Clavis set a trap for MC to fall into, and tell her that it's okay to have fun once in a while, because she is being studying for the past few days and is tired.
And in the event story taste of you lips. Clavis have been watching MC studying for a long time, her steaming tea have become cold, and she didn't sip in it. He startle her and mess with her, to take a break once in a while, and if she didn't take a break, he will help her take it.
**spoiler for Chevalier Romantic Route**
In Chev route he is the push that MC need to be with Chev.
Telling to be selfish, that Chev has always look up to her and others things.
The custom AO3 site skin featuring Sylus and tiny Mephisto and an even tinier dove is finally live!
Get the skin here. It's saved under the file name "LADS_Sylus_Archfiend-Sovereign.css". Full installation tutorial and optional customisation guide are provided there.
Features:
Dark mode in shades of maroon.
Custom Mephisto emoji replacing the AO3 logo.
Larger font size in “Work” page for comfort.
Colours optimised for long reading sessions.
Colour-coded tags to minimise confusion.
Previously pressed links (i.e work titles, fandoms, tags) are not greyed out.
“You have muted some users” notice is hidden.
Non-bare chested Sylus photo for the header so you can safely use it outside😼
Previews:
Tell me if you use this! I'd love to know. And comment or drop by my ask box if there are any issues. I wouldn't love to know that as much, but do so anyway. Enjoy!
Partial base code credits to @/sorakissed on X. It reduced my headache in sorting out the classes and ids.
your first makeout session with him
mdni. suggestive+nsfw content. wc: max 1.5k each <3
content: afab!reader/mc. xavier - almost getting caught+dry humping potential if you squint, rafayel - semi-public kissing+mc using raf’s thigh, zayne - mc taking the lead+pathetic, scared (in an erotic way) zayne who’s eager to follow, sylus - pollenated kissing+references to dirty dreams, caleb - mc being angry=hate-kissing+swearing+basically dry humping
a/n: this took too long to complete. and i wrote too much for each li despite this being my first multihc so what did i expect!! anyway, i hope you all enjoy, pls lmk what u think! this may just be the first and last time i do this LMAO. did my best to stay in character but yk. tell me. like should i never write another li again NJNSJNS (pls..i have a snowapplemc fic in the works. pls)
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ xavier
You’re not meant to be doing this right now, not here at least. People are still around - and not just any people, but your own coworkers and higher ups. This is so incredibly wrong, you know you shouldn’t be doing this, but falling into Xavier is something you’ve never been able to resist.
This time is even more precious though. There’s more of him you’re discovering. Of course, there’s the usual: his warmth, his softness but now there’s hints of roughness. Roughness that you should be discovering anywhere but here.
When he sighs into your mouth, you forget about your worries.
It was meant to be a late night at the Association for you. You’d planned to finish your report and hand it in today, even if it meant being the last one out of the office. You were almost there, there was just a few more pages left to fill in, but then another chair rolled up next to you and soon you were coaxed into taking a well-needed break.
Somehow, this break meant sitting in your boyfriend’s lap and kissing him like you’d never have the chance to again. At your workplace. His one too. The one where you share the same colleagues and report to similar higher ups and have to look at one another with a straight face after this.
It’s quiet in the office, it’s far too dark and there’s only the glow of a few hologram displays nearby that illuminate your knitted figures. Beyond the doors there’s voices, there’s meetings, and here you both are.
Shivers run down your spine when his fingers skim over it, and heat plummets in you when you consider how close he is to you. This is all too much for your first time kissing him like this, but your hands thread through his soft locks anyway and his other hand grips onto your thigh for support when you tug.
And he’s— God, you can feel how much he loves this. It makes your head spin when you realise how far you’ve gone now, but Xavier’s there to keep you grounded. His fingers press into your back, his palm brushes up your thigh, finds the curve of your silhouette, and you whimper when his tongue meets yours.
It takes your absolute full strength to pull yourself away, your body begs to stay in his embrace, but you know you’re pushing it now. You clear your throat, eyes adjusting to the dark when you whisper, “Xavier, we— I’m not sure if—”
But the words are stuck in your throat when you gaze down at him. Serene blue eyes pierce through despite how heavy-lidded they are, you see the way his lips are coated in a mixture of you and him and his heartbeat can be heard over the cars and civilians bustling just outside.
It’s fast, it’s so unbelievably fast, and that’s all because of you.
Xavier’s chest is heaving, and alongside his heartbeat comes the sound of hushed pants pushing past slicked lips. You've got one arm braced on his shoulder, and he leans into your forearm, seeking your touch. He’s quiet for a moment, just to catch his breath, and finally his voice comes into focus.
“We can stop. I’ll follow your lead.” It comes out in a broken whisper, struggles to find its footing between a steady tone and sweet quietness, and that also sends heat pooling between your thighs.
You see the eager shine in his eyes, the silent plea that restrains him, and God he’s too pretty. You don’t want to stop— you can’t. You lean back in, and he’s there. His hand stays firm on your back, your thighs keep him in place beneath you and only the sounds of strained whimpers, reverent sighs and chair squeaking float from your cubicle.
You’d started it, really. Xavier had simply stopped by to check in on you, give your mind a rest from battle jargon. He’d slipped you a small kiss, a promise of seeing you soon, but something took over you. You kissed back, a little harder, and he’d been more than keen to reciprocate.
Tomorrow you’ll blame it on the atmosphere and the thrill of being caught.
No one could blame you though. Xavier had been so sweet and gentle with you thus far, but you knew you were approaching your breaking point. His presence was always too close for you to be able to ignore him - he was on your mind more often than not. Being left alone with thoughts of Xavier meant wondering about the sides of him you hadn’t seen yet.
When he bites on the plush of your lip, you’re grateful that today’s the day you finally get to learn so much more. When you whimper from the delirious sting, his palm kneads into the softness of your ass and coaxes another whimper out of you.
You’re about to whine, to ask him for more - you’re not even quite sure what that may be yet - but the sound of footsteps draw close and soon the door to the office is being opened.
Light breaks through and tears apart the harmonious blacks and blues previously streaked across the room. Heat dissipates from you, your head spins, but you’re alone in your chair now. Xavier’s neatly arranged you back onto your chair, spun you round the right way and hidden himself somewhere.
You make eye contact with the colleague who’s just walked in and give a quaint smile, trying to appear as though your heart rate was completely normal.
You think Xavier’s teleported, but when you roll your chair closer to your desk a hand places itself on your thigh. You jolt at the feeling, and thank the stars above that your colleague is busy at their own desk.
His touch kicks in some sort of survival instinct; you try to subtly re-arrange yourself. You pat down your clothes, glance at the reflection in the monitor and tame stray hairs. It’s probably too late for that, but anything is better than thinking about Xavier’s hand that is… far too close for you to be normal about.
A quick peer under your desk shows you a sight you’re not prepared for.
He’s not even looking at you. He’s not trying to. His eyes are fixated on his hand, the one that rests higher up than it has before. His cheeks are flushed, his ears burn red, and his chest rises and falls in quick succession. He’s beautifully dishevelled and the definition of bliss.
It takes him a moment to realise you’re watching him, and Xavier slowly glances up. There’s a flicker of surprise, like you’d stumbled across a private moment, but it morphs into the sweetest of smiles. One that speaks of innocence and carries a hint of guilt.
When you shut your legs in realisation, he flops his forehead against your knee. Your body jolts, and he places a small kiss in apology.
ଳ⋆˚࿔ rafayel
“You know, I really think it’s unnecessary for you to buy a new outfit everytime you get paint on your clothes.”
“What do you have in mind then, cutie?”
“I don’t know… Maybe try a washing machine, or hand washing them. Or having a set only for when you paint so it doesn’t matter if it gets a bit messy. Maybe even—“
There’s a zipping sound just past the curtain, accompanied by a flurry of movements. “In order to paint, I need to be just like my canvas. Completely clear, brand new, ready to be washed in colours. Besides, I think a certain someone enjoys these little shopping trips, wouldn’t you agree?”
You scoff and cross your arms, scrutinising the figure behind the curtain. Like always, Rafayel had dirtied another pristine white set of his and begged you to accompany him shopping. He should have been perfectly aware you’d be against the trip - it’s not like you bought a new uniform every time you fought a wanderer - but he’d only taunted you and said he’d happily buy you one each time if you asked.
You’d gone round and round in circles, never learning to not make eye contact with a pretty shirt or tailored pants hung on display. He’d always somehow catch on and immediately be adding the piece onto the forever growing pile of clothes in your arms.
“Why is it that when we go shopping for you, I’m the one who has to carry stuff?” you’d asked.
“I’m too weak to carry them. I’m tired. Isn’t my bodyguard supposed to do this?” He’d replied, not without a flick to his forehead.
He’s lucky he’s cute.
You have to press your lips into a thin line when you think about his infuriatingly teasing expression - you can’t reinforce this behaviour. It’s not been very long since you started dating, but you think Rafayel already knows his charms work too easily on you.
“Prepared to be blown away, cutie?”
“Show me what you got.”
In all honesty, you’re not really prepared. He’s styled in a silky white blouse and crisp black trousers, and whilst it’s a colour scheme you’ve seen him in before you’re still getting used to how pretty he can be. The lavender hues of his hair are striking in contrast, the blues and pinks in his eyes beam at you - only ever for you - and blush lips spread into a stupid smirk.
He’s going to be the death of you, and he knows it.
Your eyes drift and catch onto the detailed embroidery neatly displayed on the blouse. A motif of seashells and foam trail over his shoulder, down his chest and wrap around his waist. You don’t remember picking this one, and you’re intrigued.
“That’s… actually really nice on you.”
Rafayel shakes his head, and pouts at you. “Are you surprised?”
You can’t think clearly, too focused on the intricacies, so you step forward and your hands begin to trace over the embroidery. You skim over the bold print, and learn the neat stitches story. From top to bottom, you admire the little details in it. There’s tiny crabs that scuttle over, specks of fish that waft through and coral that dance beneath your fingertips.
A hand catches your wrist. When you look up from the embroidery, a blushing Rafayel fills your view. He’s looking away, another pout pressing into his lips, and your breath catches. You’re about to apologise, you didn’t realise just how in his space you were. It dawns on you then that you’d been touching him too, the thinness of the blouse hadn’t concerned you in the slightest, oh—
It happens quickly, and you’re disorientated for a second. He’s pulled you into the changing room with him, a small space made for one really. The curtain is drawn behind you, and Rafayel moves from gripping your wrist to lacing his fingers through yours.
His voice is hushed when he says, “If you wanted a feel, cutie, you could’ve just asked.”
You’re floundering through apologies, and he’s quick to shush you. There’s not much room for you here, and he knows it. He takes one—two steps towards you, and you naturally scuffle backwards. Soon your back is pressed against the wall, and Rafayel has you where he wants. His eyes flit between your eyes to your lips.
For the first time since you got here, it’s silent. There’s the bumbling of customers just outside the cubicle, and you can’t help but gulp at the intensity of his eyes. He’s watching you keenly, and you feel hot under his gaze. You’re about to open your mouth, another apology ready to be said, but he disrupts you.
It’s eerily gentle, the way in which he finally speaks. A soft whisper of “Please, can I?” is all it takes for you to abandon any concerns about his feelings. He’s more than fine, you realise.
His pink cheeks speak of want, his eyes sparkle with desire and you’re more than happy to apologise for invading his space with a soft kiss.
It’s wouldn’t be the first time, of course. You’ve kissed him plenty of times before, but something has you questioning if gentleness is all he wants today. You think it’s the lack of room, the way he’s hazily watching you, his open clavicle you’re suddenly too aware of.
The sound of conversation nearby reminds you that you’re in public - what if a worker walked in and questioned the two pairs of shoes peaking from under the curtain?
Still. You can’t deny him because you don’t want to. He’s asked so nicely too; it was rare for him to be polite. That’s the kind of behaviour you should be rewarding.
You respond with a chaste kiss, delicate and sweet as always. It dawns on you, though, that this was the wrong move. Your earlier intuition was right, because soon Rafayel’s hand is pinning your wrist low against the wall. His other hand latches onto your cheek, softly pressed into your skin, and you’re drowning in him.
It takes a moment for your brain to reboot, but when you’re finally there it’s a quiet match filled with pleasurable sighs and hushed whimpers. He takes the lead and flourishes you in harsh kisses, and your hand struggles to not scrunch into his pretty blouse.
When his tongue slides into yours, your brain short-circuits and you’re tugging him closer, harder, into you. You can feel him smirk into the kiss, and it sends a wave of lightheadedness floating through.
With each kiss, each pang of dizziness, comes the steady collection of slick between your legs, you gasp. It’s too soon to be feeling like this, yes this was a lot more of a passionate kiss than usual, but it was embarrassing nonetheless. You just hope he hasn’t caught on, because you’re more than aware that you’ll be endlessly teased by him.
He pulls away from you, and a string of saliva connects his lips to yours. He’s panting, and your knees buckle from the heavy look he gives you. You see how quickly Rafayel’s eyes flash with realisation, and he’s caught between a laugh and moan - a ragged sound that has you shuddering. You stare at him helplessly, borderline needy, and he’s nodding and catching you once more.
When he closes in on you again, he purrs into your ear, “I’ve got you, pretty baby.” Any sound you could make from the new name is muffled by his lips reaching yours again. His knee slots perfectly between your thighs, and a quiet moan manages to escape from you at the sudden pressure.
He kisses you again, and again, before pulling away once more.
“Is this okay?” Rafayel asks, and you want to laugh. Instead, you clumsily nod, and his thumb caresses your cheek. His voice is wrecked, his skin hot on yours, and the way he’s still watching you drives you crazy. You can’t help but buck against his knee, the undivided attention overwhelmingly delightful to you, and that…
Rafayel’s eyes flutter watching you. He can’t stay away anymore, and soon he’s back on you. He kisses your mouth, your jaw, your neck, and commits each sound you make to his mind.
He’s definitely buying this shirt.
₊°｡❆ zayne
“Thanks for inviting me out, Zayne. Even if your taste in fusion cuisine is skewed, I had fun.”
“I feel like you’re teasing me. As I recall, someone was perfectly happy trying out my meal. I distinctly remember a few bites missing from my own plate each time I looked away.”
You squint your eyes at him. “Well. It sounds to me like someone doesn’t want a kiss goodbye.”
Zayne laughs, but you're stoic and refuse to break character. You look away and twist your body away from him too. There’s only so much space in the passenger seat though, so this is the most brutal move you can pull as he drives you home.
He calls your name a few times, and you still refuse to speak. It's only when his hand shifts from the gearstick to your thigh that you acknowledge him.
“I’m sorry. It seems I mistook you for a little mouse,” he says, mirthful eyes focused on your figure after pulling up to a traffic light.
You huff and nod earnestly. “That’s right. I would never take your food without asking. Especially not for something so… sweet.”
He smiles softly and moves his hand back onto the gearstick, driving off and closer to your home. It returns back to your thigh, and your hand clasps over it.
That is, until you hear a quiet, “And yet, everything on your plate was clear.”
When you pull his hand off your thigh and softly throw it elsewhere, he apologises endlessly as you refuse to engage.
It’s a quick drive, and you hate it. Even though he can be so mean, you want to spend every second with Zayne regardless. You miss him the moment you’re apart, and you’re not ready to feel that.
The universe clearly doesn’t care though, because the sight of your apartment building sends your heart dropping. You think he feels it too. The air chills ever so slightly, and there’s a lingering silence as the car finally stops. You turn to face him, heart panging when you catch his mournful expression.
“Thank you,” is all that comes from your mouth. If you say goodbye, then you have to leave, and you’re really not ready yet.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then Zayne’s leaning over the console towards you. His voice is full of quiet and wrapped in silk when he murmurs, “It doesn’t have to be a kiss-goodbye.”
“No? What should it be then.”
“…A kiss see-you-later.”
You laugh and he smiles with you, a little meek and pink. Your hands come up and cradle his cheeks, squishing them as your move his head side to side. He doesn’t resist, letting you coo and squeeze him as you please.
“You’re such a romantic. Fine, let’s have a ‘kiss see-you-later’ then.” Your eyes flutter shut as Zayne leans closer. His lips move against yours softly, and one hand come to rest at your nape.
The kiss is sweet, as it usually is. You’ve only ever known tenderness with him. It’s always been that way with Zayne though - his love is quiet but firm. His presence has always been soothing; he’s never been a problem in all the time you’ve known him, only a solution.
Perhaps that’s why tonight you want more.
You’re tentative at first, your hand rising and hesitating before finally settling on his tie. It wraps around the cloth as you feel Zayne about to move away. You know he’s about to ask what’s wrong, but courage takes over and you’re tugging him closer.
You hear surprise as he’s dragged into you. A sudden “mmph” breaks between the sound of slick lips moving together, and that… It’s a sound you’ll remember for the rest of your life. You’re not sure how you’ve ever been able to live without it before.
You want to hear so much more.
Your curiosity about the soft doctor wins, and encourages you to kiss harder, faster, rougher. And Zayne— he only struggles for a second. The change isn’t too much for him, not when he’s spent years fantasising about having you like this.
He’s beyond grateful that you’ve reached this point of comfort with him. After all, there’s nothing more that Zayne wants than to learn everything you like, and help you with whatever you need. Judging by the way your hand tightens against his tie, the quiet whimpers that escape when his tongue slips into your mouth, he understands that you’ve needed this for a while.
—At least he thinks he understands, because any sort of confidence Zayne had in taking the lead from you is banished when you suckle on his tongue, savouring honey and sage as you go. Your lungs burn for air, but you keep a steady pace at licking out any whimper or gasp you can from him.
You’re impressed with how he keeps up with you, he never once tries to pull away from your touch. Your hand comes up to cradle the back of his head and you giggle when you feel the hot tip of his ear sear against your palm as you move past. Zayne simply squeezes his eyes shut, humiliation rolling in waves.
When you disconnect for some air, you finally get to see his flushed pink ears, the slack jaw that shallowly takes in each breath. His shirt’s crumpled from each drag of his tie, pulled taut from your desperation to melt into him, and yet he’s never looked so much like himself. Like Zayne was made to be used as you please.
He slowly gulps, eyebrows twitching as he tries to compose himself. “I—“ He inhales deeply, eyes flitting from your hand that still clutches onto his tie and back to your face. “…That—“
You groan as you slump back onto your seat, and it’s a mixture of pent-up energy and laughter. Zayne eyes you curiously, heart still racing and on edge as he anticipates - hopes for - your next pounce.
Your hand stays fiddling with the end of his tie.
“You’re so cute Dr. Zayne, did you know that?” There’s no earnest teasing or wide-eyed compliment that follows. Instead you watch him carefully, letting each syllable hit hard as they lazily drag past your lips.
You can’t help feeling smug when you see how baffled he is, all twitchy and red in the face.
After a moment of silence, he finally sighs and shakes his head. “You’re… relentless.”
“You’re just realising that?”
You lurch towards him, lips immediately finding his, and It feels deliriously good to be close to him again. For a brief moment, you’re mourning leaving the car - you’re not prepared to return to a life where Zayne isn’t kissing you rough and fast, just like this, but he moans when another whimper leaves you, and your brain short-circuits entirely.
Holy shit.
It’s what makes you jolt forward, your hips fighting against the rigidness of leather beneath you and eager for Zayne to be there instead. Your hand frantically skims on the underside of his tie, reaching the knot. It takes a little fiddling, but your fingers are soon digging in and prying the knot loose.
Everything shifts; your mixed pants grow heavier, needier, and even Zayne’s hands begin to lift and seek a place to clutch. The car’s windows fog, condensed entirely from keen whines and aching groans. Finally, fuck finally , your hands smooth over his burning skin beneath and—
Honk!
You jump away from one another as the sound blares from the car. Your eyes jump from Zayne to the car horn, and when you see his elbow hovering near it you can’t help bursting out laughing.
And Zayne… He’s entirely mortified. He feels the way his skin flushes, the sensation of blood rushing and pooling into his cheeks and ears - but watching you laugh in front of him helps. Perhaps that’s why he laughs with you too.
It takes a while for you both to calm down, the nerves of harsh kisses and loud horns still coursing adrenaline through your beings. Soon, a comforting ambiance of softened pants takes over.
Between shallow breaths, Zayne tries to calmly say, “That was— one way of having a kiss see-you-later.”
There’s a teasing lilt to his voice that tries to reason with you, and perhaps coyness should have visited you then, but the sight of the usually collected man before you panting and blushing with his clothes roughed by your very hands was enough to keep it away.
Instead your shoulders shake with laughter, and you shake your head.
“You really are too cute, Dr. Zayne,” you hum, and his ears somehow redden further. “Should I be worried though? Does that mean you didn’t enjoy it?
“On the contrary, I loved it.”
And you’re not sure, but from the look in his eye you have more than enough reason to spend the rest of your night overthinking that statement.
.ִֶָ ♱ ་༘࿐ sylus
You feel a tap against the back of your hand, the one that was busy scrounging into the fabric of your jeans as you rambled, and you look up.
His voice is drips with sweetness, like it always does, when he says, “Take your time, sweetie. Try again.”
You turn your hands over, catching his fingers in your grasp and giving them a squeeze. You’re all too aware that your palm feels sweaty, but Sylus doesn’t pull away and you know he doesn’t care. He just wants to listen, like he always does.
“I—” One breath in, one breath out. “—kept dreaming of these, and you were always there in those dreams. I think it’s because I’ve seen a few of them when we’re out at night. It’s funny, the meaning of them isn’t exactly great but still, I thought you’d like them. I’ve actually been growing and tending them myself. For you.”
You lift his hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to the smooth knuckles there before swapping your hand out for the bouquet of dark flowers. The veins of his hands pop against the pink silk bow tying the bunch together, and you squirm trying to gauge his reaction.
Sylus doesn’t seem to notice, though. He’s focused on the flowers, and the adoration you’d seen him enter the room with is enhanced tenfold. There’s a sweet glow in the vermillion of his eyes, but the muscles beneath tense ever so slightly.
Perhaps they were too girlish? You cringe upon reflection, gaze fleeing towards the fireplace the two of you are sat before as you ponder. The big boss man who lords over the N109 Zone being gifted pretty flowers was maybe a little too ridiculous.
You rush to save the moment. “They’re called daturas. Apparently they symbolise power, caution and spiritual transformation. Obviously, the power and caution speak for themselves— I swear I didn’t just grow them because I thought they just looked nice. Mm, I guess the spiritual transformation doesn’t quite fit, but—“
His gruff laugh silences you, and the worries you had dissipate right before you. He’s smiling in his arrogant way once more, and you can’t find the stiffness previously etched in his muscles.
Perhaps you were simply in your head about it.
“My soul found yours and I finally felt peace. I’d say that’s rather fitting, wouldn’t you agree? In any case, I like cute things too. If I didn’t, there wouldn’t be a sweet kitten staying at the Onychinus base.”
You can only blink at him with parted lips as his words wash over you. Trust Sylus to take your romantic moment and make it his own.
“So you like them?”
“I do. It’d be rude of me to dislike this bunch when my balcony is already overflowing with all the flowers you’ve brought over.” He tilts his head just behind, but it’s an unnecessary movement. The trails of flowers and the petals that can’t help but detach have been flowing in and out of the room the entire time you’ve been here.
You certainly have left your mark here.
Sylus’s gaze sweeps from you to the daturas still in his hand. He gently whispers, “After all, these ones were specifically tended to just for me,” before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.
When you look up, you’re shrouded in him. You’re not sure when the two of you had moved closer together, but the enamoured look on his face has you leaning in for a kiss. You feel shy asking like this, no words exchanged, but he’s always telling you to go for what you want.
You hear him gently lay the flowers beside him before he scoops you onto his lap.
You shriek at the sudden movement, eyes jolting open, but Sylus pays no mind. His hand trails the dip of your waist, and your eyebrows scrunch together ever so slightly at the sudden confidence. You flit between either of his rouge eyes, noting the half-lidded expression, and your heart stutters.
The flames from his fireplace crinkle behind the two of you, and your knees dig into the plush of his rug as your body steadily settles on his lap.
His voiced is hushed, “Did you notice anything when you were caring for the daturas?” His breath fans over your skin, reaches past your neck and tickles the ends of your hairs. You’re on high alert, still adjusting to the sight of Sylus so close to you, and you jolt from the feeling.
His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly - a warning that falls on deaf ears, much like the futile question itself.
Each word was muffled in the haze of the warmth you now share, your mind too busy scrambling and desperately trying to find footing in this shift between the two of you.
Sylus watches you far too intensely the entire time.
Did anything happen? You knew they were toxic so you did your best to wear the necessary protection needed to tend to them. You were thorough in washing your hands after too. Sure, there were times you were somewhat dizzy and had to sit down, but that was all.
Honest.
When you still don’t respond, he continues, “They’re known to be hallucinogens.” His hand engulfs one of yours, dragging it to the curve of his cheek. Sylus presses his cheek into the soft of your palm, eyes fixated on you. “Even the smallest amount of pollen can have an effect. You mentioned dreams of them, and even said I was there.”
His head tilts, and the brush of his lips against sensitive skin tickles ever so slightly. There’s an edge of mirth in his voice when he whispers against your palm, “What were they like, sweetie?”
Ah.
It seems he may know a lot more about daturas than you did.
Residue from the petals you’d been caressing before his arrival sweep over his skin, melting between the point of contact between the two of you.
Your head spins.
On one hand, you’re glad that your keen eye meant you’d stumbled upon Sylus’s favourite flower. A part of you swells with pride at getting that right - they truly were a good gift then. On the other hand, you’re both stepping over a line that has only ever been treaded along. You know exactly what he’s asking, but the teasing tone in his voice tells you you can end this new game now if you’d like.
You’re… not sure if you want to.
A gust of wind billows from the balcony, and the once energetic fire is tamed. With the wind comes the scent of daturas that flutter around your figures. Your body reacts before your mind catches on, and you’re biting his lip between yours and drawing blood.
He groans into your mouth, and only then does a singular thought cut through - this is rougher than how you usually kiss him. You can’t quite remember what usually kissing Sylus means though, because roughly kissing him feels like it’s always been second nature.
Your mind fuzzes and swirls with notes of Sylus’ cologne and sour pollen. The heat of his lips never fades - he’s so warm and close and entirely yours if you’d like.
He meets your pace now, matches the brutality of your lips, and the room echoes of whimpers and groans. You pull on the softness of his hair, your other hand having snuck its way to the nape of his hair. He groans and grips tightly onto your waist, which only makes you gasp and jut forward.
You hear him grit his teeth, restraint oozes out of every fibre in his body, and that only makes you moan. Each brush of his lips and caress of his tongue drives you mad, like there’s a never-ending ache that can’t be satiated even with his touch. Not tonight, at least.
When you reluctantly pull away for air, Sylus huffs a laugh seeing the blooming crimson on your lips. It’s a scratchier sound than usual; his pupils are dilated beyond belief and the creeping realisation that you are the sole reason for his flushed skin sends your mind reeling.
You’re lost in the heat of your desire for him, you don’t think for a second, and suddenly you’re pushing him down. He admires you above him, memorises the way the light is consumed by your dark figure, and merely smirks.
Sat atop him, you snake one hand over his chest. You feel the thrum of his heart beneath your palm. When you slide your hand further up the curve of his neck, you feel the intense spike of his pulse. It dawns on you right then that his arrogance is all for show.
He’s just as lost in you.
Your plant your hands on either side of his head, the marble cool against your palms. You duck down and catch his bottom lip between your teeth once more, and Sylus works to keep up with you. You’re relentless, taking everything he can give you and more.
With each gasp and heavy breath comes the quick inhalation of daturas, and you fall into a never-ending cycle of consuming one another.
. ݁ ❦ ˖ caleb
You try not to sigh as Caleb keeps talking, it’s like he doesn’t even care about being somewhat alert tomorrow. For someone who loves to mention his position as Colonel, often as a meaningless scare-tactic to keep you from snooping where he thinks you shouldn’t, he really didn’t seem to care about actually maintaining the role.
“—And then there was that time you would not stop crying until your dear Caleb came back to you. You were so clingy, though I guess you still are, huh?”
You don’t bother tilting your chin up from the comfy spot you’ve found on his chest. There’s no point responding or making eye contact when he’ll just continue prattling about the old days - and trust, you liked reminiscing just as much as him! - but it’s 1am and you just want to sleep.
“Caleb.”
“Yeah, pips?”
“Go to sleep.”
He shuffles beneath you, jostling your leg that had been perfectly slung over his own thigh. You grumble as you mould yourself back into his side, trying to find the perfect angle in this cuddle pile you’d created.
Perhaps sleepovers in Skyhaven should be off the table until Caleb learns some etiquette.
You hear him tut, an offending sound that resonates in the crisp of his bedroom. You try not to roll your eyes, because you’re pretty sure you’ll hear a lecture about that if he so much as hears it.
If the tut wasn’t enough, he makes sure to heavily lay on the (fake) hurt when he mentions, “There was a time when you listened to my every word, you know. What happened to that?”
Your eyes roll anyway, and the dredge of sleep crawls back over you. “I genuinely have no idea where you’ve got that from.”
“Pips, I literally just told you about those times. Weren’t you listening?” Caleb says, and you can literally hear the pout in his voice. He shuffles again, and you grumble in response. “Okay, from the top! So, back then—“
Your head whips up and catches sight of an overly awake Caleb whose eyes dreamily stare at the ceiling. He’s happily chirping away, like the minutes on the alarm clock next to him mean fuck all.
You’re too grouchy for this.
There’s only a small bite to your words when you groan, “Oh my God, Caleb! Shut up!” Any hurt he could experience is immediately soothed over, because you’re dragging yourself upwards and planting your elbows on either side of him.
Your hands cradle his face as you press your lips against one cheek, then the other, his forehead, his nose and finally a sweet peck on his lips. You’re more than relieved when you pull back and see he’s been stunned into silence.
You put on your best stern expression, and squish his cheeks together. One pat, then another, and you think he’s finally gotten the hint, so you slither down to your cosy spot on his chest and rest your eyes.
…It’s a bit difficult to actually settle though when the person below you won’t shut the fuck up!
“Caleb.”
“Yeah, pips?”
And God, he’s actually smug— he’s not even trying to hide it. You grit your teeth when you realise he probably thinks he’s the smartest man in the world; annoy his girlfriend enough and she’ll kiss him quiet, that’ll do it.
You sigh deeply as the realisation strikes you.
Apparently the dog tag wasn’t enough to satisfy his overeager, puppy-like behaviour clearly. It’s become very obvious to you now that Caleb may need some actual training.
So you push yourself up, rubbing the sleep out your eyes. There’s a bleary smirk wiped across his features, the dumbest, dopiest look ever that you can so easily distinguish in the dark of his room, and something simmers within you.
You don’t say anything as you move closer, you’re gentle with your movements and Caleb waits patiently. You settle your entire weight on him, pressing your torso flush against his, and his hands hesitate before naturally come to rest on your back.
You don’t react despite how intimate the position is. You’re too tired to feel embarrassed.
Sure, you’ve cuddled with Caleb plenty before, but this version is entirely different. Your hips are spread, legs parted and pressing into his side. You’re practically folded on top of him like this, and you recognise one shift could change the entire trajectory of your night.
It’s comfortable though, the stretch is more than pleasant and you moan a little from the sensation. You feel Caleb tense beneath you, and you feel triumphant.
He relaxes once you’re settled, no doubt revelling in the intimacy of the cuddle. He has no reason to question your motives when you dig your chin into his collarbone, sweetly resting your face in the crook of his neck. Instead, he softly laughs.
“I’m not sure if you realise, but my voice is only gonna seem louder if you’re higher up like this,” he teases.
You merely shake your head, keeping your voice light as you murmur, “I know. That’s okay, because you aren’t gonna talk anymore.”
“Is that so?” He juts his chin away, trying to get a look at you. “Why’s that?”
You raise your head, fluidly connecting your lips with his. You feel him smile into the kiss, no doubt feeling beyond loved with how soft and warm this all felt. He was so clever, of course he’d somehow outsmarted you and gotten what he wanted.
Right?
It’s abrupt the way in which you lunge; you tug at the bottom of his lip and take advantage of the gasp that escapes. He’s barely found a second to place a hand on your face when you’re immediately licking into his mouth, savouring mint and hot wetness as you slide your tongue along his.
Finally, his hands tremble on the nape of your neck, and you press yourself infinitely closer. The feel of warm, slick muscle and hushed breaths has you both moaning into one another - your head spins as you realise there are prettier sounds that can come from Caleb.
Before you can balance yourself to launch your next attack, Caleb takes the lead and suckles gently on your tongue. He’s confident suddenly; his once shaky hand resting comfortably and pulling you closer to him, an act you didn’t even think was possible at this point.
You squeeze your eyes shut at the feeling, unable to keep your whines at bay.
It’s filthy, the sounds of squelching and whimpering that resound has you scrambling to keep up. You refuse to let this become his moment - this was meant to be your punishment after all.
You clench onto the fabric of his shirt, a frantic move accompanied by your groans and his sighs. His hands stay infuriatingly polite, simply resting on the barest slither of skin available to him - but you know he wants more. You can practically feel his hands itching to at least press the pads of his fingers deeply into your skin.
To trace you, to breathe you in and consume you entirely is all Caleb wants. You’re more than aware of that - with memories of the old days comes the recognition of knowing you’d felt the same way too even back then. He’s always wanted you, and you him.
You hike your leg higher up in an attempt to stabilise yourself. Your knee drags against his waist and you feel him jerk from the change.
It’s a singular move that causes a sudden spiral because your heat rests against him entirely and— oh God, he was so big, wait—
“Pips– I—“ One kiss, another, you grip his hair and he moans into your mouth. “We should— Hah, we should— stop.” And really, it comes out weakly, a slurred command that has no precedent over when you decide this ends.
Could he feel your clit throbbing against his cock? Was he desperately trying to stop himself from rutting into you?
You rock gently, just once and ever so subtly between every flick of your tongue against his, and try not to grin when you feel the air knocked out of his lungs.
Poor Caleb, he must be losing his mind trying to restrain himself.
For a moment you pity him, but then his voice hums between kisses and logic suddenly kicks in. You can practically hear all the excuses he’d use to explain getting this far - it’s always you being too innocent, or not understanding what you’re doing.
The thought enrages you, and it’s enough to remind you why you’d started this in the first place.
There’s an itch inside of you that begs to continue, to ignore your dignity and use him as you please - you could prove him wrong, show him just how pissed off you are and satisfy your needs at the same time.
You really do want to do that.
Hm.
Caleb whispers your name, a sound that sends you into a realm beyond here with him.
And yet, somehow, you crawl right back.
You chirp a quick goodnight and scramble under the covers, turning away as you nestle into your side of the bed. You’ve barely caught your breath, but feeling the tenseness of Caleb beside you has you giggling and catching it back all at once.
“Night Colonel! See you after work.”
craving more from the peachieverse? select your next unique experience and let your heart rush with him.
a/n: i forgot to add this here but pls plssss tell me if any of this was ok!! i hope it wasn’t too ooc ><
Hiking up your beautiful woven red and black dress he insisted you wear tonight. You could tell by the way he was staring at you all night he wanted this, need it in fact. Kept sneaking glances at you while others tried to take his attention away.
The taste of you alone sent him into a groaning and grinding mess, sending vibrations to your cunt. His gorgeous nose rubbing against your clit perfectly.
"R-Right there sy-oh fuck" you managed to let out as he continued to go, sucking you dry of everything you're worth.
He had you up against your apartment wall, being too needy to even wait a few more seconds. He slowly snaked two fingers into you, pumping in and out while he lapped up your juices. He knew you were close by the twitching in your stomach.
"Give it to me kitten, need it s'bad" he muttered, breaking away from your pussy before immediately diving back in. Gripping his shoulders like he was your life line, you were so close.
With one final curl of his fingers, you let go. Riding his face until your high was over. He tried his best not to cum at the sight, wanting to save it for when you both are comfortably in bed.
Panting, you look down just to see a smiling sylus staring back "get out you dork" you giggle before pulling him up for a kiss.
All intellectual property belongs to Cybird. I fan-translate for fun. I am not fluent in Japanese, so translations are not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Creative liberties are taken. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translation elsewhere, claim them as your own, or use them without my permission. Thank you for your support!
I am not posting translation notes for the fourth time. No screenshots will be included, and I am not adding tags to this post again because I don't want to annoy people.
Gdoc link is here for Jude’s voice lines.
[Jude’s Room]
(If I don't do it now, I'll never get this chance again.)
(This is my opportunity to tame Jude and have him eating out of the palm of my hand…!)
Harboring such impure motives, I entered the room to find Jude lounging on the bed, puffing on a cigarette.
Jude: ……That face is lookin’ up to no good.
Jude: Bet yer thinkin’ something dirty, like reducin’ me to some lovestruck fool ya can play with.
Kate: W-Was it that obvious…..?
Jude: Can see right through those spinnin’ wheels in yer head.
Jude stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and smiled provocatively.
Jude: C’mon, then? Show me what’cha got.
Kate: Since you agreed to it, you better not resist.....got it?
(It won’t work unless our bare skin is touching…..better remove his clothes.)
[Tap Point 1 - Unbutton Jude’s Shirt]
Jude: Hah…..
Just a mere graze of my fingertips on his skin was enough to make Jude's breathing falter slightly from the pleasure.
(To think, the tiniest touch makes him react like this….)
Having finished unfastening the buttons, I swiftly stripped the shirt away, revealing Jude’s bare skin.
(Jude’s the type who looks much slimmer with his clothes on.)
(Simply staring at his shirtless like this….makes my heart race.)
I couldn’t help but feel that the scent of sandalwood wafting from Jude grew stronger the moment he took off his shirt.
Jude: [Sigh]….Getting all hot n’ bothered just from me takin’ my top off. Makes me worried for what comes next.
Jude: Hope ya can get me goin’ before mornin’ comes, think ya can?
Kate: ….Hmph, let’s see just how long you can keep your cool.
(Now, I wonder where Jude’s sensitive spots are. Let’s touch him here……)
[Optional Tap Points: Collar Bone, Arm, Abdomen]
[Collar Bone]
Jude: Hah…..Ain’t gonna forget how many times ya’ve touched me./
Recalling how Jude usually touched me, I slid my fingers along his collarbone, trying to imitate him.
Tracing the hollow of his clavicle slowly I applied a light pressure with my thumb.
But it didn’t seem to please Jude as he muttered a grumble.
Kate: It’s fine if you remember. I’m in the middle of riling you up right now.….so don’t interrupt.
Glancing up at Jude, I repeatedly traced the length of his collar bone from one end to the other, trying to entice him—
Jude: ……Seven……Eight……..
His voice deepened slightly, and he began counting aloud so that I could hear.
Jude: Nine….ten…..
When I heard the numbers, I got curious—
Kate: What’s the count supposed to mean?
I couldn't help but stop what I was doing and ask.
Jude: Already know what it means, don’tcha?
Jude: It’s how many times ya I’m gonna make ya cry, ain’t it?
Kate: M-Make me cry…..
Noticing my hesitation, Jude chuckled lowly, took my hand and pressed it against his collar bone.
Jude: Aren’t ya gonna continue?
Kate: ……L-Let’s take a tiny break.
Instinctual terror filled me and tried to get away from Jude, but—
That wasn’t permitted.
Kate: …..!
He pulled me closer, holding me tightly from behind.
And then….
[Jude’s Arm]
Jude: …..Oy, knock it off. That tickles.
When I lightly poked his arm with my fingertip, Jude squirmed in displeasure.
Jude: Didn’t have the bollocks to touch my chest or stomach….so ya went straight fer my arm.
Jude: Bit of a coward, are we, Princess?
Kate: Absolutely not. I was just going easy on you that time Jude. The real fun starts now!
In retaliation, I brought my face close to Jude’s arm—
Kate: Mmh, haa….
And made sure to make noise as I kissed his arm repeatedly.
Normally, Jude wouldn’t feel anything if I kissed his arm….
But right now, just being touched by me gives him pleasure, so this should have a tremendous effect.
Jude: ……, ……Ha.
(Oh….he’s breathing heavier.)
I'm happy that even my inept touch seems to be blissful for Jude.
(I want to make him feel even better….)
Lifting Jude’s hand, I sucked on his fingers.
Kate: Mm…haa…..
As I nuzzled my cheek against his beloved arm and showered him with kisses—
Jude suddenly pulled me close, trapping me in his arms.
Kate: J-Jude….?
Jude: If yer gonna suck on my arm, this position’s easier, ain’t it?
Jude wrapped his arms around me from behind and held one of his arms up in front of my face.
Kate: Did your arm feel that good? Then, I’ll help myself—
[Jude’s Abdomen]
Jude: Mm…..Haaa, sucha lewd lil’ princess.
Kate: ….Well, I wasn’t like this before I met you.
I boldly traced the contours of his abs with my fingers. The firm, toned muscles reacted to my fingertips, twitching and rippling.
Jude: Ha….Haah.
Judging by his ragged breathing, it seemed Jude was also enjoying my touch.
(He’s reacting way more than expected…I might not be able to stop.)
(….Where next? Ah, here……)
I noticed a faint, old stab wound on his stomach; when I gently stroked it, Jude’s abdominal muscles tensed for a moment.
Jude: …..!
Kate: When did you get this injury? It’s faded now….but it looks pretty deep.
Jude: Huh….I don’t remember every lil’ thin’.
(It must have hurt….)
I gently bring my lips to the scar and pepper it with soft kisses, as if to soothe it.
Jude: …….Hah, hah, haah.
As I traced the line of the wound with the tip of my tongue, Jude’s breathing grew heavier and heavier….
Jude: …..That’s enough kissin’ there.
Kate: Hm….really? Then, next I’ll—
Jude: This’s what comes next.
Jude spun me around and pulled me tightly into his arms from behind.
Kate: ….Ah?!
Suddenly, Jude gently bit the nape of my neck, making my voice to crack.
He blew a hot breath into my ear while sinking his teeth into it—
Then he lifted the hem of my skirt and his hot fingers slid beneath my underwear.
Kate: Wh…why are…..haaa….Jude…..
Jude: Yer the one who wanted to get me riled up, yeah? Brilliant job, the plan was a success.
Jude’s thumb rubbed my sensitive bud in a circular motion, and then his middle finger began to shallowly slide in and out.
Kate: Ah…nhhh…haa! Wait, Jude…!
My hips bucked on their own as I quivered and jolted within Jude’s arms.
Jude: C’mon, sing fer me some more. This time, I’m gonna make you feel good.
(I was supposed to tame Jude and be the one to pamper him….)
Desperate to stop Jude, I twisted my body and turned to face him.
And then—
[Tap Jude’s neck]
Jude: Haah, Haah…..
Just as Jude always does to me, I sank my teeth into his neck with all my strength.
Kate: I’m the one who’s going to drive you wild tonight…..so if you don’t stay still this is what’s going to happen.
Jude’s fingers suddenly stopped for a moment—
Jude: …..That just really got me goin’.
Kate: Huh…
The next moment, I was pushed down onto the bed.
When I looked up at Jude's eyes, they held a beastly intensity.
Jude: Y’should be chuffed, got what’cha wanted, yeah?
Jude: Take this as my thanks for charmin’ me.
I still couldn’t tame Jude.
But as I gazed at him, so besotted with me, my initial plan seemed irrelevant...
Kate: …..Yes, please touch me a lot Jude.
From then on, I was completely lost in the happiness of being able to touch the person I loved.
꒰ ♡ ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ IT HAS WHAT IN THE CHOCOLATE?! Your poor boyfriend comes back home early from the bakery shop, all hot and bothered after eating a full, special and expensive chocolate bar. Little did he know, that same chocolate bar he ate had a strong dose of aphrodisiac! If only he read the labels! ₍₍⚞(˶˃ ꒳ ˂˶)⚟⁾⁾
꒰ ♡ ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ CHOCOLATE’S INGREDIENTS fem!reader | explicit content | no guaranteed spoilers of main/side quests | established relationship | possible grammar errors | not proof read | 1.2k+ words per Li | aphrodisiac sex | needy men | neck marking | mating press | pet names | oral (fem n male rec) | fingering | unprotected sex | p in v | cumming inside | fingering | author note at end
ᛝ CALEB
Spit-covered lips are pressed firmly against yours in a feverish kiss, the flavor of intense sugary chocolate melts onto your tongue— the taste of the sweetness has a small wave of heat coursing through your body. Caleb breathlessly moans your name quietly into your lips, the hands on your hips have a firm grip, in a needy manner.. he’s dragging you closer and closer to his body like his life depends on it. He slowly drags his lips from your parted lips to your chin, kissing softly and occasionally poking his tongue out to taste your delicious fucking skin— letting out a ragged moan at the way your scent and flavor invades his thoughts.
Ever since Caleb got back from the bakery, he’s been acting even more clingy than usual, he’s practically stuck to your hip! It’s like he can’t breathe, the only way to quell and tame that brewing hunger inside him is you. Warm lips find themselves on the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving small marks into your flesh— his nose pressed against your scent glands before taking in a deep inhale, you smelled even more divine than normally.
“Mmmhp— C- Caleb? Fuckk, honey —haah. . wh- what’s gotten into you?” You ask out shakily, voice unstable, it’s hard to say anything when you are moaning quietly every time he wraps his lips around the skin of your neck before sucking harshly.
He doesn’t respond to your call immediately, opting to lap and mark at your neck. . for now. Caleb presses himself harder against your body, unsatisfied with how much space is between you. . which actually isn’t a lot. He rolls his hips, grinding himself against your thighs while letting out a whiney groan— you can feel something pressing against your skin and oh. .
“Oh fuck. .” You whisper out softly, gulping then letting out a shaky exhale.
What was pressed against the skin of your leg was Caleb’s cock, bobbing and throbbing in need, fighting against the restraints of his pants. You let out a pretty gasp. . seeing him act so unapologetic for your attention makes your cunt quiver around nothing— a subtle heat pooling down to your stomach before reaching further down to between your thighs.
“Nghh. . ‘M so sorry, I- I just. . I needa’ have you right now” Caleb manages to pull his lips from your neck, lifting you up from the bottom of your thigh. . your legs wrap around his hips instinctively without much thought, letting him carry you to your bedroom.
He pulls open the room door, shutting it softly with his heel. . leaving you in a dimmed room with your boyfriend who looks like he wants to leave you jelly- boned. You drag your fingers through his scalp, tenderly tugging the strands to summon moans from Caleb.
“Th- the chocolate. . it had ap- aphrodisiac —haah” he groans out, greedy hands practically tearing off your clothes one by one, tossing them to the side.
In response to Caleb’s eagerness, you quickly unbuckle his belt and slide down his pants— your mewl muffled by his lips as that sweet flavor of chocolate melts into your mouth again. You pressed you against the bed, grabbing ahold of your thighs in a firm grip and pushing them against your chest in mating press. His lips haven’t parted from yours, tongue still toying and gliding against yours.
“I- I’ve been thinking of yo- you allll dayy, baby” Caleb murmurs against your swollen lips,
He just can’t get enough of your intoxicating flavor, although the effect of the aphrodisiac was painfully slow when creeping through his body, the lewd thoughts of you came quickly. Caleb drags his warm lips from yours down to your neck, quickly sucking a red mark into your skin before wrapping his lips around your nipple— sucking gently. A wet pop as he lets go of your nipple before engulfing it back into his hungry mouth, dragging his tongue against your sensitive nipple. . moaning softly into the mound.
You shiver sources through your body, shivering lightly when Caleb’s teeth scratches at your flesh. He presses your boobs together roughly, sucking on both your nipples. The aphrodisiac in his system makes the taste and flavor of you even more delicious.
“Mmmhp. . ohmygod, t- taste sooo good” he murmurs into your chest, leaving trails of spit along your skin.
“Pl- please, baby, p- please play wi- with yourself” Caleb whines out, moaning happily when he sees your hands trailing down your plush stomach then the wet, slick sounds of your fingers rubbing at your sopping pussy.
You hadn’t realized how truly wet you are, your cunt is covered in your arousal— juices smearing onto your fingers as you roll soft circles onto your puffy clit. Caleb presses sweet yet hungry kisses from your chest to your plush belly, moving further down until his warm breath fans onto your dripping hole. . pulling a gasp from your swollen lips. You take the time to really see him and oh fuck— his eyes are blown on with an overwhelming amount of desire and carnal hunger for you, drool peeking from between his lips, and his cheeks flushed red from the heat.
Unapologetically, Caleb tugs apart your sticky folds to reveal your flesh glistening from the sheen of arousal coating it— he lets out a quiet fuck under his breath. One of your arms wraps around your squishy thighs and pulls it closer to your chest. Still at a steady pace, you provide little stimulation to your engorged clit— only drawing out breathless gasps and whines.
“C’mon, ba- baby. . rub yourself faster. . fuck” he encourages, eyes wide when he sees your juices splattering everywhere when you press harder and faster onto your clit— your toes curling from the sweet pleasure.
Caleb leans in closer to your cunt, eagerly and quickly, he drags his tongue through your slicked folds until he reaches the tip of your fingertips before delving through again. He’s lewdly drinking up your sweet juices, mouth hungry for more, practically salivating. He plunges his tongue into your quivering hole, a wet squealchh of your velvety walls stretching around the wet muscle echoes through the room.
You are sobbing and mewling out in ecstasy, wildly bucking your hips towards his insatiable mouth— glossy eyes rolling back when he fucks his tongue into your gooey walls meanly. Your thighs are trembling now, the slick squelchh and sloshh sounds fill the room along with your moans and Caleb’s muffled, rough groan against your pussy.
“Nngh—! I- I. . fe- feels sooo fucking good, leb’” you gasp out, rolling your clit harder and faster, warm warms fluttering and spending around his tongue.
That knot in your stomach is tightening within every passing second, getting tighter and tighter. You let out a loud squeal of his name, body quaking from how intense and overwhelming the pleasure feels right now. Caleb grunts and moans against your clit in a rough voice, eyes shut closed in concentration as he drags his tongue in and out of your sopping cunt.
“Mmhp—! Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod. . ‘M gonna cumm — waah, fuck ‘m gonna cum, baby” you yelp out, letting out a loud moan as your pussy gushes around his tongue, becoming unbearable tight around the wet muscle.
Your fingers toying with your puffy clit stutter before pulling away from the swollen bud, a thin string of arousal connected between your fingers and your clit. It takes you a few seconds to ride your high, glancing at Caleb who looks like he’s far from down with you.
“Haaah— god you taste soo good. .” Caleb whispers, tongue lapping at his lips to drink up whatever that tastes like you.
Caleb grabs ahold of your thighs again, pushing them firmly into your chest— grinding his clothed, throbbing cock against your slick pussy. That heat and desire in his eyes have barely changed, you are in for a long night.
ᛝ XAVIER
The tangy yet awfully sweet flavor of a delicious chocolate seems to forever linger on your tongue, it doesn’t matter how much you try to gulp down the taste— it just seems to be permanent in your mouth. When was the last time you ate a chocolate that contained such a bold, obnoxious, intense flavor that it lingers in your mouth? The chocolaty taste must have been from the soft, warm, plush lips that are pressed firmly and desperately against yours, a sweet tongue dragging against yours in a heated and erotic manner— it wasn’t you who ate chocolate, it was Xavier. . that’s how the chocolate flavor got into your mouth.
It’s been hours since Xavier left for the nearby bakery, offering to buy the both of you chocolate— the bakery was at least a five minute walk, it was suspicious that he was taking so long to pick up only two chocolate bars. Once he finally managed to come back home, holding only one chocolate bar in hand while the other hand held a crinkled up wrapped in an awfully tight grip, he never really gave you a clear explanation for being out for hours— instead, he simmered nearby you so close. . looking at you sad if you created the air he breathes. You noticed that he was displaying symptoms like higher temperature, cheeks dusted in flush, sweat sticking to his forehead, eyes blown out, skin hot to the touch, and awfully needy for your attention.
You were almost convinced that he managed to get sick, however, when he started to breathlessly whimper into your neck, kissing your skin, whimpering for your attention. . — this definitely wasn’t a normal sickness. He pulls you against him firmly, at those closeness, you can really feel how hot he was. Xavier smears and drags his tongue against yours; slow at first, savoring the feeling of your skin against his in an intimate fashion, before the kiss becomes fast and sloppy, full of desperation. In response, droplets of drool seeps from your lips from the hungry kiss.
“Mmmhp— . . X- Xavie’?” You managed to gasp out between the hungry kisses that he keeps pulling you into.
One of your hands finds itself carding through Xavier’s short hair, nails slightly digging into his scalp— earning yourself a delighted, slightly muffled, moan from your boyfriend. You wanted to question your dear boyfriend about the familiar change in his behavior, it’s awfully similar to how he acts when drunk. . clingy, but before you could string words together he is softly pressing chocolate against your swollen lips. You can tell that he’s merely offering a taste of the dessert, keeping it close to your lips but never forcing you to take a bit.
You know you really shouldn’t consume the chocolate, it’s laced with aphrodisiac after all. . you’d end up just as needy as your boyfriend. However, instead of declining Xavier’s offer— you lean in closer towards the dark brown bar, taking a small bite out of the candy. That same overly sugary, chocolate flavor melts onto your tongue. . mingling with it is the abrupt feeling of warmth.
Your skin starts to feel noticeably warmer than before, becoming hotter and hotter within every passing second of the chocolate dessert simmering in your mouth. That chocolate. . the aphrodisiac was much quicker than you expected, a delightful wave of heat pooling between your thighs. Xavier leans closer to take a bite from the bar, holding it out for you to take another taste. It isn’t long until the bar is completely gone, leaving only the wrapper that still has an obvious consumption warning on the back— that once subtle heat in your body is now more violent and apparent.
“Ho- how did y- you not. .” You try to form a sentence through stutters and shaky exhales, thighs trembling lightly. . you feel soo sensitive.
While you attempt to create a non-hazy thought in your mind, Xavier happily busies himself by kissing wet, sloppy, and hot kisses into the skin of your neck. Lips drags against the tender skin of your neck, tongue occasionally poking out to lap at your sweaty and sticky skin. . he moans in approval at how you taste and the light shiver that courses through your body.
“— notice t- that the chocolate. . haah ohfuck— had ap- aphrodisiac inside. .” You pant out, moaning when he suckles onto the skin of your neck with the intent to mark your flesh.
“W- wasn’t paying attention. .” Xavier murmurs out against your neck, warm breath fanning onto your exposed skin.
“Was th- thinking about you. . mi- missed you, darling. .” He answers simply, you are quite surprised that he managed to restrain himself from brushing his face back into your neck and ignoring your question.
You hadn’t realized until now but you would have already crumbled to the floor if it wasn’t for your boyfriend’s tight grip on your hips, keeping you upright and flushed against his body. Although, Xavier is taking the time to explore your body with needy and greedy hands. . fondling, squishing, palming, toying with your skin— warm hands even sneaking under your top, which was actually his. Through the hazy and clouded space of his mind, you look absolutely. . appetizing in his clothes.
Your lips were moving as if you were talking to him, except, Xavier couldn’t hear a single word you were saying. All he could think about was how pretty your lips are. .
“Xavier? D- did you hear a single word I just said?” You click your tongue, brows furrowed cutely as you gaze up towards his eyes.
You let out a gasp when his hands hook on the underside of your thighs, pulling you off the ground with an unexpected amount of strength. At that point, Xavier is panting from the excessive heat— he really didn’t hear a single thing you said.
“. . ‘M sorry —haah. . I- I really need you right—“ Xavier attempts to breathe out, words melting into a soft moan when you press your lips against his, dragging your tongue against his lips.
Xavier finally made it into your bedroom, purposefully walking slowly to feel your lips against his longer, kicking the door closed with the back of his foot. He gently presses you against your bed, fitting comfortably between your plush thighs— unknowingly pressing the obvious bulging his pants against your clothed pussy, draining moans from the both of you. He leans forward, pressing kiss after kiss to your neck and collarbone, fingers slowly undoing any bows or buttons on your clothes.
“Mmmhp. . c’mon, baby, st- stop teasing, I need you” you whimper out, rolling your hips to feel his cock grind against your pussy.
With that, he doesn’t waste a mere second— eagerly and heartily pulling off your shirt, shorts, leaving you only in panties. You smile cheekily when you see his Adam apple bob as he gulps, the sight of you has his cock twitching in need. The effect you have of poor Xavier is admirable.
“Godsss. . I- I need you soo badly, starlight” he murmurs, allowing you to grab his waist, guiding his fingers to drag against your clothed folds.
Xavier's voice is thick with lust and desire, eyes lazily open, hooded. The cloth is soaked in arousal, the soft and subtle squealchh of your juices smearing onto his finger tips. In response to the stimulation, you arch your hip from off the bed. . snatching off your panties yourself, tossing them to the side.
You hiss softly, you handy realize how soaked you were— folds sopping and glistening in your own arousal. Two of Xavier’s fingers dart through your fat folds, easily gliding through because you were soaking wet. He eases two fingers into your quivering hole, the digits easily gliding through your velvety walls with no pain.
The wet squelchh and sloshh of your wet cunt begins to get louder and obscure the fast Xavier thrusts his fingers into your gooey walls, earning himself a ton of broken wails and moans for more. Through your haze of overwhelming pleasure, you reach over to pull down his pants and boxers, slender and pretty cock slapping against his abdomens. You guide him to your spasming entrance, the bulbous tip easily gliding through your tight walls. . so deep, reaching spots that have you whimpering out his name loudly.
He hooks his hand under your knee, pulling your legs over his shoulder— cock reaching even deeper, summoning a loud and broken squeal of pleasure. Xavier’s skin is flushed with yours until he pulls his body back, cock gliding through your slick and sensitive walls.
“Fu- fuck—! Mmhp. . sooo deep. .” You drool out, wailing when he somehow thrusts deeper into your pussy.
“Haah. . b- been thinking about yo- you alll day” Xavier groans out, fucking into you with more effort and need.
“Co- couldn’t get you — oh. my. god. . . outta’ m- my head” he finishes, brows furrowed in contraction as his length massages your gooey walls.
The wet sound of skin meeting each other is quiet, for now. Fwop Fwop Fwop, his skin pressing against yours every time Xavier plunges his whole long length into your warmth walls. The aphrodisiac in your system must have made you even more sensitive, god, you feel you are gonna cum.
Tears springs in your eyes and your back arches off the bed when his fingers find your puffy clit, rolling tight circles on the poor bud. That knot in your stomach explodes, coating the base of Xavier’s cock in creamy white.
“Nnghh—! Fuck! X- xavier!” You drool out, toes curling, silently watching how his thumb presses and rolls at your engorged clit.
Xavier doesn’t get the chance to warn you, warm ropes of cum shooting into your velvety walls. You moan slightly, shivering when another wave of heat courses through your body. That aphrodisiac is still in your system, that horny feeling is still overpowering.
“No, no, no. .” Xavier stumbles on his words, hips slamming into yours from his mean thrusts.
“Ne- need. . more of you, n- not enough” he drools out, fucking himself deeper into your poor pussy.
God, you are really glad you ate some of the chocolate. . you have a long night ahead of you.
ᛝ RAFAYEL
There is this subtle taste of overly sweet and intense chocolate that lingers on your tongue, it’s faint and hard to realize it’s actually there— how did the chocolaty flavor manage to melt and stick onto your tongue when you haven’t had a taste of the dessert all day? Oooh. . you remember, it must have been your dear boyfriend who shared the sweet flavor to you— pulling you into a feverish kiss full of an overwhelming amount of desire and need, practically devouring the taste of your lips as if it’s the only factor keeping him alive. And it is the only thing keeping Rafayel alive; unapologetically, he’s letting out pretty, satisfied moans and muffled whispers of your name against your lips.
It must have been hours since your dear boyfriend left his studio to go to the bakery nearby, deciding he deserved a delicious treat after spending an endless amount of hours locked up in his studio to finish his latest painting— the actual reason for Rafayel taking such a long time was because he spent too long resting his head on your lap. With a quick promise to bring you the best sweet dessert there is in the store, he leaves. . well, not without stealing a soft goodbye kiss, of course. Long after the sun settled beneath the horizon, he finally came back home from the bakery— and if you are allowed to add, bitterly. . he showed up empty handed, without the promised dessert for you.
You noticed, he has been acting odd and awfully clingy than before he went to the store— which is almost unbelievable for you since he’s just naturally glued to your hip. He is completely desperate for your attention, pouting and whining in annoyance when you decide your phone is ever so slightly more interesting than your poor, suffering, sweet boyfriend. It has become awfully obvious that whatever dessert Rafayel decided to eat wasn’t regular. . especially when he’s merely peppering warm kisses to the skin on your cheek, easily distracting you from your phone.
“Mmhp. . p- please. .” Rafayel sighs out softly to himself, voice rough and full of unhidden desire for you. . his voice is barely bearable due to how reluctant he is to pull away from your lips for even a mere second.
You press your hands against Rafayel’s chest tenderly, you can feel how fast his heart is pounding. . his skin feels burning hot. You moan softly when he drags his tongue against the puffy skin of your lips, that sweet chocolate flavor is just. . everywhere.
“— godss. . yo- you taste sooo delicious, cutie” he murmurs out, the hands on your hips pulling you ever so slightly closer to his chest.
The delightful feeling of your plush and warm body pressed against his could make him let out a moan, it’s definitely not like Rafayel has been whimpering at your tongue dragged against his. He had pressed lips against the burning skin of your body, kiss after kiss along numerous parts of your body; lips peppering against your chin before dragging down to your sensitive neck, tongue teasingly lapping at your skin until you gasped out— letting out a pleased whimper against your neck, the taste of you was addictive, he’s already hooked.
“Nghh. . ohgodd, r- rafie’ — wh- what's wrong with you —haaah. .?” You put out between soft and muffled moans due to his lips pressing into yours.
Before he arrived back home, you were simply relaxing on one of his couches, scrolling on your phone before he frantically unlocked the door before hazardously tossing his keys aside. He practically leapt on top of you, using his weight to keep you pinned against the sofa— lips already finding yours in a sloppy and hungry kiss. You let out an angelic and soft whine when his tongue drags against yours for the nth time tonight, hips jolting from the unexpected sensation from Rafayel languidly grinding himself into your needy core— causing something to press against your clothes folds. . ohhhh.
What’s pressing into your clothed pussy and occasionally twitching and throbbing is none other than Rafayel’s cock— quiet groans being ripped from him every time the rough fabric of his pants grinds harder onto his dick. You let out a loud gasp in response, choking on a moan when his fingers tenderly glided down your body; down your stomach, to your abdomen, until his fingers were gently pressing onto your clit— softly rolling the twitched bud through the fabric of your shorts. Your heated breath mixes together as you both moan against each other’s lips, occasionally indulging into a tender yet sloppy kiss.
He’s easily ripping soft and breathless moans from your swollen lips, fingers still rubbing a steady circle onto your cunt. In return, you push your thighs to where they are pressed against Rafayel’s bulge— in which he grinds into you while letting out a sigh of pleasure.
“Ooooh. . fuckk—! Ho- honey, nghh, god it feels soo. . f- fucking good” you gasp out through ragged breathes, mindlessly bucking your hips toward his hand.
“— b- but, I’ve ne- never seen you soo needy —mmhp!” You stutter out, eyes rolling back promptly when he applies more pressure onto your poor clit— your gooey walls quivering around nothing.
It’s doesn’t seem like Rafayel focused on giving you a response, brows furrowed in concentration as he applies more and more pleasure to your engorged clit, rolling his hips harder into your thigh. It’s only after a few seconds that you drag yours fingers through his scalp, it felt heavenly, that he decided he’d finally answer.
“Wh- what? I’ve missed you, cutie. . —mhhp, don’t push me away, please” Rafayel practically whines out, burying his face into your neck.
Spit- covered lips pepper against the sensitive skin of your neck, softly suckling at your flesh before a wet pop fills the room as he lets go of your skin. Rafayel’s answer doesn’t really satisfy you, leaving you even more confused.
“Godd. . I ne- need you soo bad, —haah. . need to be inside you, cutie” he says in a ragged voice, that tone in his voice makes a pleasurable wave of heat course through your body— pooling to your pussy.
Warm lips find their self on your neck again, lapping and sucking at your skin to leave another love bite. He presses his head deeper into your shoulder, nose pressed firmly into your skin, inhaling where your scent glands are before whimpering under his breath about how delicious you smell.
“Haah—“ you mewl out, silently pressing your hand onto his temple, checking his temperature.
Rafayel is sweating, skin burning hot, from the corner of your eye you can see his cheeks are blushed pink from the heat. He does get clingy when he’s sick. . but this a whole new level of neediness. Wait. . he said he would pick up desserts earlier.
Chocolate, that chocolate he ate must have been laced with aphrodisiac, if only he read the labels. While you are stuck in your mind, sneaky hands drift under your shorts, further down your panties, not before toying with the soft fabric. You let out a loud yelp of Rafayel’s name when you feel those warm fingers glide through your slick folds, delving to your drooling hole— dragging your arousal to your clit before rolling a mean circle to the bud.
The wet squealchh of your pussy when Rafayel barley dips his fingers into your drooling hole was loud and obscure, the sound soo lewd it has you whimper out in embarrassment. Not that he minded, no no, he’s gliding his fingers through your pussy lips, obsessed with how your expression changed into a blissful emotion and the soft moans you let out.
“F- fuckk. . gods. . I- I wanna make you feel am- amazing, my sweet pearl. .” Rafayel murmurs out to mostly himself—reluctantly taking his finger from between your thighs.
Only for your dear boyfriend to pull off every layer of clothes in his way, leaving you in your glory of nakedness.
“Nghh-! Ho- honey! I- I. .” You gasp out, head tossing back from the feeling of his fingers dipping into your quivering hole easily due to the amount of slick you’ve produced.
Rafayel is on you once again, lips suckling at your neck while his fingers slides deeper and deeper into your pussy with a loud squealchh and sloshh of your velvety walls. Your toes curl up, ass arching from the sofa. Oooh, holy fuck. . his fingers reach so deep into your sopping cunt— slender yet long, easily prodding at your sweet spots until tear sprout in your eyes in ecstasy.
The effect of the aphrodisiac laced dessert has his body slowly becoming warmer with every passing second, it was all subtle and slow that he didn’t even recognize it until thoughts of lewd and provocative pleasuring you had plagued his mind. Rafayel kisses at your neck, fingers dragging and massaging your gory walls, fingers dipping and reappearing from your warmth.
“R- rafie’! —haaah. . I th- think you ate aphrodisiac chocolate. . —!” You manage to whimper out through your gasp and whines of pleasure, eyes rolling back promptly.
You’re stuttering over your words due to his fingers slamming deeper into your cunt, the palm of his hands spanking into your poor clit. God, that knot in your belly is alreadly tightening. Rafayel has always been good at using his fingers, and he loves abusing that power of his.
Rafayel curls his fingers, dragging his spit-soaked lips from your neck to your chin then to your swollen lips. He pants against your parted lips, dragging his tongue against the glistening skin of his lips.
“N- nghh— is that why I’ve be- been. . thinking of you all dayy?” He asks softly, eyes burning with lust.
At this point, you can barely respond to his somewhat of a question, weakly trying to fuck yourself on his fingers.
“Nnghh ohgod—! Fuckfuckfuckfuck! I think I’m Gonna cum. . Oooh, rafie’ I’m gonna cum!” You babble out, yelping out when his free hands rubs at your clit.
You can’t help it, you can’t help the way your velvety walls spasm and flutter around his two fingers— hot wet dashing in your eyes as you squirt from Rafayel fingers, the digits still pumping into your cunt with a loud squealch.
“Yesyesyesyes, cutie! Cum f’me, god you look so fucking cute. Iloveyouiloveyou. .” Rafayel murmur out, delving his fingers through your sloppy slit again, pushing his digits back into your pussy, eager to please.
You should be worry about him, since he is under a drug, but when he’s curling his fingers perfectly, the thought die as quickly as it appeared.
ᛝ ZAYNE
The sweet, sugary flavor of chocolate is obnoxiously bold on your tongue— the flavor is strong, intensely honeyed, expensive, and a hint of . . addictive warmth to it. As much as you attempt to swallow down the taste of chocolate, it still lingers on your tastebuds. Perhaps the flavor won’t vanish from your mouth because the sweet taste has already completely melted on Zayne’s tongue; syrupy, wet muscle dragging. . gliding. . and slowly smearing against yours in a dizzying manner, capturing you in a passionate yet sloppy kiss full of chemistry and overwhelming amount of desire.
It really hasn’t felt like hours has passed since Zayne left to the bakery. . but it has. Not too long ago, he left to the nearby bakery shop, one that you would often have numerous dates at, to pick up a sweet dessert for both you and him— but it’s becoming awfully worrying, he’s been gone for far too long. After countless missed text and calls from you, he finally managed to come back home, looking like he got insanely sick.
He’s been displaying unusual behaviors, you really could almost believe he really did came down with something; skin hot to the touch, brows furrowed as beads of sweat trickles down his forehead, lips parted to exhale warm breath, eyes blown out. Really, you almost believed that Zayne has a serve fever, but with how he’s nuzzling his nose into your neck. . lips tenderly pressing against warm flesh, this isn’t a regular sickness occurring.
“Haaah. . nngh, Z- zaynie’?” You gasp out lightly, a sweet shiver coursing through your body when his tongue drags along the sensitive skin of your neck.
“Fuckk. . wh- what’s gotten into y- you, honey. . ?” You breathe out between a soft moan, moaning in delight when he suckles on the skin of your neck. . leaving a pretty mark behind.
He’s quick to retract from the space between your shoulder; he pulls a muffled gasp when he tugs you into a hungry and desperate kiss— lovingly pressing kiss after kiss to your lips until they swell up. Noticeably, Zayne’s lips are warm agaisnt yours, it’s becoming addictive to have his body pressed so closely to yours. He drags his tongue along the skin of your lips, eagerly deepening the kiss— the chocolate flavor melting onto your tongue each time he drags his wet muscle against yours.
Being this flushed with Zayne, you can feel something pressing against your lower stomach. . oh. . his cock bobs in the restraints of his pants.
“Oohgod. .” Zayne pants against your lips, kissing your cheek softly.
“— I- I should have re- read the labels. .” He murmurs to mostly himself, hands sliding down to squeeze your hips tightly.
“Didn’t re- realize they added aph- aphrodisiac —nghh. . into the c- chocolate” Zayne breathes out, leaning down to slurp at your neck, hungrily and greedily.
He’s easily drawing moan after moan from your swollen lips, suckling, lapping, and kissing at the skin of your neck until pretty bruises bloom onto your skin. Zayne intensely inhales near your scent glands, drunk on your taste and smell. It seems that whatever thin restraint he was holding onto had completely snapped— hands gently carrying and pressing you close to his chest, silently carrying you to your shared bedroom.
Zayne softly kicks the door shut with his leg, laying you down aging the soft bed. . head facing the thick bulge in his pants. At this angle, you can we his cock pressed again his sculpted thigh, twitching and throbbing in need. You are so focused on unbuckling his pants upside down, you hadn’t realize your dear boyfriend was slowly parting your thighs— warm palm sprawled against your inner thigh.
“Haah. . l- let me. .” You murmur quietly, unzipping the zipper on his pants, whimpering softly when his thick and fat cock slaps agaisnt your cheek, splattering precum against your skin.
You grab at his legs softly, lips pressing a soft kiss to his bulbous tip, dragging your tongue to clear up the beads of arousal dripping everywhere. You wrap your lips around Zayne’s thick head, dragging your tongue in painfully slow circles on the underside of his cock. . sucking gently. He groans softly when you take more of his thick length into your hungry mouth, practicing tearing off your shorts and panties. . dragging a finger through your syrupy slit.
You let out a soft whimper, one of your hands letting go of Zayne’s thigh to wrap around his fat base— stroking his glistening thick, up and down.
“Haah— . . yo- your lips feel —nghh. . amazing, darling” he groans out between huffs and grunts of pleasure, lightly bucking his hips towards you mouth, causing you to gag as his cock dips deeper into your mouth.
“Mmhp. .” You moan around his length, moaning louder when he drags his tongue through your slick folds.
His tongue delves between your folds, dragging the wet muscles from your clit to your drooling hole— your arousal is thick on his mouth and tongue. You taste. . addictive, Zayne can’t get enough. And the way you attempt to take more of his cock into your mouth, quietly gagging and moaning around the length, it has him twitching in pleasure.
Zayne’s lips engulf your clit, suckling harshly on the swollen bud— the wet slurping sound filling the air. His tongue, fuckk, drags along the hoods of your clit, paired with the stimulation of sucking. . you are in heaven.
“Mmmhp—!” You moan around his cock, sending vibrations through his body— your hands around his base glides up and down, pumping his shaft faster.
His tongue flattens against your puffy clit, flicking up and down while he slowly rocks his hips, pushing his cock deeper into your aching mouth, pressing meanly against your throat. It’s overwhelming, the taste of Zayne’s precum. . salty yet tolerable. You can feel that knot in your lower belly, tangling harder and harder— the pleasure is delicious, his tongue just gliding and dragging through your sticky cunt.
“De- delicious. . Y- you taste sweet, my love” Zayne breathes out against your soppy folds, groaning against your clit when you hallow your mouth— cock bobbing and spewing tons of precum agaisnt your tongue.
You buck your hips, forcing yourself to take as much of Zayne’s length into your throat until you let out a gag, eyes glassy with tears.
“Nngh-! F- fuckk. .” He moans out your name, two finger pressing into your drooling hole. . stretching you out perfectly.
He’s bobbing and twitching violently now, balls twitching against your forehead, he’s so close. With a loud groan of your name, Zayne’s cock shoots ropes of cum down your throat, some trickling down the corner of your lips. You struggle to swallow the salty liquid, gagging and moaning around him.
With a loud, wet pop, Zayne’s cock glides from your mouth, numerous thin strings of arousal and spit connects between your lips and his cock. He presses his cock to your flushed cheek, fingers dragging against your gooey walls— eliciting a mewl from you.
“Mmhp. . Don’t squirm from m- me, my love. .” Zayne murmurs out when you squirm lightly, wrapping his lips around your clit again.
“Wa- wanna make you cum, darling” he whispers against your glistening clit, suckling hard.
You weakly buck your hips, eyes glistening in fat tears. You feel his cock bob against your cheek, swelling with blood. Fuckkk, you are in for a long night.
ᛝ SYLUS
That flavor is bold and obvious, meted completely onto your tongue. . sweet chocolate, yet you don’t recall having a taste of sugar today, the chocolate flavor wasn’t for me. It must be from the plush, spit glistening lips that are pressed firmly against yours. . that familiar sweet taste coating your mouth as a tongue glides against yours erotically. The sweetness of Sylus’s tongue, addictive and delicious, causes an abrupt wave of heat to course through your body. . pleasant and welcomed— causing you to moan against his lips.
Not too long ago, your dear boyfriend left to pick up delightfully sweet chocolate from the nearby bakery store for you to have, except. . he was away for an hour, not answering any of your texts or calls. You were about to leave the house to find Sylus, that was until he finally came back home— acting. . completely different, leaving the chocolate bar on the counter to be forgotten while his attention was quickly turned to you.
“Nnghh. . Y- you missed me that mu- much, honey?” You tease through battered breaths, whimpering softly when his tongue drags against the sensitive skin of your neck.
His lips are pressed firmly against yours, tongue darting to lap at your soft lip. Sylus is more hungry and selfish now, kissing you until your lips swell up. He hums softly, tongue smearing against your flesh in a dizzying manner— suckling marks into your skin until you shiver.
Lips drag against your neck, warm breath fanning on your skin. You aren’t given much of a response, besides the occasional groans from him— as if the taste of your flesh is enticing, sweet, subtle and so. . you. You tremble lightly when Sylus’s lips ghost over the specific point on your neck, shakily inhaling when he rolls his tongue against the skin.
“Mmhp. . you taste de- delicious, sweetie. .” Sylus murmurs against your neck, pressing you harder onto the bed.
Sylus positions himself between your thighs, lightly rolling his hips to grind himself against your warmth. In response, you wrap your thighs around his waist, tugging him closer as he laps and hungrily sucks hickies into your neck until it’s decorated in his mark. He presses kiss from your neck to your chin, one hand strongly, easily prying open your thighs from his waist.
Kiss after kiss, each one leading further down your body— causing you to shiver in anticipation. A kiss to your stomach, fingers hooking around the waistband of your garments— yanking it off within seconds, keeping your thighs wide as your panties stick to your glistening pussy. Normally, Sylus would take the time to tease you lightly for already being needy for him. . but he’s quiet now. . eyes burning in hunger.
Sylus presses your thighs over his broad shoulder, fingers splayed on your inner thighs to keep you exposed for him. You let out a quiet moan when he slowly drags his tongue against your clothed pussy, humming in delight at the taste of your juices soaking your panties.
“Ngh. . Syyy. .” You gasp out, hips buckling weakly toward his mouth.
He’s gentle at first, soft kisses to your clit, slowly dragging his tongue against your slick folds through the soaked fabric, peppering a soft kiss to your thigh. It’s until the taste of you, sweet and tangy, has him dragging your panties to the side. Sylus doesn’t waste a second, hastily delving his tongue though your parted folds, tongue smearing against your puffy clit— drawing out a loud whimper from you.
Without thinking, your hips roll into his mouth, body searching and leaning into the pleasure Sylus gives.
“Oh fuck— . . sylus!” You gasp out, hands finding the silver strands, pulling softly to guide him closer to your pussy.
You can help the way your body bucks and rolls, back arching from the bed.
“Haah— y- you taste so, kitten. .” He murmurs against your engorged clit, voice muffled by the bud.
Glancing between your thighs, you can see the slight sheen on his chin and around his mouth, your sticky arousal coating his skin— he didn’t seem to mind. That chocolate, Sylus is completely aware what it did to him. Aphrodisiac, he felt the heat creeping through his body earlier ago, it was subtle enough to drown out. . but now— the hunger for you has completely clouded his mind.
Mindlessly, Sylus laps at your sopping pussy, drinking up your juices like it’s the only thing that can ground him.
“— mmhp. . so tasty” Sylus finishes, the obscure squelching sound of his lips engulfing your clit before suckling on it as if it was candy.
Your thighs twitch from the stimulation, that wave of heat in your stomach bubbles and become more and more noticeably intense with each passing second. A gentle tug to his hair, pulling him closer to your cunt, that delicious nose pressed against your swollen clit— he moans into your cunt, genuine and sincere, not a hint of shame could be found in his expression. Sylus tongue licks a wide, fast, hungry stripe up your cunt, drawing circles onto your twitching clit.
Sylus is starved, lips latched onto your sticky clit, sucking hard while he tongue smears against the hood of your clit, shaking his head side to side— the embarrassingly loud slurping sound filling the room. Your jaw drops, only a breathless moan can stumble from your lips.
“Oh god! S- sy’. . ‘M soo close” you gasp out, strings of moans being yanked from you.
“Y- yea, cum for me, kitten. God I wanna taste your delicious juices” he sighs out onto your clit, tongue firmly dragging through your folds, plunging his tongue into your quivering hole.
He fucks his tongue into your hole, grip tightening on your thighs when you jump and tremble.
“Sylus!” You squeal out, planting your legs onto the bed, your lower body arching.
“Don’t squirm, kitten. Just let me. .” Sylus can’t even finish his sentence, gliding his tongue through your ruined pussy.
That raspy tone in his face, completely drunk over the taste of you, just you.
“Cum for more, sweetie. Let me ta- taste your essence” he murmurs, engulfing your clit, sucking hard as he hollows his mouth to create the perfect suction that has you tossing your head back.
The heat in your lower belly explodes, causing you to let out a loud moan of his name, gushing around nothing. Sylus is quick to smear his tongue against your pussy, drinking up your sweetness until you jolt from the overwhelming stimulation. You lightly squirm when he doesn’t pull away from your stimulated cunt, lapping hungrily as he drags you closer to overstimulation.
“Stay still, I haven’t had my fill of you yet, sweetie. . ”he whispers out, only gaining a weak sob as he slurps through your sopping folds.
꒰ ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟAll work belongs to only ME, jadestone2. Translating, plagiarism, copying, posting on another website, claiming as your work will NOT be tolerated, instant block \( ≧ ᗜ ≦ ᛝ)/
(ゝ。∂) ☆｡ﾟﾉ BAKER’S NOTE Hi hi, sweeties<33 I finally posted after suchh a long time! Honestly, I noticed one of my moots pointed out how the lads communist has been slowly dying out. . idk if you guys still want lads fics so feel free to recommend something to write for. Also. . my inbox is looking dry, someone spam me
Includes the Brat creator, the Brat enabler, the Brat, the Brat tamer and the Brat breaker.
CW: P in V sex. Rough sex. Jealousy. Oral sex. Edging. Spanking. So many creampies we could open a bakery (lol I saw that one on the unhinged aO3 tags and had to use it) 🔞MDNI🔞
WC: 7.106
Repost from my old account (Applecaviar)
THE BRAT CREATOR
After a long day at work, you were already in a bad mood, especially with the extra responsibilities coming up next week. Then, hearing about Caleb's new mission just made it worse. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, just out of the shower, you felt Caleb's arms wrap around your waist from behind. His warmth radiated against your damp skin as he pulled you in closer, resting his chin on the top of your head.
"I'm gonna be away for a week, are you going to miss me, baby?" Caleb asked nipping your earlobe.
"Not really," you replied casually, smoothing face cream onto your cheeks and jawline. "I have plenty of things to keep me occupied while you're away."
"Yeah?" He tightened his hold around your waist slightly. "Like what?"
You smirked at his inquisitive nature, knowing he was fishing for details. "I'm pretty sure my vibrator is around here somewhere," you said, continuing to apply the luxurious cream.
Caleb chuckled softly "Will you let me watch?" he asked, a playful grin spreading across his face in the mirror's reflection "Will you call to show me how much you miss me?"
"No" you answered bluntly, slipping out of his embrace and stepping away from the sink.
—
An hour later he called out to you, urging you to come downstairs for dinner. Just as you were about to head down, a sharp knock sounded at the door. You hurried over and swung it open, retrieving the takeout you had secretly ordered without Caleb knowing. You knew he wasn't a fan of takeout, especially when he could make dinner for you.
As you placed the bags on the kitchen counter, Caleb's arms suddenly wrapped around your waist from behind again. This time, however, there was an undeniable hardness pressing insistently against the cleft of your ass, through the thin fabric of your shorts.
"You know I love it when you get all bratty like this? It makes me so fucking hard" Caleb said lowly in your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck.
Startled by his boldness, you turned to face him "Caleb! This is not..."
Just as you were about to finish your thought, Caleb lifted you onto the kitchen counter, your hips resting on the cool marble surface. His hands gripped your hips, squeezing the soft flesh as he stepped between your parted thighs.
"Do you need me to make you cum, pretty baby?"
Being the brat you were, you shook your head defiantly.
"Are you suuure?" he questioned, his hands slowly moving to your inner thighs, teasing you with his touch.
You braced your hands behind you on the counter and deliberately widened your legs, a clear invitation. "I'm sure"
"I wouldn't do that if I were you"
"Why not?" you taunted and moved to the very edge of the counter, wrapping your legs around his waist, dragging your clothed cunt along the length of his cock through the fabric of his jeans.
"Because you are making me hard as fuck right now"
"I like you hard like this though," you purred, nipping at his earlobe, feeling his dick twitch in response, eagerly seeking more of your touch.
"Y/N..."
You let out a breathy moan in his ear, lips brushing against the sensitive shell.
"You’re such a brat, you know that?" In an instant, Caleb had pulled your shorts and panties down to your ankles and then dropped to his knees.
Proving his point, you spread your legs again, inviting him to feast on the glistening sight before him. He wasted no time, he leaned in, letting one finger glide through your slit before bringing it to his lips, his tongue flicking out to savor your arousal, accompanied by a satisfied groan
"You created this brat, Cay" you accused breathlessly, chest heaving with anticipation. "You're the one who's always spoiling me, giving me everything I want."
Caleb didn't answer with words. Instead, he leaned in closer and dragged the flat of his tongue along your slit, his cock jumping against the inside of his jeans.
"My brat," he said before sealing his lips around your clit and sucking hard. Between each draw of his mouth, he punctuated his claim with a word. "My," suck, "spoiled," suck, "petulant," suck, "disobedient," suck, "brat," suck.
"Oh my god!" you cried out, fingers tangling in his hair. You tugged slightly at the strands, anchoring yourself to him as he worked you over with his mouth.
Caleb responded by pinching your sensitive clit between his tongue and teeth before rubbing his tongue rapidly back and forth.
You came hard and fast, walls clenching around nothing, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter for dear life, knuckles turning white from the force of your grasp. As your body shuddered you felt the slick countertop slip and slide beneath your ass, coated in a mix of Caleb's spit and your own arousal.
Before you could even begin to come down from your high, Caleb had sprung to his feet. He lowered his zipper to pull out his leaking cock from the confines of his jeans and in one thrust plunged into your still quivering cunt.
A moan tore from your throat, your walls stretching deliciously around his thick dick. He didn't give you time to adjust, immediately setting a hard and fast pace as he fucked you standing up. He spread your legs wider, resting them against the crook of his elbows to pick you up while he moved in and out of you.
You held on tight to his neck, your nails digging into his skin as he pounded into you relentlessly. With every drive of his hips, you felt the head of his cock kissing your cervix, the deep penetration sending sparks of pleasure and pain shooting up your spine.
"Fuck, Pips," Caleb grunted, hips never stopping "You're going to call me, right? Show me how much this pretty pussy misses me while you use your toys?"
He rested his forehead against yours, his hot breath mingling with your own as you both panted and gasped for air. Drool began to escape the corner of your open mouth "I will, I'll show you"
"That's my good fucking brat" Caleb praised before he dragged his tongue along the trail of drool, lapping it up before sealing his lips over yours in a filthy kiss.
He knew you craved that edge of pain to send you flying over the edge. Glancing down, he spotted your hardened nipples, always a clear sign that you were close, and made a split second decision.
His teeth sank into your lower lip, biting down until the coppery taste of blood exploded across your tongue. With a scream, muffled against Caleb's mouth, you came undone.
After a few more thrusts, Caleb let out a groan, his cock throbbing inside you, finding his own release. Once spent, he gently placed you back down on the counter, your trembling legs unable to support you just yet and he carefully pulled out, his softening cock slipping from your pussy. He watched with a satisfied smirk as his cum began to leak out of you, trickling down the crack of your ass and onto the kitchen counter.
"Let me clean you up, then we can eat all of this takeout before it gets cold"
THE BRAT TAMER
You frown as you stare at your phone, confusion and a twinge of hurt flashing across your face. You had sent Zayne some flirty pictures and a message, hoping to brighten up his day at work... but he never answered. At all. Not even to your bare pussy pic.
First, you had teased him with a glimpse of your cleavage, your breasts almost spilling out of your low cut top. You knew he liked your tits, always sneaking glances when he thought you weren't looking. But your boobs alone hadn't been enough to draw him out of work mode this time.
So you tried again, sending him a picture of your covered pussy in his favorite light blue panties, surely that would catch his attention. But your inbox remained frustratingly empty.
Growing bolder, you decided to kick things up a notch. You tugged the crotch of your panties aside, revealing your bare pussy to the camera. You hoped your lewd display would be just the thing to lure Zayne away from the hospital and back into your arms.
He came home an hour later, but not straight to your arms.
—
You squirmed uncomfortably on his lap, your panties pulled taut between ass cheeks, the damp fabric rubbing against your sensitive folds with each twitch of your body. Zayne's hand rested heavily on the reddening globes of your ass, his fingers digging in possessively as he held you in place over his knees. You could feel the hard ridge of his erection pressing insistently against your stomach, separated only by the thin layers of fabric.
Your chest heaved with shuddering breaths, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you stared at the floor, trying to process the stinging pain radiating from your ass. The sharp crack of his palm against your skin echoed through the room, mixing with the blood rushing in your ears and your own needy whimpers.
"If you insist on being a cock tease, my love, you're going to have to face the consequences" His fingers dug into the tender globes of your ass again, kneading the abused flesh roughly, grinding the rigid length of his erection against your stomach.
Another harsh spank landed on your right cheek and you couldn't hold back the moan that spilled from your lips, eyes squeezing shut as your fingers clawed desperately at his thigh. The pain blossomed into pleasure, clit throbbing in time with your racing heart as arousal leaked from your cunt to your trembling inner thighs.
You were dizzy with shock and lust, mind hazing over with the need to be filled, stretched, fucked... anything to relieve the aching emptiness.
Zayne spanked you again, his hand landing with a resounding smack on your left cheek. The force of it made your whole body jolt and your tits bounce beneath your shirt. Your nipples were hard, straining against the thin fabric begging for his touch.
Suddenly, Zayne moved you from his knees, roughly pushing your upper body down into the couch cushions. The soft fabric muffled your whimpers as he forced your ass up and out. The cool air of the room making goosebumps prickle across your skin.
His breath felt hot and heavy against your folds, his proximity alone enough to make your hips twitch. You gasped and moaned wantonly into the cushions when he roughly tugged your panties down, the scrap of fabric sliding between your ass cheeks before being yanked away entirely.
"What did I say the other day about teasing me while I'm at work, specially during important meetings?" The reminder of your actions made your stomach twist with nerves and shameful arousal.
You whined desperately when you felt the first slow, teasing lick of his tongue gliding up your slit, avoiding the throbbing bud that cried out for his attention. It took every ounce of your willpower not to grind your hips back against his face.
Zayne's hand cracked down on your left cheek in a sharp, stinging slap that made you clench your teeth. You gasped out your answer, voice muffled and breathless as you admitted, "I'm not supposed to tease you at work!"
"Good girl"
The tiny, fleeting reward of his tongue flicking against your clit was too much. A choked sob of pleasure escaped your lips as your body trembled in his grip, your core clenching greedily around nothing. Zayne's lips curled into a smirk against your skin, clearly pleased by your responsiveness.
He gripped your thighs tightly and forced your legs apart to slowly drag the flat of his tongue along your inner thighs. He took his time, savoring the taste of you as he licked and nipped his way upward, leaving a trail of tingling flesh. Your heart raced as he crept closer and closer to your plump pussy.
When his tongue reached the apex of your thighs, you let out a high pitched squeal, your back arching as much as the position allowed. The long, slow lick through your slit made your eyes roll back and your toes curl, your fingers scrabbling at the couch cushions.
The moment you felt his tongue tease the sensitive skin between your cunt and the tight, puckered bud of your asshole, you panicked, your body instinctively tensed and you tried to pull away from him, a choked whimper escaping your constricted throat.
The sudden movement earned you a sharp, stinging slap to your right ass cheek "Why are you interrupting my meal Y/N?"
The sound of his zipper descending made you clench and a moan slipped past your lips when you felt his fingers twist into your hair, gripping the strands tightly as he positioned his cock at your entrance.
"You know your safe word darling, use it if you need to"
The knowledge that you could stop this at any time sent a thrill of dark excitement coursing through your veins, even when a part of you knew you would never use it. This was what you craved, what you'd been aching for all day, Zayne's dominant, punishing touch and the pleasure it brought.
You let out a sharp gasp that turned into a moan as he pushed forward, entering you with enough force to make your teeth rattle.
You both groaned out at the sudden sensation, your voice mixing with his in a symphony of carnal bliss. Zayne's dick stretched you deliciously, filling and completing you in a way that left you breathless and trembling. He twisted his fingers in your hair, pulling your head back as he began to move, setting a fast rhythm that had your tits bouncing with each thrust.
He fucked you just the way you liked, the way he always did when your bratty behavior pushed him to his limits, hard, fast, and without mercy. Days of pent up frustration fueled his lust, his hips slamming into the flesh of your ass with stinging force.
His other hand gripped your hip hard, holding you in place, eyes locked on the sight of his cock disappearing between your folds, swallowed up by your hungry pussy.
"Come on, love," His hips slowed "Beg for it, beg for it the way I taught you. I want to hear you moan for me." The denial of your climax was torture, your body wound tighter and tighter like a coil ready to snap.
"Pleaseee!" Your voice was raw and shaky, dripping with anguished need. Zayne's low chuckle sent shivers racing down your spine, the sound laced with cruel amusement at your pitiful plea.
"You are being punished, remember?" he reminded you. His hand cracked down on the tender flesh of your ass in a final, stinging slap "Beg properly"
Tears of frustration stung your eyes as you choked out the words he demanded, "Please Dr. Zayne, make me cum!"
"That's my good girl"
He bent over you, chest pressing against your back, his hand snaked between your thighs, fingers finding your puffy clit with unerring accuracy. Your hips jerked at the first electric touch, a strangled moan tearing from your throat.
"Say you won't do it again," he demanded, his fingers circled your clit with slow strokes.
Tears streamed down your face as you sobbed out your promise, "I won't, I promise I won't do it again... Please!" His hips never faltered, fucking into you with satisfying force.
With a scream of his name, your body finally shattered. The devastating orgasm made your body shake almost violently beneath Zayne. The rhythmic clenching and fluttering of your cunt milked his cock, triggering his own peak. With one, two, three more thrusts, he buried himself to the hilt and spilled himself inside you.
When the aftershocks faded, Zayne hand slid up your body to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your lips with a gentleness that belied the ruthless fucking of moments before. "Such a good girl," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to the racing pulse beneath your ear. "You took your punishment so well, love."
THE BRAT
What the actual fuck, Rafayel?
The words screamed in your head as you stared at the video feed, jaw slack and eyes wide. There he was, shirtless and sprawled out on the bed, a sheen of sweat glazing his lean torso. His hand was a blur on his cock, pumping furiously as he chased his release. And god, the sounds spilling from his lips, harsh pants and breathy moans, broken up by the occasional filthy word. Then with a guttural groan, he tipped over. Thick ropes of cum painted his stomach and chest, breath sawing in and out of his throat as he slowly came down.
The timestamp flashed at the bottom of the screen. 14:33. Over two hours ago.
That fucking liar. That goddamn, sexy, infuriating liar.
You had specifically told him not to touch himself until you got back. Had spelled it out plainly in your text, the words crystal clear on the screen. You can't touch yourself until I'm home Raf, I mean it. And yet here he was, not only touching himself but fucking filming it too.
He wanted to be a brat? Well, two could play that game.
—
"Please cutie," he whimpered. He looked like he'd clawed his way out of his skin if he could, so desperate for your touch. For you.
"Please what, Raf?" you asked, pressing your forehead to his, breath mingling with his as you invaded his space. Up close, you could see the way his pupils were blown wide and dark, leaving only a thin ring of striking blue-pink. "What are you asking for, hmm?"
"I don't know," he whined, the sound catching in his throat. His hands clenched at his sides, fists curling into the sheets, fighting the urge to grab you, to pull you down on top of him and rut against you like an animal in heat. "I just...I need..."
He broke off, swallowing hard, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, catching on his hairline before disappearing into the dark locks. He was burning up, feverish with want and desperate for your touch.
"More," he finished lamely, the single syllable a broken plea.
"Oh, you need more? But you already jerked off today, baby. Was that not enough?" you asked, voice dripping with mock sympathy.
He was a debauched mess, and the sight of him like this, so hungry for your touch, so consumed by lust, made your core throb.
"Please, just let me eat you out, yeah?" he begged "I feel like I could die if I don't."
You let your soaked panties drop to the floor with a soft rustle, the damp fabric proof to how badly you wanted this too. His eyes turned feral the moment they landed on your glistening pussy when you laid on the bed beside him. He looked like a man starved, and you were a feast laid out before him.
"You can eat now" you granted, spreading your legs in invitation. The position left you feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way that made your heart race. But more than that, it made you feel powerful. To have this effect on Rafayel, to reduce a god like him to a begging, desperate mess...it was headier than any drug.
But he didn't immediately dive in like you expected. No, he had other plans. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your lips, and captured your mouth in a kiss. It was filthy and urgent, his tongue delving deep to taste you. All the while, his fingers stroked along your slit, teasing through the slick gathered there.
"So fucking soft" he muttered against your lips "So wet"
Then he pulled back, and before you could blink he brought his fingers to his mouth. Your eyes widened as you watched him lick your arousal from his skin. His eyes flared as the taste hit his tongue, a low moan rumbling in his chest.
Brat
Then he moved down to your cunt, and finally, blessedly, you felt the first swipe of his tongue along your dripping slit. A moan tore from your throat at the contact, your back arching off the bed as pleasure sparked through you like lightning. Rafayel groaned against your flesh, the sound vibrating so good it made your clit throb.
He licked you like a man possessed, tongue delving deep to lap up every drop. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging into the soft skin as he held you open for his feast.
"Fuck, you taste....mmmmhhh" he said between licks, words muffled against your pussy.
His words sent a fresh flood of wetness gushing from your sex, body responding eagerly to his filthy praise. He licked it up greedily.
"Get your hand back on your cock, Raf. Stroke it like you did on that video, I want to see you"
Rafayel loved being bossed around, and he was more than eager to obey. His hand flew to his cock, gripping it tightly as he began to pump his fist along the hard length. He matched the pace with two of his fingers thrusting deep inside you, curling them just right to hit a spot that made you toes curl.
"Fuck, you are such a good boy" you praised and he sucked your clit hard, his lips sealing around the sensitive bundle of nerves, pushing his fingers in harder.
Your fingers joined the fray, spreading your folds open for his mouth. You gave him the perfect view of your pussy, of the way your entrance clenched and fluttered around his fingers. He groaned in appreciation, flat tongue laving over your clit.
"I'm gonna—ah, fuck! Raf, yes!" Your words dissolved into a scream as you came. Your cunt clamped down on his fingers, rippling and gushing when pleasure exploded through every nerve ending.
He latched onto your pussy, mouth sealed tight to drink down every drop of your release. All the while, his hand never ceased its pace on his cock, chasing his peak.
When you finally tugged him away, his eyes were glazed over, pupils blown wide with lust. He pulled his fingers from your core, bringing them to his mouth again.
"I can't get enough of you."
"Look at your dick, so fucking hard" you teased "Looks like my pussy isn't the only slutty thing here."
Rafayel's hand twitched, aching to touch himself again, but you had removed his hand from his cock, leaving him wanting. He almost whined at the loss, his hips bucking up slightly.
"You seem quite desperate for more, Raf?"
"I am"
He didn't expect what happened next. Didn't expect you to lean forward and spit directly onto his straining cock. "Now you're ready for me"
Rafayel was pretty sure he died and went to heaven. Every nerve ending in his dick screamed with sensation, and when it leaked precum, he knew his cock agreed wholeheartedly.
But Rafayel didn't actually reach paradise until you climbed on top of him, straddling his hips with your cunt poised above his throbbing erection. He watched, enraptured and panting, as you slowly sank down. Inch by inch, until your ass finally pressed against his heavy, cum filled balls.
He groaned long and low, head falling back against the pillow as pleasure exploded through every cell in his body. His hips lifted reflexively, driving himself deeper into your welcoming heat.
"Fuck, cutie! You feel...ungh...incredible!" he grunted, fingers digging into the sheets beneath him.
Caught up in the hypnotic bounce of your breasts as you rode him and the way his cock disappeared inside your perfect, clenching pussy over and over again, vanishing only to reappear slick and glistening, he came.
His hips jerked erratically, his cock pulsing and throbbing as it pumped spurt after spurt of his hot cum deep inside you.
But he didn't let you miss out on your own release. He reached between your bodies and found your clit, he rubbed the sensitive nub with quick, firm circles, determined to drag you over the edge with him.
It only took a few strokes, a few perfectly placed caresses before you were crying out his name. Your pussy clenched down on his spurting cock, milking Rafayel for every last drop of his release.
Together you rode out the aftershocks, trembling and gasping in each other's arms as the last waves of pleasure rolled through you.
THE BRAT ENABLER
You feel Sylus's strong arms tighten around you as he holds you over his shoulder, your body bouncing with each of his long strides. Anger courses through your veins, demanding to be put down.
"Damn it, Sylus! Put. Me. Down!" Your breath comes in short gasps. "You can't just pull me out in the middle of a hunt!"
He just chuckles, one hand kneading the soft flesh of your ass. "I forgot how tiny you are. Barely a little thing."
You scoff, twisting in his grip. "Or maybe you're just a damn giant!"
"You didn't mind last night, when you were begging me not to stop, screaming my name while I was buried balls deep inside your tight little-"
"Sylus!" you hiss, face flushing hotly
He puts you down and your lips part on a gasp, eyes widening. He takes advantage, rubbing the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip, tracing the soft swell. You bite down hard, teeth sinking into his skin.
He doesn't even flinch, just leans in closer, hot breath fanning your face. "Careful, kitten. You know I bite back, harder."
Storming towards his motorcycle, you feel Sylus's gaze burning into your back like a brand. He won't let you go back, and you know it. He's made that abundantly clear.
Sylus stops you with a hand on your shoulder. "Not so fast sweetie, why the sudden anger, hmmm?"
You grit your teeth, glaring up at him. "Don't call me that, not now"
"Would you prefer I call you the little witch who tried to stab me once?"
Your face burns hot at the memory of his blood on your hands, and the way he touched you afterwards. How his fingers traced your body, smearing his own blood across your skin. Marking you.
"Shut up," you mutter, trying to pull away. But Sylus holds firm, fingers digging into your shoulder, keeping you in place.
"Ah ah ah, not until you tell me why you're so angry." His thumb rubs slow circles on your shoulder, a maddening distraction. "Did I not tire you enough last night? Is that why you're trying to run off and play hero?"
You glare at him, but there's no real venom behind it now. "You're impossible," you mutter.
"And you're not going back to fight those wonderers" he counters, unyielding.
"So be angry all you want.. Give me hell if it makes you feel better. But you're not going back out there. Not today." He's not asking for your permission, he's telling you how it will be.
You glance furtively around the deserted area, ensuring no prying eyes witness your brazen actions. The adrenaline from the battle still courses through your veins, and you're looking for a new outlet. Your hand finds Sylus's hardening bulge, and you palm it roughly through his pants.
"Tell me, Sy," you murmur with false innocence as you squeeze his clothed erection. "Do you get off on me talking back to you like this? Does it turn you on to see me defy you?" Your fingers work at his zipper, tugging it down with a soft rasp that seems unnaturally loud in the quiet.
"You know it does" he smirks, his crimson eyes darkening with lust. "I love when you try to push my buttons. It makes me want to put you in your place."
You yank his pants and underwear down in one go, allowing his cock to spring free. It's already rock hard, and pulsing with need. You wrap your fingers around it, stroking him slowly before you drop to your knees and give the head a small lick "Mmm, looks like you're already so worked up"
You take him into your mouth, like you have done it countless times before, but it never fails to make your jaw ache and your throat burn. He's so damn big making you work for every inch. You breathe through your nose as you take him deeper, your nose pressing against the coarse hair at the base of his cock. You hold yourself there for a moment before pulling back slowly, tongue dragging along the thick vein on the underside.
He throbs against your tongue, cock pulsing with each beat of his heart. The taste of him, the weight of him heavy on your tongue, it's intoxicating. It makes your head spin and your pussy ache with a need that mirrors his own.
You know he loves this, loves the way you submit to him, the way you let him use your mouth for his pleasure. But you also know he loves it when you fight back, when you push him to the brink with your sharp tongue and your defiant eyes.
So as you pull back, your lips popping off the head of his cock with a pop, you look at him with a challenging glint in your eyes. "Like this, big boy?" your hand pumps his dick as you speak. "Or would you rather fuck me properly?
You plunge back down before he can answer, taking him deep, swallowing around him. You hold him there, looking up at him with tears pricking the corners of your eyes.
The sight of your tears streaking down your flushed cheeks, your makeup smeared and ruined from the force of his thrusts, his undoing. A groan tears from his throat and he throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut as spurt after thick spurt of his cum pumps directly down your throat. You swallow it down, your throat working to accommodate the volume of his release. The taste of him floods your senses, the salty, slightly bitter flavor coating your tongue as you gulp and swallow, not wanting to waste a single drop.
When the last spurts of his climax taper off, you slowly pull your mouth off his softening cock, and sit back on your heels, looking up at him with a satisfied smirk, your chin glistening with a few stray drops of cum.
"You taste even better when you're bossy, Sy" You giggle impishly, enjoying the way he's still trying to catch his breath, his chest heaving with the force of his orgasm.
He wastes no time in taking off your pants and panties after he hauls you up and off your feet, setting you down on the leather seat of his motorcycle.
He kneels between your splayed thighs, pushing them further apart to make room for his broad shoulders. Without warning, he leans in and spits directly on your pussy, the sudden wet heat startling a gasp from your throat.
He chuckles at your reaction "Let me hear you. Don't hold back, kitten. Give me everything."
His words are barely out of his mouth when he's licking a slow fat stripe up your slit, his tongue parting your lips to delve deep into your soaked folds. The feeling is so intense and so unexpected, that you arch clean off the motorcycle seat, a choked cry tearing from your throat.
"Ohmyfuckinggod!" You moan into your hand, your eyes rolling back and fluttering shut as his tongue works magic on your pussy.
The corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement at your reaction, clearly pleased by the effect he's having on you. "You were running that pretty little mouth of yours so eloquently just moments ago, use it again for me now"
You let your hand fall away from your mouth, your cries of pleasure filling the air unabashedly. Each flick of his tongue against your clit draws a shameless moan from your lips.
You can feel your arousal, mixed with Sylus's spit, dripping down your ass to the leather seat of his motorcycle. It's filthy, it's wrong, but it feels so unbelievably good.
He grips your thighs tighter, holding you open, keeping you exposed to his mouth and tongue. He's not going to let you close them, not until he's had his fill of your sweet nectar.
He suckles harder, his lips sealing around your clit as he draws it into his mouth, tongue swirling and flicking mercilessly. Your fingers scrabbling for purchase on the smooth leather as your body begins to tremble.
He nips your clit, soothing the sting with a long, slow lick before suckling harder pushing you over the edge.
He doesn't let up, continuing to lap at your spasming flesh, helping you ride out each glorious aftershock.
Finally, as the last waves of your climax begin to ebb, he pulls back and looks up at you with a smug, self satisfied grin, his eyes devouring the sight of your fucked out expression.
"Such a good girl"
THE BRAT BREAKER
He knew, he always did. When you teased him on purpose, and today you did.
Your flirtation with Nero was anything but subtle. Sitting on his desk, twirling your hair, chatting away about random nothings, it was clear you were putting on a show.
Poor Nero, ever the nice guy, fell for your charms hook, line, and sinker. He engaged with your playful banter, until a sharp glare from across the room pierced through the haze of his amiability. Xavier's look was enough to make the poor man scramble for an excuse, any excuse, to extract himself from the increasingly awkward situation. With a mumbled "I just remembered, I have that...thing..." Nero high tailed out of there faster than a Wanderer fleeing a Hunter's blade.
You turned to look at Xavier then, a coy smile on your lips. It was a smile that said, There, I hope that was enough to make you squirm.
Your little performance with Nero had only fueled Xavier's frustrations. The heat of his glare followed you as you sauntered away, a sway in your hips that spoke of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing.
And now, here you are. Kneeling before him, tears streaming down your cheeks as he thrusts deeper into your mouth. The strand of hair he pulls behind your ear is a gentle gesture amidst the rough treatment, a fleeting moment of tenderness.
"Look up at me when your mouth is full, Y/N" he commands, voice rough with desire and something darker. Something that says he's reached the end of his rope.
You obey, gazing up at him with watery eyes as he hilts himself fully in your mouth. The sensation of him hitting the back of your throat draws a gag from your lips.
"Good girl" he praises, thumb brushing away a tear.
"I love that my voice has you under my control" you squeeze your eyes shut and he continues "Yeah? Bet it feels good, doesn't it? Do you think Nero felt the same way when you were twirling your hair and flirting with him?" he pulls out of your mouth, leaving you gasping for air.
His tone turns sharp, accusatory. The jealousy is still there, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to boil over.
Before you can do anything, he's lifting you up and tossing you onto the bed. The world tilts and spins before you land on the soft mattress, your hair fanning out around you. For a moment, just a fleeting instant, you think this is it, this is when he'll finally fuck you.
But Xavier has other plans. He settles himself between your thighs, close enough that you can feel the whisper of his breath against your cunt. It makes you shiver and ache.
"You want to cum, don't you?"
"Yes, Xavie, please"
He chuckles, mocking and cruel. "I'm not going to put my mouth on a spoiled brat," he scoffs, one hand coming up to grip your hip "You want to cum, you work for it."
Your hands shake as you reach down, fingers brushing against your folds. You're dripping, absolutely soaked, your arousal coating your fingers as you part your lips and expose your puffy clit. A moan tumbles from your lips at the first touch, back arching slightly off the bed.
"That's it," he encourages "Show me how badly you want it.
You use your fingers to dip inside, running your palm over your clit at the same time. Your other hand moves up to your breast to pinch your nipple while you work yourself up.
Xavier watches, his face so close to where you are touching yourself, the back of your hand brushes against his chin and lips with each thrust of your fingers.
"So fucking needy. Go on, bunny, fuck your pretty little cunt. Make yourself cum all over your fingers"
Your fingers move faster, plunging harder, your palm grinding against your clit with each pass. Your breathing grows ragged, chest heaving, back arching as the pressure inside you builds to a fever pitch. You're so close, teetering on the edge, your walls starting to flutter and clench around your fingers.
And then, just as you're about to tumble over into sweet oblivion, you feel his hands on yours. Strong fingers curling around your wrist, pulling your hand away from your pussy. Your eyes fly open and you stare at him in disbelief.
"A-Xavie, please!" you keen as you stare up at him pleadingly, silently begging for relief.
Xavier moves over you, his body covering yours completely. He hooks his arms under your knees, pulling them up and back until your legs are pressed against your chest, knees by your ears. The new position leaves you exposed, completely open and vulnerable to him. The weight of his body settles over you, stealing your breath away, making it difficult to draw in air.
The moment you start to feel lightheaded, he finally gives you what you need. With one brutal thrust, he buries himself inside you, stretching you wide around his fat cock. The sudden penetration draws a scream of pleasure from your throat.
"Fuck, you're so goddamn tight" He doesn't give you a moment to adjust before he starts moving, hips snapping forward in a relentless rhythm. Each thrust punches the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping and mewling with each drive of his cock deep inside you.
"Let's get one thing straight," he growls "No one fucking touches you but me. No one makes this pretty pussy theirs but me," he snarls, one hand fisting in your hair and giving it a sharp tug. The slight pain only heightens the overwhelming pleasure.
"Yes Xav! It's just you, only ever you! Please, please please!" you babble mindlessly, too far gone to care about anything but the feel of him moving inside you.
He leans down, teeth finding the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder, biting and sucking hard enough to leave a mark. He's branding you, marking you, making sure everyone knows that you belong to him and him alone. His free hand finds your clit, rubbing it in tight, rough circles, pushing you closer to the edge of oblivion.
"You're mine, say it. Tell me who this cunt belongs to," he demands as he pinches your clit hard, the mix of pleasure and pain drawing a scream from your throat.
"Yours!" you wail "It's yours, Xavi! All yours!" Your pussy clamps down around him, rippling and fluttering as you come undone beneath him. You gush around his cock, making the obscene squelching noises even louder.
He fucks you through your high, drawing out your pleasure until you're a boneless mess beneath him. Only then does he allow himself to find his own release.
His hips give a few more shallow thrusts, working himself through the aftershocks and then collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his softening cock still nestled deep inside your cunt.
Your lungs burn, body aching in the best way possible, but one thing is crystal clear, you belong to him, utterly and completely. And he won't let anyone, not even you, forget it.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve been wanting more details about Jude's lab for the longest time. However, we know how Cybird loves leaving things vague, so I doubt we will ever get more information. Anyway, these are my thoughts on it. It's just for fun. We can't be dogmatic about it. And if you have any head canons, please feel free to share!
In this post we are going to discuss:
╰┈➤ Potential Lab Location
╰┈➤ Laboratory Warehouse(s)
╰┈➤ Holding Cells & Their Conditions
╰┈➤ The Test Subjects
╰┈➤ The Torture Chamber (CW: Discussion of Torture, Violence)
I know it's a lot, so feel free to jump to whatever interests you.
ʚ ═══･୨ ☾ ୧･═══ ɞ
Laboratory Location: We know from his main route, the lab is within London’s city limits and relatively close to Raven, Ltd. Now, depending what type of trade you specialized in, determined where a merchant's business was typically located. Unfortunately, Cybird has Jude dealing with all sorts of trade ranging from spices, to art, to textiles, etc. So, it’s difficult to pin down where Raven Ltd would be located. However, based on the research I did and the fact that Jude's often at the docks, I’d wager it’s located somewhere in the docklands. The West Indian Docks, Metropolitan Wharf, or the Wapping Pier are some potential locations. They are linked if you want to look at them.
Now, the story also mentions the lab being a singular warehouse, but I imagine Jude had to purchase an entire lot of buildings because it is such a massive project that could need expansion. Additionally, purchasing an entire lot of buildings would also serve as a protective barrier against being squished between other business or homeowners, and they catching onto what Jude is doing less easily.
So, I feel there actually multiple warehouses and the following are their potential uses:
Warehouse One: Receiving and storage. Jude needs vast quantities of materials from wires, metals, fabrics, tools, hoses, machine belts, oil, lamps, coal, gears, etc. An entire warehouse could easily be dedicated to receive regular deliveries of these materials, and their storage.
Warehouse Two: Research & Development, and Records. In Jude's route, we saw only one researcher. He would need multiple researchers that specialize in various fields from structural engineers, physicists, propulsion specialist, etc. This warehouse would serve as a space needed to be able to research, develop and document their findings. It would also store and maintain records of the prisoners, confidentiality agreements of the those whom Jude employs for the project, blueprints, the data from the tests performed, inventory records; and all of the books and papers that Jude’s collected over the years.
Warehouse Three: Stores the failed protypes of the rockets. Each are catalogued meticulously.
Warehouse Four: This is where the rocket is being assembled. It's a tall building, and not only would you see the skeletal structure of the rocket, but the space would have chalk and bulletin boards filled with equations and notes, piles of scraps that have either blown up or burnt up that are being studied, and desks with bankers lamps for late night work. I often imagine the sound of metal clinks, steam, whirring noises, conversations between the researchers all happening here.
Warehouse Five: Serves as a horse stable and carriage/wagon storage facility. In Jude's route, some of the lab employees are seen carrying one of the test subjects out of the warehouse, and to the hospital per Jude's directive. I can't see them flagging down a carriage while they have a potentially bloodied person on a stretcher, and not have it raise some eyebrows? That's too sketch.
It would be wiser for Jude to have his own wagons or carriages on hand so they can take the captive to wherever Jude tells them. Additionally, they may need to disassemble the rocket and transport it piece by piece at some point, having his own transport would be much more efficient.
Warehouses Six/Seven: Are empty, but available if more space is needed for construction.
That was a lot right? Well, I'm not finished yet. Let's talk about where the test subjects are held and their living conditions.....
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Holding Cells & Their Conditions: I believe the criminals that Jude keeps are caged underground, beneath the lab. And the reason why I say this is because the MC doesn’t ever mention seeing Jude’s victims inside the warehouse where the rocket ship is being built. Further, it’s never mentioned that the military discovered the prisoners either. Jude was only accused of treason and murder, he was never accused with false imprisonment or of torturing people.
I feel like there is a large cellar beneath the lab, or maybe a network of rooms that have the prisoners caged or chained up. They live in total darkness 24/7.
And as much as I want to think the criminals live in putrid conditions and are starved to death, that would only serve as a breeding ground for disease which could affect not only the criminals and those immediately involved with the project, but also the general populace.
I simply don't see Jude risking the that, so at the very least, the prisoners are give the minimal amount of food and water they'd need to maintain their lives. Remember too, during the 1st Anniversary SE the bowler hat guy survived a full year in Jude’s lab before he escaped, which tells me that there's probably some who are employed by Jude to feed these guys and.....clear out bodily fluids & excrement.
The Test Subjects: We read about Ellis taking these criminals to the lab and I always imagine him tossing them into a cage after they've been castrated by the black market doctors. However, I think it is more systematic than that because of Jude's meticulous and organized nature.
Therefore, I think the prisoners are actually individually documented. Their medical history is taken, height, weight and age are part of the record because all of that could have a bearing on the experiments. I also think they're assigned prisoner numbers for tracking and comparing research data as experiments progress.
And when they are finally pulled into testing (if they aren't tortured to death by Jude before that), then they are likely gagged so no pedestrians can hear any of their screams.
Speaking of screams.......
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Jude's Torture Room: Maybe it's just me, but I can't help imagining that Jude has his own personal torture room. In my head, there's this very long and dimly lit underground corridor that connects from where the prisoners are kept, and it leads all the way to his fun room. It's filled with all sorts of things such as examine tables and chairs with straps, surgical tools like pliers, and tongs, and scalpels. There's also chains, large wash bins for drowning, a furnace, branding irons or hot pokers. You get the picture. Jude, I'm sure has a very large repertoire.
It's a shame that most of his torture scenes are cut short, or fade to black and happen off screen. Tragic really.
Now as much as we know that Jude is very much a hands-on kind of guys when it comes to his methods of torture, I also think that sometimes he just goes underground and messes with these people psychologically.
For example, I've pictured Jude silently walking in between the rows of cages. Perhaps, he has a metal pipe or something threatening in his hand that he clinks along the cage bars non-stop until he stops in front of a prisoner, and stands there silently. The prisoner freezes, sweat cakes their body as their heart hammers against their chest. They wonder if it's their turn to be abused by him, but they can never tell because sometimes Jude will open cage and drag the prisoner away, and sometimes he doesn't. So, they whimper and snivel out of fear. Music to Jude's ears.
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In conclusion (listen to me making a report), I think Jude's laboratory would be much larger than what Cybird has depicted to us. I mean, this is his dream, this is his sister's dream. His promise. I doubt he is running some dinky little back water project in only one building.
He is rich asf. He has the resources and then some for an operation of this magnitude, and he wants to get it right. He wants to keep his promise to his sister. So, those are my thoughts about his lab.
If you stuck it out this far, then thanks for reading. It's been a while since I've posted something like this.
summary: in which you prank the lads boys by calling them bro.
ft. xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus & caleb
notes: suggestive (sylus and caleb LOL), xavier is kinda giving puppy, zayne is concerned, rafayel wants to kill himself again, sylus is #notamused, caleb is a minor crashout, explicit mentions of fem!reader in sylus's, brief reference to this smau that i did for sylus's hehe, that's it (i think)
p.s. THIS IS BASED ON ANOTHER REQUEST thank u @chrub3yes i hope u enjoy especially hehe
a/n: this one could've been better maybe idk i found it hard the more i got into it bc i was like...i've called all my partners bro and it's so natural LOL but hopefully this is even like 3% accurate maybe...ty for reading (- -)(_ _)
NOTE || anything i've written for sylus is located in this masterlist. It's ordered from newest to oldest and includes: one-shots (over 1k words) and drabbles (under 1k words) and any future series i may or may not write >.<
➻ Caleb masterlist ✧ Zayne masterlist ✧ Other fics
ONE SHOTS
✧ = fluff || ♡ ︎= smut/suggestive || ☾ = angst
✧ ♡ Bloodlust | ao3 | you make a deal with the devil Archfiend Sovereign, offering him your blood and... yourself
✧ best laid plans | all the cliches you need in one place: historical AU, marriage of convenience, and not-so-secret kisses
✧ Draped in Devotion | you're feeling a little insecure tonight, sylus sets out to fix that
✧ cut throat | a spar match with sylus goes from knives to hands to mouths
✧ ☾ Give me your desire | ao3 | what if sylus was in the k-pop demon hunters universe?
✧ hoodie | ao3 | all the perks of sylus in a hoodie
✧ Raised Stakes | Kitty Cards (strip poker edition)
✧ Behind Closed Doors | ao3 | celebrating sylus' birthday! ...while trapped in a closet
☾ a soul cast in shadow | ao3 | modern day sylus discovers u love dragons
✧ for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you | ao3 | pininggg
✧ between the strokes of midnight | new years first kiss fluff
✧ Under Pressure | your boyfriend walks in mid-check up with zayne
✧ A Dragon's Sacrifice | ao3 | dragon man gets humbled by a cat
☾ Crimson Destruction | the actual worst possible scenario happens
♡ Covetous | ao3 | dragon!sylus in all his fiendish glory
✧ Beauty versus Beast | sylus being the beautiful beast he is
✧ Less Than Enemies | he really likes to watch you during combat
DRABBLES
✧ sweetie | you accidentally call sylus 'sweetie' for the first time
✧ shiver | you take care of sylus while he's sick
♡ hibernation | just you, sylus, and your nest in the winter
✧ ☾ thin ice | the twins (and you) have some explaining to do
Hey, hey! Here's my version of Jude's Past Records recipe! All I really did was look up other recipes and combined things I liked from each.
It's not difficult to make, but it's a little time consuming. No wonder Jude was huffing and puffing the Midnight Mystery Gifts story set when Ellis said that that's what he wanted to eat. I get it now, Jude LMAO.
Anyway, it's a great comfort food that I'll be making again for sure. Next time with beef because lamb is expensive. Please see below the cut for further instructions and tips! Hope you enjoy (⦅ ❤ ⦆)
Cook Time: Approx 2.5 hours Prep Time: Approx 15 minutes
Total Time: Approx 2 3/4 hours
Serves: 4-6 people
Ingredients:
2.5 lbs Lamb shoulder (or Beef, no bones in either)
22 oz Guinness Beer (Canned or bottled)
2 c of Beef stock (or chicken)
1 Lg Onion (White or Yellow - Chopped)
4 Carrots (Peeled & Sliced)
2 Potatoes (Peeled & Cubed)
3 Cloves of minced garlic (Or 1 1/2 tsp of pre-minced)
3 tbsp of flour
3 tbsp olive oil (Not necessary if you choose to cook the bacon)
1 tsp salt 1/2 tsp pepper
2 Bay leaves (fresh or dried)
3 Sprigs of thyme (fresh)
Optional Ingredients:
Beef (In place of lamb)
Bacon - 6 oz (6 - 8 strips, chopped)
Leeks 2 Stalks of Celery (Sliced)
Parsley (Fresh - However much you wish)
Instructions:
1: Prep your veggies by peeling, chopping, cubing, slicing, etc. Mince your garlic if needed. (I used store bought minced garlic because I'm lazy like that.)
2: Prep your meat. Cube the lamb, or beef, into chunks. Do not cut the chunks too small or you run the risk of drying out the meat. Remove any bone that may remain. Season with salt and pepper.
3: In a Dutch oven or heavy stew pot, turn on high heat and add 2 tbsp oil. Add half of your meat and brown it very well in the pot. Once it’s thoroughly browned, remove that batch and add the next batch of meat.
Cici’s Tip: I chose to add bacon to my stew, so I didn’t use the olive oil at all. Cook your bacon first, then transfer it from the pan to a paper towel lined bowl/plate to soak up the excess oil. Aftetwards, add the lamb to the pot in batches.
4: After removing the final batch of lamb, reduce the heat to medium. Add 1 tbsp of olive oil (if you didn’t make bacon), then add in the carrots and onions. Cook these for 3 minutes until soften. Add the garlic, and cook an additional 2 minutes. Then add the flour and stir, be sure to scrape the bottom of the pot while stirring so you can incorporate those flavorful burnt bits at the bottom. Cook an additional 3 minutes.
Cici’s Tip: Don’t add the potatoes yet or they’ll ending being too soft.
5: Add the beer and the broth to the pot, stir and scrape. Add in the meat and potatoes, then give it another stir. If you see the meat or the potatoes/carrots not covered with liquid. Add some water, a little at a time, until just covered. Bring it to a rolling boil. After that, reduce the heat until there is a gentle boil, not a simmer, you may need to play with your heat settings.
Cici’s Tip: It’s very important to make sure it’s a gentle bubble and not a simmer, or else you run the risk of the beer over boiling and spilling.
6: Add the bay leaves and the thyme sprigs. Cover and cook for 2 hours. After 2 hours, remove the lid, bring the stew to a simmer and let simmer for 30 minutes. After the 30 minutes, give the stew a stir, if they gravy is not thick enough, don’t stress. Simply take a measuring cup and fill it with 1 cup of water, then add 2 tbsp of flour to the water (you can use cornstarch as well), mix the flour and the water until smooth. Add some of the mixture to the stew a little at a time until it reaches a thicker consistency. Remove the bay leave and thyme sprigs, salt and pepper to taste.
Cici’s Tip: Do not add the additional flour or cornstarch to the stew directly. It will clump and it will be gross and a pain to remove from the pot.
summary: how on earth were you supposed to write a good sex scene with almost zero experience? good thing your best friend was always willing to lend you a helping hand.
themes: childhood best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, friends with benefits, college! au, slowburn, humour, fluff, angst, petnames, profanity, alcohol consumption, sexual tension, explicit sexual content (oral fem receiving, fingering, nipple play, protected + unprotected sex, clothed sex), porn with so much plot, they're both down bad asf
word count: 25k
lyns notes: its been so long since i've written a full length fic like this, and it ended up being so much longer than I anticipated but please don't get scared by the wc 😭 its so self indulgent because i love caleb and I had way too much fun writing this so I hope you enjoy! <3
This was utterly insane, even for you.
The idea started small, though you supposed you couldn’t ever classify it as innocent. At the time, it had been just a flicker, a fleeting thought that slipped through the cracks of your composure. You were in your best friend's dorm, lounging on his bed like it was your own as you complained.
“I’ve been stuck for weeks now. It’s like I’ve lost the ability to write.”
Caleb glanced over at you from his desk, leaning back in his plush chair as the movement of his fingers over the laptop keyboard stilled for a moment. The expression you received was familiar, you had been on the receiving end of it for years now. One of his lips quirked up, deep lavender eyes alight with amusement, and one eyebrow raised as he took in your anguished state.
“You haven’t lost the ability to write, Pipsqueak, it's just writer's block. You’ve had writer's block before.”
“Not like this.” You shook your head, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin on them. “I usually manage to overcome it in a week or so. It’s been like, three months.” Your annoyance with yourself was obvious to him, so clear in the slight pout on your mouth paired with that indignant expression.
It was true, you had been writing ever since you were little. Your imagination ran wild as a child, even before you could physically write, you would spin tales and make up stories to entertain yourself with, frequently getting lost in your own little world. You prided yourself on this talent of yours that helped you breeze through English essays and writing assignments, even going so far as to major in English at university. Writing was your bread and butter. It was more than just being good at it, it was the passion and fulfilment you felt when you did it.
Passion and fulfillment your ass, you couldn’t feel any of that right now.
You were writing a book, your very first one that you started penning in the summer before your sophomore year. The idea had come to you out of nowhere, and once you spent hours outlining all the details, you were certain it was something you wanted to bring to life. The need to finish it burned through you as you spent most of that break stuck at your desk, hunched over your laptop. Caleb had to quite literally drag you out of your room most days, muttering some nonsense about vitamin D and too much screen time.
He had always been like that ever since you were kids – protective, caring, attentive. It was built into his very being, you supposed, ever since he saw you cry outside the first-grade classrooms as a seven-year-old and promised to help you find your way to the correct one. Even now, as he hummed in thought, offering silent support for your frustration.
“You’ve gotten through a large chunk of it, right?”
“Yep.”
A slow, bargaining smile stretched out on his face. “Hey, you know, maybe if you let me read it–”
“Hell no.” You shook your head stubbornly. “I told you, I’m only letting you read it once it's finished, and I think it’s good enough.”
Caleb snorted, “So you mean never?”
You promptly threw one of the plushies on his bed at him. He deftly caught it, laughter slipping from him as he threw it back. The plushy was a grumpy apple one that he had won you back home at the arcade, but the pile of plushies on your bed was so huge that you graciously suggested that he keep it for you. Partial custody, you had joked, I have visitation rights.
“You’ll be the first to read it. I just….need to get through this one bit.”
Ah yes, the bit. The part that you seemed to be cursed to never finish. Everything before it had gone so smoothly, the words flowing and pouring out of you so perfectly. A fun romance novel full of twists and humour was what you aimed to achieve, and it seemed like you were succeeding.
That was, until you reached a part of the story that you truly had no idea how to write. The technicalities of it were.…..unknown at best, to you, who had almost no experience in the matter.
“You know, maybe you could tell me about it. Maybe I could help.” You knew the offer was genuine. Caleb had always been someone you could fall back upon for any assistance. Being two years older than you, in your eyes, he always knew what to do when you were in a pickle. He was the type of friend who placed bandages on your scrapes and offered you candy so you’d stop crying. He carried a hair tie around for when you wanted to tie your hair and helped you study for tests, and explained the concepts that you didn’t understand. Every time you had a problem, he never hesitated to help you in any way he possibly could.
But this….this was something you’d rather die than ask him about.
Immediately, you shook your head a little too quickly, shooting him a tight smile. “Nope, it's fine. Just something I gotta figure out myself.
He stared at you skeptically but shrugged. “Alright. Let me know if you change your mind, okay?”
You wouldn’t.
Would you?
Absolutely not. Even thinking about it felt like a betrayal. It was like opening a can of worms that held snakes. Deadly venomous ones.
And yet here you were, your teeth digging into the plush of your lower lip as he turned back to his laptop screen, continuing to work on whatever assignment he had due. He was in his final year and was infinitely busy, though he somehow still managed to make time for you.
Shamelessly, your eyes studied him. His arms, so well defined and firm-looking, were basically on display for you when he wore that white, sleeveless tee. Dark hair, unruly and messy, no matter how many times you ran your fingers through it in an attempt to fix it. A defined jawline that could probably cut you if you dared touch it. He had grown up unfairly well, no longer the lanky young boy you once knew, now a man. A hot man you had incredible chemistry with.
A very hot man who was completely off-limits.
Still. You supposed that his help couldn’t be the worst thing in the world–
A sex scene. That was what you were struggling to right. In terms of the story, it was a very natural next move for your characters, and it made sense, and while you could simply artistically describe the ordeal and fade to black, you felt it was a necessary addition. You wanted to showcase the desperation the two characters felt for each other, just how deep their feelings ran through something more primal. You wanted it to feel right, to feel magical.
The issue? You hadn’t the faintest idea of how to go about it. In all your nineteen years of life, you had only had sex once, and it had been far from magical. It had been uncomfortable and rushed, the result of a very stupid, drunken one-night stand in your first year. The guy very evidently didn’t know how a woman's body worked, and even thinking back on it made you cringe and fold in on yourself. If it were possible to manually pluck the memory out and destroy it, you would have done it in a heartbeat.
So how on earth were you supposed to write the perfect sex scene when your one sole experience in the matter had been so terrible?
And you couldn’t ask Caleb for help. Even considering doing so made you feel as if you would spontaneously combust. He was your best friend, for crying out loud, and this crossed so many lines. You knew very well that he wasn’t a virgin by any means, having caught glimpses of the occasional hickey on his neck despite his best efforts to hide it from you. He was twenty-one, experienced and could probably talk you through it–
Nope. Not going here.
The idea of Caleb explaining sex to you was mortifying. You didn’t want to hear about any of his conquests, even just the thought of him talking about it made you want to throw up. The notion of him having sex only made your cheeks warm and your throat go uncomfortably dry.
Against your will, the thought festered. It burrowed its way into your mind and settled there as if it belonged, despite its having no business being there. This was completely unethical, but before you could stop yourself, your gaze zeroed in on his tongue darting out of his mouth, licking his lips in concentration as he typed out something. For a second, you wondered how it would feel if he dragged that tongue across the skin of your neck.
Oh my god. What if he simply showed you?
The moment that depraved idea popped into your head, you shot up, getting to your feet with urgency. Startled, he looked over at you, frowning at the alarmed look on your face.
“Are you good?”
“I’m great!” Your voice sounded funny, like you were trying to digest a rock. “I just– er– remembered I have some homework to finish for tomorrow. So I should get back to my room.” You padded over to his door, slipping into your shoes and waving at him. “See ya.”
“....Bye.” He watched your awkward, rushed movements with a puzzled look on his (very nice) face.. You nodded curtly before opening the door and escaping the confines of his dorm, out of his scrutinising gaze that could read you annoyingly well. Another minute in there and you knew he would be grilling you for your odd behaviour.
Jesus Christ. You were so screwed.
“Y/n? Girl, you gotta get your head in the game.”
Tara’s voice cut through your reverie, causing you to snap out of it. One glance up at her would reveal an unimpressed look directed at you, her hands on her hips. “Our darling editor wants to know why your article isn’t on her desk yet.”
Tara was your closest friend after Caleb, and you had met her when you joined the university paper as a student journalist. She was smart, pretty and always had your back no matter what. Blinking rapidly, you sighed, waving your hand.
“Tell Jenna I’ll have it there by the end of the day.”
“You better. You know how she is about deadlines.” Tara pulled one of the chairs from the desk beside yours closer and sat on it, resting her elbows on the armrests. “Seriously, though, why are you spaced out today?”
Well, there was no way you could tell her the truth about that. So you resorted to using a half-truth as an answer. “Writer's block.”
“Ah.”
You turned back to the screen of your computer, staring at the article you had been writing. It was almost finished, thank god. At least here, you had the facts to write around, having done your research. Very different to the situation you found yourself in regarding your stupid book.
Ugh.
“By the way, your boyfriend’s here.”
Your head snapped up at her words, already ready to argue, knowing exactly who she was talking about. Walking into the newsroom holding two coffees was Caleb, wearing that blue-orange jacket that you had bought him for one of his birthdays. He did this pretty often, sauntering in like he owned the place even though he was technically not allowed to be there. Jenna had repeatedly reminded him of this, but he brushed it off, and after a while, she simply stopped bothering. Thus, despite not being on the paper, he spent a lot of time in the newsroom.
This was another problem you faced daily: people mistaking him for your boyfriend. The number of times you had to rehash the fact that he was simply your best friend was astounding, and back when you were a freshman, the constant whistles about you dating an upperclassman– and none other than Caleb Xia– drove you mad. You chalked it down to none of them being fortunate enough to experience a friendship as fulfilling and real as the one you had with him.
“He’s not my boyfriend.” You dropped your voice, keeping it just loud enough for her to hear your rebuttal that held a hint of venom, plastering a smile on your face as he closed in. Tara snickered.
“Sure, and I’m the queen of England.”
“Hey,” Caleb grinned down at you, his eyes momentarily flitting to your friend. “And what?”
“Nothing,” you said brightly, shooting her a murderous look that silently told her to zip it. She smiled innocently and shook her head, slipping back to her desk without another word.
“She’s an odd one,” he quipped, handing you one of the coffees and then shrugging off the jacket, dumping it on the free space on your desk. You already knew it was your regular order, something he had memorised years ago. You sipped the drink, letting the hot liquid calm you down, grateful for the caffeine. You hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, spending it tossing and turning in your bed.
And why was that?
Caleb leaned against your desk. “Are you free later today?”
A dejected sigh escaped you. “Unfortunately, no. I need to finish this article by the end of the day, and it seems like my writer's block has infected every aspect of my life.” It was ironic, just how true that statement ran.
“Damn.” You could hear the tinge of disappointment in his voice. “I was hoping we would have movie night. I stocked up on your favourite candy.” He reached over, his fingers brushing against the skin of your forehead as he pushed some of your hair that fell in front of your eyes away from your face, neatly tucking it behind your ear like it was second nature. It was, you supposed, considering he had done so about a hundred times.
But something was different this time, or perhaps you were paying far too much attention to every little thing. To how he pulled back and the way the muscles in his forearm shifted subtly, making you wish he had kept the jacket on. The brief touch lingered on your skin, burned into it.
Fucking hell, you were a mess. A tragic, down-atrocious mess.
Your eyes lingered on his fingers for a moment. Heat crept up your neck, and you coughed, rubbing it absent-mindedly, hoping to push down the flush you felt taking over your body. It had been like this ever since the day in his dorm when your brain had decided to work against you and infect you with the thought of sex with your best friend.
What better way was there to describe your state than calling it an infection? It certainly felt like some sort of sickness with the way it plagued you against your will. Somehow, it was worse than the doomed crush you had harboured for him back when you were in high school, because at least that had been innocent. That was born out of pure admiration, and you were sixteen. A lot of things done at sixteen could be brushed off under the excuse of being young and naive. You had quickly gotten over it.
You were evidently no longer so naive. In fact, you knew too much.
“Maybe next time.” You managed to choke out finally after a silence that had stretched a beat too long. Part of you hoped he’d leave you alone now so that you could calm down and refocus your attention to the article.
But of course, he didn’t. Instead, he occupied the chair Tara previously had, complaining about one of his classes as you nodded along, sipping your coffee and glancing between him and your screen. The smooth cadence of his voice usually soothed you and calmed you down, but now it only put you on edge, flowing over scrambled thoughts like honey. Had his arms always been this nice?
You were going to hell.
All things considered, you held yourself to certain standards. You were a woman with morals and integrity, and you were not in the habit of staring at shirtless men.
Except when it was Caleb, apparently.
“Why are you half-naked?” You blurted out gracelessly, heat viciously curling up your body as your eyes dropped down to his torso. You gripped the Chinese takeout you had gotten on your way back from your evening class a little tighter as you took in his figure. A silver chain with a tag and apple pendant (something you had given him before he left for university while you were still struggling in high school) on his bare chest and perfect sculpted abs, running shorts hanging low on his hips.
“I was working out.” He said casually, taking the bag of takeout from your hands and walking back into his dorm, leaving you to follow him. You bit down on your tongue hard, almost hoping you’d draw blood.
This was ridiculous. You had seen him shirtless several times before and had never reacted like this. The other times hadn’t caused you to flush and definitely didn’t cause your heart rate to spike. It didn’t have you furiously fighting off thoughts that had threatened to consume you for over a week now, pushing them back into the furthest parts of your mind and locking them there.
“I’m almost done, could you grab sodas from the fridge?” Caleb placed the food on the table beside his bed. You wordlessly complied, picking the apple-flavoured sodas that both of you liked. Turning back to the main area of his dorm, you walked over, only to stop dead in your tracks.
Caleb was on the floor. Doing push-ups.
There was nothing inherently sexual about it in the slightest. You knew he liked to stay in shape, hitting the gym at least thrice a week to maintain his physique– a very nice physique that seemed to be your current undoing. His hair fell across his forehead, a little matted from sweat. You watched as he pressed down and back up, and in a moment of weakness, you wondered how it would be if you were under him instead of standing to the side and ogling like an idiot. Would his necklace dangle above you, swinging back and forth in your face?
Dear god. You needed to be sedated. Put down, even.
Finally, he seemed to be done, lowering himself down and then rolling onto his back. He sucked in a breath of hair, running his hands through his hair and messing it up even further. Finally, he sat up and looked up at you, a singular eyebrow raised.
“Why are you just standing there?”
Brilliant question. If only you could answer it.
Choosing to skillfully evade instead, you tossed him his soda can and grabbed his laptop from his desk, settling down next to him on the floor. Tonight, the two of you had decided to have dinner together and catch up on an anime you had started together a couple of weeks ago. It had been a while since you had properly hung out, and you knew damn well that it was all your fault.
You were avoiding him. Mentally and physically, especially physically. Caleb, however, being the understanding, saint of a man that he was, chalked it up to you being busy. He made sure to check in on you, shooting you texts or sending you funny videos he knew you’d like.
“We should try and finish all the episodes up until the latest one,” You said, opening up his laptop and logging into the anime site. “They released a new one on Wednesday.”
Caleb hummed, stretching his arms as he shuffled closer. Immediately, you froze, the close contact inciting pure panic within you. Jerking away from him, you glared, holding a hand out to keep an arm's distance between the two of you, much to his confusion.
“Put on a shirt.”
He frowned. “Why? It’s really hot.”
Indeed, it was. “Exactly. You’re all sweaty and gross.”
You really shouldn’t have said that. The moment the words left your mouth, his mouth curled into a smirk– one so disgustingly attractive that you were sure your knees would have probably buckled if you weren’t already sitting down– and his eyes lit up with a mischievous glint that told you he was up to no good. Carefully, he wrapped a hand around your wrist, and the contact has your brain short-circuiting and going into overdrive.
“I think that means you want a hug.”
“Wait– don’t you dare– Caleb!” You yelped as he tugged you harshly, forcing you to fall into his lap, his laughter resounding through the small dorm room. Awkwardly, you shoot your other hand out to steady yourself, placing it on his shoulder as you tumble into him, knee slotting in between his legs and body so dangerously close to his that you wanted to scream. Smoothly, he wrapped his other arm around your waist, circling it and somehow tugging you even closer, until you were flush against him.
“What are you gonna do now, Pips?” He taunted, voice just above a whisper right against your ear.
Unicorns, you bleakly thought to yourself. Puppies. Cupcakes. Sprinkles.
“You’re so annoying,” You hissed, throwing as much irritation into your voice as you possibly could in the hopes that it would drown out the shakiness you felt. His skin under your fingertips was warm, and you could feel that warmth through the fabric of your tank top. “Go fuck yourself.”
He laughed harder, the sound so contagious it broke you out of your downright sinful thoughts. You gripped his shoulder a little harder, mentally chastising yourself for the situation you found yourself in, knowing that there was no good reason for you to be this riled up. Playfighting with him was something you were used to; it was natural. It should not have had your blood pressure rising and heart slamming in your chest so violently.
Swallowing thickly, you barely processed how he let go of your wrist, his other arm also coming to rest around your waist as he pulled you further into his lap so that you were now sitting on top of him. Before you even had the chance to react to that, he buried his face in the crook of your neck and inhaled.
“Missed you this week,” He mumbled softly against your rapidly heating skin. You froze for a split second at the contact, hopelessly blaming the flush spread over your cheeks on the humid weather.
And then you softened.
Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck as you hugged him back. “I missed you too,” You whispered, following up with a lie to keep him off your trail. “Just had a lot of work.”
“I know,” he said so patiently that you instantly felt guilty. He lifted his face from your neck so that he could stare at you, and it hit you just how intimate the position the two of you were in was. Although reserved with others, Caleb had always been pretty openly affectionate with you. His hand on the small of your back, fingers intertwined with yours, a light kiss to your temple in encouragement– he had been doing stuff like that to you since you were ten.
So why did it suddenly affect you so much? Why did something so normal for you make you feel so different now?
“Just….tell me about it,” he continued, those mesmerising purple eyes of his locked onto yours. “Shoot me a text. Let me know what's up with you. Don’t you remember the last time you shut everyone out because you were stressed?”
You did remember. It was during your finals last year, when the workload you had overwhelmed you so badly that you simply pushed everyone away until they were over. Caleb had to practically storm his way back into your life and demand that you take a break and slow down before you worked yourself to the bone. The fact that he remembered this only made your guilt worse because your distance this time had nothing to do with your classwork.
It had everything to do with him, though.
“Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled, slowly slipping out of his embrace and settling down next to him once again. You had to remind yourself of what he was to you, and all this thirsting for him was neither healthy nor something a good best friend would do. “I’m not gonna do that again.”
“I’m just saying. And what the hell am I supposed to do with my free time if you’re not here to bother me?” He flashed you that shit-eating grin of his that you were starting to think was more devastating than mischievous.
You had to resist strangling him.
There was only one possible conclusion: something was deeply wrong with you.
How else were you supposed to explain your borderline insane behaviour? It had gotten even worse lately, causing you to daydream at the most inconvenient times, like when you were trying to get an assignment done or even in the middle of class. It was a wonder your professors hadn’t called you out for it yet.
Some level of restraint seemed to remain, though, with you stopping your thoughts from crossing any lines. The moment you caught your mind straying into dangerous territory, you forced yourself to stop, desperately searching for another distraction.
But there was only so much you could do. Thinking was proving to be a dangerous activity.
You pressed your palms into your eyes, hard. It was almost three in the morning, and you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. Earlier, you had tried to write around the damned scene, but emerged fruitless. It was like an obstacle you had to clear before you could get to the next level of a game, taunting you with its incompletion.
Something else taunted you, simmering underneath the expanse of your skin. Things that hadn’t even happened yet, but you had already dreamed of them– his mouth on yours, his hands tracing your body with a feather touch.
You were even wearing one of his shirts right now, the oversized tee reaching down to your mid-thighs. Several, just like the one you currently wore, sat neatly in your closet, having been stolen from him over the years. You could faintly smell his cologne; cidery and comforting, enveloping you in what felt like it could be his embrace. Turning onto your side, you pulled the blanket over your body and stared at the wall blankly.
Caleb had been your safe space for so long, and perhaps that was why you gravitated so easily to thinking about him like this. If there was anyone you trusted in such an intimate sense, it was him.
Even if it shouldn’t have been.
God knows you needed to get laid. Unfortunately, you didn’t want just anyone.
You swore you had never been this horny before, least of all for your best friend. Thinking about him in such a salacious way was strictly a new development that was quickly ruining your life, haunting you day and night. Even now, lying in your bed, heat that was impossible to ignore bloomed between your legs.
Maybe if you just indulged once, this madness would stop. Maybe you just needed an orgasm, and then you’d stop going insane over every single interaction you had with Caleb. It didn’t even have to be about him, and this was normal; everyone needed a release now and then.
Your fingers slipped between your legs, pushing the fabric of his shirt up, tracing the outline of your cotton underwear. Your eyes fluttered shut as you let your fingertips gently graze against where you needed them most, letting your legs fall apart just a little bit–
Deep purple eyes flashed behind your closed eyes.
Gasping, you retracted your hand like you had been burned. There was no way in hell you could touch yourself with him in mind; that was everything you had been avoiding for the past three weeks, ever since the notion had first sprouted. Groaning, you buried your face into the pillow.
This had to have been the stupidest cause of insomnia ever.
Caleb 🍎 [15:32 pm] : i better see u at the party tonight :D
Caleb 🍎 [15:32 pm] : will pick u up at 9
Caleb 🍎 [15:32 pm] : no buts.
Caleb supposed that this was technically his fault.
Mentally, he had already prepared for this outcome. It was why he had barely drunk the entire night, barely finishing two drinks and opting out of playing beer pong with the rest of his friends, despite Gideon's need for another member on his team.
“Come on, Pipsqueak.” He had an arm around your waist to help steady you, ensuring you wouldn’t fall flat on your face. You stumbled into the elevator, and he jammed the number of your dorm floor as you wrapped your arms around his torso weakly, leaning into him. Right now, he was the only thing keeping you upright.
You were drunk, slurring your words and unable to walk in a straight line without any assistance type of drunk. And yes, this was his fault.
Probably. Definitely.
One of the frat houses had thrown a party, and he had insisted that you come with him. He had always been great at reading you, and for the last couple of weeks, you had seemed tense over something, though you hadn’t told him what exactly it was yet. That was fine, he knew that eventually you’d spill, but for now, all he wanted to do was help you let loose.
That was exactly what he told you to do when both of you arrived at the party, even pouring you your first drink. Halfway through the party, you seemed more relaxed than you had in the last couple of days, swaying along to the music by his side. He made sure not to drink too much, wanting to be sober enough to safely get you back to your dorm just in case you overdid it.
His intuition always ended up being right when it came to you.
You whined as the elevator dinged, the doors opening. “Everything is spinning.”
“I know, honey, we’re almost there.” He helped you walk into the hallway, smoothly taking your handbag from you and extracting your keys. Holding you tighter, he opened the door and pulled you through, carefully seating you down on your bed and taking your boots off.
Like clockwork, he grabbed a bottle of water from your bedside table, unscrewed it and held it to your cherry-tinted lips. You only used that specific lip-tint when you were going out, and each time you did, he found himself wondering if it tasted like cherry as well. Even now, as he gently propped his index finger under your chin and tilted your face upwards, he entertained the idea of tasting it for himself.
But he wouldn’t.
“Drink up,” He said softly, “You’re gonna have a nasty hangover tomorrow.”
Obediently, you parted your lips, drinking with his help. Your cheeks were flushed due to the alcohol, hair a little frizzy from the heat, but still maintaining the styling you had done before the party. To him, you looked stunning at all times, but he could see the effort you had put in to look nice tonight, from your outfit (a black halter top and jeans) to your makeup, which he knew he’d have to help you take off now.
Once he deemed the amount of water you had drunk enough, he put the bottle back and went into your bathroom, knowing exactly where to find your makeup wipes. He had taken care of you like this once before, so his body moved like clockwork. There was no point in trying to get you to the bathroom– you’d probably just sit down on the floor and stay there for the rest of the night– so he took the wipes with him and crouched down in front of where you sat on your bed.
Smiling, he held your face again, this time a little firmer. “You’d hate yourself if you went to sleep before you took your makeup off,” he whispered, pulling one of the wipes out and dragging it over the apples of your face. Then, he glanced up and into your eyes, noting how you stared at him so keenly, even through a half-lidded gaze, lips slightly parted.
If Caleb could’ve kept your attention on him like this for the rest of his life, he would have.
“What's going through that head of yours?” He cocked his head to the side, studying your intent expression. Immediately, you looked away, but he wasn’t going to back down. Something had been troubling you, and he was determined to find out what. If you wouldn’t tell him outright, he would simply have to guess. “Is it your book, again?”
Your inebriated state made it hard for you to hide things from him. You stiffened in his touch, and he chuckled. “Bingo. You know, if you just told me what you were struggling with, I’d help.” He pressed your chin lightly, angling your face downwards. “Close your eyes.” He gently wiped over your eye makeup, making sure it was all off before continuing. “I know I’m not a writer, but I’m sure I'll be of some value.”
Finally done, he neatly folded the dirty wipe and placed it to the side. “Want some more water? Alcohol is dehydrating.”
And then, out of nowhere, you spoke.
“Sex.”
Well, blurting would probably be a better way to describe how you said the word. Caleb blinked rapidly, wondering if he had heard you correctly as his face snapped back to yours, eyes wide.
“What?”
“Sex.” You slurred a little bit as you leaned closer to him, jutting your lower lip out in a pout and repeating it once more for good measure. “Sex.”
“I heard you the first time,” Caleb could hear how strangled his voice was, unable to think straight at your sudden declaration. Oblivious to his mental distress, you thrust out your hand and pointed at the laptop that sat on your desk with drunken animosity.
“I can’t write a stupid sex scene.”
You sounded so crestfallen, and he would have totally started sympathising with you if not for the reason. A sex scene? What on earth were you writing?
“I–” He swallowed, “Well–”
“I mean, how am I supposed to write a good sex scene if I don’t know what good sex feels like? Or what even like, happens?” Alcohol had certainly loosened you up, and perhaps a bit too much, having erased any filter that you had. This resulted in you rambling on about everything you would have usually kept to yourself, and for good reason. “The sex I’ve had has been shitty.”
The sex you’ve had? Caleb almost bit his tongue off in shock, staring at you incredulously at the information you had dumped on him. He hadn’t even known you had been having sex, and thank every god for that, because he would have probably jumped off a cliff if you ever talked about your sex life with him. Surely, this was some sort of twisted fever dream he had found himself in. This could not have been real life.
“Christ,” He choked out, “I–okay, maybe I can’t help you–”
“Yeah, you can.” Your eyes cut to his, a little too intense for his sanity. “If you fucked me, I’d probably be able to write the scene.”
He gaped at you, about a dozen inappropriate thoughts running through his head before he could stop it. “What did you just say?”
Teenage Caleb would have died if he had heard you say that. Adult Caleb nearly did.
You sighed heavily, and it only succeeded in causing him to spiral even more. “I thought about it. I’m sure it would be good, y’know. You’d know what you were doing, you even look like you’re good at it.”
“You’re so drunk.” He tried to reason with himself out loud, but could hardly recognise his voice with how strained he sounded. Looked like he was good at it? What alternate dimension had he just fallen into?
“Oh, come on, Caleb. I need some hands-on learning, and you–” you slurred the words as you leaned close and wrapped your hands around his bicep, peering up at him through your lashes. “–have very nice hands. They’re hot.”
You, his best friend, his pipsqueak, had thought about sleeping with him. You thought his hands were hot. The news nearly killed him, and he had to force himself to look away from you, his mind running at a mile a minute. Heat prickled at his face and neck, impossible to ignore as he cleared his throat and stood to his feet, pulling away from your touch.
“You should sleep.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, stepping away from you. “I–I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was as if he were going through puberty all over again, with the way his voice cracked embarrassingly as he spoke. He left your room hurriedly, barely getting his shoes back on as he closed the door behind him and leaned against it.
Caleb exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose as the back of his head hit your door. All these years of barely keeping it together around you, carefully tiptoeing between right and wrong, only for you to come and crash into whatever self-restraint he had left.
Right and wrong.
All of a sudden, he wasn’t sure if he was going to choose correctly anymore.
Death had to have been more merciful than the pounding in your head. Grabbing the covers, you pulled them over yourself like a cocoon, trying your hardest to block out all noises and sink even further into your mattress.
Unfortunately, your hangover-induced headache made it nearly impossible for you to go back to sleep. Cursing, you forced yourself out of bed and into the bathroom to freshen up and change out of your clothes and into something more comfortable. Naturally, you gravitated towards an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts, pulling them on after a quick shower.
Then, you went right back to your bed, not wanting to face the day in the slightest. You had managed to resist throwing up so far, and even the thought of having to function like a normal human being made you recoil into your blanket and stay there for the rest of the week. Just as you began to genuinely entertain that notion, a sharp knock at your door caught your attention.
You would have ignored it if you didn’t know the pattern of this knock by heart. No one but Caleb knocked twice in sequence.
Cursing under your breath, you scrambled to the door and opened it, squinting as the bright light of the hallway outside nearly blinded you. There he stood, grinning down at you as he held up a paper bag.
“Aspirin.”
“Thank god,” you immediately let him in, taking the medicine from him and pouring yourself a glass of water. He stood right behind you as you took the pill, ruffling your already messy hair and staring for just a second too long.
“Bad morning, huh?”
“You have no idea.” You winced at the whiny nature of your voice. “It feels like my head is trying to stab itself.”
Caleb chuckled dryly, sitting down on your bed and watching as you settled at your desk and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to smooth out the knots. Something was different about the way he was looking at you, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.
“You’ll be fine,” He muttered, shifting his gaze to the ceiling. You frowned, taking in the way his jaw ticked, and placed your glass of water down.
“Are you okay?”
“Me? Yeah, I’m fine.” He said it a little too brightly, glancing down at your desk. Something flickered in his eyes. “Made any progress on that book of yours?”
A frustrated sound left you buried your face in your hands, elbows on your desk. The reminder of your stagnant writing somehow worsened your headache, as if that was even possible. Of course he’d bring that up. “As usual, no.”
For a while, you had hoped that inspiration would strike you eventually, but it seemed like you were well and truly stuck. It had only taken a turn for the worse, with you suddenly despising everything you had already written, unable to even skim any of it without cringing and wanting to hit delete. Your inability to write had morphed into impostor syndrome, which was a development you didn’t appreciate in the slightest.
“It’s okay,” he said, and you would have mistaken his tone for reassuring if not for the way his lips twitched slightly. “I’m sure you’ll be able to write eventually. After you fuck me, apparently.”
Silence.
Razor-sharp silence.
Slowly, you turned your head to face him, eyes wide as saucers. “What….did you just say?”
“Only what you said last night. You said you were sure it would be good, which I beg to differ. It would be amazing, thank you very much.” He dared to smile oh-so innocently, as if he hadn’t just upgraded the superlative of what sex with him would potentially be like.
If you thought you were going to throw up before, you were sure you were going to now. You almost choked on your spit, waves of unadulterated shock crashing through your system as you gawked at your best friend, who appeared much too pleased with himself at the moment. If you weren’t so utterly horrified, you would have tried to slap the smug expression right off of his face.
“No.” The singular word comes out breathless, much to your mortification, your gut churning at the implications of that statement. “No, no, no–”
“Oh yes,” He grinned wickedly, leaning back on the palms of his hands.
“What–what the fuck did I drink last night.” You tried your levity, but your embarrassment ran too deep. Reaching up, you covered your face with your hands in a pathetic attempt to hide away from him. Never, in a million years, had you ever accounted for having this conversation with him, of all people, and you were almost certain there was something in your drinks that had made you say what you did.
His velvety laugh echoed through your dorm, and you wanted nothing more than to fold in on yourself. This had to have been the worst moment of your life.
“I guess you don’t remember, huh?” There was an amused lilt to his tone that made you want to jump out of the window. “I can refresh you, if you’d like.”
“NO!”
The shriek that left you was nothing short of abashed. He leaned forward now, smirking at you conspiratorially. “What's wrong? I thought you needed,” he paused, as if recollecting the exact words you had said to humiliate you even further. “Hands-on learning?”
You pointed to the door, biting back a scream. “Get out.”
The smirk only grew. “Aw, but if sleeping with me is gonna help you write again–”
“OUT!” You glared, cheeks flaming. Your anxiety had prepared you for at least a hundred outright ridiculous situations that had no chance of ever occurring, but none of them accounted for the possibility of your best friend talking about sleeping with you. You couldn’t fathom how he seemed so unaffected by it, as if he were speaking about something as mundane as the damn weather.
Caleb tongued his cheek, evidently fighting off another bout of laughter. He raised his hands to his sides in a placating gesture, but it did nothing to soothe your frazzled nerves. If anything, it only distracted you further, your eyes betraying you and straying to glance at his hands. A suppressed memory from last night resurfaced in your mind's eye, much to your displeasure.
You have very nice hands. They’re hot.
That was it. You were never going to touch alcohol again. Sobriety was your way of life now, seeing that you couldn’t keep your mouth shut when under the influence. The next time you need to let off some steam, you’d have an iced coffee.
“Alright, alright, I’ll go.” He moved towards your door, hiding his teasing smile behind his fist, disguising his chuckle with an exaggerated cough. “But Y/n?”
He didn’t use his beloved pet name. You straightened slightly, momentarily pushing away your embarrassment at the sudden serious shift of his voice. He opened the door and paused, hesitating for a single second. Then, he looked back at you, all-consuming, violent eyes locking onto yours.
“I would do it if you asked.”
You sighed heavily as you walked out of your last class of the day, rubbing the back of your neck and peering up into the darkening sky. Thursdays were the one day of the week when you had longer classes one after the other, which always resulted in you feeling exhausted by the end of it. You barely had the energy to even think about putting together dinner, which your best friend knew, always swinging by once your class ended with enough take-out for both of you and to walk you back to your dorm.
Which meant…
“I hope you’re in the mood for Thai food.”
Caleb slid into your view with that easy-going smile of his, though lately and much to your annoyance, there seemed to be a knowing glint in his gaze every time it settled on you.
“I’m in the mood for anything edible.” You sighed as you began walking back to your dorm. He easily fell into step beside you, as always, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You supposed it was, considering how long your friendship had lasted. It would be almost twelve years soon, and honestly, you could hardly remember a time when he wasn’t around.
He hummed, knowing how cranky you got when you were hangry. “So easy to please.” It was the way he said it, knowing and with a tone so low that it almost resembled a purr. It had goosebumps rising on the surface of your skin. A little outraged at the way you reacted, you glanced over at him, only to find him already looking at you.
It was how he always looked at you, with conviction and every ounce of his attention. Yet, it felt different, more intense. Or maybe that was just your brain playing tricks on itself.
I would do it if you asked.
Those seven words had haunted you from the moment he had spoken them. The serious expression on his face mixed with the quiet way he had said it– it had undoubtedly fucked you up a little more than you would have liked to admit. You were beyond infuriated and in complete disbelief over how he had simply offered to sleep with you. Like it wasn’t a big deal or a very major, clear boundary that existed in friendships. In your friendship.
If you asked. Like it was that fucking simple. He left your dorm since you demanded it of him, but left you to deal with the aftermath of that absolutely criminal statement of his.
And then there was the teasing.
Relentless and unsteadying. Caleb would say something a little too suggestive or downright sexual before retreating and pretending like nothing had happened. He’d hold your gaze a little longer, or let his touch linger, before looking away with a satisfied smirk. He knew damn well what he was doing, and although you did too, it didn’t stop you from flushing or freezing up. It certainly didn’t stop scenarios from writing themselves in your head.
He was torturing you for your little slip-up. He found it hilarious, and now you were the punchline for every joke that blossomed from it.
He cocked his head to the side now, a small, tilted smile on his lips as he spoke. “What's going on in at head of yours?”
You realised you had stopped walking, and so had he, instead standing right in front of you and occupying every part of your vision. “Nothing.”
Caleb quirked an eyebrow, taking a step closer. “You sure about that? You’re obviously thinking about something.” The cadence of his voice had always been nice, but now the velvety smoothness of it put you on edge in more ways than one. “Are you maybe thinking about–”
“I am not thinking about that.” The statement tumbled out of you before you could bite your tongue. His eyes lit up mischievously.
“Oh, so you’re thinking about something after all, are you?”
Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, struggling to findd to find a comeback to that. Somehow, he was even closer now.
“Mind telling me what exactly that is?”
“Stop it,” You almost snarled, shooting him a withering look as you pushed him away in order to reclaim your personal space. This teasing streak of his was getting unbearable, especially since it was anything but innocent and was driving you up the wall. “Or I’m gonna take the Thai food and leave you with nothing.”
An offended gasp. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
He laughed at your threat and finally let up on you, going back to being the Caleb you knew. He spoke of his classes and the group project he had due at the end of the week, for which he had terrible teammates to work with. It was jarring, how easily he could shift back into acting like he hadn’t just insinuated something so….
Maybe it was just your dirty mind.
Unbeknownst to you, it definitely wasn’t just your dirty mind. Caleb was mentally punching himself.
Caleb had had years of practising self-control when it came to you. Years of holding back and hiding the feelings he had for his best friend, shying away from every opportunity to divulge them. He knew how to keep his hands to himself, his mind from straying and his tongue from running into dangerous territory. He hadn’t meant to do it, but your drunken confession had flipped a switch inside of him. The lines had gotten a little blurry, but he would never, in a million years, ever actually cross them.
So what the hell was wrong with him?
You still hadn’t written a word. Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t even complain about it in peace anymore. Not if you wanted to maintain even a modicum of your sanity.
The reason for said dwindling sanity was sitting beside you right now on his bed, his arm slung around your shoulder, fingers tracing abstract patterns on the top of your shoulder. Usually, this would have calmed you down and even made you sleepy, but it achieved the complete opposite right then. You were painfully awake, his feathery touch like electricity against your skin.
God, you were so fucked. You had hoped that Caleb’s incessant teasing would have put a damper on your sudden, strong attraction towards him, but nothing of the sort had happened. It seemed to have only gotten worse, with you ending up being jumpy whenever he was around, and considering the amount you hung out with him, you were starting to resemble a kangaroo.
Around him, you were constantly tense and always on the precipice of being turned on. To say it was hellish would be an understatement.
“You’re distracted,” he murmured as the credits of the movie you were watching played. Finally, the two of you had managed to find the time to have that movie night you had passed on weeks ago. You shook your head, glancing up at the clock that hung on his wall. It was a little past midnight.
“Just frustrated,” you said finally, because it was the truth in more ways than one. Your frustration with your writing, or lack of, ran deep, but now it was intertwined with another very persistent reason. Being sexually frustrated wasn’t something you were used to dealing with.
He seemed to have caught on, though, his hand falling from your shoulder to your waist, curling around it. “Why are you frustrated, Pipsqueak?” He drawled, turning his head so that he faced you now. Of course, he’d pick this moment to torment you, when you were already frazzled.
“No reason,” you said quickly, voice clipped. A slow, languid smile stretched out on his lips.
“No?” He asked, the side of his mouth tilting. “Could it be….”
“Stop talking.” You despised how hoarse your voice sounded. You wanted– no, needed him to stop doing this before it became unbearable. He was your best friend, for fucks sake. The smile on his annoyingly perfect face melted into a smirk that would have had your knees weak if you weren’t already sitting down.
“I don’t think I will.” He whispered, pulling you even closer as he dipped his head down until his lips brushed against your ear. It was like he wanted you to break, and god, you were so close to doing so. His hand slid up your waist just a little bit. A shiver ran through you, one you couldn’t have suppressed if you tried.
“Tell me,” He mumbled, the words sounding much too loud even though he was still whispering. “Do your frustrations have anything to do with a certain sex scene you’re trying to write?”
You inhaled sharply.
Rationality was a funny thing. Every bit of it seemed to disappear whenever you truly needed it. Things you had no business thinking rushed through your head, courtesy of your bright imagination that chose the most inconvenient moments to work. Thoughts you had suppressed and pushed aside every time they had the nerve to pop up swirled around.
The spark that you had been trying so hard to put out crackled to life in your core, its flames spreading all across your body like wildfire. You were painfully aware of every part of you that was in contact with him, his hand just above your waist, sitting there so possessively, his breath fanning across your neck– fuck. It was too much, but somehow not enough all at once, and immediately you knew what you wanted.
More.
You snapped.
Something possessed you as you turned to look at him, a surge of confidence appearing out of nowhere as you drew closer to him. “Yeah.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Right then and there, three things became very clear to you. One: You wanted to write. Desperately and preferably sometime soon, because you did want to finish the first draft before you could go in and edit. Two: For some reason, you needed to have sex in order to get over the mental block you had when it came to writing it. Lastly, three: You only wanted to have sex with one person, and it was the man right beside you.
“My frustration has everything to do with the sex scene.” You said, surprising yourself with how steady your voice was. “But you can help with that, right?”
Without waiting for his response, you got to your knees, swinging a leg over him and settling down on top. Surprise flickered in his eyes for a second as your hands found his shoulders to maintain your balance, before he spoke again.
“Pipsqueak,” he started, voice low and careful, attempting to keep the teasing lilt in his voice but royally failing. “What– exactly– are you doing?”
“You told me to ask.” You muttered, dropping your gaze to his lips for a moment before letting it travel back up. “You said you’d do it if I asked. I’m asking right now.”
Caleb couldn’t respond, still staring up at you, eyes wide and ears a little redder than they normally were. Good. It was about time he had a taste of his own medicine. His hands found your waist again, and he blinked twice, slowly, and you prayed he wasn’t all bark and no bite.
You wanted him to bite.
“Y/n,” he muttered, “I….I know what I said.”
You raised an eyebrow, your hands slipping up his shoulders simultaneously until they were cradling his neck, playing with his hair at the nape of it. Was he shy? Now? After everything he had said and insinuated, he had the audacity to be all bashful? “So then you know what I’m asking for.”
“Well–”
“Caleb,” You cut him off, shifting so that you were closer. “I’m asking.”
Conviction laced those words. You could tell he was reasoning with himself, god knows you could read him well enough to know when he was conflicted, when he bit the inside of his cheek before exhaling shakily.
“Pips,” He rasped out your nickname. “You– you’re sure?”
You didn’t recognise the look in his eyes right then as he looked up at you, but it had you unravelling all the same. You leaned in subconsciously, but he quickly moved one of his hands from your waist to your mouth, covering it as his jaw clenched, still studying you. “I need you to tell me you’re sure, Y/n.”
Oh, so this was actually happening. You could feel the heat of your breath recoil against your face because of his hand. The ticking of the clock in his room filled the charged silence between him and you, his fingers brushing against your chapped lips. You swallowed.
“I’m sure.”
Whatever had shifted in you five minutes ago seemed to shift in him as well now. He let his hand drop from your mouth, shamelessly staring at it. “We shouldn’t.” But he pulled you closer, his arms circling your waist and palms splayed out on the small of your back.
“It’s for research purposes,” You breathed out, doing your best to justify how badly you needed him. “Please, Caleb, I need–”
He didn’t let you finish.
You gasped as he crushed his mouth to yours, effectively shutting you up. The pressure of his lips against your own was dizzying, especially with the way they moved; slowly and precisely, as if he was committing the feel of your lips to his memory. You were hyperaware of his touch on your back, the warmth from his hands permeating through the thin fabric of the T-shirt you were wearing.
Pulling him closer, you tilted your head so you could kiss him better. For the number of times you had mentally chided yourself for even thinking about this, it felt remarkably natural to kiss him, your instincts taking over. Your fingers slipped into his hair, entangling in the dark strands and tugging lightly.
Caleb groaned, and you were on fire.
“God, Y/n.” There was nothing playful about the way he mumbled your name into the kiss, and the unfamiliarity of it sent a shiver down your spine. His lips, soft and just a little hesitant, moved in tandem against your own, slotting in between them perfectly like you were pieces of the same puzzle, meant to be pushed together like so. He nipped at your lower lip before swiping his tongue over it to soothe the sting, and the intoxicating sensation drew out a needy whimper from you.
The second that sound escaped you, all indecision disappeared from his end, and the temperature in the room seemed to increase, growing hotter with every smack of his lips against yours. Kissing him was addictive, it felt as if neither of you could bear to pull away from each other.
Without warning, Caleb lifted you off of him and pressed you into the mattress, swiftly climbing on top of you. For a moment, he hovered, looking down at you, taking in the flush on your cheeks and heavy breathing, proud to have been the cause of your breathlessness despite barely doing a thing. Going in once again, he brushed his lips against yours teasingly, before giving you what you truly wanted, the intensity of the kiss taking a turn for feverish.
A hand of his slid up your side until he cupped your jaw oh-so gently, turning your face to the side to give him better access to your neck, upon which he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses that had heat rush right to your core. The ache between your legs grew, slowly becoming unbearable, and you rubbed your thighs together with a whine, chasing any sliver of friction.
“Shit,” he muttered against you, his other hand slipping underneath your shirt and coming into contact with your stomach, causing goosebumps to rise on the skin. Spreading his fingers and pressing lightly, he kept you from squirming. “Pips, you gotta tell me to stop.”
“Don’t you dare,” you almost snapped at him, impatient and so painfully aroused it was embarrassing. He couldn’t hold back the breathless chuckle that escaped him as he moved lower, teeth grazing your collarbone.
“If, at any point, you want to stop, tell me,” he gritted out, trying to hold onto any semblance of self-control he still possessed. “I don’t wanna do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”
You nodded quickly. “I trust you.”
That was all he needed. Lifting his head slightly, he fumbled with the buttons of your shorts as he leaned back, all his weight on his knees. Once he managed to undo them, you lifted your hips slightly to help him tug them off your body. He settled between your legs, spreading them until the pretty cotton panties you wore were exposed.
Caleb swallowed, his breathing growing erratic and heavy. The wet patch on your panties was his undoing; everything about this situation was bound to be the death of him, but he was too far gone now. He let his hand trace up to your hips, hooking his finger through the waistband of your panties, toying with it.
“Is this ok?” The column of his throat bobbed as he stared up at you from between your legs. When you whispered a needy yes, he pulled the panties down your legs, his eyes darkening the moment they settled back on your core.
“Y/n,” He said your name like he was drunk, a certain sense of reverence infused in his tone that had your cheeks kissed rouge. “You’re even prettier than I thought.”
Than he thought? You would have to take the time to dissect that statement later, much too distracted to do so at the moment when he began peppering kisses along your inner thigh, starting from your knee and working his way upwards. The sensation of his mouth tantalisingly close to where you wanted it so badly was almost too much. Just the sight of him there was so erotic that it had your head swimming. You had never felt more vulnerable than you did right then, exposed and willing.
And then finally– finally– his breath fanned out over your soaked cunt, driving you insane. Liquid fire thrummed in your veins beneath the surface of your skin as your anticipation spilled over. He pressed a light, teasing kiss against your clit.
Caleb dragged his tongue over your slit, licking up it all the way to your clit, which he wrapped his lips around and sucked, knocking all the air out of your lungs. You gasped, bucking your hips up against him, and he chuckled, the sound sending vibrations up your body, from your toes to the top of your head.
“Impatient,” he chided. “Let me take my time with you, princess.”
The new pet name sounded so natural coming from him, and immediately, you knew you wanted to hear him call you that again. He flicked his tongue against the throbbing bud that had been aching for his attention this entire time, positioning your legs to rest over his shoulders. The sounds that left you were shamefully loud, and you had never been more grateful that he lived in a single dorm.
“Cal- oh fuck,” You mewled when he swiped two of his fingers through your wetness, rubbing your folds.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he all but groaned against you, and you could feel more slick gush out of you at that. “Is this all for me?”
Your back arched off the bed when he pressed a finger to your dripping entrance, nodding with a sense of desperation you had never experienced before. “Yes,” you exhaled the word as he pushed his finger inside your pussy slowly, your jaw falling open at the pleasurable intrusion.
Slowly, he began pumping it in and out of you as he continued to give your clit the sweet attention it deserved, basking in the noises that you made. The pads of the fingers of his other hand dug into the flesh of your thigh, keeping you nice and spread out despite all your attempts to shut your legs around him.
When he introduced a second finger to your cunt, your hands found purchace in his hair, gripping and tugging as you panted, unable to focus on anything else. Your eyes fluttered shut as the tips of his fingers brushed against a spot that had you seeing stars, crooking inside you so perfectly. It was as if he knew exactly how to push you to the edge.
Your best friend was eating you out like a starved man and you were enjoying every fucking second of it. He could feel your legs begin to tremble, your impending orgasm building. Shamelessly, you bucked your hips against his face, and the moment he realised what you were doing, he increased the pace of his fingers.
“Come on baby,” he encouraged you, flattening his tongue against your clit and pulling you closer, spurring you on even further. You ground against his mouth desperately, feeling the coil in your core draw tight, so, so close.
“Caleb,” you stuttered his name helplessly, but he somehow understood, knowing just what you needed. “I–I’m gonna–”
He scissored his fingers inside of you, hooking them just right as he gave your clit little kitten licks, determined to have you fall apart on his tongue. Your sweet gasps sent blood rushing straight to his cock, which was already painfully hard, confined in his jeans. Taking your mound into his mouth, he sucked harshly, thrusting his fingers knuckle deep in your sex.
A broken moan escaped you when your climax hit you, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as waves of pleasure washed over you. Your legs shook, but he didn’t let up, grinning proudly against you as he drove his fingers back into your gushing entrance, helping you ride out your high and prolonging it. Once he was satisfied, he lapped at you, refusing to waste even a single drop of your essence.
Caleb pulled away, and the sight of you nearly did him in. Eyes screwed shut in ecstacy and hair fanned out on his pillow, undoubtedly tangled from all your writhing. You looked like the picture of sin, and it was the hottest thing he had ever seen. He climbed back, hovering over you again as he licked his lips.
Your eyes fluttered open, pupils blown out and dark due to the sheer level of desire that coursed through you. You were stunning, and he was destroyed, knowing that he’d never be able to forget the way you were looking at him right then. The way you tasted.
When he kissed you again, it was different. It was a heady mix of heat and tongue and want, messier than the kisses he gave you earlier, the control he had before nowhere to be seen anymore. You could taste yourself on his tongue and moaned, reaching out to touch him.
You started at his collar, dragging your hands down, down, down until you reached the hem of his shirt, whining against his mouth as you tugged at it.
“Take it off.”
Who was he to deny you? He stopped kissing you, sitting up so that he could pull the shirt off, exposing his torso for you. The way your eyes raked over him hungrily was more than gratifying, especially when they caught on the silver chain that hung from his neck, the pendant sitting on his chest. Tossing his shirt to the side, he pushed your own up your body, exposing the skin of your stomach.
“Your turn.”
You let him take off your shirt, tossing it to the side and slipping his hands slip behind your back. He silently asked for your permission, which you gave to him in the form of an impatient nod to which he smirked, unhooking your bra and peeling it off of you, letting the discarded garment join the rest of them on the floor.
One look at you and he was a goner.
“Fuck,” he could feel himself straining his jeans as he took in the sight of your breasts, so perfect and plush. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate you in all your naked glory, before leaning back down, his mouth back on your overheated skin. He dragged his tongue down your neck, sucking and biting like there was no tomorrow.
His lips trailed downwards, kissing the swell of your breast before wrapping around your already hard nipple, stroking his tongue against the aching peak. He palmed the other breast, giving that nipple equal amounts of attention and rolling it under his thumb. You hissed in pleasure, breathless as you arched into his addictive touch.
You could barely think straight; everything he was doing to you sent you into complete overdrive. Every touch was criminally good, the simplest of them causing your arousal to increase tenfold. Perhaps it was because it had been so long since you had last had sex, but you had never before felt so frenzied.
Hooking your legs around his waist, you could feel the outline of him pressing against your thighs. Angling your hips, you pressed your bare pussy against his bulge, the roughness of the denim rubbing you just right. He looked up at you from your chest through hooded eyes, earning another whimper as he pinched your nipple.
“You sound so good.” His words went straight to your head. “Tell me what you want.”
He said it like it was a command, and who were you to disobey, especially when you knew exactly what you wanted?
“I want you inside me,” you whimpered, voice heated with lust.
How could he ever refuse you? Caleb gave you one last kiss before reaching over to his bedside table, grabbing something from the drawer and sitting up and unzipping his pants. You couldn’t help but stare as he impatiently kicked off his jeans and boxers, eyes widening when you finally saw his cock.
Fuck, it was big. Long and painfully hard, you could hardly believe he was hard because of you, but the proof was in front of your very eyes. Your lower lip caught between your teeth as you drank in the sight of him, hyperaware of the wetness that coated your thighs.
He tore open the condom packet, smoothly sliding it onto himself before settling between your legs once.
“W-will it even fit?” You squeaked, a spike of fear cutting through the lust-filled haze of your mind. He grabbed one of your hands, bringing it to his lips and pressing your fingers to them, kissing your knuckles soothingly as he bit back a smile.
“It’ll fit.”
“But– there's no way,” You spluttered, “It’s gonna hurt.” Not that the prospect of being in a little pain deterred you by any means, you were way too horny to stop now. Complaining was probably the least sexy thing you could have done in the moment, but he seemed unbothered, the dark, hungry glint in his eyes never fading. The amused look on his face, however, was not lost on you, nor was the way he bit the inside of his cheek, fighting a smile. You glared weakly.
“Are you laughing at me?” You asked, incredulous. “I swear to god, Caleb, you’re going to split me in half, and you’re laughing?”
“Baby,” He breathed, “You’ll be fine.”
“Easy for you to say!”
You wouldn’t even blame him if he decided he was done with you and pulled his pants back on, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, he gripped your hips, grounding you to the moment.
Both of you were completely nude, and despite this, you had never felt more comfortable. Not when he looked at you like that, like you were something sacred.
“Relax, Pips, I’ve got you,” He whispered, sensing your apprehension. You exhaled shakily as he pressed his hard-on against your folds, groaning at just how wet you were. “Eyes on me.”
The way he took control so naturally was alarmingly attractive. You looked up, locking your eyes with his, unable to stay silent when the head of his cock rubbed against your swollen clit. “O-oh.”
He shuddered at the feeling, dropping a little so that he was keeping himself up on his elbows. His necklace swung above you just like you had imagined as he ground against you, but it still wasn’t enough. “Ready?”
You didn’t think you’d ever be ready, but you wanted it so badly you didn’t even care. Nodding eagerly, you intertwined your fingers with his, letting him press the back of your hands into the mattress. When his tip caught at your entrance, you whined. “Please.”
Having you beg him like that was dangerous. He squeezed your hands, and then slowly, carefully, sank into your wet heat, inch by devastating inch. Your jaw slackened, loudly moaning his name as he filled you up and stretched you out so pleasurably. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he pushed into you until he bottomed out, going breathless himself. One glance down to where the two of you were connected had him actively having to fight off coming right then and there.
Caleb was in heaven, and he was fucking delirious. He forced himself to stay still, moaning lowly when he felt your walls flutter around him, adjusting to his size. “You’re doing so well, princess.” He praised, lowering his head to your neck and burying his face in the crook of it, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm himself down.
There was so much wrong with this, so why did it feel so right? You felt so perfect, like you were made for him.
“Caleb,” You whimpered once the sting faded, letting go of his hands and looping your arms around his neck, “Move. I need you to move.”
He pulled out until only his tip remained inside of you, before sheathing himself again, causing you to curve off the bed, nails digging into his skin. He did it again and again, nearly growling when he felt you grow even wetter, coating the length of his cock in your slick. Wet sounds that had your cheeks burning filled the room repeatedly.
“Fuck baby, you’re so tight,” He practically growled, contrasting the tender pace he set, telling you he was holding back for your sake. You could feel every inch of him as he dragged against your walls, reminding you how big he was with every thrust.
Your friendship was potentially ruined, but it felt too good for you to care. With your legs locked behind his back, you gripped his biceps, a wanton moan escaping you as your eyes fluttered shut, the pleasure overriding every other sensation.
“So good,” words were hard to put together, and he understood and nodded, holding your hips so tight you were sure there would be marks, just like the marks that blossomed all over your neck and chest from his earlier ministrations. Right now, though, you didn’t care about that, consumed by the waves of euphoria rushing through you.
Slowly, the frequency of his thrusts increased, rendering you completely winded and unable to do anything but gasp for air. You felt another orgasm steadily build up inside you.
Then he tipped his hips a certain way, the tip of his cock brushing against a spot that made you cry out his name, throwing your head back into his pillows. The look on your face was something he wanted to imprint in his memory; the desire lacing your voice was beyond exhilarating.
Caleb could feel his own impending high, so tightly wound because of just how long he had waited for something like this. When you clenched around him, he knew you were close as well, but the act nearly did him in.
“Don’t do that.” his voice was all scratchy and strained, but you promptly did it once again, high off the notion that you were affecting him just as much as he was affecting you. His hips stuttered against yours as his violet eyes flashed. “Fucking hell.”
“Oh my god,” you moaned, “I can’t–”
“Look at me,” he demanded, “I want you to look at me when you come all over my cock.”
Never in a million years would you have thought your best friend would be so good at dirty talk, but the shock quickly melted into obedience as you managed to hold his heated gaze. Reaching between the two of you, his index finger found your engorged clit and rubbed circles against it.
You squealed, overly sensitive. “Shit–I’m gonna– Cal-!”
“Come for me.”
Caleb would never forget how you looked: at his mercy, crying out his name over and over like it was a prayer as you came, spilling over his cock with a euphoric sob. He snapped his hips to yours with renewed urgency, drawing out your second climax and prolonging the feeling. When he saw the fucked out look on your face, it hit him at once.
With one final thrust, he buried himself inside you, coming with a moan, burying his face in your neck once again. His body was damp against yours, his hair tickling you as you breathed heavily. He stayed like that for a couple of seconds, recovering from the intensity of what had just happened.
Wordlessly, he pulled out of you gently, the sudden emptiness you felt having you whimper softly. Peeling the condom off, he tossed it in the bin next to his bed before climbing off of you, muttering something about being back. Seconds later, you felt a warm, wet cloth drag over your core. He cleaned you up, pressing little kisses to the inner side of your thighs.
Once he was done, he gathered you in his arms and pulled you close, kissing your temple.
“Are you okay?” He asked, pulling away just enough so he could try and gauge how you felt, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone as he cupped your face tenderly. “I didn’t hurt you, right?”
You shook your head and leaned into his touch, completely spent. “No, it was perfect.”
He sighed in relief. You curled into him, and he wrapped his arms around you. “You did so well,” he murmured into your hair, massaging your scalp gently. “You were amazing, actually.” Another kiss to your forehead made you simper as your eyes closed, exhaustion settling into you now that the adrenaline had faded. “Tired?”
“Yeah,” You mumbled. Your legs entangled with his, and he stopped talking, tracing shapes on your back while you drifted off to sleep. He watched you for a bit, savouring the skin-on-skin contact, his mind reeling from what had just happened.
This was strangely normal, no awkwardness or post-nut clarity hitting either of you. Your body lay against his with all of you pressed up against him like that was exactly where you belonged. He could feel the beating of your heart, strong and steady in your slumber, whereas his remained erratic and fast. This was more than just a taste that he had had of you; it was the entire deal, and the knowledge of it all had his morals scattered and all over the place, because now that he knew what he knew, well.
Caleb wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.
It was supposed to be a one-time thing.
At the time, you had justified sleeping with Caleb as research, something you needed to do in order to get it out of your system. You had assumed, albeit foolishly, that once it was over, you’d be able to go back to normal and continue with your life.
But research was an activity that required constant revisiting. Most of it had to be repeated over and over, especially if it included gathering data from an experiment. There was always a control, and then variations of the experiment would be conducted to record the differences in the outcomes.
At least, that was what you were telling yourself right now as you straddled him, his cock buried inside you.
Truthfully, you didn’t know how this had happened. After that day, everything seemed to be normal, until he showed up at your dorm to help you study for a class he had also taken when he was in his sophomore year. One thing led to another, or rather, one heated touch later, you found yourself under him once again.
And then it happened again, and kept happening. Whispers of it being just for research mixed in with both of your moans became a melody you were more than used to. This was all for your book, after all. For the sake of accuracy and your integrity as a writer.
Definitely not because of how mindblowing sex with Caleb was.
And it absolutely was.
He had made you completely insatiable for him, and almost every time the two of you hung out in one of your dorms, it ended up with both of you in bed. Every other aspect of your friendship remained exactly the same, though, which left you considerably confused. He didn’t look at or treat you any differently, poking fun and driving you up the wall, staying his usual reliable self.
Caleb’s hand cradled the back of your head as he kissed you now, fingers entangled in your hair and pulling slightly. You moaned softly against his lips, grinding on him.
You were in one of his shirts, panties tugged to the side since he hadn’t had the patience to take them off, needing to be inside of you as quickly as possible. Despite his earlier hurriedness, the pace the two of you settled on now was almost teasing, slowly rocking against him as you lazily chased the delicious high that you had gotten so used to experiencing these past two weeks.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he muttered, more to himself than you, hand slipping under your shirt and cupping your breast, squeezing. When he caught you biting your lip, he tutted, letting go of your hair and using his thumb to release it from your teeth. “Ah, ah, don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself, pretty girl.”
“Too good,” you complained in that whiney, desperate tone he had gotten so addicted to. Pinching your nipple for good measure, he smirked up at you when you squealed.
Caleb quickly learned that he loved having you on top of him. Getting you all to himself like this was a privilege in itself, but fucking you while you wore his shirt? He was on cloud nine. He could feel himself throb in your sweet pussy that welcomed him so eagerly, in turn pulsing around him.
He cursed under his breath when you started to bounce, eager to get to the finish line with him. He sounded so good when he swore, you’d never understand it, just like how you wouldn’t get how he looked so pretty with a flush decorating his face and sex-mussed hair.
Gripping his shoulders, you tipped your head back, giving him access to your neck. He had taken to marking you up as and when he pleased, new hickeys surprising you every time you glanced in the mirror. Despite his tendency to leave them in places everyone could very easily spot them, you didn’t tell him to stop simply it just felt so good.
Everything with Caleb felt good, and not only did it feel good, but you felt completely safe. He was so attentive, doing the most to make sure you were never in any pain, often times focusing more on getting you off rather than himself.
He thrust up into you suddenly, his earlier impatience returning, and you cried out, falling into his chest. He held you, working you through it and dragging you closer and closer to release. One of your hands fell to his torso, tracing the hard lines of his abs and trailing downwards before your fingers found your clit and rubbed.
Shit. If having you ride him was good, being able to watch you touch yourself as you did was unbelievable. When you came, you came hard, and the feeling of it tipped him over the edge.
You were a dream he never wanted to wake up from.
You didn’t bother moving, clinging to him even tighter like you couldn’t bear to not be touching him in some way as you came down from your high. He smelled like sex, sweat, and that cologne of his that you loved. It was the reason you stole his clothes so much and why you were wearing his shirt even now.
Your first time with Caleb was the getaway drug, and now you were addicted to him, to having his hands caressing you all over and him whispering praises in your ear.
“Hey there,” He chuckled, rubbing your back. “All good?”
“Great even,” You mumbled, sitting up properly before finally lifting yourself off of him. You failed to register how jelly-like your legs felt, promptly losing your balance. He caught you before you fell, grinning.
“Can’t walk?” You could hear how smug he was without even having to look at him. It was then that you registered the burn in your thighs and huffed.
“Don’t sound so proud about it.”
“You’re no fun,” he pouted, leaving you to scoff as he helped you to your feet, following suit. “I’ll help you clean up. Do you wanna watch the new episode after?”
Ah yes. Of course, he’d start talking about anime after taking away your ability to stand. That had been the reason he had shown up at your dorm in the first place, but the moment he saw you wearing his shirt, it had quickly become an afterthought.
The whiplash you felt was indescribable, and you could only nod, letting him pick you up and carry you to the bathroom. After a quick shower and change of clothes, the two of you settled down with your laptop like nothing had happened, your head resting on his shoulder as you focused on the show.
Neither of you bothered to talk about your redefined friendship despite having sex regularly. It was just….a new addition. A benefit that you were both taking advantage of, nothing more and nothing less.
But even as you reminded yourself of that now, you found yourself doubting it.
There was something to be said about formal events.
You enjoyed getting dolled up as much as the next girl, but that was where the fun ended. Having to sit through the event was boring and not the way you liked to spend your Friday evenings. You would have much preferred staying in and catching up on some much-needed sleep.
The editor of your university’s paper, Jenna, had organised an affair that was being held in one of the college halls. She had worked very hard on it, inviting several alumni who were all successful in the fields of journalism and writing back so that the current batch of students had the chance to make connections. It was open to the entire student body, but she had made it clear that everyone on the paper was obligated to attend.
Connections were what helped people get further in life. You were grateful for the opportunity to interact with industry professionals, but didn’t understand why she had insisted on keeping it a black tie affair. That probably had something to do with keeping up appearances.
You stood off to the side, sipping on your cranberry juice from a cup that was made for something much more refined. So far, you had spoken to a couple of the guests, but seeing that you had been here for over an hour already, your social battery was slowly dying out. The dress you wore was a black number, floor length, form-fitting and plain except for the slit that reached up to a little above your knee. Perfect for an event like this, not too much and on power with what everyone else was wearing.
Still, it was a little overstimulating. You guzzled down the rest of your juice and placed the empty glass down on one of the tables.
“You’re welcome, by the way.”
You spun on your heels immediately at that voice, eyes widening and settling on the culprit who stood two, maybe three steps away from you.
“Caleb?” You asked in disbelief, taking in his presence. He was wearing a suit.
“The one and only,” he grinned, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Here to rescue you from your boredom.”
“What are you even doing here?” To say this wasn’t his scene would be an understatement. He didn’t like wearing the whole suit getup, much preferring casual clothing. Hell, Caleb hadn’t even attended his high school prom (though when you asked why, he would never give you a straight answer), opting to spend the night in with you instead.
He looked unfairly good. The collar of his shirt hid those lovely collarbones of his and reminded you of how you had bit down on them the other day, the bottom of it tucked into black slacks. He had even worn dress shoes, instead of the sneakers he so loved and a tie around his neck. The entire getup.
“I literally just told you why. To get you out of here. Are you hard of hearing now?”
You returned his jibe with an exasperated sound. “I meant here, at this thing.”
“Oh. Well, you did mention it was open to anyone yesterday,” he shrugged, grabbing a glass of juice and sipping on it. “So that editor of yours technically can’t complain about me being here.”
That was true. Still, you found yourself bewildered as you stared at him. He was here. For some reason, even though he was allowed to be here, it didn’t make sense to you. You pressed your lips together and cocked your head to the side, studying him.
“So you dressed up and came here.…only to convince me to leave?” The notion sounded strange even to you. Why on earth would he do that? He finished up his drink and put it down next to your empty glass, taking a step closer to you. The simple movement had butterflies erupt in the pits of your stomach.
What the hell?
“Stop thinking so much. Do you want to stay?”
You considered it. “Not really, no.”
“Do you enjoy arguing with me for no reason, woman?” he muttered dryly under his breath, his eyes catching on something over your head. “On second thought, I think you should stay a little longer.”
Now you were just plain confused. One moment he was talking about saving you from boredom, and the next he was insisting you stay? Before you could undoubtedly start another argument just to spite him, he took you by your shoulders and spun you around, pointing in a certain direction. When you figured out what, or rather, who he was gesturing to, you couldn’t hide your gasp.
“Isn’t that the author you like?”
You could only nod dumbly. “Raymond.” Last year, you had a phase where you only read his books day in and day out, absorbing the stories he spun like a sponge. His books were the reason you had decided to start writing your own in the first place, inspired by his storytelling skills.
Caleb nudged your side gently, “Go.”
“How–” you cut yourself off, looking up at him. “How do you even remember that?” You weren’t sure why this entire interaction with him was throwing you off so much, but you felt completely unbalanced. You hadn’t spoken about Raymond or his work in a long time, so how did he know? He shrugged noncommittally.
“I know you.” He said it so plainly, like it was something trivial and basic, but his eyes bored into yours.
Had Caleb always looked at you with such quiet intensity?
He nudged your side gently, reminding you to move. Forcing yourself out of your stupor, you promised him you wouldn’t take too much time and walked over, buzzing with excitement.
The conversation itself wasn’t long, but it was insightful. He answered all your questions about the industry, and you even had the chance to share for appreciation for Raymond's work as well as ask him questions that you had about his novels. You gave him your utmost attention when he gave you advice, but when he started talking about his characters, your eyes and mind wandered.
Back to your best friend, who was waiting for you on the other end of the hall, leaning against one of the walls and scrolling through his phone. He didn’t give a flying fuck about this event, but had still come here for your sake, even when you hadn’t asked him to. He glanced up, his eyes meeting yours, and flashing you a small smile.
Oh.
You looked away and back at Raymond, nodding politely and tuning yourself back into the conversation. Internally, however, you were freaking out. Something was very wrong; that was the only reason you could conjure up at the moment for what was happening to you. How else could you explain the sudden sweatiness of your palms, or the odd, fluttery feeling in your stomach? Maybe it was the excitement you felt from meeting the author you loved so much, but even as you considered this possibility, you knew it wasn’t the answer you were looking for.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
This could not be happening. You plastered a smile on your face as you tried to pay attention to whatever Raymond was talking about, but the damage was done. Your brain had never been one to let go of a single thought you had, especially ones that had to do with Caleb. He had a hold on you that no one else did, and why was that?
Because you liked Caleb.
The horrifying realisation hit you, startling you out of your rapidly spiralling thought process. Blinking, you realised Raymond was done speaking.
“Thank you so much for your time,” You said, trying not to sound as troubled as you felt. The author smiled at you before turning to another student.
Swallowing the newfound lump in your throat, you turned around and walked back to Caleb. This was bad. Having sex with him was already vaguely immoral and probably something that shouldn’t have happened– and shouldn’t keep happening like it did– but having feelings for him? That was out of the question.
“Good talk?” He asked, slipping his phone into his pocket. The genuine interest he had in your excitement made the entire situation worse. Why were you noticing all this now, of all times? It wasn’t like he had suddenly turned into someone considerate. He had always been this way; it was written into his DNA.
You realised he had even tried to tame his hair for today. “It was great.”
“I’m glad. Now I can steal you away from this place.” His eyes were lit up with mischief, just like they did when the two of you were younger and he did something he wasn’t supposed to. Ever the rebel, this one.
You felt a little guilty. All this effort for you? It seemed completely useless. “Okay, but Caleb, seriously, you didn’t have to do this.”
He frowned. “Didn’t have to do what?”
“This!” You waved in his general direction and then gestured around. “I mean, you don’t even like wearing a suit, but here you are. It’s not like it's compulsory for you like it is for me. You could be doing anything else.” You were rambling, you knew, but it was hard to stop. He rolled his eyes.
“Has that stopped me before?”
You paused. “What do you mean?”
“I show up to your newsroom even though I’m sure Jenna wants to castrate me for breaking the rules so much.” He raised an eyebrow. “I attended that lecture of yours when you had a presentation. You know I’m here because I want to be.” You knew he said stuff like this all the time, you always were the recipient of his support. This was normal.
But it didn’t feel normal. For fucks sake, this was the boy you had grown up with. He had seen you fall off your bike, fail tests and puke your guts out when drunk. In each of those situations, he had also been the one to pick you up and bandage your wounds, help you study and hold your hair back for you.
Did he think it was an obligation now?
“You….you shouldn’t feel like you have to do that.” You said slowly, but he didn’t let you continue.
“Oh, please. Everyone knows that where you go, I go too.” He flicked your forehead, immediately receiving a glare in return. “We’re like…….” He stopped for a moment, eyebrows furrowing and lips pursing like they always did when he was thinking hard about something. Then he snapped his fingers. “We’re like those yoghurt-granola snack packs!”
You stared at him blankly. “What?”
“You know.” He decided to explain his stupid analogy, as if your head wasn’t muddled enough. “Those things you can buy at the grocery store. The small yoghurt tubs that have a container filled with granola on top of them? Like, they’re both okay separately, but much better when together. People buy those packs for a reason.” He slipped his phone back into his pockets and beamed at you. “We’re like that.”
Oh my god. That barely made any sense. You weren’t sure if you were mortified because of that terrible explanation or because it hadn’t put a damper on your newfound feelings for him. “You’re such a fucking dork.”
He feigned offence, holding his hand over his heart. “Excuse me? You mean cute, right?”
Right. Wait, no, you didn’t. Ugh. “I thinkx ridiculous.”
“Are you coming with me or not, Pips?”
“But Jenna insisted-”
He rubbed a hand over his face in annoyance before fixing you with a droll look. “Would you rather be here or be with me?”
Be with you.
You ignored the way your stomach flipped. You didn’t have the time or the mental stability to process everything that was happening to you right now. The logical part of your brain swooped in, telling you that you were just confused because of the sex. Yes, that was it. You did not have feelings for Caleb Xia.
Sighing, you relented. “You.” Saying that didn’t mean anything, after all. Nothing about the two of you meant anything, so there was no reason for you to be freaking out, even if it sounded like you had just confessed. A wide grin made a show on his face when he realised he had won, and he tilted his head towards the exit.
“Finally. Wanna get out of here?”
“Just to be clear, this is not what I meant when I asked if you wanted to get out of there.”
You huffed out a soft laugh, fingers curling around his tie as you tugged him closer. “No? Could have sworn you planned for us to end up in a janitor's closet.”
Caleb bit back a laugh of his own, knowing that making too much noise would get both of you in trouble. After leaving the event, somehow, his guiding hand on your hip had turned into the two of you making out in the hallway. You blamed the mess that your head was in for not realising what a bad idea that was immediately, but once you did, you did the most responsible thing you could think of.
And dragged him into the janitor's closet that was close by.
Naturally.
He braced a hand over your head on the cabinet that you were leaning against, essentially caging you in as he dipped his head to kiss you again. “Pretty sure that was you’re doing.”
“Excuse me? You’re the one who kissed me first!” You protested against his mouth, but could hardly complain when he kissed you like it was a relief to do so. Honestly, he was probably the best kisser you had ever experienced.
That must have been the reason for your spiralling thoughts. That and the amazing sex that you were so weak to.
Yep. That’s all. Anyone could be susceptible to such things.
“Can you blame me? Have you seen yourself in this dress?” His free hand slipped into the slit at your knee, slowly dragging the rest of the dress up until it was bunched up around your waist. “You’re stunning.”
He couldn’t stop kissing you. He knew he shouldn’t have kissed you out there like he had the right to, because he was well aware of the unspoken rules of this arrangement, but he couldn’t help it. If getting too comfortable with whatever you had going on with him was a crime, a sin, then he was a criminal of the highest order. The worst part? He didn’t feel a shred of guilt.
But you were wearing that fucking cherry lip gloss, and god knnows he had waited long enough to taste it.
Warmth spread over your chest first before it rushed to the apex between your legs. The control he seemed to have over your body was truly astounding. In his hands, you were putty.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” You whispered back, loosening the knot of his tie and pulling it off completely, dropping it to the side. “This suits you.”
His lips twitched. “The suit suits me?”
“Shut up and kiss me, loser.”
He complied, grinning against your mouth as he pulled you into another earth-shattering kiss that did positively nothing to soothe your frayed nerves. Stubbornly, you pushed down the feelings bubbling around the confines of your heart, refusing to give them any attention if you could help it.
You gripped the front of his suit jacket, helping him peel it off his shoulders and letting it join his tie on the floor. Without warning, he pressed a knee in between your legs, and you nearly melted against him.
Sex was great. Sex with him was phenomenal. This was just the lust getting to you.
Caleb gripped the leg that your slit now exposed and lifted it, propping it up against his waist. He trailed his fingers against your inner thigh, his touch feather-light yet scorching at the same time. When his index and middle finger pressed against your clothed cunt, you were glad for the hot he had on you, pressed up against the cabinet, because you would have surely buckled if not.
“Wow,” he mumbled amusedly, pushing your panties to the side and teasing your wetness. “You really like the suit, huh?”
The fact that this type of interaction was now commonplace should have been the first sign that things had gone too far.
Usually, you couldn’t think straight when he touched you like this, but today it was all a mix of feeling way too much and dangerous, fleeting thoughts that made you want to tear your hair out.
“Maybe,” You peppered kisses along the column of his throat, determined to get out of your head and focus only on how good he could make you feel. Pleasure and person were entirely separate entities, and you would make sure it stayed that way.
“Suit kink.”
“Never say that again.”
He only smirked, plunging his fingers into you. All you could do was cry out as you gripped the front of his shirt, momentarily forgetting that you were supposed to be quiet. Quickly, his palm covered your mouth, muffling any further sounds you could make. “Can’t have you being loud here, princess. What if someone catches us?”
The way you practically gushed the moment he suggested someone catch you in such a compromising position was downright embarrassing. Raising an eyebrow, he leaned even lower and whispered. “Oh? You like that?”
You whined against his hand, cheeks flushing furiously. You began fiddling with the top buttons of his shirt, and he chuckled lowly.
“For someone who likes my suit so much, you sure are trying to get rid of it quickly.”
“For someone who was dying to kiss me two minutes ago, you talk too much.” You rocked your hips against his hand even as you sassed him back. He moved his hand from your mouth into your hair, carding it through gently, tugging slightly to tilt your head back for him so he could kiss you again, swallowing every sound you made.
No one could sue you for being attracted to a hot man. That was just biology.
You could feel the familiar tightening of your core, signalling your impending crash. You broke away from the kiss, licked your lips and palmed him over his pants, earning a hiss of pleasure in return.
“Don’t– don’t do that,” He choked out, and you smirked triumphantly, refusing to relent on your movements. Batting your eyelashes, you stared up at him through them in faux innocence, unaware that it affected him so much more than you thought.
“Just fuck me already.” You whined, half out of desperation for him and party because now you needed him to fuck you to prove to yourself that this was just sex. To be able to brush away all the compliments he dropped that seemed to go straight to your head, to get the intoxicaing fucking way he kissed you out of your head and away from further dissection. To stop the slow-burning feeling of yearning that was growing inside of you for the boy you had grown up with.
Because you couldn’t possibly have feelings for him. You shouldn’t.
“Fuck, okay,” He slipped his fingers out of you and unbuttoned his pants, releasing his cock. You would never get used to the sight of it, precum already leaking out of the tip; the image itself sending shivers down your spine in anticipation of him.
He pressed back against you, grinding it against your fluttering pussy, going right back to making out with you. It was like he was devouring you whole, claiming every part of you like it had always belonged to him. You could feel yourself get carried away again, forgetting that this was just something he and you did now.
And then he froze.
“Shit,” he muttered. “I don’t have a condom.”
You were too far gone to even care anymore. Cupping his face, you pulled him into another messy kiss, beyond delighted when he moaned, still rubbing his length through your slick folds with a want that rivalled your own. “Put it in.”
Caleb gritted his teeth. “Pips, thats–”
“I’m on birth control,” you kissed his jaw. “And I trust you. I’ve always trusted you.”
That was undeniably the truth. He was the one person in the world that you didn’t have to think twice about when it came to anything, no matter what the situation. He blinked down at you, pupils blown wide with desire but somehow still so focused on you, holding your sides so gently as he hesitated, silently dealing with the conflict in his head.
“I…..are you sure?”
Oh, this sweet, considerate boy. How could you not love him? The thought was instantly forced to be a passing one as you push it away, refusing to acknowledge it.
“Caleb, if you don’t stick your dick inside of me right now, I will cut it off.” The threat earned you a winded chuckle from his end, the strain in his face from holding back so painfully evident. Realising he needed another push, you looked into his eyes, bucking your hips against him and licking your lips as you purred. “Now, fuck me.”
There was a reason you phrased it like that. Crude and so filthy, the words set out a challenge for him. If there was one thing you knew about Caleb, it was that he could never back down from a challenge. His eyes darkened as he grabbed both your wrists and pinned them together above your head with one hand, positioning his cock at your entrance.
Without another warning, he slammed into you, once again covering your mouth to soften the obscenely loud broken moan that left you. He pressed his fingers against your lips, smirking mischievously.
“This is what you wanted, hmm?” He groaned in your ear as he fucked you hard, making it increasingly difficult for you to stay silent. You knew he was doing it on purpose, remembering how he had briefly confessed that he liked it when you were vocal, but here? Here it was risky and stupid, and you couldn’t believe how into it you were.
“Yes,” You gasped, biting his hand at a particularly hard thrust, doing your utmost best to keep all your noises to a minimum. He was just so good, and the feeling of him bare inside of you was almost too much for you.
“God baby, you feel incredible,” he panted, never relenting on his pace for even a second. His breathing was heavy in your ear, almost pained, along with soft grunts that only succeeded in making you even wetter.
“So b-big,” you could only whimper, too caught up in it all to speak properly.
He had well and truly ruined you for anyone else. Your heart and mind were at war with each other, but your body was perfectly content with how he held you like this. With nothing between you, he fucked you raw, and it felt so much more intimate than you thought it would have. You could feel everything, hyperaware of every touch and kiss and overwhelming drag of his cock in your sobbing cunt.
For a moment, you almost wished it wasn’t this good. If only you had never succumbed to your desires that day, maybe you wouldn’t have found yourself in this position, fighting so desperately against feelings that felt so wrong and right at the same time. All this was supposed to have been a temporary fix, a means to an end. Not the start of something you could never see through.
When both of you came, it was intense and devastating, holding onto each other like nothing else mattered. You could feel him fill you up with his cum and as you went limp, one last terrifying realisation making itself known to you.
It wasn’t just sex.
A shattered breath escaped you at the revelation, and you shut your eyes, trying to reason with yourself one last time, but to no avail. Caleb surrounded you completely, holding you up upright with so much care, so deliberately, that it made total sense why you felt this way. With unending affection, he pulled you against him and kissed the crown of your head.
“Thats my girl.”
Except you weren’t. And it would be better for everyone if you remembered that.
You were writing.
It had been so long since you had been able to write like this, but the ability had come rushing back to you all of a sudden. Your fingers flew across your keyboard as you steadily typed, focused and satisfied at the work you were producing for the first time in months.
It was two in the morning when you finally snapped out of your concentrated state, yawning as you shut your laptop. Stretching, you quietly padded to your bathroom to get ready for the night and go to bed. You couldn’t believe you had written almost half of the sex scene when even the prospect of starting it had sounded so unachievable not too long ago.
Courtesy of Caleb, you had plenty of material to pull from.
You splashed water on your face, hoping the cool temperature of it would help you stop thinking about him. To say you were frustrated with your feelings was an understatement; you outright despised them.
This was your fault, you knew damn well it was. If you were going to get a fuckbuddy, it should have been someone who you weren’t so close to, someone you had no personal connections with. Anyone but the best friend you've had since you were seven years old, who you knew like the back of your hand, who knew you like it was second nature to do so.
Gripping the sides of the sink, you shut your eyes, grounding yourself to the moment. Part of you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. How on earth did you let yourself get in such a predicament?
You needed it to stop. For these confusing feelings to leave before things got even more complicated than they already were. Somehow, you needed to forget about them.
But how could you possibly do that? How were you supposed to forget the deliberate way he kissed you, or how good he made you feel when he looked at you that way? How were you supposed to get the scent of his cologne out of your sheets and closet, or pretend like you didn’t know what it was like to be touched by him?
How on earth were you supposed to get over being in love with him?
You didn’t even notice him walking in.
Writing for your book again meant that you had fallen behind quite a bit when it came to the work you had due for the paper. As a result, you had to stay behind and work late on the articles you had to present to Jenna, stuck at your desk in the newsroom when it was almost nine-thirty at night.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
Your eyes flickered up to find Caleb standing in front of your desk, one hand stuffed in his pockets and the other holding a bag of takeout from a diner that both of you liked. He gave you a soft, knowing smile that made your mouth go dry.
“Hey,” you straightened up in your seat, knowing that your posture tended to get worse the longer you wrote for. “You were looking for me?”
“Not exactly.” He grabbed a chair and parked it next to yours, sitting down. “I just figured you’d be working and forget to have dinner.”
“Oh.”
He was right, and you would have been embarrassed if this hadn’t happened before. Wordlessly, he began unpacking the takeout he had gotten. “Take a break for ten minutes and eat, okay?”
This was just like him. Knowing exactly when you needed to be taken care of while being well aware you could do just fine by yourself. You bit the inside of your cheek as you watched him, apprehensively nodding slowly.
“Okay.”
You grabbed a fry and began to chew, turning to face him and away from the computer. He looked the same as always, unkempt hair and all. It was like he knew you were tired and a little out of it today without you even having to tell him, falling into a comfortable silence as he ate with you.
There wasn’t another soul in this world that knew you so intimately. In the past, this wouldn’t have scared you, because you were so used to him and the ways he fit into your life so perfectly. Now, it frightened you to no end, reminding you of how much you had to lose when it came to Caleb. He was the most precious person in your life, which made it so much easier to fear losing him.
If there were rules when it came to having a best friend, you were certain you had broken all of them. Number one: Don’t sleep with your best friend. Already off to a rough start with that one, it seemed, but there was nothing you could do about it anymore. Number two: Don’t fall for your best friend. You doubted you even needed to go over the rest of the rules. Breaking those two had caused you enough damage.
Finishing up his food, he took a sip of his soda, noticing you were watching him intently. For the first time in a long time, he couldn’t quite decipher the look in your eyes. It almost felt as if you were hiding it from him on purpose.
He tilted the soda cup to you, silently asking if you wanted some of his. You leaned closer and took the straw in your mouth, taking a couple of sips before looking away.
Something was off. “Is everything okay?”
You pressed your lips together and gave him a half smile. “Yeah, everything's fine.”
Caleb narrowed his eyes at you, reaching out and propping a finger under your chin, lifting your face so you were forced to look at him.
“Pipsqueak,” He mumbled, dropping his gaze to your mouth for a split second, but it was enough to make you feel like you were set on fire. Like you were made of porcelain, he swiped his thumb next to your lower lip, rubbing away a stray crumb that had stuck there from your food. Then he looked at your mouth again, subconsciously leaning towards you as if he was about to kiss you.
Immediately, you jerked out of his touch. Guilt ate away at you when you noticed how he reacted to this, the flash of hurt that passed over his face as he frowned. As much as you hated being the cause of it, the way he was looking at you has started to inexplicably hurt. You were unable to stop the tenderness that unfolded in your chest anymore. It was potent, too real to fight against.
“We should stop.”
The words were out of your mouth before you could think about them any further, inciting confusion. He retracted his hand, the corners of his furrowed eyebrows tilting upwards. “Dinner? Because we’re pretty much done with that anyway.”
You could have taken advantage of his confusion and put this conversation off for a while, but you knew that letting this go on any longer would end up being torturous.
“No, Caleb,” You looked away, trying to ignore the way your throat seemed to close in on itself. “I’m not talking about dinner.”
“Then what are you talking about?” His voice took on that impossibly soft tone it did when he was trying to understand how you were feeling to properly help or sympathise with you. It was something he did when you were younger and got hurt, and he wanted to make sure you knew you weren’t dealing with it alone.
Sucking in a breath of air, you looked down at your hands in your lap, playing with your fingers. “I think we should stop having sex.”
A beat passed. You could feel the weight of his stare on you. “Okay.”
You weren’t sure where to go from there, your heart pounding within your ribcage like it was trying to escape. The light from your computer felt too harsh and the ticking of the clock hands was unnaturally loud in the stiff silence that settled over the two of you. Clearing his throat, he spoke again.
“Did…Did I do something?”
“No,” the caution yet dejected way he said it made you blurt that out quickly, refusing to let him think something was completely wrong. “You didn’t. At all. It’s just…..” You trailed off, biting your tongue and regretting bringing this up already. “I….I wrote the scene.”
“The scene?”
“The sex scene. In my book.” The awkwardness in your cadence is foreign to your ears and his. You had never been so apprehensive around him because you had never had a reason to. This was a first you despised vehemently, scorning the way you had to phrase everything so delicately, as if you didn’t, the damage caused would be irreparable.
“Right.” Now he had an unreadable look in his eyes too, matching yours.
“Right,” you echoed softly. “So there's no reason for anymore…...research.” Because research had spiralled into forgetting your regular roles when it came to each other. Research had made you aware of feelings that had been dormant your entire life and should have stayed that way.
In an ironic twist of fate, you had literally fucked around and found out.
“I see.”
You didn’t know what possessed you to keep talking when it was so obvious that both him and you wanted nothing more than to move on from this conversation. You risked a glance at him to find him aimlessly tracing the edge of his soda cup, eyes trained on the straw. “So we can go back to being just friends. Regular friends.”
The clarification made you wince. When his eyes met yours again, you were surprised to find something different in the way he looked at you– those dark purple depths swirling with an intensity that superseded their usual levels, startling you.
“We’ll always be friends, Y/n.”
Caleb didn’t call you pipsqueak. A minute detail that shouldn’t have shaken you at all, and yet here you were stuck on it in spite of the fact that he had just agreed to being friends again. Or rather, the normal definition of friends, because you weren’t ever anything more than that. You swallowed, turning back to your computer.
“Okay. I should get back to working on this article.”
Your dismissal of him was quiet but obvious. The air had started to get suffocating and you needed as much space from him as you could get until you sorted out the mess in your head, one that was your cross to bear. Your fault.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him nod and get to his feet, turning to leave, but hesitating for just a moment.
It was only when he exited the newsroom that you realised it wasn’t any easier to breathe without him there. It felt even harder now, like someone had their foot over your chest and was putting all their weight on it, letting gravity do the rest of the work. You pushed yourself away from your desk, the wheels under your chair smoothly rolling away until the back of it hit the wall behind you.
Even the impact of that wasn’t enough to shock you out of your misery. Surely, love wasn’t supposed to feel as cruel as it did right now, like claws sinking into your skin and making you bleed. It shouldn’t have felt wrong, but you knew that it was. Perhaps this was retribution for allowing yourself to indulge in something that was so clearly off-limits to you.
A familiar pressure built up behind your eyes as you turned resentful. The sting of your sorrow manifested as tears welled up and caught in your lower lashes. You shut your eyes, but not before those tears slid down your face, cementing the bitter, indisputable reality of your heartbreak.
Caleb stayed away.
He had known damn well that whatever was between the two of you wasn’t forever. It wasn’t even real, solely for the sake of your writing and the book you were so proud of. It was his fault for getting caught up in it all and expecting you to never call it off, to stay in that limbo with him forever.
Saying no to you was something he wasn't capable of. Not when he was ten and you were eight, and you wanted the last piece of cake even though it was his favourite flavour. Not when he was fifteen and you used to beg him to let you wear his shirts because you liked how oversized they were on you. Not when you would give him puppy eyes and sweetly ask him to cook those braised chicken wings you loved so much.
And not when you needed help with writing about sex.
Even if it went against all his morals and everything he had forced himself to believe for the past twelve years he had known you. He had held himself together around you for as long as he could remember, hands to himself and thoughts strictly friendly. Caleb was used to the best friend role. He was good at playing it, even when the script pained him to recite, he did so anyway with a smile on his face.
Because smiling back at him was you. It was always you, with your bright eyes and angelic laughter.
Caleb had accepted this role when he was only nine years old and had stuck to it ever since. He let it consume him, living in ignorant bliss as he silenced the pleas of his heart and what it wanted, no, begged for.
How was he supposed to know where to go from here? The script had deviated too much for him to return to its safety. He knew how your lip gloss tasted, sweet and inviting and maddening, just like everything else about you.
So he stayed away from you and your cherry lip gloss, hoping the marks it had left all over him would fade.
It had been almost two weeks since Caleb last set foot in the newsroom.
Jenna was overjoyed and Tara was suspicious. The latter asked you where your ‘boyfriend’ was, to which you refused to look at her as you muttered the reminder: he’s not my boyfriend. It felt like you were reminding yourself more than her, lacking any of your usual annoyance.
You supposed this was your fault as well. It wasn’t like you had made any effort to reach out either, stuck in your pathetic little cycle of self-pity and fear. You felt his absence, though, cutting deep into you and leaving you with a Caleb-sized hole in your life. The last time you experienced something like this was when he left for university for the first time and you were finishing up your senior year, suddenly having to deal with not having him around for months on end.
At least he was calling you back then, and when you joined him at university, it never happened again. You hadn’t realised what a big part of your life he was until he was missing from it.
God, you missed him.
You missed that stupid, smug chuckle of his when he knew you were getting riled up because of something he said, and his terrible sense of humour. The smirk on his face when you were losing an argument, and how he’d stick his tongue out when he was concentrating on something. Hell, you missed the sound of his voice and the comfort it brought you.
After you finished your work for the day, you walked out of the newsroom and down the hallways of the university building. The cool evening air swept around you, making you think of one of Caleb's jackets that was still in your dorm from the last time he had been, draped over your desk chair. You almost wished you had it with you right now.
Your feet carried you to the dining hall, reminding you of your need to eat through the wall of your troubled thoughts. It was not so much hunger as it was a necessity. Your appetite had been less than robust these past few days, your emotions weighing you down in more ways than one. You didn’t have him to remind you to eat or sleep, or run like a normal human being.
Grabbing an apple to appease your stomach, you bit into it and looked around, mentally going over everything else you had to do that day. Start an essay you had due the next week, beg the members of your group to do their parts of the presentation that was worth a whopping thirty percent of your grade and polish the last scene you had written for your book.
It turned out that your turbulent emotional state had translated into you being more productive than ever, throwing yourself into your studies and writing like you had never before. Anything to avoid thinking about him and what you felt. An unhealthy coping mechanism for sure, but it worked for you.
Kind of.
Unable to stomach anything else, you tossed the core of the apple into a nearby dustbin and left the dining hall, eager to make it back to your room. You hadn’t slept very well lately, and you wanted to get all your work out of the way before crashing. Sleeping, you discovered, was another excellent course of action to take when you wanted to avoid facing something, and at least it wasn’t downright unhealthy. The dark circles under your eyes would certainly thank you.
When you turned the corner, he was there.
Caleb stood there, just a few paces away from you in all his six-two glory. His back was turned to you, but you knew it was him, deep in conversation with his friend, Gideon. You were unable to do anything but stare, your pulse picking up in speed at the sight of him. You wondered if the chasm he had created between the two of you had affected him as much as it had you.
When he bid farewell to Gideon and turned, you panicked. When he saw you, you remained rooted to the spot, watching as his steps faltered and came to a stop. He looked almost as tired as you felt, dawdling briefly before speaking.
“Hey.”
Hey. Hey? Was that all he could say after refusing to look your way for over a week? Your apprehension flared up into anger, and you took three furious steps towards him, your docile stare melting into a glare.
“You sure talk a lot of shit about keeping you informed for someone who has been avoiding me.”
He winced. “I wasn’t….avoiding you.”
“Oh really? Could have fooled me.” You scowled at him as you took another step forward. You were pissed, and rightly so, but it stemmed more from how hurt you felt rather than any genuine anger.
Caleb didn’t bother to meet your eyes, opting to look off to the side instead. That stung a little more than you cared to admit. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “Have you eaten yet?’ Barely five minutes around you, and he had already jumped into trying to take care of you. It was so infuriatingly like him.
Every time he didn’t want to face something, he would deflect and redirect the conversation. Your years together had taught you well, making it impossible for him to sidestep you even if he tried. You could tell he was avoiding you even when you were right in front of him.
“Stop changing the subject.”
You watched as his jaw tightened and relaxed, something he did when he was conflicted. All his tells were so laughably obvious to you, and yet you couldn’t make heads or tails of how he was acting right now, so forcibly distant and detached, like being close to you was painful. Your eyes burned.
“Do you hate me?” You asked, hating how your voice suddenly sounded so feeble. His eyes snapped back to yours, wide and defiant.
“I could never hate you.” The finality in the way he said it told you he was telling the truth, and yet, you couldn’t help but fall victim to the doubt creeping into your mind. He was looking right at you now– except he wasn’t really. It was more like he was looking through you.
“Then…then why?” You whispered, taking another tentative step forward. The space that both of you created, consciously or not, was unbearable. You just wanted things to go back to normal, was that so much to ask for?
“I don’t hate you. You just don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand!” You threw your hands up in the air in exasperation, wondering what the hell you had to do to make this conversation go somewhere, because right now it just felt like you were running in circles. “Caleb, please, just tell me why you’re avoiding me, because you are.”
He knew he was and hadn’t a single excuse, other than the reason he swore you never burdened you with. You were looking at him so pleadingly, grasping at straws to figure him out, but for the first time in his life, he found himself unable to give you an answer. Instead, his throat constricted, his anxiety keeping him silent.
“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” Your face crumbled, and upon witnessing it, so did his heart. Your lower lip trembled like a leaf on a windy day, and you bit down on it to stop it from doing so, doing your best to stay composed. Running a hand through your hair, you let out a shaky sigh. “I knew it, I should have never– we shouldn’t have slept together. That should have never happened and now everything is fucked up, and its all because of me.”
Yes. No. The answer wasn’t as straightforward as he needed it to be, and it paralysed him. The anguish you felt was on display for him and anyone who happened to walk by you to see, plain as day, as it twisted your features. It felt as if he had been stabbed in the gut when you backed away from him.
Turning away, you walked off. You had ruined things, you were sure of it, and it killed you. Once again, you let the rift between him and you grow with every step you took to escape the crash you had been responsible for.
A hand on your wrist. You gasped as he caught you, spinning you around and forcing you to face him once again.
Caleb had followed you into the gardens.
“Do you regret it?”
The question cut through you, and you gaped at him. The fervour you were so used to seeing in him suddenly returned, burning brightly in his eyes as he pinned you in place with them, his grip on your wrist never letting up. Question for question, with neither of you getting the answers you wanted.
You scoffed, rapidly blinking away the tears that you felt coming on. “If it's the reason things are weird between us, then yes! I do regret it. I need my best friend, Caleb. I need you.”
How could you not need him? He was your constant, the one person who had been by your side through thick and thin. You needed him in your life, by your side, in whatever way you were allowed to, even if it wasn’t what you truly wanted anymore.
He let go of your wrist. “I can’t do it.”
Your biggest fear was coming true right in front of your very eyes, and you hadn’t the faintest idea of how to stop it. It was taking form, bleeding into existence. You were losing him.
“You can’t do what?”
“I can’t be your friend. I just can’t.” He shook his head, shutting his eyes like he couldn’t bear to look at you.
Your voice comes out weak. Small. “But you said we’ll always be friends.”
“Well, I lied, okay! I can’t be your friend, not when–” He sucked in a breath, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to reign himself in, stopping his outburst before it could happen. It wasn’t fair to you, none of this was, but he was at his breaking point. “I could do it before, but not anymore.”
“Why?” You whispered, those tears you had so valiantly fought off surging back. Once again, you felt like you had been trampled on, pinned down by a merciless gravity that had no regard for your need to breathe. You weren’t sure there was a reason to fight against it anymore.
He looked up at the darkening sky, deflating. Staying away from you hadn’t made it any better– if anything, it had only made it worse, his yearning to be beside you bubbling to an all-time high. There wasn’t a point in hiding anymore, not when it was turning out to be detrimental rather than soothing.
“Because,” he paused, peering up at the cloudy sky. He couldn’t see the stars. “I can’t go back to being your friend when I’ve tasted you. How am I supposed to act like I’ve never kissed you when I’ve had you in my bed? To pretend like I don’t know how it feels to have you like that? God, Y/n, I can’t do it.
Caleb, whom you had viewed as strong and untouchable all your life. Caleb, whom you had endlessly looked up to, sounded almost tortured, like it pained him to even have to tell you this.
“What are you saying?”
You hoped you didn’t look as terrified as you sounded. It felt as if someone had pulled the rug out from beneath you, but the ground underneath it was falling apart too, leaving you to stumble around and try to find your footing amidst the cracks that remained. If you fell now, you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to get up.
But that was the thing, wasn’t it? You had already fallen, and hard.
Caleb was stripped of his usual self-assuredness and confident smile. He was laid bare there in front of you, fixing you with a look that was so pained it tore through you.
“I’m in love with you.”
The confession ripped through you, although you didn’t register it at first. Those five words felt so improbable to have been said by him to you of all people that the only thing you could feel was disbelief. It just didn’t make sense. Why would something you longed to hear so badly be said with such sadness?
He mistook your stunned silence for aversion. He should have stopped there, given up and walked away, but now that he had finally, finally let it out, it was hard to stop. It was like a dam had broken within him; everything he had ever kept to himself when it came to you rushed out all at once.
“I’m in love with you, Y/n,” he said again, scoffing slightly at himself. No nicknames, just your name spoken in that reverent tone, like you were a divine being he was a devout follower of. “And it kills me because I know you’ll never see me as anything more than a best friend. You’ve made that very clear, and I never want to overstep, so I stayed away from you.”
“Caleb–”
He didn’t let you cut in. “I could do it when I didn’t know what it felt like to have you as something more than friends. The moment we crossed that line, it was all over for me. I would be your friend until I died if I didn’t know.” His hands were shaking, but they stayed by his sides, fingers curled into frustrated fists as he rambled.
“I–”
“But I can’t, Pips. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be your best friend when I’ve loved you my entire life.” And you’re falling all over again, gravity pulling you down, down, down as something unfurled in your chest. “So please just–”
“Goddamnit Caleb, would you just shut up for one fucking minute!?”
You hadn’t meant to snap, but he was seriously starting to piss you off, going on and on without giving you the chance to speak your mind. Immediately, he clamped his mouth shut, preparing himself for the inevitable rejection he had imagined too many times to count in his head. You, on the other hand, thought you were going to faint, overwhelmed by everything that had just happened. It was everything you had convinced yourself was impossible.
And yet…
You kept your eyes locked onto his as you closed the distance between the two of you, so close now that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, combating the chill in the evening air. Swallowing, you asked.
“You’re in love with me?”
He clenched his jaw and nodded. He knew what the consequences were, he was ready for them. It was about time he faced the truth anyway.
What he didn’t expect was for you to start laughing.
You clamped a hand over your mouth as incredulous laughter left you, eyes practically sparkling. Oddly enough, it sounded a little watery, like you were crying at the same time.
And then he realised you were, in fact, crying, tears streaming down your face. Alarmed, he stepped forward and cupped your face, instinctively wiping them away with the pads of his thumbs. This did nothing to dampen your hysterical laughter as you leaned into his touch.
“What the fuck?” He muttered, concern overtaking his previous, heartsick expression. “Are you dying or something?”
“Or something,” you managed to get out, gripping his arms, “We’re so stupid.”
“That…..okay, I’m officially confused. And a little scared.”
“Caleb,” you whispered once you stopped giggling, lethally soft. You looked up at him adoringly, eyes shining and tinged slightly red from your tears. “I’m in love with you, too.”
He froze, mouth falling open. He didn’t have to say anything, though, because honestly, he had said enough. It was your turn now.
You leaned further into his touch, nuzzling your cheek against his palm. “I think I’ve loved you for a long time, but I only realised after….after everything that happened between us.” You flushed, trying to word it as delicately as possible. “And I drove myself crazy because I thought you’d never see me that way–”
“I’ve always seen you that way.” He breathed out, those captivating eyes of his trained on you in wonder. Butterflies came to life in your stomach.
“– So I called it off. I said we needed to stop because I was so scared I’d lose you.”
By the time you finished, you were both staring at each other wide-eyed. His grip on you tightened, one hand falling to your waist as he tugged you closer.
“You love me?”
“I love you,” you nodded. “It just took me a while to figure it out.”
“Pipsqueak.” You had never been more grateful than you were right then to hear that stupid petname. “Oh my god, we are stupid.”
Without another word, Caleb pulled you into a kiss. You reciprocated instantly, wrapping your arms around his neck as you smiled against his lips, unable to contain yourself anymore. He kissed you like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do, holding you like you were precious, which to him, you undoubtedly were. It was your first proper kiss with him without any pretence or excuse surrounding it, and you couldn’t have asked for more.
Chuckling when you dissolved into more giddy giggles, he wiped away any stray tears from your face and rested his forehead against yours. After all these years waiting and hoping that you’d feel the same way, he knew he’d never let you go now.
“I love you, too.” It was a relief to say out loud and to your face, coming out of hiding and letting the truth of his feelings sit out in the light. You pecked his lips again and hugged him, revelling in his warmth and the delight of your feelings being returned. Your best friend loved you back, and everything in the world made sense again.
“Don’t be my best friend,” You mumbled fondly, cheek against his shoulder as you laid out your final request. “Just be mine.”
He smiled, an expression so dazzling you’d never forget it. “I’ll always be yours.”
When Caleb looked back at the sky, he could see the stars.
“Are you done?”
“Shh.”
You rolled your eyes, flopping onto the pile of plushes on your bed as you pulled out your phone and went through your messages. To be fair, it had barely been two minutes since you handed him your laptop, but you were impatient, wanting to know what he thought as soon as possible.
Caleb’s eyes were focused on the screen as he read, humming occasionally as he scrolled through the scene. If anyone had told you a year ago that you’d be letting him read a part of your writing, let alone a sex scene of all things, you would have either laughed in their face or had a mental breakdown.
Yet here you were. Life sure had a sense of humour.
Finally, after an agonising ten minutes, he spoke. “Wow.”
“Is it good?”
He shut your laptop and put it back on your desk carefully, before walking over to where you were. Then, he dropped himself onto the bed as well, purposely caging you in his arms and making sure you were trapped under his weight. Squealing, you hit his arm playfully.
“Caleb!”
Your boyfriend laughed mischievously, lifting his head so you could see the smirk that curled on his lips. “It was good. Very good.”
You sighed in relief. “Thank god.”
“So I must be really good in bed, huh?”
There it was. You groaned as you tried to push him off of you, even though you knew it was a futile task. “Don’t even try, you smug asshole.”
“What?” He asked, dripping in faux innocence. “I mean, you did use me for research purposes. Is it not a fair assumption to make?” He was so proud of it, and knew damn well that the entire sex scene he had just read had been falicitated because of him. Every part of it had been pulled from things the two of you had done, the thought of which made your skin heat up and your cheeks burn.
“You’re so annoying,” you huffed, giving up on trying to get him to stop squashing you. Instead, you adjusted, curling into him. Accepting this, he switched your positions, pulling you on top of him and resting his chin on your shoulder.
“You like it.”
“Unfortunately.”
You yelped when he pinched your side, but it dissolved into giggles when he began peppering kisses all over your face. Slipping his arm around your waist, he held you close, grining against your skin. If you had to stay like this forever, in his arms and under the glow of his radiant smile, you would be content.
“You’re an amazing writer, Pipsqueak,” he cradled your face in his hands, his love for you so achingly obvious in the way he looked at you that you wondered how you had never noticed it before. Rubbing his fingers against your cheek, he kissed your nose. “It would be just as great even if I hadn’t– uh– assisted.”
Though you snickered at him, you couldn’t stop yourself from beaming at his praise for your work. “I’m glad you did though,” you let him pull you closer, arm looping around your waist as you propped a leg over his. “Otherwise we might have never figured our shit out.”
He snorted. “Thank god for research. You would have kept me in the friendzone forever.”
“Hey!”
He silenced any further protests that you could have made, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. All possible complaints fled your mind the moment he did, eagerly kissing him back. You didn’t think you’d ever get enough of this and you had no idea how you had survived for so long while denying yourself of it.
Caleb had loved you for twelve years, steadily standing by your side and holding your hand even when you couldn’t see it. He had walked beside you through it all, the highest of highs and lowest of lows, lifting you up high over his shoulders with a grin on his face. He would never leave you behind, because he was your home. The one you had grown up with and wanted to wake up to everyday for the rest of your life.
He had taught you love without imposing it on you, silently showing it to you with every little thing he did. Your best friend. Your love. It had taken you a long time to catch up, but when you finally made it to the finish line, you found him waiting there for you patiently, holding out his hand for you to take.
The next time Tara called him your boyfriend, you didn’t correct her.
❥ summary: “You’ve been in love with the prince for god knows how long. For the longest time you were content with admiring him from afar, knowing your adoration for your favourite prince could never be revealed. Until one day, everything changed.”
❥ genre: fluff + angst + smut
❥ word count: 32k+ (buckle up!)
⟶ warnings: royal!au. childhood best friends to lovers. fools/idiots to lovers. forbidden romance. one bed trope / forced proximity. secret admirer!sylus au. mutual pining that they think 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, lots of pet names (kitten, sweetie, angel, my love, my beloved, baby… etc). this is not beta read sorry!
⟶ A/N: man it’s been a long time coming… ever since I got into the lads fandom I wanted to write my own sylus fanfic. took me some time because I had so many scenarios and ideas but it was hard to settle with one. this fic means the world to me! I’ve written the beginning a long while ago for another fandom but never came around to finish it. it was always a wip sitting in my drafts. waiting to be finished and shared. never had the energy or motivation to continue this story but here I am now. and I hope everyone enjoys it as much as I loved writing it 🥹 it’s my biggest fic yet! also english isn’t my first language so I’m sorry for the errors <3 (also I ran out of space so I am sorry for not tagging 🥺)
this goes without saying, but if you don’t like it don’t read it <3
AO3 • masterlist
You had worked at the palace of the kingdom Onychinus for as long as you could remember. You knew every nook and cranny—every secret passage and hidden room in that palace. It was practically your home. You took care of it, making sure that it was clean and pretty every day. Your childhood wish was to work for the royal family, just like your parents did. Your family had served the royal family as maids and whatnot for generations, so it only made sense that you grew up around them, and subsequently, their child.
Sylus Qin.
You don’t regret it. Working for royalty.
In fact, if anything, you’re grateful. Because if not for your position now, how could have you crossed paths with a soul like him?
You still remember the day you met him. Clear as day.
Such a sweet sweet day it was. The memory is still fresh in your mind, like the scent of your childhood room. A scent you never quite forgot. It faded over time, sure. But if you strained your memory even now, you can still smell it. The scent of comfort.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Decidedly, there have been many days in your life. Some happy, some sad. Some you remember better than others while others fade away into the back of your mind. Some are ingrained so deep in your mind that when you close your eyes, you can see every detail as if it’s currently happening. None, however, do you remember more clearly than the day you met Sylus. It had been almost two decades ago; when you were five, and he was six.
You remember being nervous — your parents had brought you along to the castle, to introduce you to the royal family — you used to be a very lonely child, not being able to make friends easily. You were in awe as you walked through the luxurious castle with wide eyes, seeing it for the first time, it was truly a beautiful place.
As a reward for your family’s many generations of loyalty, they got the honour of working directly for the royal family. Your parents were close to the royal family despite that they were working for them. When you were very young, your mother was a personal attendant to the young prince.
It had all been incredibly overwhelming back then, and you’d only hidden further behind your mother’s legs. Until, you’d spotted a boy, looking just as lonely and nervous as you, also behind his mothers legs. The prince.
A fond smile curls on your face as you remember Sylus’ little frame. With cute round cheeks, curious crimson eyes, long silver hair, dressed in fine fabrics that were only made for royal people. He had sparked your curiosity, his intriguing eyes looking at you as if he longed for your friendship already.
Your parents pushed you into his direction, you’d approached him hesitantly. Immediately, he’d give you the brightest gummy smile once you were in front of him. And that one action — that one smile — had sealed it between the two of you. Ever since then, Sylus has been your best friend. He’d stick out his hand for you to take and would tug you along with him down the hall, showing you around the palace as you both giggled.
Nostalgia cascades through you as you continue mulling over your relationship with prince Sylus. You’ve lived twenty-five years, and throughout the vast majority of it - he has been your only constant.
And for as long as you could remember, you’ve had an intense and hopeless crush on the prince, Sylus Qin.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
It was completely unprofessional, of course, your feelings for Prince Sylus, and nothing could ever come to grow from them. You knew that. But you refused to ignore them. Partly because you hadn’t allowed for them to interfere with your work, and if they weren’t hurting anyone, then what was the harm in letting them blossom? But most importantly because they had been a part of you for so long—rooted themselves so deeply in your heart—that you were afraid it would be impossible even if you tried.
So you were trying to be content in admiring him secretly while being his childhood friend. And though you knew he could never be yours, it didn’t stop you from revelling in the sweet swell of your heart whenever he smiled, or from imagining at night what it would be like if he was. You loved Sylus, so deeply and irrevocably, your whole heart and mind was consumed by him at all times.
Of course, you knew that one day, probably sooner than later, he would take a spouse, as was his duty. A noble woman or man, fit to rule by his side. Or perhaps someone from another nation or country, one that would strengthen the bonds between their countries.
Because no matter how badly it may hurt you when the time comes, no matter how much you’d cry, you knew you would try to be happy for him. When he managed to find someone to love, even though that someone would never be you, you would try. Because you wanted nothing but Sylus to experience happiness and true love, even if it wasn’t you.
And you tried to tell yourself you were content, your feelings remaining completely unknown to anyone but yourself.
Or so you thought.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
You sighed dreamily as you stared at him. Prince Sylus, stood across the room, leaning against the wall of the castle's kitchens as he looked over what he wrote on a sheet of paper, probably something important that had to do with the kingdom.
He was ethereal. The way he concentrated, his crimson eyes focused on the paper, scanning his handwriting over and over again. His beautiful long silver hair constantly fell before his eyes, and he’d run a hand through it in a gesture that made your breath catch every single time. His soft lips mouthed the words he’d written as his brows furrowed from time to time, almost as if he wasn’t satisfied with his own work. And most likely, he wasn’t—he was such a perfectionist.
“Quit staring, he’ll notice,” Tara whispered, snapping you out of your reverie. Your fellow servant and best friend didn’t even look up from her work, but somehow she always knew.
Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and you tried to hide it with a glare sent her way.
“I wasn’t staring. I was deep in thought,” you murmured, forcing your eyes back to the strawberries you were supposed to be cutting ages ago. The ones that Caleb, one of the kitchen’s cooks, had assigned you two to prepare for a cake.
“Deep in thoughts about Sylus.” she snickered, and you threw a strawberry at her. It bounced satisfyingly off her shoulder and tumbled to the floor.
She was still laughing, and you frowned at her, throwing a quick nervous glance at Sylus—who was already looking at you. Your heart leapt into your throat. You forced a tight smile as the corner of his lips lifted up before he focused his eyes back on the paper. Sighing, you turned back to Tara.
“Stop it! This isn’t funny. Don’t you have any work to do?” you asked through gritted teeth, hating how observant and sharp she could be.
It didn’t help that she moved right next to you, ostensibly to cut several other fruits, which meant she certainly wouldn’t leave you alone now.
“I wasn’t trying to be funny—I was being honest. And yes, but I love annoying you more,” she teased, sticking her tongue out at you like a child.
“Maybe you should focus on your tasks instead of invading my personal space,” you said as sweetly as you could manage.
Tara rolled her eyes. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You should really find the courage to confess your feelings to him.”
Your eyes widened almost immediately, your mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. Then you shrugged and turned your attention back to the strawberries in front of you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible over the kitchen noise.
“Oh please, don’t lie to me. It’s obvious that you do,” she said with a knowing smile that made you want to disappear into the floor.
You were quiet, awfully so, which made Tara’s smile widen with satisfaction. She took your silence as the confession it was.
“See,” she said with that same teasing grin.
You sighed, your shoulders dropping in defeat.
“There’s one thing you seem to forget… he’s a prince and I’m well… me.”
You were ready to steal one last glance at Sylus, but it turned out to be futile—the place where he’d been leaning against the wall was empty, and Sylus was nowhere in sight. Where the hell had he disappeared to?
“What are you two whispering about?”
A low but soft voice sounded beside you, and you nearly jumped out of your skin to find Sylus standing mere centimeters from your table. The scent of vanilla soap and your favourite musky smell filled your nostrils, while a feeling of comfort and familiarity flooded your heart. His silver hair was parted more to his right side, revealing his beautiful, smooth forehead. His crimson-colored eyes twinkled with mischief as he grinned, looking between you two.
You were about to open your mouth to say something—anything—but Tara beat you to it.
“Actually, we were talking about you, silly!” She smiled devilishly as she stared directly at you.
Every ounce of blood in your entire body rushed to your face in a tsunami of total, abject mortification. Your eyes widened at her words. “W-what?” you spluttered, feeling as though your heart might actually beat its way out of your chest. She couldn’t be serious.
“Oh really?” Sylus questioned curiously, his smile growing with amusement that made your stomach flip.
You felt as if the whole world had stopped as you held your breath, waiting for your friend’s next words.
“Yes—about how annoying you are,” she said with a grin before turning back to the fruit in front of her, as casual as if she’d been discussing the weather.
Your whole body instantly relaxed, the tension draining away. You were so relieved she hadn’t told him the truth that you could have kissed her. A small smile formed on your lips as you looked at your two friends. Sylus, on the other hand, looked genuinely offended. His face fell at your friend’s words, and he rolled his eyes as he scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s a fact,” she shrugged, continuing to cut pieces of banana after finishing her batch of strawberries.
Sylus then turned to you with the biggest, most exaggerated pout you’d ever seen on his handsome face—a look so ridiculous and endearing that you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing. “Is it true?”
“Is what true?” you said with a small smile, moving back to your task at hand, trying desperately to appear nonchalant.
He huffed dramatically before sneaking a hand between you and Tara to steal a strawberry from right in front of you.
“Hey! Those are for a cake,” you gasped, giving him a playful push as you turned just enough to watch him pop the fruit into his mouth with the biggest, most self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“I’m the prince. I can do whatever I want,” he said cheekily before quickly snatching a piece of banana from Tara’s cutting board.
“Don’t make us kick you out!” Tara warned, jabbing a finger into his ribs with surprising force.
“Ow!” Sylus grumbled under his breath, rubbing his hand against his ribs as he backed away from both of you with an expression of mock betrayal. “And to think I call you both my friends.”
“Be happy that we put up with you, Prince Qin!” Tara shouted after him, using his formal name with exaggerated reverence.
You watched him shake his head from side to side, that small smile still playing on his lips, before he walked out of the kitchen. Even his exit was graceful.
Tara shifted her body, facing you once again as you chuckled at the interaction. She leaned closer, her expression turning serious. “Just because I saved your ass doesn’t mean you get to lie to me.”
You sighed, leaning both of your arms on the table and looking at the ceiling in the most dramatic, depressive way possible.
“Wow, you really do have a crush on him.”
“He’s not my crush! Besides, he’s the prince, which makes it forbidden or something,” you rolled your eyes, took the knife back into your hand, and twirled it around with a frown settling on your lips.
“So? True love always finds its way,” she said with a little smirk, showing her hopelessly romantic side.
You rolled your eyes again before sighing as you continued to cut the strawberries. It was forbidden to feel or show any romantic feelings for a royal when you were a servant. Tara knew this very well, yet she refused to let it go.
“So what if I had feelings? It wouldn’t change anything. He’s a prince, and he’s meant to marry someone from a royal family or someone else important,” you said, looking down at the table as if it were suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. “We all know I’m not someone important.”
Tara sighed before whispering your name softly. “You might not be someone of royal descent, but you’re one of the most important people in his life.” She looked at you seriously, her usual teasing tone completely gone. “Hell!” She snorted, “I’m pretty sure you’re the most important person he’s ever met.”
You bit your lip nervously as you looked up at her. “You think so?”
“I know so,” Tara said firmly, moving closer. Her eyes softened as she took in your nervous and uncertain expression. “Come here.” She wrapped her arms around you, enveloping you in a hug that smelled like honey and home. You felt yourself melt and relax into her embrace. “I know I shouldn’t be giving you all this hope, but…” she sighed, “I can’t help but tell you the truth.”
“Thank you, Tara. I appreciate it,” you whispered as you pulled away from her.
Tara smiled warmly before turning back to the fruit in front of you both. “Now, let’s continue before Caleb kills us for talking too much,” she nudged you playfully.
You giggled at her words, shaking your head in disbelief. A smile lingered on your face as you continued cutting the berries. She never ceased to amaze you with her ability to uplift your mood and make your days more bearable, even when your heart ached with impossible longing.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Later that evening, you were reading one of your favourite comfort books in bed when you heard commotion outside your chamber. The noise persisted relentlessly, making it impossible to concentrate. You found yourself reading the same paragraph over and over, the words blurring together meaninglessly. Your curiosity overwhelmed you. Finally, you placed your bookmark between the pages, closed the book, and slid out of bed.
You stepped out of your room into the main hall of the servant headquarters when someone suddenly bumped into you.
You were about to apologize when the person spoke first.
“Oh my god, here you are! I was looking for you,” Tara exclaimed breathlessly.
You barely had time to turn around and greet your friend before she tugged you along the hall. The place was filled with servants, all chatting loudly, and as you passed through the crowd, you heard some of them whispering while stealing glances at you.
Anxiety crept up your spine. You felt increasingly uncomfortable with the idea that they might be talking about you.
“Tara—” you started.
Your name rang out within the crowd. Both you and Tara came to a halt as you realised the voice belonged to one of the royal guards. Anxiety bubbled inside you even more intensely as you made eye contact with the guard. Multiple possibilities swam through your head as you tried to think of a reason why they would be looking for you.
What if your secret had come out?
“Why are they looking for me?” you whispered to your friend. She shrugged at your words, but you could see she was just as nervous about the situation as you were.
The crowd dispersed as two guards made their way toward you. Luke and Kieran—Sylus’s personal and favourite guards. They were twins who always wore their dark masks while on duty. You’d never once seen them remove them while guarding Sylus. Except for moments like these.
Silence fell over the room as they both stopped right in front of you. They gave you a serious look, scanning you up and down before both of them broke into matching grins.
“We have a delivery for you,” Kieran announced, looking at you before opening his satchel to retrieve something from it.
Your body relaxed slightly at his words, anxiety dissipating slowly. Though the whispering in the room continued, now with renewed vigor.
“A delivery? For me?” you questioned. Normally no one sent you anything. You didn’t have many friends outside the castle, and most of your friends and family lived and worked for the royal family, so there was no reason for you to receive anything.
“Aha, here it is!” one of the twins exclaimed triumphantly. In his hands was a deep magenta-colored velvet book. He dusted off the cover with exaggerated care before turning to face you.
His eyes twinkled as he extended the book toward you. You took the object carefully, inspecting it. The velvet material felt luxurious and soft beneath your fingertips. You flipped the book to its cover, and your eyes widened as you read the golden printed letters embossed there:
“THE SECRET LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS”
Your heart stuttered. This book was one of the things you’d always wanted—had dreamed about for years. You loved flowers, but above everything else, you were a hopeless romantic. People close to you knew you’d always wanted to learn about the language of flowers. You’d first seen this book years ago when running errands in town, displayed in a cute little bookshop’s window, and you’d been dreaming about owning it ever since.
You knew the palace had a vast library with countless books you wished you could read one day. Sylus had shown you the room once, knowing how much you loved reading. Unfortunately, you hadn’t had the chance to go there and lose yourself among the shelves because of your demanding work schedule.
You’d always loved learning and were so eager to educate yourself in every way possible. Everyone knew how desperately you wanted to understand the world and its people and everything that existed on this planet and beyond.
But who would have gotten you this book?
“I think there must be a mistake—” you furrowed your brows, still staring at the book in disbelief.
“No, it was meant to be given to you,” Luke interrupted cheerfully.
“By who?” you whispered, finally looking up at him.
“We don’t know,” he said with an exaggerated shrug. You looked at them suspiciously, trying to decipher whether they were lying.
The men tried to keep their faces as serious as possible, but you caught the corners of their mouths twitching upward.
“Luke, Kieran—” Tara complained, crossing her arms.
“Tara,” the guards mimicked her tone in perfect unison, which would have been funny under different circumstances.
“I know you both know who gave it,” Tara narrowed her eyes, poking a finger into both of their chests simultaneously.
“Hey—”
“You three know each other?” you asked, looking between them in confusion.
“Yeah, we’re friends,” Kieran replied with a big smile.
“In your dreams,” Tara teased.
“Hey! That’s not very nice,” they both pouted in perfect synchronization, looking so ridiculous that you almost laughed despite your confusion.
Your friend laughed. “I’m just messing with you guys.”
“Okay,” you said with a deep sigh, rolling your eyes at their antics. “Still, this doesn’t make any sense.”
“What?” Tara questioned.
“This!” you whisper-yelled, pointing at the book you were clutching in one hand like a lifeline. You felt anxiety creeping back as you focused on the whispers of the other servants, your eyes darting all over the room while you gnawed at your bottom lip.
Luke sighed before turning to address the other people in the room. He cleared his throat authoritatively before speaking. “Please return to your chambers. There’s nothing to see here.”
Reluctantly, the servants dispersed, some returning to their chambers while others occupied themselves far enough away to avoid the guards’ glares.
“What’s so interesting about me getting a delivery?” you exhaled deeply, fatigue evident in your sigh.
“Maybe because the twins here made a whole theatrical entrance and announcement about having a gift for you,” Tara chuckled.
“A gift?” You furrowed your brows, staring at Luke and Kieran.
“Yeah,” the men smiled sheepishly, simultaneously scratching the backs of their necks in an endearing display of awkwardness.
“Who would want to give me a gift?” you asked, mostly to yourself, your voice small and uncertain.
Both of them shrugged in perfect unison, matching smirks spreading across their faces, which only made you groan in frustration. “Come on, I feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t know.”
Tara shook her head. “I don’t know, but I’m sure these two do!” She gestured to the twins before crossing her arms in front of her chest.
Luke let out a grunt of protest. “I do not know! Besides,” he said, an amused smile spreading over his lips as he leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “even if I did know, I wouldn’t reveal your secret admirer’s identity.”
“Secret admirer?” you nearly yelled, your voice echoing in the now-quiet hall.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
A few days had passed, and you still couldn’t get the gift out of your mind. You couldn’t seem to wrap your head around the fact that you had a secret admirer. Let alone the note that had been tucked inside the book.
You called it a note. Tara, on the other hand, called it a love letter—and in her defense, it was far too lengthy and heartfelt to be a mere note. She was right, though you couldn’t quite allow yourself to accept that you could be desired in such a way.
You’d read the words written on the “letter” so many times that you’d memorized them within days, carrying them in your heart like a precious secret:
“My moonlight,
I knew how much you wanted this book, so I thought I’d give it to you. A wonderful person like you deserves everything their heart desires. I cannot believe it has taken me so long to tell you how I feel about you. Unfortunately, I do not have the courage to express my feelings to you in person yet. I hope one day I’ll be able to confess to you who I am, but for now, writing to you will have to suffice. There are no words adequate enough to tell you how I truly feel. When I first met you, I knew immediately that there was something very special about you. You’re truly the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, though I think your heart is even more beautiful. You are kind and so warm to people, and I can see that you treat everyone around you with respect and genuine care. You’re so intelligent and funny. Your smile lights up any room you walk into, like the sun breaking through clouds. You deserve to know that there is someone out there who thinks you’re the greatest person that exists. I am truly enchanted and enamoured by you.
I hope my words have brought warmth to your heart and a smile to your face.
With all my love,
Your Secret Admirer”
You had no idea who would send you such a beautiful letter. Reading it felt like being wrapped in a warm embrace, like being seen and cherished in a way you’d never experienced before. And though you tried not to hope, tried not to let your heart imagine impossible things, you couldn’t help but wonder, couldn’t help but dream, about who might have written such tender words meant only for you.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
It went on for days—this secret correspondence that had become the highlight of your existence. You found yourself rushing to your room multiple times throughout the day, your heart fluttering with anticipation as you checked for a new little note or letter. It had started simply enough, once a day: quotes from your favorite authors carefully transcribed in that now-familiar angular script, or little poems you already knew by heart but somehow meant more when written in his hand.
After a while, your collection of letters grew, tucked carefully into your bedside table drawer like precious treasures. Each one made you smile wider than the last. The letters were always personal, intimate in a way that made your chest ache. You could tell some of the passages were written specifically for you—original words that could only have come from someone who truly saw you, who paid attention to the smallest details of who you were. You would always look around afterward with a grateful smile, hoping that somehow, wherever your secret admirer was hiding, they could see how much these messages meant to you.
One afternoon, you found yourself in the horse stables, tending to the pregnant mare you’d been worrying over for weeks. The moment you’d heard that your favourite horse, Magnolia—a beautiful dark brown mare with soulful eyes and a gentle temperament—was about to give birth to her foal, you’d rushed down to the stables with the biggest surge of excitement you’d experienced in a while. There was something pure about it, something that made you feel like a child again, full of wonder and hope.
You and the veterinarian worked together to care for Magnolia through her labour. While the vet guided the mare with practiced expertise, you took your time to caress her coat, running your hands along her neck and shoulder in long, soothing strokes. You whispered soft words of encouragement to her, your voice low and gentle, telling her she was doing wonderfully, that she was so strong, that it would all be over soon. Magnolia’s dark eyes would find yours occasionally, and you could swear she understood, could feel the love and support you were trying to convey through your touch.
The labor was difficult—longer and more complicated than anyone had anticipated. There were moments when worry knotted tight in your stomach, when the vet’s expression grew tense and focused. You stayed by Magnolia’s side through all of it, never letting go, your hand steady even when your heart raced with concern. You murmured prayers under your breath, bargaining with whatever forces might be listening to keep both mother and baby safe.
After what felt like an eternity but was really only a couple of long, arduous hours, she finally gave birth to her foal. The little baby was just as beautiful as his mother—all long, gangly legs and soft brown coat, still damp and struggling to understand this strange new world. Your breath caught at the sight of him. There was something miraculous about witnessing new life, something that made tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
“He’s perfect,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as the foal took his first shaky breaths.
You took your time afterward, moving slowly and carefully as you cleaned the stable. The scent of fresh hay and horse and new life filled your lungs as you worked, occasionally pausing to tend to both Magnolia and her newborn. You were cooing softly as you gently wiped down the little foal with a clean cloth, marveling at how delicate he was, how his tiny ears flicked at every sound. “You’re going to be so strong, just like your mama,” you told him, your voice sing-song and full of affection. “So beautiful and brave.”
Magnolia watched you with those intelligent dark eyes, her head turning to follow your movements as you cared for both her and her baby. There was trust there, deep and unshakeable. She knew you would never hurt them, that your hands were safe. It made your heart swell with tenderness—this simple, profound act of being trusted by another living being.
Little did you know, you weren’t alone in the stables.
Your secret admirer stood in the shadows near the entrance, partially concealed by the wooden beam and the angle of the afternoon light streaming through the cracks in the stable walls. He had followed you here, not for the first time, though he’d never admit to how often he found excuses to be wherever you were.
He watched, transfixed, as you moved around the stable with such gentle purpose. The way you spoke to the animals with genuine affection, your voice soft and melodic. The way your face had lit up with pure, unguarded joy when the foal had been born, tears glistening on your cheeks that you’d quickly brushed away. The way you’d stayed through the entire difficult labor, never once complaining, your dedication absolute.
This was what he loved most about you—this boundless capacity for care, for tenderness, for finding beauty in simple moments. The way you treated every living thing with respect and kindness, whether it was a prince or a horse or a kitchen mouse you’d once refused to let Caleb trap. You had the gentlest heart he’d ever known, and watching you like this, unobserved and completely yourself, made his chest ache with an affection so profound it nearly overwhelmed him.
He should leave. He knew that. It felt like a violation somehow, to watch you in these private moments, even though his intentions were pure. Even though all he wanted was to memorise every detail—the way the fading sunlight caught in your hair, the soft smile on your lips as you stroked the foal’s nose, the smudge of dirt on your cheek that you hadn’t noticed.
But he couldn’t make himself move. Couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.
You were humming now, some old lullaby he vaguely recognized, and the sound drifted through the stable like something sacred. The foal’s eyes were beginning to droop, lulled by your voice and gentle touch. Even Magnolia looked peaceful, her breathing deep and steady now that the ordeal was over.
And you—you looked radiant. Happy in a pure, uncomplicated way that made his heart clench with longing.
Something tightened in his chest, a fierce, aching want that went beyond mere desire. He wanted to be the reason for that smile. Wanted to fill your days with moments like this, simple and pure and beautiful. Wanted to spend a lifetime watching that expression of contentment cross your face, knowing he’d put it there.
But patience was something he’d mastered long ago. So he remained concealed, content to simply watch over you. You were light itself—his moonlight cutting through the perpetual darkness of his carefully constructed world. The heart he’d thought too guarded, too controlled to truly feel had surrendered to you completely, irrevocably. Falling for you hadn’t been a choice—it had been inevitable, unavoidable, like gravity pulling him into your orbit. And now that he’d fallen, there was no going back.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The next day, you found another note from your secret admirer in the kitchen.
A single note clung to a small bouquet of gardenias, the ink slightly smudged at the end of the writing:
“My affection and admiration for you grows stronger and fonder every day.”
You stared at it for a second too long. The kitchen bustled around you—pots and pans clanking against each other, the sizzle of food cooking on the stove, the chattering and yelling of cooks at one another—but your ears tuned it all out as you reread the handwriting. Angular and sharp cursive letters. A slight right slant. You couldn’t place it, though something about it tugged at the edges of your memory.
“Someone’s got a secret admirer,” Caleb sang, catching sight of the note as he passed by.
Tara snickered next to him as you glanced up at them both. Warmth spread across your cheeks and throughout your entire body as you grew flustered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”
Caleb snorted. “Sure you don’t.”
Rafayel, passing by with a hefty sack of flour tucked under his arm, paused just long enough to lift a perfectly sculpted brow. “Wait—who has a secret admirer?”
Tara and Caleb said your name in perfect unison.
“No way!” Rafayel exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with delight. “Hold on, let me put this sack away. I need to know everything.”
“Raf, it’s nothing!” you groaned, clutching the note a little tighter. “There’s no need to make a big deal out of it.”
The purple-haired man practically tossed the flour bag onto a nearby counter before rushing back to join the three of you by the chopping table, looking far too invested already.
“It is a big deal!” he said, leaning against the table with a cheeky smile that rivaled Tara’s. “It’s about time someone told you what everybody already sees.”
“And what is that?” you questioned, genuinely curious despite yourself.
“How beautiful and wonderful you truly are,” Rafayel said matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Right,” you murmured softly before continuing, “I don’t think this person means anything serious by this.”
“Sure,” Tara hummed, not even trying to hide her knowing grin. “You literally received a love letter a week ago along with a book about ‘the language of flowers’—your favorite, might I add—and you mean to tell me that all of this means nothing?”
You felt heat crawl up your neck. You picked up the note from your secret admirer, turning it over in your hands nervously, when Sylus entered the kitchen.
Your breath caught in your throat as you took him in—hair still slightly damp at the ends from his bath, the strands curling softly against his neck in a way that made your fingers itch to touch them. He wore a loose black button-up shirt with the top few buttons undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his toned chest, paired with loose dark trousers. And for once, he was wearing his glasses, which sat low on the bridge of his nose, giving him an unfairly attractive scholarly look.
He looked so… normal and effortlessly handsome. Like he wasn’t literally royalty. Like he was just a man who’d overslept. He looked like a dream you didn’t dare have in daylight. Like every secret longing you’d ever tucked away in your heart had taken physical form just to torment you.
The moment his crimson eyes locked onto yours, he walked deliberately toward you, and your heart kicked into a gallop. The scent of him reached you first, vanilla soap from his bath and that intoxicating musky undertone that was purely him, familiar and comforting yet somehow making your knees weak.
Your friends somehow—suspiciously—found something else to do, busying themselves with chores around the kitchen and leaving you completely alone with him.
“Morning, sweetie,” he said, his voice warm and a little rough around the edges, like he hadn’t spoken yet today. The intimacy of it made your stomach flip. “What were you all talking about?”
His question sent a burning heat rushing across your face, from your neck to the tip of your nose, prickling just beneath the surface. You looked anywhere but at him, suddenly finding the carrots in front of you fascinating, hoping your newfound interest in vegetables would somehow ease the fire tightening beneath your skin.
Quickly, you tried to regain some semblance of normalcy. You cleared your throat. “You look like you just rolled out of bed,” you said teasingly instead of answering his question, desperately trying to deflect.
Sylus laughed—a rich, genuine sound that made your heart ache. Then slowly, a knowing smirk spread across his face—the kind that made your stomach flip dangerously. “Maybe I did,” he said, leaning one hip against the table beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “I was up late last night. Woke up late because of it too.” He pushed his glasses up with one finger in a gesture that was somehow both casual and devastatingly attractive. “Haven’t eaten yet, so I thought I’d come find you. Come have breakfast with me.”
It wasn’t really a question, more like a statement wrapped in velvet, and the confidence in his tone made your pulse quicken. You didn’t answer right away. Because his eyes had flicked toward the chopping table, specifically toward the little bouquet of gardenias sitting at the edge. And the note attached to its stems.
He froze. Just for a second. A micro-hesitation. One breath caught too long in his chest. It’s nothing, you told yourself.
Except… it wasn’t nothing. You’d known him too long not to notice.
His jaw tensed almost imperceptibly. His fingers twitched at his side. And for just a moment, something flickered behind those crimson eyes—something that looked almost like panic, or maybe longing, or perhaps both tangled together.
Then it was gone, replaced by that easy confidence as he shifted his gaze back to you. But his voice had dropped lower, more intimate. “So what do you say? Want to eat breakfast with me? Or do I have to resort to begging?”
The way he said it, the slight tease layered over something more serious, made your cheeks burn hotter.
“Sy, it’s literally almost noon,” you said with a small giggle, grateful your voice came out steadier than you felt. “It’s a bit late for breakfast, don’t you think?”
He tilted his head, and the movement made a strand of silver hair fall across his forehead. “When have I ever cared about convention?” His smirk deepened. “Besides, remember what we used to say? It’s never too late for breakfast.”
“We were kids back then, Sylus.”
“And?” He leaned in just slightly—not enough to be improper, but enough that you had to tilt your head up to maintain eye contact. “Some things don’t change. Like how much I enjoy and cherish your company.” His voice softened on those last words, and the sincerity beneath the playfulness made your heart stutter.
You tried to compose yourself, pretending to consider his request even though you both knew you’d never refuse him. “Hmmm… I suppose if you ask Caleb nicely to make us a ‘late’ breakfast, I could be persuaded.”
“Persuaded?” Sylus chuckled, a rich, warm sound that seemed to wrap around you. “I’ll take those odds.” He straightened, his hand coming to rest briefly on your shoulder—a touch that was both casual and possessive, his thumb brushing once against your collarbone before he pulled away. “Don’t go anywhere, kitten. I’ll be right back.”
Then he was gone, striding toward your friends and teasing them about something you couldn’t quite hear. But whatever he said made Caleb laugh and shove him playfully, made Tara shake her head with fond exasperation, made Rafayel throw a dish towel at his head. The easy camaraderie between them all made you smile despite the confusion swirling in your chest.
You were left standing there, staring at the flowers. At the note.
You ran your thumb over the last letter again—that elegant, looping y—studying how cursive and pretty it looked. There was something oddly familiar about the penmanship. Almost perfect. Neat and romantic, controlled yet passionate, like whoever wrote it had been very deliberate with every word. Like they’d meant every single syllable. As if the person who wrote it couldn’t stop once they’d started.
Your mind drifted back to that moment, the way Sylus had gone still when he’d seen the flowers. The intensity in his eyes before he’d masked it. The way his voice had dropped lower, more possessive.
You couldn’t help but think about the meanings of the flowers you’d received along with the note.
You thought about gardenias, and what they might mean in the language of flowers.
About how they symbolized love, purity, trust, and refinement. But they also represented secret love or affection, and sometimes signified themes of hope, renewal, and sincerity.
You didn’t say it aloud, not even to yourself, but the truth was whispering at the edge of your consciousness.
It looks like his. It feels like his.
But no. That would be— Sylus Qin was thoughtful, sure. With you mostly. He was the kind of person who remembered how you liked your food and always let you lean on him when you needed to. He held doors and rarely interrupted, and he stayed up late with you when you were still working even though he technically didn’t need to.
He was the kind of person who brought you a jacket during late-night walks without asking. He was the kind of person who made you laugh without trying.
But he couldn’t be the secret admirer.
…Could he?
No, you told yourself firmly. Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a prince. Your childhood best friend. He could never—
You glanced toward the direction where he’d been standing just a minute ago. You couldn’t see him at the moment, but you could still feel him. The way his presence always lingered, somehow warmer to you than everyone else’s. Gentle.
You tucked the note into one of the front pockets of your skirt.
Just in case.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Later that evening, Sylus had asked you to meet him in the royal gardens. Specifically, at your favorite spot—the heart of the mini labyrinth tucked away in the garden’s farthest corner, where few others ventured.
The labyrinth itself was a masterpiece of carefully trimmed hedges that twisted and turned in an intricate pattern, creating a sense of delicious isolation from the rest of the world. But it was the center that took your breath away every single time. A small pond sat like a mirror beneath the evening sky, its surface so still it reflected the heavens perfectly. Multiple cherry blossom trees surrounded the water, their branches heavy with delicate pink blooms that drifted down like snow whenever the breeze stirred. Red lanterns were scattered throughout the space—hanging from branches like glowing fruit, nestled between roots, floating on the pond’s surface—bathing everything in a warm, ethereal light that transformed the already beautiful spot into something almost otherworldly.
The air was perfumed with cherry blossoms and night-blooming jasmine, sweet and intoxicating. Petals carpeted the ground in soft pink drifts, muffling your footsteps as you made your way to the wooden bench positioned to face the pond. The lantern light danced across the water’s surface, creating rippling patterns of gold and shadow that seemed alive, magical.
It wasn’t just your own favourite spot—it was yours and Sylus’s collective sanctuary. Your shared spot.
You came here often when your heart raced too fast with feelings you couldn’t name, when thoughts of him consumed you so completely you could barely breathe. Whenever your mind scattered in a thousand directions, you’d find your way here to seek inner peace, to let the tranquil beauty calm the chaos inside you.
As you settled onto the familiar bench, you let yourself sink into the serenity of the moment. The gentle whisper of leaves, the quiet lap of water against stone, the soft glow of lantern light—it all wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. You let your eyes slide shut, tilting your face up slightly to catch the cool evening breeze. Your shoulders dropped, tension melting away as the calm atmosphere worked its magic on your restless body and racing thoughts.
Here, you could almost pretend that loving him wasn’t impossible. That the ache in your chest was something that could be soothed rather than endured.
You didn’t hear his approach—Sylus moved too quietly for that, with that predatory grace he’d always possessed—but you felt him. The way you always felt him, like a shift in the air itself, a change in temperature that made every nerve ending come alive. Your awareness of him was instinctive, immediate, as if your body recognized his presence before your mind did.
The bench dipped slightly as he sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, and could catch that familiar scent of vanilla and musk that made your heart stutter. Close enough to touch, if you were brave enough. If you had the right.
You didn’t know how long you both sat there in comfortable silence, but you cherished every second of it. These quiet moments together had become precious, sacred even—increasingly rare as his duties pulled him in a dozen different directions. But here, in your hidden sanctuary with lantern light painting his features in gold and shadow, with cherry blossoms falling like blessings around you both, it felt like time stopped. Like the world beyond the labyrinth ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you and this perfect, fragile peace.
Your heart ached with how much you loved him. With how badly you wanted to reach out and take his hand, to lean against his shoulder, to turn this friendship into something more. But you held still, held silent, content to simply exist beside him for as long as he’d allow.
Sylus was the first to break the silence. “It’s so magical here during spring,” he murmured, his voice low and soft, almost reverent. He released a breath that sounded relieved, like he’d been holding tension you hadn’t noticed. “I love how this is our spot. How we always come here whenever we need it. How it’s just… ours.”
The way he said that last word—ours—made something flutter dangerously in your chest.
You hummed in response, not trusting your voice, content to listen to him speak. You could listen to his deep voice forever, you thought. Would gladly let him read every book you owned, every poem you’d memorized, just to hear that rich timbre wrap around the words. His voice brought you so much joy, soothed something restless and yearning inside you whenever you were alone together like this. It felt like a gift, these moments when his voice was meant only for your ears.
But it wasn’t just soothing—it also set your entire body aflame. There was something sensual in the way he spoke when it was just the two of you, something intimate in the lower register he used, the careful way he shaped words. It left you flustered and warm.
You talked for a while after that, the conversation flowing easily between comfortable silences. You discussed everything and nothing—his frustrations with a particularly tedious council meeting, your favorite passages from a book in the library he’d given you, childhood memories that made you both laugh, observations about the stars beginning to emerge overhead. Just like old times.
In many ways, nothing had really changed between you, your bond remained strong, your friendship as solid as ever. Except now you were both older, more aware. His duties had multiplied, responsibilities weighing heavier on his shoulders. And your feelings had deepened from childhood affection into something far more dangerous, far more consuming.
And sometimes, in moments like these, you wondered if perhaps you weren’t the only one feeling the shift.
“There’s something I need to discuss with you,” Sylus said suddenly, his tone changing.
Your heartbeat picked up immediately, pulse thrumming in your throat. He sounded so serious, so solemn—so unlike the easy warmth of just moments before. There was a weight to his words that made anxiety spike through your veins, sharp and immediate.
But there was something else too. Unless you were imagining it, he also sounded… nervous? Uncertain? Your eyes snapped to his face, studying him in the flickering lantern light. And unless it was a trick of the golden glow, there was definitely a light dusting of pink across his cheekbones, creeping up to the tips of his ears. His jaw was tight, and he wouldn’t quite meet your gaze.
Your breath caught. Prince Sylus Qin—confident, controlled, unshakeable Sylus—looked genuinely nervous.
That couldn’t be right. You had to be seeing things, reading too much into shadows and wishful thinking.
So you ignored the flutter of hope trying to take wing in your chest. You straightened slightly, folding your hands in your lap to keep them from trembling. “Okay, S-Sylus,” you managed, cursing the little stutter that betrayed your own nerves. “So, um… What is it you wanted to speak with me about?”
You would do anything he asked. Anything at all. Because he was a prince—the future king—and because you loved him with every fiber of your being, even if he could never know it.
A conflicted look crossed his handsome face, emotions flickering too quickly to name. His jaw worked as if he were trying to find the right words, and you watched, transfixed, as he took a deep breath that made his shoulders rise and fall. “I, um—” He paused, cleared his throat, and the pink on his cheeks definitely deepened. His fingers drummed once against his thigh before he caught himself, stilling the nervous gesture. “I wanted to tell you—”
“Your Majesty.”
The voice cut through the moment like a blade, shattering the intimate bubble you’d created. Both of you jumped slightly, heads turning toward the entrance of the clearing where a royal guard stood, looking apologetic but insistent. “Your Majesty, the King is requesting your immediate presence. It’s urgent.”
The disappointment that crashed over you was physical, painful. You felt your shoulders sag, felt something vital deflate in your chest. Another moment stolen. Another conversation interrupted. Another chance lost to his endless, inescapable duties.
You caught the flash of frustration that crossed Sylus’s face—the tightening around his eyes, the way his hands curled into brief fists before he forced them to relax. He looked at you for a long moment, and the longing in his crimson eyes was so raw, so naked, that it made your breath catch. Like he was on the verge of saying something important, something that couldn’t wait. Like he was trying to memorise your face in the lantern light.
But duty called, as it always did. As it always would.
“Right,” Sylus said finally, his voice carefully neutral though you could hear the thread of resignation beneath it. He stood with that fluid grace you’d always admired, and suddenly the bench felt too empty, too cold without him beside you.
He turned to face you fully, and what he did next made your heart stop entirely.
He took a bow—a proper, formal bow that a prince should never give to a servant—and then reached for your hand. His fingers were warm as they enclosed yours, his touch gentle yet somehow possessive. He lifted your hand slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving yours, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles.
The touch of his lips against your skin sent fire racing through your veins. You felt branded by it, claimed, like he’d marked you as his even though that was impossible.
“Have a good night, kitten,” he whispered, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register that was meant only for you. The nickname—one he only used for you, one that felt dangerously affectionate—made your stomach erupt with butterflies.
Your entire body burned with heat, skin too tight and too sensitive. Words completely failed you. Your mind went blank except for the feeling of his lips on your skin, the warmth of his breath, the intensity in his eyes as he finally pulled back and straightened.
All you could manage was a jerky nod, your hand still tingling where he’d kissed it.
He regarded you for a second too long, his gaze searching yours as if giving you one final opportunity to speak, to say something, anything. The moment stretched taut between you, filled with unspoken words and swallowed confessions.
The guard cleared his throat pointedly, and the spell broke.
Sylus’s expression shuttered, that careful princely mask sliding back into place. With one last lingering look he turned and walked away, his footsteps muffled by fallen petals. The guard followed, and then you were alone.
Alone with your whirling thoughts and racing heart. Alone with the ghost of his kiss still burning on your skin. Alone in your sanctuary that suddenly felt too empty, too quiet without him.
You lifted your hand slowly, staring at your knuckles as if they held answers. Your fingers trembled slightly as you touched the spot he’d kissed, finding it still warm.
What just happened? What had he been about to tell you before the interruption?
The cherry blossoms continued to fall around you like pink snow, and the lanterns cast their warm glow across the pond’s surface, but the magic of the evening had shifted into something else entirely. Something that felt like possibility. Like hope.
Like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t the only one whose heart ached with impossible longing.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The castle was alive with an energy that hummed through every corridor and chamber. Servants rushed through the halls with purpose, their footsteps echoing off stone walls as they prepared for the evening’s unexpected event. The King had invited select staff members and his closest advisors to a private dinner—an unusual occurrence that had set the entire household buzzing with speculation.
It was meant to be something small, intimate even, yet everyone was curious. Whispers followed you throughout the day as you went about your duties. What could this be about? Did the King have an announcement to make? Was it about the prince? The questions multiplied with each passing hour, spreading like wildfire through the servant quarters and into the kitchens.
You’d tried not to think about it, tried to focus on your tasks, but the anxious flutter in your stomach refused to settle.
The preparations had begun at dawn. The dining room—the one reserved for family gatherings and private councils—was transformed throughout the day. You’d glimpsed servants carrying in fresh flowers, polishing silver until it gleamed, pressing linens until they were crisp and perfect. Caleb had been in the kitchens since sunrise, barking orders and tasting dishes, his usual easy demeanor replaced by focused intensity. The menu was refined, elegant: roasted pheasant with herbs from the royal gardens, vegetables glazed in honey and butter, delicate pastries that looked almost too beautiful to eat.
Tara had found you in the afternoon, her eyes bright with nervous excitement. “Have you heard anything? Do you know what this is about?” You’d shaken your head, though the weight in your chest suggested you knew exactly what this might be. You just didn’t want to voice it aloud, as if speaking the words would make them real.
The atmosphere in the castle had shifted as evening approached. The nervous energy transformed into something more formal, more significant. Servants changed into their finest uniforms. Advisors arrived in their formal attire, their expressions serious and speculative. You’d dressed carefully, your hands trembling slightly as you smoothed down your skirts, as if looking presentable could somehow protect you from whatever was coming.
When the doors to the dining room finally opened that evening, your breath caught in your throat.
The space had been transformed into something magical, almost dreamlike. Candles were everywhere—tall tapers in silver candelabras marching down the center of the long table, smaller votives clustered on every surface, their flames dancing and flickering with each breath of air. The grand chandelier overhead had been lit as well, its dozens of crystals catching the candlelight and scattering it across the room in glittering fragments, casting a warm but vibrant glow that made everything seem to shimmer and pulse with life.
Red, black, and golden accents were woven throughout the room—the kingdom’s colors displayed with elegant intentionality. Deep crimson table runners flowed down the center of the table like rivers of wine. Black napkins were folded into perfect shapes at each place setting, each one held by a golden ring embossed with the royal crest. The chairs were upholstered in black velvet with golden embroidery, and crimson curtains framed the tall windows, pulled back to reveal the darkening sky beyond. Even the china bore the kingdom’s emblem in gold leaf—a striking design that reminded everyone present exactly where they were and who they served.
The table itself was a work of art. Crystal glasses sparkled at each setting, catching and refracting the candlelight into tiny rainbows. Polished silver gleamed against the white tablecloth beneath the runners. Arrangements of deep red roses mixed with black calla lilies and gold-painted branches created dramatic centerpieces that somehow managed to be both opulent and tasteful.
It was beautiful. Breathtaking, even.
Soon, the royal family arrived. The door at the far end of the dining room opened, and a hush fell over the gathered guests. The King entered first, his posture straight despite his years, the weight of the crown he’d worn for decades evident in the dignified way he carried himself. The Queen followed at his side, elegant and serene, her hand resting lightly on his arm. And then came Sylus.
Your breath stuttered in your chest.
He was dressed in formal attire—a deep black jacket with red embroidery that caught the candlelight, the kingdom’s crest embroidered over his heart in crimson thread. His silver white hair was mostly styled back from his face, revealing the sharp lines of his features, and those crimson eyes swept across the room with calm authority. He looked every inch the prince he was born to be. Every inch the king he would become.
He looked untouchable.
They entered with such graceful, measured steps—a family born to rule, moving through the world with the quiet confidence of those who’d never questioned their place in it.
“Welcome,” the King said warmly, positioning himself near the head of the table. A small, grateful smile graced his weathered face as he looked around at the assembled guests—advisors who’d served him faithfully, servants who’d become like extended family over the years. “Please, come. Let us all sit together.”
He gestured broadly, an invitation that somehow felt more intimate than formal, and the gathered group began to move toward their designated seats.
Your heart hammered against your ribs as you found your place at the table. The seating arrangement had been carefully planned. You could tell by the small name cards written in elegant script at each setting. You were positioned diagonally across from where Sylus would sit, close enough to see his face clearly but far enough to maintain propriety. Close enough to hurt.
Zayne, the royal doctor and a mutual friend to many in the room, took the seat to your right. He was a handsome man in his own quiet way—tall and lean with dark hair and intelligent green eyes that seemed to notice everything. He’d always been kind, always took the time to speak with everyone regardless of their station, to genuinely care about their wellbeing. As he sat, he offered you a small, polite nod and a gentle smile that you tried to return.
Tara claimed the seat on your left, and you felt an immediate rush of gratitude for her presence. She reached under the table and gave your hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. She knew you were anxious. Of course she knew. She always knew.
Around you, others settled into their places. Luke and Kieran sat further down, their usual playful energy subdued by the formality of the occasion. Caleb was there, looking exhausted but pleased, no doubt already critiquing his own cooking in his mind. Various advisors and senior staff members filled the remaining seats, their expressions ranging from curious to knowing.
Once everyone was seated, the King remained standing, and the nervous energy in the room intensified. You felt your nerves return tenfold, anxiety coiling tight in your stomach like a living thing. The candlelight seemed too bright suddenly, the room too warm, the air too thin.
“Now that everyone is seated,” the King began, his voice carrying easily through the room, “I’d like to express my gratitude—for this wonderful meal, for the care everyone took to make this evening so beautiful, and for your years of loyal service to this kingdom and to my family.”
The atmosphere was strange, caught between celebration and anticipation. Some guests smiled warmly, already raising their glasses in premature toasts. Others looked curious, almost nervous, sensing that something significant was coming. The advisors wore careful, neutral expressions that suggested they already knew what would be announced—they’d probably been part of the discussions. But for the staff, for people like you and Tara and Caleb, this was unknown territory.
You could feel the weight of expectation pressing down on the room like a physical force.
Soon, servants began bringing out the first course, and the dinner officially commenced. Plates were set with quiet efficiency—Caleb’s and the other cooks beautiful creations arranged like works of art. The pheasant was perfectly golden, the vegetables gleaming with their honey glaze, everything plated with meticulous care.
Everyone began to eat, the soft sounds of silverware against china filling the spaces between murmured conversations.
But you felt Sylus’s gaze on you almost immediately. It was like a touch, tangible and warm, impossible to ignore. You didn’t look up—didn’t dare—but you could sense his eyes tracking your movements as you picked up your fork, as you took careful, mechanical bites of food you couldn’t taste.
The King continued to speak as the meal progressed, his voice a steady backdrop to the quiet dining. He talked about the kingdom’s prosperity, about successful harvests and peaceful borders, about alliances strengthened and problems solved. He spoke with pride about his council, about the people who’d helped build and maintain everything they’d achieved.
You mostly tuned it out, focusing instead on the physical act of eating, chewing, swallowing and breathing. Trying to keep your expression pleasant and neutral while your mind raced with dark possibilities. Trying not to let yourself think about why you were all really here.
But then the King’s tone shifted, became more serious, more weighted with meaning.
“I know everyone is probably curious about why I’ve hosted this special dinner,” he said, and the room fell into complete silence. Even the servants along the walls seemed to still, sensing the importance of the moment.
The King stood fully now, setting down his napkin with deliberate care. His expression was solemn but peaceful, resigned in the way of someone who’d made a difficult decision and found peace with it.
“I have an announcement to make.”
The pause felt eternal. You could hear your own heartbeat, could feel Tara’s leg pressed against yours under the table—grounding you, keeping you present.
“I have been feeling the weight of my years more heavily lately,” the King continued, his voice gentle but firm. “I have ruled this kingdom for nearly five decades, and it has been the greatest honor of my life. But I am tired.” He smiled, almost apologetically. “I feel in my bones that it is time to step down, to pass the crown to someone with the strength and vision to lead us into the future. To my son—Sylus Qin.”
The dining room erupted in gasps and sharp intakes of breath. Murmurs rippled through the gathered guests like a wave—some shocked, some clearly having suspected, all affected by the magnitude of what had just been announced.
You felt as if your heart had stopped entirely before lurching back into a frantic, painful rhythm that made your chest ache. Your fingers tightened around your fork until your knuckles went white.
You’d known this was coming. Of course you had. You’d always known that someday Sylus would be king. But someday had always felt distant, theoretical—a problem for a future version of yourself to handle. You’d hoped, foolishly, that you’d have more time. That someday wouldn’t arrive so soon, wouldn’t feel so immediate and inevitable and real.
But here it was. One month. In one month, everything would change.
“It is time, Sylus,” the King said, his voice warm with paternal pride. He lifted his glass, and the candlelight caught in the crystal, sending fractured light dancing across his face. “To my son, who will be an amazing leader to our kingdom. Who will be crowned king in one month’s time.”
The room lifted their glasses in unison, a chorus of “To Prince Sylus” echoing from every throat.
Except yours. You managed to lift your glass, managed to move your lips in some approximation of the words, but no sound came out. Your throat had closed completely, and you felt nauseous, your stomach churning dangerously. The food on your plate that had already been difficult to swallow now seemed impossible, the smells suddenly overwhelming and wrong.
Your eyes found Sylus’s face almost against your will. He was looking at his father, his expression carefully composed—grateful, humble, dutiful. Everything a crown prince should be. But you knew him, had known him your entire life, and you could see the tightness around his eyes, the way his jaw was clenched just slightly, the tension in his shoulders that no one else would notice.
Then Sylus stood, the movement fluid and graceful, commanding every eye in the room. He placed his hand over his heart and bowed—a gesture of respect and acceptance that somehow managed to be both humble and regal.
“It would be my greatest honor to serve as your king,” he said, his deep voice carrying clearly through the room. “I promise to lead with wisdom, justice, and care for all who call this kingdom home. I will do everything in my power to be worthy of the crown my father has worn so well.”
It was a perfect response. Exactly what everyone needed to hear.
The room erupted in applause, genuine and warm, and Sylus straightened, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Then he sat back down, and you thought perhaps the worst was over. Perhaps you could survive this dinner, could escape to somewhere private and let yourself fall apart in peace.
But the King wasn’t finished.
“Of course,” he continued, still standing, still holding his glass, “a king needs a queen to rule beside him.”
The bottom dropped out of your world.
No. No, please, not yet—
“I’ve been in discussions with several noble families over the past months,” the King went on, seemingly oblivious to the way all the air had been sucked from your lungs. “We’ll be hosting potential matches here at the castle in the coming weeks. The Duke of Verlaine has a daughter of marriageable age. The Prince Xavier of the Pagrarus has expressed interest. There are others as well.” He smiled benevolently, as if he were announcing something wonderful rather than driving a knife through your chest. “We want to ensure Sylus has the opportunity to meet suitable candidates, to find a partner worthy of standing beside him.”
Your whole world was collapsing. The walls of the beautiful dining room seemed to be closing in, the candlelight too bright, too hot, suffocating. It took every ounce of strength you possessed not to break down right there in front of everyone—not to let the sob building in your throat escape, not to let the tears burning behind your eyes fall.
It took every shred of willpower you’d ever had to simply sit there and smile. To blink rapidly, forcing back the wetness threatening to spill over. To keep your breathing steady when your chest felt like it was being crushed.
The room erupted again—cheers, applause, excited chatter. Everyone was so happy, so celebratory. Advisors were already discussing which alliance would be most advantageous. Some of the female staff were sighing dreamily about how romantic it would be. Caleb was grinning, already planning what feasts he’d prepare for the visiting nobles.
You tried to paste on the fakest, brightest smile you could muster. You brought your hands together in applause, the sound hollow and distant to your own ears. You watched yourself from somewhere far away as you played the part of the loyal servant, the supportive friend, the person who was thrilled for her prince.
But inside, you were screaming.
All you could feel was numb—a blessed, horrible numbness that spread through your limbs like ice water, dulling the overwhelming pain and sadness threatening to consume you entirely. It was a mercy and a curse, this numbness. It kept you functional, kept you upright and smiling.
But you knew that later, when you were alone, it would melt away. And then you would shatter completely.
Your eyes met Sylus’s across the table—just for a moment, just a heartbeat—and what you saw there made everything so much worse.
Because he wasn’t smiling either. Not really.
And when his eyes locked with yours, the carefully neutral expression he’d maintained for everyone else cracked—just for you, just for a second. The expression on his face nearly undid you completely. His eyes traced over you with intimate familiarity—cataloging the rigidity of your posture, the false brightness of your smile, the way you’d stopped breathing properly. No one else in this room would notice, but he did. He always did. The raw concern in his gaze, layered with his own barely concealed anguish, told you everything: he knew exactly what this announcement was doing to you, and it was killing him to watch.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The night had already slipped well past the acceptable hour for a young lady to be awake, but sleep had refused to claim you, fluttering just out of reach like a skittish bird evading capture. The royal family had hosted a dinner that evening to celebrate the announcement that Sylus would be crowned soon—a gathering meant to be warm and celebratory, filled with laughter and music and polite admiration. And while it had been all of those things to everyone else, there had been something else lurking beneath the surface whenever Sylus’s eyes found yours across the table, something that tightened the air between you until your breath caught without warning.
You weren’t just nervous.
It was anxiety and sadness that braided together so tightly you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
You’d known this would be coming for a long while. It was only a matter of time before Sylus would have to find a bride—a princess or prince or someone else of importance and station. You’d told yourself you’d make peace with it once it happened, had practiced acceptance in the quiet hours of night, had built walls around your heart to protect it from the inevitable. But now that the time had actually come, now that it was real and immediate and inescapable, you found you couldn’t be happy for him at all. Your heart broke a little more with every second, shattering further the more you allowed yourself to think about it.
You’d slipped out to the gardens wrapped in a thin shawl, desperate for air that didn’t taste like champagne and false smiles. The cool night breeze brushed over your heated skin like a gentle caress, and you let it wash over you, hoping it might carry away some of the heaviness pressing down on your chest.
The royal garden was one of your favorite places in all the world. It was a sanctuary where you could lose yourself in the beauty of nature and the serene quiet that felt increasingly rare. The scent of roses and cherry blossoms wafted through the air, carried by a gentle breeze that rustled the leaves and made the flowers dance in the darkness. The gravel path crunched softly underfoot as you walked deeper into the garden, your feet carrying you automatically toward the labyrinth, toward the hidden center where you and Sylus had shared so many stolen moments.
You breathed slowly, deliberately, trying to settle your racing thoughts. But they wouldn’t quiet.
It felt impossible that Sylus would be King in only a handful of weeks. Impossible that his life was about to change so completely, so irreversibly. Impossible that Sylus would marry someone soon—some beautiful princess or elegant noble who deserved to stand beside him—and it wouldn’t be you. It would never be you.
Your mind began to spiral downward, consuming your whole soul as the gravity of the situation crashed down on you like a wave. With trembling fingers, you carefully pulled out the first love letter from your front pocket—the one you’d been carrying close to your heart like a talisman. You felt tears well up in your eyes as pain overwhelmed you, wracking your body with silent sobs as you reread the familiar words.
“My moonlight, I knew how much you wanted this book…”
The words blurred as tears spilled over, and you didn’t bother wiping them away.
Soon, you heard footsteps behind you—soft but deliberate on the gravel path—and you turned on the bench, expecting perhaps Tara sent to find you, to drag you back inside before anyone noticed your absence. Quickly, hastily, you tried to fold the letter and tuck it back into your pocket, to hide the evidence of your foolish hopes.
But the moment you saw him, tall and unmistakable in the dim lantern light, your heart leapt into your throat and lodged there, making it impossible to breathe.
Sylus.
He stopped a few feet away, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders straight but not stiff. The formal jacket he’d worn to dinner was gone, leaving him in just his white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, the top buttons undone. He looked less like a prince and more like the boy you’d grown up with, the one who used to climb trees with you and steal pastries from the kitchen.
His expression softened the moment he took in your tear-stained face, his brows drawing together with immediate concern.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked quietly, his voice a warm rumble in the still night air, gentle and careful like he was afraid of startling you.
“No,” you admitted, trying desperately to sound calm even as your voice wavered. “Too much thinking.”
Sylus stepped closer, slowly, until the soft glow of the nearest lantern touched his face and revealed something achingly tender in his eyes—something raw and vulnerable that he rarely let anyone see. “About what?”
“About everything.” You hesitated, your fingers twisting in your lap, crumpling the letter still clutched in your hand. “I don’t know what to think anymore. I feel… lost.”
Sylus’s eyes softened even further, as though he understood that feeling better than anyone in the world. As though he’d been feeling exactly the same way. “What are you feeling?” he questioned softly, taking another step closer.
You exhaled shakily, your gaze drifting toward the garden—toward the cherry blossoms swaying in the breeze, their petals occasionally falling like pink snow. Anywhere but at him. Instead of answering his question directly, you countered with your own, deflecting. “Aren’t you overwhelmed?”
Sylus moved so quietly, with such fluid grace, that you didn’t realize he’d stepped directly beside you until the warmth of him brushed against your arm. You looked up, startled by his proximity, by how close he was standing—close enough to touch, close enough to see the flecks of deeper crimson in his eyes.
But you weren’t displeased. You could never be displeased by his nearness.
Your breath caught in your chest. “Are you?” you whispered, needing to know, needing to understand if he was suffering too.
“Yes,” he murmured, his voice rough with honesty as he nodded slowly. “I know it was a long time coming, that I’ve always known this day would arrive. But I thought I had more time.” He paused, and something flickered across his face—pain, regret, frustration. “I feel overwhelmed about all the changes that are about to happen, about everything that’s going to be different.”
He took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice dropped even lower, more intimate. “But I’m more worried about how you’re feeling. About what this is doing to you.”
You lowered your eyes, unable to hold his gaze as the burning sensation behind your eyes intensified, threatening to spill over again. You’d grown accustomed to his charm over the years, to his intelligence and wit, to his occasional bursts of honesty. But when he spoke with this kind of raw sincerity, when his voice softened like silk and honey, when he looked at you like you were the only person in the entire world who mattered—you felt undone in ways you couldn’t name, couldn’t protect yourself against.
As you stayed silent, unable to form words past the lump in your throat, Sylus took a seat beside you on the bench. The wood creaked softly under his weight, and then his hand found yours, found the hands that were wringing anxiously in your lap, still clutching that damned letter.
His touch was warm and gentle as he covered your trembling fingers with his own, his thumb brushing soothingly across your knuckles. He squeezed softly, grounding you, anchoring you to this moment.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered, and the endearment nearly broke you.
You shook your head frantically, and despite your best efforts, tears finally slid down your cheeks in silent streams. You refused to voice how you were feeling, couldn’t bring yourself to share the burden crushing your chest. Not only because you didn’t want to weigh him down with your pain, but also because you knew that speaking it aloud would make it real, would drown you even deeper in the sadness and grief threatening to consume you whole.
Sylus released a soft, pained sigh. Then his other hand lifted, cupping your cheek with infinite tenderness, tilting your face toward his so gently you could have resisted if you’d wanted to.
But you didn’t want to.
“Sweetie…” he breathed as he took in the devastation written across your features, the tears tracking down your face, the way your lips trembled as you tried not to sob. His thumb brushed away your tears with such care it made your chest ache. “I hate seeing you like this. It’s killing me.”
“Sy—” you started, but your voice broke.
He shook his head, cutting off whatever you’d been about to say. “This shouldn’t have happened this way. I should’ve been honest with myself a long time ago,” he said, his voice thick with regret and determination.
You looked at him carefully, your vision blurred by tears, but you could see the intensity burning in his crimson eyes. Curious. Hopeful. Terrified.
“I should’ve been honest with you and my parents a long time ago,” he continued, his hand still cradling your face like you were something precious and fragile.
“What do you mean?” you croaked, your heart hammering so hard you thought it might bruise your ribs.
Sylus took a slow, deliberate breath, searching your face with an intensity that made your pulse race wildly. His hand remained on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with such tenderness that fresh tears spilled over. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have said that night in the garden, and every single day since then—”
“Your Majesty, forgive the intrusion.”
The voice cut through the moment like a blade, and you both froze.
Zayne stood at the entrance to your hidden sanctuary, his expression apologetic but serious. “The King has requested your presence. He said—” The doctor’s words died as his eyes landed on you, taking in your tear-stained face, the way Sylus was holding you. “Are you unwell?” His tone shifted immediately to professional concern. “Should I examine—”
“Can you please give us a moment?” Sylus interrupted, his voice tight with barely restrained frustration. His jaw clenched, and though his eyes never left yours, you could feel the tension radiating from him like heat.
“The King insisted that it was urgent, Your Majesty,” Zayne responded respectfully, though his gaze kept drifting to you with obvious concern.
Sylus closed his eyes, and the expression that crossed his face was so painful it made your heart twist. When he opened them again, they were filled with frustration and resignation and something that looked heartbreakingly like desperation.
He sighed—a sound that seemed to come from the depths of his soul—before slowly standing. But before he pulled away completely, he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered there for a moment too long, warm and soft and achingly gentle, as if he were trying to pour everything he couldn’t say into that single touch.
When he finally straightened, you could see the reluctance in every line of his body.
“I want to continue this conversation,” Sylus said, his voice rougher now, edged with gentle determination as he looked down at you. “Tonight. Please…” His voice dropped, became almost pleading in a way you’d never heard from him before. “Wait for me. Please don’t leave. Promise me.”
Your chest tightened at his tone, at the raw need in his voice. He sounded like he was begging, like your answer might determine the course of his entire life.
Sylus waited, his crimson eyes locked on yours, searching, hoping, needing your response.
Words failed you completely, your throat too tight with emotion to form them, so all you could do was nod. A small, jerky movement, but it was enough.
Relief flooded Sylus’s features, and he gave you a small but genuinely hopeful smile—the first real smile you’d seen from him all evening. Then, surprising you completely, he bowed to you. A real bow, deep and respectful, the kind a prince should never give to a servant.
He hesitated for just a moment, his eyes drinking you in as if memorizing this moment, before finally turning away. His footsteps were reluctant as he walked toward the entrance of your beautiful sanctuary, disappearing into the labyrinth’s shadowed paths, the cherry blossoms falling around him like a benediction.
The silence he left behind felt deafening.
After Sylus departed, Zayne lingered, standing a respectful distance away but clearly unwilling to leave you alone in your current state. After a moment, he moved closer and sat down beside you on the bench. Silence fell between you—not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken things.
And then the tears you’d been trying so desperately to hold back came more frequently, harder, until you were shaking with the force of suppressed sobs.
The doctor didn’t speak. He simply, silently, offered his handkerchief—a square of soft white linen that you accepted with trembling fingers.
As you cried, as your shoulders shook and your breath came in gasps, Zayne offered quiet comfort. His hand came to rest gently on your back, rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades the way one might comfort a distressed child. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t press for explanations. He simply sat with you in your grief, a steady presence in the darkness.
“I apologize for the interruption,” he said quietly once your breathing had evened out slightly. “I wouldn’t have intruded if the King hadn’t been so insistent.”
You shook your head, wiping at your eyes with his handkerchief. “It’s not your fault,” you managed, your voice hoarse. “You were just doing your duty.”
“Perhaps,” Zayne said carefully. “But I know timing when I see it. And mine was spectacularly poor.”
Despite everything, you let out a watery laugh at that.
Zayne waited until you’d calmed down completely, until your tears had slowed to occasional sniffles and your breathing had steadied. Only then, when he was certain you were stable enough, did he speak again.
“Whoever wrote those letters is a fool if they don’t fight for you.”
He said it with such serious determination, such unflinching honesty, that it left you speechless for a long moment. You turned to look at him, finding his expression completely sincere.
“How did you—” you whispered, your eyes widening in shock and embarrassment.
Zayne interrupted gently, “I know because I once saw you reading those letters in the library, and I’ve noticed you carry them with you wherever you go.” He continued with a small, knowing smile. “And also because Tara told me. She’s quite worried about you.”
You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “This is so embarrassing! I feel like almost everyone knows at this point.”
“Not everyone,” he assured you, and there was something kind in his tone. “But either way, I stand by my statement. You deserve someone who will treasure you, who will fight for you. And whoever is writing those letters—” He paused meaningfully. “They would be a fool to let you slip away without trying.”
Silence fell as you absorbed his words. He was so serious, so earnest about it, and there was something in the way he looked at you that made you wonder if he meant more than he was saying.
Then he stood gracefully, brushing off his trousers. “Please allow me to escort you back to the servants’ quarters. I want to ensure you get back safely. It’s late, and you shouldn’t be walking alone.”
You hesitated, glancing back toward the labyrinth where Sylus had disappeared. He’d asked you to wait for him. Had made you promise. But how long would he be? What if he couldn’t get away? What if his father kept him occupied for hours?
What if you waited and he never came?
The fear was almost paralyzing.
“I…” you started, uncertainty thick in your voice.
“You can decide what to do once you’re back in your room,” Zayne said gently, reading your hesitation accurately. “But out here, in the garden at this hour, alone and upset—it’s not safe. Not for your physical wellbeing or your reputation.”
He was right, of course. Reluctantly, you stood, your legs slightly unsteady beneath you.
You walked together in heavy silence through the garden paths, the gravel crunching beneath your feet, the night air cool against your tear-stained cheeks. Zayne kept a respectful distance but stayed close enough that his presence felt protective rather than intrusive.
Once you arrived at the entrance to the servants’ quarters, he turned to face you fully.
“You are someone extraordinary,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of absolute conviction. “And you deserve someone who will fight for you and your love every single day. Someone who won’t let duty or station or fear stand in the way. Remember that.”
Your eyes widened at his words, at the intensity behind them. As you stood there processing what he’d said, trying to understand if there were layers of meaning beneath the surface, silence stretched between you.
Was he talking about Sylus? About himself? About the mysterious letter writer?
Eventually, the doctor spoke again, breaking the spell. “Goodnight,” he said your name with such unexpected gentleness that it made your chest ache all over again.
“Goodnight, Zayne,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
He gave you a small, respectful bow before turning and walking away with that same quiet grace, his footsteps fading into the night. Soon he was swallowed by shadows, leaving you standing alone at the threshold of your quarters, left to ponder and process everything that had happened.
Sylus’s almost-confession. His desperate plea for you to wait. Zayne’s knowing words and careful comfort.
The letters that suddenly felt heavier in your pocket.
The impossible hope trying to bloom in your chest despite every attempt to crush it down.
You looked back toward the garden one last time, torn between the promise you’d made and the fear of what keeping it might mean.
In the end, fear won.
You slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind you, and didn’t wait for him to return.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
As the days crawled by, each one blurring into the next in an endless cycle of forced normalcy, you threw yourself into work with desperation. You tried so desperately to keep yourself busy, to fill every waking moment with tasks and duties so there would be no space left to think about Sylus. No room for memories of his hand cupping your cheek, his voice breaking as he’d tried to tell you something important, his lips warm against your forehead.
You also became uncharacteristically social, a shift that didn’t go unnoticed by those who knew you well. You started accepting every invitation, volunteering for extra shifts, participating in activities with other servants that you’d normally decline. You helped in the kitchens even when it wasn’t your assigned duty, joined the laundry maids in their gossip sessions, accompanied the groundskeepers on their rounds. Anything. Everything. As long as it kept you occupied, kept your mind from wandering to places that would break you.
You smiled until your cheeks ached. You laughed at jokes you didn’t find funny. You pretended that everything was fine, that your world hadn’t shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces.
But exhaustion clung to you like a second skin. Dark circles bloomed under your eyes no matter how much sleep you pretended to get. Your appetite had vanished. Your hands trembled when you thought no one was looking, and sometimes you’d find yourself staring at nothing, lost in thoughts you couldn’t escape.
Tara obviously saw right through your carefully constructed facade. She knew you too well, had been your friend for too long to be fooled by false smiles and deflecting conversation. She could see how much pain you were in, could read it in every forced laugh and averted gaze. She tried to be there for you, tried to create opportunities for you to talk, to let it out, to lean on her the way friends should.
But you pushed her away every time, your voice bright and brittle as glass.
“We knew this would happen sooner or later,” you’d say with a shrug that was meant to look casual but came across as defensive. “It’s not a surprise. I’m fine, really.”
Or: “We should be happy for Sylus. This is what he was born for. It’s a good thing.”
The words tasted like ash in your mouth, but you kept saying them. As if repetition could make them true. As if you could convince yourself along with everyone else.
Tara would look at you with such sadness, such frustration, but she didn’t push. Not yet. She just stayed close, a silent presence reminding you that when you were ready to stop pretending, she’d be there to catch you.
Whenever you crossed paths with Zayne, which happened more frequently than you’d like, he would look at you with an expression that combined professional care with deep personal sympathy. His eyes would search your face, cataloging the signs of your suffering with a physician’s attention to detail—the exhaustion and the barely concealed grief.
Somehow you felt as if he knew. Not just that you were struggling, but the specific nature of your pain. He knew about your feelings for the prince, understood the impossible situation you’d found yourself in. And though the knowledge should have embarrassed you, should have made you avoid him out of shame, there was something comforting about being seen. About not having to pretend, at least with him.
Deep down, you knew he would never share your secret with anyone else. Zayne was nothing if not discreet, bound by both professional ethics and personal honor.
Still, you found yourself trying to avoid the doctor as well, because he reminded you too vividly of that night in the heart of the labyrinth. Every time you saw him, you were transported back to those moments—Sylus’s hand on your cheek, his desperate “wait for me,” the promise you’d made and then broken. The hope that had bloomed so brilliantly in your chest before you’d crushed it down out of fear.
You’d had so much hope in that moment, had let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, the impossible could become possible.
But it was too good to be true. It had to be. Sylus was a prince, soon to be king, and you were just a servant. The love you carried for him—vast and consuming and eternal—could never be reciprocated. Not in any way that mattered. Not in any way that could overcome the insurmountable distance between your worlds.
When you were finally alone at night, though, when all the distractions fell away and there was nothing left but you and the darkness and the truth you couldn’t outrun, your mind wouldn’t let you rest. The thoughts you’d managed to suppress all day would come flooding back with a vengeance, drowning you in what-ifs and if-onlys and the echo of Sylus’s voice saying things you couldn’t let yourself believe.
You’d pull out those letters—those beautiful, devastating letters—and read them until the words blurred, until you’d memorized every loop and curve of the handwriting, until your tears made the ink run.
“My moonlight… I am truly enchanted by you… My affection and admiration for you grow stronger and fonder every day…”
The words that had once filled you with such joy now felt like cruel mockery.
You spiraled in those dark hours, your thoughts turning vicious and self-destructive. And unfortunately, shamefully, you cried yourself to sleep almost every single night, your pillow damp with silent sobs, your chest aching with a grief that had no outlet.
And Sylus?
You avoided him like the plague, like he carried some contagion that would destroy you if you got too close—which, in a way, he did.
You always manufactured excuses when he tried to summon you through official channels or when he sent messages asking for a private moment. “I’m needed in the kitchens.” “I’ve been assigned to help with the guest chambers.” “I’m not feeling well.” The lies came easier each time, though they tasted more bitter.
Whenever he tried to enter spaces or rooms where he knew you’d be—the library where you used to read together, the kitchens during meal preparations, the servants’ dining hall—you would either studiously refuse to look at him, keeping your eyes fixed on your work with desperate intensity, or you’d excuse yourself from the room entirely. Mumbling something about forgotten duties or remembered tasks, fleeing before he could corner you, before he could say whatever it was he’d been trying to say that night.
You just couldn’t face him. Not now. Maybe not ever.
The cowardice of it ate at you, but the alternative—actually talking to him, hearing whatever explanation or gentle rejection he had prepared—felt impossible to survive.
And whenever you did avoid him, whenever you felt his gaze on you and deliberately turned away, whenever you saw him entering a room and immediately found a reason to leave, you couldn’t help but notice the pain that flickered across his face.
It was brief, quickly masked behind princely composure, but it was there. In the tightening around his eyes, the way his jaw would clench, the slump of his shoulders when he thought no one was watching.
You knew Sylus was hurting. Of course you did—you knew him better than anyone, could read him like one of your beloved books.
Except you never once believed it could be for the reasons your traitorous heart wanted to imagine. No, you told yourself firmly, he was hurt because his best friend was pulling away. Because the person he’d relied on for support and companionship since childhood was suddenly unavailable. It was the pain of losing a friend, nothing more.
It couldn’t be anything more.
What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t see because you’d been so careful to avoid him—was the true extent of Sylus’s torment.
You didn’t see how he’d return to his chambers each night and stand at his window, staring out at the gardens, at the labyrinth where he’d almost told you everything, his reflection in the glass looking haunted and hollow.
You didn’t know that he’d stopped writing the letters because what was the point when you wouldn’t even look at him? When you’d promised to wait and then disappeared?
You didn’t see him during his meetings with potential brides and their families, how he’d go through the motions with mechanical politeness while his eyes remained empty, how he’d compare every woman to you and find them all wanting.
You didn’t know that Luke and Kieran had started avoiding him during his darker moods, when his temper would fray and his control would slip, when the mask of the perfect prince would crack to reveal the desperate man underneath.
You didn’t see him clutching the letter he’d written but never sent—the one that explained everything, that laid his heart bare—his knuckles white, his hands shaking.
You didn’t know that he’d asked about you obsessively. “How is she? Is she eating? Is she sleeping? Did she seem well?”
You didn’t know that your absence was slowly destroying him.
One day, unbeknownst to you, Sylus sought out Tara, his desperation finally overcoming his pride.
He found her in one of the many halls of the castle, carrying fresh linens toward the guest wings. His heart hammered in his chest as he called out, his voice rougher than he’d intended, “Tara. A word, please.”
She stopped and turned slowly, and the moment her eyes met his, Sylus felt the full force of her anger like a physical blow.
Tara had never been particularly good at concealing how she truly felt, had never bothered to master the art of courtly composure. And right now, she looked visibly irritated—no, beyond irritated. She looked furious in a way that would have made most people back away.
She glanced around the corridor, noting the other servants passing by, the guards stationed at intervals. She waited, jaw tight, until the last person had rounded the corner and they were as alone as they could be in the castle’s public spaces.
Then she marched toward him with such aggressive intent that Sylus actually took a step back.
“You better fix this,” she hissed, jabbing a finger hard into his chest—hard enough that he felt it through the layers of his formal jacket. Her eyes blazed with protective fury. “I don’t care how you do it, but you need to fix this mess you’ve created. Now.”
The disrespect of it—a servant speaking to a prince this way, touching him without permission, making demands—would have been shocking to anyone else. But Sylus had known Tara almost as long as he’d known you, and he understood that her anger came from a place of love. Love for you. Her best friend who was falling apart.
“She won’t talk to me, Tara,” Sylus said, and he hated how desperate he sounded, how his careful princely facade crumbled in the face of her righteous anger. His hands clenched at his sides. “She won’t even look at me. How am I supposed to fix this if she won’t give me a chance to explain?”
“You’re smart, Sylus. Everyone’s always going on about how brilliant you are, how strategic, how you’re always three steps ahead.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm that cut like a blade. “So use that big brain of yours and figure it out.”
She stepped closer, her voice dropping but losing none of its intensity. “She deserves better than whatever this nightmare is, and you know it. She deserves better than secret letters and almost-confessions and being left in the dark while noble families parade their daughters in front of you like prize horses.”
The prince stood there in heavy silence, each word landing like a physical blow. The inner turmoil that had been building for days—weeks, if he was honest—was becoming unbearable. He felt like he was being torn apart, caught between duty and desire, between what was expected of him and what his heart demanded.
“I know you’re hurting too, Sylus,” Tara said, and her tone shifted slightly, became marginally more sympathetic though still edged with frustration. “I can see it. You look almost as bad as she does.”
For a moment, something vulnerable flickered across his face.
“But she doesn’t deserve someone who whispers the prettiest words in secret but never has the courage to back them up with action,” Tara continued, and the sympathy vanished, replaced by disappointment that somehow hurt worse than the anger. “She doesn’t deserve to be kept in the dark, to be made to hope and then abandoned. She doesn’t deserve to cry herself to sleep every night while you hide behind your duties and your crown.”
At her words, Sylus’s eyes widened, genuine shock breaking through his composure. “She’s been—” He couldn’t finish the sentence. The image of you crying alone, suffering because of him, because of his cowardice, made something crack in his chest. “I didn’t… I thought she was avoiding me because she didn’t—”
“Didn’t what? Didn’t care?” Tara laughed bitterly. “Are you really that clueless?”
“I—” Sylus started, but Tara quickly cut him off.
“Sylus, I’ve known you for years. Since we were children running through these halls together.” Her expression softened just slightly, became almost pitying. “I know how you look at her. I’ve seen it since we were young—the way your eyes follow her across a room, the way you smile differently when she’s around, the way you’ve always made excuses to be near her.”
She crossed her arms, fixing him with a knowing stare. “It was pretty easy to connect the secret admirer letters to you. Who else writes with that specific slant? Who else knows all her favorite things? Who else would use phrases like ‘my moonlight’?”
Sylus felt heat creep up his neck. He’d thought he’d been so careful, so subtle.
“I know you’re in a difficult position,” Tara continued, and now her voice carried genuine understanding alongside the frustration. “I know the pressure you’re under, the expectations, the weight of the crown. I’m not unsympathetic to that.”
She stepped forward one final time, her voice dropping to something fierce and protective and absolutely unyielding.
“But if you truly love her the way you wrote that you do in those beautiful letters, if even half of what you said was real, then you need to fight for her like your life depends on it. Because hers certainly feels like it does.”
The words hung in the air between them, a challenge and a plea all at once.
Sylus stood frozen, his mind racing, his heart hammering. Everything Tara had said was true. Every accusation, every disappointed observation, every demand. He had been a coward. He had let his fear of duty, of disappointing his father, of the complications and scandal override what mattered most.
You.
He’d let you slip away when he should have been holding on with both hands.
“She deserves the best,” Tara said, and her voice cracked slightly with emotion—worry for her friend, frustration with the situation, exhaustion from watching two people she cared about destroy themselves. “And right now? This is a literal nightmare for her. She’s breaking, Sylus. Slowly but surely, she’s breaking apart.”
She turned to leave, but paused, throwing one final look over her shoulder.
“So fix it. I don’t care what it takes, what rules you have to break, what expectations you have to shatter. Just… fix it. Before it’s too late. Before she’s so broken that even your pretty words can’t put her back together.”
And then she was gone, leaving Sylus standing alone in the corridor, her words echoing in his mind like a death knell.
For a long moment, he didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
Then, slowly, determination began to harden in his chest, replacing the despair and helplessness that had been consuming him.
Tara was right. He’d been a coward. He’d been letting circumstance and duty dictate his life when he should have been fighting for what—for who—mattered most.
He thought of you crying yourself to sleep. Of you avoiding him because you thought he didn’t want you. Of you suffering while he suffered, both of you too afraid to bridge the distance between you.
No more.
He was done with secret letters and stolen moments and almost-confessions. He was done letting fear win.
If he had to defy his father, if he had to cause a scandal, if he had to turn the entire kingdom upside down—so be it.
You were worth it. You had always been worth it.
He just had to make you believe that too.
And he knew exactly how to do it.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
A day after Sylus had his confrontation with Tara, he summoned you.
You’d been in the laundry rooms, mechanically folding linens with the other servants, your mind blissfully blank from the repetitive work, when Luke and Kieran appeared in the doorway. The moment you saw them, your stomach dropped. You knew—instantly, instinctively—why they were there.
“His Majesty requests your presence,” Luke said, his usual playfulness notably absent. His expression was serious, almost apologetic.
“In his private office,” Kieran added. “Immediately.”
You felt panic spike through your veins, sharp and immediate. Your hands stilled on the sheet you’d been folding, gripping the fabric too tightly. “I… I’m in the middle of—”
“It wasn’t a request,” Luke interrupted gently but firmly, cutting off your excuse before you could fully form it.
The words hung heavy in the air. Not a request. An order.
Your mouth went dry. In all the years you’d known Sylus—through childhood games and adolescent adventures and the complicated feelings of adulthood—he had never once used his title or position to command you. Never pulled rank, never treated you as anything less than an equal despite the vast difference in your stations. He would only do so now if it was absolutely necessary, if he’d exhausted every other option.
Which meant you couldn’t refuse. Couldn’t make another excuse. Couldn’t run.
“I see,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You carefully set down the linen with trembling fingers, smoothing out wrinkles that didn’t exist. “Of course. I’ll… I’ll come now.”
You followed the twins through the castle corridors, your heart hammering against your ribs with each step. Nervous didn’t even begin to cover what you were feeling. Anxious as hell was closer. Terrified was probably most accurate.
Your mind raced with possibilities. What could he possibly want? Was he going to formally ask you to stop avoiding him? Demand an explanation? Tell you that your behavior was inappropriate and you were being reassigned? Or worse—much worse—was he going to gently, kindly, tell you that he knew about your feelings and that while he cared for you as a friend, that was all it could ever be?
The walk felt endless and far too short all at once.
When you finally reached the ornate doors of his private office—a room you’d been in countless times before but which suddenly felt foreign and intimidating—Luke knocked twice.
“She’s here, Your Majesty,” Kieran called through the heavy wood.
There was a pause, a moment of suspended silence, and then you heard his voice. That deep, familiar voice that haunted your dreams.
“Let her in.”
The twins pushed open the doors and stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter. You caught Kieran giving you an encouraging look, something almost pitying in his expression, before the doors closed behind you with a soft, final click.
And then you were alone with him.
Your anxiety and nerves multiplied tenfold, flooding your system until you felt almost lightheaded. Your hands began shaking at your sides, and you clasped them together tightly to hide the tremor.
Sylus stood near the window, backlit by the afternoon sun streaming through the glass, and for a moment he was just a silhouette—tall and broad-shouldered and achingly familiar.
Then he turned to face you fully, and your breath caught in your throat.
When his eyes—the very same piercing red eyes you love—find yours across the room, they ignite with a spark of longing, and you swear your whole world stops spinning.
As you regarded him—truly looked at him for the first time in over a week of careful avoidance—you couldn’t help but notice how utterly exhausted he looked. How truly bad he looked in a way that made your chest constrict painfully.
There were dark circles under his eyes that rivaled your own, deep shadows that spoke of sleepless nights. His silver hair, usually immaculate, looked like he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly. His formal jacket was slightly rumpled, his collar not quite straight.
He looked like a man who’d been suffering. Like a man who’d been slowly coming apart at the seams.
You didn’t know if it was even possible, but somehow seeing him like this made you feel even more heartbroken than you already were. Because he was hurting too, and some terrible part of you had hoped—had needed to believe—that at least he was fine. That your absence hadn’t affected him beyond mild inconvenience.
But clearly, devastatingly, that wasn’t true.
He looked at you with such raw vulnerability, such naked longing, that it did something to you—cracked something open in your chest that you’d been trying desperately to keep sealed shut. His crimson eyes traced over your face like a man dying of thirst finally seeing water, drinking in every detail as if he’d been starved for the sight of you.
You both stood there in heavy silence for a long moment, neither moving, neither speaking. Just staring at each other across the space of his office like there was a chasm between you instead of a few feet of expensive carpet.
The air felt charged, electric with everything unsaid.
“Sy—” you whispered finally, your voice cracking on his name.
“Sweetie,” he breathed at the exact same moment, and the endearment nearly broke you. “I can’t express how sorry I am.” His voice was rough, raw with emotion he wasn’t bothering to hide. “How much I’ve missed you. How empty everything feels without you.”
He took a half-step forward, his hand lifting slightly before falling back to his side, as if he’d stopped himself from reaching for you.
“I’m sorry for how much I’ve hurt you,” he continued, his voice dropping to something more gentle, more tender. “I never wanted that. God, I never wanted that. But I… I handled everything wrong, and you paid the price for my cowardice.”
The sincerity in his voice, the genuine remorse and pain, made your eyes burn with unshed tears. A small voice inside your head—the part of you that loved him desperately and wanted nothing more than to close the distance between you—told you to accept his words. To listen and believe what he was trying to tell you. To let him explain, to give him the chance he was asking for.
But the destructive part of you, the part that had been whispering cruel things in the darkness for weeks, that had convinced you that you weren’t worthy of being loved by someone like him—that part wouldn’t let you. Couldn’t let you.
You felt your hands tremble even more violently as you stood there, frozen between wanting to run toward him and wanting to flee entirely. Your throat tightened, making it hard to breathe, hard to speak.
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. You looked away from his intense gaze, unable to hold it, unable to face the vulnerability and honesty you saw there. “I’ve just been busy. That’s all. There’s nothing to apologize for.”
His jaw ticked in response, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. You could see the disappointment flash across his face, the way his shoulders tensed. He’d hoped—desperately hoped—that you would believe him, would listen to him, would meet him halfway.
But you couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
The silence that stretched between you then felt suffocating, uncomfortable in a way silence with Sylus had never been before. It left you wanting to squirm, to apologize, to take back your words.
But you stayed still. Stayed quiet.
Finally, Sylus spoke again, and his voice had shifted—still gentle, but with an undercurrent of determination that made you look up despite yourself.
“I asked you to come here for two reasons,” he said carefully, watching your reaction. “One, I needed to tell you everything I wanted to say that night in the garden. Everything I’ve been trying to say for weeks, for months—maybe for years if I’m being honest with myself.”
Your heart stuttered in your chest.
“But I can see that you need more time,” he continued, and something that looked like pain flickered across his face. “That you need more than just words from me. You need proof. Action. Something tangible.”
He paused, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have much time to give you. Which brings me to the second reason I summoned you.”
You finally looked up at him fully, meeting his gaze with wide, uncertain eyes. Your pulse thrummed in your throat.
Sylus straightened slightly, and you caught a glimpse of the prince he was—the leader he was about to become. Authoritative. Decisive. But underneath it, you could still see the man you loved, vulnerable and hopeful and desperate.
“I’m being summoned to one of the borders of our kingdom,” he explained, his tone becoming more formal, more official. “The region that borders our neighboring country of Athana. There have been some tensions, some concerns about our alliance. They need me there to strengthen diplomatic relations, to negotiate, to ensure peace.”
He took a breath, and his voice softened again, became more personal.
“It will be several days’ journey, and I’ll need to stay for at least a week, possibly longer depending on how the negotiations proceed.” His eyes searched yours, intense and unwavering. “And there’s no one I trust more than you. No one whose counsel I value more, whose presence I need more.”
Your breath caught as you realized what he was about to say.
“So I want you to come along on this trip. As my personal advisor. My companion.”
The word hung between you, loaded with meaning.
“Surely there’s someone else more qualified—” you started automatically, your mind scrambling for escape, for any excuse that might save you from days of forced proximity, from the torture of being near him while maintaining your walls. “One of your actual advisors, or—”
“No,” Sylus interrupted, and his voice carried such controlled determination, such absolute certainty, that it cut through your protests like a blade. “And it wasn’t a request.”
There it was again. The authority. The command.
You gulped nervously, your throat clicking audibly in the quiet room. You couldn’t look away from him, caught in the gravity of his gaze like a moon trapped in orbit.
For a moment, Sylus’s commanding expression melted into something infinitely more gentle. His hands, which had been clasped behind his back in a formal pose, twitched at his sides as if fighting the urge to reach for you. His eyes roamed over your face with such tender concern it made your chest ache.
You looked so beautiful to him, even exhausted and hurting. Maybe especially then, because at least you were real and present and in front of him instead of a ghost he kept catching glimpses of around corners.
He wanted to cross the room and pull you into his arms. Wanted to hold you until you stopped trembling, until you believed that he would never willingly hurt you. Wanted to pour his heart out in a way that left no room for doubt or fear. Wanted to console you, to take care of you, to prove with actions what his words hadn’t been able to convey.
But he held himself still. Held himself back. Because he could see you weren’t ready for that yet. Could see that you’d bolt if he pushed too hard, too fast.
So instead, he just whispered with aching sincerity, “There’s no one else better. There’s no one else I want by my side. Just you. It’s always been you.”
The words landed between you like a confession, like a promise.
You opened your mouth, then closed it again, unable to form a response. Your mind was spinning, your heart racing so fast you felt dizzy.
Sylus held your gaze for one more long moment, letting the weight of his words settle, before he straightened again and added with quiet finality, “We leave tonight. I’ll have someone sent to your quarters to help you pack. Be ready by sunset.”
It wasn’t a discussion. Wasn’t a negotiation.
And somehow, despite your fear, despite every instinct screaming at you to refuse, to run, to protect yourself—you found yourself nodding.
Because maybe Tara was right. Maybe Sylus was right.
Maybe you did need more than words.
Maybe you needed time. Proximity. A chance to see beyond your own fears and insecurities.
Maybe this trip would break you completely.
Or maybe—just maybe—it would finally put you back together.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The journey was long and excruciating in ways that had nothing to do with the rutted roads or the endless miles.
The ride in the carriage felt interminable, each hour stretching into eternity as you sat across from Sylus in a space that was somehow both too small and too vast. You weren’t able to talk to him no matter how hard he tried to draw you out, and the silence between you felt like a living thing—heavy and suffocating and wrong in a way that silence with Sylus had never been before.
It hurt you just as much as it clearly hurt him. You could see it in the way his jaw would tighten when you gave another one-word answer, in the flicker of pain that crossed his face each time you looked away. But you just couldn’t find the words, couldn’t push past the wall you’d built around yourself. You felt numb and hurt and so desperately confused that speaking felt impossible.
Sylus tried, though he was careful not to push too hard. He’d offer gentle conversation starters, then let them fade naturally when you didn’t respond. He never pressed, never demanded engagement—just left the door open for you whenever you might be ready to walk through it.
He’d point out landmarks as they passed, his voice soft and undemanding. “That tree marks the border between regions,” he’d mention quietly, not expecting a response. Or he’d share a brief story about a previous trip, keeping his tone light and easy, giving you the option to listen or let the words wash over you like background noise.
He talked about small things—the beauty of the countryside, a funny incident from his childhood, observations about the changing landscape. Never anything heavy. Never anything that required you to engage beyond your comfort level.
And you? You sat mostly silent across from him, your hands folded in your lap, your eyes fixed on the passing scenery outside the window. Occasionally you’d nod or offer a soft “mm-hmm” of acknowledgment, and each time you did, you’d catch the small, grateful smile that would flicker across his face. As if even that tiny bit of interaction was a gift.
In your defense—not that you were sure you deserved defending—you were honestly exhausted from all the traveling. The constant jostling of the carriage, the lack of proper sleep, the emotional turmoil that had been your constant companion for weeks now. It all weighed on you until even keeping your eyes open felt like a monumental effort.
You stopped occasionally for meals at small roadside inns, and to camp out overnight when no suitable accommodations could be found. During these stops, Sylus was quietly attentive without being overbearing.
He’d make sure food was available for you but never forced you to eat more than you wanted. He’d suggest you sit closer to the fire if the evening was cold, but accepted without comment if you preferred to stay where you were. He’d ask once if you were comfortable, if you needed anything, and then let it be.
It was gentle care—the kind that didn’t demand gratitude or acknowledgment, that didn’t make you feel smothered or pitied. Just… thoughtful. Considerate. The way Sylus had always been with you, even as children.
The sleeping arrangements were decided quietly on the first night. “You should take the carriage,” he’d said simply. “It’s more comfortable and private. I’ll be fine with Luke and Kieran.”
You’d started to protest, feeling guilty, but he’d just given you a small, tired smile. “Please. I’d feel better knowing you were resting properly. That’s all I ask.”
And because it was phrased as a request rather than a command, because he’d looked at you with such quiet hope that you’d accept this one small thing, you’d agreed.
He was respectful in a way that made you feel cared for without feeling obligated. There was no hovering, no constant checking—just quiet consideration that left space for you to breathe.
But the destructive part of you—that terrible, insidious voice that had taken up permanent residence in your head—would whisper that it was just friendship. Just the natural kindness of someone who’d known you forever and felt responsible for you.
*He’s only being considerate because you’ve been friends since childhood. It doesn’t mean anything more.*
Yet whenever you tried to sleep, alone in the dark carriage with only the sound of the horses and the distant murmur of voices around the campfire, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.
About the man who was so respectful of your boundaries that he’d give you space even when you could see it hurt him. About how he’d looked at you in his office with such quiet longing. About the almost-confession in the garden that haunted your dreams. About the letters from your secret admirer, those beautiful letters that spoke of devotion and enchantment.
You felt safe in the carriage, surrounded by his scent and wrapped in blankets he’d quietly arranged before stepping away. But you also felt restless, your mind refusing to quiet, your heart aching with want and fear in equal measure.
You didn’t sleep much during those nights. Couldn’t sleep, really. Just dozed fitfully, waking at every sound, every shift of the carriage, replaying conversations and moments over and over until they lost all meaning.
Sylus noticed, of course he did. He’d always been quietly observant when it came to you, noticing things without making you feel watched or scrutinized.
On the third day of travel, after you’d nearly dozed off during a rest stop, he’d mentioned gently, “There’s an inn about three-quarters of the way to the border. We could stop there tonight if you’d like. Proper beds, a chance to rest.”
He’d phrased it as an option, not a decision he’d made for you. Giving you the choice.
“That… that would be nice,” you’d admitted quietly, and the soft relief in his expression made your chest ache.
As evening approached and the landscape began to shift from open countryside to a small village, you felt your heart rate pick up with nervous anticipation. The thought of a real bed, a proper room, maybe even a bath—it sounded like heaven.
The inn appeared as the sun was setting, bathing everything in warm golden light. It was a large, cozy-looking building with smoke curling from multiple chimneys, warm light glowing in the windows, flower boxes beneath the sills even this late in the season. It looked welcoming. Safe.
As soon as the carriage rolled to a stop in the courtyard, Sylus stepped out first with fluid grace. But instead of walking toward the entrance, he turned back and stood beside the carriage door, his hand outstretched toward you.
Not demanding. Just… offering. His crimson eyes soft in the fading light.
Your breath caught at the gesture—so simple, so gentlemanly, yet somehow intimate in a way that made your pulse quicken. You placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours, the gentle strength as his fingers closed carefully around yours.
He helped you down from the carriage with such careful attention, his other hand hovering near your waist—not quite touching, just there in case you needed the support. When your feet touched the ground and you wobbled slightly from stiffness, his hand settled lightly at your side to steady you.
The touch was brief, respectful, but it burned through the layers of your traveling clothes, making you acutely aware of every point of contact between you.
For a moment, you were standing close enough that you could see the flecks of deeper crimson in his eyes, could feel the warmth radiating from him in the cooling evening air.
Your eyes met and held.
Time seemed to slow, the sounds of the inn and the village fading into insignificance. His hand was still wrapped gently around yours, not gripping or holding tight—just connected. Present.
You could see everything in his gaze—the longing he couldn’t quite hide, the tenderness, the quiet hope. It was all there, offered freely without demand or expectation.
Your heart thundered in your chest. Heat crept up your neck and into your cheeks, and you knew he could feel your pulse quicken through your hands.
Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. You just stood there, hands clasped, lost in a moment that felt fragile and precious.
You were the first to break it, looking away with a flustered and shy expression, your eyes dropping to focus somewhere around his collar. You couldn’t handle the intensity, the vulnerability, the way looking at him made you want things you’d convinced yourself you couldn’t have.
From your peripheral vision, you caught the small, soft smile that curved his lips—not triumphant or possessive, but gentle. Understanding. As if he knew you needed to look away and didn’t hold it against you.
He released your hand slowly, his fingers trailing against yours for just a moment before letting go completely. Then he stepped back slightly, giving you space, before gesturing toward the inn with a quiet, “Shall we?”
His hand settled at the small of your back as you walked—so light you almost couldn’t feel it, just enough to guide without controlling.
Once you both entered the building, you were greeted by warmth and the smell of woodsmoke and cooking food. The interior was cozy and well-maintained, with dark wooden beams, a large fireplace crackling in the main room, and the general atmosphere of a well-loved establishment.
Luke and Kieran were already at the front desk, speaking with the innkeeper—a rotund, friendly-looking man with a welcoming smile. But as you approached, you noticed the twins’ expressions looked… odd. Confused. Almost suspiciously so.
Luke glanced up as Sylus approached, and something flickered across his face. “Ah… Your Majesty, there seems to be an issue with the accommodations.”
Sylus, who looked quietly exhausted from the long journey, simply waited. “What kind of issue?”
Kieran spoke up, his tone sheepish in a way that felt almost… deliberate. “The rooms we reserved ahead of time… well, there was apparently a miscommunication with the courier.” He gestured apologetically at the ledger. “They only have one suite available. The rest of the rooms are occupied by some Duke’s entourage who arrived earlier today.”
Your heart plummeted straight to your stomach.
One room. One suite.
“I can stay in the servants’ quarters,” you said immediately, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Or—or I’m sure there’s a small room somewhere, even a storage room would be fine—”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Sylus said quietly, and there was something almost hesitant in his voice. Not commanding. Almost… asking. “The suite should have a sitting area, and I can take the couch. Would that… would that be acceptable to you?”
He was giving you the choice. Actually asking rather than deciding for you.
You looked at him—at the exhaustion in his face, the gentle hope in his eyes, the way he was clearly trying not to pressure you while also obviously not wanting to be separated.
“I…” you started, your cheeks burning. “If you’re certain it’s not… I mean, if it’s not improper…”
“I’ll be perfectly respectful,” he said softly. “I promise. I just…” He paused, something vulnerable crossing his face. “I’d sleep better knowing you were safe and comfortable. But only if you’re comfortable with the arrangement.”
The sincerity in his voice, the way he was leaving the decision entirely in your hands, made something loosen in your chest.
“Alright,” you whispered. “We can share the suite.”
The relief that flooded his features was so profound it made your heart ache.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
As Sylus opened the door to your room, you both stepped inside and took in the view together.
The room was bathed in the warm, flickering glow of candlelight, casting soft shadows on the walls and pooling on the wooden floor. The space was cozy and inviting in its simplicity. Warm wooden furniture gave the room a rustic charm—a sturdy dresser, a small table with two chairs near the window, and a wardrobe in the corner. Fluffy cream-colored rugs were scattered across the floor, soft enough to sink into. A stone fireplace sat ready to be lit when the evening chill set in, with a neat stack of firewood beside it. The balcony doors were slightly ajar, allowing the cool evening breeze to drift in, carrying with it the scent of pine and distant rain. Beyond the balcony was a picture-perfect view of the distant forest and dreamy landscape—rolling hills disappearing into twilight, the first stars beginning to emerge.
The room was beautiful in its simplicity. Intimate. Sweet. And there, dominating the center of the space, was one large bed with a quilted coverlet and an abundance of pillows.
Just one bed.
No couch. No chaise. No secondary sleeping option whatsoever.
You heard Sylus swear quietly under his breath behind you, the curse so soft you almost missed it. When you glanced at him, you saw he’d stopped in the doorway, his expression caught somewhere between resignation and concern as he took in the sleeping arrangements.
“Look, I can always just sleep on the floor,” Sylus said quickly, already moving into problem-solving mode. He grimaced slightly, scrubbing a hand over his face in a gesture of exhaustion before walking toward the plush rug positioned beside the bed. “It’ll be fine. This rug looks comfortable enough.”
You swallowed nervously, your heart suddenly beating too fast, your palms going damp. You tried to steady your breathing the best you could before speaking.
A thousand thoughts overwhelmed your mind as you watched him lower himself to sit on the rug, testing it as if genuinely considering spending the night there. Your chest tightened with a mixture of emotions—guilt that he’d sacrifice his comfort, confusion about what this meant, and something else. Something warm and terrifying that you didn’t want to examine too closely.
This was Sylus. Your Sylus. The man who’d just traveled for days, who looked exhausted, who’d been sleeping on the ground to give you the carriage. And now he was prepared to sleep on the floor again rather than make you uncomfortable.
“Sy, wait,” you whispered, cringing internally at how desperate you sounded. The plea came out softer than you’d intended, more vulnerable. “The bed is clearly big enough for the both of us.”
“I’ll be fine,” he replied, and to demonstrate, he laid back on the rug and stretched his limbs out as if to prove its adequacy. “See? Comfy.”
But you could see the lie in the tension of his shoulders, in the way he shifted almost immediately to find a better position.
“Sylus…” you sighed, crossing your arms loosely in front of your chest—more to give your hands something to do than out of any real frustration. “We both know that’s not true.” You huffed out a nervous laugh, your eyes darting around the room to avoid direct eye contact with him. Your hands trembled slightly as you picked up your bag from where you’d set it down, carrying it carefully to the wooden dresser across from the bed.
“And besides,” you continued, your voice quiet but firm, “you’ll be sore tomorrow and won’t get proper sleep. You need rest too.”
You smiled nervously, timidly, at him as you pushed some stray hair back behind your ear—a nervous gesture you’d had since childhood. Your cheeks felt warm.
Sylus remained sitting on the rug, looking up at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. Uncertainty? Hope? Fear?
“Please,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself. “We’re both adults. And you’re the future king—you shouldn’t be sleeping on the floor like… like you’re being punished or something.”
There was a long pause. You could hear your own heartbeat in the silence.
“Right,” Sylus finally replied, and his voice was just as nervous as yours, touched with something almost shy. He sat up slowly, running a hand through his silver hair. “Are you sure?” he tried again, and you could see genuine concern in his eyes. “I truly don’t want to make you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I want.”
“Sy,” you looked at him properly then, your hands fidgeting nervously at your sides as you frowned slightly. All your previous worries came rushing back tenfold, crashing over you like a wave.
Of course he wouldn’t want to share a bed with you. You were sure you looked like a wounded kitten right now, but you couldn’t help it. The thought that sharing a bed with you might terrify him or disgust him made something crack in your chest.
“Am I really that awful to share a bed with—” you started, your voice small and hurt.
“No!” He cut you off immediately, standing up as his eyes went wide with something close to panic. The word came out too quickly, too forcefully, and he seemed to realise it because he cleared his throat, a blush coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears in obvious embarrassment.
“I mean, no, of course not,” he said more gently, softer. “I just… I truly don’t want to make you uncomfortable. That’s all. I’d never—you could never be awful. That’s not… that’s not what this is about at all.”
Your heart warmed at his words, at the sincerity bleeding through every syllable. Relief flooded through you, loosening the knot of anxiety in your stomach.
“You won’t make me uncomfortable, I promise,” you reassured him with a small but genuine smile that you hoped conveyed your honesty. “As long as you’re fine with it too? I don’t want to force you into anything you’re not comfortable with.”
Sylus’s expression softened into something achingly tender. Slowly, carefully, he reciprocated your smile and nodded. “Of course, sweetie. If you’re certain, then… yes. Thank you.”
They both stood there, smiling at each other across the small room, and for a moment everything else fell away. The awkwardness, the tension, the confusion of the past weeks—it all dimmed in the warmth of that shared smile. In the familiar comfort of just being together.
The moment stretched, gentle and sweet and fragile.
Then you realised you’d been staring at him for too long, and warmth flooded your cheeks and neck, rising up like a tide. You felt flustered and shy and completely exposed under his soft gaze, like he could see every thought racing through your mind, every feeling you’d tried so hard to hide.
“S-sorry,” you stammered, mentally cursing yourself for the stutter. “Let me go find my nightgown.”
You turned quickly, reaching for your pack with slightly trembling hands. When you pulled out your nightgown—a simple, modest thing—reality struck you like cold water.
There was no changing screen. No separate room. No privacy. How were you supposed to change in front of him? You hadn’t thought this through at all.
You stood there frozen, clutching the nightgown, feeling increasingly foolish.
“What are you apologising for?” Sylus questioned gently from behind you, his voice closer than you’d expected but not uncomfortably so. “There’s nothing to apologise for.”
Your back was still turned to him, and you felt vulnerable, exposed in a way that had nothing to do with clothing. But his gentle words worked like a balm, and you felt your stiff shoulders begin to relax despite your nervousness.
You heard the soft sound of Sylus walking from the rug, heard his careful footsteps as he walked slowly toward you. Not rushing. Not demanding. Just… approaching.
At your continued silence, he spoke again, his voice low and achingly soft.
“If anything, I should be the one apologising.”
Your eyes widened. You froze completely, your hands stilling on the fabric you’d been nervously twisting. Your whole body felt like a live wire, every nerve ending aware of his proximity. Slowly, trembling slightly, you turned around to face him.
The breath left your lungs in a rush.
He was so close. Close enough that you could see the exact shade of crimson in his eyes, could count the individual strands of silver in his hair. Close enough that his warmth seemed to wrap around you like an embrace. Your whole body felt like it was burning, heat spreading from your chest outward until even your fingertips tingled.
“Why didn’t you stay that night?” Sylus asked quietly, and there was such raw vulnerability in the question it made your throat tight.
“Sy…” you whispered, looking away from his intense stare because it was too much, too open, too honest.
“I just can’t help but wonder why you didn’t—or wouldn’t—wait for me,” Sylus continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I understand that I probably ruined everything with my cowardice, with my inability to just tell you the truth when I had the chance. But I had hoped…” He paused, swallowing hard. “I’d hoped you might give me the chance to explain myself. To make things right.”
You could see his hands twitch at his sides, could see how badly he wanted to reach for you but was holding himself back. Could see the desperate need to comfort you, to close the distance, to touch you—but he remained still, respectful of your space even as it clearly cost him.
“I know I probably don’t deserve you,” he added, even more quietly, and the pain in his voice made your chest ache. “I know I’ve handled everything terribly. But I also know that I want to fight for you. That I need to fight for you. That you’re worth fighting for.”
His eyes found yours again, holding them with gentle intensity.
“I’m tired of being a coward,” he said, and there was steel beneath the softness now. Determination. “It’s time I’m honest with you. Honest with everyone. No more hiding. No more fear.”
Your eyes started to burn with the telltale prickle of tears, and your whole body trembled beneath his gaze—not from fear, but from the overwhelming emotions crashing over you. Slowly, you tilted your head back up to look at him properly.
And what you saw there nearly broke you. He looked vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before. Open and raw and hurting. But also hopeful. So desperately, achingly hopeful.
Sylus took a shaky breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely audible.
“I wrote those letters.” The world seemed to stop spinning. “I am your secret admirer.”
Your eyes widened impossibly further as you gasped quietly, the sound catching in your throat. Your mind went blank, then flooded with a thousand thoughts all at once.
“You?” The word came out as barely a breath. “H-how? When? Why didn’t you—”
You couldn’t finish any of the questions tumbling through your mind. Couldn’t process what he’d just said.
Sylus closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering his courage, drawing on some inner strength. When he opened them again, they were bright with unshed tears and blazing with gentle, intense determination.
“My moonlight, you are everything I desire,” he whispered, and the words landed like a physical touch.
You took in a deep, shuddering breath as Sylus moved closer—slowly, carefully, giving you every opportunity to step back if you wanted to.
You didn’t.
His hands lifted, trembling slightly, and cupped your face with infinite gentleness. His palms were warm against your cheeks, his fingers spreading to cradle more of you, as if you were something infinitely precious that might shatter if held too tightly.
“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of you,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “Not a single day where you don’t consume my thoughts. I dream of you every night. When I wake, you’re my first thought. When I sleep, you’re my last.”
His thumbs brushed across your cheekbones with such tender care it made fresh tears spring to your eyes.
“There is no one as mesmerising as you. No one as enchanting. No one who makes me feel the way you do.” He paused, swallowing hard, his eyes never leaving yours. “You consume my very being. Every part of me belongs to you—has always belonged to you.”
He breathed out your name like a prayer, like a confession, like the most important word in any language.
“You’re the love of my life,” he whispered, and his voice cracked slightly on the words. “I love you. I’m so deeply, hopelessly, completely in love with you.”
The tears that had been gathering in your eyes finally spilled over, sliding down your cheeks in warm streams. A sob hiccupped out of you as you looked at him—this man you’d loved for so long, who was looking at you like you hung the moon and stars.
“Y-you love me?” you stammered, needing to hear it again, needing to be sure this wasn’t some beautiful dream you’d wake from. You blinked repeatedly, trying to clear your vision through the tears that kept forming. “You really—”
“Yes, kitten,” he smiled with such profound tenderness it stole what little breath you had left.
The endearment made your heart skip. You’d heard him call you that before, but now it felt different. Weighted with meaning. With love.
His thumbs continued their gentle stroking across your cheeks, catching tears as they fell with such careful devotion.
“I’ve loved you from the moment I met you,” he continued, his voice soft but absolute. “Do you remember? We were children. You’d just arrived at the castle, so small and frightened, and you looked at me with those eyes and I just… knew. Even then, I knew you’d be important to me.”
A watery laugh escaped you at the memory—you, barely seven years old, overwhelmed by the massive castle and all the strangers, and Sylus offering you his hand and a shy smile.
“I’ve always loved you,” he went on, and you could hear the tears in his voice now too. “Always adored you. You were always the only one I wanted. The only one I needed. I am so hopelessly, so deeply, so irrevocably in love with you. There’s never been anyone else. There never could be.”
As you looked into his eyes—those beautiful crimson eyes that had always seen you, truly seen you—all you could see was pure adoration and love written in them. Devotion so complete it took your breath away.
For all those years, you’d been so terrified to tell him how you felt. Had convinced yourself it was impossible, that you were foolish for even hoping. Had spent countless nights crying into your pillow over the love you thought you could never have.
Only to discover he’d felt the same way all along.
You’d always been his. From the very first moment. Just as he’d always been yours.
But fear still lingered, creeping in despite the joy. Reality crashing back.
“B-but what about your parents?” you whispered, confusion and worry threading through your voice. “I mean, the King and Queen? You’re going to be King soon. They’ll never accept—I’m not noble, I’m not—”
Your breathing quickened with anxiety. This felt too good to be true. There had to be some obstacle, some reason why this couldn’t work.
Then Sylus smiled—widely, brilliantly, like the sun breaking through clouds.
“Before I summoned you to my office, I told them the truth,” he said, and relief was evident in every word. “I told my father and mother that I only wanted you. That I refused to marry out of duty alone, that I wouldn’t accept any match made for political gain. That I would only marry for love. That I would only marry you.”
Your breath caught. Your heart felt like it might burst from your chest.
“My father struggled with it initially,” Sylus admitted honestly. “He’s a traditional man, and he wanted to uphold certain expectations. But he was never truly against the idea of me being with you. He’s known how I felt about you for years—I think everyone has except you.”
A soft, slightly watery laugh escaped him.
“And my mother?” His smile grew impossibly softer. “She’s been hoping for this since we were children. She’s always loved you. She told me I was a fool for waiting so long, that she was beginning to think she’d have to orchestrate situations to force me to confess.”
He paused, his eyes searching yours.
“They gave us their blessing. Both of them. Completely. You’re already part of our family—you have been for years. This just… makes it official. Makes it real.”
A sob wrecked through your body as you took in his words, the reality of them sinking in like warmth spreading through frozen limbs.
“You—you truly love me?” you asked again in disbelief, shaking your head because this couldn’t be real, couldn’t be happening. “This isn’t… I’m not dreaming?”
“My kitten,” he whispered with such tenderness and intimacy it made you shiver. “I’ve only ever loved you. I will always only want you, need you, desire you, adore you. In this life and every life after.”
Then he pulled you into his arms—gently, carefully, as if you might break. He wrapped his arms around you securely but not tightly, holding you close against his chest.
“You’re the love of my life,” he murmured into your hair. “My soulmate. My everything.”
You felt like you were floating, like this had to be one of your dreams. The beautiful, impossible dreams you’d had countless times before, only to wake up alone and heartbroken.
“Am I dreaming?” you hiccupped against his chest, your hands clutching at his shirt. “Please tell me I’m not dreaming. I don’t think I could bear waking up from this.”
“No, my beloved,” he cooed softly, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head while the other rubbed soothing circles on your back. “It’s real. I’m real. This is real. I promise you.”
You nuzzled your head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat—strong and steady and real—as more sobs wracked through you. These weren’t tears of sadness anymore. They were tears of relief, of joy, of overwhelming emotion you didn’t have words for.
“I’ve been in love with you since the first time we met,” you confessed, your voice soft and muffled against him but steady with truth. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything for anyone else besides you. Ever. It’s always been you.”
You felt him tense slightly, felt his breath catch, and then he was pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were bright with unshed tears, his smile trembling with emotion.
You were still trembling against him, crying with the weight of all these overwhelming feelings—years of longing and fear and hope finally finding release.
“You’re my everything,” Sylus whispered, cupping your cheeks again with such reverence, such tenderness.
Then slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, he leaned down and pressed the softest, most gentle kiss against your forehead. His lips lingered there, warm and tender, and you felt more tears slide down your cheeks.
When he pulled back just enough to look at you again, his thumbs brushed away your tears with such loving care.
His grin was contagious, warmer than the fire that’s crackling in the fireplace, brighter than the sun on a warm summer day and you swear that in that moment you felt as if it’s just the two of you in this universe.
You leaned your face closer to his to then graze your nose against Sylus’.
“My kitten,” He smiled, blinding and it only widened when you looked at him timidly. His nose then moved down to press against your cheek, lips just brushing yours.
“My Sylus.” You whispered as you bit your bottom lip bashfully.
Slowly he brushed his lips against yours before pulling away just slightly. His tongue poked out to wet his lips, and you had to hold back a moan at the delicious, inviting sight. “Kitten,” he whispered lowly, sending shivers down your spine, as his gaze shifted from your lips to your eyes repeatedly. “Can I…?”
Your heart stopped, then started again at triple speed.
“Please,” you breathed.
And then his lips were on yours, soft and gentle and perfect. The kiss was tender, almost chaste—a question and an answer all at once. You felt his hands trembling slightly as they cradled your face, felt your own hands come up to grip his shirt, anchoring yourself to him.
You whimpered as he gave your bottom lip a little nip, swiping his tongue against it afterwards to soothe the sting. You gasped, and Sylus took the opportunity to access the inside of your mouth with his tongue. You moaned, feeling lightheaded and dizzy as the kiss turned more heated.
You always knew that he’d be an amazing kisser, but this was something else. His hands gripped you and crushed your body to his with fervour as he licked and sucked at your tongue. All you could do was melt into him, your arms hanging loosely around his shoulders. You let out more little moans and sighs into his lips as he continued to massage the inside of your mouth with his tongue just right.
When you finally parted, both of you were breathing hard, foreheads resting together.
“I love you,” he whispered against your lips.
“I love you too,” you whispered back. “So much. For so long.”
And standing there in the quiet inn room, wrapped in each other’s arms with tears drying on your cheeks and the taste of your first kiss still lingering, you finally let yourself believe it.
This was real. He loved you. And everything was going to be okay.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Throughout the evening, neither of you could stop touching, holding, or kissing each other—like two souls trying to memorise every second. You eventually moved to the bed, both curled up on the bed, nestled in his lap, lips moving languidly together in an unhurried rhythm that spoke of longing and tenderness. Every kiss deepened with time, slow and reverent, before turning more fervent—more hungry—as his hands began to explore your body through the barrier of your clothes.
The air was thick with anticipation, a heady mix of desire and nervousness that seemed to cling to every surface. Sylus sat underneath you, his tall frame commanding yet gentle, his crimson eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter. His lips, full and inviting, found yours once more, the kiss deepening as his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you tighter against him. You could feel the heat of his body through the fabric of your dress and little panties, his heart racing against your chest, his breath mingling with yours, hot and much deeper.
“I love you… my Sylus,” you whispered breathlessly, as he leaned he reconnected your mouths together and kissed you passionately on the mouth, his blunt nails digging into your plush hips. “I love you so much.”
“Please, will you say it again baby? I need to hear you say it once more.” He pleaded as his eyes fluttered.
“I love you.” You whimpered as his mouth connected with yours again.
He groaned into you, tilting his head to kiss you deeper, and you opened your mouth for him when you felt his tongue tracing your lower lip and licking into your mouth. His hand raised to cup your cheek, the other wrapping tighter around you as he kept your body pressed to his.
His mouth then moved from your lips to your cheeks as he whispered his love for you again and again. He started to trail long, hot kisses down your jaw and neck. You whimpered pitifully as he suckled lightly on the side of your neck, tilting your head back instinctively to bare more of your soft skin to him.
As he continued to move lower down your skin, Sylus his tongue would poke out every now and then to lavish your skin with it. Lapping, kissing and sucking at your body. His kisses became longer, hotter and more fervent as he continued on. You whined, squeezing your eyes shut as you pulled him closer against you.
Sylus groaned and bit down gently on the junction of your neck and shoulder. You cried out, impulsively grinding your hips against his in a desperate search for some much-needed friction against your aching core.
You gasped, your eyes flew open at the hard bulge you felt against your pussy. You whined as your core instinctively started clenching around nothing, begging for attention, his attention.
Instinctively you started moving your hips against his making him groan against your skin. The feeling of his desire pressed against your heated skin is heavenly, and you roll your hips down into his to feel some friction against your throbbing clit.
“Need you so bad baby,” he groaned against your skin. You shuddered against him and felt a heated and wet sensation pool down low between your thighs. You were certain that your tiny underwear was ruined by now.
A high pitched whimper slipped past your lips as he started to move along with you, grinding against your clothed cunt.
“My kitten,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine. His hands were trembling slightly, his fingers brushing the hem of your dress as he spoke. “Can I… can I undress you? Let me help you into your nightgown.”
You hesitated for only a moment, your breath catching in your throat as you considered the weight of his words. This was it—the moment you had both been wanting and needing to happen for so long, the moment that would change everything. Your voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with a mix of excitement and nervousity. “Yes,” you replied, “please.”
With hands that were both gentle and reverent, Sylus began to unlace your dress. His fingers moved slowly, deliberately, each movement a tender caress as he exposed your skin inch by inch. The room was silent except for the soft rustle of fabric and the sound of his soft kisses against your skin and your shared breaths, heavy and anticipatory. As the dress slowly fell away from your shoulders, pooling at your waist, you sat before him in your shift, your body eager and flushed with heat.
You trembled beneath his warm, intimate, and intense gaze, waiting for what he would do next. You felt yourself grow nervous under his watchful, hungry eyes. As much as you wanted him, anxiety bubbled up in the pit of your stomach.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, worry threading through his voice. “You’re trembling.”
“Y-yeah,” you stuttered before exhaling shakily. “Are you sure you want me?”
“Yes, of course,” he replied gently, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “There’s no one I want more than you.”
You took a shuddering breath, bracing yourself for what you were about to confess. “I want you too… so badly. I just— I’ve never done this before. I’m afraid you might be disappointed.”
You nibbled your bottom lip as his eyes widened in realization. He understood what you were admitting. You were a virgin.
You wanted Sylus so much, you had dreamed of this for so long, but you would have been lying if you said your nerves weren’t fraying.
“Baby,” Sylus murmured softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your temple as he wrapped you in his arms. Your body relaxed instantly beneath his affectionate touch. “I’m certain you could never disappoint me. It doesn’t matter whether you’re experienced or not—you’ll always be the best lover I could ever ask for. Because you’re perfect for me.”
Then, in a quieter voice, he added, “Besides, my sweet girl… this would be my first time as well.” He looked at you with so much tenderness that you melted against him all over again. “Please don’t worry about that,” he whispered, nudging his nose against yours with a warm smile. “I’ll take good care of you.”
He gazed at you with such adoration and love that it stole the breath from your lungs. “I trust you, Sy,” you whispered with a timid nod—just before he leaned down to claim your lips in a slow, deep kiss.
Warmth spread through your body as his hands began to wander. You whimpered into his mouth when his palms traced the length of your thighs, his touch both grounding and electrifying. Your head grew hazy with desire, with the overwhelming love you felt for him. Your thoughts dissolved into soft, sweet nothingness as your lips moved together in hungry, passionate kisses.
Slowly, his hands traced your naked skin, gliding toward your lower back as his fingertips followed the soft contours there. You began to move your hips desperately against his, moaning into his mouth, hoping Sylus would understand your silent plea soon enough.
The kiss deepened with an intensity that had you gasping for breath. You rolled your hips into his, rubbing your throbbing clit against him just to gain a bit of friction against your aching core. You moaned into his mouth as you pressed harder, and the front of his dress pants strained as he ground against you in return.
Suddenly everything felt overwhelming—the rising heat in the room, the wandering warmth of his touch sliding over your skin, and the head-spinning truth that you were crossing into unfamiliar yet deeply intimate territory with your best friend. You felt hot all over, your body thrumming with need.
He groaned when you kept grinding against him, his hands tightening around your hips to still your movements. You whined in protest, and in one fluid motion he rolled you both over, hovering above you as he gently pinned your arms against the mattress. You were so desperate to feel him again.
“So impatient,” he chuckled, a devious smile curving his lips as he pulled back just long enough to catch his breath. “Such a needy kitten, begging for my touch.”
“Please,” you whined, your voice soft and desperate as you squirmed beneath him.
Moments later his mouth claimed yours again. The kiss grew hotter, deeper, each pass of your lips stoking the fire between you. His hands moved down your body once more while yours slid to the back of his head, your fingers tangling in his hair. When you gave a soft tug, he moaned into your mouth. One of his hands trailed slowly up your stomach while the other held firmly at your hip. His touch made you weak, heat pooling between your thighs as you kissed and touched each other with unrestrained hunger.
His fingers brushed delicately along the sides of your ribs, moving up and down in slow, reverent sweeps, his fingertips tracing every dip and curve as if memorizing your body.
“You’re so soft,” he whispered against your lips. A moment later, his hands slipped away from your ribs only to settle at the hem of your little dress. “Can I take this off, sweetie?”
You bit your lip and nodded frantically, unable to find your voice in that moment. His smile deepened as his hands slipped beneath your dress for just a second before he hooked his fingers into the fabric and slowly drew it upward. You raised your arms to help him remove it, the air brushing your newly exposed skin.
Heat bloomed across your body under the way his eyes roamed over you, drinking in every detail. The way Sylus looked at you—eyes filled with nothing but love, awe, and adoration—made you feel so alive.
You didn’t know what to do with your hands. They trembled helplessly, and your core trembled just as much, while he tossed the discarded clothing aside and lowered his mouth to your collarbone. His lips moved there with such affection that it sent a sweet shiver down your spine.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, letting his mouth wander over every inch of exposed skin. “So divine… ethereal.”
Your bare chests pressed together, skin against skin, every point of contact setting you ablaze. You stared up at him with wide, overwhelmed eyes as he continued kissing his way across your body.
His large hands slid to the curve of your waist where it met your hips, gripping you firmly as he scattered damp kisses and gentle nips over your shoulders and down the path to your breasts. You whimpered softly when he traced the tip of his nose over the swell of your breast, savoring the moment before his lips followed.
He leaned down and pressed the softest, sweetest kiss to the side of your breast before lifting his gaze to yours. “Are you okay?” he murmured. His forearms rested on either side of your body, caging you in gently. When you nodded, he brought one hand up to stroke your cheek, his thumb warm and tender against your skin. “Kitten… if we’re gonna go any further, I need you to talk to me. I need verbal communication. Think you can do that?”
You stared at him for a moment, breath catching, then nodded again. He raised a brow and gave you that knowing look that sent warmth spreading through your chest. “Sorry,” you whispered. “Y-yes, Sy. Yes… I think I can do that.”
“Good girl,” he praised softly, a gentle smile curving his lips. “And if you want me to stop—” His mouth pressed back to your heated skin, trailing barely-there kisses down the valley of your breasts. Your eyes fluttered shut as your fingers twisted in the sheets. “—you tell me right away. Okay?” he muttered, his voice raw and strained with want.
“Y-yes, Sylus… I understand,” you whimpered.
“Good.”
He breathed in through his nose, inhaling your scent, and you shivered when he exhaled warm breath directly over your nipple. “Fuck, angel… you’re so beautiful.”
Then he wrapped his lips around your nipple, teeth skimming lightly over sensitive skin as he sucked and licked with slow, hungry passion.
“Sy…” you mewled, hips lifting helplessly as your cunt sought any kind of friction.
Sylus looked up at you, his mouth curling into a soft, adoring smile. Heat crawled up your skin under his gaze. He could see everything on your face—want, need, desperation—and he welcomed it. His lips returned to you, long, slow, lavish licks from the flat of his tongue over your pebbled nipple while his other hand rose to squeeze your other breast, kneading gently.
Impatient, trembling, you guided the hand on your breast downward—down your stomach, down to the heat between your thighs. His breath hitched. As his fingers slipped beneath the band of your underwear and down to where you needed him most, his mouth fell open with a loud, helpless groan right against your nipple. His fingers slid between your slick folds, tracing your pussy softly, savoring.
He worshipped you there for a moment—just his fingers teasing, learning every response—before he suddenly pulled back. Completely away from you.
You whimpered as he sat up, watching through hazy eyes as he took his time removing his clothes. Every button, every movement felt agonizingly slow. You shut your eyes briefly, whining, desperate to feel him again, desperate for his heat on your skin.
When he stripped down to just his underwear, you felt the bed dip as he moved back over you. He leaned down, his lips immediately finding your neck, licking and sucking softly as his hands cupped your sensitive breasts and massaged them with tender, reverent fingers. Heat flooded your body as Sylus kissed down your shoulders, then your chest, his mouth leaving warm, fluttering trails.
Your trembling hands slid into his silver hair, threading through the strands as he continued to kiss and taste every inch of exposed skin. Sylus’ lips moved slowly down your body, worshipping you with unhurried kisses, while his hands traced the lines of your shaking form—mapping every curve, every soft place, every breath you took beneath him.
He leaned forward, breathing in the heat of your core as he ran his nose slowly along the patch of dampness clinging to your panties. You tugged at his hair when he inhaled your scent, his breath catching. “Fuck, kitten,” he hummed, looking up at you with an intense, hungry gaze. His hands left your skin to curl into the waistband of your panties. “You smell so good… I can’t wait to taste you.”
A shuddering breath slipped past your lips as you lifted your hips instinctively, silently begging him to take them off. He slid the fabric down your legs, and once he pushed your thighs open for him, you whimpered as the cool air kissed your wet slit. Sylus stilled for a moment, his eyes devouring the sight of you—your glistening center clenching around nothing as he watched your pussy pulse with need.
He licked his lips slowly before leaning down, placing lingering kisses along your inner thighs. His tongue dragged warm, teasing strokes over your soft skin, sucking gently, worshipping. His mouth was so close to where you needed him most, but each kiss felt like sweet torture, keeping him just out of reach.
“So pretty,” he murmured as he guided your legs up and over his shoulders, settling you perfectly beneath him.
You were about to beg—about to plead for him—when his lips left your thigh… only for him to nuzzle directly against your pussy a moment later. He smeared your slick across his lips, savoring the taste as he opened you for his tongue.
You gasped, your body arching as his wet tongue finally met your throbbing heat.
He pulled back again briefly, only long enough for his fingers to slide in and spread your outer lips for him. Sylus smirked as he eased a single finger inside you, watching your body react—the way your hips twitched, the way your walls fluttered around the intrusion, how greedily your wet hole swallowed his digit. You moaned into the pillow beside you, trying to muffle the desperate sounds.
Those little whines—soft, needy, helpless—only drove Sylus to chase more of those heavenly noises from your lips.
“Fuck… such a tight little pussy,” he moaned as your cunt clenched repeatedly around his finger.
Your whines grew louder as the pleasure washed over you. His fingers were so much bigger than yours—just one of his was more overwhelming, more delicious, than anything you had ever done to yourself.
You whimpered as your core kept fluttering and gripping around him, silently begging for more. He pumped his finger in and out of you at a slow, unhurried pace, savoring every reaction. Instinctively, your hips began to move with it, grinding into his hand. Sylus groaned at the sight, his gaze burning into you as he continued to finger-fuck you. His eyes couldn’t stay still—they drifted over your face, down your trembling body, drinking in the way you writhed beneath him.
You panted heavily, thoughts dissolving, barely able to think as he slid two more fingers inside you. Sylus worked them slowly at first, giving your tight pussy time to adjust to the stretch. It was overwhelming, but the kind that felt so unbelievably good. Little whimpers spilled from your lips as he fucked you with his fingers, curling them deep, then spreading them apart. He leaned down and kissed you, swallowing every mewl as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling at the strands, your body moving helplessly with the rhythm he set.
You gasped when his tongue slipped into your mouth, kissing you with desperate devotion. “That feels good, doesn’t it, baby girl? You like it when I touch you like this?” Sylus groaned—right as his thumb found your clit. You bucked into him, nodding frantically.
“Use your words, kitten,” he teased darkly.
“Yes—please, Sy, please… feels so good,” you whimpered, voice breaking.
He kissed his way down your body again, making you whine and beg in soft, breathless sounds—even as his fingers kept thrusting inside you.
Sylus inhaled your scent as soon as he settled between your thighs, but he didn’t keep you waiting. He wet his lips, then dipped his head to drag his tongue in a slow stripe from your dripping folds to your clit.
“Fuck, Sylus!” you shrieked, hips lifting off the mattress.
Senseless, needy noises poured from your throat. Your hips stuttered against him, and he simply sighed—like there was nothing in this world he wanted more than to eat you out right here, right now.
His name tumbled from your lips again and again, chanted like a prayer. Tears pricked your eyes as pleasure overwhelmed you. His mouth wrapped around your clit, his fingers still pumping inside you while his other hand held your hip down, pinning you to the sheets as you bucked, urging him to give you even more.
He worked your arousal expertly—his fingers curling to hit that spongy spot inside you while his tongue flicked and suckled at your clit. The familiar coil in your belly wound tighter and tighter. Your abdomen clenched as he quickened his pace, fingers stroking that sweet spot with perfect precision. Your toes curled, thighs shaking as they squeezed around his head.
“Aah—too much!” you squeaked, voice strangled as you teetered on the edge. “T-too— I-I—fuck!”
“Easy, kitten,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your thigh as his fingers stilled for a moment.
“Sylus…” you mumbled, face buried in the pillow.
“It’s okay, baby. I know. I’ve got you,” he cooed, his voice teasing but tender. “It’s a lot. Will you let me continue?”
“Y-yeah… just—just wait a second,” you whined.
“Anything for you.”
But waiting became unbearable—your body aching, throbbing, desperate. And he felt it too. Sylus leaned down, tongue sliding between your folds before licking upward to your clit.
You sighed at the same moment he did—yours high and breathy, his deep and dreamy. He lapped at you with clear intention, fucking you with slow, careful strokes of his fingers this time, keeping you just where you needed to be.
“Oh—my god,” you whimpered, trembling hands gripping his silver hair with one hand while the other clamped over your mouth to silence yourself. “F-Fuck… Sy, f-fuck…”
He moaned into your pussy, lips sealing around your clit. You jerked at the sensation. “Fucking hell— you taste so good. You feel so good. You’re everything,” he groaned against you.
“Fuck, baby—oh my fucking god,” you cried out. He sucked lazily on your clit while curling his fingers inside you, then sucked harder as he circled your little bud with his tongue. His fingers moved faster, deeper, hitting your sweet spot over and over. You moaned his name between breathless mewls, now gripping his hair with both hands.
Your whole body trembled violently, heat spreading everywhere, your hips grinding helplessly into his face and hand.
“A-Ah! I’m coming—please, please—”
“Cum for me, kitten,” he murmured before sucking your clit again.
Your body snapped tight as your orgasm tore through you. Your mind exploded into blinding stars, pleasure crashing through your nerves so sharply you cried out his name. You trembled uncontrollably as you came against his mouth, your soul unwinding in his hands.
“You’re doing so well for me, sweetie,” he whispered proudly as his fingers slowed, sliding out to softly rub your swollen slit while he kept licking your clit—guiding you gently through every last wave.
You were a sputtering, helpless mess, trembling as he pushed you right to the edge of overstimulation.
As your senses returned in shaky pieces, you felt his fingers slip away from your heat. Your pussy clenched around nothing, desperate and empty. You felt like a fevered storm, soaked from the waist down, dripping onto the sheets, whimpering helplessly.
You needed him. Badly. Your pussy pulsed insistently—begging to be filled again. Begging for his cock.
Your eyes were still closed when you felt your legs being spread open even wider by his strong hands. A loud, broken moan spilled from your lips as Sylus dove between your thighs again, licking a slow stripe up through your folds and teasingly dipping his tongue into your needy hole before traveling up to your clit, spreading you with his wet muscle and sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth.
You practically cried at the sensation, your back arching slightly off the bed. Your whole body trembled, desperate and overwhelmed. You needed more—so much more. Instinctively, you tried to grind your wetness against his lips, chasing any friction as your body shook uncontrollably.
But his arms locked around your thighs, biceps caging your hips in place, holding you still despite your attempts to ride his mouth.
“Taste so good, kitten… could eat this pussy all day,” he growled against you.
The man you loved more than anyone in the universe was between your legs, sliding his tongue up and down your soaked slit. Every soft mewl, every helpless noise escaping your lips only urged him on. His mouth returned to your clit, sucking the nub softly between his lips, savouring every reaction you gave him.
Eventually he leaned in deeper, slipping his tongue into your entrance. He curled it upward, brushing your walls, and the way your fingers bunched the sheets in a tight, trembling grip made him repeat the motion with even more intent.
You were a mess—his mess—a whimpering, needy ruin beneath him. Your hips kept trying to move against his face as breathless moans tumbled out of you uncontrollably. Writhing beneath him, you felt him lick up again, pressing his tongue against a sensitive spot inside that made your vision blur, your hips bucking hard against his mouth. Your thighs clamped around his head as another orgasm drew frighteningly close.
Greed and desperation overtook you. Your fingers dove into his silver hair, tugging harder than before, your hips pushing against his face to force his tongue deeper into your aching cunt.
“Ahh—Sylus…” you moaned, voice breaking. You were so close—you just needed one more push.
You moved your hips against him helplessly, fucking yourself on his tongue as he pressed firmly into that sensitive spot inside you. His thumb circled your clit in slow, perfect circles that made stars dance behind your eyes.
“Be a good girl and come for me,” Sylus moaned against your pussy before plunging his tongue back inside you.
That did it. With the added pressure on your clit and the sound of his deep, commanding voice, you came with a loud, shattered whine. Your vision went white, your ears rang, and your movements against his face turned sloppy and uncoordinated.
Your hips stuttered until the final waves of aftershocks rolled through you. He stayed with you gently, lapping at your release until the overstimulation made you twitch away.
“You did so well, angel… so good to me. So beautiful. And you taste so good. So sweet,” he murmured against your inner thigh, voice thick with praise.
You whimpered softly at his words, gently trying to pull your hips away from his mouth. He grinned up at you, eyes locked with yours as he brought his glistening fingers to his lips.
Your whimpers shifted into embarrassed giggles as he licked his fingers clean, and you brought your hands up to hide your heated cheeks. But Sylus wasn’t having it. He caught your hands and kissed them all over—soft, slow kisses—before pulling them gently down. Then he leaned in, peppering kisses across your nose, your forehead, your cheeks, until finally his mouth landed on your lips with a smile, both of you laughing softly between each kiss.
He pulled back with a satisfied sigh, his expression warm and tender as he reached to touch the side of your neck, tracing his fingertips up and down.
You melted at the gentle contact and pressed a kiss to his thumb when it brushed your lips. Your still-shaky legs wrapped around his hips as you gazed into his eyes, breathless and utterly in love.
“I think I’m ready.”
His breath stilled. “Sure?” he asked softly, as though he was afraid to sway you either way.
“Yes.” You nodded, voice small but sure, and reached between your bodies to cradle his cheek. Your thumb brushed his skin in a tender little stroke that made his eyes soften instantly.
“We can stop at any moment if it becomes too much,” he reminded you in that gentle tone he saved only for you. “I need you to know that.”
You pouted up at him, letting your fingers trace his soft skin. “I know I’m nervous,” you admitted, voice fragile. “But I… I don’t want to stop.”
His expression melted. “My sweet girl,” he breathed, brushing his nose against yours. “I only want you comfortable. If you changed your mind, I would hold you just the same. I would adore you just as much.”
Your chest tightened. Tears welled helplessly at the tenderness in his voice. No one had ever loved you like this. No one made you feel so treasured, so safe, so seen. You wanted him with every trembling beat of your heart, and somehow—and impossibly—his gentleness and reassurance only made you want him more.
You inhaled shakily and lifted both hands to cup his face. He held your wrists lightly, reverently, as if your touch alone steadied him.
“I want to experience this with you,” you whispered, eyes locked with his. “I trust you. I love you with everything that I am.”
The look he gave you then nearly undid you—pure adoration, awe, a devotion that made you feel like you were something sacred placed into his hands. Your cheeks warmed, your heart fluttered, but your nerves eased beneath the warmth of his gaze.
He lowered his head, kissing you deeply—slowly first, then with a growing hunger—as he cupped your face. Your legs tightened around his hips, drawing him closer. You felt his hard cock pressing against your soaked core through the thin barrier of his underwear, and the slow drag of heat made your breath catch.
Letting instinct guide you, you let your hands glide from his jaw down the sculpted lines of his torso, pausing when your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his boxers. He inhaled sharply, watching you with parted lips, his entire body attuned to your touch. When your hands stilled on the band, he exhaled softly and sat back just enough to slip them off.
He dragged the fabric down his legs, tossing it aside. And suddenly he was bare to you—completely, beautifully bare.
Your breath hitched as your gaze roamed over him. He was… breathtaking. And also massive. Thick and long, heavy, flushed with desire, precum leaking from the tip, catching in the low light. Heat surged straight to your still-clenching core as you imagined him filling you—stretching you—yet the sight also sent a tremor of nerves through your belly.
Sylus moved back over you, brushing a soft kiss to your lips, then another. It felt like he was trying to soothe every tremor inside you. “What is this beautiful mind of yours thinking?” he murmured against your mouth.
“H-how…?” you whispered, wide-eyed, cheeks burning.
A quiet laugh escaped him—warm and fond and impossibly gentle. “I promise, angel, I’ll fit,” he whispered, cupping your cheek with his big, warm hand. “I’ll go slow. I’ll take such good care of you.”
You melted into his touch.
He aligned himself with you, the warm tip of his cock brushing your entrance, and the contact made you shiver. Sylus rested his forehead against yours, eyes locked with yours as if grounding you.
You rolled your hips up in a shy, needy motion, wanting to feel him. Slick heat spread as your wetness coated him. A deep, strained moan vibrated through his chest as he moved with you, letting the head of his cock glide through your folds.
“I love you,” you breathed, nudging your nose against his before kissing him softly.
His eyes glowed with a warmth that wrapped around your heart like a promise. “And I love you,” he whispered, sealing your mouth with another slow kiss. “More than anything.”
Your lips moved lazily together, savoring each stolen breath. But soon the kisses deepened, slow turning hungry, your fingers curling against his back while his hands held your hips. Every moment burned sweeter than the last.
Holding his length in one hand, he dragged the head of his cock from your entrance up over your clit—slowly, teasingly. You gasped softly at the sensation, your body arching into him. He circled your sensitive bud with the slick tip, spreading his precum and your arousal together until you were trembling beneath him.
He groaned as he watched you writhe. “You’re so wet for me,” he whispered, voice low and reverent. “So perfect.”
And he kept teasing you, dragging back down to your entrance, then up again—drawing out every soft whimper you gave him like it was a gift.
The thought of Sylus finally entering you — really having him inside you — made your body grow impossibly wetter, a molten ache blooming deep in your core. Sylus swallowed every trembling whine you gave him, kissing you with a hunger that made your head spin, rolling his hips slowly with yours as if he could soothe the anticipation building inside your entire body.
You trembled beneath him, every inch of you alive with need. His body covered yours completely, warm and solid, grounding and overwhelming all at once. You writhed softly, helplessly, yearning for him to fill you, to be inside you so deeply that the world blurred into white.
“I’ll try to go slow, okay, kitty?” he murmured in that low velvet tone, brushing a brief kiss to your parted lips. His hand slid down between you both, curling around the base of his cock as he lined himself up. The head of him pressed gently between your slick folds, rubbing slow, deliberate strokes that sent sparks across your skin.
“P-please, Sylus,” you stuttered, voice breaking beautifully. Your body trembled even harder beneath him. “P-put it in, please…”
He exhaled shakily, clearly as affected as you were, and kept teasing himself up and down your slit — spreading your wetness, feeling you. You arched your back in desperation, a broken whine ripping free of your throat.
“Relax, little kitten,” he whispered against your lips, brushing them again as if he could calm your trembling through touch alone.
His forehead rested against yours. His breath warmed your cheek. And then — finally — he nudged the tip of his cock against your entrance. Your legs quivered around his hips, nerves and need tangling together.
The moment he notched himself inside you, both of you gasped. It was only the tip, but the stretch already stole your breath. Sylus moved so carefully it almost broke you — inching forward as though he was afraid to hurt you, his muscles trembling with the effort of restraint.
A long, fragile whine spilled from your lips as he slowly pushed deeper, and deeper still. He was so big. So impossibly thick.
“Too big, Sy…” you mewled, voice broken and trembling.
Slowly—carefully—he pushed just a little further inside you, his breath warm against your cheek as he whispered, “You can take it, my kitten. You’re doing so so good for me. Such a good little kitten.”
You tangled your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling gently, clinging to him as he breathed heavily above you. His forehead pressed to yours, his warm breath fanning your lips as he inched forward. The sting of the stretch made your eyes squeeze shut, but his slow, deliberate pace kept it from ever tipping into too much.
He pressed another centimeter into you — then another — until your nails dug into his scalp and a sharp gasp tore from you. He stilled instantly.
His hands framed your face, kissing your cheeks, your temple, your lips. “Doing so good for me, kitten,” he whispered between each kiss. “So, so good.”
“Please…” you whimpered, eyes fluttering shut as tears prickled.
He kept moving with excruciating patience, letting you adjust to every bit of him. After a moment, your body began to relax around him, slowly easing into the stretch. You clutched his shoulders, your walls fluttering around him helplessly as pleasure began to unfurl in the pit of your stomach.
“Such a good girl,” he breathed — and your body clenched around him, growing even wetter at the praise.
At last, with a deep, shuddering breath, he bottomed out. A soft, startled gasp escaped you as the head of his cock kissed your cervix. You could feel his precum mixing with your slick, hot inside you, and tears finally spilled freely down your cheeks — a mix of the overwhelming fullness, the relief, the trust, the love, all of it tangled together.
He held you tenderly, lips brushing your forehead as he whispered encouragement, soft as prayer.
When you finally opened your eyes, he was already watching you with deep concern, thumb brushing away your tears. “I’m fine,” you whispered with a shaky smile, nodding. “It’s just… a lot.”
And it was. You felt stretched perfectly around him, filled in a way that made your entire body buzz. As you adjusted, the fullness began to bloom into something sweeter — deeper.
You clenched around him without meaning to, and Sylus groaned low in his chest, his face tightening with restraint.
“Sy…” you breathed, lifting one shaking hand to brush the hair away from his eyes. “You can move.”
His eyes softened into something tender, grateful, undone. When your hips tilted up, inviting him, he let out a deep moan and lowered his forehead to yours again. His lips grazed your cheek as he pulled back just slightly—
Then he rolled his hips forward in one slow, deep stroke.
You gasped, back arching at the sensation. His thrusts were careful, controlled, slow enough that you felt every inch of him dragging through you. He didn’t pull out far — only enough to rock inside you, the movement gentle and intimate and achingly deep.
The sting faded quickly, replaced by a warmth that curled into your bones. Every slow glide had your breath hitching, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your walls fluttering around him with every tender, deliberate thrust.
He kissed your lips, your cheek, your jaw. “You’re perfect,” he whispered against your mouth. “So warm… so tight… so good for me.”
And he kept moving — slow, deep, worshipful — as if savoring every second inside you.
Slowly, you were getting used to his girth, anticipating it every time he pulled out of you before sliding forward again. Your legs were splayed open on either side of his hips as he ground his cock into you. The angle was perfect—so deep, so consuming—that Sylus gradually picked up his pace, leaving you a whimpering, breathless mess beneath him. As he fucked into you with long, languid strokes, the room filled with the wet, desperate sound of slick skin meeting slick skin.
Every time he sank into you, his pelvic bone dragged against your throbbing clit, making you cry out his name in pure, helpless ecstasy.
“You’re taking me so well, sweetie… doing so, so good for me,” he whispered against your skin, his voice warm and adoring as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.
Soft grunts fell from Sylus’ lips whenever he hit that specific deep spot inside you. You whimpered as his mouth returned to yours, capturing your lips in a heated, dizzying kiss. One of his hands slipped down between your bodies, finding your clit with practiced ease as he rubbed two slow, deliberate circles over your sensitive nub.
When he slid into a hidden pressure point deep in your core—paired with the relentless way his fingers circled your clit—you clenched around him like a vise. Your eyes rolled back as pleasure surged violently through you, overwhelming and new. Your whimpers climbed higher in pitch as he picked up his pace, fucking you deeper, the sound of his breath growing ragged as he watched you unravel.
“Feeling good, baby?” Sylus moaned, lips curling into a soft, tender smile as he admired the way your face contorted in pleasure—so overwhelmed, so beautifully undone just for him. Filth and praise slipped from his mouth like honey. “This pussy was made for me.”
His mouth covered yours again, swallowing all your little noises, smothering your trembling breaths. The tightness in your belly returned, coiling and pulling tighter with every thrust, every touch, every kiss he gave you.
Your whimpers and gasps grew louder as ecstasy and warmth flooded your senses.
His hands couldn’t get enough of you—sliding over your hips, your waist, your back—touching every part of you like he wanted to memorize it. You whimpered at the speed of his thrusts, feeling another orgasm build rapidly, your legs locking tightly around his hips. He felt it too—the way you squeezed around him with every thrust—so he drove harder into your heat, shifting his hips, searching for the exact spot he knew would shatter you.
Your arms trembled as they wrapped around him, nails digging into his back, earning a deep, helpless groan from him. The coil in your belly tightened, tingling down to your legs—ready to snap at any moment.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice strained, cursing softly when you purposefully tightened your walls around him. “Bet you’d look even prettier with my cum inside you… all full and messy.”
“Please…” you moaned, your mind hazy with want. “Please, Sy… baby… fill this pussy up.”
He groaned into your neck, fucking you harder, the bed rattling beneath both of you with every desperate thrust.
“You want to cum, sweetheart?”
You nodded frantically, your eyes squeezing shut as you bit your lip, your body trembling beneath him. You bucked up instinctively, nails sinking into his skin as his hand moved back to your clit. His other hand found yours, intertwining your fingers before pinning them gently to the bed. He rubbed your clit with firm, perfect pressure—just enough to push you over.
“Cum for me, kitten,” Sylus demanded softly, his voice a warm breath against your cheek.
And when he nudged that one perfect spot inside you—paired with his deep, commanding voice—you exploded.
You shattered, coming undone so violently it ripped a cry of his name from your throat. Blood rushed wildly in your ears, drowning out the sound of your own sobbing breaths as Sylus crashed his lips onto yours, swallowing every broken noise. Your head fell back, your back arching sharply as your body twisted under the force of your release.
Sylus groaned into your ear as your walls spasmed around him, clenching desperately, begging for him—needing him to fill you.
“Fuck…” he moaned, pushing himself up as he thrust harder, deeper, the head of his cock hitting your spot repeatedly. “You want me to fill this pussy up? Make it all messy?”
You were dazed, trembling, but still able to nod vigorously, whining as overstimulation mixed with need. Your pussy squeezed around him with greedy pulses. “Please…”
His hips stuttered, thrusts turning sloppy as the pleasure overtook him. Then—
with a raw, broken moan—he spilled inside you.
Warmth flooded your core, spreading thickly through your walls as he kept himself buried deep. You whimpered when he finally pulled out, his cum dripping out of you and down your thighs.
Everything was a soft, blurred haze when you came back to yourself. Your body ached, but in the sweetest way—completely relaxed, thoroughly ruined, and glowing with the kind of exhaustion that felt like bliss.
Once both of you had caught your breaths, Sylus leaned his forehead against yours and kissed you tenderly.
“That was…” he breathed, smiling in awe at the beautiful mess beneath him—your hair tousled, your skin flushed, your lips swollen from his kisses.
“Oh yeah… that was amazing.” Your voice came out hoarse, softened by pleasure. You cleared your throat gently and smiled up at him.
Your skin was sweaty and sticky, but he didn’t seem to care at all. He pulled you closer, hands roaming lovingly over every inch of skin he could reach, still dazed by how breathtaking you looked coming apart for him—because of him.
Overwhelmed with affection, you cupped his cheeks in both hands and pulled him down into another slow, tender kiss—soft, deep, and full of emotion.
And that’s how the rest of the night went, tender kisses and soft and intimate touches shared between you two as you enjoyed each other’s company. Feeling so loved and at home as you melted in his embrace.
You’d once thought Sylus was forever out of reach—close enough to touch but impossibly far from claiming. But as his arms tightened around you and his lips pressed another gentle kiss to your forehead, as he whispered your name like a prayer in the darkness, you understood the truth: he’d never been out of reach at all. He’d been yours from the very beginning, just as you’d always been his. You’d just both needed time to find the courage to bridge the distance. And now, finally, gloriously, there was no distance left at all. In the quiet hours before dawn, with moonlight spilling through the balcony doors and Sylus’s heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you finally understood what the poets meant when they wrote about love—this overwhelming sense of rightness, of completeness, of coming home to a place you’d been searching for your entire life.
And as his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back and he murmured sleepy words of devotion against your hair, you knew with absolute certainty that this was only the beginning. That every day forward would be filled with moments like these—tender, true, and entirely yours.
