meow

23. WE GOON AT DAWN!

[tamsyandenjinsslutt]

I love when Enjin is drawn with a bigger looking nose like augghhghhgh

I wanna sit on it

[softpillowprincess]

ᯓ˚✗୨୧ — detergent & sweets [+18]

PART 1 | tobacco & mint (this fic can be read as a standalone)

ᢉ𐭩Enjin x f!Reader

.｡.:*☆ wc ≈ 13.5k | beta read | proof read

SYNOPSIS Since that time Enjin had you whining on your own desk, he hadn’t really initiated anything anymore and the fact that he wasn’t railing you into oblivion was driving you crazy—but why didn’t he?

CONTENT sexual frustration / sexual tension / porn with plot / resolved sexual tension / mutual pining / slow burn / established relationship / dom!Enjin / oblivious!Enjin / praise kink / sub!reader / oral m!receiving / piv / sadist!enjin if you squint

WARNINGS mdni / use of she/her pronouns / use of [Y/n] / cursing / protected sex but I wrote it in a way I think is really hot

Your boyfriend was unbearably attractive.

Physically, he was sin on two legs. Tall—one of the tallest people you’d ever met—but not in the lanky way. His shoulders were broader than most doorways he passed through, often forcing him to angle himself just to be able to enter a room.

And whenever you touched him, you couldn’t believe it was actually allowed—that this was your normal now. Feeling the fit, hard lines of his physique under his clothes whenever he pulled you close never failed to steal your breath.

Piercing, golden eyes. Sharp undercut—you could go on and on. But seeing him like this… in action, a thin sheen of sweat glowing on his naked skin—it was downright unfair.

His shirt was tossed on some random bench, muscles flexing and pulsing with heat as he powered through his final set on the bench press.

The weight lowered toward his heaving chest, calloused hands gripping the bar with effortless control. You’d seen him dominate on the field more times than you could count—but this display of raw, physical strength was something else entirely.

As a spotter, it would’ve been quite important for you to pay attention—and you were technically paying attention. If there was anything you certainly were doing it was paying very close attention. 

To the wrong things, maybe—but at least you were paying attention.

An inch from his chest, the bar shot upward again, biceps bulging and pecs contracting under the strain, tattoos stretching and warping across his skin with every flex of his body.

You remembered the first time you’d ever seen his tattoos—after he’d made your legs shake so badly he’d had to carry you to the bathroom so you could shower together.

It was more than you’d ever dared to imagine. 

Abstract shapes of black and red spread over the entirety of his broad back, blooming down the lengths of his arms into beautiful, cloud-like patterns. 

You might or might not have had an idea of where his ink adorned his body, but one detail still caught you off guard—an intricate, circular motif right in the center of his chiseled abdomen.

The soap left for a rinse on your own skin was long forgotten.

Water ran down his alluring physique, moving along the curves of his muscular body and it did absolutely nothing to soothe your own from coming down its rather recent high—the high he was responsible for. He was to blame for.

A singular droplet cascaded down the sharp bone of his cheek. Past his jawline, his pretty neck, before continuing along the apex of his broad chest and the ripples of his toned stomach—

“See something you like?” 

Your gaze shot back up to his devilishly handsome face, smugly smiling down at you as he rinsed off his body wash, bits of soap and bubbles glistening on his wet skin and individual beads of water accumulating at the tips of his dirty blond hair and falling before him. 

He was living, breathing sex. 

And he’d proven it again. 

Of course, that wasn’t all you appreciated about him. 

He always found a way to be affectionate, no matter the occasion. Whether you were out on a date, curled up in bed, or just hanging out with the other cleaners, his arm would be draped over your frame, or his hand would rest lightly on your thigh.

You adored how he’d grown into more of a show-off in polluted zones whenever you were out on missions together, pulling out all stops against trash beasts just to impress you—you’d pretend not to notice just to annoy him, but you definitely did. 

And you loved how he wasn’t afraid to call you his girlfriend.

Instead of calling you by name, he’d refer to you simply as his girlfriend. It wasn’t, “[Y/n] handled that trash beast really well.” From him, it usually sounded a lot more like, “My girlfriend made that thing her bitch.”

But the truth was he hadn’t laid those hands on you since that time he had you breathless and chanting his name—and it was getting harder and harder to watch him be all hot and sweaty without feeling your thighs tense with restless want and not also notice how fit he was.

Winding down in your room had been so nice and relaxing—until he decided to shatter your day with his unchecked sex appeal. 

You wanted him. Bad.

He was treating you like a precious wallflower when what you really wanted was for him to pin you down, whisper sweet nothings into your ear, and make every nerve in your body ache with a mix of pain and pleasure.

He’d long proven to you that he was capable of that—you’d never expected him to keep his hands off you now. 

Quite the opposite.

Toeing the line between not forcing him into bed and still getting the point across that you wanted him to drill you into the mattress was proving to be more difficult than expected. 

Your hands were more than full just trying to keep your clothes on while watching him lift heavy weights.

“Fuck,” he groaned, lowering the bar back onto the rack with careful precision, before sitting up on the bench, wrapping up his final set.

As if that hadn’t cut straight through you, your feet moved on their own, carrying the towel you’d been holding onto around the construct to hand it to him. “Why’d you even call me here? You didn’t need my help at all.”

Also, being this damn sexy in front of your twitching, frustrated girlfriend was currently illegal. 

The corner of his lips quirked up as he dragged the towel over his chest—and you couldn’t even pretend to focus, because fuck… he looked like he’d been ripped straight out of a magazine. 

“Are you mad I didn’t get hurt?” he mused.

“M’not mad,” you admitted, pulse ringing in your ears. “I don’t think I could’ve helped you even if I wanted. You lift more than I weigh, I think.”

An eyebrow quirked, clearly curious. “What do you weigh?”

Turning your attention back to the bar, you ran your hands over the plates, trying to calculate how much you’d have to take off.

Carefully, you slid a few plates off, one by one, the metal discs clinking against one another as they came free—first on one side, then the other. You stepped back, giving the bar a measured glance. “About this much?”

He glanced at the numbers for a moment, then back at you—and then at the weighted plates again, like he needed to make sure they really added up to what he thought they did. 

“You’re joking.” 

Whatever that meant. 

“I’m… really not?” 

With narrowed eyes, he laid back down onto the bench, his gaze lingering on you as he settled into position to press the weight you’d just adjusted—or rather, the weight you’d taken off—his focus sharp, tinged with a hint of disbelief.

His fingers wrapped around the cold metal of the bar as he braced himself, muscles tensing like he was about to lift a mountain… and then, somehow, the bar practically floated up and down, barely offering any resistance at all.

One rep became two. Two became four. In the blink of an eye, he‘d done well over ten—and you’d completely lost track of how many times the bar had gone up and down already. 

“Damn. This is easy.”

Your focus shifted to his arms, the way the muscles contracted and relaxed with each controlled movement, cords of strength rippling beneath the skin as if every fiber of him was sculpted to perfection.

You felt your stomach twist, a bullet of pure heat shooting right through you. He was literally lifting your entire body like it was nothing. The bar floated almost on its own, his muscles flexing and rippling without really breaking a sweat at all.

His brows furrowed in amusement and a laugh escaped his lips. “I could lift this with both arms broken.” 

“Wanna bet?” You threatened. 

Without a response, he shifted his grip on the bar. It barely budged as he pressed the weight—your weight—up and down with effortless control. 

His gaze found yours again, that smug, infuriating grin still in place. 

“Wanna hop on?” he teased, just enough to make your blood boil for more than just one reason.

“You wish.”

“Mm,” he hummed, lowering the weight back onto the rack without so much as a struggle, then sitting up and swinging one leg over to the other side of the bench in one swift motion. “I should start lifting you as a warm-up.” 

His hand found yours, guiding you to stand directly in front of him, thumb softly grazing the skin of your hand as he gently looked up into your eyes. 

He had this talent—something about him—where his soft smile never really left his face, but he knew exactly how to tilt it to get under your skin. He knew how to provoke you with it, or how to annoy you with it.

And somehow, he also knew exactly how to make your heart flutter—how to make you melt.

“You’re so wound up today, baby,” he said, absentmindedly tracing patterns on the back of your hand. That faint, smug glint in his eyes stayed as he pulled you closer to stand between his legs. “What’s bothering you?”

His genuine tone and his soft puppy eyes almost made you fall to your knees. He had no idea—wasn’t even the slightest bit aware of the effect he was having on you.

You sighed. “Nothing.”

He chuckled, gently letting go of your hands as he pushed himself up and off the bench, staring you down from his usual towering height. “You sure you’re not mad at me, pretty girl?”

And even standing over you like this, chin tilted downwards to be able to get a look at you, there was nothing sharp about him. His expression stayed soft, almost concerned, like all he really wanted was to figure out how to make things right—like your comfort mattered more to him than anything else at the moment.

And that just made it so much worse.

Because while he was being patient and sweet and perfect, you could barely keep a straight line of thought together. He was out here just trying to be a good boyfriend, and meanwhile you were so hopelessly distracted by him that even forming full sentences at all came close to a miracle.

“I told you—I’m not… mad,” your voice trailed off, not entirely convinced by your own words. Although you weren’t mad—he wasn’t exactly wrong about you being worked up, either. 

“That’s good,” he murmured, slinging the towel around his neck and reaching for his shirt—whose existence you’d honestly completely forgotten about. “Can I do anything to cheer you up?”

Yeah.

But how were you supposed to tell him that for the past thirty minutes your mind had been stuck in one place—on what it felt like when his hands were on you, when he‘d pulled you into him like the hungriest man alive? On how you wanted him to take your breath away in more ways than one? 

How were you supposed to explain that just being around him lately was enough to throw you off completely—that his mere presence had your thoughts spiraling and your legs feeling unsteady in a way you couldn’t quite hide?

Like your body had already decided something long before you had the chance to?

You sighed again, shoulders dipping just a little. “Kiss me?”

“Oh?” The corner of his mouth lifted, that familiar teasing glint slipping into his eyes. “S‘that what the attitude was about? You want my attention?”

Your face warmed immediately. “Never mind, you’re insuffera—”

You didn’t get to finish.

His hand caught lightly at your side as he leaned down, closing the distance in one easy motion, lips meeting yours before you could take it back. Warm and unhurried, like he’d had all the time in the world to do exactly this.

His other hand lifted to your chin, fingers brushing softly as he tilted it just enough to guide you closer, adjusting the angle with effortless, subtle command.

Short circuit.

You could feel the heat of him through every point of contact, and for a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of you. His soft lips lingered against yours a few moments longer, each brush and press melting you into pure putty under his touch.

When he pulled back, that same smug softness lingered on his face, his fingers still resting lightly on your chin, gently tilting it so you couldn’t look away, making sure your eyes stayed locked with his.

“Should’ve just asked sooner,” he murmured.

He didn’t even know half of it.

─────────୨ৎ─────────

Enjin might’ve wanted a moment to himself with you, but that tiny skirt hugging your hips was enough to cheer him up for the time being.

You hadn’t really been able to talk to him all day—running up and down the halls, tackling one task after another, just back from a quick mission—and all that in that glorious uniform that had set this whole thing in motion in the first place.

Aside from actually being with you, nothing beat sitting in the common area, getting high, and watching you strut around in his favorite outfit like you owned the damn building. 

The type of entertainment he didn’t know he needed. 

He wasn’t even sure if you’d noticed him yet. You moved through the halls like you were in your own little world—maybe looking for something, maybe delivering something—but honestly, he didn’t know. 

And right now… he didn’t care.

His mind currently only had the capacity to imagine what would happen if he got up and dragged you to his room right now. The things he’d want to try with you. The things he’d want to do to you.

How you’d whine his name and say please so often that for the rest of the day, those two words would be all you could remember.

He could only dream. At least for now.

He leaned back into the couch, letting the haze settle in the back of his mind. The restraint only made it worse. He’d started going through more cigarettes than usual—and he already went through a lot.

The temptation was killing him, but he wanted his approach with you to be different from how he usually handled things like this. Maybe it was to prove something to himself, or maybe a part of him was afraid he might scare you off—he wasn’t even sure—but he wanted this.

He wanted to wait. For you. 

And he wasn’t really used to feeling that way about women.

And while every nerve in his body was screaming to bridge the space between you and claim you any and every second of the day, he held back. Not out of disinterest—far from it—but because this wasn’t about his satisfaction. It was about yours.

For once, he was willing to let desire simmer until you called the shots.

But the moment you’d cross that line, there’d be no guarantee for you to come out unscathed. He might just end up breaking your back—accidentally, of course. 

He’d gotten a taste of it the day he’d barged into your room like a maniac—part of him regretted it, part of him was just grateful it had happened at all. Grateful to have seen you like that. Heard you. Felt you. Tasted you.

Because—while having your thighs tighten around his head in bliss would always be worth it—maybe waiting would’ve been easier if he didn’t already know what you were like when the lights went off. 

How quickly you unraveled for him, how effortlessly you melted into his hands—like that was exactly where you were meant to be. You trusted him with all of yourself, and he hadn’t even done anything to earn it yet. At least he didn’t think so.

He’d expected you to be the type with more edge—that was how you carried yourself in every other part of your life—but he definitely wasn’t complaining.

He could handle you with edge, no doubt—maybe one day you’d feel more of a bite, and he’d bask in the pleasure of putting you in your place with nothing but commanding affection. But he just adored how completely honest and polite you could be when you begged for his attention.

If you begged him right now he wouldn’t even waste his time taking you to his room. He’d probably take you against Semiu’s desk. Or a wall. Or this couch.

Could you keep it together in your uniform? You fought in it, after all—faced down the nastiest trash storms and survived. That thing was built for chaos.

He wasn’t a trash storm, not exactly—but right now, watching you sway like that, he was pretty sure he could summon the force of one.

His need for you was borderline alarming—for him as well as for you. The longer you waited, the more wound up he’d get, and he’d already made it his personal mission to see your legs trembling by the next day.

But more than anything—he just wanted you. In every way. 

You could take a month—or even two—before finally asking, and he’d wait it out. Because even just being able to look at you like this, watch you work, and be your candid and pretty self—he was grateful to have anything of you, really.

He watched your shoulders lift and fall in a quiet sigh as your hands settled on your hips. Whatever it was you’d been working on, it looked like you’d finally finished. Or maybe you were taking a break.

As if you’d felt his gaze, you finally tilted your head toward him, eyes glinting just a little.

Your hand lifted from your side to give him a small wave, and he felt his heart hammer in his chest. It was almost laughable how easily you had this effect him. You could ask for almost anything—he’d be incapable of saying no to you. 

What got him the most, though, was knowing you felt the same way.

“Don’t you have anything to do?”

Oh. You’d walked over. Stood right in front of him, arms crossed loosely, head tilted—curious.

“Nope,” he said, leaning back into the comfort of the couch, arms draped casually over the headrests behind him, one leg lazily bent at the knee. “It’s my day off.”

“I wish,” you sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear and scratching the side of your neck. “I’m exhausted. My back is killing me.”

“How was your mission?” he asked, tilting his head, eyes tracking your every movement,

“Hm? Oh, it was good. For the most part,” you rubbed the back of your neck with one hand, the other resting on your hip. “Well… Guita went kaiju without permission and getting her back was… kind of a struggle. Rudo and Zanka also started fighting over… something—I don’t even know—”

He watched you with half-lidded eyes as you recounted the events of your day. His focus wasn’t really on the details—gaze flicking to the way your features caught the light, the curve of your neck, the small gestures you made while talking.

He traced the length of your torso—over your prominent collarbones, past the swell of your chest, and down to the dip of your waist. The lines of your body, the subtle stretch of your arms… his head tilted instinctively, eyes following the curve of your hip. 

Committing your silhouette to his memory with closest attention to detail.

The haze from the blunt clouded his senses—and his judgment—for better or worse, stripping away nearly every filter and leaving him dangerously close to acting on every thought he’d been holding back.

“…Yeah, yeah, sounds intense,” he cut in, his fingers curling around yours as he gently guided you closer—before abruptly pulling you onto his lap in one smooth, fluid motion.

You froze for a heartbeat, caught between the surprise he read on your face and the warmth of him suddenly beneath you. 

His hands rested lightly on your hips—careful to keep the blunt caught between his fingers angled away from your soft skin—steadying you. There was nothing rough or forceful about it, only the small measure of proximity he allowed himself.

“Enjin…?” your voice wavered, caught somewhere between disbelief and the pull of something a little worse.

He leaned back a fraction, letting you settle fully on his lap, thumb lazily tracing circles along your hip. “Continue,” he murmured, voice low, almost amused, eyes locked on yours. “I’m listening.”

“…Like this?” 

“Yeah,” he said, lifting the blunt to his lips and taking a slow drag, eyes fixed on yours—as if the inhale carried you with it, like he was breathing you in, drawing you deep into his lungs before letting the smoke slip back out. “Why not?”

With a slight hesitation, you eased into his touch, hands rested on his chest as you continued on with your little rant—something about files that needed sorting, how Semiu needed help with something.

He liked that you felt comfortable enough to ramble on around him without a second thought, that he could give you a space to be yourself and let anything off your chest—good or bad, it didn’t matter.

He just liked hearing your voice.

Every subtle movement you made, every slight shift, made his mind race. He imagined how it would feel if you leaned closer, if you let him take the lead—if you let him cross that line he’d been dying to cross.

When would you finally ask him? 

“…pretty much done for today, so that’s nice at least. I really need to tackle my laundry, though.” Your sigh swallowed the last few words.

He hummed, dragging his attention away from just how down bad he was and back to you—to the conversation at hand. “Could I sneak some of mine in with yours?”

“Depends,” you said after a moment’s thought. “What do I get in return?”

“Mm, great question.” He leaned back slightly, his hands running along the warmth of your bare thighs, fingertips teasing beneath the hem of your skirt before pulling away again. “What would you like, pretty girl?”

He could read it in the subtle shifts of your body, the way his hands on you made you grow restless. He wasn’t going to initiate anything—but you were tempting as hell, and he couldn’t be blamed for wanting to touch you, even if only in quiet affection. Not his fault it affected you the way it did.

Though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy seeing you squirm in his lap like this.

“Can I… be honest?” Your eyes dropped, watching your fingers toy nervously with the loose fabric of his sweater. It looked like you’d already thought of something—just searching for the right way to say it.

“Of course, babygirl.” His hands slid up to rest fully on your hips, measured and controlled, like a quiet reminder that he could move you himself if he wanted to. “Anything you want.”

He felt you shift in his lap and tried—unbelievably hard—not to notice the friction.

He was dying to know what it would feel like to have you like that—pressed against him, wrapped around him. Watching you come undone was a sight in itself, and more than once had he caught himself thinking back to that time he’d focused on nothing but you, because it had been the only thing he’d wanted to do.

But he couldn’t help but wonder what you’d look like once you chose to take him there, too.

Probably real fucking pretty.

Your back arched naturally into the shape of his hands as your gaze found his again. He couldn’t help the flicker of expectation that stirred in his chest. Whatever thoughts drifted behind your slightly dazed eyes, you seemed more than content right where you were. 

The subtle tension you both agreed not to mention—hanging there, unspoken. The way his hands held you, the grip growing just a little firmer with each passing second. Your small, restless movements in his lap, nervous and barely contained.

Then you sighed.

“Maybe some company while I do the laundry?”

He blinked. Once. Twice. 

“Damn,” he said, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips, loosening his grip slightly as one hand reached up to the back of his neck. “Kinda thought you’d ask me to kiss you again.”

Or a little beyond that.

He felt your back straighten in a quick, almost imperceptible twitch. Your subtle nervous energy flared for a moment, then faded just as fast—but not before he caught it.

“I think you’re the one who wants to kiss me, Enjin.”

He took another drag from the blunt, a soft hum escaping instinctively. Then, letting the smoke drift out, he stretched both arms back along the headrest, tilting his head and releasing a low sigh that mingled with the curling smoke.

“M’not denying that.” He wanted a lot more than just kiss you—but you didn’t need to know. Not yet. 

“If you want one why don’t you ask?”

His head tilted back up, taking in the sight of you once more. The skirt rode up just slightly with the way your legs rested over his, your back still arched as if his hands were holding you, as if he’d molded you into place.

“Alright, then, pretty girl.” A faint grin tugged at his lips. “Can I kiss you?”

“Mm,” you murmured, as if in thought, adjusting yourself slightly on his lap. “No.”

He blinked again. Once. Twice.

A smug smile tugged at your lips as you continued moving in his lap, and the sensation ran straight through him. He couldn’t tell if you even realized what you were doing—or if you were just naïve.

A sharp pulse ran through his body, but his face remained unreadable, almost bored, jaw set. He’d rather die before giving you a reaction.

“Wow,” he half-laughed, brow quirking in amused confusion, entirely caught off-guard. “That’s cold.”

“Yeah, well…” Your hands slid down to rest on his stomach. “…just don’t feel like it.”

And he would’ve believed you—really, he would—if you hadn’t then scooted upward just enough to position yourself in a way that was extremely unfavorable for him.

The knowing look on your face, the teasing hint of fake pity. This entire time, you hadn’t just been trying to get comfortable. You knew exactly what you were doing. 

Every little shift, every subtle movement was deliberate. The friction, the way you pressed into him—it was all to rile him up. And you had yet to stop doing it.

Now that you were sitting directly on it, he felt everything: the subtle flex of your thighs, the roll of your hips with every tilt, the way you pressed just enough to make him ache. It was intentional—he could tell—and damn if it wasn’t working. You were trying to make him cave, and every inch of him wanted to.

“Uh-huh.”

Two could play that game.

He lifted his hips effortlessly, carrying you with him, and shifted slightly in his seat. On the surface, it looked like he was just getting comfortable—but really, he wanted to send a little shock through your system. 

A soft gasp escaped you, and just like that, everything he was about to do felt entirely worth it.

“Shame,” he sighed, flicking the blunt aside, his hands finding your hips once more, settling into that firm, possessive grip. “You sure you don’t want to?”

His gaze never left yours as he began subtly guiding your movements, easing you back and forth over him. There was nowhere to go, no way to stop—you were moving exactly how he wanted, completely at his mercy.

Just the way he knew you’d crumble for him. 

A faint look of surprise crossed your face, as if you’d just realized he’d caught you in the act. It didn’t last long—soon it melted into that hazy, unfocused expression that he’d been hoping to see on your face again.

“Yeah…” you murmured, uncertain.

Yet, he picked up on you moving with him under the guidance of his hands.

Your palms pressed flat to the firm curve of his flexing stomach, grounding yourself while your head dipped as you chased the sparks of pleasure he teased from you. Every subtle press and sway had him biting back a groan, utterly captivated by the way you responded.

“Yeah? I don’t know, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hands on you gripping a little firmer, a quiet warning—and a promise—of how badly he wanted more. “Looks like you’re enjoying yourself a lil’ too much for that.”

He was certain that if he let go of you right now, you’d keep moving without hesitation. He could lean back, tuck his hands behind his head, and just watch you—watch you use his body to chase your own pleasure.

So many things he could be doing to you—and all you had to do was ask.

Your heat pressed against him, and it did little to calm his own rising tension. His body responded despite his restraint, pants tightening, every nerve on edge.

“C’mere, pretty girl,” he purred, voice low and teasing, letting the warmth of his body brush against yours. “Kiss me.”

The words hung between you, loaded and intentional, and he watched, half-expecting, half-daring, as you considered whether you’d take him up on it. 

Every subtle movement you made, every flicker in your eyes, only wound the tension tighter—and he couldn’t help but revel in it.

Finding a moment of resolve, you leaned in.

And he turned his cheek.

His hands stopped you, iron-strong, holding you in place so you couldn’t move either way. You pulled back, brow furrowed in confusion, but before you could speak, he carefully nudged you to the side, letting you land on the couch with a small yelp.

“Actually,” he said, rising from the couch and stretching theatrically, “nah.”

“What?” you blinked as realization hit you square in the face. “What the fuck? That’s so rude!”

“Yeah, well,” he replied, smirk tugging at his lips as he threw your own words back at you. “Just don’t feel like it, y’know?”

A blatant fucking lie—but totally worth the offended look on your face.

─────────୨ৎ─────────

“Enjin—think you can grab that box up there?” Semiu gestured toward the top layer of the tall file shelf. “Don’t think we can reach it comfortably.”

He glanced up from the papers he’d been sorting, eyes flicking to the shelf as he processed the request. “‘Course. Give me a sec.”

You watched him take a last hit of the cigarette, then press the remaining bud into the ashtray set neatly on the table. A thin plume of smoke curled from his lips as he stood, stretching his back with a slow arch after what felt like hours hunched over sorting papers.

Most of the other cleaners were tied up—training or out on missions—leaving just Semiu, Enjin, and you to tackle the mountain of overflowing files and forgotten clutter.

Usually, you didn’t mind menial tasks like this—shutting your brain off, sorting things by category, maybe letting some music run softly in the background. It was a welcome change of pace from your otherwise demanding job.

Still, even with the low bass humming through the room, your focus kept slipping from the matter at hand. You found yourself watching the way his shirt clung to his shoulders, the subtle flex of his arms as he lifted the box, the smoke drifting around him like bitter fog. 

The memory of his hands on your hips lingered, impossible to shake even after days had passed—him guiding you through what was essentially dry-humping him right there in the middle of the common area.

You really couldn’t have made it clearer without drafting him a written invitation. And still—he’d pushed you off him.

To be fair—you’d started it. You couldn’t even be mad at his petty comeback; in all honesty, you’d probably have done the same if the roles had been reversed.

But that didn’t stop your pride from taking a little hit.

He’d just thrown your own game right back at you when he pushed you into the figurative cold water, and you knew you weren’t exactly in a position to fight back. You really shouldn’t have been throwing stones from the big fat glass house you were sitting in in the first place. 

Oh, well. Consequences of your own actions.

Those split seconds where everything finally clicked—the heat, the pressure, the way he felt under you—were everything. All you’d been yearning for this whole time; feeling wanted in every way—not everything but. 

And then it was gone. Replaced by a smug curve of his mouth and the maddening view of his back as he walked off like it hadn’t meant anything at all.

A ridiculous thought dawned on you—so absurd it made you wince just for entertaining it.

But the quieter, more fragile part of you couldn’t help but wonder if he even wanted to touch you at all.

He’d never been shy about who he had spent his off nights with. Not like he’d bragged about women in the past, but he certainly didn’t bother to hide the haze of his high whenever he’d returned from a rather pleasant hookup the next day. 

So why had it been so easy for him to get into bed with someone random, yet with you, he acted like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind?

Sure, he’d kiss you, hold you, let you curl up against him. But that was about as far as the physical intimacy ever went.

You didn’t even think you were being subtle about what you wanted. But still… you couldn’t exactly stroll up and say, “Hey, please fuck me!”

That just wasn’t how it worked.

One person initiated, the other caught on. It was about reading each other, noticing the signals, not spelling everything out in words.

Right?

Either way, you knew you needed space—some time to steady your nerves around him, and the closest thing to a guarantee for him to not get ambushed by you every time he did as much as roll his sleeves up.

A soft exhale left your lips as you tried—unsuccessfully—to drag your attention back to the files. Tried, that is.

You watched him straighten again, stacking the box carefully on the table, then leaning back, rubbing the back of his neck with a slow, almost distracted motion—unconscious movements that made your chest tighten and your pulse spike a little.

The smallest habits of his you’d never really noticed before made themselves apparent—the way his hand reached up to fidget with his piercings as he scanned a line of text, or the way he chewed on the inside of his cheek while he was concentrating. 

Yeah. You couldn’t be around him and then also be expected to function. At least not right now.

“Are you done with this stack?” 

Semiu appeared in your peripheral vision, leaning casually on the table as she glanced at your progress.

“Huh?—Oh, yeah,” you mumbled, blinking yourself back into focus.

“Neat, good job. Think you could carry them over to the other finished ones?” She nudged the nearest pile lightly with her fingertips. “Just to free up some space.”

“Sure,” you said, sliding the stacks toward the edge of the table, fingers squaring the corners before you moved to pick them up. “I’ll get right to—“

“Hold on,” Enjin cut in, focus half-fixed on the papers laid out in front of him.

He finished sorting the last few sheets in his hands first, tapping them into place before setting them down on their respective piles. Only then did his attention fully shift to you—to the stacks you were about to lift.

“Let me.”

He swiftly moved around the table, so much so you noticed yourself leaning back to make room. His hand brushed past yours as he took hold of the stack, steady and matter-of-fact, before dragging the stack toward himself along the tabletop.

For once, there actually was no particular intention behind it. He wasn’t trying to get a rise out of you or pull you into anything.

He was just being… attentive. Doing his job. Or rather—doing your job for you.

And it sucked, because things like this just made it so clear to you that—of course—he did care. He cared enough to always keep you at the back of his mind, to watch your movements in the corner of his eye and just be there for you in any way he could. 

It dawned on you that, oddly enough, people more often than not found themselves in the exact opposite predicament that you found yourself in—that they couldn’t be sure whether their partner actually cared for them or if they’d just sought out pretty-looking bed warmer. 

Unless you were the most gullible person on the planet, he never made you feel like he didn’t care for you. The fact that he wasn’t initiating anything, however, just made you feel… unattractive, maybe? 

Like, just maybe, the women he had slept with on his nights out had something you didn’t? 

And another part of you was embarrassed for feeling this way at all. It was just a big mess piling up under the rug you desperately tried to sweep it under. 

But there you stood, feeling oddly empty-handed, as if your fingers still expected to be holding something.

He probably didn’t even realize what he was doing to you right now—and you couldn’t help wondering if he’d always been this attentive, or if it was something that had started with your newly blossomed relationship.

Your eyes lingered on him a second too long as he carried the stack across the room, setting it down with the others before turning back without a word.

He didn’t sit down again.

Instead, he walked straight back toward you, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that he’d handle it all for you.

“Still some here,” he said almost absently. His golden eyes flicked up to meet yours for a brief moment before returning to the remaining piles—probably nothing more than a passing glance to him, but it landed heavier than it should have, settling somewhere warm and unsteady in your chest.

“Thanks...”

This was why you needed a break. Just a couple days to keep yourself in check. 

You stepped aside before he even had to ask, watching as he gathered the last couple stacks, balancing them with practiced motions. His sleeve rode up slightly as he lifted them, revealing the familiar clouds of ink along his forearm. 

Nothing dramatic or showy to impress anyone. 

Just unhurried efficiency. Flow-state.

He carried those over too, disappearing again between the shelves and the finished piles, leaving you standing there with nothing left to organize but your own thoughts.

Youreyes lingered on where you last watched his frame a second too long as he turned away, stacking the papers neatly with the others before returning to his seat like nothing had happened.

Which, to him, it probably hadn’t.

But it stuck with you anyway.

“[Y/n], you’ve been here for hours. I think Enjin and I can handle the rest,” Semiu said, clapping her hands lightly as if signaling the end of your shift. “Thanks for your help—you did great.”

Perhaps she’d caught wind of your odd demeanor, but you didn’t have it in you to entertain the idea. Because you had really been here for a couple hours longer than the two of them and you were starting to feel a little tired. 

“You sure?” you asked, tilting your head. “In that case… my pillow is calling my name. Thanks, Semiu.”

You took a moment to straighten the scattered papers on your desk before taking hold your jacket on the chair and draping it over your shoulders.

“See you later?” you murmured, brushing past him and planting a soft, unhurried peck on his cheek, fully aware it would probably be the last time for a little while that you could interact with him so naturally.

Not for long. Just a day or two—until you finally calmed down a little. 

He barely turned—just a second or two—flashing a tired smile and that look in his eyes that made you melt. “‘Course, baby.”

You don’t think you’d ever get used to him calling you that. 

And the moment the archive door shut behind you, your thoughts began spiraling all over again. 

About why he’d even asked you out in the first place.

What, exactly, had drawn his attention to you after months of working side by side, rifling through smelly trash? It wasn’t as if you’d suddenly changed—you were pretty much the same you had always been. Same habits, same routines.

So what had possessed him, all of a sudden?

Had there been some moment you’d missed?

And if it had appeared that suddenly… could it disappear just as quickly?

The thought made your stomach twist.

Maybe that was the question that had actually been quietly eating at you all along—not why he’d asked you out.

But whether he’d already started to change his mind.

Somehow, that possibility lingered louder in your head than anything else.

And it hurt more than you would’ve liked to admit. 

You weren’t even sure when you’d made it to your bed, how many hours had slipped by while you mulled it over—but it sure did a number on your self-esteem.

You could already hear exactly what he’d say if you brought this up. “Stop being silly, baby—of course you’re important to me.”

And then… you’d have to ask why he wasn’t the one initiating anything. And you just didn’t it want to go there.

It would have to happen eventually. You knew that.

But not yet. First, you needed a second to brace yourself for the awkward conversation… and to wrestle your hormones back under control.

Just a little space. Just a little time.

He wouldn’t even notice.

─────────୨ৎ─────────

Enjin had been trying to get a hold of you for a couple days now. 

But—somehow, almost every time—there was some chore to do, an errand to run, or work that demanded your attention. Being a cleaner kept you busy, sure, but not like this.

Missing one or two chances was understandable. But it had been so long since he’d spent time with you that he was starting to worry he might forget the cute roll of your eyes whenever he’d say something that pissed you off.

On top of that, he couldn’t shake the worry that he’d somehow upset you. And, honestly, more than a little frustrated that you weren’t telling him anything.

Yesterday morning, he’d caught you having breakfast with Eisha. When he asked about when he should be there to keep you company for the laundry, you said you were busy.

Not busy with what, not a single detail—just “busy.” And then you were gone, leaving him with nothing but the empty space where your answer should have been.

He checked with Semiu. Riyo. Zanka. Eisha. Corvus. Rudo. You’d been nowhere in sight all day. After an hour of looking, late evening was already creeping in, and his worry was starting to thrum.

He wasn’t stupid. You were avoiding him. He just didn’t know why—what he might have done to upset you like this, or how terrible it could be for you not to tell him right away.

He trusted that you knew him well enough—if he’d messed up, he would apologize. And that was that. 

So—where were you? 

He’d knocked on your door. No answer. Checked the common area, the mess hall. Still nothing. He even tried your choker—silent.

You definitely hadn’t left the building; going out at this hour wasn’t your style. He knew that much. 

With all that pent-up energy inside him, thinking clearly was nearly impossible.  All he wanted to do was cuddle up with you, watch a dumb movie, and try the new Viander sweets that came in today. 

He hadn’t realized how much he relied on seeing you every day until now. The silence was unbearable, the not knowing was worse.

You’d usually spend your time together like this—nothing special, just keeping each other company. Well… “usually.” It had been nearly a week since you’d done anything together.

For two people who lived in the same building he sure felt like he hardly even saw you around anymore.

It hadn’t started like this. About two weeks ago, he’d already noticed you acting a little off. Every time he put an arm around you, you’d stiffen or shift away. He’d assumed it was just mission fatigue and didn’t think much of it.

But then, suggesting hanging out later made you restless, fidgety.

He felt like a frog only now realizing the water was boiling—wandering the halls without a single clue where his girlfriend had disappeared to.

Until a flicker of pink caught in his peripheral vision.

Something small. Carelessly forgotten in the middle of the hallway.

A cute, frilly pair of panties.

A pair he knew a little too well. The same ones he’d shoved aside a few weeks ago, too busy getting high off the taste of you to care where they ended up.

He stilled, eyes sweeping the corridor to make sure no one was watching—no one ready to mistake him for some perv stealing his coworkers’ underwear. Although, he technically was right now—but not like that.

Swiftly, he bent down and scooped them up in one smooth motion, curling the fabric into the center of his palm before closing his fist around it.

Then he kept walking, stride steady, the soft bundle hidden in his hand as his feet carried him toward the room he was almost certain you’d be in.

And if he was right about where that was, you were going to have a lot of explaining to do.

His steps came to a halt in front of an unassuming door, identical to all the others, the low hum of washing machines vibrating faintly through the walls.

He stood there for a second.

Then his free hand lifted to his choker—only for the sharp chirp of an incoming call to sound from the other side of the door.

He blinked.

“Huh—oh, shit—”

“[Y/n]?” he called, brows pulling together.

A beat of silence.

“…No?” came your less-than-convincing reply from inside.

With a defeated sigh that barely carried through the wall between you, you cracked the door open for him.

Seeing you like this made it nearly impossible to stay mad—just a little sundress hugging the curves he adored, your hair slightly tousled from hours in the laundry room, a faint sheen of sweat catching the light on your skin.

“Are we playing some kind of naughty scavenger hunt, or why’ve you been hiding from me all day?” he asked, holding your cute underwear between his fingers. You gasped at the sight, snatching it from him and clutching it to your chest in embarrassment.

The door stayed open as you walked back to lean over the dryer, hands braced on its edge, arms stretched, body curved and the hem of your dress hitching along your curves, teasing him just enough to make his mind race—but never enough to give it all away. 

Your eyes were fixed on the spinning drum like it was the most interesting thing in the world right now—and you were genuinely so fucking lucky to be as cute as you were, because it did wonders to soothe Enjin‘s rather agitated nerves. 

“I haven’t been hiding,” you mumbled. “Just… busy.”

Busy. Again. The word stuck in his mind like a parasite.

He moved without a second thought, shutting the door behind him before settling onto the washing machine at the far end of the cramped laundry room. As he brushed past you, his fingers dragged lightly along the frilly hem of your dress, just enough to make his presence known.

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to help with the laundry?” he pressed.

“Yeah… but I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted, as though you were unsure of whether that was even the reason—like you were asking him if that was your true intention.

“You’d never bother me, baby,” he said, leaning his weight back on his arms, hands flat against the surface of the machine beneath him. 

“At least not with stuff like that. What does bother me,” he continued, eyes locked on your backside, as you refused to turn towards him, “is when my girlfriend avoids me for days on end and doesn’t give me a single fucking clue about what I did wrong.”

The air between you thickened, and he knew you could feel the weight of his words by the way your shoulders tensed ever so slightly. 

“It’s not like that.” You shifted, pulling your weight back onto your feet, fingers fiddling with the frilly underwear in your hands as if you’d forgotten what they were. Still, you didn’t turn to him, and his patience was starting to fray.

“So,” he said, leaning slightly forward, arms crossed, “you haven’t been hiding from me?”

“No,” you replied, tossing the pink fabric into the basket beside you, a little frustrated. “Well… kinda—but it’s still not like that. I promise.”

“Then what is it like?” His brow furrowed, arms tightening across his chest as he edged closer, agitation creeping into his voice.

You sighed, unsure what to do with your arms, finally settling on clutching one to your side for comfort. “I’m not mad at you or anything.”

“Okay,” he tilted his head, trying to catch a glimpse of your face you stubbornly refused to show. “Then why aren’t you looking at me?”

─────────୨ৎ─────────

“Then why aren’t you looking at me?”

There was an edge to his voice—frustration, maybe—but beneath it sat something softer. Concern. And it pulled at your heartstrings so bad, because you had never meant for any of this to spiral like it had.

You hadn’t meant to make him worry. Of all the reasons to upset him, this had to be the stupidest one imaginable.

You just needed time. But it turned out you needed a lot more than you first anticipated, because every interaction just felt more awkward with each time you talked and it was all your fault. 

Unlike him, you didn’t have the patience of an angel. You weren’t able to keep it in your stupid pants. How were you supposed to learn how to control yourself if your boyfriend looked like that?

You stared down into the working dryer like it held the secrets of the universe. Like the answers might be hiding somewhere between the spinning metal and the faint scent of detergent.

You knew you had to tell him.

It was just so fucking embarrassing.

“Could you…” Your voice faltered. You forced yourself to turn, finally looking at him properly for the first time in days—

—and immediately regretted it.

Your brain hadn’t been exaggerating. It hadn’t romanticized him. He really was just unfairly good-looking.

And kind. And caring. And unbearably generous. 

His arms were crossed loosely over his chest. Leaning back against the washing machine and intently focused on you. Brows slightly drawn, but his expression soft—achingly fond, even now.

He just wanted to help.

Get a fucking grip, woman.

“Could you… turn around?” you asked quietly.

He blinked. “Is there something on my back?” His head tilted, genuinely confused.

“No, not at all,” you said quickly, heat creeping up your neck. “I just… don’t want you looking at me while I say this.”

There was a small pause.

“…Okay. Sure.”

No teasing. No pushing. He simply pushed off the machine and turned around, resting his hands on the edge of it in front of him. Giving you his back without hesitation.

It barely helped to calm your racing heart. 

You inhaled slowly.

“This is stupid,” you muttered.

“Probably,” he replied calmly. “Still want to hear it.”

You let out a shaky breath.

“I’m not avoiding you because I’m mad,” you began. “Or bored. Or… whatever you think.”

Silent. Attentive. Waiting.

“I just—” You squeezed your eyes shut. “I can’t… function around you lately?”

No reaction. He stood still, anchored to the ground, molded into place. 

“…What does that mean?” he asked, slower now.

“It means,” you rushed out before you could lose your nerve, “that you’re just standing there doing normal things and I feel like I’m losing my mind. And it’s embarrassing.”

You swallowed.

“And you’re so… restrained. All the time. You don’t touch me unless I initiate it. You don’t— you don’t start anything.” Your voice dipped quieter, your words beginning to sound more like questions than statements. “It makes me feel like I’m the only one that… wants it.”

The confession hung heavy in the small laundry room.

For a moment, he didn’t speak—and you could merely watch the rise and fall of his back with every breath as he processed the information. 

“…That’s what this is?” he asked softly.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it.

“I just— I don’t know if you’re holding back because you don’t want me like that or because you’re just being polite or—”

“You think I don’t want you?”

If you didn’t know him, you might’ve called it anger—the edge in his voice. But it wasn’t that. It was something else—something tight, something sharp, something that didn’t quite have a name. And you knew, without being able to explain how, that it wasn’t anger at all.

You hesitated. “I don’t know.”

A beat of silence.

Then you heard him exhale slowly through his nose.

“…Can I turn around now?” he asked, voice lower.

You hesitated. “…Okay.”

He turned.

Time seemed to stretch, every second drawn out as he studied you. His expression gave nothing away, and you couldn’t tell if that was because he was unreadable—or because your own nerves were blurring everything.

He just watched. Quietly. Intently. 

It felt like he was silently putting you in your place, and you couldn’t help but feel like the dumbest person on the planet.

Like it was some sort of punishment. 

You dropped your gaze, letting it settle on the floor, chest tight, cheeks warm. Embarrassed, sure—but also strangely relieved.

Mostly humiliated, though. 

Then you heard him shift, pushing off the washing machine. He took a single, measured step toward you.

Your heart jumped.

Another step, and the space between you seemed to shrink faster than it should.

You hoped he wasn’t upset, or that he wouldn’t laugh at you. Maybe he’d just acknowledge it and let things stay… normal.

What did you even want him to say? 

One more step.

And suddenly, his presence was undeniable—his feet planted firmly on the ground you’d just been fixated on.

Then, the warmth of a few gentle fingers slid beneath your chin, lifting your gaze to the face of the man they belonged to.

He wasn’t upset. And he wasn’t laughing, either. 

Another step brought him closer, and you had no choice but to step back with him—until the backs of your legs pressed against the cold surface of the dryer behind you.

Then his lips were on yours.

Not careful. Not restrained.

Hungry.

You were pushed back against the dryer, the cold metal biting through your clothes while he held you like he’d finally allowed himself to. Your hands fisted into his shirt, grounding yourself against how solid he felt—how real. 

Weeks without this, without him touching you like this, had left you unbearably desperate.

“I’m still just a fucking guy, [Y/n],” he muttered against your mouth, barely pulling back before diving in again.

His kisses were relentless, overwhelming in the best way. “You think I don’t look at you and think about what surface to bend you over?” he breathed, voice rough. “M’not really subtle about it.”

The filth he shamelessly spewed made your stomach flutter and the desire for him progressed into more of an undeniable, carnal need. 

You could hardly keep up. He was consuming you, and yet your own hunger surged right back at him. You needed this. Needed him.

He pulled back just enough for air, both of you breathing hard. His forehead pressed to yours.

“I’m so fucking into you,” he said, quieter now—but no less intense.

You stared at him, dazed. The part of you that had been spiraling for weeks couldn’t quite compute that this man—this unfairly attractive, infuriatingly self-controlled man—wanted you just as badly.

But the girlfriend in you was still stuck on one thing.

“Then why didn’t you do anything?” you managed, words brushing against his lips.

His jaw tightened slightly, but not in anger. Something steadier.

“Because I wanted you to tell me when you were ready,” he said. “I didn’t want you thinking you had to rush into anything just ‘cause we’re dating.”

You blinked at him. “I’ve been waiting for you to make a move and have your fucking way with me, you idiot.”

His brows lifted slightly, something dark flickering in his eyes, before quietly speaking his next couple words. “Is that what you want?”

Your confidence faltered for half a second.

“…Yes.”

His grip on your waist tightened—not rough, just certain. Like he couldn’t wait to finally get his hands on you.

“Let’s have it my way, then” he murmured, gaze locked on yours. 

With that, he kissed you—slow, sweet, and intoxicating enough to make your head spin.

And then he moved.

In one smooth motion, he turned you around, the front of your thighs hitting the dryer with a muted thud as he stepped in close. No rush. No wasted movement. Just the solid heat of him at your spine, boxing you in without effort.

You barely had time to breathe.

His hand slid up, fingers hooking beneath your chin again—this time with unmistakable authority. He tipped your face to the side, angling you exactly where he wanted you.

And then he kissed you again.

Deeper. Slower. Possessive without being reckless. Like he wasn’t trying to overwhelm you—just remind you.

You weren’t going anywhere.

He didn’t waste any time as his other hand started roaming your body.This wasn’t about coaxing you or checking in every second. He decided what you got—and you’d just have to look pretty, take it and be grateful for the attention. 

Something hard pressed against the small of your back, and under any other circumstances, you’d have felt a mix of respect and awe at its sheer size—but this wasn’t anything close to normal. 

You were frustrated, hungry, greedy, so astronomically down bad for him that seconds seemed to pass like hours—hours he wasn’t sheathed deep inside you, kissing your cervix and making you preach his name over and over again. 

You wanted it. Any way he’d give it to you. It really didn’t matter anymore.

His hand tightened on your jaw, tilting your face as his lips met yours with a relentless intensity—just to make you choke on it.

Without warning, his hand reached around and made itself home between your legs—no layer of fabric or lace separating his warm fingers from your needy fantasies. 

“Nothing under?” 

“Why do youthink I’ve been—fuck—been stuck doing laundry all day?” You tried to reply through unsteady breaths and all sorts of moans and whines.

If all your life boiled down to watching him haul boxes, muscles flexing, tossing casual touches that wrecked you in ways no one else would understand—then yeah, there was no hope left for a single clean pair of underwear.

“Fuck,”the bulge against your back seemed to swell at the feeling of your own desire against the pads of his fingers and your brain fully shut off—your conscious merely running on lust and basic instincts. “You’re so fucking cute like this.”

“Enjin—” you gasped into the kiss, your voice lost between breaths and the weight of him.

He just ignored you, forcing your face against his as he smoothly ran his warm fingers through your folds with no regard for your ability to balance yourself, before immediately dipping into your dripping wet, needy walls. 

His fingers curled into you, winding desire and tension into something almost unbearable, repeatedly torturing that spot inside you that made your legs tremble and your heart race miles an hour. No regard for getting you used to anything—solely focused on using you. 

“Enjin, it’s s’much, please—“

“I don’t care,” he said against your lips, eyes boring into yours, raw and unrestrained.“you don’t get to ignore me for a week and then expect me to play nice.”

He held your jaw with an iron grip, tilting your face forward and then to the side, exposing your neck. His lips traced the skin, biting and pressing with a heat that promised marks you’d remember.

His assault on your poor body didn’t falter whatsoever, digits pumping in and out of you as if it was their sole goal to make you lose your composure—or your sanity. 

“Really want me to fuck you, baby?” he breathed against a fresh mark he sucked into your skin, the pain of it pulsing through your nerves.

You nodded.

His wet fingers slowly drew out of you, only to find their way back to your wanting clit, teasing it with a slow, agonizing pressure that made it oh-so unbearable.

“Words, [Y/n],” he murmured, sinking his teeth into your skin just enough to draw a pathetic whine from you. 

The slow, careful tempo of his fingers shattered, replaced by a rapid, unyielding rhythm. Each movement was exact, intentional, and edged with a cold insistence that left your nerves stretched taut.

“Yes,” you breathed, mind hazy, caught in the relentless push and pull of the sharp, consuming sensations he was pressing into you. “I want you… so bad, Enjin. Please.” 

“Then be a good fucking girl—” he withdrew his fingers slowly, before pressing them to your lips with a weight that was no invitation, but rather a quiet, undeniable command, “—and get on your knees, yeah?” 

You opened your mouth, getting a taste of yourself on his fingers as you sucked them clean of you.

Then, with a swift, controlled motion, he shifted you both, leaning his weight against the dryer as you came to face his already commanding height—a presence that only seemed to grow as you sank to your knees.

He eyed you every inch of the way down, expectantly. And you swore not to let him down today, no matter the cost. 

You barely even took the time to process the impressive bulge that you’d felt pressing against your lower back not too long ago, as you loosened the baggy fabric and slid it down by its waistband.

You wanted him—his attention, his touch, and every single inch of him.

And as he finally sprung free from the restraints of his pants, you really couldn’t help but take it in for a moment. At his height, being well-equipped was almost a given… but actually seeing it was a whole different story.

The slight curve of it. The subtle veins that ran along his length. 

How fucking hard he was. 

There wasn’t a single thought you could summon other than the image of it claiming you in every way imaginable and finally—finally—being allowed to touch him. 

With all the care you could summon within you, you reached for it, wrapping a tender hand around his girth and giving him a couple tentative strokes as the most beautiful hiss trickled from his lips. 

Then, without further thought, you left an experimental lick on the tip of it, before fully encasing it within the warmth of your mouth. 

“There you go,” his fingers threaded through your hair as they found the back of your head, guiding you along the length of him while gently reminding you of the position you were in. 

With every stroke, he urged you to take an inch more down your warm and waiting throat—slow and steady, getting both of you used to the feeling of him using your mouth. 

Your tongue moved along his soft tip as if it were second nature,taking it deeper as your hands folded neatly in your lap—like the good girl you wanted to be for him.

“Mm, just like that,” his voice dropped, rougher and deeper than you’d ever heard it, as a sinful groan tore from his throat, his grip tightening just slightly in your hair. “You’re so fucking lucky you’re pretty—being way too nice to you right now.” 

The salty taste, tinged with something unmistakably Enjin, made you moan around his girth. He fucked your mouth with practiced ease, guiding you up and down his length, your thighs squirming beneath you with every movement.

“Should wear that dress more often,” he said, that slow, teasing smile tugging at his lips. “The view up here is great.”

You felt it—the heat stirring low inside you, crawling up your skin in a slow, insistent way, leaving your mind dizzy and sharp all at once.

Sundresses weren’t your usual HQ attire, but laundry had been put off for so long that this was the only thing left that wasn’t a stained pair of pajamas.

But now, under his gaze, every glance felt like it was marking you, making you intensely aware of yourself in ways that were both intoxicating and terrifying.

It was possibly the skimpiest—bordering on unwearable—piece of clothing you owned.

And yet, all you could think was… if this was enough to make him look at you like that, maybe you’d start wearing dresses a size too small around him more often.

“Wanna impress me, baby?” 

You looked up at him all doe eyed, mouth stuffed as you nodded at him through fluttering lashes.

“Mm, so good f’me,” he murmured, his hand brushing your cheek as you leaned into his warmth, before sliding back to the nape of your neck, fingers curling lightly into your hair. “Relax your throat, sweetheart.”

And with that, he gently eased you down his inches, getting the length of him a little wetter with each passing second, your tongue flat against the bottom.

You could feel the restraint in his hand on the back of your head, the patience it took for him not to slam you down and fuck your face in. How he’d again chosen to be merciful—to take care of you the best way he could. 

You were starting to feel him at the back of your throat, tip naturally curving along the roof of your mouth as a soft hum escaped you in an attempt to relax your gag reflex. 

“Fuck—that’s it,” his hand tightened in your hair as the sensation dragged him deeper into it, keeping you close while the tight warmth around him flexed and pulsed, making him lose himself in the moment. 

“Taking me so good, baby—doing such a good job, just f’me.” 

At this point, you lost all control over your movements, no longer yours to guide. 

You glanced up to see Enjin’s head tipped back, lost in the feeling and revealing a sinfully attractive sight to you that got you all the more worked up—like his strong, inked neck, or his broad, heaving chest—before his gaze dropped back down to catch your own. 

“So prettylike this.” 

Your legs trembled at his praise, moaning around his dick as your fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs. 

All your worries suddenly felt trivial. Every part of you that had felt unwanted now burned under his commanding attention, your pulse stuttering with the weight of his focus on you.

“You restless, baby?” he spoke, readjusting his grip on your hair to better control your movements—like he knew he needed to with what was about to come. “Go ahead—touch yourself.”

Entirely drunk on him, there was barely a moment to feel flustered or embarrassed before your hand obeyed his command, moving as if it had a mind of its own, and disappearing under the frilly hem of your dress.

The warm pads of your fingers came in contact with your now soaked folds, collecting some of the abundance of slick that had accumulated between your legs, before tending to your needy clit and imagining it was his calloused fingers instead.

His hand on you left to hold onto the edge of the dryer instead, as you balanced your own pleasure alongside bobbing your head to please him.

“Patiently waited for dick for so long,” he huffed, watching the length of him disappear in the warm cave of your wanting mouth. “Would never deny my baby anything.”

His hazed expression—knowing that you were the cause of it—pulled at something deep inside you, a thrilling reminder of how utterly yours he was in that moment.

“You really missed me, huh?” 

With your neck straining through the motions, you halted to simply focus on his pink tip, sucking on it with your tongue running flatly across, before releasing it from the vacuum of your mouth with a subtle pop and licking him clean of the leaky white streaks you pulled from him. 

“Eager girl,”he let out a quiet laugh before his hand gently brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Come back up here, sweetheart.”

With a final, longing kiss to his tip, you rose to your feet—and before you even fully stood, he’d yanked you to stand in front of the dryer, hands flat on the surface of it as you found your balance. 

You felt him shift behind you, inching closer as his aura of pure heat hit the skin of the back of your legs. “How about I grant you your wish now, pretty girl?”

“But, Enjin—we can’t, I don’t have a—“

The rustle of plastic filled the room as your boyfriend effortlessly tore open a small square package between his teeth.

“What is it?”

“You just… have condoms on you all the time?” 

“No,” a hand ran down your back, gently pushing you forward for you to properly lean on the dryer and support your weight on your forearms instead. “I had it on me, because I figured if you’d ever get around to asking me and I didn’t have one on me I wouldn’t trust myself not to just do you raw.”

“Fuck, that’s kinda hot,”you couldn’t help your remark, back naturally arched in this new position, as the grip of a strong hand on your hip guided you closer to him, before you felt something nudge at the entrance of your fluttering walls. 

“Let’s not waste any time then, baby,” his hand reached further into your hip, hooking itself around it for the best grip to pull you into him. “Let’s fuck some sense into you, yeah?”

He said it like it was nothing, but the words sent a shiver crawling all the way down your spine, instinctively backing into him in order for him to finally fill you, though his iron grip on you prevented any sort of control. 

“Shit—thinking I don’t want you is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.” 

And with that, he’d crossed into annoying-you territory—because you hadn’t endured days of frustration and neglect just for him to poke fun at you now.

“Well, what am I supposed to do if—“

He started inserting himself into you and the world suddenly started spinning, words getting stuck in your throat and sealed with a quiet gasp. 

“Much better,” his other hand joined your free hip, effortlessly pulling you down his length with the most sinful groan you’d heard in your life. “Don’t need you to do anything, baby—just need you to look pretty for me right now.” 

The feeling was indescribable.

The guy you’d spent weeks waiting for, night after night, imagining, wondering what he’d feel like, was finally there—finally turning your fantasies into something real, right here in this tiny laundry room—and it felt overwhelming in the best way.

It wasn’t something for you to imagine. It was something you could remember.

All the dreams you’ve had absolutely paled in comparison. His strong arms, broad frame, his provocative charm—everything.

It’d turned you on so bad, he slid into you without any effort—inch upon inch exploring the warmth of your clenching walls around him.

“Shit—Enjin—“ 

“I know, I know,” he cooed, rubbing reassuring patterns on the side of your thigh before moving his hands up to the hem of the dress, lifting it ever so slightly. “You look so good, baby—made to get fucked like this.” 

With that, his grip to your hips returned as he bottomed out experimentally, earning him the smallest noise from you, only egging him on further. 

He did it again. And again. And again. 

You didn’t even know you could make sounds like that—soft, squeaky little hiccups that slipped out of you again and again before you had any chance to swallow them back with each of his thrusts. 

“So cute,” he teased. “You’re like a little squish toy.”

“Shut—” hic “—up.”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter that dissolved into a groan, his hands tightening on your hips as he arched your back further into the dryer you clung onto like a lifeline.

It happened so quickly. 

A second ago, you were both adjusting to the sensation of him inside you, him just testing the waters and finding a rhythm with you.

The next second, his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as his pace picks up, fucking into you with a newly summoned force. 

And suddenly nothing else mattered—nothing other than the marks he’d leave on your skin, the low grunts that drowned out every other sound in this tiny, tiny laundry room, and the overwhelming feeling of the dam that had been building inside both of you finally breaking.

“Fuck—she’s tight,“ he groaned, keeping you pressed against the cheap dryer that never fully dried your clothes—though in that moment, you’d never been more grateful for the damn thing. “This what you wanted, baby?” 

“Yes—fuck—please, Enjin—“

He thrust in. And in. And again. And while you were certain you could die from this, you also knew you’d never felt more alive than right now. 

And no matter how desperate sex over an old, half-broken dryer might seem, you felt how much affection was in the way his hands caressed your skin, how honeyed his voice resonated with his sweet words towards you, with every time he called you pretty and praised your efforts.

“Taking me so well, baby,” he said through hoarse grunts and hot breaths. “Y’feel so good.”

Any reply from you was caught between hitched noises, in sync with every time your body was pressed further into the machine beneath you.

You were burning like you’d never burned before, the heat especially concentrated in that tight knot in your stomach, coiling tighter with every passing second.

And every second felt as long as a lifetime.

It was a sweet kind of torture—chasing a release you didn’t really want to reach. Pleasure you’d waited far too long for, your desire not nearly sated enough to let it end so soon. Yet any attempt to slow it down would only dilute the bliss he was giving you.

“Tell me whose you are, baby.”

“M’yours—fuck—only yours.” 

“Damn right.”

You tried to ignore the feeling of him, to think of anything else—anything to distract yourself. But it wouldn’t be fair. Not to him, and certainly not to you.

“You’re mine and I’m yours, angel.”

The way he found those places within you far exceeded any daydream you’d ever struggled to shake. The way he held your hips, the way he made you give in—but not surrender entirely—guiding you with that quiet, commanding presence of his.

“Please—please, Enjin.”

“Such a good fucking girl.”

It dawned on you then that this was how he’d always been—or at least for as long as you’d known him as the leader of his team. Not the kind of man who demanded respect or fed his ego, but someone who simply drew it in. Someone you trusted enough to follow.

“I—“ you stammered. “I’m getting—“

“I know, baby,” he cooed, big hands readjusting their grip on your sweat-sticky hips. “Me too.” 

“I don’t wanna stop.” 

He huffed a small laugh through an exhaled breath. 

“Me neither, baby,” his pace grew more relentless, every syllable stuttering to the rhythm of his thrusts, room filled with the sounds of your bodies moving against one another, “but it won’t be the last time.” 

The knot strung tighter and tighter as stars began decorating your blurry vision and all you could think was Enjin Enjin Enjin.

“Can fuck you whenever you want, yeah?” 

“Yes—please.” 

“Just gotta ask, pretty girl.” 

“Fuck me tomorrow?” 

Another short-breathed laugh. 

“Anything you want, angel.” 

And with that, the coil snapped and the weight of all breaths you didn’t take came crushing down on you—body, spirit and soul. 

You felt yourself clench and tighten around him as he chased his own release along that same edge of pleasure, low grunts slipping from him in that voice you’d come to find so irresistibly charming, carrying you through your high.

“Fuck—[Y/n],” he moaned, thrusting into you with one final push and holding you right there.

“So fucking perfect.”

And with that, he pressed you close, relishing in his own pleasure with a low exhale that sent a hot shiver down your spine. He moved lazily a couple more times to ride out his release, drawing soft whimpers from you with each motion.

And—finally—pulling out.

You took your time coming back to your senses as he traced a few affectionate strokes along the bare skin of your thighs. Then you heard him shifting behind you—the quiet sounds of him putting himself back together, fabric rustling, zippers pulling, a buckle fastening into place.

All the while, you remained half-splayed over the dryer, slowly grounding yourself again, catching your breath as your heart rate began to settle.

And then, as if you’d never been bent over that dryer in the first place, he took your arm and turned you toward him, swiftly lifting your weight and gently setting you atop the surface he’d just had you over. He stood between your legs, holding you by the waist like he knew you couldn’t quite keep yourself steady yet.

And he kissed you.

So heartbreakingly gentle and sweet that it almost didn’t match what had just passed between you—before he slowly pulled away.

“You’re the most beautiful, irresistible, smartest girl I’ve met in my entire life—and I’ll be damned if I ever make you feel like anything less, okay?”

His golden eyes bore into you, and it was one of those rare moments with him that you cherished—when he didn’t hide behind cheshire grins or flirty humor. It was just him, speaking his mind, being genuine.

Reassuring you that he felt that thing between you—whatever word you hadn’t put on it yet. And you knew you felt it too.

“Okay…” Your hands snaked around his neck for extra support as you held his gaze, getting lost in the lines of his face and how they’d been touched by what you’d just done. His skin flushed pink. His eyes hazed with lingering heat. 

The warmth radiating off him pulled you in before you even realized it, your limbs wrapping around him to cage him in a lazy embrace. Your head rested atop his strong shoulder as his arms circled your frame, his nose nuzzling into the nape of your neck.

“You’re not so bad yourself, you know?” You muffled into the red fabric of his shirt. 

“Don’t be too nice to me right now,” he chuckled against your skin, “my ego is high off of all the please, Enjin, please—“

Your flat palm hit the back of his head.

─────────୨ৎ─────────

“Hey, Enjin?” 

“Hm?” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Shoot, baby.” 

“Why did you ask me out?” 

A beat passed, as he stared off into nothingness, barely grasping his resolve to continue on.

“Well,” he began. “How do I put this without sounding weird?” 

“Huh?” 

He sighed, before turning to you with honest eyes. 

“So, when August made you that… uniform…”

─────────୨ৎ─────────

CREDIT TIME☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

Beautiful, talented, intelligent, amazing BETA READERS: @zukunyy , @imjusttrashignoreme and my boyfriend <3

Dividers: @pixopix

A/N: ITS HERE !!!! I TOOK SO LONG BECAUSE IDK WHY—BUT THANK U SOOOOO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE ON TOBACCO&MINT!!! <3

This won’t be my last Enjin fic—bro attached himself to my spirit so bad i literally got a whole ass back tattoo two weeks ago…

I have a couple more idea for Enjin and it dawned on me that I could make all my established relationship ideas just be part of this series, so that’s probably gonna happen eventually as well :3

I’ll probably also explore some other fandoms :3

ENJIN 4EVER THO<3

I was rlly happy that a couple of you liked it so much u asked me to be on the taglist :3 extra thank u to u guys who asked to be tagged 🩷 made my heart go jumpy mode 

TAGLIST: @tojisbabymommasblog @sparklykeylime @mihyas-dieehefrau @getou-s @calculust-prime @dilftaroooo @0vendettaself @satoru-zoro @rurumas

[cabybapa]

wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

[sylusinmyheart]

—sylus is clingy when he’s drunk <3

tags: drabble, alcohol, sfw, fluff, drunk! sylus, clingy! sylus, love confessions, sylus cries (he’s being a little dramatic), basically you babying sylus for the entire fic

you’re not quite sure how it ended up like this.

you know that sylus’s alcohol tolerance is average (he had told you so himself), but you didn’t imagine that it’d be anything lower than yours. it had started as a joke, while the both of you were slightly tipsy; you had said something about wanting to see him drunk, curious about if he was sleepy, clingy, or whatever else while in that state.

and now, you’re here with your giant, six-foot-three boyfriend who is hanging his head over your shoulder and clinging to you like a weighted blanket.

“sy, baby, you’ve got to get up,” you rub his shoulder, “i think you need some water, honey.”

sylus grumbles in that low, frustrated tone that you only ever really hear when he fails to get a plushie for you at the claw machine.

“no,” he says, stubbornly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as if he can avoid responsibility by hiding there.

you have seen sylus tipsy before, but not quite as drunk as he is now. he’s flushed from the tips of his ears and down to his chest, mumbling and groaning like a tired kid after a full day at the amusement park. not only has he been stubbornly sitting on your lap for the past two minutes, but he’s been leaving little wine-stained kisses all over you face.

“i’m serious, sylus. i think you’re a little too far gone.”

“ ’m right here, kitten,” he slurs. “how can i be far?”

“exactly my point, my love.”

with a heavy head, sylus looks up at you, gaze a little unfocused from the buzz. there’s an almost youthful innocence to him, his eyes round like a big cat; the complete opposite of the internationally-wanted criminal the world knows him as. you’re tempted to call him adorable.

“i could never be far away from you, ever. it’d kill me, kitten.”

you raise a brow at him, “that was quite dramatic there, sy. are you sure you don’t need the water?”

sylus frowns, “don’t.”

you laugh, “don’t what? give you water?”

he purses his lips in a way that looks like you’ve offended him. soon, unsteady, large hands come up to cup your face, staring into your eyes with a softness.

“my feelings are real. i belong with you in every lifetime.”

sylus has always had a habit of confessing his love to you at the most random time of day–you like to call it his shakespearian impulse–but you didn’t think it’d stay while he was intoxicated.

“oh gosh,” you laugh, truly taken aback. “even when you’re drunk, you’re a romantic! this is so cute.”

sylus, however, does not find this situation to be cute at all and frowns at you, his brows squished in frustration. at first, you think that he’s just pouting, the way drunk people tend to. but when you see the watery shine in his eyes, you soon realize that you are completely wrong.

“oh my god, sylus, are you crying?” you panic, grabbing a small napkin from amongst the mess of half-eaten steak and sticky wine glasses and bringing it to his face.

“no… it’s the sun. it hurts my eyes,” he mumbles, despite the fact that you are, in fact, wiping away the tears running down his cheek.

“the sun, right…” he is way, way too far gone. “why are you upset, my love?”

sylus stares at you in an almost accusing way. you’re sitting there in silence for an awkward five seconds before he leans in, pressing his face into your chest.

“yudisayit.”

you blink, “say that again for me, baby?”

he sighs as he pulls back, just enough to look you straight in the eyes. there’s a very determined look on his face, though you still feel like you can’t quite figure out what’s going on in his mind.

“you didn’t say it,” he repeats, “say you belong with me.”

the serious tone of his voice makes it near impossible to stifle the laugh that comes out of you. that’s what he was so upset about? thank goodness no one has ever seen him drunk but you.

“oh, sylus,” you coo, tilting your head so that you can plant a soft kiss to his cheek. “of course i belong with you. i’m sorry i didn’t say it back quickly enough.”

“in every lifetime,” he insists, “together.”

he’s so terribly cute.

you pull him in for a hug, kissing his forehead, then nose, then lips. he stares at you in awe, like you put the stars in the sky and the ocean on earth, full of love for you, like he always is.

“in every lifetime, together.”

[myrmyrsstuff]

Didn't know drunk Sylus was an option, I like it🥹

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

The comments were still open on your screen when Xavier came home.

You didn’t hear the door slide shut behind him. You were too deep in it—the same thread you’d been refreshing for the last hour, each new reply a fresh papercut. Childish. Clingy. Disrespectful. Does she not realize how embarrassing she is? Someone had taken a photo of a moment between you and Xavier. Just a moment—you’d been laughing too loud at something he’d said, had grabbed his sleeve, made a face at him in public. And now a hundred strangers were dissecting it like a specimen under glass.

“You’ve been staring at that for a while.”

Xavier’s voice came from directly behind you. You startled, nearly dropping your phone, and when you looked up, he was watching the screen over your shoulder.

You locked the screen. “It’s nothing.”

He came around and sat beside you. He didn’t push, didn’t pry. Just settled into the space next to you and waited, the way he always did, in a way that somehow made the silence feel safe rather than pressured.

“Do you ever think I’m...” You stopped. Tried again. “Am I too much? Like—when I laugh too loudly, or drag you around, or tease you in front of people. Does it embarrass you?”

Xavier’s head tilted. A small crease appeared between his brows. “No.”

“That’s not an answer, that’s just—”

“You asked if you embarrass me.” His eyes met yours directly. “The answer is no.” He was quiet for a moment, then; “Who decided that being comfortable with someone is a flaw?”

You didn’t respond.

“I’ve spent a great deal of time in rooms where everyone performed their emotions very carefully,” he said. “I don’t find it appealing.” He looked at you, really looked. “I like that you laugh without calculating whether it’s appropriate first.”

You felt something in your chest loosen. Just slightly.

“Besides,” he added, the faintest warmth threading into his voice, “if you were ever too much, I would have said something by now.”

You let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “You’d have just fallen asleep.”

“Probably,” he agreed, without a trace of irony.

He didn’t reach for your phone. Didn’t try to argue you out of what you were feeling or talk you through it like a problem to be solved. He just stayed—shifting close enough that his shoulder pressed steadily against yours, a quiet anchor—until the weight of a hundred strangers’ opinions began to feel much smaller than the warmth of the person beside you, who had never once asked you to be less.

After a while, his hand found yours. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

You found him in the kitchen when you got home, already halfway through making something. The sharp smell of ginger hit you at the door.

You didn’t say anything for a while. Just sat at the island and watched him work. He’d noticed something was wrong the moment you walked in, you could tell by the way his eyes had flicked to you and then away, giving you space to arrive at it on your own.

“People online are saying I’m disrespectful to you,” you finally said.

The knife paused.

“They’ve been saying it for a while, actually. That I’m immature. That I treat you like a joke.” You stared at the counter. “Someone called me an embarrassment. Said you’re a prestigious doctor and I should take you more seriously. That you deserved better than someone who acts like a child around you.”

Zayne set down the knife. Turned around. Crossed his arms in that measured way he had when he was choosing his words carefully—not because he was unsure, but because he understood the weight of them.

“And you believed them?”

It wasn’t really a question, but it wasn’t an accusation either. It sat somewhere in between.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I started wondering if the way I joke around with you—if the teasing, the back-and-forth—if it undermines you somehow. Like I’m not taking you seriously enough.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he moved from behind the island, and you braced for the careful  lecture—the one where he’d lay it out logically and correctly and it would feel like being corrected even when it wasn’t.

Instead, he leaned against the counter beside you. Close. Close enough that his arm pressed lightly against yours.

“You know what I remember about my residency?” he asks. “There were two kinds of attendings. The ones people feared and the ones people called at 3 AM when something went wrong.” He paused. “Fear is easy to manufacture. Being someone’s actual safe person isn’t.”

You looked at him.

“When you joke with me,” he continued, quieter now, “it’s because you trust that I can take it. That I’m not so fragile that a little irreverence will break me. Strangers have decided to read that as disrespect. They’re wrong, and frankly, their interpretation of our dynamic is none of my concern.”

“Zayne…”

“You don’t act that way with everyone.” His voice was firm. “Only with people you feel safe with.” He finally met your eyes, and held them. “I am aware of the difference. I hope you are, too.”

He turned back to the stove. The subject, apparently, was closed—not because he was dismissing it, but because as far as he was concerned, he’d said what needed to be said, and dwelling would only give the wrong people more of your time.

You sat there a moment longer, watching the steam curl softly from the pot. Something warm and steady settled in your chest—the particular kind of warmth that came not from being comforted, but from being known.

When he slid a small dish of cut fruit across the counter to you without comment, you understood it for what it was.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

He found you sitting by the beach of his private island with your phone face-down in your lap, staring out at the bay like you were waiting for the tide to come in and just—take the whole thing away.

He dropped down beside you. His shoulder bumped yours, and he glanced at the phone with the attention he gave to things he was actually trying to understand.

“You have the face,” he points out.

“What face?”

“The one where you’ve been seeing things you shouldn’t.” He tipped his chin at the phone. “Strangers again?”

You didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

Rafayel picked up a small seashell and turned it over in his fingers. Didn’t say anything right away. Didn’t perform patience—he was just genuinely, quietly thinking, which was rare enough that you noticed it.

“They said I’m childish,” you finally told him. “That I’m too annoying and too much and that the way I am with you is embarrassing.” You laughed, but it came out hollow. “Someone said you deserve someone more... classy.”

He made a sound that was very nearly a scoff. “Classy.” He said it like it was in a language he found vaguely offensive.

“Rafayel…”

He glanced at you sideways. “Socialites are boring, you know.” He tossed the seashell into the water, letting out a soft ‘blop’ noise. “I know what classy looks like, cutie. I’ve been in rooms full of it. Perfectly measured people saying perfectly measured things, performing the right amount of interest, laughing at the right volume.” He turned to look at you then, fully, the way he did when he wanted you to actually hear him. “None of them made me want to stay in the same room for more than twenty minutes.”

The way he was looking at you made something in your chest squeeze.

“You worry too much about performing yourself correctly,” he said, matter-of-fact. “As if being comfortable is something you owe an apology for.”

“It’s not that.”

“It’s exactly that.” He didn’t say it unkindly. “They want you quieter, softer, more palatable. And they’ve dressed it up as concern for me.” The corner of his mouth curled. “I’m a little insulted, honestly. As if I’d choose someone who makes me feel nothing.”

You let out a long breath. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being correct.” He leaned back on his palms. “There’s a difference.” Then, quieter, the teasing gone from his voice entirely; “No more reading comments. They don’t know what we’re like. They don’t know what you’re like. And I like my cutie just the way she is, and she’s all mine to enjoy my life with.”

He said it simply, with the particular certainty of someone who has never once let the audience dictate his work. As if it were obvious. As if there were nothing else to discuss.

You looked out at the water. The tide was coming in, slow and steady, carrying the light with it.

He smiled, small and satisfied, and said nothing else. He stayed beside you, his hand rested over yours, warm from the sun, and made no move to leave.

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

You weren’t looking for him when you walked into the lounge. You were just looking for somewhere to sit that wasn’t your own head.

Sylus was at the record player—one of his vintage and absurdly expensive—not doing anything in particular, just letting something slow and brass-heavy fill the room. He noticed you the second you walked in. He always did. It was both reassuring and faintly unsettling.

He said nothing while you dropped onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. He let the music fill the space between you until you were ready.

“The comments section of humanity got to you,” he said eventually. Not a question.

“People are saying I’m bratty.” You closed your eyes. “That I don’t take you seriously. That I’m immature and embarrassing and—” You exhaled. “That someone like you shouldn’t put up with someone like me.”

The record kept turning. The brass line moved through the room like smoke.

“Someone like me,” he repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Mm.” You heard him cross the room. The couch dipped with his weight as he sat beside you—not quite close enough to touch, but close enough that you felt the warmth of him. “And what exactly do they think someone like me deserves?”

You opened your eyes. He was leaned back, arms crossed loosely, watching the ceiling the same way you had been—but with entirely different thoughts behind his eyes.

“Someone serious. Appropriate. I think?”

“Boring,” he translated.

“Sylus—”

“Kitten.” He turned his head to look at you, and there was something in his expression that was almost amused. “I have had serious, appropriate people trying to buy my favor and my fear in equal measure.” A pause. “None of them have ever made me want to stay.”

You looked at him.

“You push back,” he said. “You don’t flinch. You drag me into ridiculous conversations at two in the morning and argue with me about things that don’t matter and somehow that makes them matter.” His gaze stayed on yours, steady and direct. “And you do all of that without ever making it a performance.”

“So you don’t think I’m too much?”

“I think,” he started slowly, like he was deciding whether to bother with honesty, “that people who have no idea what I’m actually like have decided to write a story about what I deserve.” He tilted his head. “It’s almost funny.”

“Almost?”

“The part where you believed them is less funny.”

You didn’t have an answer to that.

“You’re not too much,” he said with the particular weight of someone who means exactly what they say and no more. “You’re specifically the right amount. And I don’t make assessments like that lightly.”

He reached over and turned your phone face-down on the cushion beside you, without looking at it. Then, almost as an afterthought, his hand stayed—resting over yours, like it had always belonged there.

The record turned. The brass kept moving.

“Stop feeding strangers your energy,” he said quietly. “They haven’t earned it.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

It was the third time you’d read the same thread. You knew that because you’d refreshed it three times, each time hoping it would somehow look different—less sharp, less pointed, less like something designed to find the cracks in you.

Disrespectful. Childish. Can’t take anything seriously. He deserves better.

Caleb found you like that—curled up on the couch, phone held too tight, not watching the show you’d put on as cover. He dropped into the seat beside you with the easy, practiced familiarity of someone who has known you long enough not to need an invitation.

He looked at your face. Then at the phone. Then back at your face.

“Show me.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Show me, come on.”

You handed it over because you were tired of holding it. He scrolled in silence, and you watched his jaw do the thing—the small, slow tighten that never quite made it to his expression but always made it into his body. He handed it back without comment.

“You want to know what I actually remember?” he asked.

You waited.

“I remember you at eleven years old arguing with me for forty-five minutes about whether or not the last piece of food on a shared plate is socially claimable.” He glanced at you sideways. “You were wrong, by the way. It’s not.”

“It absolutely is!”

“And I remember thinking,” he continued, ignoring you effortlessly, “that there is nobody on this earth I would rather spend forty-five minutes arguing with. Because you were in it. You cared. You laughed the whole time and still refused to concede and it was—” He stopped. Shook his head slightly. “It was just really you.”

Something in your throat went tight.

“These people,” he said, and his voice shifted into the tone he reserved for things that genuinely, quietly made him angry, “have watched a handful of moments and decided they understand a dynamic they’ve never been inside of.” He looked at you directly. “They don’t know us. They don’t know you, more than I do.”

“But what if they’re right that I’m—”

“You’re not too much.” He said it clear. No softening, no cushion. “You have never once been too much for me. And I would know. I’ve been around.” 

That was the thing about Caleb—he’d never once in your entire life let you believe something wrong about yourself without correcting it, for you to learn and him as your guide. Even when the truth was harder. Especially then.

You leaned into him—shoulder to shoulder, the same way you had since you were kids—and he let you, the same way he always had. His arm comes up to rest around your shoulders like it had done a hundred times before.

“Next time,” he said, after a while, “don’t read the comments.”

“You never read comments.”

“Yeah. And look how I turned out.”

You laughed. It was small, and a little watery, and completely real.

He counted it as a win.

Based on this request.

[lvl1l1]

“I didn’t finish”

telling the lads men you didn’t finish during night time activities!

tags: nsfw, slightly silly

!MDNI!

[Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus and Caleb]

Xavier

you're both still tangled in sheets, morning light slanting through the blinds, his arm slung heavy over your waist. he's half asleep, hair a mess, lashes fluttering like he's about to drift off again. you stretch lazily, yawn, then mumble into the pillow,

“xavie, please don’t feel bad but i didn’t finish last night.”

silence follows.

his eyes snap open. blue so bright it's almost glowing. he doesn't move at first, simply stares at the back of your head like he can laser vision the words out of existence. then slow. so slow. he props himself up on one elbow, hair falling into his face, voice all soft sleepy danger.

“...what did you just say?”

you shrug. keep facing away. “nothing. just saying. last night was nice but... y'know. didn't quite get there.”

he makes this tiny wounded noise, like a kitten getting stepped on. then he's rolling you over in one fluid motion, pinning you under him, thighs bracketing yours. sleepy bunny gone. “you’re telling me,” he says, low, lips brushing your ear, “that i had you moaning my name, clenching around me like you were trying to keep me forever, and you didn’t come?”

you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “maybe i faked it a little-”

his hand slides down, cups you through your panties. thumb pressing right where you're already getting wet from the shift in his tone.

“faked it?” he repeats, almost offended. voice cracking just a little. “my love. i felt you. i tasted you. i know what you sound like when you're close.” he rocks his hips once, hard enough you feel how fast he's getting hard again. “so either you're lying... or i need to fix it. right now.”

he doesn't wait for a response. mouth on your neck. fingers slipping under fabric. slow circles over your clit while he grinds against your thigh.

“so tell me,” he murmurs, breath hot. “do you really think you didn’t finish last night?”

you manage a shaky laugh. “xav- wait it was a prank-”

too late. he's already sliding down, shoving your thighs apart, tongue flat and insistent.

“prank's over when you come. twice. maybe three times. until i believe you.”

he doesn't stop until you're shaking, crying his name for real, legs locked around his head. when he finally crawls back up, chin glistening, eyes heavy lidded and smug.

“better?”

you nod. boneless.

“good. next time you wanna play games... just ask me to ruin you properly.”

Zayne

you walk into the kitchen, it’s early morning. he's in his work clothes already, making tea like the responsible adult he is. you shuffle in, wearing a(his) oversized hoodie, hair wild, and lean against the counter next to him. casual. too casual.

“morning. about last night… i didn’t finish.”

his hand freezes mid-pour. tea splashes. just a drop. but it's zayne. he doesn't spill. ever. unless something catastrophic happens. like this.

he sets the pot down. turns. slowly. glasses catching the light so you can't quite see his eyes at first. then he removes them. deliberate. folds them. places them on the counter like evidence.

“explain.”

voice calm. neutral. the tone he uses when he has to ask his patients something.

you pick at your sleeve. “just... y'know. sex was good. really good. but i didn't... y'know. finish.”

his jaw ticks. once. twice. then he steps into your space. towers. one hand plants on the counter beside your hip. the other tips your chin up. thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“you came multiple times,” he says flatly. “i counted. your pulse was 142 at the peak. you soaked my fingers, my tongue, the sheets. your thighs shook for a full minute after the last one.”

you try not to grin. “i was faking it-”

his eyes narrow. dangerously

“you think i can't tell?”

next thing you know your ass is on the counter, legs spread around his hips. his hand between you, pressing firm over your mound through the hoodie.

“tell me again,” he murmurs, lips at your throat. “tell me i failed to satisfy my girlfriend.”

“zayne-”

“no.” he rocks once. slow grind. you gasp. “you don't get to lie about this.”

fingers slip under the hem. find you already slick. he groans low. circles your clit with that precise, maddening pressure only he has.

“i'll make you come until you can't form sentences. until every time you think about last night, you throb.” his free hand pins your wrist to the counter. “apologise.”

you laugh breathlessly. “it was a prank- oh god-”

he curls two fingers inside. hits that spot. he’s relentless.

you come hard. fast. shaking on his hand while he watches carefully. then he licks his fingers clean. kisses you deep. tastes like tea and smug victory.

“next time,” he says against your mouth, “say it to my face while i'm inside you. see how long the lie lasts.”

Rafayel

the two of you are in his studio. paint everywhere. he's shirtless, jeans low, hair tied back in a tiny ponytail, brush in hand. you're perched on the stool watching him work. he glances over. grins that sly grin.

you sip your drink. then deadpan:

“hey. i didn’t finish last night.”

brush clatters. paint splatters the floor like blood. he whips around so fast the easel wobbles. eyes wide. betrayed..

“excuse me?” hand to chest. “what did you just say?”

you shrug. “yeah. it was fun. but... no big climax.”

his mouth opens. closes. opens again. then he's stalking over, paint on his cheek, abs flexing, looking at you like you just told him you don’t love him.

“it was fun?” he echoes. voice cracking. “fun. i worshipped you. i had my tongue so deep-”

he grabs your thighs. yanks you to the edge of the stool. wedges between your legs. hands gripping hard enough to bruise.

“you’re telling me the sea god didn’t make his bride come?”

he's already hard. grinding against you shameless.

“liar,” he hisses. but his eyes are glassy. needy.

you try to laugh. he kisses you stupid instead. its messy and desperate. hands shoving your shirt up. mouth on your tits. sucking hard like he's trying to leave hickeys visible from space.

“gonna paint you coming,” he mutters against your skin. “gonna make you squirt all over my canvas. then frame it. title it 'proof rafayel always finishes the job.'”

fingers between your legs. rubbing frantic.

“say it again. say i didn't make you come.”

“raf- prank-”

“too late to back out now.”

he drops to his knees. shoves your legs over his shoulders. devours. tongue flicking. sucking. fingers curling. moaning into you like he's the one getting off.

you come screaming. he doesn't stop. keeps going until you're pushing at his head, oversensitive.

he pulls back. lips swollen. glistening. grins feral.

“finished now?”

you nod. wrecked.

“well i'm not done. not even close.”

Sylus

you’re in his penthouse. it’s late afternoon. he's lounging on the couch, reading something on his tablet, one arm behind his head, sleeves rolled up(as always). you walk in from the kitchen, glass of water in hand, sit down next to him.

sip. then:

“please don’t get mad sy but i didn’t finish last night.”

his tablet lowers. slowly. then red eyes flick to you. unreadable. then one brow arches. he’s amused.

“...come again?”

“no that's the problem,” you say sweetly. “i didn't.”

he sets the tablet aside now. next, he stands. towers. then drops to one knee in front of you. hand on your thigh. squeezing.

“kitten.” his voice is velvet. “repeat that. slower.”

you hold his gaze. “last night was hot. but i didn't come.”

his laugh is low. his thumb strokes higher.

“you did. four times. i counted. you begged. you cried. you scratched my back raw. liar.”

he leans in. nose brushing yours.

“but if my girl thinks she needs more...” hand slides between your legs. cups. possessive. “i'll gladly give more.”

you're on your back before you blink. couch leather cool. him between your thighs. pants shoved down just enough. thick cock rubbing against you through your underwear.

“say it,” he growls. “tell me i left you wanting.”

“sylus- wait- i was just kidding-“

he rips the fabric aside. slides in. one slow deep thrust. fills you completely.

“kidding,” he echoes. mocking. hips rolling. “cute.”

he fucks you slow. punishing. every drag deliberate. thumb on your clit.

“you come when i say. not before. not after. when i decide you've learned.”

once you come, you come hard. shaking. he doesn't stop. keeps going. over and over. until you're babbling apologies.

finally he pulls out. comes on your stomach. marks you.

leans down. kisses your forehead. soft now.

“next time you wanna play... be ready to lose.”

Caleb

he’s over at your place. he's cooking breakfast with his apron on. humming. you lean in the doorway. arms crossed.

“caleb, i didn’t finish last night.”

his hand freezes mid stir. he turns. brows up. then down. processing.

“...you serious?”

you nod. solemn.

he sets the spatula down. walks over. gentle. cups your face. thumbs stroking cheeks.

“pips...” voice soft. worried. “why didn't you tell me? i would've-”

the guilt trip starts. you almost crack.

“i just... didn't get there. s'okay.”

his eyes darken. not angry. he’s just determined.

“not okay.” he lifts you onto the counter. steps between your legs. hands on your hips.

“i take care of you. always.” kisses your forehead. nose. lips. soft. then deeper.

“let me fix it.”

hand slips under your sleep shorts. fingers gentle. exploring. finding you wet. he groans.

“you’re soaked already...” circles slow. teasing. “tell me what you need.”

“caleb- wait it was a-”

he kisses you quiet. fingers sliding inside, curling. his thumb on your clit.

“shhh. let me make it right.”

slow build up. he’s patient. whispering praise. “so good for me. always so pretty when you fall apart.”

you come trembling. clinging. he holds you through it. kisses every tear.

then pulls back. grins sheepish.

“better?”

you laugh. breathless. “prank. it was a prank.”

he blinks. then laughs, bright, boyish. he pulls you into a hug.

“you little menace.” kisses your hair. “next time warn me. my heart almost stopped thinking i failed you.”

then softer. against your ear.

“but... if you ever really don't finish? tell me. i'll spend all day making it up. promise.”

[qinchess]

you decide to press your boobs into his face.. you can handle the consequences, right? ft. sylus, caleb and zayne!

sylus was a busy man. it always seemed like he was needed everywhere all at once, and even if it felt selfish, sometimes you just wanted him all to yourself..

and since he was so greedy, why shouldn't you be?

you found him lounging in bed, but he was still reading through documents on his tablet as you slid in beside him.

"sy? you're not too busy, are you?" you could only bite your lip as he set his tablet to the side to put his full attention on you.

"of course not, sweetie. do you need somethi-"

he could barely get the words out before you were straddling him, shoving your boobs into his face with a happy hum. "mm, that feels really good.."

he froze only for a second before you could feel his teeth biting down even through your shirt, causing you to laugh in shock. "sylus! at least let me take it off-"

"keep it on." his voice was muffled against your chest, teeth and tongue working over the fabric as his hands slid up to hold you in place, big palms resting over the skin he could reach.

you couldn't do anything but lean into his whims, gasping as he groped you and marked you all in one breath.

"it seems you're having fun," he breathed, nibbling on your nipple, "but i think we can have even more fun, don't you?"

if there was one thing you were absolutely certain of, it was the fact that caleb was an absolute pervert. he'd do anything and everything to get his hands on you no matter what..

and you were eager to test just how perverted he could be.

he was busy reading reports for the fleet on the couch, and you were careful not to seem too obvious as you made your way to him.

"caleb? can i ask you something?" knowing he would put everything down for you, you watched him with a grin.

"sure pips, what's u-"

he quickly found out, as you shoved your boobs into his face, smushing him in as you giggled playfully. "that feels really good! does it feel good for you too?"

almost immediately, caleb was groaning, practically whimpering as he bulldozed his face into your boobs, hands sliding up to hold onto as much skin as he could.

"f-fuck," he whined, drooling all over your tits as he moved his head left to right, making sure he was completely surrounded, "it's sooo good, pips.. can never get enough of you.." he sounded drunk already.

your laughs didn't deter him at all, eager fingers trying to tug your shirt off as he looked up at you, his pupils blown. he was completely gone.

"can you do this forever?" he sighed happily, squeezing your boobs in his palms, "just wanna stay riiiight here.."

you knew zayne was usually stressed from work, and even if he didn't show it, you knew his body was definitely tense. working long shifts at the hospital definitely wasn't for the weak..

so why shouldn't you help relieve his stress?

he was bent over his desk at home when you found him, your scheme apparent in the gleam of your eyes as you snuck up behind him.

"zaynie? can you check something for me?" with the trap set in place, you could only smile as he turned his head towards you.

"yes? what's wro-"

he was cut off by you shoving your boobs into his face, the pillowy skin cradling him perfectly as you let out a playful sigh. "ahh, that feels good.."

there were many things you expected from your little prank, but the last thing you expected was silence. you were a bit nervous, peeking at the top of his head with a frown. ".. zayne? you okay?-"

he cut you off with a groan, burying his face impossibly deeper into your chest as his hands slid up to cup your breasts. he was practically smothering himself for you, you didn't have to do a single thing.

it was only when you brought your hands to his hair that he looked up at you, his head comfortably cushioned as he gave you a small smile.

".. this is a very useful stress relief tactic." he mumbled, shutting his eyes in bliss, "it's beneficial for both of us, after all."

a/n : for this request !!

[notmedicli]

⋆˙⟡ TEACH ME, TRAIN ME, GUIDE ME! ♡ ࿐

about ♱ losing your virginity to the experienced lads men!

pairing ♱ xavier ⌇zayne ⌇rafayel ⌇sylus ⌇caleb [ separate ] x f!r

content warning ♱ virginity loss, slight jealousy/insecurity, a bit of hurt comfort, mentions of blood, possessiveness, slight corruption, innocence kink, body worship, fingering, mentions of oral (f. receiving), heavy pet name usage, unprotected sex, creampie, unrealistic smut, established relationships (except caleb is readers bsf) lowkey plot heavy sorry — MINORS DNI 18+

kit says ♱ so i accidentally made zayne’s angsty … apologies. also this isn’t my best, but i'm still proud of it! i hope everyone enjoys! it’s my longest one so far yayy. feedback + comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated ⭑.ᐟ

沈星回 ⟢ #XAVIER

your relationship had always been soft—gentle kisses, intertwined hands, quiet nights spent tangled together beneath blankets. it was sweet, almost innocent. but beneath that sweetness, xavier’s been aching for more.

of course, he was patient with you, but in truth, xavier’s waited months for this. for the words to slip out of your mouth so coyly with pretty, innocent doe eyes. for you to look at him the way you are now and say,

“xavie… do you think we could… um,” you can barely say the words, a lump forming in your throat out of sheer mortification. “have sex?” you end on a whisper. 

and xavier’s breath catches instantly, a rush of heat pooling low in his stomach. you’re just so impossibly cute that he wonders how he’s managed to hold himself back for so long without pouncing on you. maybe it’s his hand that has kept him sane this whole time. every night, he’d go back to his place, haunted by your sweet voice and pretty face, and stroke himself for hours thinking about you—thinking about the way your tight walls would wrap around him. thinking about how you wouldn’t know a damn thing. 

“a-are you sure?” he needs confirmation. he needs to hear you say it with no hesitation whatsoever. 

and when you respond with a meek nod and, “i’m sure… you know i’ve never done anything like this before and… i want you to be my first. i trust you.”

xavier sees red. his mind blanks, reason slipping through his fingers as a rush of emotion crashes over him all blurring together until he can’t tell one from the other. maybe you’re wrong to trust him. maybe you should run. 

but xavier controls himself and lets his dreams come true. you’re in his bed, tucked beneath him in cute, mismatched lingerie. it’s your first time, and even as he steadies himself for you, the thought fills him with a quiet, reverent joy. you’re his now, and the moment feels sacred. 

your teeth tug on your bottom lip anxiously as he hovers above you—he knows you’re nervous, but he can’t help but feel elated. he’s claiming you tonight… you’ll be completely and utterly his—the way you were destined to be. 

he preps you extensively—rubbing you over your panties, then slipping his fingers underneath the soaked fabric and playing with your untouched clit then finally pushing a single digit into your warm, velvet walls. and you cry, you sob, you moan, every broken sound is some variation of his name and he almost comes untouched. instead, he adds a second, watching your face scrunch up in pained pleasure. 

he gets you right to the edge and when you’re teetering on your orgasm, he pulls them out. he feels his cock twitch wildly in his all too tight boxers when you cry helplessly. he reminds you that you can’t have your first orgasm like this—that it needs to be on his cock and you just nod dumbly, heating up in shyness all over again. 

your panties are off instantly and his eyes zero in on your drooling cunt, watching your barely stretched hole twitch and beg for his cock. he moans at the sight, pinning your legs open when you try to close them shyly under his intense gaze. “no, honey, keep ‘em open so i can see all of you, yeah?”

you arch your back gasping for something to dull the ache in your pussy, “xavier… please,” 

and he nods, panting. he pulls his boxers down, freeing his cock and letting it slap against his bare abdomen and you choke, eyes widening. he notices immediately and your fear shouldn’t turn him on but it does. so much. 

“you ready f’me, baby?” he asks hotly.

you nod, responding with a watery voice. “yeah, please… wanna be yours, xav,”

and xavier is so scared because the moment his cock presses into you and he feels you stretching around him to take him, he knows he’s going to ruin you. he knows he won’t be able to go slow the way you need him to. especially when you’re losing your innocence right before him. 

he’s groaning, self control fraying at your mewls and sobs. “f-fuck, angel… s’tight. squeezing the fuck out of me. rela—hah! relax.”

and your arousal—brought by his face, his moans, his words, his cock— streams out of you and coats his length allowing him to inch in more and more with every passing second. 

“can-can i keep moving, honey?” he gasps, dick throbbing at the new, tight space. “you okay?”

you nod and he parrots, sliding himself in and feeling you tense underneath him before relaxing—or attempting to. he moans, intertwining your fingers before leaning down to kiss you with such intensity you almost don’t notice that he shoves himself in. 

you almost wouldn’t have had his fat tip not bumped right against your cervix causing a scream to erupt into his mouth. 

xavier falters, the control he’s known for unraveling in an instant. his touch turns desperate, almost trembling, and his words spill out between shallow breaths and sloppy kisses. his hands squeeze yours tight enough to hurt as he attempts to anchor himself. 

he lets you adjust… tries to be patient with you as you make all these cute sounds and whimper out his name while your pussy holds him tight. it’s the least he can do.

but when you give him the okay to move? you almost regret it. he pistons in and out of you, releasing one of your hands to sneak his between your bodies and rub at your clit.

“god, you’re so perfect—ah, my perfect stargirl.” he moans, his abdomen tightening up the same way your pussy does when he flicks at your clit faster and faster. “cum for me, yeah? cum all over me.”

you do just that with a cry of his name and it only triggers his orgasm. you both feel his warm seed filling your cunt and it’s so overwhelming for the both of you—moans of each other’s names and heavy panting before he’s collapsing onto your body. 

you’re his. every single part of you. his sweet girl is finally all his. he mumbles into your neck.

“no one will ever have you like this except for me, okay?”

夏以昼 ⟢ #CALEB

you’ve only ever trusted caleb. he’s instilled the fact that he’ll be the only man in your life—the only man who would never, ever hurt you almost from the moment you met. you hurt yourself? you call caleb. you need a ride because it’s pouring rain and you forgot your umbrella? you call caleb. you need anything at all? you call caleb.

…you want to lose your virginity?

well, who else would you call other than caleb?

you don’t call, but text him—too embarrassed to even say the words out loud—and he’s at your door within the hour, breath uneven, brows drawn tight. there’s confusion in his eyes, maybe even a flicker of anger, but beneath it all, something else you can’t quite name.

he bulldozes his way into your apartment and his voice is low when he speaks. “so… you want to have sex… any particular reason?” no niceties. just straight to the point.

you shut the door and face away from him, timidly responding. “‘m just curious, my girlfriends are always talking about their sex lives and you know i know nothing. i just wanted to get it over with, but with someone i trust… so i wanted it to be you.” you babble anxiously. you turn to see him standing there, tense and unmoving with his hands in his pockets. “is that weird? if it is, then we can just forget it, i’ll ask—”

he cuts you off with haste, gritting his words out. “pips, i swear you better not say you’ll ask someone else.” he stalks towards you and the intensity of his gaze on you has you backing up against the door. “i will take care of you like i always do, isn’t that right, baby?”

baby. caleb has called you that before, but in a degrading, teasing way, but it doesn’t seem like he’s teasing. your breath catches at the foreign name, but you nod anyway. 

but a nod isn’t enough for him, you can see it in his raised, expectant eyebrow. he wants you to say it. he needs to hear you say how much you want him. “yes caleb… yes, please. help me?”

then his lips are on yours and he’s pulling you in for a searing kiss. it’s messy—too full of want to be graceful—and for a fleeting second, you’re grateful it’s him. your caleb, your childhood best friend. the very same caleb who once taught you how to kiss is now the one undoing you with his lips.

and caleb is meticulous. he starts with his head between your thighs, lapping at your messy cunt muttering on and on about how a real man will always eat his pretty girl out before fucking her. he has you falling apart on his mouth, his nose, his fingers—over and over and over until you’re a shaking, writhing mess under him. 

now his cock is rubbing up and down your sensitive slit, coating himself in your slick while you twitch and pant. he’s holding onto every bit of self restraint he has left. “tell me what to do, baby.”

you don’t know how, but your pussy craves something it's never had. craves the weight of his thick cock. especially when he presses the bulbous tip of his cock at your entrance. “please… put it inside me. need you to fuck me ple—ah!”

you’re cut off again by the painful stretch of his length finally pressing into you. his thumb catches your clit, rubbing circles into the sensitive bud as a ploy to distract you from the way he rips you apart, but with his size? there’s nothing that can take your mind off the pain. 

you sob and he moans at the sound… the feeling. there’s a lump in his throat almost like he could cry. he’s wanted this for years. he’s wanted to make you his for fucking lifetimes and now he finally has you. he’ll never give you away to any man after today. you’re his forever. 

“hurts…” you whisper, tears free falling from your tightly shut eyes.

his entire body goes rigid as he twitches beneath your vice like velvet walls. “shhh, i know, baby, i know,” he coos, but even his voice is shaky. then he notices the blood, further confirmation that he’s your first… your only. “fuck, i’m almost in, okay? gonna make it feel s’good for ya, promise.”

you nod, breathing the way he instructs you to, discerning every inch that fills your cunt. then he bottoms out, his tip nestled so deep that you feel him everywhere. 

you gasp, “f-fuck, caleb!” your shaking hand splays over your stomach, pressing down and feeling the evidence of him. you find yourself loving the pressure of him inside of you and your body needs more. you know it’s greedy and you probably should let your body adjust to his thick length, but you can’t wait. “more, need more. you promised you’d make me feel good,” you pant. “so please move,”

he laughs incredulously, backing out of your heat just to shove himself back in. “gonna drive me crazy, pips… gonna make me make this pretty pussy mine.” 

and you squeeze him so tight, branding the shape of him into you. because you’ve longed to hear those words from him and you had a slight inkling that he’d been waiting just as long to say them to you. 

your body tightens, a familiar tension coiling deep inside you. it’s a sensation you’ve only felt a handful of times before—all consuming—until the ache in your belly blooms into something electric, something that borders on euphoric. the testimony slips past your lips as a moan as you feel yourself unravelling around him. “caleb…fuck! i-it’s yours… always been yours.”

“that’s right, baby, all fuckin’ mine.”

秦彻 ⟢ #SYLUS

you’ve never given much thought to sylus’s previous relationships. you know he’s experienced. he knows how to kiss you, knows how to eat you out and he knows how to make you cum and cry and everything in between. you also know that kind of experience doesn’t just come out of nowhere. as much as you like to believe sylus was simply born perfect, you know better. someone else must’ve come before you—someone he learned with, practiced with—long before he ever fell in love with you.

the thought of sylus being intimate with someone else left a sour taste in your mouth and made your stomach sink. it’s irrational—you’re hyper aware of that, but it can’t be helped. there’s a big possibility that he was, like you assumed, born perfect and you’re his first partner, but there’s no way to know unless you ask.

so you ask, bold and brave at first but when he gives you a sheepish look, you falter and it’s obvious that his non-committal answer hurts you, even if it’s only a little. 

“sweetie, why does it matter if i’ve had prior partners? none of them could ever hold a candle to you.” he confirms, voice so matter of fact.

there’s still a flicker of hurt in your eyes when you look up at him. “how can you be so confident when we’ve never even had sex? what if all the girls you fucked in the past are a million times better than i am?”

he gives you a look you can’t discern before his hands cup your cheeks, squishing them and laying a chaste kiss lips on your puckered lips. “because i love you, sweet girl. not for your body or for your face— even though i believe you’re the most gorgeous person alive—but for who you are and how alive you make me feel.” and every word rolls off his tongue so confidently, so reassuringly. “sex doesn’t matter to me. i could go lifetimes without it as long as i get to be with you.”

and his words are all the justification you need. you’ve been saving yourself—holding yourself back for the right person, the one who makes you feel safe, seen, understood. sylus has never given you a reason to doubt that it’s him. he’s the one you trust, the one you love. your one. your only. 

you gulp before inhaling sharply and letting a surge of confidence take you over. you push him onto his bed and straddle him, movements a little uncoordinated, but he steadies you like he always does. “don’t want you to go lifetimes without it… i wanna do it.” you whisper. “i want to go all the way.”

he searches your eyes for even the slightest bit of hesitation, but you stand firm on your decision. it makes his cock harden beneath you, digging into your clothed core. you grind against him gently, inconsistently as extra confirmation that you want him and his breath hitches. 

now you’re on top of him, his warm, tender hands rubbing up and down your sides as you hover over his cock. he’s prepped you, of course. sylus spent eons prying you open so you could take him… but he’s still huge and you’re still too tight. 

he looks up and your chest heaving as your arousal drips down his tip. he murmurs to you, “go as slow as you want, baby. we can stop when—shit.” 

he’s immediately cut off by your tight heat stretching over his mushroom head, trapping him there as a moan rips through you. it hurts, he knows it does. his size is one of the other main reasons you avoided having sex. he was just too big. 

“fuck, ease up, sweetie. ‘s gonna hurt if you keep squeezing me like that.” his voice is gravelly, practically a grunt. “let me open you up.”

you nod, determined to keep going, your breaths coming out in shaky rhythm as sylus steadies you with soft praise and gentle murmurs. his words wrap around you like a warm embrace, and with every one, arousal gushes out of you—spilling over, pooling down to where you’re joined, until all you can feel is him.

“you’re taking me so well, baby,” he says, squeezing your hips and pulling himself up to smother his face against your tits. “there’s no one but you. never going to be anyone but you. understand?”

you cry, sliding yourself all the way down until he’s bottomed out inside of you. “yes, all mine,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, feeling so full of his cock and love that you forget about the ache and the pressure. you can only think about him being lodged against your sweet spot causing a knot to quickly form in your stomach, both ends of the sting pulling tighter and tighter until…

snap!

and your eyes are rolling back, your head rids of every word just to cling onto his name in which you repeat like a prayer over and over and over. your pussy convulses, walls spasming as you become mush in his arms. 

sylus resorts to his default smug smile, pulling away from your breasts to look at you, his crimson eyes gleaming with mirth. “you just came from putting my cock inside you, sweetheart.”  

it’s not a question, it’s a statement. a fact, at that. you whimper, nodding, before raising your hips that still have a tremor from your orgasm and sliding back down. 

“w-want you… t’give me everything, sy.” you whimper, digging your nails into his pale shoulders, leaving red crescent shapes in their wake. “want you s’bad it hurts.” he laughs breathily, heart pounding and blood thrumming beneath his skin. “whatever you want, sweetie. it’s yours—i’m yours. take as much as you want.”

黎深 ⟢ #ZAYNE

there’s nothing you want more than zayne to fuck you. yes, you were a virgin, that much was clear, but that never meant you didn’t get urges. you fantasized about zayne for years before he finally asked you out. you refused to go on dates, you refused to kiss other men and you most certainly rejected any advances that were made on you—you could’ve lost your virginity if you really wanted to, but above all, you only wanted one man to have it. your man.  

but even after several weeks of being his girlfriend, he still denies you. he can’t seem to bring himself to go past third base with you. he’ll kiss you, play with your tits, and fuck you with his fingers, but the second you mention going all the way, his hands are off you like he’s been burned. 

you’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting. you always knew he was experienced—he was humble about his ability to work a woman’s body—but that only made his hesitation more confusing. why did he pull away whenever sex with you came up? why did he act like the thought of being with you in the most intimate way possible was something he had to avoid?

you tried so hard not to let it show, to pretend his distance didn’t bother you—but tonight, you’re at your breaking point. the ache for him is one you can feel in your cunt and deep in your bones, a slow, relentless burn that pulls every buried feeling to the surface. all the want you’ve swallowed down for years, all the insecurity and fear you’ve tried to bite back—they’re rising now, thick in your throat, threatening to spill out of your mouth if he didn’t finally fuck you. 

but he refuses, once again with a flicker of guilt in his eyes as he pulls his fingers out of you sopping, needy pussy. “not tonight,” he says thickly. 

and you can’t help it. the tears blurring everything until the warmth of the moment feels cold. what started as pleasure twists into something raw and aching. “do you just not want me or something?” you whisper, words broken and zayne freezes, heart splintering at the sound. “i’ve wanted you for so long, zayne. i’ve liked you since i could even process what the feeling was.”

“sweetheart—”

“i saved everything for you…all my firsts like a fucking idiot on the off chance that you would finally see me, and you would want me… and then i got so lucky and you did want me,” you say, tearily. “at least i thought you did, but now i try to give you all of me and you repeatedly reject me. so what is it, zayne? do you want me or not because i only want to be with someone who does.”

his voice is tight when he responds, hazel jade eyes going dark. “i’ve always wanted you. i’ve never wanted anyone the way i want you and it scares me.” he whispers, sounding pained. “i do want you, sweetheart… more than that, i need you. every fiber of my being needs you and i can’t control it. it’s why i keep saying no… i just can’t bear to lose control and hurt you. your first time deserves to be perfect.”

your breath hitches at his words, pussy weeping at the idea of zayne losing control. you want that. desperately. you take his hands and place them on your thighs, “hurt me, i don’t care. just please… give it to me, zayne.”

and all the self control he’s built over the years dissipates in an instant. his lips are on yours, tongues and teeth clashing with a mixture of spit coating your chins. zayne is both rough and gentle with his movements, hands squeezing at any bit of your flesh he can grab. he’s in between your legs in no time with his cock in his hand, pumping himself and watching how you admire him in awe. 

“tell me,” he pants. “please, sweetheart. tell me how bad you want it.” 

you whimper and shoot him pleading eyes. “i need it s’bad. need you, please don’t make me wait any longer.”

zayne wouldn’t even dream of making you wait. he takes a few deep breaths before pushing into you, instantly met with resistance. you gasp and wince at the stretch, but you welcome the pain and the pressure of him because you’ve dreamed of this for what feels like an eternity. 

you tell him to move despite the evidence of blood and the obvious pain you’re enduring. he’s hesitant, he always is when it comes to intimacy, but you’re convincing when you want to be and, at the end of the day, he could never truly deny you. 

and so he moves, stretching you open, splitting you on his cock while he tries his damndest to keep from completely losing it and fucking you stupid. the truth is, it’s taking everything out of him to be a good man to you. to be the man you deserve. 

luckily, it doesn’t take long for you to adjust to the foreign feeling and the discomfort—slowly, but surely it turned into something tolerable then finally, the feeling of immense pleasure. especially when you snake a hand between your bodies and play with your clit… just like you used to when you would fantasize about this moment. 

you can see zayne is holding back, with his set jaw and his eyes squeezed shut, but that’s the last thing you want.

“don’t hold back, zayne.” you moan and he responds with something short of a whimper. a noise that sounds like it begrudgingly crawled out of his throat. 

“i love you,” he heaves, the words strained like it’s taking everything not to ravage you. he didn’t want to say it like this, but he’s overwhelmed by you—your pussy, your pretty face, your even prettier sounds. he can’t help but let the words he’s been holding onto for so long spill out of him. “love you. i’ve loved you for so long… ‘m sorry for hurting you, sweetheart. so, so sorry.” he falls on top of you, tearing up with his head in the crook of your neck while he continues to thrust into you at a steady pace. 

you wrap your legs around him, drawing him in closer. “and i love you so much,” you whisper, heart in your throat. “i want you to show me. let go and love me the way you want. you won’t hurt me.” 

祁煜 ⟢ #RAFAYEL

the early days of your relationship with rafayel were rocky. you wanted him—god, you wanted him more than anything—but every time your intimacy got too intense, you’d pull away. you’d mumble some excuse about having to go, or pretend something suddenly needed your attention.

you saw the disappointment flicker across his face each time, that quiet look he never dared to question, and it tore you apart because you knew it was killing him. you could see the want… the need for you in his eyes, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to allow things to move further.

it was a cruel loop—you wanted him, you wanted sex with him, but fear always won. fear that you’d be horrible at it, that he’d see you differently, that once you crossed that line, he wouldn’t look at you with the same softness anymore. that he wouldn’t think you were his pretty girl anymore. 

but your distance is wearing him down. rafayel’s trying to be patient, but you can feel it—the way he’s unraveling, the way he wishes he could just crawl into your head and understand what’s holding you back.

rafayel doesn’t do well with distance. he’s prone to spiraling and losing every ounce of inspiration without you, and you’re the rock that steadies him. he needs you, so he invites begs you to come over and your guilt has you obliged. 

but when you arrive and see his entire home lit with candles, you feel your palms clam up and your throat get dry. you blurt your insecurities before he has the chance to even greet you. 

“i want to, ahem… have sex… with you,” you start, awkwardly, cringing at yourself. “but i… can’t. because i don’t think you’ll like having sex with me.”

his brows draw in and a small scowl rests on his face. “you think i wouldn’t like having sex with you? the love and light of my life?” 

“well… yeah?” you say, shrinking under his scrutiny. “what if… i’m too awkward or i’m not actually as pretty as you think i am? i don’t… i don’t want you to not like it. does that make sense?”

“no,” he says flatly. “you know i think you’re the prettiest princess in the world and sea, nothing underneath your clothes could change the way i feel about you. i’m offended you’d think i’m that shallow.” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “you trust me, don’t you?”

you nod slowly, “more than anything.”

“then let me show you how much i adore and worship you.” 

and rafayel is so slow and gentle when he cradles your face and pecks your lips. so tender when he coaxes your mouth open so he can push his tongue in. so sweet when he’s guiding you into his bedroom without pulling away from you. 

your clothes disappear before you can realize it, save for your bra and panties. you feel the need to cover up, feeling overly exposed and vulnerable before him and his darkening eyes. your arms cross over your breasts and stomach and he shakes his head, peeling your hands away from your body and pinning them above your head. 

“don’t… don’t hide from me. i think you’re perfect, you’re so pretty.” he murmurs, keeping your hands above your head before he’s pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck and down your chest. his free hand tugs at your bra until your breasts spill out and his mouth finds your tight, peaked nipple. 

you gasp, arching your back to which he chuckles. “i think your body wants me, princess.”

and it does. he can feel just how badly when his mouth trails down further and finds your cunt dripping through your panties. 

as much as rafayel wants to eat your pretty pussy till you’re squirming and gushing, his cock begs for attention. instead, he pushes his finger into you, stretching you slowly before adding a second finger. he watches you wince and hears your sharp gasp with every little movement. when he deems you ready, he pulls out, watching your pussy gape and hearing your little cry at the loss of contact.

he sits back, little purple strands sticking to his forehead as the heat in the room seems to rise. “we can still stop if you really want to, but i—i need you to tell me now, because…” you notice the way he twitches in his pants and you’re mesmerized by his full body shudder. “i need you… and i won’t be able to stop once i get inside of you.”

you shake your head, meekly. “n-no… i want you.”

it’s the only confirmation he needs before he’s freeing himself from the confines of his pants and you from your uncomfortably sopping panties, tossing everything to the side.

he lines himself up with your drooling hole, dragging the tip of his cock up and down your slit. then he takes a breath and pushes inside your warm, wet walls, and the room is immediately filled with the sounds of your mixed whines. 

s length has your fingers clutching the sheets, knuckles losing color as the fabric threatens to tear beneath your grip. “raf,” you sob, voice breaking as your mouth falls open and your eyes squeeze shut, overwhelmed by the way he fills you.

“does it—fuck, cutie, you’re so fucking tight. gosh, y-you’re gonna ruin me,” he pushes in further, thankful that you’re honey like arousal makes it easier to slip in. “does it hurt? you–you’d tell me, right?”

“f-feels strange… but it doesn’t hurt.” you pant, feeling more and more full with every inch he pushes inside of you. “i’ll tell you if it hurts, just… keep going.”

it’s all the encouragement he needs to sink the rest of the way in, eyes locked on the way you take him—slowly, completely—until there’s nothing left between you. until his skin is against yours and you’re so full of him that he’s all you can think about. 

“you don’t know how long i’ve waited to have you like this.” he murmurs, pulling out before shoving himself back inside. “my pretty girl. you’re finally all mine.”

© all works belong to MEDICLI 2025. do not copy or repost.

[healmydesires]

Fever

❥ pairing: wolf hybrid!sylus qin x cat/kitten hybrid!fem!reader

❥ summary: For years, you’d learned to live with loving someone you could never have. You convinced yourself that friendship was enough, that watching from the sidelines didn’t hurt as much as it did. You treasured every smile, every fleeting touch, even as they slowly broke your heart. You told yourself you weren’t enough—would never be enough—for someone like him. Or so you believed. Then one day, everything changed.

❥ genre: fluff + angst + smut (18+ mdni)

❥ wordcount: 31k+ (lol I am not normal about sylus)

❥ warnings/tags: hybrid!au, best friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, idiots in love, mutual pining, miscommunication kinda in terms of assumed unrequited love, longing/yearning, jealous!reader, kinda shy!reader, reader is described as shorter than sylus, emotional!reader, very small / short scene where reader got a bit harassed (not by sylus, sylus comes and steps in and protects reader. It’s a very small and short scene but if it makes you uncomfortable pls skip), synced ruts/heats. mating. inexperienced/virgin!reader, loss of virginity, unrealistic first time, unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom sylus, ok… just in overall bye, sylus is soft for reader, sub!reader, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, overstimulation, major size kink, praise kink, dirty talk, oral fixation. some daddy kink and the use of alpha. huge breeding kink aaaaa sorry. I wrote this while ovulating. they’re both FREAKS. scent kink? knotting. sylus is worshipping his sweet girl ok! doggy style / prone bone 😈 and missionary position. lots of pet names (mostly kitty/kitten, little kitten). lowkey pillow princess vibes. this is high key sweet and soft and then turns filthy (and then turns soft again). reader has hair, no further description though. this is not beta read sorry!

EDIT: also I know cats are not seen as prey animals because they are predators themselves but compared to a wolf I felt like that was a big contrast. like cat and dog dynamic. at the end of the day, the state of “predator-prey” is fluctuant and depends on a lot of stuff, as even the biggest predators can become prey. hense why I wrote what I wrote.

❥ a/n: I’ve always always wanted to write a hybrid au and never came around to do it. I wrote something hybrid related YEARS ago but it was sitting in my wips collecting dust. It had the same plot but it was written totally differently and it was not good. so now that I’ve improved my writing over the years I felt like giving this story a shot again but this time with my muse and my everything : sylus. I am so happy and excited to finally release this fic to the world and I hope you enjoy reading this fanfic as much as I loved writing it <3 happy reading! 🩷

this goes without saying, but if you don’t like it don’t read it <3

AO3 • masterlist

Being roommates with your best friend had its perks. You were together almost all the time, sharing both the big and small moments of life in ways that felt natural, inevitable even. You’d lend each other a hand with mundane tasks, or offer guidance when one of you was feeling lost or stuck. Your tall best friend effortlessly reached the top shelves you could only dream of touching—a constant reminder of how much bigger wolf hybrids were compared to cat hybrids like you—and you both spent countless nights dissolved in laughter during movie marathons, shoulders pressed together on the couch, your tail occasionally draping over his leg in those comfortable moments when you forgot to be self-conscious. Sharing responsibilities became something more than just practical—splitting chores like cooking and laundry felt easy and natural, domestic in a way that made your heart ache with how right it felt. There was a profound comfort in knowing your best friend was always dependable, always there, ready to support you whenever you needed it. And whenever you were desperate for warmth, for contact, for reassurance, Sylus was probably already reaching for you, attuned to your needs in that uncanny way wolf hybrids had with those they cared about, ready to envelop you in his arms—that embrace that felt like home and made your ears fold back in contentment.

But living with him also had its disadvantages.

Especially considering that Sylus Qin, your best friend and the man you were hopelessly in love with, was quite the menace.

Sylus had always possessed this striking, almost unfair handsomeness that effortlessly made people swoon wherever he went. It genuinely wasn’t fair how beautiful he was—all sharp features and lazy confidence, those ruby eyes that seemed to see right through you, silver-white hair that caught the light, and that damnable smirk that made your stomach flip every single time. His wolf ears, pale and perfectly shaped, were expressive in ways that made him even more attractive, and his tail—god, his tail—had a way of swaying that drew eyes wherever he went. He had always been lucky when it came to finding partners—or rather, when it came to finding people to warm his bed. Wolf hybrids were already considered among the most desirable hybrid types, powerful and protective, and Sylus wielded that advantage with devastating effectiveness. He’d often bring those one-night stands back to your shared apartment—other wolves, foxes, the occasional panther, all gorgeous predator hybrids who matched his energy—and you’d lie awake in your room, pillow pressed over your ears, trying desperately to block out the sounds with your sensitive feline hearing. It never worked. You’d hear everything—the sounds that reminded you that someone else was touching him, that someone else got to know what his skin felt like, what sounds he made when—

You’d learned to pretend it didn’t bother you. Learned to keep your ears upright and your tail still the next morning when some stranger emerged from his bedroom, disheveled and satisfied, often sporting marks on their neck that made your claws itch to extend.

Sylus had never been the type to stick with one person, always preferring casual flings over long-term relationships. Or so you’d told yourself, because believing he was incapable of commitment hurt less than wondering if he simply didn’t want commitment with you. Maybe it was a wolf thing—they were known for being either fiercely monogamous or completely untethered. Sylus seemed to have chosen the latter.

You, on the other hand, had always craved something real, something lasting. Cat hybrids were naturally selective, notoriously picky about who they let into their space and their hearts, and you were no exception. You dreamed of finding your true love—someone to share adventures with, to laugh with until your sides hurt, someone to dive into deep, meaningful conversations with at three in the morning. You loved the idea of being with someone who let you be your complete, unfiltered self, where you could spend hours talking about everything and nothing—discussing your favorite TV shows one minute, then passionately criticizing capitalism and dissecting the broken state of the world the next. You were a romantic at heart, longing for affection in all its forms: sweet kisses and being held close, but also the chance to be the one doing the holding, to make someone feel cherished and safe and loved, just as much as you wanted to feel those things in return. You wanted what cat hybrids were meant to have—that one person they chose completely, that bond that was supposed to be unshakeable.

Unfortunately, you had never had the chance to experience anything like that.

It wasn’t as though opportunities hadn’t presented themselves. You’ve had chances to explore connections, potential relationships with people who’d expressed interest—a few cat hybrids, a sweet rabbit hybrid from your literature class, even a fox hybrid who’d been persistent in their pursuit. But you’d never been able to make yourself care enough to try, never felt that spark of genuine interest in creating something meaningful with a stranger. Your instincts, usually so good at telling you who was safe and who wasn’t, remained stubbornly silent with everyone except—

How could you even consider anyone else when you’d already given your heart away years ago?

But the devastating truth was that Sylus had stopped being just your best friend years ago—if he’d ever been just that at all. You had been in love with him for god knows how long, and that love had wrapped itself around your heart so completely that no one else even stood a chance. Your cat hybrid instincts had chosen him, decided he was yours, even though he’d never chosen you back. It went against everything that made sense—prey didn’t fall for predator, cat hybrids didn’t bond with wolf hybrids, you were supposed to be naturally wary of him. But your heart and your instincts had conspired against logic.

You still remembered the day you both became friends, though you had never quite understood why he’d chosen you, given how different you were from each other. You were blunt, sometimes too honest for your own good, while Sylus, though perfectly capable of being direct, tended to move through the world with more calculated grace, choosing his words carefully like the strategic predator he was. He was passionate, tender in ways that made your chest ache, and devastatingly intelligent. Sylus was, most of the time, a confident and mysterious man who seemed to know exactly who he was and what he wanted. You, on the other hand, weren’t necessarily insecure, but you wouldn’t exactly call yourself confident either—you existed somewhere in the uncertain middle, always questioning, always wondering. Typical cat hybrid behavior, some would say, but it felt more personal than that. You were deeply in tune with your emotions, feeling everything perhaps too intensely, but translating those feelings into words felt like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. Your tail and ears gave you away constantly, betraying every feeling you tried to hide. Sylus, though, had always been straightforward with his emotions, expressing himself with an ease you both envied and admired, his wolf hybrid directness something you’d always found both intimidating and attractive. You were an overthinker, your mind always spinning with spiraling thoughts and worst-case scenarios, and he would often step in to quiet the chaos, grounding you with that steady, reassuring presence of his whenever your thoughts threatened to consume you. He had a way of placing his hand on your head, right between your ears, that never failed to calm you down—a gesture that should have felt patronizing but instead felt safe.

You could say that opposites attract, though that phrase felt too simple for what you two had. Wolf and cat. It should have never worked.

Over time, your friendship deepened into something profound, something that felt necessary for survival. So when he asked one day if you’d like to move in with him—into one of his new penthouses, spacious and modern and so very him—you’d barely hesitated. He’d told you he craved a bit more peace in his life and genuinely enjoyed your company, said it so casually like he wasn’t offering you everything you’d ever wanted. It seemed like a good idea, you’d thought. A practical one, even. Your parents had warned you that living with a wolf hybrid might trigger your prey instincts, might make you anxious, but you’d dismissed their concerns.

What a beautiful mistake that had been.

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment you fell in love with your roommate, and that uncertainty haunted you. All you knew was that one day, you were suddenly drowning in an emotion so intense, so consuming, it was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. It hit you all at once—or at least, that’s when you finally stopped being able to deny it. Before Sylus, you’d never really had a serious crush, never experienced feelings this powerful, this devastating, for anyone. Cat hybrids were supposed to know, supposed to feel that instinctive pull toward their person, but you’d never felt it with anyone. You often told yourself it must have started shortly after you moved in with him, that living in such close quarters had simply made you confused, made you mistake intimacy for something more. But deep down, in that honest part of yourself you tried so hard to ignore, you knew that wasn’t the truth. This feeling had been quietly growing from the very first moment you met him, taking root in your heart like something inevitable, slowly building until it became impossible to ignore, impossible to uproot. Your instincts had chosen him that day in the library, and cat hybrids didn’t un-choose. That was the curse of it.

It was funny, you thought during those late nights when sleep wouldn’t come and you could hear his steady breathing from his room with your too-sharp hearing, how life had a way of bringing you things—and people—you never realized you needed. People like Sylus, who became so essential to your existence that you couldn’t help but wonder how you had ever lived without them. People like Sylus Qin, who had become both your salvation and your undoing, your safe haven and your deepest ache—the person who could soothe your soul and set it ablaze in the same breath, while remaining everything you needed and everything you couldn’t have.

The wolf who’d become your home, even when your instincts whispered that wolves and cats were never meant to mix like this.

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath you as you absently groomed your tail—a self-soothing habit you’d never quite broken, especially when your thoughts were spinning out of control.

It had been three days since the last one-night stand. Three days of relative peace, though you hated that you were counting.

Your fingers worked through the fur of your tail methodically, smoothing down the same spot over and over. It was a distinctly feline habit, one that most cat hybrids developed as a comfort mechanism. The repetitive motion usually helped quiet your racing thoughts, but tonight it wasn’t working. Nothing worked when it came to Sylus.

The soft pad of footsteps made your ears swivel backward before you could stop them—wolf hybrids moved with an almost predatory silence that had unnerved you once, long ago. Now it was just painfully familiar.

“You’re going to wear a bald spot into your tail if you keep that up,” Sylus’s voice came from behind the couch, warm with amusement.

You startled slightly, your hands stilling as heat crept up your neck. Of course he’d noticed. He noticed everything about you, always had. “I’m fine,” you mumbled, though your flattened ears probably betrayed the lie.

The couch dipped as he settled beside you—not too close, never too close, but near enough that his scent washed over you. Pine and something darker, earthier, distinctly wolf. It had terrified you once. Now it felt like home, and that was so much worse.

[Flashback - Seven Years Ago]

The university library had been packed with students cramming for midterms, but you’d managed to find a corner table tucked away near the back. As a cat hybrid, you’d always preferred small, enclosed spaces—they felt safer, more secure. Especially in a school where predator hybrids made up a significant portion of the student body.

You’d been so focused on your literary theory textbook, trying to make sense of post-structuralism for your midterm, that you hadn’t noticed the group approaching until a shadow fell across your table.

“This seat taken, kitten?”

Your ears had flattened instinctively against your head as you looked up at the lion hybrid looming over you, his two friends—a tiger and another lion—flanking him with matching smirks. Predator hybrids. Of course.

“I—I’m studying,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. Your tail had curled tight around your leg beneath the table, a defensive posture you couldn’t control.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” the tiger hybrid purred, leaning against your table. “We just want to get to know you better. You’re in our sociology class, right? Cute little thing sitting in the back, always so quiet.”

Your heart had hammered against your ribs. You’d dealt with this kind of attention before—more vulnerable hybrids often did, especially from the more “desirable” predator types who thought their status meant they could do whatever they wanted. Your instincts screamed at you to run, but you were cornered, trapped between the table and the wall.

“She said she’s studying.”

The voice had come from behind the group, deep and carrying an edge that made your fur stand on end. The three predator hybrids had turned, and you’d finally seen him—a wolf hybrid with striking silver-white hair and the most intense ruby-red eyes you’d ever seen. His pale skin almost seemed to glow under the library’s fluorescent lights, making him look almost otherworldly. He was tall, broader than the others, and there was something in his posture that screamed danger in a way that made even the lion hybrids take a step back.

Wolf hybrids were rare, especially in universities. They were known for being territorial, protective, and powerful. Most ended up in military or security positions, not sitting in sociology lectures.

“We were just talking to her, wolf,” the lion had said, though his cocky tone had wavered slightly. “No need to get territorial.”

“Funny,” Sylus had replied, his ruby eyes fixed on them with an intensity that was unmistakably predatory. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re making her uncomfortable. And I don’t tolerate that.”

The tension had been thick enough to cut. Your ears had been flat against your head, your whole body tense as you’d watched the standoff. The wolf hybrid’s scent had filled the air—assertive, dominant, unmistakably alpha. It should have terrified you more than the others had.

Instead, some instinct you didn’t understand told you that you were safe.

The lion hybrid had glanced at you, then back at Sylus, and something in his expression had shifted. “Whatever, man. She’s not worth the trouble anyway.” He’d jerked his head at his friends, and they’d left, though not without shooting dark looks over their shoulders.

You’d sat frozen, staring at this stranger who’d just defended you without even knowing your name. Your heart was still racing, but for an entirely different reason now.

Sylus had turned to you then, and his expression had softened in a way that seemed almost impossible given the dominance he’d just displayed. Those ruby eyes, which had been so sharp and threatening moments before, now looked at you with something gentler. “You okay?”

You’d nodded mutely, not trusting your voice. Up close, he was even more striking—all sharp features and powerful presence, his silver hair catching the light as his wolf ears, pale and alert atop his head, focused entirely on you. You’d noticed his tail hanging relaxed behind him despite the confrontation that had just occurred.

“I’m Sylus,” he’d said, pulling out the chair across from you. “Mind if I sit? I promise I’m better company than those three.”

You should have been terrified. Every instinct should have been screaming at you to run from the predator sitting across from you. But instead, you’d found yourself nodding, your ears slowly lifting from their flattened position.

“I’m…” you started, your voice shaky. You’d given him your name, and when he’d smiled—really smiled, not that predatory smirk the others had worn—something in your chest had felt warm for the first time since the encounter started.

“Pretty name for a pretty kitten,” he’d said, and then, as if sensing your nervousness, he’d gestured to your textbook. “Literary theory? That looks like torture.” He’d tilted his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I’m in engineering, but we had to take that intro to humanities course last semester. Nearly killed me.”

You’d managed a small, surprised laugh despite your still-racing heart. “It’s… a lot,” you’d admitted quietly.

“Tell you what,” he’d said, leaning back in his chair with an easy confidence that should have intimidated you but somehow didn’t. “I’ve got some time before my next class. You look like you could use the company, and I make a pretty decent study partner. Even if I don’t know the first thing about post-structuralism or whatever that is.”

And just like that, Sylus Qin had entered your life—unexpected, protective, and impossibly kind. What had started as a chance encounter in a crowded library would become the most important friendship you’d ever have. He’d stayed with you that entire afternoon, helping you study despite knowing nothing about literary theory, making you laugh when moments before you’d been on the verge of tears.

[Present Day]

“You’re thinking too loud,” Sylus said, pulling you from the memory. His hand reached out slowly—always slowly with you, like you were something fragile that might bolt—and gently tugged your tail from your grip. “Seriously, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Your breath caught as his fingers carefully smoothed down the fur you’d been obsessively grooming, his touch gentle in a way that contradicted everything his hybrid type was supposed to be. Wolf hybrids weren’t known for gentleness. They were dominant, possessive and territorial.

But Sylus had always been gentle with you.

“Sorry,” you murmured, very aware of how close he was, how his scent surrounded you. “Just… thinking.”

“About?” His hand lingered perhaps a moment too long on your tail before he pulled away, and you tried not to mourn the loss of contact.

About you, you thought. Always about you.

“Nothing important,” you lied, tucking your tail closer to your body and away from temptation—both his and yours. Your ears swiveled toward him on their own accord, betraying your attention even as you tried to appear casual.

Sylus hummed, a low sound in his chest that you felt more than heard. Wolf hybrids did that—made sounds that resonated, that were meant to soothe pack members. You’d learned over the years to recognize when he did it, usually when he sensed you were anxious or upset.

He was doing it now, probably without even realizing it.

“You know,” he said after a moment, leaning back against the couch, “sometimes I think about that day in the library. When we first met.”

Your heart stuttered. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His eyes were distant, reminiscent. “You looked so scared. These tiny flattened ears, tail wrapped so tight around your leg. Those assholes cornering you like you were just some toy for them to play with.” His jaw clenched, and you saw his ears tilt back slightly—a sign of irritation. “I wanted to rip them apart.”

You’d never heard him admit that before. “You didn’t, though.”

“No,” he agreed, his eyes finding yours. “Because you were already terrified enough without me going full wolf on them. And because…” He paused, something flickering across his expression. “Because the last thing I wanted was for you to be afraid of me too.”

Your chest tightened. “I was never afraid of you.”

That was a lie. You had been, at first. He was a wolf hybrid, a predator, and you were a cat hybrid. Every instinct had told you to run.

But you hadn’t. And somewhere between that first day in the library and now, your fear had transformed into something so much more dangerous.

Sylus’s expression softened, a small smile playing at his lips. “You were absolutely terrified, kitten. Don’t even try to deny it.” He reached over and gently flicked one of your ears—a familiar, teasing gesture. “These things give you away every time.”

You wanted to argue, to protest, but he was right. Your ears had always betrayed you, constantly swiveling and flattening and perking up with every emotion you tried to hide. It was a cat hybrid thing, being so expressive without meaning to be.

“You still notice everything,” you muttered, feeling heat creep into your cheeks.

“Only when it comes to you,” he said, so quietly you almost missed it.

Your heart nearly stopped. You turned to look at him fully, searching his face for meaning, but he was already standing, stretching in a way that made his shirt ride up slightly. Your eyes caught on his tail swaying behind him before you forced yourself to look away.

“I’m thinking of ordering takeout,” he said, his tone casual again, as if he hadn’t just said something that made your entire world tilt. “Thai sounds good?”

You managed a nod, not trusting your voice.

As he walked toward the kitchen to grab his phone, you caught yourself watching him—the confident way he moved, the silver-white of his hair catching the light, so different from your own cautious, light-footed steps. Wolf hybrid and cat hybrid. Predator and prey.

Seven years ago, he’d saved you from predators who’d wanted to harass you.

Now, you were living with a predator who didn’t even realize he’d already caught you.

Your tail curled around your waist protectively as you forced yourself to look away, back at your phone, at anything other than Sylus Qin and the impossible situation your heart had created.

Some prey, you thought bitterly, were foolish enough to walk straight into the wolf’s den.

You just wished you knew if he’d ever want to keep you there.

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

A few months into your roommate arrangement, you still couldn’t get used to Sylus constantly bringing one-night stands to your shared apartment. It was pure torment—made worse by your heightened feline senses that picked up on everything you desperately wished you could ignore.

As you ate cereal at the kitchen island, your ears flicked toward the sound of Sylus’s bedroom door opening. One of his many conquests—a sleek panther hybrid—quietly slipped out, and you focused intently on your bowl, willing your tail not to lash in irritation. You couldn’t help but watch from the corner of your eye as Sylus walked them to the door, their face adorned with that satisfied, sly smile as they batted their eyelashes at him. Your ears flattened slightly against your head as you watched their fingers play with the collar of his shirt, lingering there while he made no move to pull away, that damn smirk on his face. A knot of anger twisted in your belly. You’d never felt such intense rage before—it made your claws itch to extend, a very catlike aggressive response. He leaned into their touch as they gave him a casual goodbye kiss, and you had to grip your spoon tighter to keep your composure.

You hated experiencing feelings like these. It was a gross emotion, a heavy sensation that felt thick and tar-like, clinging to your chest and making you ache with its oppressive weight. Your tail curled tight around the base of the stool, another tell you couldn’t control.

Anxiety? Sure, you were often more anxious than most hybrids, but that wasn’t the feeling you had at this moment. Maybe it was jealousy? You disliked how that emotion fit so easily on your tongue, leaving a bitter taste.

Each time you witnessed these scenes unfold—the touching, the lingering looks, the casual intimacy—jealousy and frustration would crash over you in waves. It was worse when your sensitive hearing picked up on things you wished you could unhear. Your ears would fold back automatically, and you’d bury your head under your pillow, but it never quite blocked out the sounds from his room. Those nights, you’d catch his scent mixed with someone else’s the next morning, and it made your stomach turn. Wolf hybrids were naturally territorial, their scent marking everything, and knowing he was sharing that with others felt like claws raking across your heart.

As Sylus reentered the apartment and closed the door behind him, you couldn’t stop the bitter words from escaping, your ears still slightly flattened. “So, what number are we up to now?”

He paused, his red eyes finding yours, and you watched his wolf ears swivel toward you with interest before he chuckled and shook his head with that insufferable smirk. “Not sure. Lost count.” He shrugged with casual ease, grabbed an apple from the fruit basket on the kitchen island, and took a bite.

“What was their name?” you asked, staring daggers at your bowl of cereal, your tail now twitching with barely suppressed agitation.

Another shrug, his tail swaying lazily behind him—relaxed, unbothered, so completely unaffected. “I don’t know, and honestly, I don’t care,” he replied nonchalantly before walking away.

You couldn’t understand how he could be so cavalier about it all. Your ears tracked his movement even as you kept your eyes down, hating how attuned you were to his every move.

But it wasn’t just jealousy poisoning your system—it was the longing, the desperate ache for any kind of affection or love from Sylus that went beyond friendship. You were grateful to be his best friend, truly, and you knew it was foolish to hope for more, to wish he’d look at you the way he looked at… well, anyone else he brought home. But you couldn’t help yourself. Deep down, you feared you’d always feel this lonely, this isolated in your feelings. As a cat hybrid, you were already naturally more selective about who you let close, but with Sylus, it was different. You could never fall for anyone but him—your instincts had decided that long ago, whether you wanted them to or not. He was everything you craved and needed in life, and that awareness was its own special torture.

You felt foolish, your ears burning with constant embarrassment even when you were alone. More than anything, you felt hurt, knowing you were the only one to blame. It were your own feelings, your own stupid heart that had caused all this pain.

The thought of him eventually falling in love with someone else—really falling, not just these meaningless nights—made your stomach drop like a stone. You could picture it too easily: some gorgeous wolf hybrid, or maybe an elegant fox, someone who matched his predator energy, someone who made sense by his side. Not a skittish cat hybrid who still sometimes had the urge to run when he moved too quickly. But you forced yourself to push that devastation down, to lock it away with all the other feelings you couldn’t afford to examine. It didn’t matter what you wanted. Sylus was free to date whoever he wanted, to love whoever he wanted. He was your best friend, and that’s all he’d ever be.

One day, you’d have to make peace with the fact that Sylus would always be just your best friend, nothing more.

You just desperately hoped that one day, your tail would stop drooping at the thought, that your ears would stop flattening in distress. That one day, loving him wouldn’t make you feel like you were going against every prey instinct you had—because loving a wolf had never been safe, and your heart had done it anyway.

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

You were cuddled up on the couch, staring blankly at your phone screen without really seeing it. Your ears kept swiveling toward the hallway, tracking Sylus’s movements in his room even though you were trying—and failing—to focus on anything else. The soft music playing from your phone did little to calm your frayed nerves.

Your tail was wrapped tight around your waist, a self-protective posture you couldn’t seem to break out of. It had been like this all day—coiled and tense, betraying the anxiety that had been eating at you since this morning. You’d barely been able to focus on your writing assignment, had given up on reading after rereading the same page five times without absorbing a single word.

The soft pad of footsteps made your ears swivel backward before you could stop them—wolf hybrids moved with an almost predatory silence that had unnerved you once, long ago. Now it was just painfully familiar, and worse, it made your heart race for entirely different reasons.

“You’re wound tighter than a spring,” Sylus’s voice came from behind the couch, warm with amusement and something softer you didn’t dare name. “I can practically feel the anxiety radiating off you from here.”

You startled slightly, your tail constricting even tighter around your waist as heat crept up your neck. Of course he’d noticed. He noticed everything about you, always had. “I’m fine,” you mumbled, though your flattened ears and the visible tension in your shoulders probably betrayed the lie. They always did.

The couch dipped as he settled beside you—close, closer than usual, near enough that his scent washed over you in a wave that made your breath catch. Pine and something darker, earthier, distinctly wolf and distinctly Sylus. It had terrified you once. Now it felt like home, and that was so much worse. That was dangerous.

You kept your eyes on your phone, acutely aware of the warmth radiating from where his thigh was almost touching yours, where his arm rested along the back of the couch. Not quite touching you, never quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat of him, close enough that if you shifted even slightly, you’d be pressed against his side.

You wanted to. God, you wanted to so badly it physically hurt.

“You’ve been like this all day,” he observed, his voice dropping to that low, gentle tone he used when it was just the two of you. When he thought you needed comfort. “What’s going on in that head of yours, kitten?”

The petname made your ears twitch traitorously, flicking up for just a moment before flattening again, and you saw his eyes track the movement. Of course he noticed. He always noticed.

Everything, you wanted to say. You. Always you. The way you smell like safety and heartbreak. The way I can’t stop wanting things I’ll never have.

Instead, you managed a small shrug, still refusing to look at him because you knew—you knew—that if you met those ruby eyes right now, he’d see everything. Your fingers tightened around your phone. “Just tired, I guess.”

“Liar.” But there was no heat in it, just a tenderness that made your chest constrict. “Look at you. Your tail’s been wrapped around yourself like armor since this morning, and your ears haven’t been up once. That’s not tired. That’s stressed.”

“I’m not—” you started, but your voice came out shaky, unconvincing even to your own ears.

“Hey.” His hand lifted—slowly, always so slowly with you, like you were something precious that might bolt—and his fingers brushed against one of your flattened ears with devastating gentleness. “Talk to me. Please?”

Your breath stuttered. You should pull away. You should make some excuse and retreat to your room where it was safe, where you couldn’t do something stupid like lean into his touch like the touch-starved cat hybrid you were.

But you didn’t move. You couldn’t.

His fingers traced the edge of your ear with a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine, gently coaxing it upward, and you watched his eyes darken as your ear instinctively responded to his touch, slowly lifting from its flattened position. Betrayed by your own body, as always.

“There,” he murmured, that rumbling quality entering his voice—the one that wolf hybrids used to soothe, to comfort. “That’s better. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

You can’t help with this, you thought desperately. You’re the problem. You’re the reason I’m anxious and aching and so desperately in love I can barely breathe.

But what came out was: “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” He cut you off gently, and his hand moved from your ear to cup your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed across your cheek, and you wondered if he could feel how hot your skin had become, could hear how your heart was racing. With his wolf hearing, he probably could. “I always want to. You know that, right?”

Did you? Did you know that? Or was this just what he did—taking care of people, being protective, his wolf instincts making him watch out for those he considered pack? It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything.

“Sylus…” you breathed, and you heard how it came out—too soft, too wanting, too much.

Something flickered across his expression, there and gone so quickly you might have imagined it. His eyes dropped to your lips for just a fraction of a second before meeting your gaze again, and you felt your tail tighten even more around your waist, your claws flexing nervously against your phone case.

“You do this thing,” he said quietly, his thumb still tracing idle patterns on your cheek that were making it very hard to think, “where you curl up into yourself when something’s bothering you. Make yourself small. And I hate it.”

“I don’t—” you started to protest, but he shook his head.

“You do. Your tail wraps around you like a shield, your ears go flat, and you won’t look at anyone. Won’t ask for help even when you need it.” His other hand reached down, gently taking your phone from your death grip and setting it aside. Then his fingers found your tail where it was wrapped protectively around your waist. “And this… kitten, you’re going to hurt yourself if you keep coiling this tight.”

His touch on your tail made you gasp softly—tails were sensitive, personal, and the way his fingers carefully worked to loosen the tension there felt intimate in a way that made your heart pound. This wasn’t casual touching. This was—

“Let me help you relax,” he murmured, and there was something in his voice that made your skin feel too warm. “Please? I can’t… I can’t just sit here and watch you tie yourself in knots.”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. Because his hand was still on your jaw, tilting your face toward his, and his other hand was gently coaxing your tail to unwind, and he was so close you could count his eyelashes, could see the exact moment his pupils dilated slightly as he looked at you.

The air between you felt charged, heavy with something unspoken. Your ears were slowly perking up now despite your best efforts, focused entirely on him, and you saw his gaze flick to them, a small smile tugging at his lips, then back to your eyes, then—briefly, so briefly—to your lips again.

“Better,” he said softly as your tail finally loosened, though it immediately tried to curl around his wrist instead—another betrayal by your traitorous body. “See? You don’t always have to hold everything in by yourself.”

“You’re staring,” you whispered, because you had to say something, had to break this tension before you did something catastrophic like close the distance between you and press your lips to his.

“So are you.” His thumb traced your cheekbone, and his voice had gone rough around the edges. “Your eyes are doing that thing.”

“What thing?” Your own voice was barely audible, and your fingers had somehow found their way to his shirt, gripping the fabric without your permission.

“That thing where they go all soft and wide and I can’t…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening like he was stopping himself from saying something. His hand tightened around your tail, making you shiver.

“Can’t what?” You shouldn’t push. You should let this go. But you’d been so starved for him, for any hint that maybe he felt even a fraction of what you felt, and you were so tired of pretending. Your claws had extended slightly, pricking through his shirt, and you couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed.

For a long moment, he just looked at you. Really looked at you, like he was seeing something he’d never allowed himself to see before. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers tangling gently in the hair there, just below your ears, and the touch made you shiver visibly.

“Can’t stop thinking about how much I—” He stopped himself, closing his eyes briefly, his ears flicking back in what looked like frustration—with himself or the situation, you couldn’t tell. When he opened them again, there was something raw there, something vulnerable that you’d never seen before. “You have no idea, do you?”

“No idea about what?” Your heart was going to beat out of your chest, and you knew he could hear it, could probably smell the spike of adrenaline and hope and fear coursing through you. This felt important, monumental, like standing on the edge of something that would either save you or destroy you completely.

His thumb brushed the sensitive spot just behind your ear, making you melt against him unconsciously, and his expression softened into something that looked almost pained. “How hard it is to—”

But then his phone buzzed on the coffee table, shattering the moment like glass. You both jerked slightly, and his hands fell away from you as he grabbed the phone with what looked like frustration, his tail lashing once behind him—a rare show of his own agitation.

He glanced at the screen, and something shuttered in his expression. “Sorry, I need to—” He stood abruptly, running a hand through his silver hair, his wolf ears flicking back in what you’d learned to recognize as irritation. “Work thing.”

You watched him walk toward his room, your tail immediately coiling back around your waist protectively, your whole body aching with the loss of his warmth. Your ears had flattened again, and you felt the anxiety come rushing back twice as strong, your claws still extended and digging into your palms now that they had nothing else to hold onto.

He paused in the doorway to his room, looking back at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read—something conflicted, almost tortured. “Get some rest, kitten. And stop…” He gestured vaguely at you, at your defensive posture. “Stop making yourself so small. You don’t have to do that. Not with me. Never with me.”

Then he was gone, door closing softly behind him, leaving you alone on the couch with your racing heart and the ghost of his touch still burning on your skin.

You buried your face in your hands, ears flat against your head, tail so tight around your waist it was almost painful.

“You have no idea, do you?”

What had he meant? What had he been about to say?

And why did it feel like you’d just missed something crucial, something that might have changed everything?

Your claws dug into your scalp slightly as you tried to calm your breathing, tried to slow your racing heart. Part of you wondered if he was grateful for the interruption. If he’d realized how close he’d come to… to what? Saying something he’d regret? Doing something that would ruin your friendship?

You pulled a blanket over yourself, knowing you wouldn’t sleep, knowing you’d spend the rest of the night replaying every second of that interaction, analyzing every word, every look, every touch. Your tail remained coiled tight, your body still thrumming with unspent anxiety and longing.

“You have no idea, do you?”

The worst part was, you didn’t. You had no idea what he’d been about to say, and the not-knowing was its own special kind of torture.

Just another night of loving Sylus Qin and wondering if maybe, just maybe, there was a chance he could love you back.

Your ears perked slightly at the sound of his door opening again, footsteps padding back toward the living room. You kept your eyes closed, pretending to be drowsy, but your treacherous ears swiveled toward him automatically, and you felt your tail tighten even more.

You felt him drape another blanket over you, tucking it gently around your shoulders. His hand lingered for just a moment on your head, right between your ears—that gesture that never failed to make you feel safe—and you felt your ears relax slightly under his touch, your tail loosening just a fraction.

“Sleep well, kitten,” he murmured, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. His fingers stroked once, twice between your ears, and you felt some of the anxiety finally start to drain from your body. And then, even softer, like he didn’t mean for you to hear it at all: “God, you’re killing me.”

Then his footsteps retreated, his door clicked shut again, and you were left alone with your pounding heart and the devastating realization that maybe—maybe—you weren’t the only one suffering.

But that couldn’t be right.

Could it?

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

You’d been avoiding Sylus.

Not obviously—you weren’t that transparent. But ever since that night on the couch, since his hand on your face and those words ‘you have no idea’ and the way he’d looked at you like you were something precious, you’d been… careful. Kept conversations light. Made excuses to stay in your room. Tried desperately not to think about what had almost happened, what he’d almost said.

It was easier than facing the possibility that you’d imagined the whole thing, that you’d read too much into a moment of kindness from your best friend.

So when you’d woken up yesterday with a scratchy throat and a headache, you’d almost been grateful. A legitimate reason to stay in your room, to avoid those knowing ruby eyes that seemed to see right through you.

By this morning, though, “a little under the weather” had evolved into “definitely sick.” Your head pounded, your body ached, and every time you moved, the room spun unpleasantly. Your cat ears felt hot and heavy against your head, and your tail was too tired to do anything but lie limply beside you.

You’d texted Sylus that you weren’t feeling well, asked him not to worry, and then buried yourself under your blankets to sleep it off.

That had been your first mistake.

The sound of your bedroom door opening made your ears twitch weakly.

“Kitten.” Sylus’s voice was soft but firm, and you heard him cross the room to your bed. “Why didn’t you tell me you were this sick?”

“’M fine,” you mumbled into your pillow, not bothering to open your eyes. “Just need sleep.”

“You’re burning up.” The back of his hand pressed against your forehead, and even through your fever, you registered how cool his skin felt. How good it felt. “Jesus. How long have you been like this?”

“Not that long.” You tried to pull away from his touch, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. “I said I’m fine. Don’t need… hovering.”

“Tough.” The mattress dipped as he sat beside you, and you finally cracked your eyes open to find him looking down at you with concern etched across his features. His wolf ears were alert and focused entirely on you, and there was something in his expression that made your feverish heart skip. “I’m hovering. Deal with it.”

You wanted to argue, but another wave of dizziness hit and you just closed your eyes again with a small whimper.

“That’s what I thought.” His fingers brushed gently against your overheated cheek, and you heard him sigh. “Stay here. I’m getting medicine and water.”

“Can’t really go anywhere,” you muttered, which earned you a soft huff of amusement before his weight lifted from the bed.

You must have dozed off because the next thing you knew, he was back, coaxing you to sit up enough to take medicine and drink water. His arm supported your back, steady and warm, and you were too sick to care about how you leaned into him, how your cheek pressed against his shoulder.

“Good girl,” he murmured when you’d finished the water, and the praise did something funny to your fever-addled brain. “Now rest. I’ll be right here.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to.” He was already adjusting your pillows, pulling your blankets up higher. “I want to.”

You wanted to ask why. Wanted to ask what that night on the couch had meant, wanted to ask if he’d been about to say what you thought he’d been about to say. But your head was too heavy and your thoughts too fuzzy, so you just let yourself drift, comforted by the sound of him moving around your room, the scent of him nearby.

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

The fever dreams were the worst part.

You kept waking up disoriented, not sure what was real and what wasn’t. But every time you surfaced, Sylus was there. Pressing a cool cloth to your forehead. Helping you drink water. Murmuring reassurances in that low, soothing voice that made your wolf-sensitive cat instincts relax despite everything.

At some point, you felt his fingers gently combing through your hair, careful not to disturb your sensitive ears, and you made a sound that was probably too close to a purr. You felt rather than saw him smile.

“Sleep, kitten,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And because you were too sick to maintain your usual walls, too feverish to remember why you’d been avoiding him, you whispered back: “Don’t leave?”

His hand stilled in your hair for just a moment. Then: “I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

You believed him. And with his scent surrounding you, his presence solid and real beside you, you finally fell into a deeper, more restful sleep.

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

[Several Hours Later]

You woke to the smell of soup.

Not just any soup—the kind Sylus made from scratch, the recipe he’d learned from his grandmother that he only made for special occasions. Rich and savory and exactly what your body was craving.

Your fever had broken sometime while you slept. You still felt weak and achy, but the worst of it had passed. Carefully, you sat up, your ears perking slightly as you registered that the smell was coming from the kitchen.

He was cooking. For you.

Your tail curled around your waist as you slowly stood, pulling on a hoodie over your sleep shirt because you were still chilled. Your legs felt shaky, but you managed to make it to your bedroom door and down the hallway.

The sight that greeted you in the kitchen made your heart clench painfully in your chest.

Sylus stood at the stove, his back to you, hair slightly mussed like he’d been running his hands through it. He’d changed into a simple black t-shirt and sweatpants, casual and domestic in a way that shouldn’t have been as devastating as it was. His tail swayed slowly behind him as he stirred the pot, and you could see the concentration in the set of his shoulders.

He was cooking for you. Taking care of you. Had probably been worried about you all day.

“You should be in bed, kitten.”

You startled—you hadn’t made a sound, but of course his wolf hearing had picked up on your presence anyway. He turned to look at you over his shoulder, and the gentle reproach in his expression was undermined by the obvious relief in his eyes at seeing you up and moving.

“I smelled food,” you said weakly, leaning against the doorframe because your legs were already protesting. “Wanted to see what you were making.”

“Soup.” He turned fully now, and you saw he was holding a wooden spoon, looking unfairly attractive for someone who’d probably spent the last several hours playing nurse. “And you should be resting, not wandering around the apartment.”

“I’ve been in bed all day.” You took a tentative step into the kitchen. “Needed to move.”

His eyes tracked your unsteady movement, and something flickered across his face. “You’re still weak.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re sick.” But even as he said it, he was setting down the spoon and closing the distance between you. His hands found your waist, steadying you, and the warmth of his touch seeped through your hoodie. “Stubborn kitten. Come on.”

Before you could protest, he was guiding you to one of the bar stools at the kitchen island, his hands firm but gentle. You let him, mostly because your legs were grateful for the excuse to stop supporting your weight.

“Stay,” he ordered, pointing at you with mock sternness that was ruined by the fondness in his eyes. “I’m almost done.”

You watched him move around the kitchen with practiced ease, ladling soup into a bowl, cutting fresh bread, pouring water. The whole scene was so devastatingly domestic that it made your chest ache. This is what it would be like, some traitorous part of your brain whispered. If you were his. If he was yours. This easy intimacy, this care, every day.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Sylus said without turning around, but you could hear the smile in his voice.

Your ears flattened in embarrassment. “Like what?”

“Like I’m doing something extraordinary.” He set the bowl of soup in front of you, along with the bread and water. “It’s just soup, kitten.”

But it wasn’t just soup. It was him spending hours making something from scratch because you were sick. It was him staying by your side all day, taking care of you, worrying about you. It was him looking at you now like you were something precious, something worth taking care of.

“Thank you,” you said softly, and you meant for so much more than just the soup.

Something in his expression softened. “Always.”

He leaned against the counter across from you, arms crossed over his chest, watching as you took your first spoonful. The soup was perfect—of course it was—and you couldn’t stop the small sound of appreciation that escaped you.

His eyes darkened slightly at the sound, and you watched his jaw tighten. “Good?”

“Really good.” You took another spoonful, then paused. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m fine.”

“Sylus.”

“I wanted to make sure you ate first.” But at your look—you might be sick, but you could still give him the eyebrow raise that meant ‘I’m not buying it’—he sighed. “I’ll eat after.”

“Eat with me,” you said, and it came out smaller than you’d intended. More vulnerable. “Please?”

For a moment, he just looked at you, something unreadable in his expression. Then he nodded, moved to get his own bowl, and settled onto the stool beside you.

You ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and you were acutely aware of how close he was. Close enough that your tails could touch if either of you moved slightly. Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“You scared me,” he said suddenly, quietly.

You looked up to find him staring at his soup, his jaw tight. “What?”

“When I came in and you were that feverish. Not responding properly. Your scent was all wrong—” He stopped, shook his head. “I know it’s just a cold or flu or whatever. I know you’re fine. But for a second, I…” He trailed off, his hands gripping his spoon too tightly.

Your heart clenched. “Sylus—”

“I don’t like seeing you hurt. Or sick. Or in pain.” He finally looked at you, and the raw honesty in his eyes stole your breath. “I know I don’t have any right to feel that protective of you. I know we’re just friends. But I can’t—” He stopped again, seeming to struggle with the words. “I can’t stand it. The thought of something happening to you.”

“You have every right,” you said before you could think better of it, your fever-weakened filters failing you completely. “You’re my best friend. Of course you’re allowed to worry.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you saw it—the tiny flinch, so quick you almost missed it. His jaw tightened, and something shuttered in his expression. His shoulders tensed, then deliberately relaxed, like he was forcing himself to compose. His ears flicked back for just a second before returning to their neutral position.

He turned back to his soup, his movements careful and controlled. “Right. Your best friend.”

The words were even, toneless, and somehow that made them worse. Made the sudden distance between you feel like a chasm even though he was sitting right there.

You didn’t understand what you’d said wrong. Didn’t understand why the air had suddenly gone cold, why he wouldn’t look at you anymore, why his tail had gone completely still behind him—a sign of a wolf hybrid keeping tight control over their reactions.

“Sylus?” you tried, your voice small.

He was quiet for a long moment, and you watched him take a slow breath. Then another. When he finally looked at you again, something had shifted—not back to how it was before, but to something softer. Resigned, maybe. But gentle.

“Sorry,” he said, and his voice was warmer now, even if there was something sad underneath it. “Just… worried about you. That’s all.”

That wasn't all. You knew it wasn’t. But you were too tired and confused to push, and he was clearly trying to smooth over whatever moment had just happened.

“Finish your soup,” he said, and this time there was a hint of his usual teasing. “Can’t have you getting worse on my watch.”

The tension eased slightly, and you found yourself relaxing despite the confusion still swirling in your fever-fogged brain. You both finished eating in a more comfortable silence, and gradually the warmth between you began to return. Not quite the same as before—there was something bittersweet in the air now—but better than that awful coldness.

“I should get you back to bed,” he said finally, standing and offering his hand with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You need rest.”

“I’m not that tired—”

“Liar. Your ears are drooping.”

You hadn’t even noticed, but he was right. Your traitorous ears were folded with fatigue, giving you away. “Maybe a little tired.”

“Come on.” Before you could stand yourself, he swept you up into his arms, carrying you like you weighed nothing. You should have been embarrassed, should have insisted you could walk. Instead, you let yourself curl into his chest, your face tucked against his neck, breathing in his scent.

His arms tightened around you almost imperceptibly, and you felt him press his face briefly into your hair, right between your ears. “Stubborn kitten,” he murmured, and there was so much fondness in his voice it made your chest ache. “Always trying to be strong even when you don’t have to be.”

“I can walk,” you protested weakly, but you made no move to leave his arms.

“I know you can.” He carried you down the hall with ease. “Doesn’t mean you should.”

He shouldered open your bedroom door and carried you to your bed, laying you down with a gentleness that seemed at odds with his size and strength. His hands lingered as he tucked the blankets around you, smoothing them down with unnecessary care.

“There,” he said softly, and when you looked up at him, his expression had gone tender again. Unguarded. Like whatever wall he’d put up earlier had crumbled. “Comfortable?”

You nodded, suddenly unable to speak around the lump in your throat. He was being so careful with you, so gentle, and you didn’t understand how he could look at you like that—like you were something precious—while accepting that he’d only ever be your friend.

His hand came up to brush against your cheek, his thumb tracing a feather-light path across your skin. “Your fever’s down,” he observed. “That’s good.”

“Sylus,” you whispered, not even sure what you wanted to say.

“Shh.” His hand moved to your hair, fingers carefully combing through the strands, mindful of your sensitive ears. “Just rest now. You can overthink everything later when you’re feeling better.”

A weak laugh escaped you. “You know me too well.”

“Yeah.” Something flickered in his eyes—fond and sad and resigned all at once. “I do.”

His hand continued its soothing path through your hair, and you felt your eyes growing heavy despite yourself. The fever, the emotional exhaustion, the warmth of his touch—it was all pulling you under.

“Stay?” The word slipped out before you could stop it.

You felt him hesitate, felt the war happening in him. Then the mattress dipped as he sat beside you, his back against your headboard, his hand never leaving your hair.

“Until you fall asleep,” he said quietly. “Then I need to clean up the kitchen.”

His hand found yours under the blankets, fingers intertwining, and that small point of contact felt more intimate than anything you’d ever experienced.

“Sylus?” you mumbled, already feeling sleep pulling at you.

“Yeah, kitten?”

You wanted to ask what had happened earlier. Wanted to ask why he’d looked so hurt, why calling him your best friend had felt like the wrong thing to say. Wanted to understand the resignation in his eyes.

But your thoughts were getting fuzzy, and the words wouldn’t come. So instead you just squeezed his hand weakly and whispered, “Thank you. For everything.”

His hand tightened around yours, and you felt him lean down, his lips pressing gently to your forehead in a kiss that felt like goodbye and forever all at once.

“Always,” he murmured against your skin. “I’ll always take care of you. That’s… that’s what I’m here for.”

There was something in his voice—something that sounded like acceptance of a role he didn’t want but would take anyway. Like he was making peace with being your friend when he wanted to be something more.

But you were too far gone to process it, sleep dragging you down into darkness.

The last thing you registered was his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand, and his quiet voice, so soft you might have imagined it:

“Even if it’s all I ever get to be.”

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

You woke to sunlight streaming through your curtains and the realization that you felt significantly better. The fever had broken completely, the ache in your body reduced to a dull soreness, and your head was finally clear.

Clear enough to remember everything from yesterday.

The soup. The conversation in the kitchen. The way he’d tensed when you called him your best friend. The way he’d composed himself and been gentle with you anyway. The forehead kiss. The way he’d held your hand until you fell asleep.

That last thing he’d said—had you dreamed that? Even if it’s all I ever get to be.

Your heart raced as the memories solidified, as you tried to make sense of his reactions. Why had calling him your friend upset him? Unless…

Unless he wanted to be something more.

The thought made your breath catch, made hope flutter dangerously in your chest. But no—that couldn’t be right. He brought people home all the time. He’d never shown any sign of wanting you that way.

Except… except for the way he looked at you sometimes. The way he touched you. The careful way he took care of you. The hurt in his eyes when you called him your friend.

Even if it’s all I ever get to be.

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

You stood in the kitchen, phone clutched in your trembling hand, staring at the little red dot on your tracking app like it might disappear if you glared at it hard enough.

Ovulation tomorrow. Heat cycle begins in approximately 24 hours.

Your ears flattened against your head as dread pooled in your stomach. It wasn’t the heat itself that had your tail bristling with anxiety—you’d been through plenty of cycles before, knew how to manage them, stock up on supplies, lock yourself in your room with enough water and snacks to last the three or four days until it passed.

No, what made your hands shake was the shared calendar glowing on the tablet mounted to the kitchen wall.

You’d pulled it up with some vague idea of marking off the dates you’d need to yourself, maybe giving Sylus a heads up that you’d be unavailable for a few days. A courtesy, since you lived together. Nothing unusual about that.

Except when you’d opened the calendar, you’d seen it.

Sylus - Rut Cycle

Starting tomorrow. The exact same day as your heat.

“No,” you whispered to the empty kitchen, your tail puffing up in distress. “No, no, no, this can’t—”

But it was right there in his careful handwriting from when he’d logged it weeks ago. Wolf hybrids were meticulous about tracking their ruts, especially ones like Sylus who prided themselves on control. He would have marked it the moment he felt the pre-rut symptoms starting.

And it aligned perfectly—horrifically—with your heat.

Your claws extended involuntarily, pricking into your palms as you tried to steady your breathing. This was fine. This was… manageable. You’d just have to tell him. Simple. You’d walk to his room right now, knock on his door, and calmly explain that you’d both need to make arrangements. Maybe one of you could stay somewhere else for a few days. Maybe you could—

The thought of telling him made your stomach twist into knots.

Because how exactly were you supposed to have that conversation?

“Hey Sylus, funny story, but we’re both going into heat and rut tomorrow, so maybe one of us should leave because I absolutely cannot be around you while my body is screaming for a mate and you smell like everything I’ve ever wanted”?

You pressed your hands to your heated face, ears flat against your skull.

No. Absolutely not. You couldn’t tell him.

You glanced down the hallway toward his closed bedroom door. Light still seeped out from underneath—he was working late again, had mentioned something about a project deadline when you’d seen him briefly at dinner. He’d barely looked up from his laptop, too focused to notice the way your scent had already started changing, that pre-heat sweetness that cat hybrids gave off.

Or maybe he had noticed and was too polite to mention it.

Your tail lashed anxiously behind you as you looked back at the calendar, at those two overlapping markers that felt like a countdown to disaster.

The thing was, heats were already hard enough to deal with on their own. The fever, the desperate ache, the way your body craved touch and comfort and things you absolutely should not be thinking about. You’d spent every heat cycle since moving in with Sylus locked in your room, music turned up high, trying desperately not to think about the fact that he was just down the hall. Trying not to imagine what it would feel like if he—

No. You couldn’t go there.

But this? This was so much worse.

Because Sylus going through his rut at the same time meant the entire apartment would reek of alpha wolf pheromones. Dominant, possessive, claiming pheromones specifically designed to call to omegas and send compatible mates into a frenzy.

And you, going through heat, would be so sensitive to his scent you’d probably lose your mind.

Cat hybrids were already more susceptible to wolf pheromones than other species—something about the predator-prey dynamic made the biological response even stronger. You’d read about it once, in a textbook you’d immediately regretted opening. How prey hybrids in heat could become almost… fixated on nearby predator hybrids in rut. Especially ones they were already close to.

Especially ones they were already in love with.

“This is bad,” you muttered, setting your phone down on the counter with shaking hands. “This is really, really bad.”

You should tell him. You knew you should. This was important, something roommates needed to coordinate. He deserved to know so he could make his own arrangements, maybe stay at a friend’s place or book a hotel room for a few days.

Your fingers hovered over your phone, pulling up your messages with him.

We need to talk about something important

You typed it out, stared at it, then deleted it.

Hey, so about tomorrow…

Delete.

I just checked the calendar and I think we have a problem

Delete.

“God, why is this so hard?” you whispered, your tail wrapping around your waist in that self-protective gesture you’d been doing all day.

Because you knew why. Because telling him meant acknowledging it. Meant sitting across from him and discussing heats and ruts and biological needs while pretending you weren’t desperately in love with him. Meant watching his expression shutter with professionalism while he matter-of-factly discussed sleeping arrangements, like the thought of you in heat didn’t affect him at all.

And you weren’t sure you could handle that. Couldn’t handle seeing confirmation that while your body would be screaming for him specifically, he’d just be dealing with a rut—a biological inconvenience that any willing partner could help with. It wouldn’t mean anything to him.

Your ears swiveled toward his room at the sound of his chair scraping, footsteps moving around. Working, like he’d said. Oblivious to the crisis you were currently having in the kitchen.

Maybe… maybe you didn’t need to tell him.

The thought crept in treacherously, and you immediately felt guilty for even considering it. But—

But you’d handled heats before on your own. You had supplies, you knew the drill. You’d just lock yourself in your room, ride it out like always. Sure, it would be worse with him in rut down the hall, his scent probably seeping under your door and driving you absolutely insane, but you could handle it.

You were strong. You had self-control.

And telling him would just make everything awkward. Would create this ‘thing’ between you that you’d have to navigate afterward. He’d probably insist on leaving, on being a gentleman about it, and then you’d feel guilty for driving him out of his own home. Or worse, he’d stay and treat you with kid gloves for weeks afterward, carefully avoiding you like you were something fragile.

No. Better to just… not say anything.

You’d deal with your heat quietly, behind your locked bedroom door. He’d deal with his rut the way he always did—probably by calling one of his regular hookups, inviting them over to help him through it. The thought made your claws extend painfully, jealousy and hurt lancing through your chest, but that was fine. You were used to that pain.

At least this way, he’d never know. Never know that you’d spent three or four days in heat just down the hall, your body aching for him specifically while he was with someone else.

God, this was going to be torture.

Your phone buzzed with a text, and you nearly jumped out of your skin.

Sylus: You still up?

Your heart hammered as you stared at the message. He never texted when he was working unless—

Sylus: Thought I heard you in the kitchen. Everything okay?

Of course. Wolf hearing. He’d probably heard you muttering to yourself, heard the distress in your voice even through his closed door.

Your fingers trembled as you typed back:

You: Yeah, all good! Just getting some water. Don’t let me distract you from work ☺️

The emoji felt forced, but you needed him to think everything was normal.

Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Then it appeared again.

Sylus: Your scent just spiked with anxiety. What’s wrong?

You closed your eyes, cursing his too-perceptive wolf senses. Of course he could smell your emotional state from his room. Of course.

You: Nothing! Just remembered I have a deadline coming up for a writing assignment at work. Already stressing about it lol

You: Go back to work! I’m heading to bed soon anyway

Please believe it. Please just let it go.

Sylus: Okay. But if you need anything, I’m here. You know that.

Your chest constricted painfully.

You: I know. Thank you 💕

You stared at the heart emoji you’d added without thinking, then quickly locked your phone before you could spiral into analyzing whether that was too much.

Moving quickly, you erased your name from the calendar for the next four days, leaving the space blank. If Sylus looked—which he probably wouldn’t, too buried in work—he wouldn’t see anything unusual. Wouldn’t know.

Then you grabbed your phone and retreated to your room, closing the door firmly behind you and leaning against it.

Tomorrow. Heat started tomorrow.

And Sylus would be in rut.

In the same apartment.

Your tail lashed anxiously as you looked around your room, mentally cataloging what you’d need. Water bottles—you’d need to stock up. Snacks that didn’t require leaving your room. Maybe some ice packs for the fever. Definitely your noise-canceling headphones for when he inevitably brought someone home to help him through his rut, because you absolutely could not handle hearing that while you were in heat.

Your phone buzzed with another message:

Sylus: Get some sleep, kitten. And stop overthinking whatever’s got you stressed. It’ll be okay.

If only he knew.

You typed back a quick good night, then flopped onto your bed, staring at the ceiling as your mind raced.

Twenty-four hours. That’s all you had to prepare.

Twenty-four hours until you’d be locked in your room, burning with heat, while the man you loved was down the hall going through his rut.

You buried your face in your pillow, letting out a muffled sound of frustration.

This was going to be the longest four days of your life.

Your phone lit up one more time with a final text from Sylus:

Sylus: Sweet dreams.

You stared at those two words until they blurred, your heart aching.

“Yeah,” you whispered to your empty room, your tail curling protectively around yourself. “Sweet dreams.”

Like you’d be getting any sleep tonight.

Not when tomorrow would turn your apartment into your own personal hell, and Sylus would go through his rut without ever knowing what it was doing to you.

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

The next day, you left the apartment before dawn, slipping out while Sylus was still asleep. You couldn’t risk running into him, couldn’t trust yourself to act normal when you could already feel the first warning signs of your heat beginning to stir beneath your skin—a restless energy, a sensitivity that made your clothes feel too rough, a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature.

You spent the early morning hours methodically gathering everything you’d need for the next few days. The essentials came first: your favorite comfort foods, drinks, and enough water to stock a small convenience store. You didn’t leave anything out, moving through your mental checklist with single-minded focus because focusing on the task kept you from thinking about what was coming, about who was waiting at home.

Your last stop was the one that made heat crawl up your neck despite the early hour. The sex shop on the corner of Fifth and Main was blessedly empty, and you kept your ears tucked low as you quickly selected another vibrator—a backup for when your other toys inevitably needed to recharge. The knowing look the clerk gave you made your tail bristle with embarrassment, but you forced yourself to maintain eye contact as you paid. You weren’t ashamed. You shouldn’t be ashamed.

Yes, you were a virgin cat hybrid, but that didn’t mean you were clueless about your own body, about what you enjoyed or needed. Just because you were inexperienced with partners didn’t mean you couldn’t indulge in your own sexuality, couldn’t take care of yourself during your heats. You’d learned years ago what worked, what helped ease the ache even if it never fully satisfied the way your instincts insisted a mate would.

A mate like—

No. You couldn’t think about that.

By the time you’d finished your errands, the sun had fully risen and you could feel your heat beginning in earnest. It started subtly—a slight fever warming your skin, a heightened awareness of every scent and sound around you, a restless ache low in your belly that you knew would only get worse. Your body was preparing, responding to the hormonal surge that came with ovulation, and you needed to get home. Needed to lock yourself away before it became obvious, before your scent grew too sweet and telling.

Home. You had to go home.

Home to Sylus.

The thought sent a spike of longing through you so intense it nearly stole your breath, and you had to grip your shopping bags tighter to ground yourself. This was exactly why you needed to get back, needed to barricade yourself in your room before your heat-addled brain did something catastrophic like seek him out.

But with each step closer to the apartment, anxiety bubbled up inside you, rising like a tide you couldn’t hold back. Your ears kept swiveling anxiously, your tail couldn’t stay still, and your hands trembled slightly as you climbed the stairs to your floor. What if he was there? What if he could already smell the change in you, the pre-heat sweetness that was undoubtedly growing stronger by the minute? What if he looked at you with pity, or worse—with clinical concern, like you were a problem to be managed?

Your key fumbled against the lock twice before you finally managed to open the door.

The apartment was silent.

Empty.

You stood in the doorway, bags clutched in your hands, ears perked and straining for any sound of movement. Nothing. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic from the street below.

Relief flooded through you first—thank god, you wouldn’t have to face him, wouldn’t have to pretend everything was normal while your body burned and your instincts screamed.

But then the relief curdled into something heavier, something that settled in your chest like a stone.

What if he’d left? What if he’d packed a bag and gone somewhere else to ride out his rut—a hotel, maybe, or a friend’s place? What if he’d called one of his regular partners, arranged to spend the next few days with them somewhere far away from you?

The thought made your claws extend involuntarily, jealousy and hurt lancing through you even though you had no right to either emotion. This was what you’d wanted, wasn’t it? For him to be gone, to not have to deal with him being in rut just down the hall?

Except now the apartment felt too empty, too quiet, and the thought of him wrapped around someone else, helping them through their heat while he worked through his rut, made you feel physically ill.

Your tail drooped as you carried your bags to your room, ears flat against your head. This was fine. This was better, actually. Easier.

It didn’t feel easier.

You kept your door open as you methodically unpacked everything, needing to finish before your heat progressed further. Comfort foods went on your nightstand within easy reach. Water bottles lined up on your desk. The new vibrator, still in its package, got tucked into your bedside drawer along with your other supplies—the ones you’d collected over the years, the ones that helped but never quite enough.

Your mini fridge, a recent purchase you’d justified as necessary for late-night writing sessions, was now packed with drinks and anything perishable. You’d thought of everything. You were prepared.

You were fine.

The heat was building steadily now, making your skin feel too tight, too sensitive. Your clothes were becoming unbearable—every seam and tag felt like it was scraping against your skin. You stripped down to just a thin pink tank top and sleep shorts, the least amount of fabric you could get away with, and finally collapsed onto your bed.

The sheets were cool against your feverish skin, and you pressed your face into your pillow with a shuddering breath. You could do this. You’d done it before. Just a few days and it would be over.

That’s when you heard it—the sound of the front door opening.

Your entire body went rigid, ears shooting up and swiveling toward the sound. Footsteps in the entryway, familiar and achingly known. Your bedroom door was still open—you’d been about to get up and lock it when—

His scent hit you like a physical blow.

Pine and earth and something darker, muskier, unmistakably wolf and unmistakably Sylus—but stronger now. Heavier. Richer. The scent seemed to fill the entire apartment, seeping into your room and wrapping around you like a living thing.

Rut. He was in rut.

And he was here.

Your heat-primed body responded instantly, devastatingly. The ache low in your belly intensified into something almost painful, your skin flushing hotter, and you felt your body start producing that telltale slickness that came with arousal. A soft, needy sound escaped your throat before you could stop it—somewhere between a whimper and a purr—and you immediately bit down on your pillow to muffle any further sounds.

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

You forced yourself to move despite how much your body protested, stumbling to your door on shaky legs. Your hands trembled as you reached for the handle, trying to be quiet, trying not to draw his attention to the fact that you were home.

But it was too late.

“Kitten?” His voice drifted down the hallway, rougher than usual, with that gravelly quality that rut brought to wolf hybrids. “That you?”

You froze, hand on your door handle, every muscle in your body locked up with tension. He could probably already smell you—your heat scent mixing with his rut pheromones in the air between you. There was no hiding it now.

“Y-yeah,” you managed, hating how breathless you sounded. “Just… just got back.”

Silence. Then footsteps, coming closer, and your heart launched into your throat.

“You okay? You sound—” He stopped, and you could pinpoint the exact moment he scented you properly, when the reality of the situation clicked into place. “…Fuck.”

The single word, rough and low and edged with something that might have been hunger, sent a shiver down your spine straight to your core.

You should close the door. Lock it. Put a barrier between you and the wolf hybrid in rut whose scent was making you dizzy with want.

Instead, you stood frozen, fingers gripping the door frame, as his footsteps brought him closer to your room.

This was bad.

This was so, so bad.

And some traitorous part of you—the part ruled by heat and instinct and years of suppressed longing—thought it might be exactly what you’d been waiting for.

You should close the door. Lock it. Put a barrier between you and the wolf hybrid in rut whose scent was making you dizzy with want.

Instead, you stood frozen, fingers gripping the door frame, as his footsteps brought him closer to your room.

And then he was there.

Sylus appeared in your doorway, and the sight of him nearly brought you to your knees.

His silver hair was disheveled like he’d been running his hands through it, his ruby eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them—pupils blown wide with heat. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, and you could see the tension in every line of his body, the way his muscles were coiled tight like he was physically restraining himself. His wolf ears were pinned back, and his tail was rigid behind him—signs of a predator barely holding onto control.

He looked wrecked. Devastating. Dangerous.

And he was staring at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“You’re in heat,” he said, his voice even rougher than before, gravelly in a way that did absolutely nothing to help your situation. It wasn’t a question.

You nodded mutely, not trusting your voice, your fingers digging into the doorframe hard enough that your claws left small marks in the wood.

His eyes tracked the movement, then traveled over you—taking in your flushed skin, your thin clothing, the way you were trembling slightly. His nostrils flared, scenting you, and a low sound rumbled from his chest that went straight through you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There was something raw in his voice, almost hurt. “I would have—I could have made arrangements, I—” He stopped, his jaw clenching. “Fuck, kitten, I wouldn’t have come back here if I’d known. This is—”

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you’d left. Thought you’d go somewhere else for your rut.”

Something flashed across his expression—surprise, maybe, or confusion. “Why would I leave?”

*Because that’s what you always do,* you thought. *Because you’d rather be anywhere else than deal with this kind of intimacy with me.*

But you couldn’t say that. Couldn’t reveal how much you’d thought about it, how much the idea of him with someone else during his rut had shredded you.

“Sylus,” you breathed, and even you could hear the desperation creeping into your voice. “You need to go. Please. This is—it’s too much, I can’t—”

“I know.” He took a step back, and you saw how much it cost him, saw the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll go to my room, I’ll stay there, I won’t—” His eyes squeezed shut briefly. “You won’t even know I’m here. I promise.”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You would know. Would feel him down the hall, would smell him, would lie in your bed aching and burning and knowing he was so close, knowing he was going through his rut alone just like you were suffering through your heat alone.

“You should leave,” you said, even though the words felt like they were being torn from your chest. “The apartment. You should go somewhere else. A hotel or—or call someone who could—” You couldn’t finish that sentence, couldn’t voice the image of him with someone else even though it was killing you.

His eyes snapped open, and there was something fierce in them now, something possessive that made your breath catch. “No.”

“Sylus—”

“I’m not leaving you alone during your heat,” he said, his voice dropping into something that was almost a growl. “And I’m sure as hell not calling anyone else. I don’t—” He cut himself off, shaking his head like he was trying to clear it. “Just… stay in your room. I’ll stay in mine. We can do this.”

Could you? Could you really survive the next few days knowing he was so close, knowing all you had to do was walk down the hall and—

No. You couldn’t think like that.

“Okay,” you whispered, your tail wrapping tight around your waist. “Okay.”

He stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then he took another step back, putting more distance between you, and you hated how much you wanted to close that distance, wanted to—

“Lock your door,” he said roughly. “Please. Because if you don’t, if I smell you like this all night, I won’t—” His voice cracked slightly. “I won’t be able to stay away. And you deserve better than—than me losing control because of biology.”

Your heart clenched. Even now, even in rut, he was trying to protect you. Trying to be good, to be respectful, to give you the choice.

If only he knew that you’d choose him. Would always choose him. That there was no one else you wanted, rut or no rut, heat or no heat.

But you just nodded, watched him retreat down the hallway to his room, heard his door close with a finality that echoed through the apartment.

And then you were alone.

You closed your door. Locked it like he’d asked. Then collapsed against it, sliding down to sit on the floor as your whole body trembled.

This was going to be impossible.

✩₊˚ .⋆☾⋆ ⁺₊✧

[Later that night]

You’d tried everything.

The vibrator helped for maybe ten minutes before the ache came roaring back twice as strong. The cold shower had been a mistake—your skin was too sensitive, every drop of water feeling like too much. You’d attempted to sleep but gave up after an hour of tossing and turning, your sheets soaked with sweat and twisted around your legs.

Nothing worked. Nothing helped.

Because your body knew what it wanted, and it wasn’t any of your usual coping mechanisms.

It wanted him.

Sylus. Just down the hall. Going through his rut while you burned through your heat, and the cruel irony of it was almost too much to bear.

You could smell him even through your locked door—his scent had permeated the entire apartment, rich and heavy and making your head spin. Could hear him too, your sensitive cat hearing picking up every sound from his room. The creak of his bed. His footsteps pacing. Once, a low groan that had sent heat flooding through you so intensely you’d nearly blacked out.

He was suffering too. You knew he was. And knowing that you were both suffering separately, alone, when you could be—

No. You couldn’t think like that.

But your heat-fogged brain wouldn’t let it go. Kept circling back to the same thoughts: *He’s right there. He needs help. You need help. This is biology. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You could help each other and then pretend it never happened and—*

Except it would mean something. To you, it would mean everything. And when it was over, when the heat and rut faded and reality came crashing back, you’d have to live with the fact that you’d had him once and would never have him again.

That might actually destroy you.

A sound from his room made your ears perk up—something between a growl and a groan, frustrated and pained. Then footsteps, heavy and deliberate.

You froze, every muscle in your body going tense as you heard his door open.

Footsteps in the hallway. Coming closer.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you heard him stop outside your door. There was a long moment of silence, and you could picture him standing there, fist raised to knock, fighting with himself.

“Kitten.” His voice was wrecked, strained. “Are you… are you okay?”

The concern in his voice, even now, even when he was clearly barely holding it together, made your chest constrict painfully.

“I’m fine,” you lied, your voice coming out shakier than you’d intended.

“Liar.” A soft thump against your door—his forehead, maybe, or his fist. “I can hear you. Smell you. You’re not fine.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hands over your face. “Neither are you.”

A rough laugh, completely devoid of humor. “No. I’m really not.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy with everything unsaid. You were both on opposite sides of the same door, suffering, wanting, unable to cross that final barrier.

“I should have left,” he said finally, quietly. “Should have gone to a hotel like you said. This is… fuck, this is torture.”

“Why didn’t you?” The question slipped out before you could stop it. “Why did you stay?”

Another long silence. Then: “Because I couldn’t. Couldn’t stand the thought of you here alone, in heat, vulnerable. What if something happened? What if you needed something and I wasn’t here?” His voice dropped even lower. “And I… I couldn’t go to anyone else. Not when—”

He stopped abruptly, like he’d caught himself about to say too much.

“Not when what?” Your hand was on the door handle now, trembling.

“Nothing. Forget it. I should—I should go back to my room.”

But he didn’t move. You could feel him there, could sense his presence on the other side of the door like a physical thing.

Your heat-addled brain was screaming at you to open the door. Your heart was screaming something else entirely—something that sounded dangerously like tell him tell him tell him.

“Sylus.” Your voice cracked on his name. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll go—”

“No.” Your hand turned the lock before you could second-guess yourself. “That’s not what I mean.”

The door swung open, and suddenly there he was, so close you could see the war happening behind his eyes. His rut pheromones washed over you in full force now, unfiltered by the door, and it took every ounce of self-control not to simply throw yourself at him.

He looked as wrecked as you felt—hair a mess, skin flushed, eyes wild and desperate. His chest was bare, just sleep pants slung low on his hips, and you could see how tense every muscle was, how hard he was fighting his instincts.

“Kitten,” he breathed, and it sounded like a warning and a plea all at once. “Don’t. Please. If you… if you’re too close, I won’t be able to—”

“I’m in love with you.”

The words tumbled out in a rush, propelled by heat and desperation and years of keeping them locked inside. And once they started, you couldn’t stop them.

“I’ve been in love with you for years. Since the library. Since that first day when you saved me and smiled at me and made me feel safe for the first time in my life.” Your voice was shaking, tears already gathering in your eyes because this was it, you were ruining everything, but you couldn’t stop. “And I know—I know you don’t feel the same way. I know I’m not—I’m not what you want. Not experienced enough, not confident enough, just… not enough.”

The tears spilled over, tracking hot down your cheeks, and you saw his expression crack, saw something like anguish flash across his face.

“Every time you brought someone home, it killed me,” you continued, your voice breaking. “Every time I heard you with someone else, I wanted to die because it wasn’t me. It was never me. And I tried—I tried so hard not to feel this way, tried to be happy just being your friend, but I can’t anymore. I can’t keep pretending that this doesn’t hurt, that watching you with other people doesn’t destroy me.”

You were full-on crying now, your shoulders shaking with sobs, your ears flat against your head. “And I know this is the worst possible time to tell you this. I know it’s just the heat talking and you probably think I’m pathetic and I’ve ruined everything, but I couldn’t—I can’t keep lying. Not when you’re right here and I want you so badly it physically hurts and I know I can’t have you because I’m not—I’m not—”

“Stop.”

His hands were on your face suddenly, cupping your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. And what you saw there stole your breath—not pity, not discomfort, but something raw and desperate and achingly tender.

“Stop saying you’re not enough,” he said, his voice fierce despite how gentle his touch was. “Stop saying I don’t want you. You have no idea—” His thumb brushed away your tears, and his own eyes looked suspiciously bright. “God, kitten, you have no idea how wrong you are.”

Your breath hitched, your heart stuttering in your chest. “What?”

“Those people I brought home? I was trying to forget you.” His voice cracked slightly, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. “Trying to convince myself that if I just found the right person, if I just tried hard enough, these feelings would go away. That I could stop wanting my best friend, stop dreaming about someone who deserved so much better than me.”

“Sylus—” you whispered, but he shook his head.

“You think you’re not experienced enough? Not confident enough? Kitten, you’re everything.” His hands trembled slightly against your face. “You’re brilliant and kind and so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes. And every time you smiled at someone else, every time I thought about you finding someone who could give you the relationship you deserved, someone who wasn’t fucked up and broken and—” He stopped, taking a shuddering breath. “I’ve been in love with you since that day in the library too. Maybe before. And I thought—I thought I was protecting you by staying away. Thought you’d be better off with someone who wasn’t a wolf hybrid with too much baggage and a rut that made him dangerous.”

“You’re not dangerous,” you said fiercely, your own hands coming up to grip his wrists. “Not to me. Never to me.”

“I wanted to be good enough for you,” he continued, like he needed to get all of it out. “Wanted to be the kind of person who deserved someone like you. But I’m not. I’m selfish and possessive and the thought of anyone else touching you makes me want to—” He cut himself off, his jaw clenching. “And now you’re here, in heat, telling me you love me, and I can barely think straight because all I want is to—”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. You could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his hands tightened on your face.

“Then do it,” you whispered. “Please. I don’t want to spend another second pretending. I don’t want perfection or whatever impossible standard you’ve set for yourself. I just want you. Just this. Just us.”

For one breathless moment, he just stared at you, his eyes searching yours like he was looking for any sign of doubt, any hint that you didn’t mean it. His thumbs continued their gentle path across your cheeks, wiping away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

“You’re crying,” he said softly, and there was so much tenderness in his voice it made your chest ache. Even now, even when you could see how much he wanted this, wanted you, he was being careful. Being gentle. “Kitten, you’re shaking.”

“Because I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice breaking on the words. “I’m scared this is a dream. I’m scared I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone and this will have never happened and I’ll have to go back to pretending and I can’t—” A sob cut off your words, and you pressed your palms against his bare chest, feeling his heart thundering beneath your touch. “I can’t go back to before. Not now. Not after finally telling you.”

Something in his expression crumbled, and he pulled you closer, one hand sliding to the back of your neck while the other wrapped around your waist. “This isn’t a dream,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against yours again. “I’m here. I’m real. And I’m not going anywhere. Not anymore.”

“Promise?” It came out so small, so vulnerable, and you hated how desperate you sounded but you needed to hear it.

“I promise.” He tilted your face up, making sure you could see the truth in his eyes. “I’ve been an idiot. Been running from this, from you, because I was terrified. Terrified of not being good enough, of ruining our friendship, of you realizing you deserved better and leaving. But I’m done running.” His voice dropped to something fierce, possessive. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. And I’ve been yours since that day in the library when you looked up at me with those wide, scared eyes and I knew—I knew I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks, but these felt different. Felt like relief, like release, like seven years of aching finally being soothed.

“I’m yours,” you whispered back, and saying it out loud felt like shedding a weight you’d been carrying forever. “I’ve always been yours.”

His pupils dilated at your words, and you felt the low rumble start in his chest again—that wolf sound that meant contentment, possessiveness, mine. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” you repeated, your hands sliding up his chest to wrap around his neck. “Only yours. I don’t want anyone else. I’ve never wanted anyone else.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, and you could see him visibly fighting for control, his whole body trembling with the effort. “You can’t—you can’t say things like that to me right now. Not when I’m in rut and you’re in heat and I’m barely holding on as it is.”

“Then don’t hold on,” you said, and you watched his eyes darken impossibly further. “I don’t want you to hold back. Not anymore. I want all of you, Sylus. Everything you’ve been keeping from me.”

“Kitten.” It came out strained, almost pained. “If we do this—if we cross this line—there’s no going back. You understand that? I won’t be able to pretend anymore. Won’t be able to watch you walk around this apartment and not touch you, not kiss you, not—” He cut himself off with a harsh breath. “Wolf hybrids, when we bond, when we claim someone as ours, it’s… it’s permanent. Especially during our ruts. The instinct to mark you, to make sure everyone knows you’re mine—”

“Good,” you interrupted, and his eyes snapped to yours in surprise. “I want that. Want everyone to know. Want you to stop bringing other people home because you’ll have me. Want to stop pretending we’re just friends when we both know it’s always been more than that.”

He made a sound that was half-groan, half-growl, and you felt it reverberate through your entire body where you were pressed against him. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I do.” You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes fully, needing him to see how serious you were. “I know exactly what I’m asking for. I’m asking for you. All of you. Your rut, your instincts, your possessiveness—I want all of it. Because I love you. Not in spite of what you are, but because of it.”

Something shifted in his expression then—the last wall crumbling, the final thread of his control snapping. You saw the exact moment he stopped fighting himself, stopped fighting this, and surrendered to what you both wanted.

“Tell me one more time,” he demanded, his voice gone rough and commanding in a way that sent shivers down your spine. “Tell me you love me. That you want this. That you’re choosing me.”

“I love you,” you said, pouring every ounce of feeling into the words. “I want this. I want you. I’m choosing you, Sylus. Today, tomorrow, always. I’m yours, and I want you to be mine.”

“Always have been,” he said, and there was something that looked almost like wonder in his eyes. “God, kitten, I’ve been yours since the beginning. You just didn’t know it.”

Then something in him broke.

He surged forward, closing the distance between you, and kissed you like he was dying and you were oxygen, like he’d been drowning for seven years and you were his first breath of air.

It wasn’t gentle. Wasn’t careful or tentative or any of the things a first kiss probably should be. It was desperate and hungry and raw—years of suppressed longing, years of wanting and denying and pretending finally breaking free all at once. His lips crashed against yours with bruising intensity, claiming you, devouring you, and you gasped into his mouth at the sheer force of it, at the way it felt like everything you’d ever wanted and more.

Your hands flew up to tangle in his silver hair, fingers threading through the soft strands as you pulled him closer, closer, never close enough. You felt his wolf ears flatten slightly under your touch—sensitive and responsive—and the small reaction made heat pool low in your belly.

He groaned against your lips, the sound vibrating through your entire body and straight to your core, and his hands slid from your tear-stained face to your waist, gripping you with a possessiveness that made you whimper. Then he was pulling you flush against him, eliminating every inch of space between your bodies, and the full-body contact made your knees weak.

His bare chest pressed against your thin tank top—you could feel every defined plane of muscle, every rapid beat of his heart, the overwhelming heat of him seeping through the fabric and into your skin. His scent enveloped you completely, that pine and earth and pure wolf musk intensified by his rut, and it was so much stronger now, so overwhelming that all you could breathe was him, all you could feel was him.

Your heat-primed body responded instantly, desperately. Slickness pooled between your thighs, your skin flushed hotter, and a needy sound escaped your throat—somewhere between a whimper and a purr—that made him growl in response.

“Fuck,” he gasped, breaking the kiss only to trail his lips along your jaw with open-mouthed kisses that made you shudder. His tongue traced the line of your jaw before his teeth scraped gently against your skin—not quite biting, but the promise of it—and you moaned. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.”

He moved lower, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear, and when his lips closed over it, sucking gently, your claws extended involuntarily, pricking through his hair to his scalp. The small sting only seemed to encourage him, another growl rumbling from his chest.

“Same,” you managed breathlessly, tilting your head back to give him better access, your body arching into his of its own accord. Your tail wrapped around his leg possessively, and you felt his own tail brush against your hip. “God, Sylus, I’ve wanted you for so long—”

His mouth moved to your throat, lips and teeth and tongue tracing patterns that made you tremble, and you could feel him breathing you in, scenting you. “You smell so fucking good,” he murmured against your skin, his voice gone rough and gravelly with rut. “Always smell good, but now—fuck, kitten, you’re in heat and you smell like mine and I can’t—”

He kissed you again, swallowing whatever you were about to say, and this time it was somehow even more intense. Slower, deeper, but no less desperate. His tongue swept into your mouth and you met him eagerly, tasting him—something dark and rich and addictive—learning the shape of him, the texture, the way he kissed like he was trying to consume you whole.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, seven years of yearning finally finding an outlet, and when your tongue slid against his, when you sucked gently on his bottom lip, the sound he made was absolutely sinful.

Your back hit the doorframe suddenly and he pressed against you, caging you in with his larger body, and the feeling of being surrounded by him—his scent, his warmth, his overwhelming presence—made you dizzy with want. Made your heat-addled brain short-circuit with how right it felt to be trapped between him and the wall, how safe and claimed and desired you felt.

His hands roamed your sides with a reverence that contradicted the hunger in his kiss, sliding under the hem of your tank top to finally, finally touch bare skin. His palms were rough and warm, and everywhere he touched felt like it was on fire, nerve endings lighting up in his wake. He traced the curve of your waist, your ribs, his thumbs brushing just below your breasts—teasing, testing—and you arched into his touch with a whimper.

“So soft,” he murmured against your lips, his hands continuing their exploration, mapping your body like he was memorizing every curve, every dip. “So fucking perfect. Been dreaming about touching you like this. About what you’d feel like.”

His words made you bold. Your own hands left his hair to explore, sliding down his neck, over his shoulders, feeling the powerful muscles bunch and flex under your touch. Down his chest, your fingers tracing the defined lines of his abs, feeling them tense as you touched him. His skin was fever-hot, and you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palms.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed against your lips, even as his hands continued their exploration, even as he ground his hips against yours and you felt exactly how much he wanted you. The hard length of him pressed against your stomach made you gasp, made more slickness flood between your thighs. “Tell me this is just the heat, just the rut, and I’ll—I’ll go back to my room, I’ll—”

“Don’t you dare,” you said fiercely, fisting your hands in his hair and pulling him back down to you, crushing your lips against his with all the desperation you felt. “Don’t you dare stop. This isn’t just heat. This isn’t just biology. This is me choosing you. Choosing this.” You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, to make sure he understood. “I love you, Sylus. Heat or no heat, rut or no rut, I love you. I’ve loved you for seven years and I’ll love you for seven more and an eternity more after that.”

His eyes blazed with something that looked almost like reverence, like worship, and his hands came up to cup your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “I love you too,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “So fucking much. For so long.” His thumb brushed across your cheekbone, catching a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “You’re everything, kitten. Everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything I thought I’d never deserve.”

“You deserve this,” you whispered fiercely. “You deserve to be loved. You deserve me just as much as I deserve you.”

Something in his expression cracked, and when he kissed you again, there was a tenderness beneath the hunger that made your heart feel like it might burst. He kissed you like you were precious, like you were his, like he was trying to pour seven years of love into this one moment.

You kissed him back with everything you had, your hands sliding up to cup the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the hair there, one hand reaching up to gently scratch behind his wolf ear. He shuddered against you, a whine escaping his throat, and you felt a surge of feminine power at the reaction.

“Sensitive,” you murmured against his lips, and did it again, your fingers gently stroking his ear.

“Fuck—” His hips jerked against yours involuntarily, and his grip on you tightened. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Good,” you breathed, and then you were kissing again, lost in each other, in the taste and feel and scent of finally, finally having what you’d both wanted for so long.

His hands slid down your back, over your hips, and then he was gripping your thighs and lifting you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, gasping at the new position, at the way his cock pressed against you even more intimately. Your covered pussy, already aching and soaked, pressing against him. Your tail wrapped around his waist too, clinging to him, and his own tail curved around to brush against your leg.

“Bedroom,” he growled against your mouth. “Need—fuck, kitten, I need you so bad. I can’t hold back anymore.”

“Yes,” you gasped, and then he was carrying you, his lips never leaving yours, stumbling slightly as he navigated down the hallway, too consumed with kissing you to pay proper attention to where he was going.

He shouldered open his bedroom door—not yours, his—and the significance wasn’t lost on you. His space. His scent everywhere. His den.

He laid you on his bed with a gentleness that contradicted the hunger in his eyes, following you down, covering your body with his. The weight of him, the heat, the feeling of being surrounded and covered and claimed made you moan, your back arching up into him.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you—sprawled on his bed, your hair a mess, your lips swollen from his kisses, your chest heaving with rapid breaths. His eyes tracked over every inch of you like he was memorizing the sight. “So fucking beautiful. And mine. Finally mine.”

“Yours,” you agreed breathlessly, reaching up to pull him back down to you. “Always yours. Just like you’re mine.”

“Always have been,” he said, and then he was kissing you again, and you were kissing him back, and nothing else mattered except this—

Finally, finally having what you’d both been denying yourselves for years.

Finally coming home.

He kissed you with a heat that stole every breath from your lungs, his lips devouring yours with desperate need, raw passion, and something deeper—a promise of exactly what was to come, of how thoroughly he was about to claim you, mark you, make you his in every way that mattered.

The soft whine that escaped your throat—high and breathy and so distinctly cat-like—only spurred Sylus on further, feeding a fire in him that had been burning for seven years. That sound was addictive, intoxicating, the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard fall from your lips, and it made every wolf instinct in him roar with possessive satisfaction. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, desperate and needy, pulling him closer like you couldn’t bear even an inch of space between you. Your hips shifted instinctively against his, seeking friction, seeking relief from the heat burning through you, and the moment your body pressed firmly into his groin—where you could feel exactly how hard and massive he was, how much he wanted you—a low, rough groan rumbled from deep in his chest, vibrating against your lips and making you shudder.

He pulled back slightly, lips parted and swollen, his pupils blown so wide his red eyes looked almost black. He looked like he was about to say something important—but you immediately chased his mouth, a needy mewl escaping you, your cat hybrid instincts refusing to let him go, refusing to lose that connection for even a second. His breath hitched sharply at your eagerness, at your complete inability to let him leave, and with a soft curse muttered against your skin, he brought his large hands up to cradle your face tenderly, his thumbs stroking your flushed cheeks.

He tried once, maybe twice, to pull away again—clearly intent on speaking, on saying whatever thought had crossed his lust-fogged mind—but every single time he attempted it, he melted right back into you helplessly, like his lips weren’t meant to be anywhere else but claiming yours. Like the rut coursing through him wouldn’t allow him to stop touching you, tasting you, consuming you.

Eventually, he tore himself away with several lingering, reluctant kisses, finally managing to draw a full breath. His lips were thoroughly swollen, slick and glistening with your shared saliva, and his gaze—dark, glazed over completely with rut-driven desire—held yours like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. You stared back at him, your chest rising and falling rapidly in perfect sync with his, both of you breathless and utterly consumed by each other. Your pupils were dilated too, your heat making you hypersensitive to every touch, every scent, every minute shift of his body against yours.

As your lips parted for another shaky inhale, you tasted nothing but him—the intoxicating pine and musk scent of him invading your senses, the overwhelming feel of his body covering yours, the scorching heat radiating between you. And then, just as you began to steady yourself slightly, his tongue slid across your bottom lip, teasing, tasting, demanding entry with a dominance that made your toes curl. Your breath caught sharply in your throat before escaping in a needy, completely uninhibited mewl as his tongue slid against yours—hot, slick, utterly possessive. The kiss deepened until it felt like he was tasting your very soul, claiming every part of you, and you surrendered to it completely.

You had absolutely no doubt—he was the best kisser you’d ever known, the best you’d ever have. Every single kiss from him was sensual, passionate, and absolutely drenched in love and longing and raw, primal need. He didn’t just kiss you—he devoured you, worshipped you, made you feel like you were the center of his entire universe. Like you were the only thing that mattered in this moment, in this life.

“Fuck, I need you so bad, kitten,” he groaned roughly against your mouth, his voice gone gravelly and deep with rut, the sound so raw and desperate it sent a violent shudder tearing through your entire body. The sensation pulsed hot and insistent between your thighs, and you knew—without any question—that your panties were completely ruined. You were soaked, throbbing, absolutely undone by him. The slickness from your heat was making a mess, and you could tell by the way his nostrils flared that he could smell it, that he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“M-more… please, please,” you whimpered pathetically, clinging to him like you’d physically fall apart without his touch to hold you together. Your claws pricked into his shoulders, and your tail wrapped tighter around his waist, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

His nose traced along your jaw, down to your throat, and you felt him inhale deeply against your skin, breathing you in like you were oxygen and he’d been suffocating. “Fuck, your scent,” he growled, the words vibrating against your throat as he wrapped himself around you completely, his larger body pressing you into the mattress. “Smells so fucking good. So sweet. So ready.”

You shuddered violently as his teeth grazed your neck—not quite biting yet, but the promise of it made liquid heat pool in your core. His wolf instincts were showing now, the rut making him more aggressive, more possessive, and every prey instinct in you should have been screaming danger. Instead, you tilted your head back, baring your throat to him in complete submission, in complete trust.

“Can smell you,” he continued, his voice rough and strained like he was barely holding onto control. “Can smell how wet you are for me. How ready your body is. Your heat—” He groaned, pressing the hard, thick length between his hips against you, grinding into your core through too many layers of clothing. “You’re ready for breeding. Ready for me to claim you. Ready for my pups.”

You moaned and whimpered at his words, your body arched up into his, as more slickness flooded between your thighs because yes, yes, that’s exactly what your heat-drunk mind wanted.

“I can smell it,” he continued, his hips grinding against yours in a rhythm that had you gasping, that had you trying to spread your legs wider even with your little sleeping shorts still on. “It’s so strong. So fucking intoxicating. And believe me when I say it’s all I can think about whenever you’re close like this—have been thinking about it for years. The rut just makes it a billion times more pronounced, makes it harder to hold back, makes every instinct in me scream to mount you, to breed you, to fill you up until you’re dripping with me.”

“Sylus,” you whimpered, and you weren’t even sure what you were asking for. Everything. Anything. More.

His teeth scraped against your throat again, harder this time, and you felt your cat hybrid instincts war between the urge to submit and the urge to bite back, to mark him just as thoroughly as he was about to mark you.

“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his own blazing with barely controlled hunger. “Tell me you want me to claim you. Make you mine. Because once I start, kitten, I’m not going to be able to stop. The rut—” His voice broke slightly. “I’m going to want to bite you. Mark you. Knot you. Breed you. And I need to know that’s what you want too, that this isn’t just the heat talking.”

“It’s not just the heat,” you said fiercely, your hands coming up to frame his face, making him look at you, making him see the truth in your eyes. “I want all of it. Want you to claim me, mark me, make everyone know I’m yours. Want your bite on my throat. Want you to knot me. Want—” Your voice dropped to something almost shy despite the explicit nature of what you were saying. “Want you to breed me. Fill me up. Give me everything.”

The sound he made was inhuman—a growl and a groan and something desperate all mixed together. “Fuck, you can’t say things like that to me. Not when I’m already barely holding on.”

“Then don’t hold on,” you whispered, reaching up to scratch gently behind his wolf ear, knowing exactly how sensitive they were, knowing it would drive him crazy. “I don’t want you to hold back. Not anymore. I want all of you, Sylus. The wolf, the rut, the claiming—all of it. Because I love all of you, my dear Alpha."

At your words, his control finally snapped.

Moments later his mouth claimed yours again, and this time there was no hesitation, no holding back. The kiss grew hotter, deeper, more consuming, each pass of your lips stoking the fire between you until it felt like you might combust. His hands moved down your body once more while yours slid to the back of his head, your fingers tangling desperately in his silver hair, careful of his sensitive wolf ears. When you gave a soft, experimental tug, he moaned into your mouth—a deep, rumbling sound that you felt in your chest—and his hips jerked against yours involuntarily.

One of his hands trailed slowly up your stomach, callused fingertips dragging against your overheated skin, while the other held firmly at your hip, gripping possessively, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. His touch made you weak, made heat pool between your thighs in waves, slickness soaking through your already-ruined panties as you kissed and touched each other with unrestrained hunger. Your tail thrashed against the bed, completely out of your control, betraying just how affected you were.

His fingers brushed delicately along the sides of your ribs, moving up and down in slow, reverent sweeps, his fingertips tracing every dip and curve as if memorizing your body, as if he’d been dreaming of this moment for years and wanted to savor every second.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered against your lips, his voice gone rough with want. “So fucking soft. Been wanting to touch you like this for so long.”

A moment later, his hands slipped away from your ribs only to settle at the hem of your tiny, flimsy tank top. His fingers played with the fabric, his knuckles brushing against the underside of your breasts and making you gasp.

“Can I undress you, little kitten?” His ruby eyes searched yours, dark with desire but still careful, still making sure you wanted this as much as he did.

You bit your lip and nodded frantically, unable to find your voice in that moment, too overwhelmed by need and heat and the feeling of his hands on you. Your ears were perked forward, focused entirely on him, and your pupils were so dilated your eyes looked almost black.

His smile deepened—predatory and loving all at once—as his hands slipped beneath your top for just a second, his palms hot against your skin, before he hooked his fingers into the fabric and slowly drew it upward. You raised your arms to help him remove it, whimpering slightly as the air brushed your newly exposed skin, your nipples pebbling instantly in the cool air and under his heated gaze.

Heat bloomed across your body under the way his eyes roamed over you, drinking in every detail like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. The way Sylus looked at you—eyes filled with nothing but love, awe, adoration, and raw, desperate hunger—made you feel so alive, so wanted, so utterly his.

You didn’t know what to do with your hands. They trembled helplessly at your sides, your claws extending and retracting nervously, and your core trembled just as much while he tossed the discarded clothing aside carelessly. His eyes never left you as he lowered his mouth to your collarbone, and his lips moved there with such affection, such reverence, that it sent a sweet shiver down your spine all the way to the tip of your tail.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, letting his mouth wander over every inch of newly exposed flesh, pressing kisses like prayers. “So divine… ethereal. Perfect. Mine.”

Your bare chests pressed together, skin against skin, and the contact made you both groan. Every point of contact sets you ablaze—his fever-hot skin against yours, the solid muscle of his chest, the way you could feel his heart racing just as fast as yours. You stared up at him with wide, overwhelmed eyes as he continued kissing his way across your body, your ears twitching with every soft sound he made.

His large hands slid to the curve of your waist where it met your hips, gripping you firmly, his fingers spanning almost the entire width of your waist. He scattered damp kisses and gentle nips—careful not to break skin yet, but the promise was there—over your shoulders and down the path to your breasts. You whimpered softly when he traced the tip of his nose over the swell of your breast, breathing in your scent deeply, savoring the moment before his lips followed the same path.

“Smell so good here too,” he murmured against your skin. “Everywhere. Every inch of you smells like heaven. Like mine.”

He leaned down and pressed the softest, sweetest kiss to the side of your breast before lifting his gaze to yours, his ruby eyes molten with desire. “Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. His forearms rested on either side of your body, caging you in gently, his larger frame completely covering yours. When you nodded, he brought one hand up to stroke your cheek, his thumb warm and tender against your flushed skin, careful of your sensitive whiskers. “Kitten… if we’re gonna go any further, I need you to talk to me. I need verbal communication. Think you can do that?”

You stared at him for a moment, breath catching, completely overwhelmed by the tenderness in his eyes despite the rut clearly driving him mad with need. Then you nodded again before catching yourself. He raised a brow and gave you that knowing look that sent warmth spreading through your chest.

“Sorry,” you whispered, your voice coming out breathier than intended. “Y-yes, Sy. Yes… I think I can do that.”

“Good girl,” he praised softly, and the words sent a spike of pleasure straight to your core. A gentle smile curved his lips even as his eyes blazed. “Good kitty.”

The purr that escaped your throat was completely involuntary, your cat hybrid instincts responding to the praise before you could stop them. His eyes darkened impossibly further at the sound, and you felt his cock twitch against your thigh.

“And if you want me to stop—” His mouth pressed back to your heated skin, trailing barely-there kisses down the valley between your breasts, his wolf ears tilted forward to catch every sound you made. Your eyes fluttered shut as your fingers twisted in the sheets, claws puncturing the fabric. “—you tell me right away. Okay?” he muttered, his voice raw and strained with want.

“Y-yes, Sylus… I understand,” you whimpered, another involuntary purr vibrating in your chest.

“Good.”

He breathed in through his nose, inhaling your scent deeply, and you shivered when he exhaled warm breath directly over your nipple. “Fuck, angel… you’re so beautiful. So perfect. Can’t believe I get to have you like this. Can’t believe you’re finally mine.”

Then he wrapped his lips around your nipple, teeth skimming lightly over the sensitive peak as he sucked and licked with slow, hungry passion. His tongue was hot and wet, circling and flicking in ways that made your back arch off the bed.

“Sy…” you mewled, the sound high and needy and so distinctly feline. Your hips lifted helplessly as your cunt sought any kind of friction, your tail thrashing against the sheets.

Sylus looked up at you, his mouth still wrapped around your nipple, and his eyes were absolutely wicked. Heat crawled up your skin under his gaze. He could see everything on your face—want, need, desperation—and he welcomed it, reveled in it. His lips returned to their work, long, slow, lavish licks from the flat of his tongue over your pebbled nipple while his other hand rose to squeeze your other breast, kneading gently, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

The dual sensation made you cry out, your hands flying to his hair, threading through the silver strands. When your fingers accidentally brushed his wolf ear, he groaned around your nipple, his hips grinding down against you involuntarily.

Impatient, trembling, desperate for more, you guided the hand on your breast downward—down your stomach, down to the heat between your thighs where you needed him most. His breath hitched sharply, his mouth releasing your nipple with a wet pop as he stared at you.

“Please,” you whimpered. “Need you to touch me. Need—”

Your words cut off in a loud, helpless moan as his fingers slipped beneath the band of your little sleeping shorts and down to where you needed him most. His mouth fell open with a loud, helpless groan right against your breast when his fingers met your soaked folds.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his fingers sliding through your slickness, exploring, teasing. “Fuck, kitten, you’re drenched. So wet for me. Is this all from your heat or—”

“You,” you gasped out as his fingers traced your pussy softly, learning every fold, every sensitive spot. “It’s you. Always you.”

He groaned again, the sound vibrating against your skin, and you felt his cock throb against your thigh, hard and hot even through his underwear. His fingers continued their exploration, one finger circling your entrance teasingly before sliding up to circle your clit with maddening lightness.

He worshipped you there for a moment—just his fingers teasing, learning every response, cataloging what made you gasp and what made you moan—before he suddenly pulled back. Completely away from you.

You whimpered at the loss, your hands reaching for him desperately, a distressed mewl escaping your throat that made his ears flatten apologetically. But he was already sitting up, watching through half-lidded eyes as he took his time removing the rest of his clothes. Every movement felt agonizingly slow—the flex of his muscles, the reveal of more pale skin, the thick trail of hair leading down from his navel.

When he finally pushed his underwear down, his cock sprang free, thick, massive, hard and flushed dark with need. Your eyes widened at the size of him, at the sheer girth and length, at the prominent veins running along his shaft, at the bead of precum already leaking from the tip. You felt another gush of slickness between your thighs, your body preparing itself instinctively, but your mind was suddenly racing with doubt.

He was big. Bigger than you’d imagined, and you were a virgin. How was that supposed to fit inside you? Your eyes traced down his length to where you could see the thick bulge at the base—his knot, still not fully swollen but already intimidating. The thought of taking all of that, of being stretched around him, knotted by him…

Panic fluttered in your chest even as arousal pooled hot and heavy in your belly. Your heat-addled brain was at war with itself—half of it screaming ‘want, need him, need to be filled, bred, knotted’ while the other half whispered anxiously ‘too big, won’t fit, it’s going to hurt—‘

You shut your eyes briefly, the conflicting emotions making you whine and mewl like the kitten you were. The sounds were desperate, needy—desperate to feel him again, desperate for his heat on your skin, desperate to be filled despite your fears. But underneath it all was that thread of nervousness, of uncertainty about whether your body could actually take what it was begging for.

When he was finally naked, you felt the bed dip as he moved back over you. He leaned down, his lips immediately finding your neck, licking and sucking softly, careful of where he’d eventually place his mating bite. His hands cupped your sensitive breasts and massaged them with tender, reverent fingers, his palms rough against your soft skin. Heat flooded your body as Sylus kissed down your shoulders, then your chest, his mouth leaving warm, fluttering trails that made your tail curl.

Your trembling hands slid into his silver hair, threading through the strands, gently scratching at the base of his ears in the way that made him shudder. He continued to kiss and taste every inch of exposed skin, his tongue occasionally flicking out to taste, to scent-mark, to claim.

Sylus’s lips moved slowly down your body, worshipping you with unhurried kisses, while his hands traced the lines of your shaking form—mapping every curve, every soft place, every breath you took beneath him. Lower and lower he went, until he was settled between your thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider.

He leaned forward, breathing in the heat of your core as he ran his nose slowly along the patch of dampness clinging to your shorts. You tugged at his hair when he inhaled your scent deeply, his eyes rolling back slightly, a rumbling groan emanating from his chest.

“Fuck, kitten,” he hummed, looking up at you with an intense, hungry gaze that was pure predator. His wolf instincts were fully on display now, and every instinct in you should have been screaming. Instead, you spread your legs wider in invitation. His hands left your skin to curl into the waistband of your tiny shorts. “You smell so good… so fucking ready. I can’t wait to taste you. Been dreaming about having my mouth on your pretty pussy for years.”

A shuddering breath slipped past your lips as you lifted your hips instinctively, silently begging him to take them off. He slid the fabric down your legs torturously slowly, and you watched his eyes track the string of slickness that connected your pussy to the soaked fabric before it broke.

“No panties,” he observed, his voice gone even rougher. “Were you expecting this, kitten? Or do you just walk around the apartment with nothing under these tiny shorts, driving me fucking insane?”

“I—I was too hot,” you stammered, your face heating up. “The heat, I couldn’t—”

“Shh, I know.” He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, soothing. “I’m not complaining. Fuck, I’m not complaining.”

Once he pushed your thighs open wider for him, you whimpered as the cool air kissed your wet slit, as you were completely exposed to his ravenous gaze. Sylus stilled for a moment, his eyes devouring the sight of you—your glistening center clenching around nothing as he watched your pussy pulse with need and so swollen, your slickness coating your inner thighs.

“Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Perfect. All mine.”

He licked his lips slowly, deliberately, before leaning down and placing lingering kisses along your inner thighs. His tongue dragged warm, teasing strokes over your soft skin, sucking gently, leaving marks, worshipping. His mouth was so close to where you needed him most, but each kiss felt like sweet torture, keeping him just out of reach.

“Please,” you whimpered, your tail lashing in frustration. “Sylus, please—”

“So pretty when you beg,” he murmured as he guided your legs up and over his shoulders, settling you perfectly beneath him, his hot breath ghosting over your aching core. “Again.”

“Please,” you repeated, more desperate this time. “Please touch me, taste me, anything—”

You were about to beg more—about to plead for him—when his lips left your thigh… only for him to nuzzle directly against your pussy a moment later. The contact made you cry out, your back arching off the bed. He smeared your slick across his lips with a groan of satisfaction, savoring your taste as he opened you with his tongue, dragging it flat from your entrance to your clit in one long, devastating lick.

“Fuck,” he groaned against you, the vibration making you whimper. “Taste even better than you smell. Could eat this sweet little pussy for hours. Might have to, just to prepare you for my cock.”

You gasped, your body arching as his wet tongue finally met your throbbing heat again, this time circling your clit with purpose. He licked and sucked with the dedication of a man starving, like your pleasure was the only thing that mattered in the world.

He pulled back again briefly, only long enough for his fingers to slide in and spread your outer lips for him, exposing your swollen clit and clenching entrance fully to his gaze. Sylus smirked as he eased a single finger inside you, watching your body react—the way your hips twitched, the way your walls fluttered and clenched around the intrusion, how greedily your wet hole swallowed his digit. You moaned into the pillow beside you, trying to muffle the desperate sounds, your ears flat against your head with overwhelming sensation.

Those little whines—soft, needy, helpless, so feline—only drove Sylus to chase more of those heavenly noises from your lips. His mouth returned to your clit, sucking the swollen bud between his lips while his finger worked inside you.

“Fuck… such a tight little pussy,” he moaned against you as your cunt clenched repeatedly around his finger. “So fucking tight. Virgin tight.” The word made you clench harder, and he groaned. “I’m going to have to prepare your tiny pussy for my cock, kitten. Have to stretch you out nice and slow so you can take me. So you can take my knot. So I can breed you all night long.”

Your whines grew louder at the mention of his knot and the thought of him breeding you, your heat-driven instincts screaming yes, need that, want to be knotted, bred, filled. The pleasure washed over you in waves as his finger curled inside you, finding that spot that made you see stars.

His fingers were so much bigger than yours—just one of his was more overwhelming, more delicious, reaching deeper than anything you’d ever done to yourself. And when he added a second finger, stretching you carefully while his tongue worked your clit, you thought you might die from how good it felt.

“That’s it,” he praised, his voice muffled against you. “Get used to being stretched. You’re doing so good for me. Such a good little kitty.”

The praise combined with the physical sensation made you purr loudly, your body going pliant and eager for him, desperate to please, desperate to be good for your alpha, your mate.

Your mate.

The realization should have overwhelmed you. Instead, it felt like coming home.

Your breath hitched as your body responded to him, your core fluttering and clenching around his fingers like it recognized him on instinct alone. A soft whimper slipped past your lips, tail curling against the sheets as your ears twitched, betraying just how sensitive you were to every careful movement he made. Sylus’s fingers moved slowly inside you, unhurried, reverent—like he was memorizing the way your body opened for him.

Without thinking, your hips began to sway into his touch, chasing the closeness, the intimacy of it. A low sound rumbled from his chest, warm and deep, his gaze softening even as it burned with want. He watched you like you were something precious—your trembling thighs, the way your hands fisted the sheets, the small, helpless movements of your tail when pleasure crept higher.

You panted softly as he added another finger, his touch patient, coaxing. He gave your body time, easing you open with gentle insistence until the stretch stopped being overwhelming and turned into something lush and intoxicating. Your whimpers grew quieter, needier, each one melting into the next as his fingers curled inside you with deliberate care.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed. His lips lingered, tender and consuming all at once, as if he was afraid of leaving even for a second. Your claws threaded into his hair, tugging him closer, your body responding to him as naturally as breathing. His thumb brushed your clit, and the kiss deepened—slow, intimate, devastating.

You gasped when his tongue slipped into your mouth, kissing you with desperate devotion. “That feels good, doesn’t it, baby girl? You like it when I touch you like this?” Sylus groaned—right as his thumb found your clit. You bucked into him, nodding frantically.

“Use your words, kitten,” he teased darkly.

“Yes—please, Sy, please… feels so good,” you whimpered, voice breaking. “Please...”

He kissed his way down your body again, making you whine and beg in soft, breathless sounds—even as his fingers kept thrusting inside you.

Sylus inhaled your scent as soon as he settled between your thighs, but he didn’t keep you waiting. He wet his lips, then dipped his head to drag his tongue in a slow stripe from your dripping folds to your clit.

“Fuck, Sylus!” you shrieked, hips lifting off the mattress.

Senseless, needy noises poured from your throat. Your hips stuttered against him, and he simply sighed—like there was nothing in this world he wanted more than to eat you out right here, right now.

He savored you, his mouth moving with unhurried devotion, his fingers still inside you, grounding you even as pleasure began to blur the edges of everything else. His free hand rested on your hip—not to hold you down, but to keep you close, to remind you he was right there.

Your name spilled from his mouth like a promise, and his from yours like a prayer. Tears stung your eyes as the feeling built, overwhelming in the sweetest way. His tongue moved with quiet confidence, his fingers curling just right, drawing soft, needy sounds from deep in your chest.

“It’s okay,” he murmured when your body tensed, sensing it instantly. “I’ve got you. Breathe kitten.”

You buried your face into the pillow, nodding weakly, trusting him completely.

When he returned to you, slower this time, more intentional, the pleasure bloomed again—gentler but deeper. You sighed at the same moment he did—yours high and breathy, his deep and dreamy. He lapped at you with clear intention, fucking you with slow, careful strokes of his fingers this time, keeping you just where you needed to be. Your hands found his hair, holding him there as if you might float apart otherwise.

“Oh—my god,” you whimpered, trembling hands gripping his silver hair with one hand while the other clamped over your mouth to silence yourself. “F-Fuck… Sy, f-fuck…”

He moaned into your pussy, lips sealing around your clit. You jerked at the sensation. “Fucking hell— you taste so good. You feel so good. You’re everything,” he groaned against you.

“Fuck, baby—oh my fucking god,” you cried out. He sucked lazily on your clit while curling his fingers inside you, then sucked harder as he circled your little bud with his tongue. His fingers moved faster, deeper, hitting your sweet spot over and over. You moaned his name between breathless mewls, now gripping his hair with both hands. “Feels so good Alpha…”

Your whole body trembled violently, heat spreading everywhere, your hips grinding helplessly into his face and hand.

“A-Ah! I’m coming—please, please—”

“Cum for me, kitten,” he murmured before sucking your clit again.

Your body snapped tight as your orgasm tore through you. Your mind exploded into blinding stars, pleasure crashing through your nerves so sharply you cried out his name. You trembled uncontrollably as you came against his mouth, your soul unwinding in his hands.

“You’re doing so well for me, kitty,” he whispered proudly as his fingers slowed, sliding out to softly rub your swollen slit while he kept licking your clit—guiding you gently through every last wave.

You were a sputtering, helpless mess, trembling as he pushed you right to the edge of overstimulation. As your senses returned in shaky pieces, you felt his fingers slip away from your heat. Your pussy clenched around nothing, desperate and empty. You felt like a fevered storm, soaked from the waist down, dripping onto the sheets, whimpering helplessly.

You needed him. Badly. Your pussy pulsed insistently—begging to be filled again. Begging for his cock.

You rolled onto your stomach with a breathless, needy mewl, burying your face into his pillow as it still held his scent. Your tail curled tight against the sheets, flicking weakly as your body trembled with lingering sensation. Your ears twitched at every sound behind you. You kept your eyes closed when you felt his hands on you again—large, warm, unmistakably steady as he lifted your hips and spread your legs wider, guiding you with quiet certainty.

A soft, startled sound slipped from you when Sylus leaned in and pressed his face between your thighs. He inhaled deeply as he spread your cheeks apart—slow, deliberate—his wolf committing your scent to memory. The reaction was immediate. Your body shuddered, slick gathering between your folds as your arousal bloomed again, stronger this time, your scent thickening and turning sweet. The low sound he made in response vibrated through the mattress, deep and instinctive, and the bed shifted beneath the force of it.

Then his mouth was on you.

Messy, hungry, unrestrained—his tongue dragged over every inch of sensitive skin between your thighs, saliva warm and unashamed. His hands locked firmly on your hips, holding you tilted just right, keeping you open and offered. His focus narrowed completely to your heat, to the way wetness welled and spilled freely now, mixing with his saliva and trailing down to soak the sheets beneath you. Your clit throbbed desperately, aching as each flick of his tongue passed just beside it, teasing your frayed nerves.

The vibrations of his quiet growls traveled straight through you, doubling every sensation. When his tongue finally circled your clit, a loud, broken cry tore from your throat, ears flattening as your back arched off the bed. He licked a slow, possessive stripe up through your folds, teasingly dipping his tongue into your needy entrance—just enough to make you gasp—before gliding back up. His tongue spread you open with wet warmth as his lips closed around your clit, sucking with reverent hunger.

You nearly sobbed at the feeling. Your whole body trembled, overwhelmed and desperate, instincts screaming. You needed more—needed him. Without thinking, you tried to grind yourself against his mouth, chasing friction like a needy little thing, but his arms slid around your thighs. His biceps caged your hips in place, holding you still with effortless strength.

Not cruel. Not rushed. Controlled.

“Taste so good, kitten… could eat this pussy all day,” he growled against you.

The man you loved more than anything was between your legs, tongue gliding slowly up and down your soaked slit, savoring you like prey he had no intention of letting go of. Every soft mewl, every helpless sound you made only urged him on. His mouth returned to your clit, sucking gently but deliberately, lips warm and persistent as though he wanted you to feel every second of it.

When he leaned in deeper and slipped his tongue into your entrance, your breath caught sharply. He curled it upward, brushing your inner walls with careful precision. Your fingers bunched the sheets in a tight, trembling grip, claws threatening to tear through the fabric—and he felt it. He repeated the motion, slower, firmer, intent sharpening.

You were undone beneath him. A needy, whimpering mess, hips betraying you as they strained uselessly against his hold. Soft, breathless cries spilled from your lips as he licked upward again, pressing his tongue against that sensitive spot inside you. Your vision blurred. Your hips bucked hard against his mouth, thighs clamping around his head as another orgasm crept frighteningly close.

Greed and desperation overtook you. Your hips pushed against his face to force his tongue deeper into your aching cunt.

“Sylus…” you moaned, voice breaking, raw and needy. You were so close—aching, trembling.

You moved your hips against him helplessly, fucking yourself on his tongue as he pressed firmly into that sensitive spot inside you. His thumb circled your clit in slow, perfect circles that made stars dance behind your eyes.

“Be a good girl and come for me,” he murmured, voice low and commanding, devotion wrapped tight around the words—before plunging his tongue back inside you.

That was all it took.

Your body gave in with a shattered cry, pleasure ripping through you as your vision went white and your ears rang. Your movements turned sloppy and uncoordinated as you came against his mouth, hips stuttering through the final waves. He stayed with you through it all, tongue soothing, lapping gently until the overstimulation made you twitch and whine. Only then did he ease back.

“You did so well, princess… so good to me. So beautiful. And you taste so good. So sweet,” he murmured against your inner thigh, voice thick with praise.

You whimpered softly at his praise, still oversensitive and aching, your body trembling in small aftershocks from the force of your climax. Your tail twitched weakly against the sheets, ears flicking as if every sound and touch reached you twice as strongly now. Before you could fully gather yourself, Sylus shifted above you, moving up your back with slow intention. He pressed soft, lingering kisses along your spine, each one warm and grounding, then across your shoulders, and finally to the curve of your neck.

Your breath hitched with every kiss. Your whimpers and broken little moans never quite stopped as he spoiled you—touching you like you were precious, worshipping you with a devotion that made your chest ache. His presence was steady and sure, his body a solid warmth over yours, anchoring you as much as he aroused you.

“I love you so much, sweet girl,” Sylus murmured, voice low and sincere as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. His nose brushed your skin, breathing you in like instinct demanded. “So responsive to me.”

The room felt heavy with anticipation, the air thick with scent—your arousal sweet and unmistakable, his deeper and warmer beneath it. You lay beneath him, every inch of you flushed and sensitive, nerves still singing from where he had touched you. His words settled deep inside you, soft and reverent, and you melted into the mattress, your usual hesitations crumbling under the weight of his affection.

“I love you too,” you breathed back, the confession barely louder than a whisper, as though saying it out loud might undo you.

His lips returned to your neck, open-mouthed kisses trailing along your skin in a slow, unhurried line. Each press lingered, deliberate, almost possessive without being rough. He moved from your neck to your shoulders, then along your jaw, his breath warm against your ear. You whimpered again, your body arching instinctively, hips pressing back against him without conscious thought. It felt natural—necessary—your feline instincts urging you closer, seeking friction, seeking him.

His skin was slick and hot against yours, his body radiating heat so intense it chased away the chill entirely. When you turned your head slightly to look at him, you caught the scent of yourself on his breath and lips, your arousal clinging to him. His eyes were dark and heavy-lidded as they met yours, pupils blown wide. Moments later, you felt the warm drip of his own arousal spill into the small dip of your back, making you shiver.

Sylus lined himself up slowly, carefully, and glided his cock through the slick cleft of your ass. Your breath caught as his tip dragged along your slit, spreading wetness everywhere. Your body trembled as precum leaked freely from him, smearing over your clit and folds, the sensation making your inner walls clench and flutter in response.

You squirmed helplessly beneath him, your body a writhing mess of need, tail curling tight as anticipation coiled low in your belly. Every slow roll of his hips made your breath hitch, made your muscles tense like you were bracing for something inevitable.

“Let’s move you around,” he murmured softly, hands sliding to your hips as he tried to guide you onto your back.

A needy mewl slipped from you before you could stop it, your body resisting the movement instinctively.

“Kitten?” he prompted gently, pausing.

You swallowed, voice trembling as the words spilled out. “Sy… I want you to take me from behind. Please. I need you to fuck me like this. I want my first time to be like this—with you. Please.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest, restrained but unmistakably wolfish. “That’s your heat talking,” he murmured, though his hands tightened slightly on your hips.

“Please,” you whimpered again, desperation bleeding through every word. “I can’t do this anymore. I need you. I need you so bad.” Your hips ground back against him, slick heat coating his length, the friction driving you nearly frantic. The tip of his cock brushed your entrance, teasing, while your clit throbbed with every small movement. Your mind felt hazy, overwhelmed by want.

“I don’t think your tiny virgin pussy can handle my cock,” he said quietly, voice husky, teasing—but there was hesitation there too. His grip tightened, steadying rather than forcing. “Especially not like this.”

You felt him breathing harder behind you, his control slipping inch by inch. His body was tense, like he was holding himself back with everything he had. You could feel the conflict in him—the way he wanted you, the way he was fighting to make this right.

“I can handle it,” you insisted, voice shaking but sincere. “Let me be your good kitten.”

Sylus stilled. His hand guided himself to your entrance, fingers firm and grounding as he rubbed the tip of his cock over your swollen clit. Your mind spiraled, the sensation overwhelming. Your breath broke into a soft cry, your back arching off the bed as sensation flooded you.

“Fuck, Sy, please,” you pleaded, your voice breaking. “I can’t do this anymore. I jus’ need you so bad. My pussy needs you. It needs to be filled with your cock and cum. Please, Daddy. Let me be your good kitten. Fill this little hole up, breed this pussy. My Alpha, please—”

Your words were a catalyst, sending Sylus over the edge. A deep growl tore from him as his hands gripped your hips, tilting them and spreading your legs wider. His rough, wide hands caressed your ass, his touch both gentle and commanding. He circled his tip around your entrance, the motion slow and deliberate, pulling desperate whines from your lips. You squirmed, your hips wiggling, trying to push back against him, but his hold was firm, his dominance undeniable.

“You’re so warm. Taste and smell so nice and ripe.” he murmured, breath ragged. “So ready for my cubs, kitten.”

You whimpered beneath him as his hips ground forward, his voice darker than you’d ever heard it, rough with instinct. The head of his cock brushed lower, grazing your entrance before he drew back slightly, watching the way your tight, little virgin pussy clenched, desperate and begging to be filled. His teeth clicked softly near your ear, sending goosebumps racing over your skin and making your hips jerk beneath his.

This time, when his tip pressed against your soaked centre, he hissed sharply. The instant his dewy tip pressed against your entrance, you mewled, your body tensing with anticipation. The fat head of his cock was a promise, a prelude to the fullness you craved. Your stomach seized, the wait torturous, your clit throbbing in time with your racing heart.

“Gonna take care of you, breed you so good.” He murmured, circling his hips again, the tip winding around your entrance, dipping between your folds. You lifted your hips instinctively to meet him, back arching under his chest as your body begged for what was coming.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he whispered, voice thick with longing. “Mine.”

“P-please, Daddy—” you croaked, the word tearing out of you in a thin, broken whisper. Your ears flattened instinctively as Sylus's heavy breathing filled the space behind you, each husky exhale brushing your skin and making your tail curl tight. His presence was overwhelming—solid and powerful, all wolfish heat and restrained hunger. His flushed cockhead pressed more firmly at your entrance, making it ache, while your clit pulsed painfully beneath him.

You trembled beneath him, every inch of you alive with need. Your tail curled tight against the sheets and then loosened again, betraying how restless you were. He covered you completely, his heat bleeding into you, chasing every last trace of cold from your skin until there was nothing left but warmth and want. You writhed softly, helplessly, yearning for him to fill you—yearning to be so full of him that the world blurred into white and there was only Sylus.

His nose brushed along the side of your neck for a brief second, an instinctive nuzzle that made your breath catch. Like he had to breathe you in, like he had to ground himself before he moved.

“Ah… such a pretty, tiny pussy,” he heaved, voice thick with desire and something darker beneath it—something wolfish and barely leashed. “Can’t wait to breed this tight little pussy all night long.”

The words went straight through you, a hot shiver tearing down your spine. You whimpered, and your body clenched around nothing, begging.

A broken gasp burst from your lips when he finally slipped the tip of his cock inside. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t careless. It was slow and heavy, the kind of pressure that demanded your entire body’s attention. You felt him shift behind you, sitting up just enough to look down, his eyes locked on the place where your body tried to accommodate him.

“Ohhh—” the sound that left you wasn’t even fully a moan, more like something pulled from deep in your chest. Relief and ache tangled together as you relished the feeling of him, the pressure turning into bliss as the head of his length spread you open. It felt like he was parting you slowly, shaping you with patience, like he refused to hurt you even while his need raged.

Your walls stretched in a slow, aching attempt to wrap around him, but it was clear from the start it wouldn’t be easy. He was overwhelming—thick and wide even at the tip, the stretch made sharper by how desperate and worked-up you already were. A harsh hiss slipped through his teeth when he had to pull back slightly, easing you open with controlled restraint, cock throbbing inside your center in time with the fluttering convulsions of your walls.

A shaky whine spilled from you as he pushed forward again, the stretch searing through you. His veins dragged along your walls in a way that felt intimate and claiming, like he was molding you to him, pressing himself into every place your body could offer. Your claws flexed against the sheets, leaving faint marks in the fabric as you tried to steady yourself.

He went deeper. And deeper.

A long, fragile sound broke from your throat as you shuddered, overwhelmed by how much of him there was. He was so big. So impossibly thick. You felt split open around him in the most helpless way, your body trembling as it struggled and then clung, like your instincts didn’t know whether to fight or surrender.

“Sy, I can’t—” you mewled, voice cracking into a needy, feline sound that made his breath hitch. “S-so big… t-too b-big…”

He didn’t answer immediately.

His hands slid down to your ass, spreading you open carefully—just to see you, to understand exactly how your body was taking him. His gaze was intense, pupils blown wide, the wolf in him watching the way your dripping cunt fought to accept him. His jaw flexed, a quiet tremor of restraint rolling through him as if he was holding back everything he wanted to do.

“Poor kitty,” he sighed, voice rough with a mix of amusement and aching tenderness. “So tiny…” His thumb brushed your hip, a gentle stroke that softened the words. “My pretty kitten can barely take me.”

Slowly—carefully—he pushed just a little further, inch by inch, his pace controlled like he’d rather break himself than break you. His breath ghosted over your cheek as he leaned down, voice lowering into something intimate.

“You can take it,” he murmured. “You’re doing so, so good for me.” Another slow push. “Such a good little kitten.”

And then he kissed your cheek—soft and sweet, a tender mark of love right in the middle of all that heat.

“It’s so big,” you mewled again, hips stuttering helplessly beneath him. Your tail flicked once in frantic need, your ears flattening as your body tried to adjust around his size. “Ah… Daddy…”

His grip tightened slightly—not harsh, but firm enough to hold you steady, to keep you from slipping away from the pressure you were begging for. The wolf in him rumbled low, but the man you loved stayed careful, coaxing your body instead of forcing it.

“You can do it, kitty,” Sylus insisted, voice a low growl right by your ear, warm breath washing over your skin. “You’ll take daddy’s cock… like the good little kitten you are.”

The stretch burned, sharp and intense… but it was intoxicating, too. Your eyes fluttered shut, lips parting on helpless sounds as he worked himself deeper, your pussy fluttering around him in a desperate attempt to adjust. Your whimpers turned breathless and pathetic, sweet and needy, the kind of sounds that felt too honest to stop.

He paused again, just long enough for your walls to soften around him, just long enough for your body to stop resisting and start learning him.

“Such a good girl,” he breathed.

Your body clenched hard at the praise, slick gathering faster as if your cunt had decided to reward him for being gentle.

You took a deep, shaky breath—and when he pressed forward again, it was different. He slid inside far enough for the swelling near the base of his cock to begin spreading you wider, and your exhale shattered into a cry when you felt your core strain around his knot. Your thighs shook violently, claws scraping at the sheets as your body tried to process the fullness.

Sylus’ breathing came faster and hotter, panting against your back. You felt drops of sweat fall from his chin as he hovered over you, shaking with restraint. His hands stayed on your hips—steady, grounding—while the tip of his cock nudged deep, brushing that sensitive bundle of nerves inside you that made your vision blur.

“Alpha,” you mewled, voice trembling, small and desperate. “T-too big…”

A broken sound tore from him, animalistic and raw, like the wolf was slipping through the cracks of his control. He shuddered over you, hips trembling as he fought himself, jaw clenched so tight you could hear his teeth grind.

He held himself there—still, strained—breathing hard, like he was forcing patience into his bones.

Then his voice softened, roughened by devotion. “Look at me,” he whispered, breath hot against your ear. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Your throat tightened painfully at the tenderness in it. It didn’t make the need smaller. It made it worse—because it reminded you this wasn’t just lust. This was Sylus. Your Sylus.

And then his restraint snapped, not into cruelty, but into aching surrender.

He thrust forward harder, hips snapping with a force that drove him all the way in. Filling you to the brim.

You cried out, body arching off the bed as the fullness stole your breath. Your toes curled, eyes squeezing shut, and your pussy convulsed around him like it couldn’t decide whether to clamp down or melt. You felt his precum mix with your slick, hot and deep, and tears spilled freely down your cheeks—overwhelmed by the stretch, the relief, the trust, the love tangled into it all.

For a moment, you were suspended in pure sensation—shaking, full, completely his.

You felt stretched perfectly around him, filled so deeply your entire body buzzed. And as your walls slowly softened, adjusting around his thickness, the overwhelming fullness began to bloom into something sweeter. Deeper.

You clenched around him without meaning to.

Sylus groaned low, the sound vibrating through your spine. His face tightened with restraint as he leaned over you, his hands sliding down your waist and then kneading your ass cheeks, touch possessive but gentle.

“Fuck,” he hissed, voice strained. “So fucking tight…” He dragged a shaky breath in. “You look so beautiful like this—taking me all the way… my good kitten.”

“Please… I need you,” you whimpered, voice breaking as your pussy pulsed around him, needy and greedy, refusing to let him go. Your tail curled tighter, trembling with every beat of your heart. “Please Sy…”

He pulled out slowly—so slowly it felt cruel. The empty ache hit you instantly, making you whine, your hips chasing him without permission. “Such a needy pussy,” Sylus groaned, and then he thrust back in again, hips snapping forward hard enough to make your whole body slump into the mattress.

The first thrusts were deliberate—strong enough to make your breasts bounce, deep enough to knock breath from your lungs. Each snap of his hips drew something new out of you: a breathless mewl, a whine, a broken plea you couldn’t hold back. Your ears flattened and your tail flicked in frantic rhythm, your body reacting like instinct had stolen every last ounce of pride. The sounds filled the room quickly—soft, frantic, embarrassingly sweet.

Sylus groaned, the wolf in him practically purring at the way you responded. But his hands stayed careful on you, holding you steady, guiding the pace so it didn’t steal too much from you too fast.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and thick with approval as he pressed his mouth to the back of your shoulder, kissing you like he couldn’t help it. “Sing for me, kitten…”

And with every thrust that followed, you did—your body trembling, heart open, love and heat crashing together until there was nothing left in you but him.

“Ah—ah, fuck, daddy… oh my god—” you hiccuped, your voice breaking into breathless little sounds as Sylus moved his hips slowly but firmly behind you. Each thrust sent hot, lightning-sharp jolts through your body, pleasure blooming and spreading until it made your limbs feel weightless. Your pussy pulsed greedily around him, still struggling to adjust to his girth, but the stretch became more bearable with every careful push—turning from sharp overwhelm into something lush, intoxicating, almost addictive as your body began to surrender.

You didn’t just take him—you learned him. Like your instincts were wrapping around his, yielding not out of weakness, but because it was him. Because it was love. Because your body trusted him even when it trembled.

His pace quickened, hips snapping against yours with growing urgency, rough enough to make the bedframe rock beneath you. The slap of skin against skin echoed through the room, obscene and steady. Each deep thrust dragged a helpless sound from your throat as he drove into you again and again, filling you so thoroughly it stole your breath every single time. His palm slid down to your ass, spreading you open as he pushed in fully, claiming every inch with a possessive kind of care that made your chest tighten.

You cried out when your body clenched around him, instinctively welcoming him deeper, the pressure making your eyes squeeze shut as if you could feel him everywhere.

Your tail flicked erratically behind you, betraying how close you were to losing yourself. Your ears twitched at every low sound he made—every ragged breath, every restrained growl that vibrated through his chest and into your spine. He held you firmly in place, his cock stretching you open until it left you dizzy and breathless, your thighs trembling with the effort of keeping up. His hands tightened on your hips, guiding you back onto him with slow, deliberate thrusts—still controlled, still watching you, feeling you, reading every shiver as if your body spoke a language only he understood.

Even now, even like this, Sylus took his time in the moments that mattered, pausing just enough for you to breathe, to soften, to take him fully, his restraint trembling at the edge of snapping.

“That’s it,” he groaned, forehead pressing briefly to your back. “My good girl. My kitten.”

The praise hit you like a kiss to the soul. Your walls fluttered around him, greedy and tight, and you whimpered helplessly.

His voice softened just enough to make it ache. “All for me.”

He kept you pinned with one broad hand at your lower back, forcing your hips up while pressing your chest firmly into the mattress, holding you exactly where he wanted you. There was no escape from him—only sensation. You were a mess beneath his weight, tears sliding down your cheeks, drool collecting at the corner of your mouth, broken little mewls spilling freely as his rhythm became more demanding, more relentless… but never careless.

His breathing came faster and faster, hot pants washing over your back. Drops of sweat slid from his chin, landing warm against your skin. You could feel yourself burning just as hot, your entire body glowing with it—especially when his tip nudged deep, brushing that sensitive bundle of nerves inside you that made your vision blur.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmured, voice thick, almost wrecked, as he rolled his hips deeper into you—slow for one thrust, almost reverent… and then firm again.

“Y—yes,” you gasped, barely holding yourself together. “‘S too much—Sy—feels s’good,” you mewled, voice breaking as your hands clawed the sheets, nails catching and scraping. Your back arched instinctively, pushing you closer, begging without restraint. Your tail curled tight and then flicked again, like your body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to hide or be claimed harder.

He chuckled softly—low, intimate—before leaning down until his breath brushed your ear and his nose grazed your neck in something instinctive and wolfish, a brief nuzzle that made you shiver all over.

“Good,” he whispered. “Let it consume you, kitten.”

His pace quickened. Thrusts grew rougher, deeper—driven by something hungry and unyielding that made the wolf in him bleed through the cracks. The wet sounds of your body filled the room, obscene and overwhelming, every slick drag and blunt press pushing you closer to the edge. His grip tightened, grounding you, keeping you right where he wanted you, refusing to let you drift anywhere but into him.

“Sy—Sylus…” you mewled breathlessly, voice dissolving into something small and desperate. “Feels so good…”

His thrusts turned relentless—punishing in the best way, stealing your breath, pulling your sounds from your throat until they became high, helpless cries. Your body trembled, completely at his mercy, every nerve alight. Your pussy fluttered around him like it couldn’t stop reacting, clenching greedily every time he bottomed out.

“That’s it,” he murmured, and this time his voice was almost gentle, thick with approval and want, like he was trying to soothe you even as he ruined you. “Come for daddy.”

The coil then snapped violently. You came undone around him with a sob, your mewls breaking into a raw, desperate wail as pleasure tore through you. Your whole body convulsed, thighs shaking, walls clenching hard around his cock. Sylus cursed low—guttural, wrecked—slamming deep once, twice, before he held you there, buried fully inside you as he spilled hot, his grip ironclad on your hips.

For a moment, there was nothing but ragged breathing. Your body trembled beneath his, overstimulated and shaking apart, your tail going taut and then twitching weakly as you tried to recover.

His thumb traced slow, grounding lines up your spine—firm and reassuring, a gentle reminder that you were safe. That he had you.

“That’s my good girl,” Sylus murmured against your shoulder, voice possessive and warm. “My kitten sounded so beautiful when she came for me.”

Then, Sylus shifted back just enough to draw his knot from your entrance a fraction. The movement made you whine, your walls clenching instinctively as if to keep him there. You felt a warm, generous mouthful of saliva slip from his lips and coat your slick, swollen entrance—his breath shuddering as he watched it, as if the sight alone tightened his control into something thin and trembling. His next push slipped his thickness back into you with sinful ease, and when his hips finally pressed flush against yours, he collapsed over you again with a groan. One elbow sank into the pillow beside your head while the other held your hips tilted just right, keeping you offered as he emptied himself deep—so deep it felt like it kissed the very center of you.

“So tight,” he rasped, voice shaking. “So good… mine.”

“Daddy—ah!” you cried, breathing matching his as his knot throbbed inside your walls. The stretch bordered on uncomfortable, but your body still pulsed with pleasure, your clit throbbing between your thighs like a desperate plea for relief. Your nipples pressed hard against the bed beneath you, sensitivity spiking with every shallow breath.

It took him a minute—he stayed buried, panting, trembling, fighting to stay gentle even as his instincts urged him to claim you harder. But soon Sylus shifted again, cock and knot pushing and pulling inside you with slow insistence, and your breath caught sharply when the heavy grind pressed into your g-spot like mortar and pestle, crushing pleasure into you until you felt faint.

“F-fuck…” you choked, voice barely there.

You hadn’t even realized his knot had receded enough for him to move properly again until he drew back and pushed right back into you with a slick sound loud enough to make heat crawl up your cheeks. Your ears flicked in embarrassed sensitivity, tail twitching weakly as if the sound alone made you feel exposed.

His hand came up to cradle your head, fingers threading gently through your hair—soothing you, grounding you—while his cock pulsed deep inside you, still hard, still claiming. He pressed a kiss to your temple, slow and warm, as if he couldn’t help himself.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he moved again, hips snapping forward, driving into you with renewed force.

Soon the only sounds filling the room were the slap of his hips each time they met your ass, the wet squelch of him sinking deep, and the occasional broken crack of your mewls—soft, choked, sweet. Sylus’ growls threaded between them, low and vibrating, a wolf’s satisfaction wrapped in human restraint.

You whimpered helplessly, mind fogged, body trembling… but it wasn’t enough. Not when it was him. Not when you wanted to be claimed over and over again until the ache turned into something permanent, something that lived under your skin.

Every thrust, every sharp slap of his hips against your ass, sent sensation ricocheting through you. Your thighs shook, your body tightening around him as another coil started to form—unbidden and overwhelming. Your heat pooled low and heavy in your belly, thick and demanding, your clit throbbing with every drag of his cock against that aching place inside you.

You could barely breathe. Barely think.

Your entire world narrowed down to the weight of him pressed tight to your back, his hand in your hair, his warmth surrounding you like a shield. Even his scent—wild and comforting—wrapped around your senses until there was nothing left of you that wasn’t tuned to him.

And when his fingers slipped down to your clit again, rubbing rough, careless circles, the pleasure hit sharp and blinding. Your moans broke apart into desperate, choked sounds, your body trembling uncontrollably as another orgasm surged up without warning.

When it hit, it tore through you completely. Your body convulsed, a fresh wave spilling out as you cried out, overwhelmed, tears sliding down your cheeks. Your pussy clamped and fluttered, milking him greedily as if it couldn’t stop.

“Fuck,” Sylus groaned, his rhythm faltering as he felt you fall apart again beneath him—his breath breaking, his control slipping into a low, shaking sound that rumbled like a growl against the back of your neck.

And still, even as he wrecked you, his hand tightened gently in your hair—steadying, soothing—because no matter how wild the wolf became, he never stopped holding you like you were his heart.

You could barely think. Your whole body trembled beneath him, thighs quivering uncontrollably, head spinning from the dizzying mix of overstimulation and pleasure— from the way he had filled you so completely it felt like your body didn’t know what to do with the fullness. Your sounds came out wrecked and broken, reduced to breathless cries that cracked in your throat. Tears kept sliding down your cheeks, warm and helpless, as if your body couldn’t hold anything back anymore—not sensation, not emotion.

And then Sylus slid out of you completely. The sudden emptiness made you whimper instantly, your walls clenching around nothing, your tail giving a weak, frantic twitch against the sheets. Your legs trembled, trying to close on instinct, but there was nothing there to hold onto anymore—nothing except the aching need he had carved into you.

It didn’t last long. Sylus’ hands gripped your hips and he manhandled you gently, shifting you with that careful strength of his—wolfish power wrapped in devotion—as he flipped you onto your back. Your ears flicked, oversensitive to the sound of the sheets rustling, to the heavy way he breathed above you, to the low growl that lingered in his chest like he couldn’t bear the distance.

“I need to see you,” he groaned breathlessly, eyes dark and hungry as they locked onto yours. “Need to kiss you.”

His arms circled around your back and he claimed your mouth in a heated kiss that stole what little air you had left. It wasn’t just lust—it felt like he was trying to touch your soul, trying to say everything he didn’t have the courage to confess with words. His mouth moved against yours like he couldn’t get enough, like kissing you was the only thing that made him feel grounded. And just as fast as he had left you, he entered you again.

You gasped sharply into his mouth as he pushed back into your tight, soaked heat, the stretch blooming into something deep and dizzying. Your claws curled reflexively against his shoulders, holding onto him like you were afraid you’d float apart otherwise. He sank all the way inside with a slow, steady push, and the sound you made was halfway between a sob and a moan, your body instantly pulsing around him in greedy, helpless recognition.

Sylus shuddered, a low rumble vibrating through his chest as if the wolf in him had settled the moment he was back where he belonged.

Once he was fully inside again, he rolled his hips forward in one slow, deep stroke. You cried out, back arching off the bed as the motion dragged through you inch by inch, intimate and consuming. His thrusts stayed careful—controlled—slow enough that you felt every ridge and vein, every deep press that made your vision blur.

He didn’t pull out far. Only enough to rock inside you, gentle and achingly deep, as if he wanted the closeness more than anything. Like he didn’t want to be separated from you even for a second.

He kissed your lips again—then your cheek, your jaw, his nose brushing your skin in little, instinctive nuzzles that made your stomach twist. His breath was warm and damp, his scent thick around you—wolf, desire, and something softer beneath it that felt like home.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against your mouth. “So warm… so tight… so good for me.”

Your ears flicked and your tail curled weakly as the praise sank into you, settling somewhere deep in your chest. You whimpered, eyes glossy as you stared up at him, your heart pounding too hard to feel real.

And he kept moving—slow, deep, worshipful—like he was savoring every second of being inside you. The angle was perfect. So deep, so consuming, that Sylus gradually picked up his pace, leaving you a breathless, whimpering mess beneath him. His strokes lengthened, hips rolling forward in long, languid thrusts that made the bed creak softly. The room filled with the wet, desperate sound of slick skin meeting slick skin again and again, every noise making your cheeks burn and your body clench tighter.

Every time he sank into you, his pelvic bone dragged against your throbbing clit, and you cried out his name in pure, helpless ecstasy—louder than you meant to, more needy than you could stop. “Sylus—!”

“You’re taking me so well, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice warm and adoring as he leaned down, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His lips brushed your skin, his breath shuddering like he couldn’t stop himself from breathing you in. “Doing so… so good for me.”

Soft grunts fell from him whenever he hit that specific deep spot inside you, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as pleasure tore through him. You whimpered when his mouth returned to yours, capturing your lips in a heated, dizzying kiss that made your head spin harder.

One of his hands slipped down between your bodies, finding your clit with practiced ease. He rubbed two slow, deliberate circles over your sensitive nub—testing, coaxing.

You jerked against him with a sharp gasp. Sylus’ eyes darkened even more, his breath hitching as he watched you react.

When he slid into a hidden pressure point deep in your core—paired with the relentless way his fingers circled your clit—you clenched around him like a vise. Your eyes rolled back as pleasure surged violently through you, overwhelming and new, almost frightening in how fast it built. Your whimpers climbed higher, turning into breathless, broken cries as he picked up his pace, fucking you deeper, the sound of his breathing growing ragged.

“I love you, kitten,” Sylus moaned, lips curling into a soft, tender smile as he watched your face contort—so overwhelmed, so beautifully undone just for him. The words sounded like truth, like devotion spilling out without permission. Filth and praise slipped from his mouth like honey, messy and reverent all at once. “This pussy was made for me.”

You shuddered, eyes stinging again, heart clenching painfully at how sweet and possessive it felt coming from him.

His mouth covered yours again, swallowing every little noise you made, smothering your trembling breaths. Your body trembled under him, tail flicking weakly as the tightness in your belly returned, coiling and pulling tighter with every thrust, every touch, every kiss he gave you.

Your whimpers and gasps grew louder as ecstasy flooded your senses. Sylus’ hands couldn’t get enough of you—sliding over your hips, your waist, your back—touching you like he wanted to memorize you, like he was terrified this wasn’t real. His palms lingered, his thumbs stroking soothing lines that contradicted the hungry way his hips drove into you.

You whimpered at the speed of his thrusts, feeling another orgasm build rapidly. Your legs locked around his hips, clinging to him, pulling him closer. Sylus felt it too—the way you squeezed around him with every stroke—so he drove harder into your heat, shifting his hips with careful precision, searching for the exact spot he knew would shatter you.

Your arms trembled as they wrapped around him, nails digging into his back. It earned a deep, helpless groan from him—half pleasure, half restraint snapping. The coil in your belly tightened, tingling down your legs, trembling on the edge of breaking.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice strained as though the words physically hurt him. He cursed softly when you tightened around him on purpose, your body greedily clenching as if to keep him trapped inside you forever.

“Please…” you moaned, mind hazy with want, eyes glossy as you looked up at him. Your ears flicked forward, your body practically pleading without even moving.

“You want to cum, sweetheart?” he asked, voice thick, tender, wrecked.

You nodded frantically, biting your lip as your body trembled beneath him. You bucked up instinctively, chasing him, nails sinking into his skin. His hand moved back to your clit, pressure firm and perfect, while his other hand found yours. He intertwined your fingers, squeezing once—an anchor—before pinning them gently to the bed like he didn’t want you to get lost in it.

He rubbed your clit with slow insistence, just enough to drag the pleasure higher and higher until you couldn’t breathe properly.

“Cum for me, kitten,” Sylus demanded softly, voice warm against your cheek, more devotion than command.

And when he nudged that one perfect spot inside you—paired with his deep voice and the way his eyes never left your face—you exploded. You shattered, coming undone so violently it ripped a cry of his name from your throat. Blood rushed in your ears, drowning out the sound of your own sobbing breaths. Sylus crashed his lips onto yours, swallowing every broken noise as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear them, as if he wanted them all for himself.

Your head fell back, back arching sharply, your tail going rigid for a second as your body twisted under the force of release. Pleasure rolled through you in heavy waves, leaving you trembling and helpless.

Sylus groaned into your ear as your walls spasmed around him, clenching desperately, begging—needing him to stay, to fill you, to never let you go.

“Fuck…” he moaned, pushing himself up as he thrust harder, deeper, the head of his cock hitting your spot repeatedly. His voice cracked with need. “I need to fill you up again, kitten.”

You were dazed, trembling, but you still nodded vigorously, whining as overstimulation mixed with want. Your pussy squeezed around him in greedy pulses, like it was answering him. “Please…”

His hips stuttered, thrusts turning sloppy as the pleasure overtook him, his control finally slipping through his fingers. Then—with a raw, broken moan—he spilled inside you again.

As he came, his mouth moved to the junction between your neck and shoulder. His canines sank into your skin in a marking bite, instinctive and claiming. His teeth stayed embedded for a moment, and somehow you barely felt pain—only a hot rush of oversensitivity and the dizzying intimacy of being chosen. Being kept.

A soft, shocked sound left you—half moan, half whine—as he held you through it, encouraging your hips to grind against him even as his knot kept you plugged, sealing him inside while he emptied against your cervix again.

You mewled at the sensation, warmth flooding your core and spreading thickly through your walls as he stayed buried deep. Your ears fluttered with every sound he made, and when your hearing finally cleared—when the blood rushing through your ears calmed—you could hear him.

Soft, happy growls. Content, satisfied noises that vibrated against your skin while his tongue soothed the indents of his teeth. His canines still nipped you now and then, more like affectionate little reminders than anything else, and you found yourself smiling through the haze, relaxing completely against him.

Sylus licked the sweat from your skin, nuzzling you happily, his nose brushing your cheek and temple like a wolf who couldn’t stop checking that you were still there—still his.

Everything stayed blurred and soft when you came back to yourself fully. Your body ached, but in the sweetest way—completely relaxed, thoroughly ruined, glowing with an exhaustion that felt like bliss. Your tail lay limp against the sheets now, finally still, and your ears only twitched faintly when Sylus shifted above you.

Once you’d both caught your breath, Sylus leaned his forehead against yours, eyes softening into blissful awe. He kissed you tenderly—slow and careful, like he was savoring the simple fact that he could.

“That was…” he breathed, smiling down at you like he couldn’t believe you were real—your hair tousled, skin flushed, lips swollen from his kisses. His thumb brushed gently under your eye, wiping away the last trace of tears.

“So good,” you rasped, voice hoarse and hazy with pleasure. “Perfect.” You cleared your throat softly, smiling up at him even as you still trembled.

Your skin was sweaty and sticky, but he didn’t care. He looked at you like you were beautiful in a way that hurt. You felt his knot soften slightly, his cock still half-hard inside you, and he pulled you closer, hands roaming lovingly over every inch of skin he could reach. He was still dazed too—still caught on how breathtaking you looked when you came apart for him… because of him.

Overwhelmed with affection, you cupped his cheeks in both hands, thumbs stroking softly over his flushed skin, and pulled him down into another kiss. This one was slow, tender, deep—full of emotion. Full of everything the two of you had been too afraid to say.

And that was how the rest of the night went. Tangled limbs, soft kisses, quiet nuzzles, Sylus’ warm hands tracing you like he never wanted to stop. Your purr-like little sighs when he holds you close, his low, satisfied rumbles when you melted into him. Intimate touches that weren’t rushed, weren’t desperate—just yours.

You felt loved. Safe. Claimed in the gentlest way. At home in his embrace.

[hunterrami]

sylus mc fluff

[yurblowko]

A what for Christmas?

Summary - After seeing how you treat the strays he brings in Enjin decides to gift you one of your own.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Content Warning(s), MDNI - SMUT, dom! Enjin, fem! reader, unprotected sex, fucking with the goal of pregnancy, swearing.

Word count - 1.8k

Authors Note - Definitely not my best work- but HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!

The air in No Man’s Land was a permanent stench of dust, despair, and decay. You adjusted the mask covering your face, eyes scanning the jagged landscape of forgotten things. This had to be the most insane Christmas errand ever braving the deadly landscape to find a gift.

Not just any gift. A gift for Rudo.

Your feet crunched on shattered ceramics and bleached bone-like plastic. You were looking for something specific, guided by the memory of Rudo’s single-minded obsession. The way his entire being seemed to vibrate at the mere whisper of “ice cream,” and the near-religious devotion he showed the Cleaners’ ancient, wheezing ice cream maker. It was his happy place.

“There,” you muttered, spotting a gleam under a broken chair. You shoved the debris aside, revealing the remains of a kitchen appliance. With careful hands, you pried a component free: a chrome freezing canister, dented but intact, its interior still perfectly smooth. It was a replacement part, or maybe an upgrade. Perfect. You wiped the grime off with your sleeve, a smile touching your eyes. “This should make it run smoother.” You mumble to yourself.

─────────────────────

The Cleaners’ HQ was a haven of warmth and quiet hum compared to the outside. In your snug corner, surrounded by wrapping paper, you laid out your gifts.

Rudo’s chrome canister part for the Ice cream machine.

A beautiful, ‘high’ quality hairbrush for Riyo, whose love for hair knew no end.

A specialized polishing kit for Zanka, for the meticulous care of his beloved Jinki.

A small, intricate music box for Amo; when wound, it tinkled out a gentle lullaby.

A candle scented with dried, calming herbs for Eishia, for when her nerves get the best of her.

And for Fu, a simple, handmade book titled “Chores: A Definitive Guide,” filled with clear, numbered lists and checkboxes for when he felt adrift without orders.

You were carefully wrapping the canister when Semiu padded over, a cup of something warm in her hands. She watched your meticulous tape-work.

“You went into Mono for that?” she asked, her voice soft.

“Just the edges,” you said, which was a half-truth. “He loves that old machine so much. It deserves an upgrade.”

Semiu sat beside you, watching as you moved to the hairbrush. “You’ve really thought about all of them.”

“They’re good kids,” you said simply, tying a ribbon around the music box. “They deserve to know someone sees them. Not just as fighters, or Strays, but… them.”

Christmas morning was a riot of controlled chaos. Paper flew, whoops of joy echoed in the stone halls.

Zanka was already meticulously examining each polish and cloth in his kit, a rare smile on his face. Riyo gasped, running the brush through a strand of her hair with reverence. "It's so smooth," she whispered, her eyes shining. Fu was already starting to complete the chores within his book, a look of relief smoothing his usual furrowed brow. "Chore one: inventory the pantry," he murmured, already reaching for a pencil.

Amo had wound the music box and placed it in the center of the common table. Its soft, tinkling melody wove through the noise, and for a moment, everyone quieted to listen. Eishia, sitting a little apart, held the unlit candle under her nose, breathing in the herbal scent with her eyes closed, a slow exhale of peace leaving her.

But Rudo was uncharacteristically still. He held the chrome canister in both hands, turning it over and over. He didn't whoop or cheer. He just stared at it, his expression unreadable beneath his unruly mop of hair.

The others, caught up in their own joy, didn't notice the shift in him. But you did. Semiu did, her gaze flicking between Rudo’s frozen form and your own watchful face.

Slowly, as if in a trance, Rudo stood. The paper that had cradled the canister drifted to the floor like a fallen leaf. He didn't look at anyone. He padded out of the common room, an awkward silence descended, pierced only by the final, faltering notes of Amo’s music box. Riyo stopped brushing her hair. Zanka’s polishing cloth lay forgotten in his lap.

"Did he... not like it?" Riyo asked.

Before you could answer, a new sound began. It started as a distant sound but soon the frantic scrape of metal on metal echoed through the halls. You exchanged a look with Semiu, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. "I think it's safe to say he loves it," you said softly.

Just then, Enjin strode into the common room. He took in the scene stopping beside you, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable but not unkind. "So, that's what the noise is about," he stated, nodding toward the doorway. "You braved the trench for that part you mentioned, didn't you?"

You just shrugged, not wanting to admit the full extent of your trek.

Enjin watched you for a long moment, his eyes taking in the scattered wrapping paper and the specific, personal nature of each gift. A smile touched Enjin's lips. "You know," he said, his voice low enough that only you and Semiu could hear over the distant clatter, "you'd make a good mother….I could give you a kid for christmas."

Your laugh was a sharp, surprised bark of amusement, quickly muffled by your hand. The sheer, unadulterated absurdity of his statement hung in the air between you. Enjin, the ever so laid back leader of Team Akuta, was suggesting…giving you a kid for christmas. It was so out of character and so wildly inappropriate, that it circled back around to being hilarious.

"You're ridiculous," you finally managed, shaking your head, the smile still tugging at your lips. "A child? For Christmas?"

Enjin's smirk widened, the horizontal dimples beside his lips deepening. He didn't deny it. He just watched you, his yellow eyes glinting with a light that was both teasing and intensely, unnervingly serious. "I'm just saying," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the stone floor, "I'm a man of my word."

Semiu, who had been observing the exchange with the quiet wisdom of a cat, chose that moment to make a graceful exit, muttering something about checking on Rudo's "culinary progress." You were grateful for the privacy, even as a strange, heated tension coiled in your gut. The joke was over you thought, but Enjin still held that look in his eyes.

─────────────────────

In Enjin’s room, the sound of skin against skin, the bed's frantic groan, and the choked, broken sounds you couldn't hold back resonate through the small room. He was fucking you like he was trying to forge a new reality inside you, literally. His large tattooed hands gripping your hips, pulling you back to meet him. The joke had long since evaporated, burned away by the heat of his body and the raw, desperate need pouring off him in waves.

"Enjin," you choked out, your fingers digging into the sheets beneath you. His name was a prayer on your lips.

His response was a low growl against the back of your neck, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin there. "Say it again," he mustered, his voice thick with exertion. He shifted his angle, hitting a spot inside you that made your vision white out. "Who's giving you a kid for Christmas?"

The question, so insane hours ago, now felt like the most important thing in the world. It was the axis this entire frantic moment spun on. You couldn't form words, only a broken cry as he drove into you again, harder, deeper. His hand slid from your hip, wrapping around to press flat against your lower belly, as if he could feel himself inside you, as if he was trying to push his claim even deeper.

"You," you finally gasped, the word torn from you. "You are. Enjin."

His response was a sound of triumph, that vibrated through your entire body. The hand on your belly pressed harder, a possessive brand, as his rhythm became punishing, erratic. He was chasing something, and chasing it with a single-minded focus. Chasing the chance to leave a piece of himself so deep inside you it could never be dug out.

The world narrowed to the slap of his skin against yours, the bruising grip of his fingers, and the overwhelming, intoxicating scent of him, sweat, cigarette smoke, and something uniquely Enjin that filled your lungs until you felt drunk with it. Every nerve ending was alight, screaming. The pressure coiled in your gut, tight and hot, a winding spring ready to snap.

"Again," he grunted, his voice a raw command against your ear. "Say my name."

"Enjin- fuck!," you sobbed, the sound ripped from your throat as he slammed into you, hitting that perfect, devastating spot again. The spring inside you snapped. Your vision dissolved into a blinding, silent flash of white, and your body bowed, a strangled cry tearing from your lips as waves of pleasure crashed over you, so intense they were almost painful. You felt yourself clench around him, sucking him further in.

Your release seemed to instantly trigger his. With a final thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and stilled, a deep, guttural groan tearing from his chest as he pulsed inside you, hot and endless. His weight collapsed onto your back, pinning you to the mattress, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as he fought for breath. The room was silent except for the ragged sound of your gasps, the frantic beat of your own heart a drum against your ribs.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You were a tangled, sweaty heap, the air thick with the scent of sex. Slowly, he shifted, his tattooed arms wrapping around your waist to roll you both onto your sides. He didn't pull out. He stayed buried inside you, ensuring nothing spilled out of you yet.

He held you like that for a long time, the only sound the slowing rhythm of your shared breaths. The frantic energy had bled away, leaving a humming stillness in its wake. Finally, he shifted, pulling out of you with a soft, squelch that made you shiver. He pulled you further back against his chest, your bodies still flush and damp.

His lips brushed the shell of your ear, his voice a low, contented rumble that vibrated through you. “Told you I was a man of my word.” There was no boast in it, just that easy, unwavering confidence.

You let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sigh, the absurdity of it all washing over you again, tempered now by a bone-deep satisfaction. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” he conceded, nuzzling the nape of your neck. His hand splayed over your lower stomach. “But I think… I just provided a pretty Dam’n good Christmas gift.”

You snorted, elbowing him gently in the ribs. He just chuckled, the sound warm and rich.

[eclipsehashira]

types, promises and hopes ; ENJIN

➴ summary: based on this ask, for @gentlenightmare (also, i love your username!)

➴ pairing: enjin x fem!reader

➴ warnings: smoking. smut. virginity and virginity loss. enjin (he's a menace to society, that's why he my type). lack of proof reading (very common, not truly sorry heh). squirting.

➴ wordcount: 3.3k

➴ author note: don't be hard on yourself. you may think you're not enjin's type but that's your brain lying to you, trust me. hope you like it and sorry it took long, i truly just dissociated for a while.

Cleaners’ HQ was quieter than usual, with people preparing for their next missions or choosing to sleep before them.

You couldn’t do either.

You sat on a chair in the dining hall, drawing circles on the table. Watching Enjin sprawled across the couch, consuming the cigarette between his long, tattooed fingers down to the stub. The air felt heavy– like a dangerous storm hiding behind a treeline.

He looked calm, collected, too carefree for someone that would walk into hell tomorrow.

You wished you could be like that.

You wished for too many things, actually.

Enjin tilted his head, catching you staring. Under other circumstances you would have blushed, apologized and busied yourself with imaginary things, but something in his eyes made it impossible to move, to stop staring.

He gave you that cocky, wide smile that made your chest tighten painfully. “Nervous?”

You nodded, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. “You ain’t?”

He shook his head no, letting the stub die on the ashtray. He got up from the couch, walking lazily to your table and sitting down on the chair next to you. You did blush this time, but hid it behind your arms as you crossed them on the table and buried your face on them.

“Thought you might go see your lil’ boyfriend before the mission.”

You laughed, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “What boyfriend?”

“Ain’t got a man?”

“No,” you said softly, your eyes returning to the invisible spot on the table.

Enjin leaned back in the chair, stretching his legs out, boots clacking against the floor. “No man, huh. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

You raised an eyebrow, half offended, half amused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smirked, smoke still lingering in his voice. “You don’t look like the kind that settles for the idiots ‘round here.”

You snorted, fingers tracing the rim of your empty cup. “Or maybe I just never had the chance.”

Enjin lit another cigarette, humming in thought. For a moment the two of you sat in silence. The world outside felt distant– the missions, the fear, the chaos that awaited for the morning. Maybe that’s what made your words slip out, because the silence was too much, too heavy.

“Never been with anyone, truly.”

He blinked, smirk fading slightly as he exhaled the smoke. “What?”

You shrugged, leaning back in your chair and not meeting his eyes. “Never had the chance. I joined the cleaners young and, well…” your voice faded into a whisper.

Enjin stared at you for a long moment. The air between you shifting. “And?”

“I’m not exactly the type of woman people look twice at. I’m not as smart as the others, not the type of pretty that makes people want to approach me,” you laughed dryly. “Pathetic, right? People always assume given my age that at least I’ve had something. I haven’t.” You let out a tired sigh. “I’m not people’s type. Not your type.”

You met his eyes, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your own.

He shook his head, chuckling in disbelief. “Y’r wrong.”

“About what?”

Enjin leaned forward, elbows on the table, spreading his legs further and forcing his knee to grace yours. He took another drag before answering, voice thick with smoke. “You got no idea how many bastards here can’t even look at you ‘cause they’d trip over their tongues.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I ain’t lying.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words got tangled with the ache in your chest. You couldn’t tell if it was fear, or something crueler– hope.

He leaned closer to you, voice dropping low enough to make your pulse stumble. “You really think I’m sittin’ here wastin’ a cigarette on someone I don’t notice?”

“You notice everyone.”

“Nah,” he said softly. “Not everyone.”

He took the first step. It was unsure, tentative, and gave you enough time to pull away if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

His lips were soft to the touch, a little cold. He smelt of cigarettes and the slice of pie he had eaten during dinner.

You kissed him back clumsily, your hands shaking.

It soon turned heated. Enjin kissed you hungrily, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. You felt his tongue against your lips and opened them, and suddenly he was everywhere.

The cigarette was forgotten atop the table, one of his hands moving to cradle your head while the other found home in your hip. He tasted every inch of you, groaning softly when he felt your legs moving. He took a quick glance down to see you closing them, thighs flushed.

When he looked at you again your eyes were wide, your lips parted– wet and red from him.

The hand on your thigh sneaked up, dangerously close to your clothed womanhood.

“You can say no,” he said. Voice low and rough. “Or we can go back to my room.”

You couldn’t answer him, your voice lost somewhere between the way he sounded and the way he looked– eyes glossy, lips plump from the kiss. So you grabbed his hand, tightly as if to reassure him, or maybe you just wanted to reassure yourself.

Enjin wasted no time. He was up in a second, pulling you to your feet and tugging you behind him as he made his way out the dining hall and into the hallway.

Turn after turn after turn– after what seemed like a fucking lifetime you found yourself at his room door. He pushed it open with enough force that it collided against the wall. Then, he pushed you inside and followed, closing it behind him and making sure to lock it.

He was on you again, hungrier, desperate. You moaned when he grabbed your ass and felt him press against you, no hesitation, no flinch at the give of your stomach. You could feel it even through your layers of clothing.

Enjin was huge. Sure, you didn’t have anything to compare it to, but the fact that it felt as long as your fucking forearm was enough to excite you– and scare you.

Would it even fit?

You let out a little gasp. Enjin smirked, his lips moving from yours to your neck, where he left little kisses and bit away as his will. His hands moved from your ass to the soft curve of your waist, pressing down the flesh to leave marks.

Who knew Enjin was such a territorial man, huh. You weren’t complaining. If you died tomorrow, at least you would’ve been marked as his.

He pushed you back until your knees hit the bed and you fell back on it. Looking up, panting and eyes wide you saw him take off his clothes hurriedly, desperation evident in the trembling of his hands and the quick rising of his chest.

You took a minute to admire him– the tattoos that hid scars he didn’t want the world to see, sharp golden eyes with pupils blown from lust, the glinting of his rings each time they caught light. Enjin looked majestic, as he always did, sure, but something about having him naked in front of you– for you, made the familiar rush of blood feel different.

Every inch of your body felt hot and seemed to call his name.

“Enjin?”

“Yeah, babe?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, avoiding his gaze as you spoke. “Are you sure ‘bout this? I mean, I just don’t want it to…”

“Wanted you since the first time I saw you,” he cut you off. His hand grabbing your face to force you to look at him. “I just didn’t think I had a chance, pretty girl.”

He lay on top of you, one arm holding himself up. His cock rested nestled between his stomach and yours, leaking with pre-cum that felt hot when it dripped down to your skin. He leaned in, mouth inches apart from yours.

Enjin looked one second away from breaking completely. Not that you were much different, to be honest. Flushed flesh, parted lips and your own pupils matching his. You slowly raised a hand to his chest, then moved it up to the back of his neck.

You kissed him. Your other hand came up to cradle his face and he bucked his hips as he effortlessly kissed you back. He moaned at the friction.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you said in between kisses.

Enjin took your hand, guiding it down to his cock. You grabbed it softly as he guided you with his own. He guided your thumb to his slit and applied pressure, moaning at the feeling. Then, as his own hand engulfed yours, he started thrusting. “Just like this, pretty girl.”

You did as you were told, your own hand going up and down his cock in sync with his thrusts. Your thumb helped spread the pre-cum so it wouldn’t be painful. Enjin hid his face on the crook of your neck, his lips right next to your ear as he continued moaning and groaning and pleading, kissing and licking while he trembled.

Seeing him lost in pleasure had an effect. Your own cunt wetter by the second, begging for something– a touch, a kiss, anything. You had to bite down your lips to stop yourself from whining, but after a particularly low thrust in which his knee grazed your clothed cunt, you let out a whimper.

He stopped, removing your hand from its grasp. You were about to complain when he kissed you again, all tongue and saliva this time. He picked some of his seed on his thumb, then he pressed the finger to your lips and watched you open your mouth to taste him.

Salty, hot, not unpleasant.

“My turn,” he said, moving to kneel between your legs.

Skilled hands removed your trousers, then your underwear, until you were bare in front of him. You saw him lick his lips, moving down to face your cunt.

Something felt weird, then. Like it was wrong, like this wasn’t supposed to happen. You had no experience, but had enough knowledge. You knew what he was about to do, but shyness took a hold of you before you could stop it.

“Wait,” you grabbed his hair. “You don’t have to.”

“Please,” he begged. High-pitch and everything. “Please let me eat you out, babe, lemme eat this pretty pussy.”

Was it the begging? Was it the way he eyed your pussy like a starved man eyed food? You didn’t know nor did you want to know. All you knew is that you liked him, that he liked you, and that you wanted to find out what it felt like.

You let go of his hair.

Enjin groaned, lips closing around your clit and sucking. You moaned out loud, grabbing his hair again–this time to push him closer, as you bucked your hips up. Enjin grabbed your thighs again, this time his nails sank into your flesh and the combination of pain and pleasure had you rolling your eyes and throwing your head back.

He ate like he moved through life: confident, skilled. His tongue pressed against your closed entrance and prodded, finally going in to continue tasting you. By the way he moaned against it you’d think you had the sweetest nectar between your legs. To him you did.

When his lips returned to your clit: his tongue flicking it over and over, rolling itself. He then bit it before sucking again and you felt a single digit against your entrance. Your cunt so desperate to be filled that it sucked on air.

He slowly introduced it in, curling it inside as he pumped in and out. He picked up the pace, but not so much that it felt wrong. He took his time, making sure you were ready when he added a second finger. The stretch felt so good you sighed, tightening your hold on his hair.

It seemed Enjin also felt good, good enough to chuckle against your clit and hump the mattress so he could alleviate some of his needs.

With two fingers inside he didn’t just curl them and explored the inside of your cunt, he also made scissoring motions to stretch you further, open you up, get you ready for him.

But his fingers and his mouth, it became too much. That known knot in your lower belly was forming fast–faster than it ever did when you touched yourself. Your legs trembled against his sides and something else, something you had never felt before, arose in your body.

“Enjin,” you whined. Attempted to push him back due to the unknown feeling.

He caressed your flesh, looking up at you as his fingers continued to move. “It’s fine, babe. It’s gonna feel good, I promise. Trust me, yeah?” You nodded.

He let himself enjoy the pleasure of adding a third finger– for good measure, of course. The further stretch burnt, but in a good way.

His fingers had found something inside you that you had never been able to reach on your own, and he was abusing it as much as he could. His tongue worked wonders on your clitoris, lapping at it like a thirsty dog.

You saw white when your orgasm came. Your legs closed against Enjin’s head, your head thrown back against the bed and your eyes rolled to the back of it. You screamed his name, letting go of his hair to grab the sheets under you. He fucked you through it, only stopping when your whines became whimpers and the overstimulation was too much.

Enjin sat back on his knees, looking down to see the mess. You looked at him, too–at his face dripping with your cum. Well, his face, his lips, his neck. He was covered in all your glory.

He stroked his cock and licked his lips clean, then his fingers–slightly covered with blood.

With no innocence left to resist the intrusion of his cock, he lined himself, slapping your cunt with it and using your release as lube.

He looked at you again, whispering. “Y’r sure?”

“I just came on your face.”

He grinned. “Such a good meal.”

You laughed, slapping his arm. “Y’r nasty.”

“I can be a lot worse, but I don’t wanna hurt you babe.”

“I’m sure,” you said, locking your legs around his waist.

Enjin thrusted, letting his pretty reddened tip go past your lower lips, pushing slowly to not break you in half. As much as he wanted to bury himself in you, he knew he still had to be careful and let you adjust to his size. You whimpered and clawed as his arms, his lips let out sweet praises against your ear as he disappeared inside you inch by inch.

So good, so tight, you’re doing so well, my pretty girl, your cunt feels so good. As he pushed in further, his words became more and more filthy and all you could do was moan at them.

He bottomed out with a long groan. “Y’r gripping my cock like you want it to stay inside you forever,” he chuckled. “Want that, babe? I wouldn’t complain.”

You couldn’t answer, just gasp. It felt so big and you felt so full that you wanted to feel even fuller, filled up to the brim with his salty cum inside of you. You whimpered when he didn’t move, because although he was doing it for you, all you wanted was for him to move, to let you feel his cock going in and out your cunt, so you bucked your hips up.

Enjin began thrusting. Long, deep thrusts that resonated throughout the room in wetness. You moaned and moaned, tightening your legs around him and asking, begging for more.

Nothing had ever felt as good, as satisfying, as getting fucked by the man you loved.

You couldn’t get enough.

He built a rhythm, going faster than before. Dragging his cock back out to the tip and then all the way in, over and over. He was so vocal it made your skin tingle.

You could feel him clearly, the veins of his cock touching your walls, the tip of his cock hitting your g-spot all the time. He truly knew what he was doing.

And it built again, that fire, that knot that told you you were close to release again. By the way your cunt clenched around his cock he knew it too and his pace became relentless. Quick and sharp thrusts left you gasping for air as he chased your orgasm.

You came with a silent scream, clawing at his back and lifting its skin, leaving sweet and red markings behind. He hissed, throwing his head back in pleasure and kept going.

“Enjin,” you whimpered, already tired of your second orgasm and the overstimulation that came with him still fucking you through it.

“Just,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just a second, I’m close, so close.”

You felt him shudder, his hips stuttering as he lost pace and just decided to brutally fuck you. It was so raw, so intense. The squelching sound of his cock bullying your cunt, the sound of skin against skin as his balls slapped your ass each time he thrusted in. He hooked your leg up and against his shoulder, the position made you even tighter than you already were.

“Please, please, fill me up, Enjin.”

Your words pushed him to the edge and Enjin came with a deep, throaty groan, burying himself to the tilt inside you. You felt his cum shooting inside, long ropes of thick release coating your insides and making them feel so, so warm and good. You matched his thrusts as more and more cum escaped his cock, enjoying all–his cum and cock inside you, his voice, the feeling of his balls slapping your ass still.

Enjin fell next to you with a thump. He was panting, his chest rising and falling in mirror to yours. Your legs and hands shaking. His cum–and yours–leaving your cunt like water flowing in a riverbed.

“I’m fucking these next,” he said, fondling your breast. You blushed, letting out a gasp that was half-laugh. He kissed you then. “And this pretty mouth of yours, too.”

“Enjin!”

He laughed. “What? Can’t a man appreciate his woman?”

“How is that the same?”

“It is!” He defended himself, propping himself up in an elbow to look at you. His lazy grin was back in place and in full force. “I can’t get enough of you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever.”

Enjin frowned, his smirk disappearing as he looked right into your eyes. “Hey. I mean it. I want to be with you, I’ve wanted to for a long time. I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”

“Why? I just don’t understand.”

“What do you mean, babe? You are smart, you always listen and critique people when they’re doing something wrong, know what people are feeling even before they realise. You care so much about everybody that not a single motherfucker in this place would hesitate to protect you. And you’re hot, specially when you wear that fuckin’ white t-shirt. I have to use Umbreaker to hide my boner every time you crouch down to pick something up.”

You were silenced at his words. Enjin was so good at lifting others up, but he never lied. It was a little promise he had made to himself a long time ago. He didn’t need to lie for people to give their all, just be themselves and comfortable in their own skin.

After, when he fell asleep against your back, you lay awake in his bed. You thought about every little moment Riyo teased you, every little comment made by Zanka, even Corvus’ knowing eyes when he spotted you and Enjin together.

It made sense, you guessed.

The following morning, you and Enjin walked to the car holding hands. And once the mission was over and done with, you knew he didn’t lie to you that night.

Because the first thing he did was throw himself at you and wrap his arms around your frame, kissing you in front of the entire team. “Let’s go home, my pretty girl.”

please do not repost, translate or claim as your own.

[madamechrissy]

Lipstick on a Cigarette Stub mdni - enjin x reader

Enjin loves to bury his long, thick tattooed fingers in that perfect little cunt of yours after a battle, especially after a good meal and a nice drag of a cigarette.

And he loves to suck those juices off, tongue lapping over his black nails and red and black tattoos, to let the flavor bounce off his tongue when his lips wrap them. His cheeks hollow, smirking even as he sucks, leaving you a trembling little mess after a mission.

You, a trembling mess.

It started off as a little 'reward' and stress relief for you - after all, you're doing so good for him, taking down monsters all on your own with your vital. How can he not reward and encourage such good behavior on his team?

Thats what he says is the reason at least, not that you're so pretty he can't stop jerking his thick, veiny cock to you at night since the moment you joined him, when everyone's fast asleep in the barracks. That he does far more lessons with you than any of the other cleaners.

Enjin is great at fucking but terrible at feelings.

You constantly don't know during these sessions of filthy pleasure... are you more? You don't ever say those words though, too lost in how he feels against you, behind you with his legs spread, you're snug between his thighs as he moves those fingers, moaning out loud, earning his chuckle against your ear.

"That's it, look at you," he whispers, fingering the sticky mess that's just pouring, his amber eyes glazed over. "Deserve to feel good, especially after you fuckin' nailed those little shits to the wall like that, y'know?"

Enjin taking care of you, it's the best ritual you can really think of, your sore muscles quickly forgotten as his fingers fill you up, bigger than any cock you've ever had. You're pulsing around them as the squelching fills the room, gasping out, tits bouncing almost out of your top, fucking ending him.

He loves a nice pair of pretty tits, and yours are the prettiest - he wouldn't tell you that, but he would suck your puffy nipples in his hot mouth, as your fingers slip across his undercut, entangling in slicked back blond locks. You're so close to shattering when he moans and drags his tongue around a nipple.

"More, please f-fuck..." You can't believe you're begging, you a fucking elite cleaner who could take down damn near anything, but when he's got you picked up and then pressed against the wall like this, covered in graffiti? you're fucking done for.

Weak for him, for a man you're sure sees this as 'fun'.

Enjin grins with those sharp teeth glinting underneath the dark lighting in that room, the paint is peeling at the edges and scraping against your skin when he stands straight. So fucking tall you have to lean your head back, gasping when he slips in a third finger.

It barely gets in at the tip, your cunt contracting as he's chuckling at the way you squirm for him, biting down on lips he aches to kiss.

"Too much, too much!" Your voice is just a sweet little pathetic cry, making his cock leak more pre against his boxers.

"Hah, didn't ya say more?" He teases, smirking as he watches you with lazy amber eyes, the ones you can't ever read, but now they're dilated to pinpoints, as his cock leaks, ready to fill you for the first time. "Aw, can't take it brat, huh?"

Enjin has been fingering you every mission for days, but he's never fucked you - or even kissed you... You wondered what it was. He didn't even let you suck him, just enjoying making you get off and squirt all over him.

and the reason why?

He knows it'll ruin him, and the shit terrifies him, that kissing you is too intense, that the whole world is a fucking mess and somehow with you he forgets it all. That you're every bit the fucking type he's wanted, your curves in all the right places like it's a cruel fucking joke, plus you're too fuckin' smart.

Not that he'd reveal it, but you make him dumb, gummy walls gripping his fingers while your cunt just drips and drools, he groans out, leaning low, lips tempting you. "M-more, fuck... stop teasin' me like this."

"Hah," he slowly drags his fingers out, making you feel every inch, you're trembling and gasping out, biting down on your lip so you don't drag this damn man down for a kiss. "Slutty lil' thing, ain't ya?"

"Just shut up and fuck me - ah!" He turns you and shoves your skirt up your hips, tugging that fabric and bunching it up, groaning when he eyes your pretty body.

"Hold it up f'me, slutty lil' brat," he whispers in your ear, you do just that, whining out and desperate. "But gonna do it my way."

"The fuck is your way - ngh! Enjin..." You're screaming out, resting your head on your arms when he's yanked down the flimsy, soaked panties.

"Ruined..." He smirks at that, looking at the syrupy strings that are attached to the pathetic excuse for cotton.

He's soon down there lapping a filthy stripe, broad stroke of his tongue with his piercing flicking, the barbell smacking against a twitchy little clit, before he scoops it deep inside your hole. That spongy spot in your gummy little walls make you scream out.

"Keep that noise down, Princess," he grins against your pretty cunt, already pussy drunk though he won't admit shit. "Already this fuckin' messy? Look at that."

Enjin is eating your cunt out before ever kissing you, and the moment your hand falls off your skirt he smacks your cunt, making it sting. "Ow!?"

"Hold it the fuck up, just like that," he grins again when you eagerly obey, a woman as strong as him damn near and far smarter weak and ready. Your cunt drools for him, spreading it wide with his thick, long fingers, moaning out. "There we go, let's stretch her out. Ya deserve it, working so hard."

Enjin slurps up your cunt like he's starving for it, making you gush and pour, lapping every drop up. You're cumming for him and burying your face against one of your arms, though you're sure your cunt is so loud anyone could hear it.

Filthy fucking slurps of his mouth, gulping you down before spitting on it, one, two, three times, watching the clear strands of spit pour from that hole. "There you go, look at that."

You're too fucked out to answer, when his pierced cockhead teases that soppy hole - click, click, click - the noises make you blush. "In me, please fuck, stop teasing!"

"Greedy lil brat, shh," Enjin lifts you like you're nothing, dragging his tip down your soppy folds and then bottoming the fuck out. No stretching, no gentle ease. "Takin' me like this, f-fuck..."

Enjin shoves his cock fully while those huge hands grip your hips, and he starts pounding your cunt, cock filling you so goddamn deep. Your head falls back, muscles so sore and stretching for him, drooling down his length, making him bite back a pathetic fucking whimper.

He can't just whimper!? He's fucking Enjin.

But fuck if you don't make him lose it, lifting your ass higher, damn near holding you up as he fucks you, big arms wrapping your body, a hand coming to grip a tit and squish it, leaky red tip just pouring fucking pre against your cervix. You gasp out, head falling against his big, muscled chest.

"S'deep f-fuckk..." You can't form a coherent word, not when he pulls out and leaves you empty, just to pick you up, pressing your back against that wall with his big hands on your ass, shoving it right back inside.

"Gotta show you how good you did - hah - look at that," he's grinning, sadistic little fucking grin - still not kissing you with those lips coated in your cunt. "All fucked out already, hmm? Gonna squirt and make a fuckin' mess?"

You can't retort like you usually do, not when that curved, pierced cock is fucking you too good, you just cling to him and scream out, finally getting shushed by his lips. Plump lips you've been dying to feel on your own.

That's when Enjin whimpers.

Pathetic for you really, but he doesn't think he can say it, doesn't think he can tell you - but he can show you, by fucking you into that wall at a bruising pace, balls heavy and smacking and just full of cum. He can pound your perfect cunt until you're a writhing little mess in his arms, until you're squirting just for him.

"Mmm," he pulls back with a messy kiss, dripping saliva between you both, smirking at your lidded, fucked up gaze. "Look at you, ruined from just a few pumps? Hah... perfect lil cunt just milking me."

You're done talking, kissing him instead, as your cunt does just that, milks him, god with every pump in your perfect cunt he can feel his heavy balls draining them for all they're worth, pulsing as he thickens and just floods you with his cum, painting your spasming walls and whispering your name against your neck so quietly you're sure you misheard.

Enjin makes sure to finger his cum you're wasting right back inside you, shoving those long, tatted fingers in your mouth as you whine out desperately, tasting the two of you together. "Good fuckin' girl, knew ya could listen, bratty little thing."

You glare at that, but when he kisses you again, messy with the lingering taste of a cigarette on his lips mixing with your cum and his... It's too much. He pauses, smiling good naturedly like this is normal, like him railing your pretty cunt and kissing you dumb was fine.

"Slutty princess needed my cock s'bad, huh?" he taunts, sucking in every fucking feeling he has, you just scoff, rolling your eyes, letting him hold you steady.

In a fucked ass world - he makes it better. But what was fun, what was teasing and pleasure, now leaves you two awkward, standing there and just studying each other.

"Wanna smoke, Princess?" He teases, fixing your clothes carefully. "Got a blunt hidden for us."

"Fuck yeah," you smile back, like it's easy, when he's inhaling that blunt and blowing it back into your lungs until you're dizzy, and he's fucking every thought from your mind while you ride his thick cock. No one has business being that good at sex, that fucking hot with a dick like that.

You're collapsed against him and spent, the weed and his cock a lethal combo, when he carries you to his bed and lets you have it, laying on the floor and smoking a cigarette, eyes shut.

The fuck was that, he can't place it, it scares him to even think that it's more than sex, more than your pretty body, more than...

He peers at you, lightly snoring, before crashing out right on that floor.

That's a problem for tomorrow he supposes.

The next mission the two of you eye each other as you gear up, he grabs that umbrella as you snatch up your own instrument, meeting his amber gaze - and both of you just wondering... What the fuck were you two?

****

I'm on this thanks to @blkkizzat and @honeybunnnnie ahahah I think Imma be writing him againn help he's sexyyy

@allilovessatoru @cupidstrace @deitysdream @marmartumblr @carienations

[nvuy]

semiu doesn’t get paid enough to play wingman for enjin while he’s standing right beside you with his fists clenched.

“so… what’s your ideal man?” she asks you in the lobby. no calls, no papers to oversee, she’s bored, and luckily for her you seem to have a day off. you’re perched on the corner of her desk playing with a loose string on your jacket.

enjin doesn’t usually linger when you’re around, but today he manages. mostly because he’s swallowed his pride to face you, and also you’re hot as fuck.

semiu likes to tease for the free entertainment. she doesn’t even need to peer through her glasses to know what’s going on.

you think for a moment. “uh… tough–” score. “–patient–” nope. “um… and tattoos. i like tattoos. they’re cool.” two out of three. best day ever.

enjin comes back after a week with an entirely new sleeve. you’re more worried about how inflamed his skin is rather than gushing over how ‘cool’ he looks. either way, you dote on him, and that’s all he needs.

[loveanddeepthroat]

Unexpected

Pairing: Sylus x MC

Summary: You’ve been feeling off for a while, and every morning makes the cause seem more apparent. You want to ignore it, but Sylus isn’t easily fooled.

Word Count: 2.3k

TW: Pregnancy. Descriptions of vomiting. Fluff, H/C, tiny bit of angst.

You couldn’t tell what was annoying you more this morning. The churning in your stomach, the smell of fried breakfast foods, or the sound of Luke and Kieran’s obnoxious chewing across the table.

Seriously, how many times does one piece of bacon need to be chewed with their mouths open?

Pure, inexplicable rage has been flowing through your veins quite regularly this past week, and taming your ugly mood at every minor inconvenience has become a major challenge.

You push your scrambled egg around the scarcely touched plate in front of you, swallowing the watery saliva that keeps filling up your mouth to warn you of impending doom. This sickly feeling has been niggling away in your body since you begrudgingly woke up an hour ago, and it was only getting progressively worse.

As was your anger.

“Could you two chew with your mouths closed?” you carefully scold, trying not to sound like an ass. “You both sound like the inside of a washer-dryer.”

They both smirk at you, finding themselves particularly amusing. “Yes, mom,” they respond in unison.

You click your tongue, biting back a bitter retort. Usually, you’d bounce off of them, and the three of you would be getting on Sylus’s nerves instead, a task that requires a tonne of skill since he has more patience than most. You could do with a bit of his steely composure this morning.

He was sitting beside you, scarlet eyes scanning the newspaper through his thin glasses that were perfectly perched at the end of his nose. His silvery hair was mussed and in disarray, and his robe was open just enough at the lapels that you caught a nip-slip.

That morning look never fails to make you ravenous, no matter how many times you’ve willingly fallen victim to it, and it often led to a trip back to bed together for several more hours.

This morning, though, the smell of his coffee was overwhelming you, the heat from his body beside yours was making you feel feverish, and his hand on your thigh beneath the table felt like a lead weight pinning you to your seat, overstimulating you in the worst of ways. You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold yourself together.

What the hell is wrong with you?

Luke and Kieran greedily wolf down the rest of their fried feasts, both gathering their plates and cutlery to take back to the kitchen so they can get ready to head out into the city to terrorise today’s rivals of Onychinus. Once they’re gone and you’re alone with the human embodiment of a hot water bottle, Sylus sets down his paper and closes the dining room door with a mere flick of his wrist.

“Something the matter?” he asks, already seeing it in your demeanour.

You don’t want to lie to him, and you know he would see straight through it anyway. “Honestly? I don’t know,” you mutter truthfully. “I just feel like I’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

He stares for a moment, studying you like he’s trying to read your body. “You look a little flushed,” he finally assesses, touching your clammy cheek with the backs of his fingers.

You shrug. “It’s probably nothing,” you brush off, taking a sip of your water and pushing away your full plate of food. “I might just go lie down for a bit.”

A week had passed since that morning, and you were truly starting to freak out now.

Every morning without fail, you were bringing your breakfast back up, hiding away in the most neglected bathroom in the property.

Your hips were housing a consistent ache, and there was a small panging feeling that kept happening in the lowest part of your abdomen that was noticeable enough to make you flinch a few times. It wasn’t painful, but it was hard to ignore when every other part of your body felt like it was morphing into something foreign. It’s like you’re becoming someone else.

At first, you were expecting your period to appear and kick you in the ass, putting the unusual symptoms down to a change in hormones. That was four days ago, and there has been zero sign of Mother Nature and her attack on your reproductive organs.

In the back of your mind, you knew. It was like a little voice locked away somewhere, trying to reason with you that the answer to this issue was clear as day.

The problem was, you didn’t want to listen to it.

You refused.

Dragging yourself off of the tiled floor for the third time this morning, you rinse out your mouth under the tap, your hands shaking on either side of the basin as you do. Physically, you feel rough. Mentally, you feel terrified.

You take several deep, steadying breaths before leaving the bathroom, taking the lengthy trek through the dark halls to get back to the bedroom you share with Sylus. You have all intentions of slipping back into bed and sleeping this morning’s vomit session off.

When you open the door, though, your plan is immediately out the window as you walk in on Sylus perched on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other. He has one hand splayed out on the mattress behind him, holding up his slightly reclined body so that he has a full view of you, and the other hand is holding out a small paper bag.

“For you,” he states.

You frown, not moving to take it. “Am I forgetting an anniversary or something?”

“Or something,” he drawls cryptically.

Hesitantly, you take the small bag from him, peering inside. You only catch a glimpse, but you don’t want to look any longer than a fraction of a second.

Sylus stands up from the bed, looking down at you expectantly. “I think you’re forgetting to tell me something, kitten,” he says quietly.

Thrusting the bag against his chest in a blind panic, you storm around the bed to put some space between yourself and the abundance of pregnancy tests now nestled in his hands again. “I am not pregnant.”

In this case, ignorance was the only bliss you could get, and you were happy to keep ignoring the very possible chance that a problem was growing in your womb.

Sylus turns to face you, a hand on his hip. “And you’re sure about this?”

“Very,” you bite back, not looking at him. You swing open the door to the walk-in wardrobe, tearing off your t-shirt that smells faintly of the breakfast you’ve been throwing up for the past thirty minutes. You’re unsure if Sylus caught the little gag that happened automatically, but if he did, he feigns ignorance.

“So you’ve already taken a test?” he asks, following you and leaning against the doorframe. He watches you change unashamedly, a glint of desire in his eyes even at the sight of you in mismatched underwear.

“I don’t need to,” you respond simply. “I’m not pregnant.”

You slip on one of your short, silk nightgowns, despite it being the middle of winter. An uncomfortable heat had been bubbling inside you for days, and too much clothing touching your skin made you want to peel the skin from your bones.

The fabric is clean, smelling sweetly of florals. It’s how you loved your clean laundry to smell.

Emphasis on the word loved.

The second the smell wafted into your nose and attacked your heightened senses, you were gagging again, quickly pulling the nightgown off and slipping past your boyfriend to get to the en-suite. Your knees thudded hard against the marbled floor as you heaved up the last scraps of your stomach contents.

In the midst of your violent gagging, you felt two large hands graze your clammy neck as Sylus gathered up your hair, holding it in one hand and rubbing your back with the other. He doesn’t say anything, his presence enough of a comfort in a moment like this.

When you finally sit back on the heels of your feet, you start to cry. Well, sob is a more accurate description. You know that this isn’t right, and you know that a pregnancy test is going to bring you a result you’re not feeling very prepared for.

Sylus used some tissue to wipe just under your chin, tossing it into the toilet and pulling the flush to discard of your regurgitated breakfast.

“Here,” he murmurs, sitting beside you and carefully pulling you onto his lap. He presses a feather light kiss to your damp forehead. “I’ve got you.”

He did have you. He’s always had you, there was no doubt in your mind about that. But would he have you heavy and round with pregnancy? Would he have you hormonal and unable to control your emotions? Would he have you screaming and sweating through labour?

You’ve always assumed that his domesticity only extended to you, Luke and Kieran—despite his refusal to admit to the latter two. He’s lead a dangerous, thrilling life thus far, one that a baby just wouldn’t fit into.

And if you are pregnant, you won’t fit into it, either.

“I’ve always had a knack for knowing what you’re thinking,” Sylus says quietly, cutting through your thoughts. “You think this would be a bad thing, right?”

You groan in frustration, pushing your face into the side of his neck. “It would be.”

He hums, lips resting against your messy hair. “How have you arrived at that conclusion?”

Rearing your head back, you frown at him like the grouchy ball of hormones you are. “Maybe because we live in the base of your organisation that’s in the sights of every violent crime ring in this damn city. Maybe because the N109 Zone has to be the worst place on earth to raise a child, and maybe I don’t want our child to become the target that you and I have been for so many years. Maybe because I’m already scared for it, and I don’t even know if it’s even in there yet.”

Sylus doesn’t blink at your rant, saying nothing until he knows you’re finished. There isn’t a hint of worry or stress in his eyes, and it brings you the same amount of comfort as it does irritation.

Doesn’t he think the same?

“What else?” he asks calmly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“That’s it,” you pout, making him chuckle softly.

“No it isn’t,” he presses. “What else, sweetie?”

The irritation soon turns to tears again, the flood of conflicting emotions making you feel crazy. If this is what pregnancy is going to be like, he’s surely going to grow tired of you.

His gentle fingers, the same ones that have pulled many strings and triggers in this city, continue the same motion of smoothing your unruly hair behind your ear. It’s grounding enough to push the whispered words from your trembling lips.

“I’m going to be a nightmare.”

Sylus still doesn’t react, as if he already knew exactly what you were going to say. He’s quiet for a moment, pulling you against him again so that your temple is rested against his collarbone.

“First of all, I love you. I love you happy. I love you angry. I love every version of you, and that’s not going to change,” he murmurs, looking down at you. “Understand?”

You nod, sniffing softly. Despite your insecurities, you’ve never doubted his love. He’s never let a day pass without expressing it.

“Secondly, we are not tied to this place. We are not tied to anything but each other.” He uses his thumb to wipe at your tears. “I will never let a soul come within a mile radius of you or our future family if they have even a passing thought of ill intention. I can guarantee you of that without any doubt. But if you want to get away from here, I could have this whole place packed up and a jet on standby before lunch. You say the word, and we go. Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”

The tears keep falling, but he catches every one of them.

“And thirdly, you haven’t done a test yet. At this moment in time, this is all hypothetical.”

“I can’t do it,” you mumble pathetically.

Sylus chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “There’s no I in this. It’s you and me, no matter what. I’ve got you in this. Every part.”

You fiddle with the fabric of his T-shirt in a futile attempt to distract yourself, but a nerve wracking question won’t stop bouncing around your mind.

“What if it’s positive? Is this even something you want?” you whisper.

He curls his finger beneath your chin, tilting your face up to lock eyes with you. “I told you that I love every version of you. That includes a mini one, too. I couldn’t think of anything that would put me off of an extension of you and me.” He pauses a moment, swallowing noticeably as his eyes flicker between yours. “Would you trust me as a father?”

The sudden vulnerability in his quiet tone knocks every remaining ounce of doubt out of you. You frown at him. “Are you joking? I trust that you would keep a dust mite safe, warm and fed if I asked you to.”

Sylus snorts, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. He stands up from the floor with you in one arm, retrieving the bag of tests from the bedroom before returning to sit you on the vanity in the en-suite. Pulling one of the boxes out of the bag, he reads through the instructions thoroughly. “Ready?” he asks.

You take a deep breath, expelling any last remnants of fear and uncertainty. “Ready.”

[plutotheplum]

Ain't You My Baby?

sylus x fem!reader

summary: when a mission to retrieve a protocore goes awry, things between you and sylus begin to unravel.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, kissing, dry humping, finger sucking, oral sex, vaginal fingering, p in v, belly bulge, size difference, praise kink, spit kink, size kink, spanking, arguing, "who did this to you?"

wc: 11.6k

a/n: hiii, i'm back! missed writing for sylus so this fic is lil chunky! inspired by a request from someone like a year ago... i hope you enjoy!! <3

also on ao3!

Perhaps you’d overestimated your own abilities.

Perhaps you shouldn’t have stayed up all night.

Perhaps you should’ve packed a fucking weapon that worked.

The barrage of thoughts about your shortcomings fills your mind as you press your hand against your side, feeling faint. Blood seeps through your shirt, smearing across your hand, the throb of pain becoming too hard to ignore. Your feet stagger, body lurching forward until you manage to steady yourself by leaning against the trunk of a tree, bile creeping up your throat steadily.

The mission itself had been simple enough – get in, retrieve the protocore, get out and exterminate a few wanderers while you were at it. Although in hindsight, perhaps it had been too simple. 

The protocore had been stashed away in a heavily sealed safe, and yet you’d managed to crack the code without too much effort. Entirely too convenient, you think, muttering a curse under your breath as you glance at the protocore held tightly in your hand.

It was real, there was no doubt about that, and valuable. Your brows furrow when you turn the protocore in your fingers, the magnitude of energy contained inside making your skin tingle. When your Evol flares, the protocore glows, a sharp sound of pain escaping you when its energy prickles across your skin – this time far more intensely.

No wonder the Hunters Association ordered an immediate retrieval. The stupid thing was powerful. 

There’s not enough time to direct further insults towards the protocore, your focus instead directed back to the task of sucking in lungfuls of air to try and dampen the churning in your stomach. It hardly helps, your tongue feeling heavy as you retch unceremoniously, staggering again.

But this was hardly the time to be complacent. It had been an ambush, bullets whizzing past the moment you had touched the protocore, one embedding itself deep into the side of your stomach, another grazing your leg, each one drawing blood. 

Your phone and watch had become unresponsive, blinking glaringly red with signal errors, and your guns had gotten jammed along the way, leaving you injured and effectively, defenseless. 

And now, as pathetic as it was, you were running. 

The sprawling expanse of the base wasn’t exactly helping, the main building you’d infiltrated surrounded by several smaller ones, forming a perimeter, closed off by a thicket of shrubbery and overgrown trees.

Getting out the way you came in wouldn’t work, not when they had so obviously anticipated your arrival. The south end of the base seemed safer, and you’d chosen to go that way without much deliberation. 

The voices searching for you grow louder, jolting you out of your attempt to recuperate, feet beginning to drag pitifully once more as you teeter towards a hopeful escape. It’s exhausting, every little movement sending sparks of sharp pain through your body, teeth sinking into your fist to muffle a scream when you move too quickly.

Your vision swims.

“Fuck,” you murmur under your breath, fingers trembling as you try and press your watch in one last ditch effort.

It’s unresponsive. 

Not a big deal, you think as your knees buckle, giving out under you. Not a big deal, you repeat to yourself, crawling forward on all fours like some sort of desperate animal on the brink of death, foliage and dirt clinging to your hands and knees, dirtying your clothes.

As if you were going to die out here. The fence was right there, visible to you now, lining the perimeter of the base. You crawl towards what you hope is a blind-spot, hidden behind a stack of crates, curling up against the wall. 

It’s a momentary reprieve. When something sparks across the fence, you frown. Feeling around you, your fingers enclose around a rock, flinging it at the fence. Electricity snaps across the length of the fence, sparking brightly for a brief moment. You blink down at the rock, half of it gone, instead reduced to ash. A disbelieving laugh leaves you. 

You were going to die out here. 

A sharp, sudden pain rips up the side of your body, a ragged gasp interrupting your laugh, body curling into itself. When you press your hand against your side, it comes back wet with fresh blood, crimson and sticky, the blurry sight of your own blood enough to make you feel even weaker than you already were. 

You were going to miss Linkon, you think belatedly, too tired to try and staunch the heavy bleeding. You don’t bother listening for footsteps anymore either. It would be a small mercy to not be shot to death. How morbid.

Still, you can’t be bothered to fret over the intricacies of death. Sleep, your mind coaxes, and you find yourself giving in without further thought. The tension bleeds out of your shoulders, previously taut muscles beginning to loosen. Head tipping back against the wall, you let your eyes slip shut. 

But the soothing silence doesn’t seem to last for long, an ill-timed caw sounding in the distance. 

Your head turns sluggishly, a wince escaping you as pain shoots up your side, tears prickling at your eyes. Through your bleary vision, you manage to spot a crow perched on the fence, its feathers slightly ruffled. 

Forget being shot, you were going to be pecked to death by a crow. Great.

You flinch when it swoops down towards you, eyes squeezing shut, ready to feel the piercing peck that would tear apart your flesh. Only the crow does nothing of the sort. You wait a few more minutes, eyes peeling open slowly, to find the crow’s startlingly crimson eyes trained on you.

“Oh,” you breathe out in realization, “it’s you. Hello, Mephie.”

Mephisto lets out a soft clicking sound, his little head tilting to watch you. You give the crow what you hope is a convincing enough smile, although you’re almost sure it looks more like a grimace. 

“Is he watching?” you ask him, managing to lift your hand just enough to stroke a bloody finger over his velvety feathers. A sigh escapes you when Mephisto nuzzles into your hand, his dark feathers now glistening with a tinge of red. “I suppose he is, if you found me.”

You smile hazily when Mephisto flutters up to perch on your shoulder, head tilting away when his beak taps against your cheek as though he were trying to keep you awake. 

“You’re being quite persistent,” you sigh, brows furrowing when he pecks your cheek a little harder, then nuzzles his feathery little head against you. “Ouch. That hurt, Mephie.”

Mephisto caws indignantly, his feathers ruffling as his wings flutter for a moment before he settles down, beak pressing into your cheek again.

“I’m bleeding out to death,” you say, a frown pulling at your lips. “Mephie, you ought to let me go peacefully.” When Mephisto tilts his head, you think he might be rolling his eyes if he could. “I am not being dramatic!” you protest, watching as he flutters to perch on your thigh, his bright eyes blinking at you boredly. 

“You are.”

You flinch when someone emerges through a swirl of red mist, their tall stature casting a shadow upon you. Mephisto trills, and your eyes meet the crimson stare of a man that you’ve become all too familiar with.

“Sylus,” you greet, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, despite sagging like a deflated balloon. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

He hums, his sharp gaze assessing your injured form, crouching down before long to stop you from craning your neck. 

“You’re not going to die,” Sylus murmurs, his fingers prying your hand away from your side, lifting your shirt to see your wound. His jaw clenches when he sees the blood smeared across your skin, his fingers tracing across the edges of the wound. 

Your face twists in anguish when he presses his fingers against you a little more firmly, his cool touch doing little to dissipate the heat festering inside of you, a feverish sensation crawling its way across your skin.

“Fine,” you breathe out unconvincingly, peering up into his eyes. “I’m fine, Sylus.”

“Learn your limits, sweetie,” he replies curtly, wiping his blood-stained fingers against his trousers. “This was a foolish endeavour, even for you.”

“Is the leader of Onychinus really lecturing me?” you ask drily, a wave of exhaustion rushing over you, shoulders slumping further. 

You sigh heavily when Sylus doesn’t respond, eyes slipping shut when he reaches out again, his fingers drifting across your face with such tenderness that it leaves an odd feeling in your chest – warm and mellow – and for the first time today, you feel… safe.

His voice softens when he speaks again.

“Who did this to you?”

Sylus clicks his tongue when you slur out an unintelligible response, his fingers sliding over your skin to cup your jaw more firmly.

“Quickly now,” he murmurs, voice laced with soft urgency, his thumb stroking away a stray droplet of blood on your cheek. “Who did this to you?”

You can’t help but think he sounds worried. There’s a furrow in his brow, lips down-turned, crimson eyes holding a depth of emotion that you’re unused to. Even like this, Sylus looks impossibly handsome, the light softening his snowy hair, casting shadows across his face that seem to make his eyes appear brighter. 

“Pretty,” you mumble, leaning into his hand tiredly, enraptured by his eyes.

Sylus’ expression hardens. “Answer my question,” he says roughly, tipping your head up when your eyes begin to droop shut again. “And stay awake.”

You pout, head tilting into the soothing stroke of his thumb against your cheek. “I didn’t see,” you breathe out airily, “I only came here to retrieve a protocore.”

“By yourself?” Sylus murmurs, his eyes narrowing, “I thought the Hunters Association was meant to care for its Hunters, not leave them out to die.” 

“I insisted,” you grumble, trying to lean into his hand further, nuzzling against its warmth like a cat demanding attention. “Besides…” you trail off, letting out another heavy, exhausted sigh, eyes fluttering shut completely, “I was handling it.”

“Handling it,” Sylus echoes, sounding entirely unconvinced. “I suppose if you consider bleeding out to death as handling it, you’ve done a fine job.” 

The thinly concealed jab in his response has you grumbling disgruntledly, a frown settling on your face. There’s a finger tapping against your cheek, much more firmly now, and you peel your eyes open with great effort, blinking to try and clear your vision. It doesn’t help much, little spots appearing and refusing to dissipate when you try and focus, swirls of darkness beginning to cloud your vision.

A harsh noise leaves Sylus, akin to a frustrated sigh, his fingers brushing away the hair that stubbornly clings to your sweat-slicked skin. 

“Get her out of here.”

The hand on your cheek is pulling away and you whine, lurching forward in the absence of the soothing touch. There’s a pair of hands sliding underneath you, taking care not to jostle you too much when you wince softly, face scrunching at the flare of pain. 

“Sylus?” you murmur. 

“Nope! Sorry to disappoint. The boss-man’s gone to uh– take care of things.”

The voice that answers you is slightly deeper. Kieran, you realize, in your injured haze. Someone else speaks – Luke, probably – but the voice sounds so far away that you don’t bother concentrating, head lolling against Kieran’s chest. 

A sudden rush of wind ruffles your hair, a familiar mist of red beginning to curl around you. You ignore the sharp sting of pain and Kieran’s protest as you squirm in his arms, hands landing on his shoulders as you shift to look over his shoulder.

Through your blurry vision you can see Mephisto swooping down, settling down on Sylus’ shoulder. You’re opening your mouth to call out towards him – to warn him, to say something to deter him – but Sylus’ head is already turning, his gaze meeting yours briefly. Even the darkness clouding your vision can’t dim his probing stare, the red in his irises growing in intensity – enough to have you feeling unnerved. 

He stares at you for a moment longer, his expression dark, before he turns away. The air around you shifts when he flicks his fingers back, Kieran’s arms adjusting to keep you secured in place against him. The sensation is strange, as though you’re gently being split apart between two places, time and space bending to the unshakeable will of Sylus’ Evol. 

Kieran’s voice is muffled when he speaks again, and you glance back over his shoulder once more, the base now engulfed by an ominous fog of black and red. Sylus disappears into the thick of it. 

You don’t hear the screams that follow.

-

“You’re awake!”

You groan when you hear Luke’s voice piercing through the fading haze of sleep, sitting up groggily. Nothing hurts, you think sleepily, as you take in your surroundings, finding yourself in Sylus’ room, although the leader of Onychinus is nowhere to be seen.

“Glad you’re awake,” Kieran adds, “we were starting to worry you wouldn’t wake up.”

Your brows furrow as you digest his words, staring at him confusedly.

“What do you mean?” you ask, rubbing at your eyes, “it’s only been a day, hasn’t it?”

“Uh– no,” Luke says slowly, staring at you, concerned flitting over his expression. He shows you his phone. “You were out for nearly a week.”

You stare at him blankly, mouth opening and shutting like a gaping fish until you manage to find the words to articulate yourself properly. “What?” you sputter, kicking the blankets heaped over you in a flurry, stumbling to your feet. “A week? I’ve been in the N109 Zone for a week?”

“Hey, hey–” Kieran is blocking your path before you can dart out of Sylus’ bedroom, shooting you an apologetic look. “Sorry, boss’ orders.”

“I have work!” you protest, gaze darting between the twins frantically, “and not to mention, people are probably wondering where I am!”

“Boss took care of it,” Luke offers, before he gestures towards you, “and… all of your injuries.”

Your movements pause at his words, Kieran letting out a sigh of relief when you stop trying to shove past him. “What do you mean?” you begin, staring down at yourself until it becomes disturbingly clear that nothing hurts and that you’d just practically jumped out of bed with such renewed vigour that only a person bereft of injury could match.

Not your shirt, your mind supplies belatedly, the fabric hanging over your body loosely. The thought of wearing Sylus’ clothes alarms you slightly, although your fingers are working agitatedly before you can dwell on it any longer, yanking up the hem to find that the wound marring the side of your stomach has all but completely healed. A scar lingers, its edges jagged.

You lift your leg, twisting it to find that the wound from earlier no longer exists, rather replaced by another scar, streaking across the side of your leg.

“Well, shit,” you breathe out, rubbing your fingers across your skin.

“He wasn’t happy, you know,” Luke announces, sprawling out on the lounge, his head tipping back over the armrest. 

“I don’t know why anyone would be happy about someone else bleeding out to death, Luke,” you reply pointedly, moving to sit on the edge of Sylus’ bed.

“Boss enjoys it,” Luke muses, waving his hand about, “especially when it’s someone that steps out of line. But with you…” he trails off, his gaze drifting towards Kieran.

“You’re not just anyone,” Kieran finishes, shrugging. “He killed everyone there.”

You stiffen at Kieran’s words, stomach churning uncomfortably. It’s a startling reminder that Sylus is exactly as dangerous as he’s described in the countless reports you’d read before stepping foot into the N109 Zone. You don’t know why you’re so taken aback by the news though, fingers beginning to play with each other as you think of the sinister mist that had surrounded the base on that day.

If the twins see the pensive and conflicted expression on your face, they don’t say anything. Instead, Kieran quietly pushes a tray of food towards you, the silence in the room broken by Mephisto’s arrival. You feed him a small piece of sausage, smiling when he pecks at your fingers gently.

“Where is Sylus?” you ask once you’ve taken a sip of juice, brows furrowing. “If he was so worried, shouldn’t he be here at least?”

“He was,” Luke replies, “while you were asleep. Even Mephisto got in trouble for getting too close to you.”

Mephisto lets out an irritated caw, his feathers puffing up indignantly until Kieran manages to coax the offended crow towards him.

“After that base was destroyed, now everyone in the N109 Zone wants to meet him,” Kieran explains, “they have their own motives obviously, but losing Sylus’ favor would affect business for most of them.”

You hum absentmindedly, picking at a piece of fruit. “So in other words,” you begin, “this whole thing is technically my fault?”

“Yeah!” Luke supplies energetically, no doubt grinning under his mask.

“Boss hasn’t eaten either,” Kieran murmurs under his breath, his fingers petting across Mephisto’s head idly, while Luke twirls a knife between his fingers absentmindedly. “I’ve never seen him so… out of sorts.”

“Not to mention his punching bag,” Luke pipes up, his head tilting animatedly. “It’s in tatters. He nearly wiped out an entire faction the other day.”

“Another one?” you ask exasperatedly, pushing the tray aside and rubbing your aching temples. “Don’t you think he’s going too far? Sylus is far too calculated to just lash out!”

“Not when it comes to you,” the twins say in unison.

You stare at them blankly, shaking your head. “I don’t want to know what that means.”

“Why not, sweetie?”

Your head snaps over to the now opened doors, heart jolting in your chest when you see Sylus standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze dipping over you lazily. Luke scrambles off of the lounge hastily, nearly tripping over his own feet if not for Kieran catching ahold of his shoulder and pulling him up.

“Get out,” Sylus says, his head jerking, “and that includes you, Mephisto.”

Mephisto’s feathers begin to puff up again, and a sense of panic takes a hold of you. “They– they can stay!” you sputter, “Right? Luke, Kieran, stay please.”

The twins stare at you, unsure, their heads turning to meet Sylus’ unwavering gaze. For a moment, you think he might let them, but there’s mist swirling around them and the twins along with Mephisto disappear in a blink.

You swallow nervously when the doors shut, squirming back on the bed when Sylus steps towards you.

“Are you afraid of me?” he drawls, his eyes glinting darkly.

“What?” you retort, “no– no, I’m not scared. I’m simply… exercising caution.”

That draws a laugh out of Sylus, low and deep, and for some strange reason it makes you feel warm, the sound wrapping around you like a long-lost embrace. You clear your throat, curling up under the blankets when he draws closer, peeking out at him as he sits on the edge of his bed.

“I heard you were worried about me,” you murmur, cheek squishing against the pillows. “Really, really worried.”

“Is that what they told you?” Sylus muses, pulling the blankets away from you, “the twins share information far too easily.”

Your eyes widen when he’s reaching for you, a soft gasp escaping you when he grabs a hold of your leg – the one that had been injured – his fingers running over the scar. His fingers are warm, the soft, stroking motions doing little to dampen the heat beginning to fester inside of you. It only gets worse when he draws closer, his fingers pushing at the shirt, rucking it up.

“You– you ought to ask,” you protest, trying to wiggle away but Sylus’ hand is curling over the curve of your waist, examining the scar there too.

“You are in my debt, sweetie,” Sylus replies breezily, his brows furrowing as he checks the now healed wound. “Or did you forget the fact that I saved your life?”

“Debt?” you echo, swatting his hand away and pulling your shirt down, “I didn’t ask for you to save my life, Sylus. You made that choice, all on your own.”

Sylus’ eyes narrow, his hands landing on either side of your head as he stares down at you. “Are you implying that I should have let you die?”

“I didn’t say that!” you say exasperatedly, throwing an arm over your face to cover the heat that was flooding your cheeks with how close he was. He smelled so nice, so inviting, and part of you wanted nothing more than to curl up beside him and bury your face into the crook of his neck.

You peer up at him, concern flooding through you when you finally see just how exhausted Sylus is. His eyes seem duller, missing the brightness that you had gotten accustomed to, his expression looking slightly sunken.

“Kieran told me you weren’t eating,” you announce, voice accusatory, “and I’m awake now, so,” you sit up, pushing at his chest before reaching for your half-eaten tray of breakfast, “eat, Sylus.”

He lets out a heavy sigh, but does as you say, finishing the rest of your breakfast. You stare at him quietly, lips pursing, fingers itching to reach out and brush his hair out of his eyes.

“Thank you,” you say finally, voice soft. “For– for taking care of me.”

Sylus smiles lazily, flicking your forehead. “I’m not so cruel to have left you there,” he says, smiling wider when you glare at him. “Not to mention, you said my eyes were pretty.” He leans in closer, voice lowering, “I’m flattered, sweetie.”

You huff out a breath, rolling your eyes. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late,” he replies drily, bed dipping when he leans back to rest on his hands.

It doesn’t help that the motion pulls his shirt tighter around his chest, your throat drying when the fabric practically melds to his body. You bite back an indecent noise when you see the outline of his muscled abdomen. What was wrong with you? Here you were sitting with the most dangerous man within the N109 Zone, feeling like some stupid fool with a crush.

Crush? 

You wince as the term pops into your mind, pinching your wrist to vanquish the thought from your mind. You needed to get out of here.

“O– okay,” you breathe out, hands clasping together once you manage to tear your gaze away. “I’m going to go now, you know, back to Linkon. Everyone’s probably missing me and– and I have work so–” you wave your hands nonsensically, tongue feeling embarrassingly loose. 

“So soon?” Sylus murmurs, his fingers curling around your wrist when you begin to stand up. “You didn’t happen to forget that you were in my debt, did you?”

Of course, the asshole was going to hold it over your head – and here you thought Sylus was showing genuine concern.

“What do you want?” you ask stiffly, a frown pulling at your lips.

“Don’t look so sullen,” he muses, thumb soothing over the spot where you had pinched yourself. “The twins had no qualms telling you that you weren’t just anyone to me. Surely you’ve understood that by now, sweetie?”

Your breath hitches at his words, fingers twitching. You’re unsure of what he’s playing at and what he could possibly want from you, apart from the Aether Core embedded in your heart. 

“Because of the Aether Core,” you say finally, “that’s why I’m so important to you, isn’t it? You need it, and by extension, me.”

Sylus’ expression hardens, his jaw clenching. For a moment, you think he might snap at you, spying the undercurrent of irritation festering in his eyes, but all he does is let go of your wrist.

“Do you truly think so little of me, sweetie?” Sylus asks, voice sharp, “I thought I had shown you what you meant to me.”

“And what is that?” you retort, feeling off-kilter. “What exactly do I mean to you?”

“You know the answer to that,” he says, his eyes narrowing, “even if you do seem content with making me the villain.”

A sharp scoff leaves you, annoyance growing at his blatant deflection of the question. “Villain? We aren’t in some fairytale, Sylus. You were going to force me into resonating with you.”

“For good reason,” Sylus snaps, his voice harsh, “if only you knew–”

“Knew what?” you interrupt, chest rising and falling rapidly. “If only I knew what?”

“Nothing,” he grits out, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. “It’s nothing. And as for what I want,” Sylus fixes you with a stern glare, “Your company, every week. No excuses.”

So he was hiding something from you. Part of you is scared to find out, anxiety beginning to sink its claws into you, stomach feeling queasy. Either way, his request leaves you vexed, fingers tapping against your arm agitatedly.

But in the end, you agree.

You don’t bother telling Sylus that it’s because being with him is the safest you’ve felt in a long time. 

–

Your weekly escapades to the N109 Zone soon turn into routine. 

Sylus sets aside a room for you, and you’ve grown so accustomed to staying there that half of your belongings in Linkon have somehow migrated across the border into your room in Sylus’ home.

The frustrated tension between you and Sylus seems to dissipate over time, and it’s almost startling as to how quickly you both slip back into old habits. Still, his words linger in your mind, and despite your best efforts to conduct your own investigations into whatever it may be that Sylus is hiding, nothing of importance surfaces.

Luke and Kieran are delighted with your practically constant presence, and you find yourself enjoying it too, training and sparring with the twins before lounging in Sylus’ library with Mephisto nestled in your lap.

But Sylus is late tonight.

Usually he’d have come in by now and given Mephisto a treat or two before shooing the crow away to lapse into conversation with you.

“Where is he?” you murmur, fingers stroking across Mephisto’s head. “Hm, Mephie? Where’s your insufferable boss disappeared off to?”

Mephisto trills, his red eyes blinking lazily before his wings flutter. You stand up as he flies away, padding after him through the hallways to find him perched on a stand outside Sylus’ office.

“Thank you, Mephie,” you say, giving the crow a smile and a playful tap to his beak.

He pecks your finger before fluttering away again. You push at the already ajar door to Sylus’ office, poking your head in to find him sitting at his desk, a pile of papers set in front of him.

“You didn’t come to see me,” you say, closing the door behind you, stepping towards him.

“And so you’ve found your way to me,” Sylus says, setting his pen down. “Suddenly everyone wants to fall in line after I… well, took care of things for you.”

“I think our definitions of taking care of things are very, very different,” you reply drily, leaning against his desk. “You didn’t have to kill them.”

He leans back as you take a few papers, watching as you rifle through them. Letters, weapons and protocore trade offers – it seemed as though Kieran was right – they were all vying for Sylus’ favor.

“Sometimes I forget how dangerous you are,” you sigh, setting the papers down.

“The N109 Zone is a cesspool,” Sylus murmurs, “only the strongest survive here, sweetie.”

You bite your lip, considering his words. “The strongest don’t need to survive if they can’t be killed.”

“Perhaps,” he offers, crossing his arms over his chest, “but we choose to devour those who cannot keep up.”

You raise your brows, rocking on your feet, hands landing on the edge of his desk. “So I’m keeping up with you? You haven’t devoured me.”

“No,” Sylus whispers, “not yet.”

Not yet. 

It almost feels like a threat, but the way Sylus says it leaves the words ridden with some sort of palpable hunger that leaves your chest tight. You stare at him blankly, unsure of what to say. Surprise flutters through you when his Evol wraps around you, placing you between Sylus and his desk.

“Stay the night.”

“What?” you ask, drawn out of your haze, “I wouldn’t be able to make it to Linkon in time then.”

“So take the day off work,” Sylus replies, propping his elbow on the armrest of his chair, his thighs spreading slightly. “I’m sure the Hunters Association is more than willing to give their best Hunter a day off.”

Against better judgement, your gaze dips for a moment, tongue feeling heavy at the sight of his spread thighs, his black trousers making it harder for you to look away.

“I– I can’t just call out of work whenever I feel like it, Sylus,” you breathe out, crossing your arms over your chest, dragging your gaze back up, forcing yourself to meet his eyes.

You glare at him when you see his usual smirk, rolling your eyes when he shifts again, his hips lifting for a moment. Asshole.

“But you don’t want to leave,” he replies smoothly, “do you?”

“Maybe I just like staying in your enormous home,” you shoot back. “Or maybe… I enjoy your company, as insufferable as you are.”

Sylus laughs, his head tilting. “I’ve already made it clear you’re welcome to stay. Why go back to Linkon? The N109 Zone has everything you could possibly want, sweetie.”

“And how would you know what I want?” you ask, hands landing behind you, on his desk as you lean back, raising your brows.

“Because I know you,” Sylus muses, his hand waving as red mist wraps around you, bringing you closer to him, until you’re standing between his spread legs. 

You swallow nervously, a shaky breath leaving you when his hand curls over your hip, sliding upwards over your shirt to rest on your waist. The warmth of his skin bleeds into you, even through the fabric, his crimson eyes burning brighter as he leans towards you.

“What–” you flush when you choke on your own words, embarrassment making you feel hot. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of you,” he murmurs, lifting the hem of your shirt to reveal the scar that sits on the side of your stomach.

You stiffen, unsure of what to do with your hands, fingers trembling before you curl your hands into fists tightly, a shiver racking through you when his fingers stroke across the scar.

“You should’ve called for me that day,” Sylus says, voice low. “I would have come for you.”

“My phone–” you sound embarrassingly breathless, “the signal was jammed.”

When he leans closer, you foolishly hope he might kiss the scar that lays against your skin. Instead, he offers you a smile, one so sickeningly soft that you think your knees may buckle under the weight of his gaze – tender and knowing. 

“Did you want something from me, Miss Hunter?”

“N– no.” Yes.

Sylus hums, pulling your shirt back down, his hand moving to rest on your hip once more.

“Are you sure, sweetie?” he asks, raising his brows.

“Yes,” you grit out the lie, feeling faint. “I’m perfectly sure, Sylus.”

“Always so headstrong,” Sylus tuts, and you feel like a scolded child for a moment, until he speaks again, his voice quieter. “Just as you were back then.”

“You keep doing that,” you announce accusingly, “you keep saying things that don’t make sense.”

“Because you refuse to remember,” he says coolly, his hand catching yours, fingers lacing tightly together. “Resonate.”

“What?” you sputter, trying to pull your hand free but to no avail. Sylus’ grip is tight, his other arm curling around your waist to keep you in place. 

“Please,” he breathes out, desperation bleeding into his voice. 

You stare at the man before you, taken aback. Sylus was never like this, never so… vulnerable. It feels almost wrong to see him like this, desperate and pleading, nothing like the ruthless leader of Onychinus who had forced you into that chair in the Odd Workshop.

“I– I can’t,” you say meekly, “it’s not that I don’t want to, there’s– there’s something stopping me. Philip said–”

“I thought we had spent enough time together for you to fix whatever you had against me,” Sylus says, his hand squeezing yours.

Your brows furrow, expression souring at his words. “So that’s why you wanted me here?” You scoff sharply, pulling your hand free from his roughly. “And here I thought you might actually enjoy my company. I thought you– fuck, I thought you cared about me.”

A yelp escapes you when Sylus stands suddenly, crowding in against you until the edge of his desk digs into your lower back, his hands landing on either side of you, on his desk.

“I do care about you,” he hisses, crimson eyes boring into yours, “I care more than you could possibly know.”

Sylus’ words only serve to make you angrier, cheeks flushing hot, an embarrassing lump beginning to swell in your throat. 

“You care about the Aether Core,” you snap, shoving at his chest, causing him to stumble back. “That’s all this has been about.” You wave your hands about wildly, chest rising and falling rapidly as you speak in an exaggerated imitation. “Oh, Miss Hunter, come stay in my ridiculously large home so I can trick you into resonating with me and seduce you along the way!”

“Enough!”

You flinch when Sylus snaps back at you, the sharpness of his voice making you want to squirm away and curl up in the library you had been in moments earlier – warm, cozy and calm.

“You asked me what you meant to me– look at me,” Sylus rasps, his hand shooting out to grab your chin, holding you in place when you avert your gaze. “You mean everything to me.”

The sheer bluntness with which he says it scares you the most. The detached facade that you’ve kept on for so long begins to crack under the weight of his words, body trembling as you process his answer.

“Ask me,” he murmurs roughly, stepping closer, his hand sliding to cup your cheek, “ask me why. Ask me and I shall tell you, sweetie.”

The pet name feels more like an insult this time, stubborn irritation beginning to fester inside you yet again.

“Fine,” you retort, back stiffening. “Why?”

“I am bound to you,” he whispers, the tip of his nose brushing against yours, “when I was on the brink of death, you– you bound my soul to yours. In every lifetime–” Sylus lets out a harsh breath, looking away. “In every lifetime, I am yours.”

There’s hardly any breath left in your lungs, fingers splaying across your throat in an attempt to soothe the still lingering lump there. Sylus isn’t lying, you know that much, as much as you would like to refute, to tell him that he had clearly lost his mind, you can see the unwavering truth in his eyes.

“Oh,” you manage out, letting a heavy, shuddering breath escape, “and– and you remember?”

“Certain memories,” Sylus murmurs, his hand falling from your face, “but you’re there. Always.”

He shifts away from you, shoulders sagging tiredly. You peer up at him, finding exhaustion etched across his face once more. There’s a strange sense of anxiety seizing you, fingers fidgeting absentmindedly as you watch him move away towards the window. There’s snow falling outside, just like when you had released the newly-healed dove and watched the fireworks together. You’d thought he’d kiss you that night.

“Do you love me?” you ask quietly.

“No,” his voice is just as quiet. “But I did, back then at least.”

His answer relieves you. You bite your lip nervously, stepping towards him until you stand beside him. Sylus turns to face you. The dim lighting makes his eyes appear brighter, and your eyes flutter shut when his fingers graze your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“You want me to resonate with you so I’ll remember,” you surmise, leaning into the warmth of his palm.

“There’s a chance you won’t remember,” Sylus sighs, stepping closer, his other hand coming to cup your other cheek. 

“And there’s a chance that you’re lying to me,” you counter, peering up at him as he forces you to step back until your back hits the wall.

“You don’t trust me,” he muses, his head dipping low, nose nudging against yours.

“Trusting a man like you would be foolish,” you breathe out, eyes fluttering shut when his hand slips to the small of your back, causing you to press flush against him. “You’re dangerous,” you continue, head tilting when he squeezes your waist, “unpredictable, at times. Insane, even – who destroys an entire faction?”

“I do,” Sylus says, “yes, the Aether Core is valuable to me, but you–” his teeth graze over your jaw making you gasp, “you are far more valuable to me.”

“Isn’t– ah– isn’t that convenient?” you manage out, heat swirling in your stomach as his lips brush over your ear. “We happen to come together.”

He clicks his tongue. “Really, sweetie?” Sylus murmurs, his fingers moving to tilt your chin upwards. “How much longer are we going to play this game? I want to love you,” he rasps, nose dragging along your cheek, “I want to possess you, I want to devour you until you know nothing but me.”

“Which is exactly what the Aether Core wants–” you begin to protest, shrieking when Sylus is suddenly gathering you into his arms, carrying you out of his office. “Put– put me down, you brute!” 

An undignified yelp escapes you when he ignores you, instead moving through his home lazily, dumping you face first onto his bed. You glare, muttering a slew of curses under your breath as you slip awkwardly across the silk sheets when you try and sit up.

“I’ll have you know,” you spit, “I could have your little crime ring swarmed–”

Your breath catches in your throat when you see him removing his shirt, watching dazedly as he sits down in a chair, his thighs spreading invitingly. The air prickles across your skin when he props his elbow on the armrest, his head tilting languidly, the motion causing his bicep to flex.

Somehow, Sylus seemed bigger than before, your throat drying at the thought of him settling between your thighs, his weight dropping down onto you while he pounded– 

“If you want something, you need only ask, sweetie,” Sylus says, adjusting once more, thighs spreading a little wider. “Or perhaps… you ought to come here and simply take it.”

“No,” you grouse, crossing your arms over your chest, looking away. 

Your gaze snaps towards the doors when they click, his Evol having locked them. Unable to help yourself, you sneak a glance at him, heart fluttering when you see him smiling.

“Come here, sweetie.”

“No.”

“Let me take care of you, hm?” Sylus coaxes, his voice soft.

“You’re so– so desperate,” you shoot back, trying not to lose yourself in the fog of desire that was beginning to settle over your mind.

“Even the most stubborn kittens crave affection,” he counters, “hissing and spitting until they finally wear themselves out.”

You scoff sharply, eyes flitting around his room for some way to escape. At this rate, you wouldn’t make it back to Linkon in time – although part of you was more than happy to accept that.

“What exactly are you offering?” you ask, peering over at him, thighs squeezing together involuntarily at the sight of him.

“Myself,” Sylus says, his head tilting, “for however long you wish to have me. This is on your terms, sweetie.”

To prove himself trust-worthy, you realize, that’s what he was actually offering. You pretend to consider his words – as though you wouldn’t have said yes weeks ago – pursing your lips.

“And you won’t be hurt when I leave?” you prod further, raising your brows.

Sylus smirks knowingly, his voice a languid purr. “You won’t leave. After all, you’ve kept coming back every week.”

“Because you said I was in your debt–”

“I never held you to it, did I?” Sylus murmurs, leaning forward. “You come here at your own volition, sweetie.”

Shit. 

He had you there. Maybe the whole soulmate thing was starting to hold up, that would explain the itching feeling inside of you to be close to him. Either way, there was no denying you wanted this as much as he did.

“Fine,” you say quietly, “I’ll bite.”

You stand up, padding towards him slowly. His Evol sweeps around you, lifting you gently and placing you in his lap. Cheeks flushing, you squirm, hand landing on his warm, firm chest to steady yourself, swallowing at the sight of his pecs. 

Sylus stares down at you, his arms moving to wrap around your waist tightly. You blink up at him, heart lurching when he lowers his head once more, his nose nudging against yours affectionately.

“Are you scared?” he whispers, lips brushing across your cheek in a fleeting kiss.

“No,” you whisper, swallowing harshly, “yes. I– I don’t know.”

His fingers slide under your chin, thumb stroking across your jaw. When he kisses your cheek again, your eyes flutter shut, hands sliding over his warm skin to wrap your arms around his neck.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Sylus asks softly, his lips lingering against your cheek.

You decide not to answer, leaning forward instead, heart thudding in your chest violently. It’s quick, your lips meeting his in a shy, chaste kiss before you pull back, peering up into his eyes.

“Another one,” he breathes out, “give me another one, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Hot desire rushes through you when he says that, a desperate eagerness to please flooding your senses, arms tightening around his neck.

You surge forward, inhibitions forgotten, lips pressing against Sylus’ purposefully. The groan that escapes from him has you whining, fingers slipping into his hair when he returns your kiss, lips working against yours hungrily.

It’s unlike anything you’ve felt before – all consuming and so violently right – the chair creaking as you shift on his lap, rising up onto your knees to kiss him deeper. Sylus squeezes at your waist, his hands slipping lower to caress the backs of your bare thighs, his mouth opening at the behest of your tongue.

You lick into his mouth, the motion a little clumsy, but Sylus doesn’t seem to mind, his head tipping back to let you take what you want. A hand settles on your back, pulling you back down, his kisses growing hungrier, taking and taking, until spit is leaking from the sides of your mouth.

Heavy pants leave you when you pull away, lips slick with spit and slightly swollen, eyes hazy. Sylus’ thumb is rubbing at the corner of your mouth, gently cleaning, brushing over your lower lip until he presses his thumb into your mouth. You whine, sucking and mewling, hands curling around his wrist to try and press his thumb in deeper.

“Is this what you wanted?” Sylus murmurs hoarsely, his eyes fluttering shut when you bite the tip of his thumb in a playful tease. “Is this what you were too afraid to ask for?”

“Y– yes,” you gasp out, hips beginning to rock across his lap needily.

A moan leaves you when he grinds his hips up into you, the friction of his trousers creating a pleasurable sensation between your thighs, through the fabric of your panties and sleep shorts. There’s a hand cradling the back of your head to guide you towards him, Sylus stealing your breath with another kiss.

“Yeah?” he rasps, smiling against your lips. “Needy fuckin’ baby, hm? Look at you, grinding all over my lap.”

“Shut– shut up!” you mewl, mouth opening against his as you breath heavily, dragging your hips across his lap before grinding down, biting down on his lower lip in retaliation. “You said this– ah– was on my terms,” you whimper, head tipping back when you feel his hips rising to match your movements, his hands holding you in place.

“Am I not giving you what you want, sweetness?” Sylus asks, hissing lowly when you scratch your nails down his chest.

“My terms means,” you lean forward, cupping his jaw to pull him closer, tongue flicking against his lips, “you shut up and do whatever I say.”

He stares down at you, crimson eyes bright with lust and admiration. “Then use me, sweetheart,” he offers, his own hand cupping your jaw, squishing your cheeks together until your lips pucker out, “make me yours.”

You hardly need any more encouragement. Shifting back, you take the time to stare at his chest and abdomen properly, biting your lip at the sight. Thick pecs, even thicker biceps, and muscled abdomen that was becoming increasingly difficult to tear your eyes away from.

“‘s not fair,” you mutter, staring at him, “I mean, seriously? You’re so big.”

Sylus smiles smugly, shifting back, jostling you in his lap. You reach out, unable to help yourself, squeezing his pec. A soft noise slips out of Sylus, your ears perking up at the sound, leaning closer.

“Did you like that?” you whisper, peering up into his half-lidded eyes.

“I can’t say I’ve ever had a woman grope me before, sweetie,” he breathes out in response, head tipping back when you squeeze his pec again.

“Grope?” you pout, dipping your head to press a kiss to his pec instead, teeth scraping against his skin. “You said I could use you.”

Sylus’ hips buck, a shaky gasp escaping him. You smile against his skin, mouth latching onto his pec stubbornly, sucking and laving your tongue over him until you lean back to find a mark blossoming onto his skin prettily.

“Satisfied?” he rasps, chest rising and falling, unable to keep his hips from rocking up against the friction of your clothed pussy rubbing against him.

“Not quite,” you murmur, leaning forward again, mouth latching on with renewed fervour.

It’s addictive, the way Sylus groans and whines when you bite into him gently, his hands clamping over your hips to keep you against him as he ruts his hips up into you. You moan when he squeezes your ass, arching your back to press more of yourself into his wandering hands, gasping against his throat when his fingers slide down, rubbing you through your sleep shorts.

“My needy baby,” he coos, voice just condescending enough to have you mewling against him, teeth nipping at his throat in retaliation. “I can feel how wet you are, sweetness. Panties must be ruined.”

When he tsks, you bite down harder, relishing in the whimper that leaves Sylus, only for a similar noise to leave you when his fingers press down hard against your swollen, aching clit.

“You’re– oh fuck– you’re so mean,” you whine, hips rocking back against his hand, panting when his hand moves to cup your wet pussy through the fabric, grinding the heel of his hand against you instead.

“How am I being mean if I’m giving you exactly what you need, baby?” Sylus murmurs, his head tilting down to kiss your cheek, trailing a line of kisses across the line of your jaw before he captures your lips once more in a searing kiss.

“Stop talking,” you grouse, eyes squeezing shut, forehead pressing against his shoulder as you grind back against his hand.

You yelp when his free hand comes down on your ass, jolting at the sensation before an embarrassingly loud moan slips out of you when he spanks you again. Sylus laughs, and you flush hot, hand squirming down between your bodies to press against his hardened cock that was currently straining against his trousers.

Big – like the rest of him.

Your fingers are working faster than your mind, managing to tug his trousers and boxers down just enough with the help of Sylus lifting his hips. Your hands curl around his cock greedily, a shaky breath leaving you when you feel how heavy and thick his cock is.

“‘s that big enough for you?” he whispers against your lips, teeth nipping at your swollen lower lip. “Thick enough?”

“You should really stop asking stupid questions, Sylus,” you pant into his mouth, thumb swiping over the head of his cock, feeling his pre-cum wet your skin.

“Fuck–” he swears under his breath, eyes fluttering shut when you begin to stroke his cock slowly, his fingers still working against your clothed pussy, rubbing at your clit.

“But your cock is really fat,” you whisper into his ear, biting down on his earlobe, smiling when his hips jerk up involuntarily. Your voice lowers, turning airy with the way he rubs at your dripping cunt, your hand working against his cock, fastening your pace. “Bet it’ll be all snug inside me.”

Sylus’ eyes snap open, his hand shooting out to grab your face when you try to hide in the crook of his neck, his eyes darkening.

“You’re filthy,” he hisses, “so fucking filthy, sweetheart, speaking about my cock like that.”

“You’re– nghhh– you’re the one that asked,” you protest, head tilting when he shifts to lean over you, his fingers prying your mouth open.

It’s embarrassing how quickly your tongue lolls out, lapping at his fingers, trying to suck them into your mouth. He doesn’t give them to you, no matter how much you whine and squirm and stroke his cock, instead letting his nose brush against yours, lips pursing together before he spits into your mouth.

You swallow almost immediately, eyes widening when you realize what he’d– no, what you’d done, mouth opening and closing as words fail you.

“You need this– need me,” he growls, lips pressing along the column of your neck in a barrage of heated kisses. “How long have I been neglecting you? I should’ve given you my cock, my fingers, my mouth to you months ago.”

“‘m not some sort of sex addict,” you whine pitifully, although your hand tightens around his cock, squeezing to watch thick globs of pre-cum bead at the tip, rolling over the sides of the head of his cock slowly, wetting your fingers. “You– you just make me feel this way.”

“Because we– shit– belong together,” Sylus whispers, his head falling forward to rest on your shoulder when you squeeze at the head of his cock again, his hips rolling to meet your strokes as your thumb swipes over the sensitive tip of his cock. “You will be mine, as I will be yours. Always.”

Your fingers slip into his hair, tugging at the soft strands, hips circling down to press against his hand firmly. He lets you, breathing heavily against your shoulder as you twist your wrist, working your hand along the length of his cock purposefully. His head tips back for a moment and your mouth slots over his, eager and desperate, tongue pushing into his mouth.

Sylus groans and you work your other hand between you, cupping his heavy balls in your hand, massaging gently.

“Do you mean that?” you whisper against his lips, tugging at his cock until his hand curls over yours, beginning to guide your pace. “Always?”

“Yes,” Sylus murmurs hoarsely, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “It’s– ah– it’s always been you.”

Violent affection unfurls in your chest, your body surging forward to kiss him again, movements feverish as you stroke him, faster and faster until Sylus’ hips are bucking uncontrollably, his hands curling into fists.

“Then I trust you,” you murmur, tongue lapping at his lips.

That’s all it takes. You squeak in surprise when his cock jerks in your hand, a loud, uneven groan leaving Sylus as he cums, thick, hot cum spilling over your fingers, smearing across his abdomen. You blink, eyes wide, watching as he trembles, his chest heaving with ragged pants.

Sylus’ eyes open a few moments later, his fingers tracing over your cheek shakily, lips pressing against yours gently. 

When he peers down at you – flushed and utterly gone – you can’t help but tease him. A devilish smile spreads across your face as you take your time to make a show of licking your fingers clean. The heady taste of his cum has you feeling emboldened. 

“Who’s the needy fuckin’ baby now?”

All you see is a blur of your surroundings, a shriek escaping you when he picks you up suddenly, tossing you onto his bed. You squirm, squeaking when he’s moving you onto your stomach, tugging your hips up, sleep shorts and panties pulled down roughly.

“Sylus–” you begin, “I didn’t mean to– ah!”

His face is buried between your thighs before you can finish. A loud squeal leaves you, face pressing into his pillows when he presses his face into your dripping pussy, tongue swirling through your puffy folds.

“You’ve had your fun,” Sylus murmurs, his thumbs pulling apart your folds, a broken groan leaving him when he sees the webs of slick clinging to your thighs and folds. “Pretty– pretty fuckin’ pussy, baby.”

You mewl, hips rocking back to meet his tongue, fisting the silk sheets in your hands, mouth opening wantonly against his pillows. You can hardly think straight, eyes drooping shut when he kisses your puffy folds, his fingers beginning to rub against your clit again.

“Does it ache?” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your clit, gently lapping at the swollen bud before kissing it again. “Hm? Does it ache, sweetness? Shall I kiss it better?”

“Y– yes!” you whimper out, trying to press your pussy back into his face, squirming and wiggling your hips desperately. “P– please, Sylus– want– want your mouth!”

“So soft,” he murmurs absentmindedly, fingers stroking over your wet pussy, rubbing your slick into you, a finger pressing inside of you for a moment before he withdraws it. 

“For the love of– oh fuck!”

You squeal again when he buries his face back into you, clawing at the sheets with broken, wanton noises, body jerking back when Sylus pulls you towards him, his nose pressing into you in the most delicious way. You’re seeing stars – maybe the entire universe – with the way his tongue is moving, swirling and flicking, his fingers joining the fray soon after.

A dazed gasp escapes you, drool seeping from your mouth, wetting his pillows. His fingers are thick, already beginning to stretch you out as he works one after the other, the two digits enough to have you feeling full.

“Good girl. My good girl,” Sylus whispers, his teeth scraping across your inner thighs in faux gentleness before he bites down hard enough to have you moaning again. “Take what I give you.”

You’re too busy drooling into the pillows to response, mind feeling like mush as he sinks his fingers into you repeatedly, his mouth placing measured, affectionate kisses to your clit every now and then. You can feel his smile against your dripping pussy, the curve of his lips making you smile hazily to yourself.

“Wanna– ngh– c–cum,” you mumble, pouting, “please? You said you’d– oh– take care of me, Sylus.”

He hums into your cunt, the vibration enough to have your toes curling. The loss of his fingers has you whining softly, until they press against your aching clit, rubbing against it in fast circles, whilst his tongue laps at your fluttering pussy.

It feels so awfully obscene, but this entire thing has left you strung so tight that you feel like you might combust if you don’t cum.

“I could keep you like this for days,” Sylus says, pressing a kiss to the fat of your ass, “on my fingers and tongue.” He sighs, drawing back until you feel him spit onto your cunt, the lewd sensation making your knees tremble. “You liked it,” he whispers, tongue sliding through your puffy folds, drinking down your slick, “in my memories… always begging for more of my cock.”

“Probably ‘cause it’s so big,” you slur, “like you.” You bite the pillow, face shoving deeper, voice muffled. “I like you.” 

“I know,” he soothes, a hand sliding over your thigh to squeeze gently, his lips drifting across your ass as you arch your back a little more, wanting to feel his mouth on you again. “I lo– like you too.”

A drunken giggle slips out of you, teeth sinking into your lower lip when Sylus’ tongue presses into your aching cunt. He fucks it in and out you, the fingers on your clit only adding to the mounting pleasure in your lower stomach, pussy clenching around his tongue.

“Oh fuck,” you begin to chant when his tongue laves over your pussy again, fingers replacing his tongue once more as he presses them in, curling them up against you. “Fuck– ah– nghh– fuck, fuck, fuck–”

“That’s it,” he breathes out, sucking your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking against the swollen bud, “that’s it, sweetness. Be a good girl and cum for me.”

Sylus sucks harshly at your clit at the same time his fingers sink into you, hard and fast, the combined motions making you cry out, thighs shaking violently. Your knees give out under you, pussy fluttering and clenching around his fingers as you cum, hand shoving down between your thighs when his fingers don’t stop moving.

“Sylus,” you mewl, “‘s too much!”

“You can handle it, baby,” Sylus says, mouth latching onto your clit again, “doing so good for me.”

The praise curls around you, slow and syrupy, cheek squishing against the pillow as you twitch against his sheets, hips rolling back to meet his fingers and the kisses he peppers to your clit. 

Sylus gently turns you onto your back when he’s had his fill, your hazy eyes meeting his, gaze drifting to find the lower half of his face and lips shining with your slick. It makes your heart flutter, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him down for a kiss, uncaring of the way you tasted yourself on his tongue.

He pulls away and you pout, letting him tug your shirt up over your head, along with your bra. His hair is soft as you slide your fingers into it, playing with the soft strands as he trails kisses down your chest, over your breasts.

Your back arches to meet his kisses, thighs squeezing together when Sylus lets his tongue swirl over an aerola, sucking your breast into his mouth before he switches to the other, teeth tugging at a nipple. A whimper leaves you when he bites down measuredly, the sensation sending a thrill down through your stomach, a dull ache beginning to flare again in your cunt.

A pout pulls at your lips when he pulls away, watching as he wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

“Oh,” you whisper, thighs beginning to shut when you see his heavy, fat cock, hard once again and somehow more intimidating than earlier when you had stroked it in your hand. “That’s–” you shake your head, biting back a moan when his hand curls around his cock, beginning to stroke it lazily, “that’s not going to fit, Sylus.”

“No?” he murmurs, his hand grasping your ankle, sliding over your calf to gently pry your thighs apart again. “It happened to fit in my dreams, sweetness.”

You flush, trembling when his head dips, brushing a kiss to the scar streaking across the side of your leg. “You’ve had dreams about me?”

“I thought it was obvious,” he sighs, staring at your puffy pussy once more as though entranced.

His hand works along the length of his cock for a few more moments, your cunt clenching when he shifts over you, letting the thick globs of pre-cum drip onto your pussy and clit. You bite your lip, hazy eyes meeting his as you let your hand drift lower, rubbing his cum into your clit lazily.

Sylus’ throat bobs at the sight, his cock twitching in his hand. You tilt your head, hoping the motion is sultry enough, spreading your thighs a little wider. 

“I’ve had dreams about you too,” you whisper airily, fingers splaying against your pussy, spreading yourself open for him before you rub his pre-cum into you, letting your fingers press inside of your needy cunt briefly. You pout a little, lips puckering out as you play with your pussy, your other hand squeezing at your breast. “‘m so empty, Sylus.”

And Sylus unravels.

You yelp when he pulls your hand away, his mouth slotting over yours hungrily, stealing your breath. He pants into your mouth, ragged and uneven, and your hips buck when you feel the head of his cock press against your clit.

“Should I fill this little cunt up?” he murmurs, teeth scraping at your lower lip, letting his cock slip between your folds before he slaps it against your pussy. “Flood it with my cum? Claim you?”

“Nghh– yes,” you whine, dragging the word out, nails already beginning to scrape down his broad back.

Sylus slaps his cock against your pussy and you jerk, moaning as you feel the weight of it against you, heavy and hot. 

“Take it then, baby,” Sylus growls, his lips pressing against your cheek as he rocks his hips forward, notching the head of his cock against you. “Take my fat fuckin’ cock.”

Something between a gasp and a squeal leaves you, your back arching when he begins to sink his cock into you, already splitting you open. He hushes you, open-mouthed kisses pressed along your neck as he buries his face into the crook of it, body curling over yours while his cock sinks into you, inch by inch.

“Just a– fuck– just a little more,” he breathes out, rolling his hips, hands squeezing at your hips with desperation. “So fucking tight around me, sweetheart.”

You whimper, throwing your arm over your face, cunt fluttering around his cock uncontrollably in an attempt to accommodate his size. You feel so terribly full, the aching emptiness from earlier dissipating with every inch he gives you.

“Look,” he rasps, pulling back to stare at where he’s inside you, balls flush against your ass. “Look at how we fit.”

You crane your neck, blinking blearily, mewling when you see the slight bulge in your stomach moving when he draws his hips back, thrusting them forward lazily. 

“Oh,” you whisper, feeling utterly gone.

Sylus laughs, the sound hoarse and scratchy, his nose nudging against yours. “What was it you said, sweetness?” he kisses you, slow and deep. “Nice and… snug.”

“I really– oh– really hate you,” you whine out, although your legs are wrapping around his waist tightly, heels digging into his ass when he laughs again, the deep velvety sound only adding to the heat between your thighs, causing your cunt to clench.

“Yeah?” he hums, his hand sliding over your eyes, breath fanning across your lips. “You seem cockdrunk to me, baby. Squirming all over my cock like a little brat.”

You let out a noise of protest only for him to silence you, muffling your noises with a gentle kiss. It’s difficult to understand what’s happening for a moment, body seizing up in the darkness surrounding you until something in the air shifts.

A soft moan escapes you when you feel something light caress you – Sylus’ Evol – the streaks of mist somehow manifesting into something more tangible. It strokes across you fleetingly, over the curves of your sides, against your thighs, over your breasts.

“What– what are you doing?” you whimper, legs tightening around him as he drives his cock into you, the measured thrusts enough to have you seeing stars.

“Giving you everything,” he whispers, mouth drifting over your chest, teeth tugging at a nipple. “Feel this– feel me, sweetheart.”

And you do feel. It’s strange, the sensations that pour through you – pleasure, affection, and something much deeper that curls itself around your heart, as though trying to lodge itself into the beating muscle much like the protocore. 

“Sylus–” you gasp, clawing at his back, breath hitching when he drops his weight onto you, the heat of his body melting, swirling into yours.

“Feel me,” Sylus rasps, his hand finding yours, squeezing it tightly whilst his Evol washes over you. 

It does something to you, the combined motions of his cock thrusting into you, his hand in yours, body pressed tightly over yours. For a moment, something in your mind cracks open –  a flash of red, a field of crimson flowers in bloom, Sylus – before it disappears as quickly as it came. When his hand slips away, you peer up into his eyes searchingly. You know him, you realize, fingers slipping over his jaw and cheeks. You know him.

“Good girl,” Sylus whispers, seeing the look in your eyes, his hips beginning to pick up the pace as you cry out. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.”

Your head tips back and Sylus follows, his lips finding yours, the kiss messy and sloppy. His balls slap against your ass, the sounds so lewd that you’d be ridden with embarrassment if not for the fact that his hand was still in yours.

You reach out blindly, hand cupping his jaw to kiss him better, whining and mewling into his mouth, hips trying to roll back to meet his thrusts. There’s a muscled arm sliding under you, his hand curling over your hip as he hauls you against him, fucking his cock into you. It hits the very place you need, his fat cock burying itself so deep inside that Sylus is moaning into your mouth as he feels the bulge his cock forms in your stomach pressing against his.

“‘m gonna–” you whimper, back arching, “‘m gonna cum, Sylus!”

“Then– fuck– then cum for me,” Sylus snarls, the muscles in his back flexing as he shifts, hips snapping forward as he pounds his cock into you, thumb slipping to find your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles against it.

An embarrassingly loud moan leaves you, body seizing up as the coil in your lower stomach winds tighter and tighter until it finally snaps. Every part of you trembles, cunt fluttering and clenching uncontrollably around Sylus’ cock, your hands clawing and squeezing at whatever you can grab – the sheets, Sylus’ biceps – teeth sinking into his shoulder, body thrashing as the force of your orgasm slams into you.

“Shit,” he whispers raggedly, “baby– sweetheart–”

“Inside,” you slur, heels digging into him when he tries to pull out, “p– please, want you inside, Sylus.”

He groans, burying his face into the crook of your neck, hips jerking unevenly as he holds you flush against him. Sylus curses under his breath, and you can feel his cock throb, mewling when you feel hot, thick cum spill into you.

Sylus’s hips stutter, despite his body still moving lazily, stuffing his cock inside of you in the wake of his own orgasm, the coarse hair laying past his navel rubbing against you in a way that makes your pussy flutter tiredly. 

He slumps over you, hand stroking over your hair and you smile, trying to nuzzle against him. It has him letting out a soft laugh, his lips brushing over your cheek gently before he rolls off of you.

“I suppose I won’t be going back to Linkon after all,” you sigh, playing with his hair as he turns into you, laying soft kisses over your face, neck, shoulders.

“No, I suppose not,” he agrees.

His lips trail lower, your heart lurching when his fingers brush over the scar on the side of your stomach.

“You should know… I was scared that day,” Sylus confesses lowly, tracing the edges of the scar with his fingers. “I thought–” a shuddering breath escapes him, his brows furrowing as he shakes his head. “I didn’t– don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” you whisper, gently brushing his hair out of his eyes, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Emotion swells up inside of you when his lips press against the scar firmly, his lips lingering in a silent promise. Your lower lip trembles for a moment, eyes slipping shut when he kisses it again tenderly.

“I adore you,” he whispers across your skin, calloused fingers tracing the curve of your hip.

“Stop saying things like that. You make this sound real.” The lump in your throat makes you sound choked. 

There’s a smile pulling at his lips, his arms curling around you to pull you into his chest, his lips brushing across your forehead.

“This is real,” Sylus murmurs, his fingers finding yours, lacing together tightly. 

You squeeze his hand tightly, face pressing into his chest to hide the glassy look in your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. He stays quiet, thumb rubbing over the back of your hand.

“Do you promise?” you ask quietly, pressing closer, your head tilting to kiss his cheek.

“Yes,” Sylus says, his lips brushing over yours, tentatively at first and then deeper and deeper until you can feel the weight of his answer behind every motion of his lips.

Your arms wrap around his neck when he buries his face into the crook of your neck. His voice is much quieter when he speaks again, his arms tightening around you.

“I’ll find my way to you, no matter what.”

[aeyumicore]

KINKTOBER 2025 DAY 2 ━ SMAU #1

$6.99 APPETIZER 1 ━ NSFW SMAU. ALL FIVE LADS MEN synopsis. you accidentally text them a nude/explicit photo (pre-relationship) incl. caleb, zayne, rafayel, sylus, xavier

━ ✧ cw: mdni, highly suggestive and borderline smutty, crack, fluff, the men are very forward, mc is flirty, guys send a nude back in some of these

━ ✧ links: kinktober 2025 masterlist | general masterlist | smau masterlist

© aeyumicore 2025.

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