Fell On Black Days

If found minors will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. 22 🇮🇪A big slut for Ireland🇮🇪

[sunsetagain]

Finding a metal pull tab means you get to open something? You should be careful, I'm a person, not a soda can.

[lunamaedotjpeg]

I love his big ass tits

[sunsetagain]

Affinity level 195 hangs: Crimson Dreamcatcher

Inspired by the dreamcatcher rooted in Ojibwe culture, the legends of Spider Woman Asibikaashi, Nanabozho’s tales of sugar maple syrup, and his epic battle with the giant serpent Mishe Nahma.

[pzxce]

darkbound souls doodle

[aelisengel]

δράκων

[seraphineash]

40 yr old Sylus😮‍💨🤤

og post

[stellaromanticist-02]

[oddussy420]

I love it. He looks like an Ouran character

[starsforxavi]

Skin to Skin ⁘ Sylus

·······•✦ description: in which you're stuck staying in a hotel together after working with Sylus on an undercover mission in the N109 Zone, but the only available space is a room with one bed…

·······•✦ pairing: sylus x afab!reader ·······•✦ word count: 4.5k ·······•✦ genre: smut, porn with plot, fluff ·······•✦ general tags: Enemies to Lovers, But they were never 'really' enemies, There Was Only One Bed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Grinding, Accidental Boner, Sexual Tension, sylus is a loverboy, past sexual encounters, Wearing His Clothes, Post-Mission, Missionary Position, Undressing, Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Sex, Squirting and Vaginal Ejaculation, Creampie, Smut, Fluff, Teasing, Making Out, No use of y/n, POV Second Person

·······•✦ posted on: ao3

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head at the revelation before you. 

It was one thing to be stuck in the N109 Zone on a mission with Sylus, and it was another to be forced to stay in a hotel at nearly the complete outskirts of the bustling underground network of criminals with the head of the largest business in said city. Oh, the best part? There is only one bed. 

“You don’t have to sound so enthused, sweetie.” The way Sylus relaxes back against the headboard makes your cheeks burn a light pink. It’s quite embarrassing how attracted to him you are, how flushed and shy you get around him with just a glance. 

He’s infuriatingly handsome, crossing his legs at the ankles while you pace around the room, running a hand through your hair, and shaking your head. It’s like he’s enjoying seeing you so worked up, your whole being searching for a way out of this. Spending a whole night in the same room as him? You’re asking for trouble, you know it. 

But the thought of the trouble is also addictive. There is a part of you that wants to be greedy again. After that time in the faraway desert, his chest soaking wet and bubbles covering the chiseled angles of his abdominal muscles, you had slowly become accustomed to the moments of tension and intimacy between you. It wouldn’t be too hard to just lean into a bit once more… To lose yourself in the desires of h–

“Is anyone in there?” Sylus is sitting up now, an elbow on his knee as he looks at you with a smirk. “You look like you’re lost in thought.” 

“Just…” You pause, eyes flickering around until you land on the couch in the corner. It’s small, even smaller than you, and it would be torture to sleep on for either you or Sylus, but it’s a way out of the tension beginning to mount in the room, so you walk over and take a seat on the fake leather cushion. “Getting comfortable for the night.” 

Sylus’ eyebrow rises, his eyes sparkling in the dim light of the hotel room. His jeans scuff together as he walks, measured steps, one by one, until he towers over you. Arms cross over his chest, a look telling you that he can see straight through your lie, but doesn’t choose to call you on it, flashing across his face. 

“You’re not sleeping on that discount pleather sofa.” Shaking his head, you decide to defy him further by turning your body and stretching your legs out across the cushions. With your back against the armrest, the bottoms of your feet are pressed right up against the other side. For you to sleep on it would mean curling up into a ball, and you can only imagine the back pain… 

“Yes, I am.” Your indignant tone draws a chuckle from his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drops his arms by his sides. “I’ll be fine. You take the bed.” 

His hum echoes through the room, and you feel him trail his gaze across your body. “I know you’re tiny, sweetie, but even this couch is going to be uncomfortable.” Leaning down, one of his hands plants itself on the armrest, bicep dangerously close to your back. The air is sucked out of the space between you, and you look up at him to find his stare back on your face. 

For a moment, you are unsure of what to say, stuck between accepting his offer and being stubborn. 

You choose stubborn. 

“It’s okay, Sylus. I’ll be– woah!” Your sentence is cut off by a yelp, Sylus’s arms settling below your knees and behind your back. His bridal style carry brings you right over to the plush queen-sized bed. 

Making sure not to just throw you on there, he lays you down, your jeans and sweater rubbing your sweaty skin. It’s a bit uncomfortable, and you need to take a shower, but you’re stuck under his stare. 

“You won’t be okay.” He says firmly, moving to the sofa and sitting on it. Being taller than you, he looks like a giant, his legs bent and his arms crossed behind his head. “I’ll take the sofa. You deserve the rest since you did so well on the mission today.” 

His praise doesn’t fall on deaf ears, and you blink slowly before your mouth moves faster than your head. 

“Let’s just share the bed.” 

There is a hint of surprise etched in the sharp lines of his face, but it’s immediately quelled by a gentle smile. 

You’ve walked around this line of definition when it comes to your relationship. Are you or aren’t you? Even you aren’t sure. Yet there is a wicked fun in the indulgences that come with the push and pull.

The smile he gives you, however, borders on enamored. His brows drift up higher, wrinkles forming on his forehead as he turns to face you, elbows anchoring on his knees. 

“Are you sure?” It’s a sincere question, not one said in jest. All in a moment, the atmosphere shifts, the slow-burning fire threatening to ignite into an inferno. “You did most of the work today. You deserve a comfortable bed for yourself.” 

He always makes sure to tell you how strong you are. In the face of danger, you don’t back down, handling everything on your own, because when have you ever needed a partner? It’s not like anyone has ever truly made you feel appreciated, but with each one of Sylus’ compliments, the ice block gets slowly chipped away. 

“Yeah…” Nodding, you sit up, wincing at the stickiness of your clothes from dried sweat. “I really need to take a shower, but we didn’t bring any spare clothes.” 

Sylus is back to his teasing self when his hands drift to the buttons of his shirt. It isn’t until he’s reached the middle, his tanned chest peeking out from behind the dark fabric, that he speaks. “Here,” the deep, rich tone of his voice makes you shiver, “wear this. I didn’t taint it with my sweat.” 

“I don’t want… to leave you… without a shirt...” Your sentence trails off into obscurity when the last button right below his navel comes undone. 

Having seen him naked before, you knew what to expect, but wow, it still threw you for a loop every time. The hardened plains of his chest and abdomen should feel uncomfortable to the touch, but there is a need to reach out and run your fingers along the bumps of his abs. 

“I’m serious, sweetie.” He lets the shirt fall from his shoulders, holding it out to you with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. “Go shower… Unless you want me to join you?” 

The roll of your eyes is betrayed by the deep flush of your cheeks. Beneath your skin, it’s as if a pool of lava is bubbling. Even the mere thought of it has goosebumps appearing on your arms.

Standing up, you take the shirt from him and drape it over your arm. “Thanks, but no thanks.” You don’t miss the draw of his stare along your body, the curves of your hips and thighs, drinking you in as if he were seeing you bare again. “I won’t be long.” 

As soon as you’re out of the shower, it doesn’t take long for you to dry off, and you look at the button-up shirt draped across a bar on the bathroom wall. It’s silky smooth and smells of his cologne, a deep musk and bergamot wafting toward you as you slip your panties on. 

“Wow.” It isn’t often that you can actually hear the breath leave Sylus’s lungs, but when you step out of the bathroom, your hair falling off your shoulders and body swallowed by Sylus’s shirt, you think he might actually be suffocating. 

“Oh, stop it.” The apples of your cheeks peek out as you fight a smile. Sylus’s shirt comes to just above your knees, and you stand in the wake of steam billowing from behind you. 

Then you look up to realize what he’s wearing. 

Which is basically nothing. 

Black boxers with a deep red waistband sit low on his hips, showing off the trail of his V-Line that leads beneath the fabric. There are a few veins on the smooth expanse of his pelvis, right below his navel. You watch the tensing of his thighs as he crosses his legs over the blanket. 

“You’re staring, sweetie.” He purrs, his hands threading together to rest on his abs. It obscures your vision, and for probably the fifth time that night, you roll your eyes. 

“You wish.” Your mumble is followed by a yawn, and the events of the day begin to catch up to you. Fighting multiple factions in the N109 Zone is tough, but with Sylus by your side, the most powerful man probably in all of the city, and Linkon, it’s much easier. 

Even so, fatigue creeps up like a predator stalking its prey, and without another word, you walk over to the side of the bed and plop down. With darkness always shrouding the city, it’s much easier to settle into bed. However, the man beside you is very distracting. 

The click of the lamp has a near-complete inky black washing over you, and after a bit of shuffling, you’re under the comforter, your body relaxing instantly despite the presence of the man beside you. His heavy breaths are the only thing you can hear, and after a few minutes, he shifts his position. 

“You did amazing today.” His voice cuts through the silence. In the back of his mind, he knows that you get shy with compliments. “The Hunter’s Association was right to hire you.” 

With the way he is speaking and the feeling of his eyes on you, you think he’s turned on his side. But even in the darkness, his affection shines through. Your bottom lip tucks into your mouth, unsure of what to say besides a nearly inaudible “thank you.” 

But he hears it. He always hears it. 

“No need to thank me.” Sylus hums, watching the way your chest rises and falls with soft breaths. 

Sleep doesn’t come. It’s so cold, and with just Sylus’s shirt hanging off your shoulders, it only causes you to shiver slightly. The comforter isn’t enough to keep your body heat close to you, and with each yawn, your body shakes. 

“Cold?” If you move just a bit closer, you can feel his body pressed against yours, but the tension in the air is tight, your stomach fluttering with nerves as if you hadn’t indulged in each other before. 

At his question, you nod. He’s very perceptive in the dark, so you know he will see your response. Yet, the silence is killing you. “A little.” You whisper, moving back around so you are lying flat against the mattress. His stare seems more intense now that you catch the glow of his crimson irises, your eyes getting accustomed to the dark. 

“Come here.” A light touch to your hip has you tensing up, awkward at the prospect of him wanting to hold you so close. He always had some sort of affectionate aura to him, lulling you into falling deeper and deeper for him, but it’s hard to believe that he would appreciate you despite how much he has already shown that he does. 

“I’m fine.” Your stubborn response pulls a puff of air from his nose, and as his arm wraps around your waist, you allow him to pull you the short distance, maneuvering your body so you’re back on your side.

His hard chest meets your soft back, and through the thin fabric of his button-up shirt, heat wraps around you. It isn’t overwhelming; rather, a gentle heat that causes your muscles to loosen and your body to relax against him. 

You can feel each breath he takes, from both his chest and from the movement of your hair. When he speaks again, his words brush against the back of your neck, and his arm tightens around your middle. 

“You’re shivering, sweetie.” Gentle rubs start on your stomach, pulling you flush against him until his hips are pressing against you. 

Shifting against him, you try to get comfortable, your bare legs rubbing on his under the blanket. It’s warm and relaxing, especially the way his hand massages you, his soft humming pulling a smile to your face. 

Then, as you begin to drift in and out of sleep, you’re startled by a low grunt and his hand moving to grip your hip. Even when you try to turn around to see if anything is wrong, he stops you. 

“Please – stop, ha, moving…” Your cheeks burn when you feel exactly what he means. 

His hard length rubs against your ass, and each small movement from you only causes more friction. Arousal pools in your panties, as if you weren’t already turned on by the sight of him in nothing but his underwear. 

The rush you get from knowing you caused his little problem is exhilarating. So you keep going. Slow, deliberate circles of your hips back against him, even as his grip gets tighter, have grunts and groans falling from his lips. A kiss is placed on the top of your head before he cranes his neck down to kiss right below your jaw. 

“Sweetie…” His voice is clearer, a warning. “You know what you’re – getting into, right?” 

“Mhm,” you hum, continuing the teasing until his hand slips under your shirt, now gripping the soft flesh of your thigh to completely stop your movements. “Why’d you stop me?” 

Sylus chuckles, his nose following a line along your throat until he’s nipping at your pulse point. “Because you’re being a stubborn kitten right now.” All of the air seems to have been sucked out of the room, and you take a deep breath as his thumb brushes right below your navel. 

“It’s not my fault you’re hard just from me accidentally rubbing against you.” Your counter has no weight behind it because soft gasps come from your lips as he pulls the shirt up, so the only barriers between you are your panties and his boxers. 

“Are you sure it’s accidental?” With how big his hand is, the edge of your panties is teased by his pinkie finger, dipping under the fabric before teasing you with barely there touches. “You know how beautiful you look…” The warmth of his tongue traces behind your ear. “Just wearing my shirt and these panties.” 

“Purely – fuck – accidental.” It’s not a convincing attempt, but he stays silent for a moment, holding you still as he grinds himself against your ass. 

“Sweetie.” There’s a hitch in his voice, a plea that wouldn’t be discernible to anyone but you. “Please.” 

The tension snaps as you turn onto your back, meeting Sylus’s gaze. He looks hungry, and in the darkness, his cheeks are flushed a pretty pink. But you’re focused on the way his hand moves to your hip. He traces your hip, finding the bits of flesh on your waist addictive. 

Your hand moves up to cup his jaw, lips parted in anticipation because no matter what, your body calls to him. With your thumb brushing his bottom lip, he raises an eyebrow in a silent question. He won’t trail his hand higher unless you agree.

“I love your hair.” Sylus’ eyes trail across your face, and he leans forward to kiss your forehead. “And your eyes.” A kiss over your closed eyelid. “And your nose.” A kiss to the tip of your nose. “And these soft lips.” He pauses, waiting for you to make the first move. No matter how much he wants you, he can’t bring himself to do anything except wait for your confirmation. 

“Do it.” You whisper, looking between his eyes and his lips, hand moving to the back of his neck in an attempt to bring him closer. “Kiss me.” 

So he does. 

It’s a slow and tentative kiss, as if he hadn’t kissed you before. He had. And yet every time felt like the first. The moment your lips touched, he let out a sigh as if he had been waiting for this ever since the last time you kissed. 

The tip of his nose brushes yours, head turning just slightly to deepen the kiss. When his hand dances up, thumb brushing your already peaked nipple, your lips part in a gasp, and he takes that opportunity to trace your bottom lip with his tongue. It’s so wet and warm, the way in which you engage in this push and pull, only for one of you to give in. 

More often than not, it’s he who gives in.

“Sylus…” His name comes out as more of a whine than anything else, your fingers threading through his hair as your tongues poke and prod at each other. 

Each breath he takes is a groan bordering on a growl, his hand palming at your breast as he slowly moves. His other hand hooks under your knee, pulling up and out so he can slot himself between your legs. On instinct, your other legs wrap around his waist, pulling him down until you can feel every inch of his throbbing cock beneath the confines of his boxers. 

“Need you.” He pants, gripping the flesh of your thigh. His hand trails up the lines of your torso before tangling in your hair, holding you right where he wants to as he kisses along your jaw. A part of him doesn’t want to move from your lips, but every inch of you deserves the love and appreciation that he wishes to give you. “Need you so bad.” 

The hand that isn’t threaded through his hair dips down to cup him through his boxers, the weight of his length heavy in your palm. He’s already achingly hard, a small wet patch in the front of his underwear that shows the desire he harbors. 

Sylus groans, eyes closing and face falling into the crook of your neck. Everything about you is addicting, but he has already had a taste, and he doesn’t want to go back. The hand on your breast loosens, his hips instinctively grinding against your hand as if seeking some sort of relief to his need. 

“May I?” He stutters, pulling back to look into your eyes. Before you know it, his fingers tug at your panties, and it isn’t until you give him a very obvious nod that he slides them down your legs. His lips follow a path right behind the undergarments, leaving open-mouthed kisses across your thigh, over your knee, before ending at your ankle. 

“My pretty girl.” He takes a moment to admire you, tossing your panties to the side of the bed before pushing his shirt up your body to expose the hardened peaks of your nipples. 

After a second of slightly awkward shuffling, his boxers are discarded right where your panties are. A bead of precum sits at his tip, and he holds the base as he drags himself through your wetness. Both of you release low moans, eyes closing as you revel in the intimate feeling between you. 

“F–uck,” he whispers, watching with fascination as your entrance clenches around nothing. “As much as I – hmph – want a taste of you…” His other hand holds your waist, his gaze fixed on the rise and fall of your chest. Your curves have always been a perfect fit in his palm, the best handles for him to hold. “Are you ready for me?” 

Sylus has always worried about your well-being, knowing you can carry your own in the face of danger, yet still feeling he should protect you. If, for some reason, you ever needed help, he would be at your beck and call. Even as he was putting just the head of his cock inside you, he wasn’t going to continue until he heard your explicit words. 

“I’m ready, Sy.” You gasp, your fingers wrapping around his wrist as he lets his hips go forward just an inch. “Please, need more…” Your whine drifts into his ears, lulling him like a snake charmer. “Need all of you.” 

That’s all he needs to hear before he’s going at a steady pace. Inch by inch, he’s filling you up until his pelvis is flush against yours. Skin on skin, his body heat transfers to you, causing sweat to accumulate on your brow. 

Then, his palm presses on your lower abdomen. He can feel the tip of his length through your walls, and he can’t help the growl that vibrates through his chest. “Do you feel me, kitten?” 

You nod, unable to form words with the way he’s stretched you out so well. He’s long, but not to the point of pain, curving directly up into your most sensitive spot, and you know that when he starts moving, you’ll be overwhelmed with the pleasure. 

“You feel so good.” His words sound far away, and it isn’t until he starts moving that everything sounds like it’s in high-definition audio. “So beautiful.” Each whisper settles against your skin, following the immense pleasure with each full thrust forward. 

Sylus starts off slow, with deep grinding thrusts where he’s angling his hips to reach every part inside you with precise ease. It’s slow and sensual, added to the hand still flat against your stomach, and it’s like you’re climbing a flight of stairs, the air pressure getting thinner and thinner with each step. 

Your breath begins to fail you, chest flushed and nipples aching with each slap of his pelvis against your hips. With his pace speeding up, the noises echoing through the room change. 

From low, gentle gasps and moans to loud, intense grunts and whines. Along with the clapping of his balls against your ass, it’s a cacophony of pleasure. 

“These hips – fuck… I love them.” Sylus grunts, both of his hands now anchored on your hips. Bending down, his body envelops your own, lips finding one of your nipples as it bounces in his face. 

Your whines increase, back arching as heat floods your body. His cock curves up, dragging against your walls with each sheath of himself in your tight heat. With a groan against your skin, he basks in the taut ring of muscles that only gets tighter with each suck on your sensitive bud. 

Fingers find their way to his hair, clutching onto him like a lifeline as waves and waves of pleasure wash over you. From the way he feels inside you to the magic his hands and mouth are working, you don’t think you can feel any better. 

And then his thumb pulls back the hood of your clit. 

“Ah – Sylus… Ple–” your startled words are cut off by quick, calculated circles rubbing into your clit, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. 

“I know…” He does. He knows. Sylus can tell by the way your legs wrap around his waist, wanting him impossibly closer, even though his entire length is buried inside you. For him to get any closer would mean for your souls to merge, and well, he’s not against that. 

Sylus’ breath is hot against your breast, sucking dark marks into the skin, and the thought crosses his mind that your skin would look amazing with a few reminders of just how much he can give you. You would look down, seeing the marks and remembering this night for weeks to come. He loved it. 

With your head pressing back into the pillow, you whimper his name, only to be granted a hum that vibrates through your nipple. A sharp gasp follows, and you tighten the grip you have on his hair. Something akin to a chuckle comes from him, but you can only focus on the accumulation of pressure in your lower abdomen. 

Each time he fully sheaths himself inside you, it's like you’re transported to another world. You feel so full, and your whole body rocks with his as he holds you in his arms. 

If he wanted to speak, he couldn’t, too preoccupied in making mark after mark on your skin, alternating between flicking his tongue across your nipple to finding another empty expanse of your body to stake his claim to. 

He’s not a possessive man, but he’s greedy. Which is why when you try to stutter out that you’re close, his incessant rubbing on your clit alternates to gentle pinches, feeling the way you throb under his digits and the way your pussy flutters around his length. 

“Go – ahead.” He whispers, his breath fanning out across your spit-slicked skin. “Let go – ha – for me, pretty girl.” 

His praise shoots straight to your soul, washing you in cold water that shocks you into oblivion. Lost in the sea of pleasure, your thighs lock around him, knees bent, and the heels of your feet pressing into his lower back to keep him right where you want him. 

You’re so lost in the euphoria, your back arching and hand holding his head to your chest, that you don’t feel the groans that come from Sylus’ lips. 

Sylus’ head is spinning with the painful pleasure of your fingers gripping onto his scalp, the pulsing of your pussy around him as he continues to stoke your fire with gentle strokes to your throbbing clit. 

“Can I – fu- inside?” He’s holding your thighs, sitting up to watch the way your breasts move with each thrust. 

“Ye–yes,” you whimper, overstimulation creeping into your veins and causing you to whimper. Your hand drops down from his hair, and Sylus’s digits fill the gaps. 

Both of your hands are grasped in his, his warm palms holding your arms down into the bed. His nose grazes yours, and in the haze of your past orgasm, you see the inferno in his eyes ignite. 

His cock twitches, emptying himself inside you in a few deep grinds of his hips against yours. The grip he has on your hands would normally hurt, but instead, it anchors you, forcing you to feel every inch of admiration that swims in his crimson irises. 

“Oh my –”

“Yeah,” you cut him off, your lips curling into a smile as he collapses on top of you. His arms wrap around your back, holding you close to him as he presses absentminded kisses to your neck. 

With Sylus’ shirt still halfway draped over your sweaty frame, you bask in the warmth that radiates from his chest. He’s so warm, so inviting, and you think that you can spend forever in his arms. 

You’re not sure how much time passes before he sits up to look at you, his fingers massaging your lower back. “You should go use the bathroom, sweetie.” He says, his deep voice edging into a gentle balm across your face. 

“Okay…” His length slips from you, and as you walk into the joined bathroom, you hear him call out from the bed. 

“The bed is cold without you…” You can imagine the smirk on his face, and you don’t answer. You can only think that perhaps fate gave you a room with one bed. 

But you also know that perhaps you were just meant to always be together like this…

© starsforxavi

[healmydesires]

I wanna be your provider

❥ pairing: sugar daddy/ceo!sylus qin x assistant!reader

❥ summary: “She has spent three years loving a man she cannot have. He has spent three years wanting a woman he won’t allow himself to reach for — until the day he decides, quietly and without hesitation, to reach anyway. What neither of them realises is that they’ve been finding each other all along. She just doesn’t know he’s the one on the other side of the screen yet.”

❥ genre: fluff + angst + smut (18+ mdni)

❥ word count: 50K+??? (I am insane and not normal about sylus <3)

❥ status: ongoing - march 2026

❥ warnings/tags: sugar daddy!sylus, alternative universe, ceo!sylus, yearning/longing, sylus is 39 in this, assistant!reader, sugar baby!reader, power imbalance, eventual boss/employee relationship, idiots in love, mild hurt/comfort, emotional/sensitive!reader, very long fic, banter, sylus the rage baiter. mutual masturbation, sexting, size difference. reader is shorter than sylus. reader is always audhd coded in my writing but anyone can read it. sylus is soft for reader, flirting/teasing, inexperienced/virgin!reader. dry humping, grinding, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom sylus, just in overall soft!sylus. sub!reader, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, overstimulation, size kink, full on daddy kink… I mean… it’s a sugar daddy au. so… <3, oral fixation, breeding kink, praise kink, pet names (kitten. sweetie. sweetheart etc.), multiple sex positions, pleasure dom!sylus, aftercare. mc loves the color pink a lot.

⟶ a/n: HIIIIII here I am with a new fic. as of the moment I am writing this it's still a wip. this fic is probably gonna be over 60k words. either way I still wanted to share the post on tumblr already. I always wanted to write a sugar daddy au BUT didn't find inspiration until RECENTLY. so in the lads server I'm in they are currently doing a 'kink bingo'. it's a little event that writers can participate and write a story around a certain trope. I went with sugar daddy 🤭💖 I said I wasn't gonna write for a while but what can I say… sylus brainrot. he's literally my muse. EITHER way. I hope you enjoy this story. 🥺💖 for anyone wondering… this is how I imagine sylus his build. either way I never know how to write fic in a short format so enjoy another lengthy fic from me again! also because I don’t wanna post it in parts you’ll have a sneakpeek on tumblr but to read the story in its full length you’ll have to head to ao3. thank you and I hope y'all love it as much as I loved writing it! 💘 title inspired by the song 'provider' by sleep token. (I don't normally listen to that type of music but my bestie leah recommended me this song for the fic) 💕💕💕 ps: for anyone wondering… this is how I imagine sylus his build. (without the blood and scratches) 🤭😋🤤🥵🥴🫠😵‍💫

this goes without saying, but if you don’t like it don’t read it <3

AO3 • masterlist

New York City does not care about your feelings.

This is something you’ve made your peace with over the years — the way it moves around you without slowing down, all noise and glass and cold wind off the Hudson in the early mornings when you’re walking the four blocks from the subway to Linkon Tower, coffee cup in hand, trying to remember if you forwarded that document last night or only dreamed that you did. The city asks nothing of you emotionally. It simply expects you to keep moving.

You are, in this way, well-suited to New York.

What you are less well-suited to — what you have been quietly, privately, catastrophically less well-suited to for approximately three years now — is being in love with your boss.

The elevator opens on the fifty-third floor.

You are fine.

“Good morning.”

His voice reaches you before you’ve fully stepped through the glass doors of the executive suite — low and unhurried, carrying the particular warmth he reserves for very few people, and you are, for reasons that keep you awake sometimes, one of them. Sylus is already at his desk, as he always is, as he has always been every single morning in the three years you’ve worked for him, because the man apparently does not sleep like a normal person. The Manhattan skyline stretches silver and pale behind him through the floor-to-ceiling windows. In the early light, he looks almost painterly — silver hair, dark suit, those red eyes lifting from the document in his hand to find you the moment you walk in, the way they always do, like he has a sense for you specifically.

Like he was waiting.

“Good morning,” you say, and you are very proud of how normal your voice sounds.

“How was the commute?” He asks it with genuine interest, setting his document down, which is one of the things that got you in trouble in the first place. The way he actually listens. The way Sylus, who runs a multi-billion dollar enterprise from this office and commands rooms full of people who are intimidated just by his posture, always has time to ask how your commute was.

“Cold,” you say, unwinding your scarf. “The L train decided this morning was a good time to have an existential crisis.”

“The L train always does that.” He tilts his head slightly. “You should have taken the car.”

“I’m not taking your car to work, Sylus.”

“You could.”

“I know I could. I’m choosing not to.” You drop your bag at your desk and pull out your tablet, already scrolling to his schedule. “It makes me feel like a kept woman.”

The silence that follows is approximately one beat too long.

You look up. Sylus is watching you with an expression you can’t fully decode — something that passed through his eyes too quickly, smoothed back over by the composed, unreadable surface he wears most of the time. The corner of his mouth curves.

“Heaven forbid,” he says mildly, and goes back to his document.

You turn back to your tablet and breathe.

Three years, you remind yourself. You have survived three years of this. You will survive today.

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

Here is what three years has taught you about Sylus:

He takes his coffee black, no sugar, too hot for comfort, and he drinks it while standing at the window with Manhattan spread out below him like something he’s quietly fond of. He is pathologically early to everything and has zero patience for people who aren’t, with the single exception of you — for you, he simply comes to find you, appearing at your workspace door with that unhurried patience, as though waiting for you specifically is a different category than waiting in general.

He reads physical documents even though everything could be digital because he thinks better with paper in his hands. He keeps the office two degrees warmer than the building standard because he noticed, in your first winter working for him, that you were always cold. He has never once mentioned this to you directly. You figured it out yourself, six months in, when you checked the building’s climate control records out of sheer curiosity, and you had to sit with that knowledge quietly for a long time afterward.

He is privately, genuinely funny — not the performative wit he turns on in meetings, but something dryer and warmer that surfaces only in the quiet moments, usually aimed at you. He reads in at least four languages. He grew up far from here, far from any of this, and there are moments when something in his expression goes distant and careful and you sense the geography of everything he’s built between himself and whatever came before.

He has never raised his voice at you. Not once. In three years of high-pressure deadlines and impossible situations and the particular chaos that seems to follow a man of his ambition, he has never directed anything at you that wasn’t measured, and considered, and — underneath its careful composure — surprisingly kind.

He is also tall — unreasonably, almost absurdly tall, the kind of tall that means the rest of the world simply exists lower than him — broad-shouldered, white-haired, and red-eyed, and standing next to him, which requires you to tilt your head back at an angle you’ve gotten quietly used to, makes you feel both very small and, inexplicably, very safe.

This is the problem.

This is the entire problem.

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

“You have the Meridian Capital call at nine,” you say, following him into his office with your tablet. This is another part of the choreography — the morning briefing, where you trail after him and he listens without looking at you directly, which you have learned means he’s paying the most attention. “Board review at eleven. You have a lunch block—”

“Clear it.”

You glance up. “You specifically asked for that block last week.”

“I know what I asked for last week.” He settles into his chair, leaning back in that easy way of his, long legs stretched under the desk. Even seated, the man is an unfair amount of presence. “Book somewhere for lunch instead. Somewhere quiet — not the Meridian district, I’ll have been on a call with those people for an hour and I’ll want a change of air.” His eyes come to you, and they’re soft in the way they sometimes are when it’s just the two of you and the morning is still early. “Somewhere you’d like. You choose.”

You pause. “You want me to choose.”

“Is that not what I said?”

“You’re very particular about restaurants, Sylus.”

“I’m particular in general,” he concedes. “But I trust your taste.” A brief pause. The softness in his expression doesn’t waver. “Lunch for two, somewhere you’d like. That’s all.”

You look at him for a moment too long — which you do sometimes, which you’ve been doing for three years, and he always holds the look, always lets you, like he has nothing to hide and all the time in the world, which is terrifying because it makes you feel seen — and then you nod and look back at your tablet.

“I’ll find somewhere,” you say.

“I know you will.” He picks up his pen. “You always do.”

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

The Meridian call runs long, as you predicted, and you have reorganized two schedules and soothed one very anxious junior analyst by the time it wraps. Sylus emerges from his office at eleven-oh-three, jacket on, expression still and composed from the professional armor he wears in those spaces, and crosses directly to your desk.

He sets a cup of tea down at your elbow.

Your tea — your specific order, the one you’d mentioned offhandedly to him eight months ago and apparently never needed to mention again — brewed at the temperature you like, with the little paper sleeve because the cup gets hot.

“Your eleven o’clock moved to eleven-fifteen,” you tell him, not trusting yourself to acknowledge the tea directly, “which means you have twelve minutes, and also I found a restaurant — it’s on the Upper West Side, French-American, supposed to be very quiet on weekdays—”

“Perfect.” He’s reading something on his phone, already walking, and he pauses at the edge of your workspace and glances back.

“You barely ate this morning.”

You blink. “I ate some cereal. How could you possibly—”

“You have the look,” he says, simply, like this is a perfectly reasonable thing to say. “The one that means you ate something that technically qualified as food and decided it counted.” The faintest curve of his mouth. “It doesn’t count.”

“It absolutely—”

“Book a table for twelve-thirty.” He’s already moving again, unhurried, like the conversation is entirely settled. “I’m not signing a single thing until I know you’ve had a real meal.”

Then he’s gone, moving down the hallway toward the boardroom, and you’re left staring at the empty doorway with your mouth still open and the faint, traitorous warmth of being known so precisely by someone spreading all the way up to your ears.

You close your mouth.

You book the table and then pick up your tea.

It is perfect.

You are in so much trouble.

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

The restaurant he lets you choose is a small place tucked between a bookshop and a dry cleaner on West 74th — French in its bones but soft around the edges, the kind of room that smells like butter and old wood and feels completely removed from the city outside. You’re not sure how it stays so quiet in Manhattan. Maybe it exists slightly outside of time.

Sylus ducks slightly to come through the door.

He does this — accommodates the world’s architectures with a patient, practiced ease, as though he accepted a long time ago that most spaces weren’t built for him and has made his peace with it. You notice this more than you should. You notice the way he instinctively adjusts when he’s close to you too — angles himself, shortens his step, never makes you feel like the difference in your heights is anything other than simply the way things are.

The host seats you at a corner table. The light is golden and low.

“This is nice,” Sylus says, and he means it. You’ve gotten good at knowing when he means things.

“I thought you’d like it.” You unfold your menu. “It feels like somewhere you’d eat if you didn’t have to perform anything.”

He goes still for just a moment. Then, quietly: “That’s a very accurate read.”

“Three years,” you say simply.

Something in his expression moves — warm and careful at once, like he’s handling something he doesn’t want to drop. He looks at you across the small table, and in the golden light of this room outside of time he looks different than he does in the office. Younger, almost. Softer. Like the thing he usually holds back with both hands is closer to the surface.

“You’re distracted this week,” he says eventually. Not an accusation — an observation, offered gently, the way he offers you most things. “You hide it well. But I know your face.”

Your heart catches.

I know your face. Said like it’s simply a fact, something true and uncontested, filed away somewhere in him.

“I found something,” you say, because you can never not tell him things, in the end. He does something to your defenses — doesn’t dismantle them, exactly, just makes you feel like they’re not necessary with him, which might be worse. “An apartment. A loft.” You look at your water glass. “I’ve been dreaming about my own place for years. You know how New York is — I’ve been in the same sublet since I moved here, and it’s fine, it’s always been fine, but it’s not mine. Nothing in it is mine.” You smile, self-deprecating. “I walked past a listing last weekend. A loft in the West Village — high ceilings, big windows, exposed brick. There’s a little terrace that looks out over the rooftops and I just — I stood on the sidewalk and looked at it for a long time.”

Sylus is watching you with his full attention — the specific quality of stillness he gets when you’re saying something he wants to remember. His hands are folded on the table. He’s not eating. He’s just listening.

“It needs renovation,” you continue, quieter now. “A lot of it, still. Which is part of why the price is—” You exhale. “The price is a lot. More than a lot. My savings are good, I’ve been careful, but between the listing and the renovation costs it’s just—” You shake your head. “It’s not realistic right now.”

A long pause.

“Tell me about it,” Sylus says.

You blink. “I just—”

“Not the numbers.” His voice is gentle. “The place. Tell me about the loft.”

Oh.

Oh.

You look at him. He looks back, patient and entirely serious, and something in your chest aches in a way you don’t have good language for.

And so you tell him — the arched windows and the way the afternoon light would fall across the floors, the exposed brick that runs the whole length of the far wall, the little wrought-iron terrace barely big enough for two chairs and a plant but somehow perfect, the ceiling height, the bones of it. The way you’d stood on that sidewalk and seen, with a clarity that surprised you, exactly what it could become. What it could be. You tell him all of it, more than you meant to, more than is probably professional over a two-person lunch that you’re already trying not to read too much into.

Sylus listens to every word.

When you finish, he’s quiet for a moment. There’s something in his expression that’s gone a little careful.

“What’s the address?” he says.

You study him. “Why?”

“Because you’ve just described the place you want most in the world,” he says, very simply, “and I’m interested in things that matter to you.”

The ache in your chest deepens. You look at him for a long moment — this man who runs a company from the fifty-third floor of a Midtown tower, who is a decade older than you and a foot taller than you and should by any reasonable accounting be the most intimidating person in your life, and who instead feels, in moments like this, like the safest one.

You give him the address.

You don’t know what he’ll do with it.

You just know, the way you know most things about Sylus, that he’ll do something.

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

The afternoon passes the way good afternoons in the office do — with a steady rhythm of tasks and small exchanges, the comfortable back-and-forth that you’ve built between you over three years like a language that only the two of you speak fluently. He stops by your desk at three to ask if you want anything from the coffee cart downstairs, which he would never do for anyone else, and brings you back a hot chocolate without commenting on it. You catch him at five-forty-five standing in the doorway of his office watching you finish up for the day with an expression you aren’t supposed to have seen — unguarded, quiet, something in it that sits low and warm in your stomach for the whole subway ride home.

It doesn’t mean what you want it to mean, you tell yourself, earbuds in, Manhattan rushing past outside the windows.

He’s just kind. He’s kind to you because you work for him and you’ve earned it and that’s all it is.

Forty-three blocks uptown, Sylus stands at his office window with your address on a notepad in his hand and thinks, for a very long time.

Then he sits down at his desk.

Opens his laptop.

And begins to type.

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

read the rest on ao3 <3

[mattsundaes]

Ordering for mattsun on a date after you noticed the waitress trying to flirt with him. He thinks it’s hilarious when she tries to get him to interact with her. Hilarious bc she has no idea just how much he belongs to you and only you.

(you're married) mattsun tugs your wedding band off of your finger when you're not paying attention. he gives it another fifteen minutes before he gets down on one knee beside the table and "proposes" in the middle of the restaurant.

"issei, what the fuck," you mutter, eyes wide as people at the surrounding tables start whispering excitedly.

his lips twitch.

[leakest-deactivated20260208]

(watching porn) what the hell.. i dont think he loves her.. 🫤

[hevthae-deactivated20260713]

first lads art post on here! I got possessed by the lads addiction😵‍💫specifically Caleb

gonna post more art in the future here and on x! eeeeeee

[applecaviar-deactivated20260321]

[oddussy420]

[sayuni123]

I physically cannot resist drawing the new Sylus Promise card 🍷

[snoozer-crow]

🐦‍⬛ hug from sylus 🫂

wc: 570 need a hug....

"You're alright. Come here, beloved."

Your breath leaves you all at once in a shuddering exhale as you let yourself collapse into his embrace. Sylus doesn't flinch or complain, easily supporting your weight as he holds you against him.

You wrap your arms around his broad torso, gripping tightly to his shirt as if you're afraid he'll be ripped from your grasp at any moment. He lets out a soft sigh of worry, his breath brushing your forehead as he presses his lips there, holding them against your skin for a long while before parting.

There's no trace of his usual teasing tone as he speaks this time. "Just lean into me. Let me take care of everything." As if sensing the protest growing in your tightening throat, he shushes you softly, beginning to rub your back in gentle, slow circles. His hand feels so big, the weight of it against you bringing you solace. "If there's anything you want to handle yourself, let me help you. No matter what you need, you're never too much."

Every shaky breath you take in allows you to lose yourself in his scent, helping you calm yourself bit by bit. You remember when he asked you to help him choose the fragrance of his body wash. He still uses it, even months later.

Its scent permeates so many happy memories that you've had the privilege of collecting with him. It gives you hope for the future, knowing that you'll have the opportunity to add so many more to your trove.

"That's it." He purrs, scattering kisses on the top of your head as he feels the tension begin to leave your limbs. "You can let go. I've got you. I won't ever let you fall."

And you do, slumping further into him as you let your breath slow to match his. You feel the way you rise and fall alongside his powerful chest as he inhales and exhales. His body feels so solid and real against yours.

His warmth radiates through his clothing to soothe your anxious chills, and you let your grip on his shirt slacken. You let yourself focus on the movement of his muscles beneath his shirt, the sound of his heartbeat, the love you can hear in every word that leaves his lips.

You trust him more than you've ever trusted anyone else. And it's scary to take that leap of faith, entrusting all of yourself to someone else, but he catches you every time. He has never once let you down.

"Do you want to lie down for a while?" At your nod, he picks you up with ease, keeping you held against his chest with a firm hand on your back. You close your eyes, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you let him decide where to take you.

He sits down on a couch, lying back against the armrest and guiding you to recline alongside him, staying in his lap. You're not quite sure where you are, but you don't want to move from your comfy spot to take a look. Leaning on him for comfort is a relatively new privilege, but one you value greatly. And Sylus seems almost giddy at the opportunity to pamper you like this, though he likely masks his enthusiasm to avoid spooking you.

"Rest, sweetheart. I'll keep you safe." He murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. You nod, already melting into him.

here is another hug fic by @/leighsartworks216 !! sylus is so huggable its not fair

[healmydesires]

run to you

❥ pairing: bodgyguard/knight!sylus qin x princess fem!reader

❥ summary: “A princess bound by duty, a knight sworn to protect her—two hearts that have orbited each other since childhood, close enough to feel the pull but never daring to cross the distance. When danger shatters the careful walls between them, they must choose between the roles they’ve been given and the truth they’ve hidden for twenty years.”

❥ genre: fluff + angst + smut (18+ mdni)

❥ word count: 41,9k (I will never be normal about sylus <3)

❥ warnings/tags: childhood best friends to lovers. fools/idiots to lovers. forbidden romance. one bed trope / forced proximity. mutual pining that they think is unrequited. the duke (original character) being used as a malicious misogynistic plot device, assassins, attempted murder, violence, yearning/longing, miscommunication in terms of thinking the love is unrequited, reader is shorter than sylus. inexperienced/virgin!reader, sylus is technically also a virgin but yeah, won’t be as noticeable. loss of virginity, unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom sylus, ok… just overall soft sylus, sub!reader, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, bit of breeding kink, overstimulation, size kink, praise kink, daddy kink (the word is used twice sorry!), lots of pet names (kitten, princess, sweetie, my beloved… etc).

⟶ a/n: oh my... I've always wanted to write a bodyguard au. so here I AM. and writing this trope for MY MUSE!!!! SYLUS. also I don't know what's happening but I'm obsessed with writing princess!mc 🥰 either way I never know how to write fic in a short format so enjoy this lengthy fic from me again! also because I don't wanna post it in parts you'll have a sneakpeek on tumblr but to read the story in its full length you'll have to head to ao3. I really love this and this banner inspired me a lot! thank you and I hope y'all love it as much as I loved writing it! 💘 inspired by the song run to you by whitney houston <3

this goes without saying, but if you don’t like it don’t read it <3

AO3 • masterlist

You were six years old the first time you saw Sylus Qin.

It had been a beautiful spring afternoon, the kind where the sun hung warm and golden in a cloudless sky and the palace gardens were in full bloom. You’d been playing alone among the peonies—your attendants watching from a respectful distance as always—when you’d heard voices approaching along the gravel path.

Men’s voices. Your father’s, you’d recognized immediately, and another you didn’t know.

Curious, you’d peered around the large ornamental rock you’d been using as a fortress in your imaginary game, and that’s when you’d seen him.

A boy. Older than you—maybe ten, you’d guessed, though you’d learned later he was actually ten—being led through the gardens by your father and the Master of Arms. He’d been dressed in the simple training clothes of a junior squire, his silver hair—even then, that striking silver—pulled back from his face, and his red eyes had been wide as he’d taken in the splendor of the imperial gardens.

Red eyes. You’d never seen eyes that color before.

He must have felt your stare because his gaze had suddenly shifted, landing directly on you where you’d been trying to hide behind your rock.

You’d frozen, caught.

For a moment, you’d just looked at each other—this strange silver-haired boy with crimson eyes and you, the princess who was supposed to be too dignified to spy on people.

Then you’d smiled and waved.

He’d blinked, clearly surprised, and glanced at the adults with him as if asking permission. But they’d been deep in conversation about training schedules or weapons or something equally boring, not paying attention to either of you.

So you’d waved again, more insistently this time, and gestured for him to come over.

He’d hesitated for only a second before slipping away from the group, moving with a quietness that had impressed you even then, and approaching your rock fortress.

“Hi,” you’d whispered, grinning up at him. “I’m—”

“The princess,” he said, and his voice had been soft, a little awed. “I know. Everyone knows.”

“What’s your name?”

“Sylus. Sylus Qin.” He’d bowed, stiff and formal in the way someone had clearly taught him to bow to royalty. “It’s an honor to meet you, Your Highness.”

You’d wrinkled your nose. “That’s too many words. Just call me by my name. And you don’t have to bow like that. It looks uncomfortable.”

His lips had twitched, almost smiling. “I’m supposed to bow to royalty.”

“But we’re going to be friends,” you announced with the absolute confidence of a six-year-old who’d decided she liked someone. “Friends don’t bow to each other. That’s silly.”

“Friends?” He’d sounded uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if princesses were allowed to have friends who were trainee squires.

“Yes! Do you want to play tag?” You hadn’t waited for an answer, just reached out and tagged his arm. “You’re it!”

And then you’d taken off running through the gardens, laughing, and after a moment of shocked hesitation, you’d heard him laugh too and give chase.

That was how it had started. How you’d met the boy who would become the most important person in your world.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ ☾*:･

The years that followed had been filled with stolen moments.

Sylus had been training to become a palace guard, working under the Master of Arms with single-minded determination that had impressed everyone. But whenever he’d had free time—and sometimes even when he shouldn’t have—he’d found his way to wherever you were.

He’d played with you in the gardens, climbed trees to retrieve kites you’d gotten stuck, helped you catch fireflies in the summer evenings. He’d sat with you during tedious lessons when your tutors had allowed it, and he’d carried you on his shoulders when you’d gotten tired during walks through the palace grounds.

Your attendants had been scandalized at first—a princess shouldn’t be so familiar with a mere trainee—but your father had allowed it. Had even encouraged it, you’d learned later. He’d seen the way Sylus watched over you even then, the way he’d positioned himself between you and anything that might hurt you, and he’d known.

This boy would protect his daughter with his life.

As you’d grown older, the games had changed but the connection had remained. You’d watch him train sometimes, hiding behind pillars or in doorways, mesmerized by the way he moved—the grace and power, the absolute focus. He’d always known you were there. Would sometimes show off a little, executing a particularly impressive combination or disarming his sparring partner with a flourish that made your heart flutter in your chest.

He’d been fourteen when you’d first realized you were in love with him.

You’d been ten, and you’d been crying in your chambers after one of the court ladies had pulled too hard while dressing your hair for some ceremony. It had hurt, and worse, the woman had scolded you for fidgeting, had called you difficult and ungrateful in a tone that had made you feel small and ashamed.

Sylus had found you in the gardens afterward, still sniffling, your elaborate hairstyle already falling apart.

“Hey,” he’d said softly, sitting beside you on the stone bench. “What’s wrong, Princess?”

You’d told him, the words tumbling out between tears, and he’d listened with such patience, such genuine concern, that it had made you cry harder.

“Come here,” he’d said finally, and he’d turned you around so your back was to him. “Let me fix it.”

“You don’t know how to—”

“My mother taught me,” he’d said quietly. “Before she… she worked in a kitchen, but she also helped the estate healer sometimes. She said a man should know gentleness, not just strength. That included learning how to braid hair.”

His fingers had been so careful as they’d worked through your tangles, so gentle that it hadn’t hurt at all. And as he’d braided and arranged your hair with surprising skill, he’d talked to you—told you stories about his mother, about his training, about anything and everything to distract you from your tears.

By the time he’d finished, you’d stopped crying. And when you’d turned to look at him, had seen the soft concern in his red eyes, the small smile on his lips as he’d admired his handiwork, something in your chest had shifted.

Oh, you’d thought. Oh no.

Because you’d realized in that moment that you loved him. Not the way you loved your parents or your friends, but something bigger, something that made your heart race and your cheeks flush and your stomach do strange fluttery things.

You’d been ten years old, and you’d fallen completely, irrevocably in love with a fourteen-year-old trainee who’d learned to braid hair from his mother and who’d never once made you feel like you were too much or too difficult or too anything.

What you hadn’t known—what you wouldn’t learn for years—was that Sylus had fallen in that moment too.

He’d been holding back tears of his own as he’d braided your hair, thinking of his mother who’d died just a year before, whose gentle teachings he’d been trying desperately to honor. And when you’d turned to look at him with those trusting eyes, still damp with tears but smiling now, something in his carefully controlled heart had cracked wide open.

He’d been too young to understand it fully, but he’d known: this girl, this princess he’d been assigned to protect, had become the center of his entire world.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ ☾*:･

The years had continued to pass, and the feelings had only grown stronger.

You’d been twelve when you’d first seen him truly fight.

Bandits had attacked the royal caravan during a trip to a neighboring province. You’d been terrified, frozen in the carriage as you’d heard shouts and the clash of steel. Then the door had been ripped open and a man with a scarred face and wild eyes had reached for you—

And Sylus had appeared like something out of legend.

He’d been sixteen, still technically in training but already more skilled than many full knights. He’d pulled the bandit away from you with one hand and put his sword through the man’s chest with the other, and the cold efficiency of it had stolen your breath.

Then he’d turned to you, and his expression had completely changed—from that deadly warrior to the gentle boy you knew, concern flooding his red eyes.

“Are you hurt?” he’d asked, checking you over with shaking hands. “Did he touch you? Are you—”

“I’m fine,” you’d managed, though you’d been trembling. “You saved me.”

“Always,” he’d said, and the intensity in his voice had made something warm bloom in your chest. “I’ll always save you.”

After that day, he’d been officially assigned to your personal guard rotation despite his young age. Your father had seen what you’d already known: there was no one better suited to protect you.

But the new official capacity had changed things between you. Where before you’d had freedom to just be friends, now there were expectations, protocols. He’d started calling you “Princess” more often than your name, had stopped seeking you out during his free time, had maintained a careful distance that had made your heart ache.

You’d been thirteen the first time you’d truly understood what it meant to miss someone who was standing right beside you.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ ☾*:･

You’d been fifteen when you’d first felt the magnetic pull.

It had been late evening, and you’d been studying in the palace library—or pretending to study, at least. Sylus had been stationed outside as your guard, but you’d insisted he come inside because it had been winter and the hallways were freezing.

He’d sat near the fireplace, supposedly watching the door but actually reading one of the military strategy texts you’d seen him glance at longingly. You’d been pretending to focus on your own book but really watching him—the way the firelight had painted gold across his silver hair, the way his brow had furrowed in concentration, the way his lips had moved slightly as he’d read.

Beautiful, you’d thought. He’s so beautiful.

At some point, you’d both looked up at the same time, and your eyes had met across the room.

The air had felt charged, electric. Neither of you had moved, but you’d felt pulled toward him like a string was tied between your hearts. You’d seen his throat work as he’d swallowed, seen the way his eyes had darkened, and you’d known—somehow you’d known—that if you stood up and crossed to him, if you’d closed the distance between you, something would have happened.

Something irreversible.

But you’d been fifteen and he’d been nineteen and he was your guard and you were a princess, and there were so many reasons why you couldn’t.

So you’d looked away first, breaking the moment, and you’d heard his quiet exhale like he’d been holding his breath.

It had become a pattern after that. These moments where you’d get too close, where the air would shimmer with possibility, where you’d almost—almost—let yourselves cross that invisible line.

But you never did.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ ☾*:･

You’d been seventeen when you’d realized he was pulling away.

The cuddling that had been so natural when you were children—him letting you fall asleep against his shoulder during long carriage rides, carrying you when you’d gotten sick, letting you seek comfort in his presence—had gradually stopped.

You’d try to lean against him and he’d shift away. You’d reach for his hand and he’d find a reason to move. You’d ask him to stay and talk with you like he used to, and he’d make excuses about duty and propriety.

It had hurt. Gods, it had hurt so much, and you hadn’t understood why.

You’d thought maybe he’d finally seen you clearly—seen that you were in love with him—and had been trying to distance himself because he didn’t feel the same. Or worse, because he’d felt sorry for you.

The truth, which you hadn’t known, was that Sylus’s feelings had grown beyond what he could safely control. Every casual touch had become torture. Every time you’d smiled at him, every time you’d said his name, every time you’d looked at him with those trusting eyes, it had been harder and harder to maintain his composure.

He’d been twenty-two and desperately in love with a eighteen-year-old princess he was sworn to protect, and the wanting had been consuming him. The desire to touch you, to hold you, to tell you everything he felt—it had been overwhelming. And worse, the thoughts had become less innocent. The way his body had responded to your proximity, the dreams he’d had that had left him aching and ashamed—he’d hated himself for it.

So he’d pulled away. Had tried to put distance between you and his inappropriate feelings. Had tried to be nothing more than your guard, nothing more than what was proper and right.

It had been killing him, but he’d thought it was necessary.

What he hadn’t realized was that his distance had been killing you too.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ ☾*:･

You’d been nineteen when you’d almost kissed him.

It had been your birthday celebration—a small, private thing, not the grand ball the court would throw later in the week. Just you and a handful of people you actually cared about. Sylus had been there in his capacity as your guard, standing near the wall with his usual vigilant posture.

But you’d been drinking wine—more than you probably should have—and the alcohol had made you bold.

You’d crossed to him, aware of people watching but not caring, and you’d grabbed his hand.

“Dance with me,” you’d said.

“Princess, I don’t think—”

“It’s my birthday,” you’d insisted. “And I want to dance with you. Please?”

He’d hesitated, clearly torn, but you’d pulled on his hand and he’d finally, finally given in.

You’d danced—a proper, formal dance, his hand at your waist and yours on his shoulder, the appropriate distance maintained between you. But it had felt anything but appropriate. Every place his body had touched yours had burned. His red eyes had been locked on your face, intense and wanting, and you’d felt dizzy with something that had nothing to do with the wine.

The music had slowed, or maybe you’d both just stopped paying attention to it. You’d been swaying together, closer than you should have been, his hand sliding lower on your back, your fingers threading into the hair at his nape.

“Princess,” he’d whispered, and his voice had been rough, strained. “We shouldn’t—”

“I don’t care,” you’d whispered back. You’d been looking at his lips, watching them form words, wanting to feel them against yours with an intensity that had stolen your breath.

You’d started to lean in. He’d started to lean in too, his eyes already closing, his head tilting—

“Your Highness!” One of your attendants had called, breaking the moment. “The cake is ready!”

You’d both jerked apart like you’d been burned. Sylus had stepped back immediately, his expression shuttering, and you’d wanted to scream with frustration.

So close. You’d been so close.

But the moment had passed, and Sylus had bowed and excused himself, and you’d been left standing there with your heart hammering and the taste of almost on your lips.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ ☾*:･

You’d been twenty when you’d overheard the conversation that had shattered something in you.

Two of the palace guards had been talking in the hallway outside your chambers, not realizing you were right inside the slightly-ajar door.

“Qin’s got it rough,” one had said. “Being assigned to the Princess full-time. Must be exhausting, never having a moment to himself.”

“At least the pay is good,” the other had replied. “And it’s prestigious, being the Princess’s personal guard. Opens doors for advancement.”

“True. Though between you and me, I don’t think he had much choice. The King specifically requested him for the position. Not like he could refuse even if he wanted to.”

“Think he ever gets tired of it? Following her around constantly?”

“Probably. But he’s too professional to show it. That’s why he’s the best.”

You’d stood there, frozen, as their voices had faded down the hallway.

Duty. That’s all you were to him. A prestigious assignment he couldn’t refuse. A job that paid well and looked good for his career.

All those moments between you—the dancing, the almost-kisses, the way he’d held you—it had all been in your head. He’d been professional. Doing his duty. Nothing more.

The realization had crushed you.

You’d cried yourself to sleep that night, mourning something you’d never actually had.

What you hadn’t known was that Sylus had heard that same conversation from the other end of the hallway. Had heard those guards reduce his deepest feelings to mere professional obligation, and had been grateful.

Because if everyone thought he was just doing his duty, if no one suspected the truth of how desperately in love with you he was, then maybe he could keep serving as your guard. Could keep being near you, even if he could never have you.

It had been better this way, he’d told himself. Better that you thought his care was merely professional.

Even if the lie had hurt worse than any blade.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ ☾*:･

You’d been twenty-three when you’d started receiving serious marriage proposals.

Noble sons, foreign dignitaries, wealthy merchants seeking to elevate their status—they’d come in a steady stream, and you’d rejected every single one. Your father had been patient at first, understanding your reluctance to marry young, but as you’d approached your mid-twenties, the pressure had increased.

You’d had to sit through countless meetings with potential suitors, had to smile and make polite conversation with men who’d looked at you like a prize to be won. And through it all, Sylus had been there, standing behind your chair or near the door, his face carefully neutral.

You’d watched him sometimes during those meetings, trying to gauge his reaction. Did it bother him to see other men courting you? Did he care at all?

His expression had never changed. Professional. Detached. Doing his duty.

It had hurt worse than any outright rejection.

What you hadn’t seen was the way his hands had clenched behind his back, nails digging into his palms hard enough to leave marks. The way his jaw had ached from keeping his expression neutral when everything in him had wanted to remove these men from your presence by force.

The way he’d gone back to his quarters after each of these meetings and destroyed training dummies, imagining them as every suitor who’d dared to think they were worthy of you.

You’d never seen the way he’d broken down the night he’d heard rumors that your father was losing patience, that he might arrange a marriage without your consent if you continued to refuse everyone.

The night he’d realized he might actually lose you. That you might belong to someone else, and he’d have to stand by and watch it happen because he was nothing. No one. Just a guard with no title and no prospects and no right to love someone so far above him.

You’d been twenty-six when Zou Cheng had proposed.

And that’s when everything had changed.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ ☾*:･

The walk back to your chambers had been suffocatingly silent.

Sylus had fallen into step behind you the moment you’d dismissed yourself from the receiving hall, his presence a steady shadow at your back. You’d kept your chin high, your expression carefully neutral as you’d passed through the corridors of the palace, aware of the eyes that followed you—servants, courtiers, guards. Word of your rejection of Zou Cheng’s proposal would already be spreading through the palace like wildfire, and you refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing you rattled.

But the moment your chamber doors closed behind you and Sylus, the carefully constructed composure shattered.

Your hands were shaking as you turned to face the room, breath coming shorter, faster. The tears you’d been holding back since Zou Cheng had smiled at you with that entitled, predatory expression were burning at the backs of your eyes.

Your attendants looked up from where they’d been preparing your afternoon tea, concern immediate on their faces.

“Please,” you managed, your voice strained but still kind, still soft. “I need some time alone. Thank you.”

They bowed quickly, sensing your distress, and filed out with worried glances over their shoulders. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving only you and Sylus in the spacious chamber.

He stood near the entrance, his tall frame relaxed but alert in the way it always was—like he could spring into action at a moment’s notice. Today he wore robes of deep red silk with gold embroidery along the collar and cuffs, the formal attire of the imperial guard when not in full armour. The crimson fabric brought out the color of his eyes, made his long silver hair seem to glow in the filtered sunlight. His sword hung at his side, the leather of the scabbard worn smooth from years of use. His expression was carefully neutral, but those red eyes watched you with an intensity that made your chest ache.

The moment you knew you were truly alone with him, the dam broke.

“It was completely awful, Sy. A disastrous show. A freaking outrage. Did you see the way that Zou Cheng was looking at me? The way he could barely compose himself as I declined his proposal? I should’ve slapped him when he tried to come on to me. He’s a fucking disgrace,” you grumbled, pacing around your luxurious and elegant bedroom.

The chamber was a reflection of imperial refinement—walls adorned with hand-painted silk panels depicting cherry blossoms in full bloom, their delicate pink petals seeming to drift across the fabric. Latticed windows of dark wood filtered the afternoon sunlight into soft, golden beams that pooled across polished floors. Carved wooden screens separated different areas of the spacious room, and your canopy bed was draped in layers of flowing silk in shades of cream and rose. The palace itself was a sprawling masterpiece of red lacquered pillars, sweeping golden-tiled roofs that curved toward the heavens, and tranquil courtyards where ancient trees stood guard over stone pathways and lotus ponds.

You’d smiled at your bodyguard—your knight—Sylus Qin that morning as he’d escorted you down to meet Zou Cheng, nervous energy making your hands tremble slightly as you’d adjusted your hair. You’d asked him softly if you looked beautiful, needing that reassurance before facing another suitor you had no interest in. He’d glanced at you with those striking crimson eyes, something flickering in their depths before he’d smiled to himself and responded with a quiet, “Yes, Princess.” You could have sworn his pale cheeks had flushed slightly, that he’d looked away as if composing himself, though maybe that was just wishful thinking—your heart projecting feelings onto him that he’d never expressed.

Now, as you paced, your pink hanfu swished around your legs, the delicate peonies embroidered into the fabric catching the light. A few strands of hair had come loose from your carefully arranged style, the jade pins your attendants had spent an hour placing now slightly askew from your agitated movements.

“Princess,” Sylus said quietly, his deep voice cutting through your spiraling anger like a knife through silk. He hadn’t moved from his position near the door, but something in his tone made you pause mid-step, turning to look at him.

His jaw was tight, you noticed. The muscle there flexing almost imperceptibly as he watched you pace. His hand had drifted to rest on the pommel of his sword—not threateningly, but like he needed something solid to anchor himself to.

“You had every right to refuse him,” he continued, his voice carefully measured, professional. “Zou Cheng is…” He paused, and you saw the way his fingers tightened fractionally on the sword hilt. “He’s not worthy of you. His behavior was inappropriate and disrespectful.”

You laughed, but it came out bitter and sharp. “Inappropriate? Sy, he practically cornered me when you stepped back to give us ‘privacy.’ He put his hand on my waist and told me I should reconsider, that a woman of my ‘particular situation’ couldn’t afford to be so selective.” Your voice cracked slightly on the last words, the tears threatening again. “Like I’m some kind of burden to be offloaded. Like I should be grateful for his attention.”

Something dangerous flashed across Sylus’s face—there and gone so quickly you almost missed it. His eyes darkened, the red seeming to burn brighter for just a moment. His other hand flexed at his side, and you watched his throat work as he swallowed whatever his immediate reaction had been.

“He touched you?” The words came out quieter than before, but there was an edge to them that made your breath catch. Not anger at you—never at you—but something cold and lethal simmering beneath his controlled exterior.

“Just my waist,” you said, wrapping your arms around yourself. “But the way he looked at me, Sy. Like… like he was already imagining…” You couldn’t finish the sentence, shuddering.

Sylus was silent for a long moment, and when you looked at him again, his expression had smoothed into that professional mask he wore so well. But his eyes—gods, his eyes were still burning with something that made your heart race.

“If he ever touches you again,” he said, voice low and absolutely certain, “he’ll lose the hand. I don’t care what his rank is.”

The fierce protectiveness in his tone sent warmth flooding through your chest, chasing away some of the coldness Zou Cheng’s attentions had left behind. This was why you loved him, you thought helplessly. This steadfast devotion, the way he made you feel safe and valued and—

You shook your head, trying to dispel the thought. He was your knight. Your protector. These feelings he showed you were duty, nothing more. No matter how much you wished otherwise.

“Come here, sweetie,” Sylus said softly, and the endearment made your chest ache. He moved away from the door finally, crossing to you with that fluid grace that came from years of training. When he reached you, he lifted one hand slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted, before gently tucking one of the loose strands of hair behind your ear. “You’re trembling.”

His touch was so careful, so tender, that the tears finally spilled over.

“I’m just so tired of this,” you whispered, looking up at him. At this distance, you could see the way his silver hair caught the light, the sharp lines of his face softened by concern. “Every week it’s another proposal from another man who sees me as a political opportunity or a prize to be won. None of them actually want me. They want what I represent.”

“Then they’re all fools,” Sylus murmured, his hand still hovering near your face, like he wanted to touch you again but didn’t trust himself to. “You are… so much more than what you represent, Princess.”

The way he said it, the quiet intensity in his voice, made you wonder—just for a moment—if maybe you weren’t imagining everything after all.

You wiped at your tears quickly, embarrassed by the show of emotion even though it was just Sylus. He’d seen you cry before—too many times over the years—but it still made you feel vulnerable in a way that was both comforting and terrifying.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice still thick. “I shouldn’t be falling apart like this. Especially not today—the Lantern Festival is tonight and I need to…” You gestured vaguely at yourself, at your tear-stained face and disheveled hair. “I can’t go looking like I’ve been crying over that bastard.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Sylus said firmly, finally dropping his hand back to his side, though he seemed reluctant to do so. “And for what it’s worth, you could never look anything less than beautiful.”

Your breath caught at the words, at the way he said them—so matter-of-fact, like he was stating an undeniable truth rather than offering a compliment. Heat crept up your neck and into your cheeks.

“I… thank you,” you managed, your heart doing complicated things in your chest. You cleared your throat, trying to regain some composure. “I should change. The pink is pretty, but it’s too associated with this morning’s disaster. I can’t wear it to the festival.”

You moved toward the carved wooden screen in the corner of your chamber where your attendants had already laid out your festival attire—a stunning hanfu in deep crimson and gold, far more elaborate than what you currently wore. The color of celebration and good fortune.

“It’ll just be a moment,” you called over your shoulder as you disappeared behind the screen, already reaching for the pins in your hair.

You heard rather than saw Sylus move to stand near the window, giving you privacy while still remaining in the room. It was familiar, this dance you’d done countless times over the years. Him always nearby, always vigilant, but never crossing certain invisible lines.

Your fingers fumbled slightly with the fastenings of your pink hanfu as you thought about those lines. About how desperately you wanted him to cross them, to acknowledge that there was something between you beyond duty and childhood friendship. But he never did. He was too honorable, too bound by his position as your protector.

And you were too afraid of losing even this—his presence, his steadiness, his gentle words—to ever push for more.

The crimson hanfu slipped over your shoulders like water, the silk cool against your skin. The embroidery was exquisite—golden phoenixes and lotus flowers swirling across the fabric in intricate patterns. The sleeves were long and flowing, edged with gold trim, and the outer robe was secured with an ornate sash that took you a moment to tie properly.

You stepped out from behind the screen, smoothing your hands over the fabric. “Could you…?” You gestured to your hair, which you’d taken down completely, letting it fall loose around your shoulders. “I have the lotus clip for the festival, but I can’t quite get it positioned right on my own.”

Sylus turned from the window, and you watched his eyes widen fractionally as he took in your appearance. That look again—the one that made your heart race, that made you think maybe, possibly, he felt something too.

“Of course, kitten,” he said softly, crossing to you. The endearment, different from the others, always made you melt a little. He only used it in private moments like these, and you hoarded each instance like precious treasure.

You sat at your vanity and handed him the white lotus hair clip—a beautiful piece carved from jade, with delicate petals that seemed almost translucent in the light. Your hands brushed as he took it from you, and you could have sworn you felt him tremble.

His fingers were impossibly gentle as they gathered your hair, his touch sending shivers down your spine that you desperately hoped he couldn’t see. He worked in focused silence, arranging your hair with surprising skill for a warrior.

“Where did you learn to do this?” you asked quietly, watching him in the mirror.

A small, fond smile tugged at his lips—the kind of smile that only appeared when he let his guard down around you. “I’ve been doing this since we were little, remember?” His voice was soft, almost nostalgic. “You used to sit still for maybe thirty seconds before getting distracted by a butterfly or a bird, and I’d have to start all over again.”

Your chest warmed at the memory, at the reminder of all those years you’d spent together. Back when things had been simpler, before duty and propriety had built walls between you.

“I was a terrible student,” you admitted, smiling at his reflection.

“You were seven,” he said, amusement coloring his tone. “And even then, you never sat still unless it was something you truly cared about.” His fingers worked through a particularly stubborn tangle with infinite patience. “I learned to be quick about it.”

“There,” he murmured, stepping back slightly. The lotus clip was positioned perfectly, securing part of your hair while letting the rest cascade down your back. His eyes met yours in the mirror, and for a moment—just a moment—you saw something raw and unguarded there.

Want. Longing.

Then he blinked and it was gone, replaced by that professional warmth.

“Beautiful,” he said quietly. “You’ll be the most radiant person at the festival.”

You stood, turning to face him directly rather than through the mirror. “Will you stay close tonight?” you asked, hating how vulnerable you sounded. “After this morning with Zou Cheng, I just… I’d feel better knowing you were nearby.”

“Always, Princess,” Sylus promised, and the intensity in his voice made you believe him. “I’ll be right beside you the entire time. Nothing will happen to you. I swear it.”

If only you’d known then how impossible that promise would be to keep.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ ☾*:･

read the rest on ao3 <3

[xiayuriz]

the autarch's beloved: sylus (秦彻)

after being taken from your village, you happen to fall into the hands of the autarch of xuanyu. you're frightened, hearing stories from your maids about how cruel of a man he is. lucky for you though, the autarch believes in love at first sight,

wc: 8.2k (i got carried away)

warnings: nsfw. mentions of kidnapping, non-canon compliance, spoilers for his card (shared lanterns), misogynistic ideals, slight angst, luke and kieran mention, drinking, sylus shenanigans, oral (f!receiving), nipple play, fingering, piv, unprotected sex (please use a condom), biting, overstimulation, size kink, overuse of "my wife" and "my beloved"

izaya's notes: haiii i finally finished this. sylus's card has been giving me insane brainrot. expect another fic about him as the autarch LOL. it's such a fun dynamic and u can do alot w it!! also do we like the new theme and layout? #lmk anyways !!! enjoy <3

You hadn’t expected your marriage to be a loving one. Hailing from another nation, kidnapped and taken across the border when your village was conquered, you’d slowly accepted your fate. You knew eventually your owners were going to sell you off, someway somehow. They couldn’t kill you. You were a high-ranking official’s daughter. You were too valuable to be killed or physically harmed. 

So, the day of your wedding has arrived. The Autarch of Xuanyu, they call him. One who is rumoured to bring men to their knees, quivering, just at the sound of his name. Allegedly, he is your husband-to-be. You have yet to meet him. Some say he’s handsome, others harbor wildly different views. The stories the maids whisper around this foreign palace make your stomach curl into knots. 

“I’ve heard some other servant girls saying that he’s rude and cruel. Apparently, he killed an entire village overnight!” Your lady-in-waiting exclaimed as she ran a hair through your comb. You kept your head low, quiet as usual. 

It’s hard to understand them from time to time. The language they speak is different, the food is different— Everything is different here. You rise from your seat allowing them to dress you. A soft sigh escapes your lips, face neutral. What could you do? 

Your father traded you in exchange for his life, allowing these foreign soldiers to kidnap you and take you back to their land. It was out of your hands now. You can only hope and pray that your husband was at least empathetic with your situation. 

“My lady?” A rough voice from outside called out. One of them maids ushers towards the door, swinging it open. Two guards stand outside your door, eerily similar faces and builds. They bow slightly before speaking, 

“His Highness sends a gift. He hopes you will accept it.” The one on the right pulls out a slim box from his robe, holding it in the palm of his hands. You retrieve it from him, your fingers gliding over the wooden box. You glance up at them, then your ladies-in-waiting. They smile at you softly, encouraging you to open it. 

You open the box, sliding the top open. Wrapped in a silk cloth is a beautiful hairpin. Datura flowers and vines are wrapped around the end, dangling with rubies. It’s beautiful. And definitely expensive. 

This sovereign definitely has money. You’re somewhat comforted by the fact that you will live at least comfortably. You look up at your ladies-in-waiting. One of them squeals with excitement, standing beside you. Her eyes twinkle with joy as she admires the hairpin, 

“My Lady! This is wonderful! His Highness has sent you a hairpin!” You don’t understand what the excitement is about. It is a hairpin. Albeit, it’s beautiful. There’s no denying that, but why are they all squealing and giggling. 

You place it back in the box, carefully wrapping it back into the silk cloth. You bow your head gently towards the two guards. 

“Please relay my gratitude to His Highness. It is beautiful.” You speak, soft and elegant. The two guards leave, your ladies and you standing in the center of the room. The oldest lady who is cleaning out your dresser speaks, 

“Perhaps he isn’t as horrible as the men of the nation rumor him to be.” She lightly glares at the two youngest who were whispering earlier. She places her hand on your shoulder, smiling. Despite knowing you for a short time, she has been nothing but kind. 

“What does this mean though?” You ask, looking around as they all look at you surprised. Then, they all smile knowingly. A few giggle, the oldest lady sighing. Nobody answers your question, ushering you out of your clothes. 

They help you lotion yourself, rubbing a scented oil on your skin while another lights a multitude of incense. You wonder what he truly is like. A tyrant, you’ve heard. Harsh, irritable, cruel— These words coil in your stomach. It’s not as if you can run away now.

Perhaps it is better to be the wife of a tyrant than to be on the streets, just waiting for some unruly man to harm you once more…. 

The two of you sit across from one another, a round table between your bodies. You keep your gaze on your lap, the red veil covering your view of him. You’ve yet to get a good look at him. His piercing gaze frightening you enough. 

He holds a porcelain cup in his hand, eyeing the cold cup resting in front of you. He reaches over, pouring the cold contents of your cup into his own. He proceeds to pour you a fresh one, hot and steaming. 

“It gets cold in this area at night. It is custom to drink hot tea before you go to sleep.” He speaks casually, his voice deep and rumbling in his chest. He looks at you, resting his elbow on his raised knee. “You can remove your veil if you’d like. I can help if you so desire.” 

There’s a playful tone to his words, but your guard is still up. You gently remove your veil, still looking down at you. He does not chide you. He nudges the tea cup closer, leaning over the table. 

“Drink.” He orders, tone stern. You finally return his gaze, head raising. Your eyes widen slightly. The ladies at the pavilion did not describe just how famous the Autarch of Xuanyu truly is. His shoulders are broad even under his robes, sharp features, beautiful eyes. 

His eyes. You feel compelled to compliment him, but keep shut. You finally take the teacup into your hand, sniffing it before drinking. Something with ginger. You aren’t too knowledgeable… 

You set it back down as he clears his throat. He beckons you to sit comfortably. You finally rest your stiff posture, getting comfortable on the floor. 

“I wanted to ask you, Your Highness.” You finally speak up. He interrupts you before you can finish. 

“Sylus.” He states. You flash him a confused face. “My name is Sylus. You are my wife. You are under no obligation to call me by my title. We are of equal standing. There is no need to address me so formally.” You blink owlishly at him. Sylus chuckles, drinking the last bit of his cold tea. “Apologies. Continue.” He nods. 

“Why did you pay to marry me? If it is for political power, I regret to inform you that my father was the one who gave me away. I am of no use.” You softly sigh, preparing for him to become angry. 

“I am aware.” He replies, watching your every move. Again, you are bewildered. He is an odd man. 

“Then why…?” You mumble, quickly stopping. 

“Speak freely in my presence. You are my wife. You have that authority.” He narrows his eyes at you as if he is trying to convince you. You nod in reply. “I simply felt as if I should. There is no other reason.” 

You can’t help but think there is more to it, but you keep silent. You nod in reply, not digging deeper. 

“Then, are there any rules you have for me?” You bow your head once more. He sits straighter, reaching forward to tip your head up. 

“A few. One, do not bow your head at me. We are of equal stations. I am your husband, you, my wife. It is unnecessary.” He leans back, eyes still on your form. He raises two fingers. “Secondly, I would like to have one meal with you every day. We are married. It would be nice to get to know one another, yes?” 

You nod in return, pouring him more tea. 

“This isn’t a rule, but you are free to live in whatever way suits you. If you would like to find a job somewhere, I do not mind. Though, you are free to spend my pension with no restrictions. But if you wish to, I will not stop you. Even if you stay in my home and do nothing but lounge about, it does not bother me.” He breathes in, voice low, almost whispering. 

“All I ask is that you eat a meal with me. That is all. Whichever meal of your choice, any food of your choice. I will make time for you. You are allowed to call on me no matter what. I am your husband, I will be there.” That strikes you in the chest. It is surprising, seeing how… polite he is compared the stories you have heard. But you’re smarter than that, than to blindly believe the word of a man. But you nod, you do not object. 

“I thank you, Your Highness.” You raise your arms to bow your head, but he grabs a hold of your forearms. His grip isn’t tight, but there’s enough pressure to capture your attention. He lowers your arms, your eyes gazing into his. His face looks pained, almost uncomfortable. 

“Sylus. And do not bow to me. Lest you want me to bow to you?” His eyebrows perk up, mischief swirling in his eyes. You widen your eyes, shaking your head. The corners of his lips curl upwards as he stands on his feet. 

“Good. Then I shall go to my chambers.” He hums. You stumble to your feet. 

“Wait. Do you not…” Your words falter, seeing his smirk form as he looks over his shoulder. 

“Would you like to?” He asks, brows raised. Amused to the fullest degree. Your cheeks flush, irritated. He is far too mischievous for an official. You shake your head, clearing your throat. 

“Goodnight then, my dear.” You nod in reply, eyeing the room around you as you try to calm your racing heart. 

The Autarch of Xuanyu is not a picky eater. He doesn’t have a penchant for sweets, but he eats whatever you choose. Oftentime, the skillful merchant takes you out to eat, walk around the city. People stare, awfully so. 

A beautiful girl with a man like him… It is peculiar. What’s even more peculiar to Sylus is that you do not wear any other hairpin aside from the one he gifted you on your wedding night. As the carriage drives into the city, he leans down to whisper in your ear. 

“My dear.” His shoulder rubs against yours. You peel your eyes away from the scenery and look up at him. Your eyebrows raise softly. “Do you not like any of your other jewelry?” He asks, noting the simplicity of your outfits. You typically hone the same jewelry. Your hairstyles change, thanks to your ladies-in-waiting, but your jewelry does not alter. 

“I do not have any others, Sylus.” You reply, plainly. He’s taken aback. You speak as if that is normal, as if that suits his wife. Puzzled he leans down, 

“You do not have any others?” He parrots, voice tilting in confusion. You nod. “My dear,” He sighs, exasperated. He pinches the bridge of his nose, huffing a laugh. “If you needed— or wanted more— I’d be willing to buy it for you. I have told you before, no? My pension is yours to spend.” 

You keep your eyes on your lap, twisting your fingers nervously. The carriage comes to a stop, followed by Sylus stepping out. He holds open the door with one hand, the other reaching out for you. 

“Come. Let us eat. We will discuss this later.” You take it hand, carefully exiting the carriage. 

Perhaps you’ve become a bit spoiled with the Autarch. He isn’t anything like the rumors. Sure, perhaps you’ve overheard a few conversations while passing by his office room that you most definitely shouldn’t have. He’s straightforward, blunt about his wants and offers. When insulted, he retaliates. 

With you though, he’s kind and warm. He holds an arm out for you whenever you go, he gives in to any of your desires, nor does he restrict you in any matter. You’re free to spend as much money as you would like. You may go anywhere, converse with anyone. 

Being the Autarch’s wife allows the world to become your oyster. 

He’s attentive and dutiful as well. Despite being married for over six months, he has not pressured you about fulfilling your marital duties. In fact, he defends you. When your father came to visit you, he remarked that you were not yet pregnant. He scolded you, telling you that you were letting a grand opportunity slip from your fingers because of your stubbornness. Your comfort. 

You mentioned this conversation to Sylus. Albiet, it was after a very uncomfortable and sudden attempt to fulfill your ‘duties’ as a wife. Nothing had happened. But Sylus wasn’t pleased. And that’s saying it lightly. 

He was furious, demanding your father to explain himself. You are his wife, no longer that man’s daughter. Sure, he cannot erase the blood connection you have, but your father severed any ties he had with you when he sold you off. 

You’re one of the lucky ones, to say the least. Hearing the stories of other women during functions or balls certainly isn’t helping either. You do not think Sylus would be a beast, nor force you into fulfilling your duties, but he is a man after all. He too has desires. Perhaps he may need them fulfilled… 

“Sweetheart,” Sylus calls out to you, noticing you’ve spaced out. You blink up at him, feeling his fingers brush your bangs out of the way. He smiles, ushering you into the restaurant. He doesn’t smile at others, reserving it only for you. The staff are slightly comforted by the fact that the Autrach’s lady is with him. He tends to be more harmonious with you around. 

He isn’t cruel to them, more destructive. But he pays handsomely for his misbehaviour, so the boss doesn’t dare complain. You take a sit across from Sylus, allowing him to serve you a cup of tea. You’ve noticed he quite likes the tea they serve here, opting to drink multiple cups. 

“What were you thinking about?” He asks, resting his chin in his palm. He’s teasing you, his lips curled up. You chuckle, breathing out. 

“Nothing of importance.” You reply, raising the cup to your lips. You don’t dare bring up the conversation of his needs in public. But you cannot help but wonder: Has he ever thought of it? 

You don’t think you would mind. It’s not as if you are in love with him. You like him, you’ll admit. He is kind, nurturing, everything you have longed for after dealing with a multitude of arrogant, abusive men. He is a breath of fresh air.

But if the ladies at the balls and functions are correct, then you cannot abstain from your duties forever. It must happen eventually. Whether you like it or not. You're uneasy for the remainder of lunch. If Sylus notices, he doesn't say so. But you know it will come up eventually. 

The market is bustling as usual. Even more so when the locals are aware that the Autrach is here. You've learned that people are more partial to speaking to you than him. You're kinder, softer. Sylus is well… Himself. 

You stop at multiple stands, admiring the handwork and trinkets that are on display. You find a few pieces of jewelry you like. Paid by Sylus, of course. You look back to see him looking around at the people. You take a gander as well. There are many beautiful girls in sight. Your stomach churns once again. This time though, you feel like you may puke. 

For your image's sake, you request to go back home. Sylus does not question you, but his hand is firm on your lower back. The ride back isn't peaceful by any means. Sylus allows you to lean on him, but that doesn't help you either. You whimper into your own palms, sick with worry. 

It's a blur, getting back to his estate. When you come to consciousness, one of your ladies-in-waiting is pressing a cold towel to your forehead. She quivers because behind her is your husband, arms crossed and brows furrowed. You blearily blink as you open your eyes, groaning. Everything hurts, your head, your stomach, and especially your throat. You cough, violently sitting up. Your lady-in-waiting gasps, rubbing your back. 

"Your Highness!" She comforts you. She's nudged aside by Sylus who kneels by your bedside. She brings a cup of warm water to your lips. You swallow down the water, the ache in your throat easing slightly. He pulls it away from you, silently placing it on the table. 

Soon, a doctor comes into the room. You can't hear his conversation with Sylus, but his body language only frightens you further. You weakly reach out your arm to him, tugging on the sleeve of his robe. You feel horrible. You whimper a sob, his head turning around swiftly. He clutches your hand in his, smoothing a hand over your sweaty head. 

It's summer, there's no reason you should be catching a cold. His face is the epitome of worry. You know the doctor's still talking, but you keep your eyes on Sylus's gaze. His beautiful eyes. He presses a kiss to your knuckles, rubbing your cheek. 

"I don't understand." He states, speaking to the doctor. The doctor cowers behind Sylus, eyes on his sock-clad feet. 

"Perhaps Her Highness isn't adjusting well to a new environment. Stress can do unimaginable things to the body, Your Highness. Ample rest will do her well." He writes a prescription and hands it to the lady in the corner of the room. She nods as the doctor turns back to Sylus who is still looking at you. 

"She will recover, Your Highness." He bows before exiting the room. The lady also takes an initiative to go retrieve your prescription, leaving Sylus and you alone in the room. He's perplexed. What could you possibly be stressed about? He's provided everything you have asked for. Is there something he is missing? Is he lacking in a department? 

"My dear," He whispers, thumb brushing over your forehead. Your eyes flutter shut. The corners of your eyes burn the longer you try to keep them open. Sylus shushes you softly, rubbing over your eyebrow. "Rest. We will speak later." 

You do not get the opportunity to speak to him later. In fact, you do not see your husband until winter. Monthly, you receive a letter from him. He's stuck in a neighboring nation, having to stay until the end of the summer festival. However, the date for his return keeps getting pushed back by unseen circumstances. He still sends money weekly though, handed to you through one of the guards you met on your wedding day. Occasionally, he sends you presents. Custom-made hairpins, necklaces, earrings-- You name it, he has bought it. He has also sent a tailor to your home, requesting that you get some new clothes for yourself.

You sit in the house all day, replying to his letters with simple replies. You do not have much to say in return. He ends every letter with blessings and the same message, 

"I truly hope you are resting well, my dear. When I return home, let us sit down and talk. I am still concerned about you. If there is anything you wish for, please voice it. Even if it is a complaint. I will do better. Take care, my dear." 

You are still riddled with worry. Your father's words still haunt you after multiple months. How can you comfort yourself when every story you have heard has ended the same? You've heard it happen again and again. Perhaps you just need to swallow your pride and do as you are told. You cannot run away from your fate. 

If it is meant to happen, it will. 

Despite all your anxieties, you still miss Sylus. He made you grow accustomed to eating together once a day. It is painful to see only one plate, one teacup set at the table. It hurts to see that his bedchamber no longer has his scent. You long to hear him call you "my dear" once more. You long to feel his ruffle your hair when you make him smile, or when you pout at his jokes. 

Despite everything, you do love spending time with him. You love being with him. You've come to love Sylus. Sylus, who despite everything, is the complete opposite of the rumors that caused you to have nightmares. You do not live in fear of the man who sleeps down the hall from you. You are willing to let your guard down. You, for the first time, are willing to love. You want to love, but you do not have anything to offer. And that is the most painful part of it all. 

How can you love this man when you are not ready to love him in the way every man wants? However, winter must pass. Spring will always bloom. 

New Year's has arrived in the time Sylus has been away. In his latest letter, he writes: 

"My dear, I'm pleased to say I am going to depart tonight. I apologize it has taken me this long to return. I long to return home to you. How have you been? What is different this time of year? The daturas in the garden should be blooming around this time. Ask Luke and Kieran to take you out to the market, fetch yourself any sweets you enjoy. You have been through a rough year. I hope that this year will be better for us both. I also hope that you have fun at the lantern festival this year. I had wanted to be the first person to take you, but it seems the stars have not aligned for us, have they, my dear? Enjoy your time with your ladies. Luke and Kieran will guide you to a terrace I had reserved for us. I hope that you will enjoy the view." 

With the letter is a red packet, stuffed with cash. Your eyes bulge at the sheer weight of it. You glance back at Kieran and Luke who bow, smiling softly. You are bummed though. You had wished that he would return before the end of the year. However, you are the wife of a merchant. This is simply part of it, is it not?

You are ushered by your ladies-in-waiting to get dressed. The lantern festival is tonight. Despite Sylus's absence, you are still attending the festival nonetheless. Fan in hand, you walk down the streets, trying to follow Luke and Kieran's confusing directions. If you're being honest, you're partially irritated. Why couldn't they just take you? 

You grumble, going down a path of taverns. It is beautiful out tonight. The wind is blowing softly, the glow of the night lights are gorgeous. Not to mention how alive the city is tonight. As you scoot between people, murmuring apologies, you spot a flash of white in the corner of your eye. You do not know what has compelled you to look up, but you do. You're glad you did. 

Returning your gaze is a certain white-haired man. Someone you are intimately familiar with. Your eyes widen as he smiles, sipping on his drink. But your irritation slowly seeps back in. He is gone for months and shows up in the most casual way possible. You shoot him a glare, hiding your face behind your fan. You see him chuckle before you turn your head and keep walking. 

But Sylus has never let you stray far from him. Somehow, he manages to get a ribbon tied around you. You're flung into the air, a loud scream escaping your lips. You squeeze your eyes, heart racing. He also has never let you fall. Sylus takes a hold of you, pressing you to his chest before seating you on the railing.

You peek up from his body, your fan still hiding your face. His hair has grown longer, his build stronger. Your cheeks flush being so close to him as your eyes dart away. 

"Husbands don't typically kidnap their wives off the street, you know?" You mumble, pouting. Sylus rumbles a laugh, turning himself to stand beside you. He leans on the railing, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

"I missed you too, kitten." He snickers, tapping at the car ears on your head. Your eyes widen as you smack his hand away. 

"That was… I didn't ask for such a hairstyle!" He's already teasing you despite not seeing you for over six months. You huff, swinging your legs. Sylus smiles beside you, resting his head on your shoulder. He presses his nose into your skin, inhaling your scent. You stiffen, allowing him to touch you as he pleases. Sylus hums into your skin. 

"Truly, I have missed you, sweetheart." His eyes flutter shut, melting into your side. He pulls away, guiding you to the small table and chair set on the balcony. From here, the view is amazing. You can see the entire city and its beautiful lights. Your eyes dilate with wonder, the lights glowing on your face. 

Sylus takes a seat across from you, pouring the clear liquid into the cup he was previously drinking from. He smiles, standing. He stands between your legs, placing the rim of the cup at your lips. 

"We never did have a drink together, did we?" His eyes glow with sincerity. The bags under his eyes are deeper as well. You lean forward, sipping from the cup. Being so close to him after being apart for so long, you take initiative to press forward. His brows raise, but Sylus does not back away from your touch. Your arms loop around his neck, pulling him down. He kneels by your feet, tilting his head up to yours. 

You finally press your lips over his, sighing into him. He opens his mouth, allowing some of the alcohol to slip into his own mouth. It burns down both your throats, but you do not mind it. You want to kiss him, want him to understand how deeply you have missed him. 

It is private up here, there's no need to worry about onlookers or gossipers. However, you're sure someone will say something about your indecency. Sylus, always thinking ahead, pulls away. His eyes flutter open, gaze dragging up from your lap to your eyes. You've looked away from him, your face red. He chuckles, taking your hand in his. He presses a kiss to your knuckles, whispering. 

"I have missed you terribly, my dear." He presses another kiss to your wrist, inhaling your scent. "However, I am still worried. You never elaborated on your worries. Let us air your grievances, release your heart of your stress and worries before the New Year, hm?" He tilts his head to the side, nuzzling into your palm as it cups his cheek. You inhale deeply, voice shaky. He comforts you, rubbing your hands with his. 

"I was afraid you would…" You take a moment, pausing to articulate yourself properly. Sylus is patient, giving you the floor. "I was afraid you would become impatient with me one day. Come to resent me for failing to perform my duties as a wife." You keep your eyes glued to his hands rubbing yours. He doesn't speak, allowing you ample time to speak your mind. "If you wished to fulfill your needs with another woman, I would permit it. It isn't as if I could stop you." 

Finally, Sylus intervenes. 

"What?" He replies, brows tugged down in confusion. "My dear." He shifts on his knees, fully kneeling on his knees. He dips his head down, trying to catch your gaze. He pushes up your chin, eyes swirling with compassion. "Why would you think such a thing? Have I said anything to warrant such a thought? If so, I sincerely apologize." 

Sylus takes your hands and places them on his heart, allowing you to feel the way his heart is racing beneath his chest. Your eyes well with tears. If your ears were real, Sylus is certain they would be tilted down. 

"My father…." Sylus groans at the mention of his name. "And the stories I've heard from ladies. It is a normal thing to desire one's partner. I just-- I just was never ready. And I do not know when I will be." 

Sylus sighs, chuckling softly. He cups your face, pressing a kiss to your cheek and forehead. He looks at you as if you've hung the moon and stars, lips turned into a soft smile. 

"You do not ever have to be ready. You do not owe me a thing. You only need to accept my love. I have loved you from the moment I saw you in town. You never needed to prove a thing to me." You stared at him, bewildered. Sylus chuckles at your realization. "You haggled with me." He snickered, shaking his head. "You called me a low-life for having such a high price on sweets. When I saw you again when I returned to Xuanyu, seeing you in such a state, I did what I could to help you." He clears his throat, ears reddening. 

"Is that why you…" You say under your breath, only for Sylus's ears to hear. He grins, nodding.

"Yes. You have never needed to prove yourself to me. I have loved you since I saw you." Love at first sight. That was not what you were expecting. He brushes your bangs away from your face. "Do not allow people, let alone a man like your father, to get into your head like this. Drive you sick with worry." He bumps his head against yours, wincing softly. Sylus chuckles, kissing you once more. 

He finally stands to sit across from you. You turn your body, finally noticing the lantern on the table. You take a hold of it, revealing a paint brush and dish behind it. As you twirl it around, a painting of a cat is illustrated on. 

"I drew it." Sylus says, amused. He pours another drink, swallowing it down cleanly. You frown, looking at him. You narrow your eyes. As you point to your head you speak, 

"This was your doing." You state plainly, not even questioning his involvement. He laughs across from you, his shoulders and body shaking. 

"Yes. And I think it suits you quite well, kitten." He jokes, pouring another cup. This time, he pushes it in your direction. "Drink. Then I will take you somewhere else to see the lights. We may light ours as well." 

You take the cup in your hands, copying his movements. You regret it instantly, sputtering a cough. Sylus chuckles, using his sleeve to wipe the liquid that drips down your mouth. You clear your throat, glaring at him. 

"You drank it like it was water… It wasn't that bad earlier." You huff, placing the cup back down. Sylus stands, watching as you draw your arms out. He tilts his head, admiring you softly before scooping you into his arms. 

"Distance truly makes the heart grow fonder. Wouldn't you agree?" You nod against his shoulder, looping your arms around his neck. He holds you with one arm, allowing you to rest on the bend of his arm. His hand splays over your thigh, squeezing it slightly before standing on the railing. "I hope you aren't afraid of heights." 

In a flash, he jumps off the railing. You grip onto him, afraid he may lead you to your death. However, you begin to feel light, as if you're floating in the air. Sylus drifts around the tavern, bringing you to the rooftop. You stand on the ridge, gripping his hands for dear life. You whimper softly. legs trembling at the sheer height. You look at Sylus, brows knit with worry. He grins, chuckling. 

"It's alright. I won't let you fall, my dear." He flashes you a toothy grin seeing you tremble softly. In his other hand, he holds the lantern with his free hand stretched out. "Come, we may light it together." You're quick to pull into his embrace, arms wound around his waist. You press your cheek into the side of his chest and bring your hand under the lantern. His hand cups yours, encapsulating you. 

The lantern softly lights up, a golden-orange hue shimmering over your faces. You gasp, giggling as you watch it float. Behind it are hundreds, if not thousands, of other lanterns. They float in the night sky, flying high. You watch in awe as the sky is practically lit up. Your eyes travel to Sylus's face, who is already looking at you. 

"To a better year." He softly whispers, leaning down. His nose brushes against yours as his lips graze your forehead. He presses a kiss to your temple, eyes fluttering shut. You squeeze your arm around him, cheerfully smiling. 

It takes you a while to get comfortable to Sylus's touches. He starts small, kissing your knuckles and cheeks. He allows you ample time to back away, to let the hesitation slip in. It never does though. You're certain in him. The Autrach is clingy though, always having an arm around you. The sheer weight of him is something you may get used to. Nor the heat that radiates off his body. 

His touches are never rough though, soft and patient. He's quick to pick up on your cues. A hand on his chest as you stand on your toes means you want a kiss. You stare at his face long enough, perhaps you also want a kiss. You simply exist in his presence? A kiss! 

The kisses never lead to anything much. The furthest you've gone is sitting on his lap. It's become your new home, your throne. 

His kisses aren't rushed, even if he is leaving for the day. Soft and mellow. His hands aren't either. They're gentle, thumbs brushing against your ribs over your robes. They're big enough to cover most of your waist. You do enjoy looking at them. Your mind wanders from time to time. Even staring at him tends to have your mind wandering. 

The first time you go further with the Autrach is on a late evening. You had just been invited by a high ranking official for dinner. The dinner was also a business meeting, the official requesting something from Sylus. The two of you stumble into your shared bedroom, fingers through each other's hair. For the first time, Sylus's kisses are rushed. As if he cannot get enough. 

Your back hits the wall, Sylus's legs sliding between yours. It rides up your dress, a moan pulled out of your lips. That was the first crack in his resolve: your noises. Next is your touch. Your hands drag down his chest, nails curling into his shoulders as you try to push yourself up. The final is you saying his name:

"Sylus," You breathe out, hands clutching onto his robes as you tug him lower. He practically melts into your touch, humming into your mouth. Sylus's hands reach under your outer robes, tugging on the belt around your waist. It falls by your feet with a thump, his fingers massaging your waist and hips. You moan into him again, his tongue gliding between your lips. Your hands pull off his robes. It pools by his feet before he pulls you closer.

Sylus takes a few steps back, the back of his calves.hitting the bed. He pulls you down with him, bunching your clothing around your hips when you kneel around his hips. Sylus lays below you as you crawl over him. He takes a moment to admire you. Lips swollen, eyes dilated as you pant. You're so beautiful he might die right then and there. 

"My beloved." He calls out to you, cupping your cheek. You rub your cheek into his hand, humming. He huffs a laugh, drawing you closer. Your entire weight on his body, Sylus keeps one hand over your ass, the other tangled in your hair. 

You sigh into him, kissing him once more. Sylus’s hand kneads your ass, breathing out your name. He manages to roll you under him, pinning down your hips so you can’t run away. You lock your ankles around his tailbone, rubbing yourself over him. 

It’s maddening, the pure spikes of pleasure you get from simply rubbing on him. Sylus encourages this, hands around your hips as he grinds you harder onto him. He mutters soft praises, kissing down your neck. He manages to tug off your final layer of clothing, leaving you in your undergarments. You shy away under his gaze, looking at the curtains that canopy your shared bed. 

“You’re beautiful, my beloved.” Sylus praises, nipping the junction where your neck and shoulders meet. You gasp softly, smacking him on the shoulder. He had a knack for biting. 

“Stop that, you dog!” You hiss as Sylus laps at your wound. He lifts his head up with teasing eyes. 

“Woof.” You roll your eyes, allowing your head to smack against the bed. You groan as his teeth bite down on more of your exposed skin. It feels nice though, especially when he laps and sucks at it. He brings a hand up from your hips, massaging your breast. 

He uses the sides of his fingers to pinch and roll your nipples softly, allowing you to get used to the sensation. You’re awfully sensitive though, writhing under the smallest of touches. Sylus keeps his eyes on your expressions, watching for any sign of discomfort. 

Your eyes are squeezing shut, brows knitted, but the wanton moans escaping your lips hint that you’re enjoying yourself. Sylus snickers, leaning down to once again nip at your skin. He laps at your sensitive nipples, blowing cold air over them. Your back arches into him, hands smacking at his bare shoulders. 

He laughs, finally committing. His lips wrap around your nipples, suckling at the sensitive peaks as they fully harden in his mouth. His hand reaches out, intertwining his fingers with yours. You dig your nails into his knuckles, back bowing harshly the more he sucks. 

Sylus pulls away, spoiling your other breast with the same attention. His free hand slides down your torso, followed by his lips. He kisses down your stomach and ribs, reaching your undergarments. He tugs them down with his teeth, letting them pool at your ankles and inevitably slide off. 

He slides off the bed, kneeling by the edge. Sylus wraps his hands around your ankles, tugging you off the edge. Your ass hangs over the edge, putting pressure on your tailbone, but Sylus alleviates it by having a hand under you. Your legs dangle over his broad shoulders, a field of white hair between your legs. 

His eyes darken, pulling apart your lower lips with his fingers. You’re swollen and dripping, body tensing the longer he looks. You whine from above, 

“Sylus,” You cry out, nudging him with your foot. “Stop staring, it’s embarrassing…” It isn’t the first time he’s seen you bare. There’s been a handful of times the Autrach has snuck his way under your robes and lapped at your cunt. He’s gotten a face full many times, but this time it’s different. 

He’s seeing you in the light, in a space where he can truly hear you whine and cry out for him. He hums, still staring. 

“I know, kitten. But you’re so beautiful. How could I not?” He smirks from between your legs, watching as your head hits the pillow again with a scoff. He’s always been one for flattery, showering you with praises and flowery words. 

He doesn’t waste anymore time, gliding a finger up and down your slit until you’re bucking your hips. Sylus concedes, gently sliding his finger into your heat. Your walls clench around his intruding finger that goes straight to your sweet spot. Having mapped out your body, Sylus knows where to prods and poke, what to tease and lick. He’s thrilled watching you react to his ministrations. 

His finger curls into your cunt, pulling a pitchy moan from you. You inhale, his thumb coming down to press on your clit. He watches as your walls constrict around his finger, soaking his digit. Your slick smears around your inner thighs, down to the base of Sylus’s palm. 

He adds another finger, your cunt spasming at the stretch. You whine, narrowing your eyes at him. He doesn’t return your gaze, but chuckles. 

“I need to make sure you’re stretched out, my beloved. Or else it will hurt.” Your huff is cut short when his thumb starts circling your clit, smearing your slick over it. It heightens your sensitivity, hips bucking into his palm. Your moans never stop, a mantra of Sylus’s name the closer you get to your peak. 

“I know, beloved. It feels good, hm?” Sylus grins, admiring your face from where he’s kneeling under you. He stands, his fingers still fucking your cunt to see your face. He uses his free hand to squeeze your cheeks, allowing you to scoot higher on the bed to support your back. “I want to see your face.” He whispers, hovering over you. 

Your legs lock around his hips loosely, slowly nodding. You enjoy his attention, being pinned under his gaze. It’s exhilarating, heart ramming against your chest. It leaves you breathless and flustered. His gaze is so sharp, so strong and mind-numbing. You want to succumb to all your desires, blurt out every want and feeling you have to him when he looks at you like that. 

Your stomach begins to tighten, breathing in heavier. Sylus watches your face contort, lips forming into an o-shape as your back arches forward. Your hips stutter, hands clawing at Sylus's back. 

"Sylus," You moan out, head rolling back against the sheets and you writhe. He hums in return, too enamoured with the sight of you about to cum. You grip his wrist, nails digging into his skin, but Sylus does not stop. He presses harder, keeping the same rhythm. He ups the intensity, rolling your clit side to side. You finally succumb to your desires, a hot gush of slick flooding Sylus's fingers and wrist as you cum on his hand. You cry out far louder than intended, his name on the tip of your tongue as you press your forehead to his shoulder.

"My beloved." Sylus purrs, kissing your cheeks and swollen lips. You whimper against his lips, curling into him as you come down from your high. "So beautiful. All for me. My beautiful wife." He presses a flurry of kisses over your skin, lapping at the sweat the drips down your neck. 

Sylus is able to pull multiple orgasms out of you, not once tugging down his pants. Boneless and hazed, you reach out for Sylus who's lapping at your cunt as if his life depends on it. You push on your elbows, tugging at his strands. He lets you pull his head back, guide him over your body. You slot yourself into his arms, pinning him under you. He's pliant to your touch, allowing you to move him however he pleases. 

As you mount his hips, your greedy fingers tug at the string keeping them around his hips. You roughly pull the fabric down, unintentionally soaking Sylus's thigh. He feels your heat soak through his pants, sending his head reeling. He's been holding onto a thread of patience the entire time, prioritizing your comfort over his own pleasure. 

You dip your hand down, gently holding his cock in your hand at the base. Sylus sighs, relieved at your hand wrapped around him. Your hands are softer, much warmer than his palm. He shudders as you pump him once or twice. You mutter his name, throat hoarse. 

"Yes, dear?" He groans, hands settling on your bare hips. You're quiet, staring at his cock as it throbs in your hand. 

"I don't think it will fit…" Your voice trembles slightly, dragging your eyes up his well-toned torso to his face. Sylus's brows crease before he chuckles. He leans up, pressing a kiss on your lips. 

"It will, trust me." You crawl backwards, laying flat as Sylus crawls over you once more. He presses kisses to your skin, soothing your tense body. His hand kneads your hip as he whispers, low and soft, "We'll take it slow." 

It comforts you slightly. You look away when he brings your sore thighs up to rest on his shoulder. Your ankle dangles over his frame, Sylus's free hand coming down to align himself with your entrance. He slides the tip of his cock over your swollen lips, moaning as your heat envelops him. 

"Sweetie," Sylus calls out. You turn to look at him, his eyes warm. He smiles, tilting his head down to kiss you once more. "Slow. We take it slow." You nod in return, eyes glued to his cock between your thighs. You watch as his hips push forward, the tip disappearing past your entrance. The stretch is there, but it isn't intense. Sylus groans, your wet walls instantly clenching down on him. He sputters, gasping. 

"Beloved." He squeezes your hip, strained. "Relax, relax." He runs a hand up and down your side, feeling your body melt into the mattress. Your cunt gently relaxes, allowing him to push in deeper. Sylus sighs in relief, his cock sinking deeper into you. You pulse around him, eyes on his face. His eyebrows are creased together, the tips of his ears flushed red. 

It feels like an eternity before Sylus fully pushes himself inside of you. By then, you're chest to chest as Sylus shallowly grinds himself into your cunt. You clench and gush around him, moaning out his name into his lips. Your nails track marks down his arms and back, certain they will bruise by morning. But that's neither here nor there.

You have your fair share of marks as well. Sylus's bites litter your body. One you're sure you ladies-in-waiting will giggle about as they help you bathe tomorrow. But again, that's neither here nor there. You indulge in the long awaited moment with your lover. Your husband. 

"My wife." Sylus groans, kissing you once more before he retracts his hips. He pushes back in, the two of you moaning in unison. It's beautiful, how in tune the two of you are. Sylus pulls away from your lips, whispering against your skin. "Do you know how irresistible you look when you succumb to your desires?" He looks ravenous, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. 

You flush, kissing him once more, hands cupping his cheeks. Sylus nuzzles into your palm, gently biting down on the meat of your palm. 

"I want to devour you, one bite at a time." He leans closer, noses brushing. "May I? Please, my beloved. I want nothing more than to have you. Be one with you. Will you allow me that?" He's borderline needy, pleading against your lips. He's giving you one last opportunity to back out, despite everything that has transpired in your shared bed tonight. 

You know if you said no Sylus would back off. But you do not want to. You want him to devour you, consume you until you become one-- Body and soul. You nod, 

"Yes, my husband. Please," You pant against his lips. Sylus's patience has snapped, his hips fucking into you. The tip of his cock abuses your sweet spot, your stomach feels sore as it clenches around him. Your chest pushes into his, nails scarring down his back. Sylus groans at the pain, but it only makes his orgasm grow faster. 

You're not too far behind him, blubbering and babbling against his lips. His thrust grows sloppy, but with your legs locked around him, he opts to keep grinding his cock into you. You mewl, keeling when his pelvis rubs against your clit. You're long gone, cumming on Sylus's cock with a shout. You screech, throat aching as you sob into him, pussy spasming around his cock.

 Sylus cranes his neck back to look at your face as you cum. He doesn't mind the neck pain he'll deal with tomorrow as the sight of your face is the sole reason he cums instantly. It's a quick rush of heat inside of you, spilling out between your inner thighs. Sylus's body gives out, his entire weight pressing down on you. He noses your neck, inhaling your scent as he mutters praises. 

"My beloved wife. Beautiful, soft. Thank you, my love. Thank you." He's babbling, pussydrunk. "I love you." Sylus weakly pushes himself up on his elbows to kiss your lips once more. "Thank you. I love you, my wife. My beloved." 

© xiayuriz- do not repost, translate, plagiarize or compute into ai

[linarae119]

Affectionate kittens 🐾