୨୧ — “Hey.” Valko's voice is rough, scratchy, but he's trying for lightness, “You still in there, sweetheart? Or did I fuck you into another dimension?”
“Mmm.”
It's the only response you can manage. Your brain is still offline, your thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. You feel boneless, liquid, like someone has scooped out your insides and replaced them with warm honey.
“M’good,” you finally manage, the words slurring together, “‘M’really... really good.”
A soft huff escapes him- almost a laugh, edged with disbelief. Valko's palm cups your cheek, thumb brushing a tear track, smearing salt and sweat- and then he really looks at you.
His golden eyes travel slowly down your body.
The bruises blooming on your hips. The red marks circling your wrists. Your cum smeared thighs, your puffy, fucked out hole still weeping his seed onto the already ruined sheets, cunt gaped and swollen from his knot. Body absolutely limp against the mattress, trembling faintly with aftershocks…
The playful smile on his face... falters.
“I…” He swallows hard. His hand hovers over the finger shaped bruises on your hip, not quite touching, like he's afraid to cause more damage. “...I lost control again.”
“S’okay-”
Look at her. Wrecked. Because of me. Because I couldn't- …She's pregnant, the thought slices through him. She's carrying your pups and you still couldn't- you still-
“Valko.” Your hand finds his jaw, weak and trembling but there, “M’okay. Promise.”
He doesn't look convinced, “I should've been more careful. You're-” His gaze drops to your belly, the swell of it unmistakable now. “-you're pregnant. With twins. And I just-”
“Fucked me exactly how I wanted?” You manage a tired smile, “Yeah. Terrible. How dare you.”
A laugh escapes him, “Brat.”
“Hmm~ But I’m your brat.”
His thumb traces your cheekbone, impossibly gentle, “In my defense, you make it really hard to hold back when you beg like that.”
You try to swat at him, but your arm just... flops. Pathetically.
He grins, “Cute.”
"Sh'up."
“Make me.” He leans down, pressing a feather light kiss to your sweaty forehead, “Actually, don't. You can barely move. It wouldn't be a fair fight.” Another kiss, this one to the tip of your nose. “Don't move a muscle, not one. Doctor Valko’s orders.”
“You're not- not a doctor-”
“Hmph, well i’m your personal one tonight.”
He vanishes into the bathroom -click of the light, hiss of running water- before returning with a warm washcloth draped over his shoulder and a glass of water in hand.
“Drink first.” He tips the glass to your lips, patient, waiting while you take small sips.The first swipe of the warm cloth across your cheek is heaven. He works with focused gentleness that steals your absolute breath away- wiping the mascara threatening to stain your cheeks, the pearly streaks from your belly, the slick mess from your inner thighs.
But his movements are almost too careful now. Like you're made of glass. Like he's terrified of breaking you further.
The cloth moves higher, and his expression shifts again- guilt flickering through the warmth as he reaches your collar. The bite mark there has dried, crusted with blood, the perfect imprint of his teeth purpling against your skin.
“Shit.” He winces, dabbing carefully at the wound. “I really did a number on you here, huh?”
“I liked it, felt good~” you mumble.
“Yeah?” A hint of that playful smirk returns. “Liked getting marked up by your big bad wolf?”
Then his gaze falls on something in the corner of the bed, “Oh, perfect.” a silly gift he'd given you months ago that had somehow become a permanent fixture in your shared space. The little stuffed wolf has button eyes and an embroidered smile, and it's quite possibly the most ridiculous thing he's ever purchased.
He loves it. (He loves that you love it.)
“Look who's here,” he says, voice warm and playful as he makes the stuffed wolf bob and weave in front of your nose. “Mr. Wolfie was very concerned. He heard all that screaming and thought something terrible was happening.”
You snort weakly.
Valko pitches his voice higher, making the plush nod sagely. “‘Are you okay?' Mr. Wolfie asks. ‘That big mean wolf wasn't too rough, was he? Should I bite him?’”
“Oh my god-”
“‘I'll protect you,’” Valko continues, completely shameless, pressing the little grey snout against your cheek in a playful kiss, “‘I'm very brave. Very fierce. Grr.’”
The childish gesture is so at odds with the man who just fucked you senseless- who'd knotted you so deep you'd sobbed- that you can't help but giggle. “Valkooo,” you finally manage, pinching his nose weakly, “I'm okay.”
Then you look up at him, one hand drifting to rest on your belly, “We're all okay. All three of us. I promise.”
His ears perk up at that- both standing tall and alert, swiveling toward you like satellite dishes catching the most important signal in the world. Something in his expression cracks open, the playfulness still there (never fully gone, with him) but bleeding into something rawer underneath. Something that looks like home.
He stretches out beside you, gathering your tired body against his chest and tucking Mr. Wolfie securely in your arms. His face nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in like you're the only air worth having.
“All three of you,” he repeats softly. His palm spreads warm over the swell of your belly, right where his pups are growing. “My little pack”
His lips brush your forehead as his tail wraps around your legs and hips like a living blanket, soft fur warming every inch it touches.
“My pups,” he whispers, quiet and wondering, thumb tracing slow circles over your bump. “My beautiful wife. All mine.”
His chin comes to rest atop your head. The tail curls tighter, cocooning you in red softness,
Safe. Loved. His.
When sleep finally pulls you under, it's to the steady thrum of his heartbeat and the soft rumble of some half remembered lullaby hummed against your hair.
sylus was a heavy sleeper when he knew you were safe, but he was an even heavier anchor when he didn’t want you to leave the bed.
the afternoon sun was entirely blocked out by the blackout curtains, plunging he bedroomn into a quiet twilight. you had climbed into bed just to keep him company while he took a much needed nap, but after an hour of lying still, your limbs were getting restless. you shifted slightly, trying to slide out from under the heavy arm around your waist.
you were barely halfway to freedom when the srm tightened like a metal trap. with one effortlessly yank, sylus dragged you right back across the sheets, pulling you flush against his chest.
tsk. so close.
“going somewhere, sweetie?”
his voice is a deep, gravelly murmur that vibrates against your back. he didn’t even open his eyes, his silver hair messy and untamed against the dark pillows.
“i want water,” you whisper, a breathless laugh escaping you as you pat his forearm. “and you’re holding me hostage."
“then stay captured,” he mumbles, his face burying directly into the crook of your neck. his warm breath tickled your skin for a second before his lips press a lazy kiss to your pulse point.
you let out a quiet gasp, wriggling in his grip. “sylus, stop! it tickles!”
“no,” he murmurs against your skin, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest. his hands slide down to your hips, his fingers pinching your waist to make you squirm even more.
“you are absolutely impossible when you’re sleepy,” you giggle, twisting in his arms until you are facing him. you reach up and deliberately ruffle his already messy hair, shaking the strands until they fall over his closed eyes. “look at you. completely lost your edge now.”
sylus finally cracks an eye open. his crimson eyes are hooded snd thick with affectionate warmth. a slow amused smile pulls at his lips.
“lost my edge, have i?” he echoes softly.
in one fluid motion, he flips his body over, pulling you along with him until you were sitting squarely on his lap, legs automatically straddling his hips. your hands fly to his broad, bare shoulders for balance as you let out a gasp of laughter.
“if you think so, sweetie, you’re welcome to try and break out of this,” he says, hands gently resting on your waist, but his grip tight. he looks up at you, his gaze warm and amused.
“you cheat,” you tease, heart doing a sudden happy flip as you lean down, face just inches from his. “using your size against me."
“i use what works,” he whispers, his thumb capturing your lower lip and pressing down until your mouth parts.
sylus dosen’t give you another second to argue. he tilts his head up and catches your mouth in a lingering, sweet, soft kiss.
the playful bickering melts away into total warmth. it isn’t a demanding, but a lazy, lingering embrace of your lips that leaves you grinning against his mouth.
he nuzzles the tip of his nose against yours, stealing little, breathless kisses between light chuckles, his large hands rubbing comforting, rhythmic circles over your hips. you lean into him completely, your fingers combing gently through his hsair fully untangling the strands you just ruined.
when he finally pulls back a fraction of an inch, his breathing is soft, his lips brushing an affectionate kiss against your cheek.
“water can wait,” he murmurs, his voice a low, cozy rumble. “stay right here, sweetie.”
you wrap your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder with a content sigh. “fine. but only because you’re warm.”
sylus chuckles softly, pulling the duvet up over both of you and holding you close against his chest. “whatever helps you sleep, kitten.”
Baby #1 arrives. Carbon copy Caleb. Same purple eyes, same stubborn little brow, same everything. Caleb’s stunned. You’re sobbing. The doctor even snorts, “Well, no denying paternity here.” Caleb mutters, “Her genes didn’t even try.” You beam through tears, pressing your lips to the baby’s forehead. “God listened to me, Caleb. I asked for a mini-you.”
Caleb squints. “…you what?” But before he can interrogate you further, Baby #1 squeaks, and that’s it—he’s sold.
Baby #2 comes along. Caleb’s pacing outside the delivery room, sweating like it’s battle. The nurse comes out, holding the newborn. “Congratulations, Colonel. It’s another healthy baby boy.”
Caleb’s heart soars—until he looks. It’s him. Again. Purple eyes staring up at him like he’s looking into a funhouse mirror. Caleb freezes. “…copy-paste??”
You, exhausted but glowing, cradle the baby with a grin. “Another one. I’m not mad.” Caleb falls into the chair, rubbing his temples. “Pipsqueak… is there a setting on your body where my genes just… win by default? What is happening?”
Baby #3. At this point Caleb’s praying in the hospital hallway like he’s in church. “God, I love my boys. But please, please, give my wife a baby that looks like her. I beg you.”
The doors swing open. The nurse hands him the third son. And Caleb nearly collapses. Because it’s him. AGAIN. Same brown fuzz on his head. Same tiny purple stare.
He storms into your room, dropping to his knees beside your bed, clutching your hand like a soldier begging mercy. “PIPSQUEAK. PLEASE. NO MORE MINI-ME. I CAN’T DO THIS. I LOVE THEM, I DO, BUT I WANT A MINI-YOU. JUST ONE. JUST ONE LITTLE GIRL WITH YOUR HAIR, YOUR EYES, YOUR SMILE. PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, GIVE ME A DAUGHTER BEFORE I LOSE MY MIND.”
You, tired and loopy, just laugh. “You look good down there, Colonel.” Caleb glares. “I’m serious. I’ll march into heaven myself and file a complaint.”
And God must’ve heard him, because Baby #4 finally arrives. Tiny, squishy, soft features… and unmistakably you. Caleb takes one look and starts bawling like he’s been shot. Scoops her up in his arms, kisses her head, whispering, “Finally. Finally, a mini you. She’s perfect. She’s my miracle.”
The boys are peeking in from the corner, whispering. “Why’s Dad crying like that?” The oldest shrugs. “Guess God finally patched the bug.”
wed to the lord of the city, you expect a loveless marriage... and yet, are the affections of the conqueror truly as unreachable as they said?
genre/warnings:
18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, explicit smut (p in v first time sex) , fluff, pregnancy, princess!reader and autarch!sylus, based on sylus' card shared lanterns, contains spoilers! from myth beyond cloudfall
note:
yeah... the moment i saw the trailer, the xianxia brainrot held me hostage :'D first sylus fic in 2026—hope you all will enjoy it! :D tagging @rjreins & @cherrywinetuscany as per request <3
Sylus.
The tales of the infamous Autarch of Xianyu had spread far and wide throughout the realm. He claimed the city through brute force, carving his rule with blood.
Men feared him enough to bend the knee and women whispered of him in equal parts of dread and intrigue. Every story carried a warning, every rumor a reason to stay far away.
And yet, despite knowing all that, you still walked towards him in silk and vows… to become his bride.
Not without reason, of course.
You were a princess in name only, while in truth your family was a stone’s throw away from falling from grace altogether. However, desperation always has a way of masquerading as brilliance, and so your rotten family devised their solution.
A calculated, elegant sacrifice— you.
They offered you to the Autarch, and overnight, you went from a destitute princess to the conqueror’s woman.
“What is he like, anyway…?”
Being here was no different from living in your ancestral home, really.
You were married to the tyrant— yet aside from moving residences, nothing had truly changed. The man they called your husband hadn’t even spared you his presence ever since the wedding a week ago.
You were more or less a decoration in the vast hall of his mansion.
“Never mind,” you grumbled, your gaze drifting back to the courtyard below—the place the servants insisted was Sylus’s favored retreat, though the man himself was nowhere to be found.
Was it improper to sneak into a man's chamber and wait for him to appear? Yes.
But when that man is your husband? No— you decided it was perfectly reasonable to want to know more about the man you had been wed to.
Streets were saying he was bloodthirsty and ruthless, and more than anything, you just wanted to survive here. And so you found yourself loitering around his quarters— brushing your fingers over unfamiliar furniture, pausing before trinkets to observe them, and studying the paintings lined on the walls.
Thus three hours later, your composure began thinning.
This is ridiculous. With a quiet sigh, you finally resolved to leave. But just before you turned away, something on the cabinet caught your eye.
A long, thin crimson box was there. Driven by curiosity, your hand reached for the box and opened it.
A hairpin. You almost gasped in wonder at the intricate pattern of flowers and design. The craftsmanship was exquisite, definitely made by request.
But then the realization hit you. This was meant for a woman. Did he have a lover—
Or worse, a mistress!?
“Well now… It seems the little princess has taken quite an interest in my belongings.”
Your breath hitched and almost shrieked if it weren’t for your trained decorum. You turned slowly to find Sylus standing in the doorway—arms crossed, eyes sharp, a faint smirk playing at his lips as he watched you caught red-handed.
“Do you always make a habit of inspecting other people’s things,” he drawled, unmistakably amused, “or is it because you feel entitled enough to since we are already married?”
Heat crept up your neck. You straightened at once, lifting your chin high.
“I was not inspecting,” you replied coolly. “I was… lost.”
What were you even saying...? You wanted to whack yourself in the head for blurting the first thing that popped up in your mind.
“In my private chambers,” he retorted. His gaze flicked pointedly to the box in your hand. “With my things.”
You pressed your lips together. “…Briefly lost.”
A low chuckle escaped him, clearly aware of your scheme. Your lord husband stepped forward, unhurried, until he stood before you. For the first time since the wedding, you stood without any prefaces and eyes peering at you.
You regarded him—the way his long silver hair fell into a loose half-ponytail, the way his red eyes gazed at you with quiet intensity. The autarch was handsome, but seeing him this close only drove the truth home.
“If it eases your conscience, it was meant to be given,” Sylus said then, smirking.
“Given...?”
“To you,” he clarified, effortlessly prying the hairpin from your grasp and offering it out once more to you. “Consider it a belated courtesy. Or simply a little trinket a husband wishes to gift his wife.”
You stared at it for half a heartbeat, and flashbacks of how he treated you the past week as if you were nonexistent came to mind, making the servants whisper behind your backs—
“His Excellency doesn’t even come to see her once… Is he repulsed by the princess who has nothing to offer?”
Your pride took over in an instant. With a haughty scoff, you turned your face away.
“I don’t want it.”
“Oh?”
“I hate those common patterns,” you said flatly, feigning indifference. “They’re predictable. If you truly insist on gifting me something, at least choose a better flower, Your Excellency.”
His eyes gleamed with interest. “And what would Her Highness prefer?”
“Datura,” you blurted. “Elegant. Dangerous. Honest about what it is.”
Silence stretched, and you pat yourself mentally for making him speechless— until something shifted in the way he looked at you and Sylus laughed, genuine this time.
“Datura,” he echoed, studying you as though seeing you clearly for the first time. “How fitting.”
He withdrew the hairpin, tucking it back into its box. “Very well. I’ll remember that, my dear wife.”
Your heart thudded, visibly startled with how he addressed you. The irritation still simmered, tangled with disbelief—
As he turned to leave, he paused at the threshold and glanced over his shoulder, smirk returning.
“And for the record, Your Highness… Next time you wish to snoop, you may simply ask.”
After that snooping incident, everything that had come before felt like a trick of the mind—
Because your husband the Autarch, who had barely acknowledged you, now turned his full attention towards you.
The servants were now singing different tune too. “His Excellency visits the princess… again?”
Sylus also smothered you in luxuries. Jewels in velvet boxes. Trinkets of jade and gold. Rare silks. Imported perfumes. All things you never asked for.
And he even invited you regularly for afternoon tea in his prized courtyard.
“Oh, dearest wife? Do come and sit.”
What was this game he was playing? You couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, you were the one being played.
Yet to save your face, you rolled your eyes as you took the chair opposite him.
“Seems like my dear lord husband has finally taken an interest in me,” you scoffed. “What a shocking change of heart.”
“Ha.” Sylus tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness, his silver locks stirring with the wind. “Interested is such a crude word. I’d say… invested.”
“In what, exactly? My continued, humble existence?”
Sylus smiled into his tea. “You think too badly of me. I merely find it refreshing that my wife hasn’t yet learned the art of pretending I’m fascinating.”
You snorted before you could stop yourself. “Fascinating? I’m hardly impressed.”
“You wound me, princess,” he said, tone laced with mock offense. “I suppose I simply haven’t tried hard enough—”
The air suddenly shifted with his movement. He leaned forward, peering at your face.
“—to convince you otherwise.”
His crimson gaze held yours, steady and unblinking, as if studying something rare. His plush lips hovered dangerously close and you unconsciously held your breath—
He reached out and tapped your nose lightly, almost fondly, before leaning back with a satisfied chuckle.
“Smile more often, my princess. You look beautiful when you do.”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Meanwhile, your heart betrayed you with the way it pounded harder than it should have. The way Sylus looked at you sent warmth into your chest before you could suppress it.
And ever since that day... somehow, despite how unexpected everything was, you felt like you were getting closer to him.
“Take these to the princess’ chambers.”
“All of them, my lord?”
“Did you not hear me?”
The servant nearly squeaked at the steel in Sylus’ tone and hurried off at once, delivering the ridiculous amount of jewels and trinkets to your chambers. Just as Sylus anticipated, he returned not long after—carrying almost everything.
Sylus glanced over the items, searching for what was missing and found it almost instantly—a crimson bracelet he had specifically commissioned. Everything else had been sent back.
Heh. Just as he thought, his new wife was clever, seeking only the best.
For weeks, Sylus had been keeping an eye on you from a distance. He noted the way you carried yourself through his halls with practiced grace, how you boldly faced the chattering maids without flinching, and how you would issue your attendants to do your bidding.
Your restraint, your pride, your barely concealed curiosity… all of it intrigued him far more than he cared to admit.
You were nothing like the fragile ornament everyone assumed you to be, and very similar to the one woman who frequented his dreams.
And that was why Sylus found himself very much invested in the woman he now called his wife.
“Come with me tonight. There’s a lantern festival.”
Whispers about how the merciless ruler of Xianyu was trying to court his new wife had spread amidst all the ranks, and with his blatant invitation and upcoming festival, you felt less like a participant and more like an actress placed under spotlight.
At his command, your chambers were filled with vibrant rows of hanfu. Your maids lifted each one in turn for your inspection. Silks in blood red, moonlit ivory, jade green, and imperial gold— colors bleeding into one another until your head began to spin.
Really, what use did he need to woo you—a princess with nothing to spare? Or was it simply boredom on his part? No matter how you turned it over in your thoughts, nothing quite fit.
In the end, you decided you might as well take advantage of it.
“I want the crimson one,” you declared at last. “Do fix my hair, and make my rouge a shade darker than usual. My lord husband shall be utterly enamored with me.”
You emphasized the last part deliberately. Just as expected, one maid’s eyes widened before she quickly lowered her head.
You would make it so that by nightfall, the entire mansion would hum with the rumor. However, that was actually the least of your concerns, as growing sense of anticipation settling in your chest.
You would get the truth out of Sylus tonight.
. . .
The night unfolded in a wash of warm light and drifting color. Lanterns bobbed overhead, their orange glow reflecting off the river like fallen stars.
Sylus walked beside you at an slow pace as you gazed at the sky in wonder, leading you to the upper part of his pagoda where you could see the flying lanterns better.
After a moment, he looked at you. “Do you want to fly one?” he asked, gesturing toward the lanterns waiting nearby.
You hesitated, then nodded. One of the attendants quickly handed you a lantern, its paper warm and fragile beneath your fingers.
He watched you for a beat. “What do you wish for?”
The question lingered. You stared at the lantern, at the way the light trembled inside it, and for a moment, you said nothing at all. Then, quietly—
“To live my life to the fullest.”
All your life, you had been nothing more than a pawn in someone else’s design. It was a foolish wish, but if you were allowed to want anything at all, that was it.
Sylus didn’t react right away. When he did, his voice was low, certain. “Then you shall.”
You turned to him, failing to hold back a smile. “Oh, really?”
Yet beneath the lightness of your words, there was something unmistakably melancholic in your face, and Sylus noted it in silence.
“Your Excellency, tell me...” suddenly you turned to him. “Why are you doing all of this?”
“Hm?”
“You gain nothing from this alliance with me.” You met his gaze head-on, a slight frown creasing your brow. “Everyone paints you as a fearsome ruler, and you ended up with a useless bride. So why are you doing all this— for me?”
A faint smile curved his lips, as if he had expected this question all along.
“Is there anything wrong with a husband who wants to make his wife happy?”
The way your eyes glittered with stunned disbelief only made his smile grow. Bathed in the amber glow of the sky, draped in his colors and dolled up in a shade that suited you so well— you, his wife, were a sight impossible to look away from.
Sylus’ gaze held yours as the lantern began to lift from your hands.
“Useless or not, what if what I’ve been searching for was never someone useful at all?”
He was mesmerizing. His long hair stirred in the wind, crimson orbs gleaming in the night—yet softened, unmistakably, as they looked at you.
Your heart skipped a beat, warmth rushing to your cheeks. Just before you could calm yourself, suddenly the sight behind Sylus exploded— thousands of lanterns released at once, rising in a radiant tide that swallowed the night sky whole.
“Look.”
You turned, breath catching as the heavens filled with drifting firelight. The sight was overwhelming, breathtaking in a way that left you speechless.
Sylus gazed at you, pulling you closer, and before you could make sense of it, he immediately hoisted you on his knee and flashed you a grin, ready to take off.
“Sylus—!”
The night surged upward in a rush of wind as he leapt, carrying you with him into the sky. Firelight whirled past in glowing streams, thousands of lanterns drifting around you like constellations brought to life.
The air roared in your ears, but surprisingly your breath stolen not by fear, but by the sheer wonder of it all. Suspended among the lights, held securely in his grasp, you could only cling to him as the world fell away beneath you—heart racing, senses alight, squealing as Sylus carried you through the burning night.
And then he set you down atop one of the rooftops, the rush of wind fading as the adrenaline slowly ebbed from your veins. Lantern light washed over the tiles, warm and unsteady, and you found yourself looking up at him.
“Remember this, dearest wife...”
In that moment, you could only stare, utterly captivated— by the man who had set the sky alight for you.
“All the lanterns in the night sky... They would only burn for you.”
You were falling for him.
It was inevitable. Perhaps it was the lantern festival that did it—but how could you not fall for your own husband?
After that night, Sylus let you further into the parts of his life. Silly banters, strolls outside the mansion's walls—all of them revealed a kinder side of him he showed no one else but you.
Quiet evenings spent in his quarters became familiar too.
“Is the wine to your liking?”
You set your cup down after a sip and turned to him with a bright smile. “Mm-hmm.”
“High praise,” Sylus remarked. “I’ll be sure to inform the cellar it has earned your approval.”
Just as you were about to retort, he reached for something at his side and produced a long, narrow box, setting it on the table between you. You blinked at it.
“Open it.”
Your brows knit in confusion, but you did as told. Inside lay a delicate hairpin—its metal shaped into a blooming datura flower, intricate in its detail.
“It’s…” You were immediately reminded of the hairpin you demanded from him weeks ago.
“I have a decent memory,” Sylus said simply, his eyes lingered on your reaction.
Something warm spread through your chest. And in that moment, with the lantern-lit night still lingering in your thoughts and the fact that he had fulfilled your whim, you knew—
—that you have fallen for him wholly.
You looked up, and he was already closer than you remembered.
The rest happened quietly, naturally—your lips meeting his in a burning kiss that tasted faintly of wine.
“Mm… ah...”
And just like that, gone was the measured distance. You clung to his broad shoulders, and Sylus kissed you like he had been holding back for far too long.
You barely had time to gasp before he drove you backward. The world tilted, and you felt the solid press of wooden floor beneath you as he followed, bracing himself above you, pinning you there with effortless strength.
His hand went to your waist, the other caging you in as his lips returned and his tongue entangled with yours— slow, deep, possessive. Heat pooled low in your stomach. You were trapped beneath him, not with fear, but with want—
And neither of you pretended this was anything less than dangerous anymore.
. . .
“Sylus… Ngh...!”
You laid on the sheets still with your robes on, back arching helplessly as the wet sensation between your legs sent you spiraling into bliss.
Nestled between your shamelessly parted thighs was your tyrant of a husband, his face pressed to you—his greedy tongue working on your folds in his pursuit of your pleasure.
It was unlike anything you had felt before. The way Sylus reduced you into a mess of moans left your thoughts in complete disarray.
He looked up to see your expression—his work of art, and exhaled roughly, “Sweet.”
It felt unbearably obscene. Your face had long since gone hot, shame and sensation tangling together until you could hardly tell where one ended and the other began.
Then he inserted one of his fingers into you, and you wailed when he started pumping it in and out.
“Sylus… Sylus...!” Your body tensed, breath hitching as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, stealing every coherent thought.
Everything narrowed to his rhythm, to the way your pulse raced and your world tilted. You clutched at his hair, helpless, the feeling cresting higher, faster until there was nowhere left to go—
And then it broke.
The release washed over you all at once, leaving you shaking, breathless, utterly undone as unfamiliar wetness burst from that one spot between your legs. You gasped, feeling the fluid smearing your thighs and the mattress.
Sylus eyed you like a lion preying his rabbit. As your juices pooled before him, something in him just became feral at the thought that he was the one catapulting you to pleasure.
“This is your first time... isn’t it?”
Of course it was. But he didn’t an answer to continue.
And just like that, he brought you to your next orgasm through his fingers alone, making you limp and tearful.
“Sylus…” you choked, his name catching in your throat, close to a sob. “S-sto—”
“Do you want me to stop?” His crimson gaze locked onto your teary ones, his fingers gripping yours. “Hmm?”
There was something in the depths of his eyes—an intensity that rooted you in place. For a fleeting moment, even you weren’t certain of your own answer.
“Because if you say so, then I will.”
The haze of your lust clouded you fully. Hearing him telling you this apparently just fueled the unbidden desire inside you.
“D-Don’t…”
The curve of his mouth lifted, slow and knowing. “As you wish, my dearest.”
Sylus shed his robe and showed himself bare to you. You gulped at the sight of his sculpted abs, and even more so when his hands reached for you.
His fingers brushed the robe from your shoulders, then traced down your arms. Each layer he removed felt painfully slow, the air against your skin making you shiver as his touch lingered.
“Most beautiful...” he murmured, voice low and sure, undressing you as if savoring every second.
You were already wet, but your body felt hot when you were left nude before him. He parted your legs and folded your knees, and then you saw it— his veiny, massive girth. Panic overtook you that instant as he was about to ease himself into you.
“W-Will it… fit?” you asked, shock lacing your voice.
Your lord husband lifted a finger to your cheek, brushing it gently. “Have no fear, wife. I will make it so.”
Really? You trusted him…
“—!” But tears spilled the moment he pushed his length into you. The sharp burn, the overwhelming stretch—everything felt too much, too big for you to accommodate. Your fingers clawed at his arms as you pleaded with him to stop.
Even with how drenched he had made you, it was still difficult to take him. The sight of his manhood struggling, half-buried inside your tight frame was both laughable and tantalizing.
Sylus lifted your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him.
“Hush,” he commanded, fiery garnet eyes filled your vision. “Let me show you... how a man makes love to his woman.”
And then, without restraint, he drove himself fully into you, splitting you open. The sudden force left you gasping—your eyes flying open as a cry tore from your throat.
“Ahh—! Ah, aaah!”
So this was how you were deflowered. The pain of being breached drew more tears from your eyes... But more than the pain, it was the sight that stole your breath—
The faint outline of his bulge shaping your lower belly.
He growled in your ear, “Eyes on me.”
And after that, you weren’t really sure what happened. Sylus began to move and your body followed suit. His thrusts were careful as if giving you time to adjust at first, and slowly, the sting softened, melting into a dizzying rush—
“Hahh...”
The world narrowed to the sound of his grunts grounding you. You were crying, but it also felt good. So damn good when he hit the spot you didn’t know was there that you could do nothing but cling to him and let the feeling carry you under.
And soon, you felt the coil tightening again—
Thrust. It was a rush of sensation that made your back arch and your grip on him tighten.
Thrust. His name trembled from your lips, half sob, half plea, as the pressure spiked, about to burst at its seams—
Sylus searched your face, looking for you to anchor him as he picked up the pace. Your face twisted in pain and pleasure as he corrupted you, and oh, how was he supposed to last with you this enchanting?
Your scream then tore through his chambers—
“Ahhh!”
—as soon as hot ropes of his cum flooded inside your womb and filled you to the brim, the release gushed so hard that his essence spilled out of you. You shook uncontrollably under him, a mess of tears and lust, thoroughly bred.
Ah, his dearest wife was so good... just like he imagined.
. . .
It was rough for your first time, so he made up for it afterwards during the aftercare.
His lips traced reverent paths over your skin, never hurried, never careless. He treated every of your sighs like something sacred, caressing you as if you were something precious entrusted to him alone.
“Warm now?” he asked with a smile as he pulled you into his embrace. You were spent and damp with sweat, body pliant as you sank against him.
“Mmm…” you murmured against him, arms sliding around his back. Sylus drew you closer, a quiet warmth blooming in his chest at the simple act.
Too long. He had waited an eternity for this. In his dreams, it had always been the same image—the girl who dared to befriend the dragon, who offered him her love without fear. That vision bound him to her soul.
At first, he kept his distance, unwilling to frighten the unfortunate girl cast aside by her horrible family to become his wife. But then you were the one who sought him out—and the moment he saw you up close, he knew.
You were the very same woman who had lived in his dreams all along.
And now that fate had brought you back to him in this lifetime…
He would not let you go so easily again.
From that point on, you no longer returned to your old chambers. You lived in his quarters instead, and night after night, Sylus made love to you.
So it came as no surprise at all to anyone in the mansion when you fell pregnant.
You carried the signs of pregnancy beautifully. Sylus noticed it most of all—how you looked fuller, softer, luminous in a way that made his gaze linger with reverence.
“Ah… Sylus…”
You had thought he would keep his distance after you became with child, but he did the opposite. He adored you all the more.
His hands roamed your fuller hips, before his lips brushed a tender kiss to the soft curve of your belly— taking pride in his seed that had taken root and been growing inside you, then slowly traveled upward, lingering at your breasts, now exquisitely sensitive to his touch.
“Ah, ahh…” you panted as his teeth grazed and suckled you, while his two sinful fingers working on your swollen clit, coaxing helpless sounds from your throat. Amidst all the haze, at the same time, you felt a soft movement within your womb—a quiet reminder of the life stirring there.
A love secured. A future growing beneath your heart. You felt safe, blessed, complete. This must be the height of happiness.
You weren’t sure if your fates were written in the stars, but if it did then at last, you knew why the fates brought you two together in this life...
It’s so you can share your soul with his, once again.
. . .
One night, long after the mansion had fallen into silence, Sylus brought you outside beneath an open sky. Stars stretched endlessly above, as though the heavens themselves were watching.
He stood behind you, both of his hands came to rest over your abdomen, calloused palms protective of the little life growing beneath it.
You leaned into him instinctively.
“It won’t be long now,” you murmured, a gentle smile touching your lips, your fingers laced with his. You had begun to feel sporadic contractions these days—a quiet warning of what was to come. The thought of childbirth frightened you, but your excitement to see your baby outweighed it still.
Sylus lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to the side of your neck, lingering there. “Then it’s only fitting that I gift you something when our child arrives. Tell me, what do you want?”
You didn’t answer right away. Your gaze drifted upward, deep in thought. Then, suddenly, an idea bloomed, clear and certain.
“I want a comb... Carved with three datura blossoms.”
Sylus let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating against your back. His arms tightened around you, amused and fond all at once—as though your answer pleased him more than anything else could have.
“Then you shall have it, dearest wife.”
Beneath the endless heavens, wrapped securely in his embrace, was someone precious to his tender heart.
Across lifetimes, fate had returned you to him time and time again. And yet, he had never believed in destiny—nor in the mercy of unseen hands guiding his path.
He believed in choice. In will. In what he could reach out and claim with his own hands.
And he chose you. That was why you were, and always would be—
fluff! doing the favourite words trend on valko, valko my baby :( still in denial
“hello?” you bring the phone up to your face. “hi tara!” no response.
you grin, thinking of valko’s response during this silly prank of yours.
“the weather is so nice isn’t it? should we go on a walk together?” you pretend to not notice valko shuffling ever so slightly towards you on the sofa.
“we should definitely get ice cream too! a chocolate ice cream sounds so good right now.” you relax into the sofa.
“baby?” you hear a quiet voice beside you, valko lightly poking your arm.
“hi baby, i’m on the phone with tara. can you give me a minute please?” he nods, putting his head on your shoulder.
“the new exercise machines at the park seem so fun, i really want to try them out.” valko sits up, lightly turning your head so you can face him.
“can i join? please, peach?” he gives you his best puppy eyes.
“shhh, just another minute baby.” you silence him, putting a finger on his lips.
“you should come over to mine so we can have a nap together, perfect date.”
“date? peach, please can i go?” he paws at your hair, kissing your cheek.
your heart flutters. “i’m sorry, baby.” you show him the black screen.
“so does this mean we can go on a date together?” he asks, nuzzling his face into your neck.
“of course puppy, we can go anywhere you want together.”
“Muah,” you beam, pressing a soft peck into Sylus’s cheek. “Muah!”
Another. And another. And another scattered little kiss along the skin of his face as he sits with you situated comfortably on his lap, hands tracing up and down your hips. It’s late—somewhere close to the sun’s routine time to rise, and somewhere close to Sylus’s routine time to fall asleep. He’s a lot easier to bend to your whims like this, when he’s tired and limp under you and lets you have your way.
He hums, curling his lips into an sleepy smile as he murmurs, “you missed a spot.”
“You don’t get to get picky when you get free affection,” you say instantly.
His smile drops. Something of a grouchy scowl (that’s more like a pout, if you’re being honest) drapes along his lips and forces them into that downward curl. Your lips do the exact opposite, curling up at the sight of his dissatisfaction.
“Well, sweetie,” he drawls, “who knew you could be so stingy?”
“I’m not being stingy,” you grin, purposely missing his lips as you press your next kiss, landing it right over his Cupid’s bow and watching as his eyes flash impatiently. “I’m teaching you a valuable lesson.”
“Which is?”
“We don’t always get what we want.”
“Funny,” Sylus quirks a brow, that awful, terrible, nightmarish and dangerous smug look returning to his features as his eyes narrow, “because I always get what I want. It’s as simple as taking it.
The room is spinning and shifting and tilting on its axis as you feel everything move in a blur—one second you’re on top of him, sat on his lap, and the next second he’s hovering over you, melting your body into the mattress like it could swallow you whole under his weight.
“Sylus!” You screech, earning a low chuckle from him, “get off of me you brute!”
“Not until you give me what I want.”
“No!”
“Then I’m not moving.”
And true to his word, he settles himself on top of you, promptly pressing all his body weight over yours as his drapes his figure on top of you. He’s heavy—in a pleasant sort of way. He feels like comfort and home and warmth pressing into you and crushing your bones with nothing more than body mass and willpower. You like it. And as if on cue, your hand instinctively finds the back of his head to smooth through his hair.
Sometimes your body just does that. Admits he’s what you want and what you need against its will. Admits it likes him there and welcomes him like your souls are two halves of a whole—one involuntary muscle responding to him at a time.
“You’re heavy,” you whine.
“This could all be solved rather simply if you’d just give me a proper kiss, sweetheart. But you insist on hissing like a stray kitten in an alleyway.”
“And it’s just too easy to ruffle your feathers,” you giggle, rubbing a hand along the nape of his neck and feeling him shiver under your touch, “who knew a kiss could have you so worked up?”
“I’m not worked up,” he grumbles quietly. You smile wider. He pinches your hips in warning without even looking at you.
“Spoiled,” you murmur, “that’s what you are.”
“Spoiled is what you are with how you swipe my card,” he retorts, earning a glare from you. His eyes are half lidded—heavy, and tired, and slowly closing shut against his will as he stifles a yawn, giving you a poor attempt at a smirk.
“No kisses for you forever.”
“I think that’ll cause you more distress than me in the long run.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of talking?” You huff exhaustedly.
“I’ll stop talking long enough for a quick nap if you give me a proper kiss,” he negotiates. Like the proper, opportunistic business man that he is. So good at playing his cards right and getting the deal he wants so badly, just enough that he always walks away with the better end of the stick.
Sly, you’d call it.
Persuasive, he’d correct.
And you’re convinced. Persuaded and swayed into his trap because all he has to do is give you those sweet, tired little blinks of his eyes and that hopeful little look as he stares at your lips before you cave and fold like a piece of paper into his awaiting palms.
“You’ll finally sleep and leave me alone if I give you a kiss?” You pretend to bargain.
He nods earnestly, “oh yes, sweetie. I’ll be out like a light faster than you can call Mephisto over to be witness of our deal.”
“Okay,” you roll your eyes. “One kiss.”
“So stingy,” he chuckles.
“I’m not—”
He kisses you. Props his head up, still blanketing you with all his weight as he kisses you softly. Like he means it. Lips carving out lips like he’s mean to mold your flesh to fit the shape of his. You gasp, and he lets out a soft sigh into your mouth, closing his eyes and pressing into you as much as he can.
When your hands twist into his hair, he lets out a soft groan, slumping more weight into you (if that’s even possible) before his breathing gets shallower.
When he finally pulls away, his head tucks itself back into your neck as he mumbles, “told you I’d get what I want.”
It comes out like a soft slur. Your eyes widen instantly.
“Sylus, no—I have to get up for the day so don’t even think about—”
He’s asleep. Heavy, limp, and comfortably on top of you. You try a sad, futile attempt to shove him off, but he’s stuck. Glued to you like his life depends on it. (Sometimes it does, you think. Sometimes it feels like he lives only for you. Only knows how to breathe when he’s sure you’re there to listen to his soft breaths.)
“You asshole,” you mutter, “you spoiled, obnoxious asshole.”
He always gets what he wants—the feeling of your delicate body under his, and the nails that trace his scalp softly in defeat are good enough proof of that.
Early bday drabble. Long fic to come. Stay tuned. This is a sylus only blog. I don’t even like mydei even a little bit. What else? I think I’ve covered all my bases
“He’s so annoying, Sylus!” you groaned. “If he doesn’t shut up, I’m going to kill him.”
“I could do it for you, sweetie,” he said slyly.
“I don’t know how he doesn’t realize no one likes him, and with a personality like that I don’t know how anyone tolerates him!” you continued, ignoring your boyfriend. “He has a girlfriend, Sylus! A girlfriend! She’s pretty! He’s not good looking and he’s arrogant and he’s not even that smart!” You were motioning wildly now, voice rising in pitch. “How do you have a girlfriend that is so much better than you, and you’re not down on your knees at her feet every chance you get?”
Sylus was smirking now and before you could blink he dropped to his knees in front of you, hands ghosting at your hips. “Is this what you wanted, kitten?” he murmured, thumb brushing circles on your waist. “Do you like having me like this?”
Your fingers threaded through his hair, gripping the strands to pull his gaze up slightly. “This is a nice view,” you hummed.
“I think my view is better,” he whispered. “I could stay like this all day.”
You paused, a grin pulling at your lips, voice smooth and honeyed. “Then why don’t you?”
Sylus’s smirk only deepened as he pressed a kiss to the exposed skin at your waist.
caleb has a habit of tilting his head down when you're talking to him, especially when you're standing close. it's not dramatic, just enough to catch your gaze, brows slightly raised like he’s listening to you and only you.
it's the kind of look that makes you forget what you were saying for a second.
the worst part? he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. he'll lean an elbow on a table or rest a hand against a doorframe, letting his height naturally create that downward angle: eyes low-lidded, mouth relaxed, totally unbothered. and you'll just stare, cheeks heating up, heartbeat skipping.
and when he does know?
he tilts a little more, lowers his voice, and murmurs, “you were saying?”
