wrote this in a haze lol His new promise card has me in a chokehold omg 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯
Can you imagine Sylus, groggy and half-asleep on the pillow next to you. It’s a sight afforded to very few— a sight afforded to none, actually, aside from you.
He’s so vulnerable like this: red eyes just slivers behind light lashes and his breathing soft and even. In exhaustion, that aggravating (handsome) smirk he wears is softened into a slight curve of his mouth. Hair tousled, broad back catching the light of the rising sun from his window, and for a moment you think you might be falling in love with him all over again.
”Mm,” is his deep, rough hum when you gently run your hands through his hair. Not unlike a purr, not unlike a dragon’s rumble. One of his eyes cracks open, finding you even in his sleepy haze. “Something you need, sweetie?”
”...sorry,” you say, not actually sounding very sorry at all. Your hand continues to run through his hair, as if you have no control over it. “Your hair is just…very soft.”
Sylus laughs— the one he reserves only for you, and it makes something warm settle in your chest. “No need to be jealous, kitten. You’re more than welcome to help yourself to my hair care.”
As if in warning, you tug on a strand of his hair, but it just makes his grin widen.
“So violent,” he coos, delighting in the way your eyes narrow. You huff— even when sleepy, he’s a pain in your ass.
It’s only when your hand motions to retract from his mussed head of silver hair that he frowns, one of his hands darts out from beneath the sheets, grasping your wrist and determinedly tugging it back to tangle in his hair.
”Keep doing that. It feels… nice,” Sylus murmurs, all but melting under your fingers when you do as he asks, scratching pleasantly at his scalp and running your fingers through his hair. He does that rumble again— that purr as his eyes flutter closed, and you’re not even sure if he’s aware of it, but he inches just the slightest bit closer to you, his head sliding onto your own pillow as if it were his own.
Clingy, you want to tease, but you know the word will come out too soft. So instead you just sigh and continue to run a hand through Sylus's hair, slowly listening to his breathing even out as he falls asleep.
And if you snuggle close before you sleep, face buried in his neck and legs tangled with his, then it's a secret for only the two of you to keep, too.
Reunion with Sylus after you remember your past life together. The way that Sylus would be so bewildered at first, not knowing (or perhaps not daring to hope) why you’re suddenly marching into his room like you’re on a mission, why you’re grabbing his face frantically, eyes wide and glossy with unshed tears.
He doesn’t know why you’re suddenly kissing him like you’re dying, like you’ve missed him when you only just saw him that morning. Doesn’t know why your hands are shaking where they’re buried in his hair, or why you seem caught between laughing and sobbing with your lips pressed against his. He doesn’t know why— not until you force yourself to part from his lips, glossy with your spit and reddened from your kiss.
“My dragon,” you murmur softly, words cracking with desperation. Your lip brush against his own, voice reverent and filled with longing and heartbreak and sorrow and a bottomless love. His breath catches in his chest, eyes widening in disbelief, in hips. You press a kiss to his forehead, and Sylus’ eyes flutter shut and a shuddering breath leaves him, heart racing in his chest, because you finally, finally remember.
Imagine being Boothill’s sweetheart before everything went up in flames… he didn’t think you survived, but you did somehow, and you managed to get away from the terror and the flames. And he meets you again, in some far corner of the galaxy.
He’s a galaxy ranger now, with a body made of metal and a core where his heart should be. But he still feels something click when he looks at you, even from the corner of his eye. He doesn't believe what he's seeing at first— he thinks that it must be some bug in his system. Some trick of the light. But despite his doubts he feels his feet move from under him, walking first, then running, until he's pushing other people out of the way and damn near sprinting to get to you before you disappear.
And oh, when he manages to reach you— manages to stop you with a hand on your shoulder, he almost can't believe his eyes. He takes his hat off and presses it to his chest, the same way he had done when he asked for your hand a lifetime ago.
If he could cry, he thinks, he’d be a blubbering mess.
Because it is you. Because he'd recognize the curve of your cupid's bow and the shine in your eyes even from across a cosmos. Because you're here, against all odds and despite every nightmare he's had. You're here, and you're just as lovely as the day he lost you.
SEMI-NSFW!! 16+ ONLY !!
— Sylus.
gn reader, no body parts mentioned. Fade to black right before you fuck so nothing explicit, but heavily implied. Lovesick Sylus ♡
Yes, Sylus finds enjoyment in branding your skin with his teeth, leaving marks for all to admire for the coming days. He’s a man in love— sue him. But when you’re the one marking him up, clinging to him with your face buried in his neck and your teeth in his skin, painting another pretty bruise there for everyone to see, Sylus’ breath catches and his heart races. Knowing that you’re marking him— that you’re staking a claim on him. That you’re declaring him yours. Your man, your beloved, your dragon.
A helpless groan rises from his chest, guttural and rough. One of his arms wraps around you, keeping you pressed close. It’s almost like he’s begging you to keep going— to leave more bites and bruises on his skin. Enough that they won’t fade, enough that no one doubts the fact that he’s yours.
His other hand rises to his mouth, shakily trying to muffle the embarrassing litany of gasps and groans that are punched from his chest. His cheeks are heated, his wool body feeling like it’s burning under your touch.
“I’m all yours,” Sylus can’t help but breathlessly murmur when you (regrettably) part from the painting of bruises on his neck. His eyes are hazy— dazed. Like he’s seeing the world in sparkles and shines, with you at the center of it all. His hand tightens around your waist. “Say it, my heart. Please.”
And he’s helpless as you caress his cheek so gently. Helpless to melt in the palm of your hand, cheek nuzzling against your touch like a man starved. His eyes flutter shut, and his one hand grasps yours, holding it still as he presses a kiss to the base of your palm, then your wrist, then each of your fingertips.
You shiver at the heat in his kiss— at the expression of pure love and desire that he wears. It’s hard to breathe, you think, when faced with your dragon’s immeasurable devotion. “You’re mine,” you say, soft and sincere, trying your best to not let your voice shake. Sylus shakes underneath you. “From now until eternity— you’re mine.”
And he groans, raw and ragged, the sound of deep satisfaction pulled from somewhere in the recesses of his soul. It feels so right when you say that— when you claim him as yours. It makes all the years he’s spent without it seem microscopic in comparison. He’d relive it all, just to hear you say it again and again.
“And you’re mine, as well,” Sylus says, taking your hand and pressing it over his chest, where his heart beats, but only for you. “And I will always find my way back to you.”
With a single smooth movement, he rolls the two of you until your back is cushioned against the sheets of the bed, and he’s hovering over you— the only thing you can see. Crimson eyes devour you hungrily, reverently. But his hand is still gentle as he caressed your cheek, soft in the way his arm around your middle still keeps you pressed against him.
“Let me show you my devotion, my heart, so that you never forget it again,” Sylus murmurs, the hand on your cheek trailing down— down your neck, past your chest, even lower than your stomach, and suddenly, you understand why dragons are described as greedy creatures.
#MULTI — The excuse he uses to hold your hand
wc: 0.7
fluff, teasing, established relationship, hand holding !!
— How's he gonna get out of this one?
Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!
It catches you by surprise— where you had both just been walking along, enjoying the atmosphere, the touch of his fingers weaving between yours is something you hadn't been expecting.
It wasn't unwelcome, though. Far from it.
The tangent you had been rambling on about trails away like leaves in the wind as you blink down at the hand that gasps yours securely. Beside you, he carries on as if there were no such change, even having the gall to raise his eyebrow when he notices you falling silent.
"You were saying?" he asks, as if to prompt you back into your ramble, but you practically bulldoze over his faux nonchalance by squeezing his hand and waving it between you two.
"Oh, look at you, being so forward," you tease, swinging your hands back and forth. "I'm not at all complaining, but, well, I didn't think you'd be so bold."
He huffs at you a bit, eyes narrowed in an expression that you'd dare say is petulant. Maybe even flustered. The first thing out of his mouth is—
"It looked like you wanted to hold hands. I'm just saving you the trouble of asking." He says, gaze not meeting your own, but hand still firmly holding yours. You have to fight back an amused smile.
When you teasingly try to let your hand slip out from his, relaxing your grip, his own immediately tightens. His narrowed, accusatory gaze snaps to yours so fast that for a second you worry he might injure his neck.
"Uh huh, you keep telling yourself that," you tease, sidling up close enough that you can nudge him with your shoulder.
It's cute, you think, how he immediately leans closer to you when you come near. Like he's not even aware he does it, like his body just wants to be closer to you. When he realizes what happened, there's a moment where his eyes widen— then his gaze is trained on the path in front, decidedly not making eye contact. Cute, you think again.
"i like holding hands with you, you know" you tell him tenderly, quietly— a sweet secret just between the two of you. You squeeze his hand and, unhesitatingly, he squeezes back. "I wouldn't mind doing it more often."
And oh, he hopes you don't notice the heat to his cheeks, and the darkening of the tips to his ears. Hopes you don't notice the quirk to the edges of his lips that he just. can't. keep. down. Hopes you don't make out how damn pleased he sounds when he says, "If that's what you want," knowing that it's exactly what he wants, too.
— Scaramouche / Wanderer, Xiao, Cyno, Boothill, Dr. Ratio, Alhaitham
"Why? Am I not allowed to?" Comes his teasing response, making you roll your eyes.
"You know that's not what I meant," you grumble, playfully punching his arm, knowing that you did little to no actual damage. Still, he pretends to wince and rub the area you hit, grimacing.
"No need to get violent," he says, "You're hurting my feelings, love."
"You're awful," you tell him.
"And yet you've still yet to let go of my hand," he reminds you all-too-happily, raising said hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
At the gesture, a tingle runs up your spine and butterflies come to life in your stomach— you wonder if he can hear the frantic pulse in your wrist, if he can see the way you cover up how damn flustered you are with a scowl.
You hate hate hate the way he's turned the tables on you— how he's managed to turn what was supposed to be you teasing him into him turning you into a gooey mess yet again. And yet...
"Oh shut up and keep walking," you say in defeat, not able to look him in the eye. You might just combust on the spot if you do.
He sounds all too pleased as he lets your hands drop between you two, fingers still weaved together, swinging your joint hands easily to the breeze.
There's a smile to his voice when he says— "Whatever you say, beloved."
Handcuffing Sylus to a chair and riding him, taking the control away from him a little bit— but only until you see the red sheen of his evol, hear a tiny little click from the handcuffs. And then his broad, warm hands find their rightful place on your waist, squeezing just enough to have you gasp. Only then do you realize that he hadn’t given up the control— he was just letting you have your fun.
“Husband,” you coo, and that’s all it takes. Wriothesley is immediately putty in your hands.
He doesn’t even protest when you slip onto his lap, the motion aided by the familiarity of the action. He just playfully sighs and pushes the chair of his desk back enough for you to be comfortable too, his hand immediately going to your hips to keep you steady.
“Yes, beloved?” He replies, the beginnings of a smirk on his lips. It’s just impossible to even pretend to frown when you call him that— when you remind him that he’s your husband.
And like you know the kind of effect you have on him, you smile widely and get comfortable in your new seat, leaning forward so your face is hidden in his neck, your body cradled safely against his. “Nothin’,” you say into the side of his throat, and he swallows. “Just wanted to be near you, is all. Kinda missed you today.”
And oh if that doesn’t make his heart race in his chest. To know that you missed him, that you thought about him— it’s such a juvenile thing, especially now that you’re married, but he can’t help it. Even the smallest things you do or say make butterflies erupt in his stomach.
Wriothesley can feel you try to stifle a chuckle when you feel how quick his heart beats under your palm, and he knows he’s done for. His hands migrate up your back, pressing you closer into his embrace, and you hum happily at your husband’s touch.
“You can stay here for as long as you’d like, then,” He muses as you melt against him. He tries to look over your shoulder at the papers still on his desk, fighting to keep his attention over how perfectly you fit in his arms.
“Will you carry me back to our room if I fall asleep?”
Wriothesley doesn’t even try to hide his smile. “You already know I will.”
Your husband, after all, is wrapped around your finger, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Wriothesley holding your hands while he sits you on his lap, cock buried into you to the hilt, making you whine with how full you are. Wriothesley telling you to take what you want, telling you, no, I can’t help you. Can’t you see how my hands are busy? And giving your palms a little squeeze for good measure. Wriothesley's head falling back and his eyes rolling when you whine and whimper his name as you jerkily try to bounce yourself on his lap, only able to rise to about halfway before your knees give in and gravity pulls you back down onto him.
Wriothesley who groans, deep and ragged in his throat when you sob, begging him to help, that you just can’t do it. That he's just too big.
“Too much, hm?” He asks voice little more than a rough whisper. His hands gently untangle from yours, tenderness so at odds with the thoughts in his mind— how he wants to see you crying from pleasure, how he wants to hear you sobbing his name and begging him to fill you up and keep you warm with his cum.
Scarred palms gently rest on your hips and, with ease, he lifts you up, up and up until only the fat head of him is left inside you— before he drags you back down, his hips rising to meet yours in a rough, deep thrust. He stretches you open, dragging a needy whine from your throat and making you see stars behind your eyelids. The stretch of him is immeasurable, filling you up to the brim and stuffing you with his cock so deep that you think that he's carved a little place out inside of you just for himself.
"Fuck, baby," he laughs softly as his tip goes as deep as he can, making you yelp when it brushes your innermost parts. Balls-deep in his lovely sweetheart, holding your trembling, whimpering form on his lap. He can't imagine anything better than this.
Wriothesley groans softly, burying his face in the back of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair. "You're so warm. So perfect," he murmurs the praise softly, and all you can do is hiccup his name in response. He bounces you on his cock again, pulling you off of it and then pushing you down once more, and he swears that the world narrows down to nothing else but you in that moment.
"Buckle up, sweetheart," Wriothesley says, voice low and ragged and rough— an unspoken promise of what's in store for you tonight. Hands tighten on your hips, and you can feel his grin as he presses a kiss to your hair. "You're gonna be in for a bumpy ride."
