, he thought you might. You were overjoyed when he placed it in your outstretched hand, until it dawned on you. He knew exactly where to go, and it wasn't anywhere in the palace.
You looked at the bird that you had trusted so much, betrayed. “Did you steal this from me?” you asked, your voice now a hoarse whisper, disbelief coloring your words.
He hung his head in shame. “I did,” he confessed solemnly.
“Why?” You were still crying, and it was his fault. “Why would you take this?”
“Because I can’t help it. I-” he choked on the words. He wanted to tell you that this wasn't him, that he didn't want to hurt you, and that he was losing his real self to the crow instincts, but the terms of the curse wouldn't allow it. “I’m just a crow,” he settled on morosely. He was coming to terms with the fact that soon he wouldn't exist at all, his human soul condemned to rot away, leaving only a crow in its place. It had already begun.
“Get out,” you commanded coldly.
“Princess-” he started, landing on the bed beside you.
In your anger and hurt, you lashed out at him, pushing him away from you. The movement was so sudden and unexpected that he wasn't able to prevent himself from falling to the floor.
You gasped, pushing yourself into a sitting position to lean over the edge of the bed. “Are you ok? I’m so sorry, I didn't mean to—” The tears came stronger now. You had hurt the only real friend you had.
He flapped back up to the bed, staring directly into your eyes. “If you're sorry for hurting me, then kiss it better.”
“What?” you sniffled.
“Kiss it better, and I’ll forgive you.”
Wallowing in your own guilt, you didn't think twice about fulfilling his request, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. When you opened your eyes, Mr. Crow was gone. In his place, face to face with you, was the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on. A man who was very, very naked.
You jerked away, a scream bubbling in your throat that the man was quick to muffle with his hand over your mouth, pinning you down beneath him so you couldn't run off. “Relax, Princess,” he said. You’d know that silky voice anywhere. You pushed his hand away, needing to confirm what you already knew was true.
“Mr. Crow?” you asked in disbelief.
“Sylus,” he corrected.
“Sy-” you started, and then your eyes widened in realization. “The missing king.”
“In the flesh, your highness,” he grinned. “Been a bird for so long I thought I’d never be human again.”
“You- how-” you stuttered, unable to properly express yourself.
He chuckled at you, the sound so much more attractive now that it was coming from a man and not a bird. “It was a curse. I took something I shouldn't have.”
“Sounds familiar,” you said pointedly.
“Don't interrupt me. As I was saying, I took a gemstone without realizing it belonged to a witch. As you can imagine, she didn't take kindly to it. And as you've come to know over these few weeks, greed is my vice. Told her finder’s keepers, so she said if I act like a crow, then I might as well be one. And then I was one. She gave me three months before it became permanent, only broken by the kiss of a princess.”
“That’s why you wanted a kiss so bad,” you said, staring at the man in awe. “But why didn't you just say that?”
“Another condition of the curse is that I couldn't talk about it. Couldn't reveal any identifying information, but now I’m free, thanks to you, princess.”
“You are. You're also…” your eyes trailed down his toned figure, quickly going back to his face when you saw more of him than you meant to, your face flushing hot.
“Naked? Doesn't seem like you're complaining, though. I don't mind if you look.” He said, thoroughly amused at your obvious embarrassment.
You turned your head away from him, avoiding eye contact. He exhaled through his nose, leaning in to nose at your exposed throat. “C’mon, don't be shy, princess. Won’t you let me thank you?”
Your tongue wouldn't cooperate to answer him.
He hummed questioningly, nipping at your earlobe. “Some time later, then.” He rolled off you into a sitting position, but you stayed put where you were, your eyes fixed on his every movement. “It's dangerous to look at a man like that, princess, especially lying down,” he stated.
You sat upright immediately, looking at him apprehensively. “I’ll get you some clothes,” you told him.
He nodded, watching you exit the room to summon a maid. You returned shortly, still avoiding eye contact with him. He frowned at this. He knew this was a lot to take in, but it’s not like he was a total stranger. You wouldn't even sit on the bed with him, choosing to stand near the door and wait for the maid to return with the clothes you had requested.
The maid returned with a gentle knock, and you opened it just enough for her to squeeze the clothes in, which you took gratefully, tossing them over to Sylus as quickly as you could, not caring if he caught them or not. You were turned to face the wall, determined to not see any more of him than you already had. He was still a king deserving of respect. That, and you had never seen a bare man before. This was highly improper.
“You’ve already seen everything. Might as well enjoy the show,” he teased.
You squeaked out a no, making him laugh. Even listening to the shuffling of clothes was enough to bring a blush to your cheeks. “You can turn around now,” he informed you when he finished. You did, almost laughing at how ridiculous the outfit looked on him. You weren't sure where the maid had gotten the clothes, but they were entirely too small for the large man, the pants' legs barely brushing the top of his ankles.
You covered your mouth to hide the growing smile, but it wasn't nearly enough to mask your mirth. He didn't hold it against you. He knew he looked silly, and it was nice to see your smile back on your face in place of the fear and uncertainty his return to human form had caused.
“Princess, can you arrange a meeting with your father for me?”
“Of course. You could just follow me to his office. I’m sure he’d put aside whatever work he’s doing. You’ve been missing for so long.”
Sylus looked down at his ill-fitting outfit with a grimace. He’d be seen by everyone like this. He almost wished he were still a bird, but it couldn't be helped. “Lead the way,” he said.
The walk to your father’s office was awkward, at best. You had spent weeks talking to the imposing man who now walked beside you, but you didn't know how to talk to him anymore. It wasn't for lack of trying on his part; you were just trying to reconcile that the bird who’d been sleeping in your room was actually a full-grown man, a king, and wondering if it was immoral that you found him wildly attractive even though he had been a bird up until twenty minutes ago.
When you arrived at the large wooden door, you knocked, waiting for permission to enter. You gestured for Sylus to wait outside for a moment, slipping into your father’s office to try to explain at least a little bit and not blindside him with the king’s sudden appearance.
You regaled him with everything that had transpired, his jaw dropping open more and more as you spoke. When you finished, he just stared at you, unsure where to even start. “Is this a joke?” he asked.
You shook your head, opening the door and waving Sylus inside. Your father looked between you and the other king, his brain still trying to catch up to your story. He addressed Sylus first. “Your Majesty, I have been told the most fantastical story I’ve ever heard. You were Mr. Crow?”
“I was, Your Majesty. Cursed by a witch. I can tell the full story if your lovely daughter here hasn't done so already.”
“She glossed over that, but it’s not important right now. So you were a bird, and my daughter kissed you, and that reversed the curse?”
You both nodded. Your father was at a loss for words. He’d never had to deal with anything remotely near the situation he now found himself in. But the more he thought about it, the more something bothered him. “You,” he growled, pointing an accusatory finger at Sylus. “You've been sleeping in my daughter’s room all this time.”
His demeanor completely flipped when he turned to you. “Darling, would you give us a moment alone?” he asked with faux cheer.
You shot Sylus a look, silently wishing him luck, before getting out of that room as quickly as you could. The second the door shut behind you, your father unleashed hell on the silver-haired king, not giving a damn about his status. You rocked on your feet outside, waiting for the lecture to end. You doubted anyone had ever spoken to Sylus like that.
Moving forward from that day, Sylus was immediately given his own room while preparations were made for him to return to Onychinus. He was also given explicit instructions to stay out of your room. You wouldn't admit it to him, but you missed Mr. Cr- Sylus.
It came to a head, and you couldn't take it anymore. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you were striding down the halls to the guest wing. You found him in the drawing room, seated on one of the overstuffed chairs, a book in hand and head propped on one hand.
He saw you enter in his peripheral vision and set the book down on a side table to give you his full attention. “Princess, to what do I owe the honor of a visit?”
“I just…” You trailed off. It was embarrassing how much you missed his company, and you knew he would be smug if those words ever reached his ears.
“If you don't know what it is that you want, then I can't do anything to help you.” Was your pride worth it if he was smug anyway?
“Just thought that we haven't talked in a while.”
“In other words, you missed me,” he said, those crimson eyes seemingly peering into your very soul. Your new shyness around him was as endearing as it was irritating. He had gone from a potential suitor, to a crow, to your friend (still as a crow), to nearly a total stranger again. Did you still view him as a bird? Because he could change that.
“Come here, princess,” he commanded. There was no bite or authority to his words; you could refuse if you wanted, but you didn't. You walked forward, head held high, a facade of confidence you did not possess, not around this man who sent heat shooting to your core with a mere glance.
You stopped a few feet away, but you were still too far for Sylus’ liking. “Closer,” he urged. Again, you stopped short of where he wanted you. He sighed, leaning forward in the chair to pull you forwards by your hips, your body slotting between his knees, his face level with your abdomen and looking up at you. “When I say I want you close, this is what I mean.” His husky voice washed over you, as tempting as the siren is to the sailor.
You braced your hands on his broad shoulders, feeling the hard muscle beneath your palms. No amount of pushing would separate him from you, though. “This is improper,” you objected, but your voice was thin and brittle, your resolve weak, and he knew it.
“Is it?”
You couldn't tear your eyes away from him even as he rose from his seated position to his full height, not allowing you to put so much as a millimeter between your bodies. He bent low enough to brush his nose against yours. “You still owe me a kiss for chasing off that prince,” he whispered, breath fanning your face.
Your cheeks flamed, but you would be lying to yourself if you pretended you wanted him to stop. You brought your hand up to his face, cupping his jawline and guiding his face forward until his soft lips were on yours. He hummed lowly, reciprocating with movements of his own. He licked the seam of your lips, asking permission, wanting, needing, more.
You parted your lips, and he snaked his tongue into your mouth, caressing your own. You hummed into his mouth, and he tightened his hold on you as if you weren't already pressed flush against his chest. Without parting from your pretty lips, he lifted you into his arms, your legs on either side of his waist. He didn't care if any of the servants were in the halls; he had already reached an agreement with your father. The betrothal hadn't been announced, but it had been decided. You were his, whether you knew it or not. He’d almost lost you to that pompous prince, and he wasn't keen to let you nearly slip through his fingers again.
Upon entering his room, he kicked the door shut behind him, quickly making his way to the bed to lay you down gently. Your lips were kiss-swollen, your eyes wide and waiting.
Normally, Sylus prided himself on his immense patience, but your sweet form beneath him was pushing him to his limits. He surged forward, peppering every inch of exposed skin with kisses, hiking up your gown to bunch around your hips. The warmth of his hands was so much more intense with the fabric out of the way. His lips were glued to your neck, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin until he found the spot that made you mewl. With renewed effort, he focused on that spot, leaving a dark bruise that would surely let everyone know you were his.
He toyed with the waistband of your panties, hooking his fingers under it and then letting it snap back against your skin. He dragged his hand even lower, feeling the way you’d soaked a wet patch through the thin fabric. He finally gave your spit-covered neck a break, admiring the bruises already blooming. Pride is part of the reason he got cursed in the first place, and he still hadn't learned his lesson, that same vice swelling in his chest as he watched the way you panted for breath, already more worked up than anyone had probably ever made you, knowing he was the one to bring you to this point.
Fuck, you were just so goddamn pretty, even more so when you were under him like this. He prodded at your leaking hole through your cute little panties, cooing at you with faux sympathy. “You’re so wet, sweetie. Why don’t you let me clean you up, hm?”
With slow, deliberate movements, he slid your panties off in time with the maneuvering of his body, lower and lower until he was face to face with your bare pussy.
“Sylus, what are you- ahh!” you moaned loudly, question interrupted when he licked a broad stripe up your dripping cunt, groaning at the taste. So good, you tasted so fucking good. He dived back in, lapping and slurping as much of you as he could, his hums of approval shooting vibrations through your overly sensitive cunt. You clenched your thighs around his head, the sensation of his tongue thrusting into you pulling moans and gasps from your lips.
All Sylus could think about was how to coax more of your sweet sounds out, alternating between pushing his tongue inside and suckling on the sensitive bud at the apex. You wound your hand through his hair, pulling for some sort of stability. The sting of having his hair pulled only spurred him on. With renewed vigor, he pushed a finger into your gummy walls, then a second, curling them as he moved them in and out. It was so much that you were practically screaming his name. You’d never even been kissed before today, much less experienced such ecstasy. Your back was arching against the sheets, your hips canting upward, seeking more of his tongue, his fingers, everything he was willing to give you.
Sylus’ eyes peering up at you with all the conviction of a devotee praying at an altar was the final push you needed for your pleasure to reach a crescendo. Your legs clamped around Sylus’ head as your body writhed under his continued onslaught, his deft tongue lapping up everything your body would give him until you were pulling his hair for even a modicum of relief from the overstimulation.
He reluctantly pulled away, his breath coming in huffs and his face smeared with the evidence of your arousal. His attention was utterly captivated by the sight of your blissed-out expression, your eyes watery with unshed tears, and he almost came untouched at the mere fact that he was the one responsible for your current state, and he took immense pride in that.
He reached towards you to cup your face, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Would you like to continue, princess, or shall we stop here?” he asked.
You could only stare dumbly, still trying to pull your head back down to earth from the high he had brought you to. You wanted it. You wanted him, and you don't think you'd ever have enough of him after this. As his words processed, you nodded, the only response your cottony mind could manage.
“Words, your highness. I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you want. I’ll give you whatever it is you desire. You need only ask for it.”
Warmth flooded your face, and the sincerity of his voice only endeared you further to the king. You hesitated, somewhat shy at verbalizing such a coarse desire. Swallowing thickly, you answered him properly this time. “You. I want you.”
Sylus groaned at your admission, his cock throbbing in its confines. “You already have me,” he whispered reverently, almost in disbelief that his affections were returned. A betrothal would make you his legally, but he wanted everything: your mind, body, and heart surrendered to him the same way he had already surrendered his to you.
He wasted no time unfastening his pants and freeing his aching length, the tip raw and leaking. You eyed it warily as he leaned over you and braced his cock at your entrance. With a final glance at you to be certain that you were sure, he began to push in with as much tenderness as he could muster, his self-control fraying with every quiver of your cunt and every whine that escaped your lips.
Your breath hitched at the intrusion, the blunt head of his cock pushing further and further into you until his hips were pressed flush against yours. The new sensation of being so thoroughly filled was enough to have your head spinning before he’d even started moving.
“Is this alright?” Sylus asked, his voice strained with the effort of keeping still.
A breathy “uh-huh” was the best you could muster. Sylus would have chuckled at how you were already fucked out, but truthfully, he wasn't far behind you. His hands drifted from their place on your hips to your thighs to pull your legs snugly around his waist. With his body weight keeping you securely pinned beneath him, he pulled out until only the head of his cock remained and thrusted back in languidly, savoring the way your body accepted his, your tight walls clenching around him tightly.
It took every ounce of his self-control to not let go of all his inhibitions and lavish you with all the carnal attention you could handle, until the only thing you could do was moan his name. Having you like this was a privilege he had begun to think would never be his, but here you were, staring up at him as he worked your body, his thick cock splitting you open and his tongue laving over the soft skin of your throat, the proximity allowing him to hear every gasp and whimper and moan in perfect clarity.
In his impatience, Sylus had neglected to properly undress, a fact he thoroughly lamented now that your fingernails were raking down his clothed back. How he would love for his body to bear the undeniable proof of how good he made you feel. Next time, he supposed. For now, though, he was content to watch you fall apart more and more with every deep thrust into your weeping pussy.
You were so close, he could feel it in the way you clenched around him. His own peak was rapidly approaching; you just felt too good around him, but he was determined to make you cum before he reached his own end. With a deft thumb, he began to rub sensual circles over your sensitive nub, the added sensation making you squeal and tighten your legs around his waist, pulling him in even deeper.
You came undone once again with a shrill cry of his name as the ecstasy coursed through your veins. Sylus’ hips continued to snap into yours as he chased his own high, his pace beginning to falter as the need to release built inside him. Grunts rumbled in his chest and spilled from his lips with every thrust into your pulsing heat. He was so close, and the thought of filling you up, marking you as his, spurred him on, but this tryst was already more of a risk than either of you should have taken. He was already tempting fate enough as is.
He reluctantly pulled out of you, using his hand to stroke himself to completion, his cum painting your folds a creamy white as he groaned out your name. Not “your highness,” not “princess,” but your name. A title so much more intimate than that of your status. Something only those closest to you had the privilege of using. He panted above you, his pale skin flushed and pupils blown out, solely focused on you. If he got this worked up when you were practically still fully clothed, he wondered if he’d last at all the first time he sees you completely bare. For now, though, he pressed chaste kisses across your jawline, compliments spilling freely between each one. “Beautiful” kiss “stunning” kiss “perfect” kiss “mine.” He finally pressed his lips to yours softly after his claim, both of you completely melting into the single kiss that somehow felt almost more intimate than even your prior activities.
You were completely worn out, and exhaustion was quickly taking over. Sylus, always astutely in tune with your body’s needs, smiled fondly at your sleepy form. He rose from the bed, telling you he’d be right back before entering the ensuite bathroom and returning with a wet cloth. He made sure you were clean and comfortable in one of his extra shirts, the material dwarfing you in a way that sent protective pangs through Sylus’ heart.
He crawled into bed next to you, pulling you flush against his now-bare chest. He pressed a chaste kiss into your hairline, whispering a quiet goodnight.
While the two of you were wrapped up in each other and sleeping soundly, a red-faced, flustered maid hurried away as quietly as she could to tell the others the juiciest piece of gossip since a butler had been found to be having relations with not just a maid but also a stableboy.
There had already been talk about the two of you. It had started the second you’d requested a set of men’s clothes and refused to open the door any more than necessary, concealing the rest of your room from prying eyes (you were no fool, and the servants weren’t quite as discreet as they believed themselves to be). Shortly after that peculiar request, King Sylus, who had been missing for the better part of two months, reappeared in the palace from seemingly nowhere and with little explanation. And it did not escape the notice of those who worked closely with you that Mr. Crow was suddenly gone, but surely the two events were unrelated; it would be preposterous to link the two, even if the bird and the king shared certain similarities.
As your interactions with the silver-haired man increased, so too did the servants’ speculation of the exact nature of your relationship. After all, their princess was as pretty as a peach, and the foreign king was certainly easy on the eyes. They all knew it was bound to happen; it was just a matter of when. There was even a betting pool on when the inevitable finally happened, and this pleasantly smug little maid who was fortunate enough to be wandering down the halls at just the right time would be the one to announce the winner.
She chuckled to herself. Margaret would be furious that she lost by only three days. She rushed into the servants' hall, where many of her fellows were gathered around eating, conversing, and generally merry-making. Her giddy demeanor and swift entry drew the attention of those closest to the door. “We have a winner!” she cheered. This, naturally, drew everyone’s attention to her, all of them asking their questions at once. How did she know? Was she sure it was them? Who bet it would only take two weeks?
She explained quickly. The head housekeeper had sent her to do her final check on the visiting king to ensure he was comfortable and did not require anything before the servants retired for the night. Instead, she was met with a chorus of moans and grunts and the sound of skin on skin that only got louder the more she neared the door of his room. And certainly it was you in there with him. There was no one else in the palace that “princess” or “your highness” could refer to.
Squeals and giggles alike filled the room from the younger servants, while those who had lost the betting pool groaned while reluctantly handing over their hard-earned funds to the victor. From that point on, you began to notice that many of the palace staff would sport flushed cheeks and the occasional suppressed grin when they saw you. And not only that, but every time you were with Sylus, it was as if whispers followed you, but when you’d turn to the source, all you would see was an empty doorway with the edge of a skirt swishing just out of view.
Sylus had only chuckled, pulling you into his lap and whispering conspiratorially in your ear. “I think they know, kitten.” You had whined into his shoulder to hide your face, embarrassment washing over you. This, of course, had only made him laugh harder, mirth coloring his tone when he spoke again. “If you can’t handle even this little bit of gossip, how are you going to handle it when we’re married and talk of heirs begins, hm? Then they’ll really know.”
You had smacked him on the chest, huffing about how improper this line of conversation was. “Certainly no more improper than what we’ve already done,” he teased.
That, too, provided even more fodder for the servants’ late-night talks, but nothing had them going near as much as your wedding night.
“Did you see how pretty her dress was?” gushed one.
“Yes! And the way he looked at her!” replied another.
“I want a man to look at me like that,” grumbled one of the cooks.
“Yeah, yeah, who cares, doesn’t anyone appreciate the flower arrangements? Grew those myself, you know,” boasted a gardener, who was now being glared at by the cook.
One of the guards nudged the comrade sitting next to him. “Think those two are having fun right now?” he asked, grinning ear to ear, his implications obvious. He had no idea how right he was.
-𓅨-
“Sy- oh!” you cried out, his cock pistoning in and out of your sopping pussy at a furious pace. The second the two of you were behind closed doors, and finally away from the celebration, he had wasted no time in stripping you of your ornate gown, his lips crashing onto yours with a hunger for you that he would never fully satisfy. From the moment he had seen you, his gorgeous bride, walking down the aisle, his composure had formed the first hairline cracks, which only deepened and spread with every small interaction: exchanging the rings that would bind you to each other forever, the kiss that sealed the union, his hand on your lower back as he guided you through the throngs of people congratulating you on your marriage, all of it was lighting a fire in him he couldn’t put out. Not in public. The cherry atop it all was Prince Xavier’s irritated face in the crowd.
Sylus took great satisfaction that it was he who had you face down in the pillows, bringing you to the gates of heaven over and over, and that that audacious little prince would never touch you thanks to the efforts of yours truly.
The sight of your bare back and your hands fisting the sheets was for his eyes only. The way your ass jiggled with every thrust and the way you writhed beneath him, completely pinned with his legs on either side of yours and his weight pressing into you, for only him to experience. And the way you moaned and cried out his name was for his ears only.
Your name spilled freely from his lips, your proper title forgotten and permanently replaced with “my wife” in Sylus’ frenzied mind. He leaned his body over yours, close enough for his heaving breaths to brush against your face. He trailed a hand across your delicate skin until his palm was pressed flush against your abdomen. “Do you -ngh!- feel me, my love? Feel how deep your husband’s cock is?”
You nodded feverishly. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes, Sylus, it’s- ah!- so much!”
“Oh my poor wife,” he cooed, faux condescension dripping from his words. “Can’t take it? Is it too much for you? Should I stop?” Before you could even register his words, he had fully stilled above you.
“No! Don’t stop, please!” you begged, the sudden loss of pleasure somehow more overwhelming than the reception of it.
Sylus groaned, and his cock twitched inside of your tight heat. “What’s wrong, sweetie? I thought it was too much?”
“Not enough. Need more. Please, Sylus, husband, I need you.”
Sylus growled, heat rushing straight to where you were joined. He could bear it no longer. He had waited far too long as it is. His hips rutted into you with a ferocity that spoke of his insatiable greed. His panting breath and grunts mingled with your own moans and cries of pleasure.
Just a bit more, and he’d again feel the nirvana of your cunt pulsing around him. With the same hand that had been pressing into you, he snaked his fingers lower, deft digits rubbing tight circles on your clit. You howled at the added stimulation, hurtling towards the edge that Sylus was so eager to bring you to. “Cum for me, my wife,” he rasped. “Let go.”
With a shrill cry of his name, you were finally pushed to the pinnacle, Sylus following shortly after, his own orgasm triggered by yours. This time, he gave no thought to pulling out of you. His hot cum filled you as his orgasm washed over him. His grunts were low and rough in your ears, so delightfully sinful, and his free arm locked around your waist, holding your body to his tightly as he continued to release into you. He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to your throat and shoulders, whatever skin he could comfortably reach, as you both came down from your highs.
He pulled out of your spent body with a hiss, eliciting a final whimper from you before he collapsed beside you on the bed. You rolled onto your side to glance over at him just to find him already staring at you, those ruby eyes filled with such adoration. He mirrored your actions, opting to lie on his side to face you directly. He didn’t think he could ever tire of the sight. You, looking so lovely, so completely content. His lovely wife. His Mrs. Crow. His happily ever after.
9. Bulge pics from work to show you that he misses you, with Zayne.
Check out the rest of my Horny thoughts list here. 🔞MDNI🔞
I hope you all see this cause my blog is flagged, AGAIN. 🤷🏻♀️
Your phone buzzed at 12:37 PM, right in the middle of your lunch.
You almost didn't check it. Zayne rarely texted during his shift, he was very particular about that, Work is work, he'd said once in that tone of his that you'd learned to translate. It didn't mean he didn't think about you. It meant he thought about you so much he had to draw a line.
So when his name lit up your screen, you immediately put down your chopsticks.
"Who's that?" Tara asked from across the table, already halfway through her soup, completely unbothered by the world.
"Zayne."
There was no message. Just a photo.
You stared at it for a second longer than you should have in a public place.
It was a chest down mirror selfie. He was leaning back just a bit, wearing a soft white fleece jacket left unzipped over his black scrubs. It looked so casual at first glance, like a photo he'd snap without thinking.
Except for the angle.The fucking angle. The camera was tilted just low enough to capture the drawstring waistband of his scrub pants and everything happening right below it.
Because scrub fabric is so soft and thin, it wasn’t hiding a thing. Pressing against the dark material was the unmistakable outline of his fat, hard dick, making it glaringly obvious just how turned on he was.
He had sent you this. From work. Zayne, the cardiac surgeon who had a no phones during rounds policy, who was always telling his residents to put their phones away and pay attention.
That Zayne had stood in front of a mirror, adjusted his camera—and probably his cock too—to perfectly frame the heavy swell and hit send.
The surprise of what you were looking at forced the air right out of your lungs in a helpless moan.
"What?" Tara looked up.
You inhaled wrong. The noodle you'd just attempted to swallow took a detour into the wrong pipe. You grabbed your water, coughing, eyes watering.
"I'm fine," you wheezed.
"You're not. What did he send you?" Tara was already leaning over, deeply entertained.
You flipped your phone face down on the table so hard a few people glanced over in concern.
"Nothing. Food went down wrong."
"Uh huh." She pointed at you with her chopsticks. "Your ears are red."
"It's warm in here."
"It's air conditioned."
You had to look at the ceiling until your face returned to a normal color. Tara was still watching you like she was storing information for future use.
Bzzzz Bzzzz
Zayne: Long shift.
You: I can see that.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Which was unusual because Zayne typed like he talked.
Zayne: I missed you last night.
You've been together long enough to know that "I missed you" from Zayne carried a weight that it didn't from other people.
You: You could have woken me up.
Zayne: You had a long day.
You: So did you
Zayne: I'm used to it.
You: Don't worry, we'll see each other in 6 hours 😉
Zayne: Five hours and fifty two minutes.
You were smiling now, fully, at your phone like an idiot in the middle of a noodle restaurant.
"Ooookay," Tara said. "What did he send you?."
"A photo."
"Of what."
You looked up. "Him."
Tara stared at you. "Him like — "
"Tara."
"Zayne sent you a — "
"We're not talking about it."
She sat back slowly, impressed "I didn't think he had it in him."
"He has a lot in him," you said, and then immediately wished you hadn't, because Tara looked like Christmas had come early.
You looked at the photo one last time before you put your phone away, eyes moving to the center of the frame, tracing the looong, thiiick stretch of fabric that proved just how much he missed you.
Five hours and forty eight minutes later, you heard the familiar rattle of his key at the door.
Tag list: @thealunari @i-idk-i-guess @hopelesslala @pearlescenthoney @stillseiims @xavisastrophil @thelastpolarbear @groovyravenagain
Sylus’s voice from behind you makes you tense, looking around to make sure none of your coworkers are around before turning to face him.
“I’m wearing my uniform Sylus, I don’t look cute at all. What are you doing here?” He’s leaning against his car casually, as if it’s just another day.
“Is it so wrong for me to check up on you?” He closes the distance between you two, hands coming up to rest on your waist.
"Sylus..." Your tone carries a warning, but his smirk only widens. His hands move up, brushing the buttons of your shirt. You almost hate the way he overwhelms you, both in stature and sheer aura. He latches onto your desire so easily, pulling it out of the locked box you keep it in.
Before you even realize it, your body is laid down on the cool leather seats, Sylus's heated body pressed against yours. He manages to slip his shirt off in the cramped space, but when you move to unbutton yours, he stops you.
"Allow me." He smirks, only unbuttoning the first three buttons of your shirt before pulling away.
"You don't want to take it off all the way?" Your question makes Sylus hum, undoing your pants and just barely lowering them. You're practically fully clothed, and he's never looked more excited.
"I'm a big fan of your uniform, sweetie." He grins, leaning down to kiss you once more.
"Seriously? It turns you on to be reminded of my job? The job which is, technically, to arrest you."
"It turns me on greatly, kitten. To be reminded that your loyalty, above all else, lies with me. Truly, such a sweet sentiment." He's clearly gloating, but there's no real flaw in his logic.
zayne had a rough day at work—so many patients, too much paperwork, an excruciating surgery in between—he was absolutely beat. so when he trudges through the door with his tie loosened and very prominent bags under his eyes on his otherwise perfect skin, you tell him to go sit on the couch and relax while you finish whipping up dinner.
he wants nothing more than to shower the day off of him and crawl into bed with his wife, but you insist he needs to eat—the same way he would if it were you in his shoes. and because he can’t resist you—especially when you’re wearing a cute little apron—he begrudgingly obliges, letting his bag hit the ground and slumping on the couch, a single button on his crisp shirt unbuttoned showing off a beautiful sliver of skin.
he throws his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, thinking of anything to take his mind off his grueling work, and he’s successful when his mind finally lands back on you. his sweet, sweet wife.
he tries to keep his thoughts innocent… tries not to think about you in your little apron looking like you came straight out of a male fantasy. tries not to think about all the things he could do to you. tries so hard not to think about how you could take care of his cock—the very same that’s growing harder and harder in his confined slacks.
he’s tired—can barely move, and yet, he still calls you to him.
“sweetheart,” his voice gruff, carrying a slight rasp as he beckons you. “c’mere please.”
a frown etches itself on your face, walking your way to him from the kitchen. “baby, ‘m almost done with din–”
you don’t get the chance to finish your complaint when he’s pulling you by the arm into his lap. a soft gasp leaves your lips at the sudden movement. then you’re settled, straddling the large expanse of his lap and you feel it.
he wraps his arms around your body, flushing you against his chest. his lips press against the shell of your ear and he whispers, “don’t care about dinner, just let me hold my wife, yeah?”
he swears it’s all he needs—to hold you close and inhale your scent—but his pulse is racing and blood roars in his ears all due to sheer desire and he can’t stop himself from shifting his hips the slightest bit.
you feel that, too. it elicits a sharp gasp.
you can almost hear the small smirk forming on his lips, “how was your day, beautiful?” he murmurs, hands moving to your hips.
and his movements are so calculated. from the way he ever so gently grounds you into him to the way his breath fans against your ear sending shivers down your spine.
“was fine…” you mumble, unable to stop the way you shift in his lap, body begging for more attention. “missed you.”
“yeah?” he asks, his voice is low and nearly unrecognizable. “missed you s’much more, my love. been waiting for this moment all day.”
you pull back slightly to look into his eyes. they’re tired. exhausted even, but they still hold that fire. that pure, burning desire. they’re his fuck me eyes. and, god, do you love them.
“zaynie,” you whisper, unable to trust your shaky voice.
he hums, and the soft, pitched noise has you leaking through your bottom, probably leaving a wet patch right on his pants. “tell me, sweetheart.” his hands squeeze at your sides and his hips slowly, but surely, roll into you. "what did you do today?"
you whimper, pussy clenching around nothing. "mmph, not much…" another roll, evoking another wet gasp. "fuck, just… cleaned, w-went on a walk—" he's pushing against you deeper now. you feel the outline of his cock push into you with every not-so-little thrust. "s-saw, saw that stray kitty in the park again."
"mmm, we should really take her in, shouldn't we?" he breathes, cock twitching at the sound of your voice breaking with every grind.
"zaynie," your hands grip his shoulders, pulling him back so you can look at him. his face is flushed, pink blooming over his cheeks and spreading to the tips of his ears. you gyrate against him, pulling a breathy moan from your husbands hung open mouth. "dinner's gonna burn."
"let it burn then." he says, the words coming out in a hiss. "need my wife—we can order takeout later, i'll even cook, don't care. let me just have you like this first."
a beg. to the untrained ear, you can't hear it, but you know zayne like the back of your hand. you know that heat curls in his stomach, that tension lies in every bone in his body, that pure desire is the only thing he feels right now. the need to be close to you is strong, but the need to be fully sheathed inside you, fucking you till he's completely stress free and you're completely full of his cum is much, much stronger.
it's why all the fatigue evaporates and he can't stop himself from flipping you onto the plush couch— rubbing into you you like he might die without feeling the outline of your pussy through your soddened panties and leggings . he can't even be bothered to rid you of your clothes… he craves the release. he needs it more than anything. needs you more than anything.
you let out a pathetic needy sob, overly worked up by him fucking you through your clothes. "z-zayne, more—ugh, need more. t-take it off, please."
his cock twitches helplessly at the sound. it's what he's been missing while drowning in work for hours on end.
"sweetheart," he moans brokenly. "promise i'll fuck you just the way you like—just need you to take this first. you can do that for me, can't you?" he whispers and the word shoot an immense amount of heat straight to your core. "you can be a good little wife, right, darling?"
you can never say no to him, especially when he talks to you like that. you respond wordlessly, giving your husband what he wants—no, what he needs—and wrap your legs securely around his slim waist.
"that's it, good girl." and the way zayne sounds is the polar opposite of the weight of his words. his voice is frayed, desperate. "f-feels, ha, feels so good like this, yeah?"
his hips move faster, imitating the way they would if he were actually inside of you fucking you with full force. your body rocks with every thrust, every grind, your tits bounce underneath your apron, the couch—even as firm as it sits—sways with you in tandem.
it goes on and on. endless, whiny praises from him, sobbing pleas from you, your bodies rubbing against one another effectively ruining his dry-clean-only slacks till you finally feel that tight knot form in your lower belly.
and he's close, too, but zayne's been close to coming undone—he just didn't want to let go without you.
it happens so quickly that you barely have the time to process it. "baby, baby," you gasp, nerve-endings coming alive while your heart pounds at the speed of light. "'m—oh, fuck, baby. 'm cumming, cumming, cumming."
"cum with me, sweet girl." he wheedles, never losing his momentum for a second. he grinds you both through it till he feels your body pull taut underneath him. till you're shaking and sobbing and clinging onto him for dear life.
then he stills and his orgasm is explosive. he's vocal, moaning out your name mixed with all the sweet pet names he's given you. his cum leaks through his boxers and said dry-clean-only slacks, beading out of the fabric in a taboo, yet very erotic way.
it takes you both minutes to come down till the smell of burning food fills your nostrils.
then you hear the unmistakable beeping of the fire alarm.
"oh, shit."
KIT SAYS... they took my yaoi/bl app away from me. if you guys know where i can read my yaoi ad free, email me. (dm me or send me an ask, I'm begging i need to fujo out over hot men that kiss) oh and this isn't proofread lol
You know Tara and Simone will rip you to shreds about this for the rest of your life.
Outside the Hunter's Association stands two men, both with a bouquet of flowers in their hand. One is a taller, older gentlemen who is adjusting the sleeves on his jacket. The leather reflects off the warm streetlights, his bike shimmering behind him.
Zayne eyes the man parked beside him. He's oddly handsome, making Zayne readjust his tie. But something about him is off. He exudes a bad aura, as if there is something wrong with him. He notices the man taking side glances at him, but Zayne doesn't react. He looks down at his watch, counting down the seconds until you get off work. Before he can put his wrist down, he hears you call out to him.
"Zayne! Hey, sorry to make you wait—" You stop dead in your tracks, eyes wide on the man parked beside Zayne. Your eyes flicker between the both of them with a worried expression on your face. The older man finally speaks up,
"Zayne?" He raises a brow, pushing himself off his bike. Zayne watches as he steps towards you. Zayne follows in suit, seeing you frantically check your phone.
There's no way you could have gotten the dates wrong right?! You knew you had two dates on a Friday coming up soon, but you didn't realize you said yes to the same Friday.
At the same time.
You awkwardly look up from your phone, seeing the two men looking down at you. Sheepishly you smile, rubbing the back of your neck.
"I didn't realize you were seeing other people." Zayne says plainly, taking a closer step to you. He isn't upset, maybe a little jealous, but it's not as if the two of you were exclusive. Sylus feels the same, though he loops an arm around your shoulders. He slips off your bag from your left shoulder, hooking it onto his fingers.
"Neither did I, sweetie." Sylus chuckles, looking at you. You glance between the two, unsure how to navigate this situation. The most you can muster up is an awkward chuckle.
How do you go about explaining this?
The two of them sit opposite of you, taking turns to flip the meat. It sizzles over the rack, the heat charring and cooking it through. Neither of them have said a word to each other, only attending to your needs. That is until Sylus breaks the ice,
"A cardiologist, yes?" He asks Zayne, refilling the younger man's cup with water.
"Head cardiologist." Zayne remarks, placing another piece of meat onto your plate. His voice softens as he speaks to you, "Careful. It's hot."
"But you are one, nonetheless?" Sylus takes a sip of his own water, placing a few side dishes onto your plate. The awkwardness is killing you. You take sheepish glances between the two. You guiltily chew on your food, watching their expressions.
"I'm sorry." You blurt out. They hear your quiet voice, despite the business of the restaurant. Sylus cocks a brow, leaning back in his seat. The condensation on his glass dips onto the table, soaking the surrounding area.
"What are you apologizing for, sweetie? I'm always up to make new friends." Sylus remarks, putting an arm around Zayne's chair. Zayne glances to the man beside him, letting a soft sigh escape his lips. Zayne leans forward, flipping the meat. He takes a small side dish, places a few pieces onto your plate.
"I just— I don't know. Isn't this awkward?" You lean forward on your elbows, brows knitted. Zayne hums, shrugging his shoulders. Sylus smiles in return, leaning forward as well. You stares at Zayne from the side, still smiling.
"Perhaps I would be more upset if you chose a less handsome man." Sylus fiddles with the ends of Zayne's hair. Zayne doesn't push him away, giving him a quick odd glance. If you looked close enough, you would probably be able to see the tips of the doctor's ears twinging pink.
You stare between the two, eyes flicking to each of their expressions. Zayne lets a sigh slip once more, placing a piece of skewered meat onto Sylus's plate silently.
"You are paying, yes?" Zayne asks Sylus, staring at him with a plain expression. Sylus's brows raise, but soon is replaced with a smug smile.
“the cut isn’t at risk for tetanus. However,” he releases your thumb with a quiet exhale. “it does suggest I should dull the knives at home.”
zayne opens a drawer to retrieve a fresh bandage, and wraps it neatly over your wounded finger. The cut is small but gnarly. you’d mishandled the knife.
“sit here while I prepare it. One can never be too cautious.” He turns around. “refrain from touching anything sharp without my supervision.” You see his cheek lift. You’d roll your eyes had you not been nervous.
okay. it's not like you were going to bolt. You just… need to face it properly.
“i’ll take the shot,” you say quickly. “but it’s not the needle. it’s the anticipation. I tense up and it hurts more than it needs to.” you grimace at the reminiscence.
“what if,” you continue, warming to the idea, “we pavlov my brain to associate injections with something… good. an amazing, earthshattering-ly good feeling."
he follows through the first half of your proposal. the next half just earns an exasperated sigh and a pinch to the bridge of his nose as he mumbles an "...alright."
--
you're straddling zayne, softly grinding against him as his tongue sweeps over you bottom lip before you suck it back into your mouth. "where would you like to take the shot?" he asks, pulling away.
"i have options?" you grip his chin to pull him back against your lips. his hand comes up to your arm, kneading the flesh of your upper arm.
"here..." his other hand glides down, tracing the curve of your waist to settle on the side of your hip. "or here?"
"not the arm," you decide. "i can see it."
"alright then. turn around." a small smile forms on zayne's lips.
--
his hard cock slips between your folds. you rub your slick clit against it, making a mess all over his pretty pink tip, both your juices mingling together.
his lips are on the back of your neck and hands kneading your tits. you twist to grant him access, hooking an arm around his neck to bring your nipple to his mouth.
"zayneee..." he eagerly sucks it in. deep, slow suckles make your toes curl. "i'm putting it in." you tell him. your cunt flutters at the mere thought of him filling you up.
"as you please,"
you finally plug yourself full of his dick, making him groan. he releases your nipple and leans back.
his hands find your waist, grinding up into your gooey walls that so eagerly pulsate to suck him in deeper, making him reach the puffy rim of your womb. "you keep-mmhh-pulling me in you." he sighs.
his palm flattens on your back, pushing you to lean forward, arching on his cock. your fingers come to your clit, tickling it gently, coaxing your cunt to spasm happily around his thick length.
behind you, plastic tears. a thrill shoots down your spine. your clit jumps under your fingers.
"nghh-my love," he groans. "are you certain you're afraid and not aroused by this?"
zayne grips your hips, stilling your movements. "stay still, now." his voice is lowered to a gentle whisper.
the sultry words distract you from the sharp smell of antiseptic and the cold rub of cotton. you almost cum there and then. god. are you really enjoying this?
"you're tightening. am i to assume these are merely your nerves acting up?" he murmurs, caressing your back gently while your finger works your sensitive clit. you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from grinding on his cock that twitches inside you. the stretch is maddening. you can feel him so dee-
a sharp biting pain blooms in your side, making you bite back a whimper.
"there… keep rubbing your clit. you're close, aren't you?" zayne pulls your thoughts away from the needle. yes, goodness, yes you're so wonderfully close. your finger rubs tighter, insistent circles on that nub. just a little more and you-
the pain dissolves into static as you reach your high, clamping down on him as you ride the wave of your orgasm with a silent scream.
part 1 of the FOR SCIENCE series
once he disposes of the syringe, you tug him back to bed. "did you think i'd let you go without finishing?"
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.
SYNOPSIS: in which the lads men hear you call them your soulmate for the first time
a/n: hi hi !! i hope you guys enjoy this :3 i had fun writing this i love the idea of soulmates hehe <3 please let me know what u guys think !!!
tags/warnings: ft. xavier zayne rafayel sylus caleb x reader (separate), fluff !!! allusions to sex (xaviers and sylus), consumption of alcohol / being drunk (zaynes and calebs), making out, fear of feelings not being reciprocated, caleb knows you too well, mephisto is a traitor, might be ooc for them sorry </3 let me know if i missed anything!
wordcount: ~1k for each love interest !
masterlist
XAVIER !
It’s not like Xavier had meant to eavesdrop. In his defense he’d planned on getting a snack from the kitchen and then turning on his heel and giving you privacy. But then you let out a giggle and he was all but forced to figure out who was on the other line making you laugh like that.
He makes it three steps down the hall after he realizes you were talking to your friend, your suddenly hushed tone makes him stop in his tracks. Xavier pauses for a moment, he shouldn't eavesdrop, he should go back to bed and wait for you there, you'd tell him everything eventually.
Xavier scurries back around the corner, ears fully engaged as you ramble aimlessly into your phone.
“God he's just so perfect, he remembers things about me that I don’t realize I do, and he's so sweet and thoughtful and hot as fuck,” you laugh. Xavier smirks at your words, crossing his arms across his chest as he leans against the wall.
“I’ve never felt like this about anyone before, I don't wanna scare him away y’know? it took us so long to even start dating,” you sigh into your phone. It’s quiet as the person on the other line responds, he can’t quite make out what they’re saying, whatever it is makes you let out a breathy chuckle.
“I mean we already said ‘I love you’ and I do but I don't know this feels like it's more than love,” you chew on your bottom lip, heartpounding as the word sits on the tip of your tongue. You hesitate, playing with the strings of his hoodie you were wearing, smiling as you pictured your lover sleeping soundly in the bedroom.
“is it insane to say I feel like he’s my soulmate?” you smile, practically kicking your feet as you speak the words. Xavier feels his head spin, his mouth dries up as his heart beats harder against his chest.
Soulmate.
Xavier regains his bearings too late, a flash of light already making your head turn to where he was. His cheeks are flushed, ears red and hands shaking slightly as he tries to compose himself, puppy eyes ready to go in case you were mad at him for eavesdropping.
“Xavier? Is that you? Hold on, I think I left the kitchen light on,” you mumble, kicking the blanket off your legs before coming face to face with your glowing boyfriend, golden specks fluttering around him and encompassing the two of you.
His plan on fawning goes out the window when he sees you, dressed in his hoodie and your hair slightly messy from your actions with him before the phone call.
“My star please hang up,” Xavier breathes out, trying to steady his hands as he reaches out for your waist.
“I’ll call you later, bye,” you rush out, barely ending the call as Xavier’s lips meet yours. you can’t stop the smile on your lips as he deeps the kiss, pulling you closer to his body. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Do you mean it?” his voice is strained, grip tightening around you as you stare up at him in confusion. “What you said on the phone, were you talking about me?” the golden orbs around you flicker, their intensity lowering as you stare at your lover in silence.
it takes you a moment for everything to click in your mind, eavesdropping little-
“If it's not me then who? I promise I can be better, I’ll do anything-” he rambles, his grip on you tightening possessively. You cut him off with your lips on his, ignoring the way your teeth clash initially, smiling when he whines softly into the kiss. You relish in the way he holds you closer to him. When you pull away his eyes are dark and pupils wide, you giggle at the way his eyes flutter open.
“I was talking about you, you're the only one for me” you smile up at him, the lights in your apartment flicker, the love of your life glows brighter before you. Xavier pulls you closer to him, face buried in the crook of your neck, stomach flipping as the smell of his laundry detergent mixes with your perfume.
“Say it,” he breathes against your neck, “I wanna hear you say it.”
“You're my soulmate, Xavier," you whisper out, like it's a secret only meant to be heard between the two of you and the four walls of his apartment. “I only want you.”
His grip tightens around you for a second, his warm breath fans over your neck before he presses wet kisses to the skin, humming when he feels your knees buckle as he bites down softly.
“My star,” he mumbles between kisses, “you’re my everything,” he makes his way up your neck, "mine in every lifetime,” a kiss to your jaw. His lips hover over yours for a second, you can feel his breath fanning over you, eyes half lidded, you look at him through your lashes. “I’ll find you no matter what, it'll always be you, my soulmate.”
Xavier's words make your heart stutter and mind melt, closing the distance between you as your lips move passionately against his, hands grasping at the hair at the nape of his neck, smiling when he moans as you tug softly.
“I love you, starboy,” you mumble between messy kisses, "you're only mine, right?”
Xavier whimpers at your words, the sound of a lightbulb shattering makes you pull away. His calloused hand is quick to find your cheek, gently redirecting you back to him. “I’m all yours,” he breathes out, voice hoarse, “and you’re all mine starlight.”
“Don’t think you're off the hook for eavesdropping," you say against his lips, biting at his bottom lip softly before pulling away. Xavier immediately flashes you a small pout with wide eyes and angled brows. You force yourself to look away, feeling your resolve leave your body much too quickly. “Dont look at me like that,” you mumble.
“Can’t I look at my soulmate?” his voice is soft as ever, you can't stop your head from turning to look at him, wide sapphire eyes staring back at you.
You were a goner, and Xavier knew it, but he wasn’t much better.
ZAYNE !
“Jus’ one more drink!” you slur out, stumbling against your boyfriend and he leads you out of the bar, shaking his head at your feeble attempts to break free of his grasp.
“Darling, one more drink and you’ll throw up in my car like last time,” his voice is gentle, slowly leading you to his car as you wave goodbye to your friends reluctantly.
There’s a small pout on your lips as he buckled you in, kissing your temple before closing the door and sliding in the driver's seat. He'd already queue’d your playlist, a small smile on his lips as you sang your little heart out.
There's a pause before the next song blares through his car's speakers, you hum along before turning the volume down, suddenly turning to your lover and staring at him intently. Zayne glances at you a couple times, raising a brow as he bites back a smile at your attempt to look serious (your body sways back and forth and a small smile plays on your lips.)
“I have something like serious business I have to say to you,” you fumble out, watching as Zayne juggles glancing at you and the empty road ahead.
“Okay, go on my love,” he says, voice as steady as ever. It makes your knees weaker than they were already, your heart thumps loudly against your chest as you muster up the remaining liquid courage in your veins.
“Nevermind,” you chicken out, leaning into the plush passenger seat and staring at your boyfriend with half lidded eyes.
“What is it? You can tell me,” he pushes slightly, hazel eyes looking at you softly, it makes your stomach flutter.
“What if you don't feel the same?” you pout, eyes glossing over and bottom lip wobbling the tiniest bit.
The words have Zayne's grip on the steering wheel tightening, the brakes squealing as he comes to an abrupt halt on the side of the road, parking the car and turning his hazards on before looking at you with concerned eyes.
“Do you think I don't love you?” His words are frantic and desperate, your drunken mind misinterprets his tone, pouting as your shoulders deflate.
“No I know you love me it's just-” you mumble, already shifting your body to face the window. Zayne doesn’t let you, his usual composure falling to pieces as he reaches across the center console to have you face him, hazel eyes searching yours, pupils blown wide.
“You can tell me anything, darling,” he breathes out, “will you please tell me?”
The softness in his voice makes your inebriated resolve fall apart, your eyes stare at his lips for a moment before refocusing on your confession at hand.
“I feel like you're my soulmate” you mumble, eyes slowly focusing from his eyes back down to his pink lips.
Zayne feels his heart skip a beat, hat creeping up his cheeks as he catches the way you stare at him with pure want.
“Darling, I know you are my soulmate,” he confesses, memorizing the way your eyes widen and sparkle, the smallest gasp leaving your lips.
“Zayne-” your words are cut off by him pressing his lips to yours, ignoring the bitter taste of alcohol on your lips as his tongue swipes your bottom lip. A small whine leaves your lips as he pulls away, he has the slightest smirk on his lips when you pull him back by the collar of his button up. Your mouths move together in sync, you can taste the mint left behind from the gum he was chewing while he waited for you. Zayne lets his hands cup your cheeks, only pulling away when he feels your hand snaking to his thigh.
“Let's get home first, okay?” He offers, placing a gentle kiss to your nose when you reluctantly agree.
You're asleep by the time he parks the car in the garage, carrying you to bed and helping you out of your clothes, pressing soft kisses to your face as he does your skincare for you. He tries to ignore the blush on his cheeks as you compliment him between giggles.
“Do I tell you how hot you are? I need to tell you more,” you mumble, Zayne struggles to keep his composure, finishing the final step before finally carrying you to bed.
“Do I tell you how gorgeous you are? How stunning and brilliant you are?” He hums, turning the compliments on you, he smiles as you turn away in embarrassment. He gently repositions you so that you're facing him, “I need to tell my soulmate I love them more, don't I?” He pauses for a second, letting you try to push away from him, only to come back immediately. He presses a feathery kiss to the top of your head. “I love you.”
“You mean it?” you mumble against his chest, hands intertwined with his.
Zayne feels his heart clench at your vulnerable words, “I would never lie to you about this. You're the only one for me, we are meant to be together in this life and the next.” His serious tone is a contrast to the gentle look in his eyes.
You can’t stop the giggles leaving your mouth, nuzzling your warm face into his neck and placing a flurry of kisses on his neck.
“I love you,” you sigh out, eyelids heavy as the alcohol takes its toll on your body.
“I love you more,” Zayne whispers, a small smile on his lips as your breathing evens out. He smooths your hair down, arms holding you a little tighter, “my soulmate.”
RAFAYEL !
The thought occurred to you during a fleeting moment as he walked hand in hand with you from the beach, laughter being carried by the ocean breeze.
Your fond eyes took in his every feature, every mole and noise he made, your chest growing warm. My Rafayel. My boyfriend. My soulmate.
You falter slightly as the last word weighs heavy in your mind. There isn’t much of an opportunity for you to linger on the word, Rafayel is quick to sweep you off your feet and carry you into the house bridal style, smiling sweetly down at you before kissing your cheek.
“What does my darling lover wish to eat tonight?” His voice is airy and playful as he plops the two of you on the couch, brushing your hair behind your ear. He relishes in the way you squirm, the way you avert your gaze out of bashfulness.
“Whatever my handsome fishie desires” you reply back, wiggling out of his arms and standing, “I’m gonna go shower.”
Soulmate. The word rattles around in your head, a million thoughts racing in your mind as the water hits your skin. You stare at the ornate tile long enough for the design to be seared into your eyes.
A knock at the door makes you jump, soap effectively getting in your eye. “fuck,” you mumble softly, quickly rinsing the suds off your body, “what is it?” You call out, lowering the water pressure to hear better.
“You okay cutie? It’s been a while,” Rafayel's concern makes your stomach twist.
“I’ll be out in a minute!”
Rafayel notices your subtle change in attitude, watching the way you stare at him more intently, the way you hold back your affections for him. He frowns when he catches you stopping your arm from wrapping around his waist as he stands in the kitchen with you.
He doesn’t say anything, not yet.
That was two days ago, and now Rafayel feels like he’s going to die soon if he doesn’t feel the warmth of your skin on his. He’d gotten out of bed before you this morning, telling you he wouldn’t be back until early evening under the guise of buying new paints at the market. He tried his best to hide his frown when he saw how relieved you looked to be alone for the day.
You let out a sigh of relief when the front door clicked shut, giving it two minutes before dialing your best friend's number.
“I’m in a crisis and I need your help,” you rushed out as soon as she answered. You were too jittery to stay still, kicking off the blanket and pacing around the room.
“You know Rafayel? the handsome artist that I’m dating and am head over heels for?” you ramble, walking out of the room and into the hallway, staring at the art pieces for a second before continuing your panicked walk.
“Yeah so what do I do if I think he’s my soulmate?” the words leave your mouth conveniently as the front door opens, your wide eyes meet the shocked dual chrome ones of your boyfriend.
“- forgot my wallet,” the words die on his tongue as he processes the words he wasn't meant to hear. Neither of you move, staring at each other like fish out of water.
“Cutie please tell me you’re talking about me or this is going to get really awkward really fast,” he breaks the silence first, watching as you quickly hang up the phone.
“Did you hear that?” part of you hopes he didn’t, the other part of you wonders what he’ll say.
“Hear the love of my life call me their soulmate? Yeah I heard that part,” he says, closing the front door behind him, he takes two tentative steps towards you, gauging your reaction. Your face flushes at his words.
You take a step towards him, helping close the distance. Rafayel doesn’t hesitate to take a mile when you give him an inch, arm looping around your waist and pulling you against him.
“You were talking about me, right?” His voice is a lower octave and it makes goosebumps rise on your skin.
“maybe,” you breathe out, eyes frantically searching his own, “do you feel the same?”
Rafayel feels his skin ignite as your hands brush over the skin of his cheek, his eyes flutter shut as he leans into your touch. “How could I not feel the same when you’re so perfect for me? of course I think you’re my soulmate. You're my muse and inspiration, the reason I live.” He punctuates each point with a kiss to your hand, then your wrist.
“My beautiful soulmate,” he smiles, watching as you break into a grin. He presses a kiss to your neck, breathy giggles between kisses up your neck and jaw before finally capturing your lips in his. “Is that why you’ve been distant? you were scared I didn’t feel the same?”
Rafayel feels you tense at his words, relaxing when he places another kiss on your cheek. “You noticed that?” You cringe, nose scrunching as he pulls away from you.
“I live to love you and you think I wouldn’t notice when you pulled away?” you laugh at the incredulous look on his face, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he carries you to the couch. He feels you mumble a ‘sorry’ against his skin, kissing him softly before looking up.
“Don't you have to go buy some paint?” you ask, running your fingers through his purple strands before focusing on his eyes again.
“Oh that was a lie,” he says plainly, “was gonna buy you that diamond bracelet you wanted because I thought you were mad at me.” Your jaw drops, he continues. “But now we can go pick something out together, to celebrate our soulmate-ism!” he grins.
Rafayel doesn’t let you protest, shutting you up with a kiss on the lips every time you try and argue. You give in eventually, with the two of you coming back with matching bracelets whose price tag made your vision blur (Rafayel didn’t bat an eye as he handed over his card).
SYLUS !
It was your fault for thinking Mephisto would actually keep a secret from his creator. You were too distracted by the prospect of finally catching up with friends as you hurriedly kissed Sylus goodbye while he was half asleep, hopping on your bike and heading towards Linkon. you hadn’t noticed the mechanical crow following you in plain sight, the flutter of his wings masked by your friends voices as you hugged them all.
The three of you sat at a table outside, making small talk before ordering and setting menus aside. You caught up on the usual, work, hobbies, gossip, the shows you all watched.
“Okay let’s cut to the chase, this Sylus guy,” your friend waggles her brows at you, you scoff, pushing her gently and hoping they think the flush on your cheeks is due to the sun and not because of the mention of your lover.
“No we’re really good,” you smile, biting your bottom lip, “I really, really love him and he’s the sweetest ever, i don’t know i think-” you cut yourself off, heart pounding as you stare at your friends expectant faces.
“Are you serious?”
“Oh my god!”
“I think he’s the one, I feel like he’s my soulmate,” you breathe out, laughing when your friends squeal in excitement.
Mephisto isn’t perfect, his feathers puff up at your confession and the poor bird can’t stop the squawk of excitement that leaves him. You whip your head around at the sound, jaw dropping when you see him perched on a branch of the tree besides you. Your narrowed eyes are enough to keep the crow grounded in place.
Two hours later you part ways with your friends, double checking they were out of sight before snatching Mephisto out of the tree he was in, a concerned ‘caw’ leaving his beak when you manhandle him.
“You can not tell Sylus what I said here today, okay?” your breathing is panicked as you look around, “the last thing I want is to scare him off because im in too deep too quickly or he doesn’t feel the same or-” your grip on the bird loosens, he doesn’t move, instead he nuzzles his head to your hand.
“I don't wanna mess this up, promise me you won’t tell him, promise me Mephie?” the bird lets out a soft ‘caw.’ You smile at him, placing a kiss to the top of his head before releasing him. “Okay, let’s go home then.”
Mephisto arrives at the base before you do, seeing as you stopped quickly at the grocery store, having misplaced your faith in the corvid; truly believing he would stay true to his caw and keep a secret from his father maker. You walk in the front door, with a smile on your face, skipping to the kitchen and setting down the snacks you’d bought.
“Did you have a good time, sweetie?” Sylus’ deep voice makes you turn with a smile, your eyes sparkling as you nod quickly. Sylus doesn’t waste time, pushing himself off the wall he was leaning on and snaking his arms around your waist. “Did you happen to talk about me?” There’s a lilt to his voice, you hum softly.
“Maybe, maybe not,” you scrunch your nose, kissing his lips before attempting to break free of his grasp, "I need to put the ice cream in the fridge before it melts!” you protest, barely putting an effort to leave his arms.
“I’m sure as soulmates we’ll have plenty more ice cream in our lives, no?” Your movements still as the words process in your mind, eyes going wide and stomach dropping.
“That fucking bird!” you gasp out, panic rising in your chest, “I’m sorry I just- we can take a step back if you want-” you ramble, not noticing Sylus’ brows furrowing at your words as you attempt to backtrack on the words you very obviously meant.
“Did you not mean it?” His deep voice is steady, his grip on you hasn’t faltered, still holding you close to him. Your eyes meet his, trying to clue yourself in on his emotions.
“I did- I do, but I don't wanna scare you off,” you admit. Your heart is racing, the sound of it beating loudly in your ears masks Sylus' heart beating just as loudly. You avert your gaze from his, focusing on the frayed edges of his old t-shirt.
“You couldn’t scare me off even if you tried, kitten,” he mumbles, a soft smile replacing his teasing smirk. He leans down, stopping inches from your lips before whispering, “for the record I told mephisto you were my soulmate the day I met you.”
His words make your eyes dart from his shirt to his eyes. Sylus forces himself to mask his amusement at your surprised look. You open your mouth to reply, but he doesn’t give you a chance to get a word out as he crashes his lips to yours, allowing you to lead the kiss. Your head spins as your lips move against his, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, leaning into him until the two of you are stumbling backwards.
Your lips only disconnect when you gasp for air, Sylus’ back pressed against the wall as he watches you fondly. “If I had known I was gonna get this reaction I would’ve told you I thought you were my soulmate sooner,” he teases, you squint your eyes at him, pouting slightly.
“Don't make fun of me, I was scared!” you press your forehead against his chest, eyes closing as you listen to his racing heart.
Sylus moves his hand to fix your hair, coming to rest on your cheek before snaking to your chin and gently lifting it so you face him.
“You don’t need to be scared to tell me anything, okay? our souls are made up of each other,” his gaze softens, your knees buckle.
“I love you,” you breathe out, pressing your lips to his once more.
“What about the ice cream?” he mumbles against your lips.
“Fuck the ice cream.”
Sylus doesn’t stop the rumble of laughter in his chest as he sweeps you off your feet and carries you to the bedroom.
CALEB !
“I wanna try this” you tilt your screen to Caleb, he watches the video for a moment before turning to look at you.
“You don’t like that kind of food,” he says casually, turning back to the tv as you furrow your brows at him.
“How would you know? I’ve never even tried it,” you huff, tapping the post and checking where the store was located.
“Pips, trust me you won't like it, you're gonna complain about the texture of it,” the cocky smile on his face made you frown, shaking your head.
“Look! They have a place here in Skyhaven, let's go try it!”
One bite was all it took, your face falling after the first bite, entire body freezing.
“Does it taste good?” Caleb smiles, taking a sip from the broth of the ramen he got, your favorite kind.
“Mhm, yummy” you cringe, forcing yourself to chew and swallow harshly. You’d be damned if Caleb was right for the nth time about you.
“Can I try it? You can have some of mine too,” he smiles, you immediately nod at the opportunity. Caleb switches your plates quickly, shaking his head as he watches you hum happily at the first spoonful of noodles. You know what he’s doing, thankful as he spares your pride while he finishes off your food.
It happens again when you show him a t- shirt online you wanna order, “it's a limited time drop! I need to get this,” you muse, staring at the ‘add to cart’ button.
“Baby you don't even like any of those color ways, you're never gonna wear it,” he reasons, pulling you into his lap and kissing the pout on your lips.
“Yes I will,” you bite back.
“Using it as a sleeping shirt doesn't count.”
You order the shirt anyway, wearing out on a date out of spite. It turns into a sleeping shirt after that.
It’s not one way though, with you picking up any supplies or necessities for his house in Skyhaven, he catches you putting them away.
“I knew I was forgetting to do something, I’m sorry baby,” he sighs, placing a kiss on your cheek, his colonel uniform still on as he melts into your touch.
“It’s okay, I knew you’d forget,” you tease, “I also got you new socks, throw away those ripped ones you have.” Caleb lights up at your words, a flurry of wet kisses landing on your face before you can push him away.
Life felt easy with Caleb, the two of you moving in sync around the house, knowing exactly what the other needed without having to say a word.
You hand him the seasonings he needs as he looks around your kitchen, you rearrange it before he comes over the next time, mirroring the kitchen in skyhaven, he doesnt struggle to find the salt anymore.
Caleb gives you half of his closet and drawers, filling it with clothes you'd left behind previously, organizing it and folding your clothing in the way he knows you like. He buys the detergent and softener you like, throwing his away after you complained that it smelled weird.
It’s not in any grand gestures he does, not in the grand bouquet of flowers he brings you when he’s been gone on a mission for weeks. It’s not when he’s pressing you against the wall, pinning your wrists above your head and making you writhe and come undone beneath him.
No, the realization comes to you in bits and pieces.
It comes to you when he hands you a dandelion as the two of you stroll through the city, “make a wish,” he grins, watching as you close your eyes and blow. He does the same with his, “I wished for us to always be together.” You roll your eyes at him, corny, “they say if you say your wish out loud it never comes true,” you laugh as his face falls, frantically searching for another dandelion.
It’s when he helps you brush your teeth after a night out, wiping your makeup off gently and acting as your jester when you're upset. It’s when you're whispering sweet nothings to each other in bed, hushed giggles as if you're scared of getting caught up past your bedtime. It's when he comes to you with wet lashes, baring his heart to you and confessing his insecurities, leaning into your touch as you kiss away his worries, your words wrapping around his heart in a comforting embrace.
Maybe you've always known, but could never place a word to it. As you sit under the stars, head on his chest as you listen to his heartbeat and the rumble of his deep voice as he rattles off constellations to you.
“Do you believe in soulmates, Caleb?” You cut him off, he doesn't mind. You hear his heartbeat increase, both of you still stare at the stars above you.
“I do, do you pips?” His voice wavers slightly, gaze focusing on you, he watches as your lips twitch into a smile. You take a deep breath before sitting up and moving next to him.
“I think I didn't at first, I always thought it was silly,” you laugh, eyes catching a moving star, you turn to Caleb and continue. “But I don't think there’s any other way to describe what you are to me,” you shrug, “I love you too much for it to not bleed into our destiny.”
Caleb feels the world around him stop, his mouth falls open slightly at your words. You smile at him sweetly, like you didn’t just put poets to shame.
“You’re the reason I believe in soulmates” he finally says, “from the moment we met I knew I was destined to be yours, and you mine.”
Your face flushes at his words, a small squeak leaves you when he pulls you onto his lap, staring at you for a second before pressing his lips to yours. Caleb’s grip on you is tight, fingers digging into the plush of your waist.
“I love you so much,” he mumbles between kisses. You hum in return, gasping when his grip tightens.
“I love you, Caleb.” You smile against his lips, laughing when he bursts into a fit of bashful giggles.
Summary: Sylus takes reader to a cottage house in the countryside to take her mind off things.
Content: fluff, sfw, softness, kiss, reader is quiet, comfort.
The cottage stood as if it had grown from the earth itself, its walls softened by ivy and wild roses that clambered up the stones, spilling their color across the pale morning. The roof was moss-capped, like a hat of green velvet, and smoke trailed lazily from the chimney, curling into the bright air with the unhurried ease of a sigh. Beyond it stretched a patchwork of meadows, each swaying under the breeze as though the earth were breathing, fields of deep green stitched with daisies, foxgloves, and tiny violets that winked like stars scattered over the grass.
The air was alive with a kind of hush, the gentle silence that belongs to wide countrysides, broken only by the hum of bees moving from bloom to bloom and the laughter of a stream that ran just behind the house, its voice soft as glass bells. The scent here was richer than perfume: the sweetness of honeysuckle mingled with the freshness of damp leaves, the warm spice of lavender, and the faint woodsmoke drifting from the hearth.
It was the kind of place that felt almost enchanted, where time could be forgotten and even worries seemed to melt into the air. The path to the door was lined with marigolds and bluebells, their colors glowing like little lanterns in the sunlight, and when the wind passed, the whole garden bent and swayed in greeting. The world beyond the hills might have been loud and restless, but here, in the stillness, the cottage seemed to dream, waiting for anyone who wished to step inside and belong to its quiet, fragrant magic.
When Sylus first coaxed her into the car, she sat with her hands folded in her lap, her silence weighing heavier than the road unfurling before them. The countryside blurred past, a green dream through the glass, but she barely looked, too caught in the spirals of her own doubt. She had asked him for this, but the closer they drew to it, the more she wondered if she had chosen rightly. If her heart had led her astray. If Sylus, of all people, was the one she should have placed her fragile longing in.
And yet, he drove without question. He never pressed, never asked her to explain her worries. The engine purred, the wheels hummed along the ribbon of road, and Sylus simply was there, his presence as steady and unwavering as the horizon itself. She could not forget that he was a man who could buy kingdoms, who held the weight of empires in his hands, yet he had listened to her quiet plea and carried her here, to where the world softened.
The countryside welcomed them like a held breath released. Rolling meadows opened into a garden of colors, the hills kissed by the sun, and a cottage nestled as if it had been waiting for them all along. Stone walls and flowering vines, windows that caught the gold of evening light, air so fresh it seemed to wash the city dust from her soul. The quiet here was a balm, broken only by bees drowsily circling the lavender and the gentle rush of a stream close by.
She stood at the gate, uncertain still, her doubts curling tighter with the fragrance of roses and smoke. But Sylus only set a hand against the small of her back, guiding her forward with the same calm certainty he had shown on the road. He had not questioned whether this was the right thing for her, he had simply given it.
And when the door creaked open, spilling the scent of cedarwood and warmth, it felt less like stepping into a house and more like stepping into a spell, one spun for her, because she had asked, and because he had chosen to answer.
In the first days, the cottage held more silence than words. She wandered softly through the rooms, her steps almost cautious, as though afraid to disturb the quiet. Sylus never pressed her to speak. He let her have the stillness she seemed to need, a pocket of peace carved out of the world, and he remained content to fill the air only with the soft scrape of a knife against wood, the gentle bubbling of water on the stove.
When she slipped outside into the garden, he stayed inside, not to smother her freedom, but to watch in his own quiet way. From the kitchen window above the sink, he could see her standing amongst the flowers barefoot, the wind threading through her hair as though nature itself longed to touch her. The meadow seemed to bend toward her, the blossoms shifting like they were listening to something only she could hear. And she finally smiled.
Sylus’s hands moved steadily over the vegetables, simple things: carrots, onions, herbs plucked fresh from the earth outside. He had considered making something grand, something worthy of the excess his wealth afforded him. But no, he understood instinctively that her soul would rest better in simplicity. Food cooked with patience, the kind that smelled of hearth and garden, not of gilded halls. Even if their time here stretched no longer than a handful of days, he wanted her to taste peace.
“She is beautiful in the sun,” he thought, pausing only for a heartbeat as the knife glinted in his hand. There was no performance in her beauty, no courtly mask, only her, unguarded, bathed in light and moving with the wind. And for the first time in a long while, Sylus felt that watching her like this was worth more than any crown, more than any country he might own.
And she was grateful for him, grateful in a way she could not shape into words. She knew she had been too quiet, too reserved for someone who had asked for his closeness, who had pleaded for his presence. Yet, every time her doubts pricked at her, the peace that settled around him soothed them. His silence did not feel like distance. It felt like a shield, like a promise that she could breathe without fear.
He didn’t need to fill the air with talk, nor did he demand her attention. Simply being there, standing at the stove, watching from the window, walking the garden paths with a steady gait, was enough. His presence pressed gently against her loneliness, reminding her she was no longer adrift.
And in that soft rhythm of days, she found herself clinging to something she hadn’t dared believe in before: the thought of tomorrow. A better future, perhaps. Something fragile, still unspoken, yet shimmering faintly ahead. A future where she and Sylus might exist in the same place and time, not as passing shadows in one another’s lives, but as two souls quietly learning to stay.
One night, when the sky was velvet-dark and the air carried the sweetness of grass and distant blossoms, Sylus stepped outside into the garden. He lowered himself onto the ground without ceremony, as though the earth had been waiting for him, and tilted his gaze up toward the scatter of stars. The silence was wide, the kind that seemed to stretch past the hills and into eternity, and he welcomed it. The weight of soil beneath him, the expanse of sky above him, it was grounding, humbling, and strangely kind.
When she appeared in the doorway, he did not move. He let her see him as he was, neither beckoning nor withdrawing, only being. She stood there for a moment, her shadow long against the flowers, before she stepped forward.
To Sylus, her approach stirred a quiet joy, delicate and unexpected, the sort of joy one feels when a wild creature chooses to come closer. Not forced, not demanded, but earned with patience and stillness. He kept his posture loose, calm, though his heart gave the smallest tug as she crossed the garden toward him.
For her, each step was a war with herself. The rush of questions clamored in her mind—was this right, was she right, would he turn away?—but for once she refused to listen. She did not want the doubts. She only wanted him.
When at last she lowered herself beside him, the stars seemed to shimmer a little brighter. She leaned gently against his arm, her hands curling around his elbow, soft and clinging, as though she feared he might vanish if she let go.
Sylus did not speak. He only breathed, steady and warm, letting her find her place against him. And in that stillness, beneath the endless sky, their closeness said more than any words could.
She whispered it so softly it might have been mistaken for the rustle of leaves,
Thank you.
Sylus turned, the stars catching in his eyes as he looked at her, and for a moment the world seemed to still. To him, she was his long-awaited sweetness, the one who had finally come to rest at his side after so many restless days and nights. And when her gaze lifted to meet his, she saw in him her own haven, her divine sweetness, her safe abode, the place her heart had been aching toward without knowing.
The night wrapped them in its vast embrace, flowers bowing their heads, the breeze weaving gently between them. It felt as though the whole garden bore witness, the earth beneath, the heavens above, the quiet, breathing air around them.
And in that tender silence, in the dearness of being finally close, they kissed. It was not hurried, nor desperate, but steady and true, like the first note of a song that had been waiting forever to be sung.
In the days that followed, life unfurled like a dream they both had longed for without daring to name. Their words, once hesitant, began to flow with ease, sometimes about nothing at all, sometimes about everything that mattered, but always spoken softly, as though the world outside had no right to hear what was meant only for them.
He kissed her by the sink, water still dripping from her hands, laughter bubbling between them as if the simplest moment could hold eternity. She held him close in the quiet of the bedroom, her arms wrapping around him as though she could press herself into his very being, craving the warmth of his skin, the undeniable presence of him beside her.
Each small act became a language of its own. They spoke it in the hush of shared laughter, in the way their foreheads leaned together, breaths mingling as if to whisper I am here. They spoke it in the garden when fingers laced together and they blushed like children caught in some sweet secret. He carried her for no reason other than to hold her nearer, her laughter soft against his chest, his heart steady in its devotion. She fed him with her own hands, and each bite ended in the tender brush of her lips against his cheek, a rhythm both playful and profound.
And there were the silences too, silences that belonged only to them. Stolen moments where their eyes found each other’s and held on, longer than reason should allow, until everything else fell away. In those stretches of quiet, they needed no words, no movement, nothing but the certainty that they were exactly where they belonged: here, together.
One evening, when the hush of twilight draped the cottage in soft colors, she finally let the words spill. Her voice was low, almost fragile, as she told him of her worries, the days that had pressed down on her, heavy and relentless, the way the world had been too loud, too sharp, too much for her spirit to bear. For once, she did not pretend to be stronger than she was. She simply admitted it: that in the clamor of it all, her only thought, her only solace, had been the longing for him, for his steadiness, his quiet, his peace.
Sylus listened, his eyes never leaving hers, his silence as careful and steady as his breath. He had no grand speech to give, no intricate words to heal every ache. All he had was the truth of himself, offered plainly.
“I’ll be exactly where you need me to be,” he told her, the certainty in his voice soft but unshakable.
And as he reached for her hand, the weight she carried seemed to loosen, if only a little. For in that moment, she knew he meant it, that whatever storms rose again, she would not face them alone.
Dividers by @fairytopea
Taglist (because yall seemed to need this and I hope u liked it) : @beesin03 @littleappleorchard @blessdunrest @dissociativewriter @metaorigin @xelasrecords @thedenefestrationofhoney @ardently-verdandi @thechaoticarchivist
