MDNI! This is my original work. Please do not post to another site or to AI. Thank you and happy reading!
Summary: Headcanon of Reader making it a habit of bringing your boyfriend lunch but his coworkers make mean comments on it and your boyfriend responds accordingly.
TW/Tags: Misogyny but not from the LI, suggestive content, mentions of death but not from LI or Reader, fluff, humor, and LIs being soft with Reader, Expecting!Reader in Xavier’s part. So many petnames...
Sylus:
“Boss!” Luke and Kieran shoved open the door to reveal you, standing in the middle of the doorway. You didn’t shrink under the gaze of the Sylus’ clients and stuck close to the twins’ side as they led you to Sylus.
You smiled softly, “Sorry for the intrusion, my love, but the twins insisted that I drop this off personally.”
“And to what do I owe the honor of your presence, my flower?” Sylus asked, moving his hand to settle on your waist and pull you in.
You held out a tiny dragon lunchbox you made for him. He remembered when you were finished, you unzipped the mouth of the dragon and made it “snap” at Sylus, even “roaring” in his face. Sylus just laughed then and gently bit your cheek in response.
“I tried to make your favorite mushroom and tomato saffron rice. I also tried to make hamburg steak and cheese pancakes because I know that it will be a long day for you.” You said.
Sylus accepted the lunchbox and cradled the tiny dragon on his lap as if it was his own child. He reached up and took your hand, kissing your knuckles before kissing the inside of your wrist. “Thank you, my love.”
You caressed his cheek before leaving with the twins, scolding the for embarrassing you like that, not minding that they giggled at you.
When the doors closed, Sylus returned his attention to his clients in the room.
“That’s quite a cute bag, sir,” one client said. “I hope you have a good meal.”
“Of course I will. My darling made it for me,” Sylus caressed his lunchbox like he would a tiny kitten in his lap.
“I didn’t realize the big bad wolf of Onychinus would need a little handmaid to tell him when to eat,” another, older, client scoffed.
The room became deathly silent.
Sylus smiled as he looked at the old client.
Red and black tendrils wrapped around the client’s bodyguard and lifted him in the air. The bodyguard struggled and kicked around when the mist completely over took his body. In a blink of an eye, the mist exploded and the only thing left was his tie, fluttering down to the ground in tatters.
“Now you can walk back home without your little handmaid through the streets of Onychinus. And tonight’s the start of Zoion Night.” Sylus said. “Now while you enjoy watching your back, I will be enjoying my meal and the company of my beloved.”
The old client was the first name to be added to the kill count merely an hour into Zoinos Hunt.
Xavier:
“Xavier!” You beamed.
“Hello, Starlight,” Xavier responded, pulling you in for a hug. You giggled as he kissed your face all over. “All of these flowers and none of them are as beautiful as you.”
“Xavier, don’t make fun of Jeremiah’s livelihood,” You swatted his shoulder gently.
“This is why I don’t ask him to help out anymore,” Jeremiah grumbled, dragging in the hose from the back room and gently spraying fown the trees. “All he does is complain how he’s obligated because you said ‘please’.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Xavier tilted his head.
You rolled your eyes. You held up a bunny lunchbox that you made and laid it in his arms gently. “Here. I made your favorite. Braised beef with my homemade ramen noodles, some veggies, and the egg tart you made!”
Xavier wobbled to his knees and hugged you tight with the bunny lunchbox squished against your back. “I want to marry you so bad.”
“You already did,” You laughed, caressing his hair. “Get off the floor, you’re going to hurt yourself.”
Xavier nuzzled into your belly and sighed happily. The tiny wooden sword hanging off your bracelet brushed his cheek, “I love you both.”
“We love you too,” You hugged him back.
He reluctantly let you go back to work, clinging tighter each inch you pulled away from him. You practically dragged him behind you as you were trying to leave.
Xavier instantly went to the window, hugging his lunchbox and sighing deeply as he watched you leave. He was visibly pouting and if there were bunny ears on his head, they would be sad and flopping flat on his head.
“Your wife brought you food?” A customer asked.
“He’s so disgusting when he’s in love, just ignore him,” Jeremiah laughed. Xavier smiled at his old friend’s words. He gave Jeremiah a lot of flak for getting in the way of him and you, but he was, admittedly, Xavier’s best friend.
“God, that’s so inappropriate!” The old woman scoffed. “As a wife, she should know better than to disrupt such a productive environment!”
Xavier turned around slowly. “She just brought me lunch,” he blinked. “I don’t see why you’d be so offended. It wasn’t like she came in and gave me a lap dance. She brought me food.”
Xavier’s lip twitched as he looked down at his little bunny lunch bag. “But that’s my dessert when I get home.”
Jeremiah dropped his hose and water sprayed all over himself and the elderly customer, staring with a gawking expression.
Rafayel:
“Is that my muse?!” Rafayel gasped, clutching his chest, “My love? My bride? She’s blessed me with her presence!”
“Hello, Raf,” you rolled your eyes, holding out the bag. “Here, I made your favorites. Seafood pasta, some tempura, and I packed sliced fruit so you don’t go blind.”
Rafayel was vibrating and took the lunch bag—a giant red pufferfish that you bought on a trip overseas without Rafayel.
He remembered how you evaded his questions and teased you if you bought it because you missed him. You got him to stop when you shuffled over and gave him a hug, tucking your face against his shoulder. And then you threatened to deep fry him with a plate of fries if he didn’t stop.
Rafayel hugged the bag and pulled you in for a hug. “Thank you, my darling. I will eat everything.”
You hummed and hugged him back, kissing him quickly. “Okay, Rafie, I have work to go to.”
You tried to break away but he only hugged you tighter and peppered more kisses all over your face. You tried to squirm away but broke into little squeals and giggles whenever he kissed a ticklish spot on you.
“Rafayel!” You pushed him back, still laughing.
Rafayel was smiling so brightly.
You pulled him in and kissed him tenderly on the lips. “I’ll be home soon.”
His heart fluttered wildly as you casually referred to his house as your home.
He watched you leave, cradling his lunch bag like it was his and your baby.
“You make me sick,” Thomas sighed. Rafayel could hear the teasing in his voice.
Rafayel hummed and spun around, holding up his lunch proudly. “My wife loves me.”
“You’re not even married!” Thomas rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, ‘cause she’s his caretaker.” An event coordinator laughed.
Thomas closed his eyes. He reached up and gently patted Rafayel’s shoulder. He left silently and closed the door behind him, leaving Rafayel and the coordinator alone.
An hour later, Rafayel emerged alone, still holding his lunch bag and the coordinator was nowhere to be found. But there was a tiny dwarf algae eater trapped in the office fish tank, sucking on the crystal clear glass.
Caleb:
“Excuse me, I’m here to see my boyfriend?”, At the sound of your voice, Caleb’s ears perked up and his entire demeanor brightened up significantly.
He had to use his Evol on himself to not skip over to you as you walked up to him and handed him his lunch bag—a giant red apple with a little smile and a tiny crocheted colonel’s hat you made and attached to the little zipper.
“Hi, honey,” you smiled sweetly, holding out the bag. “I made your favorites! Braised chicken wings, stir fry, and a lemon tart. We don’t have any apples and I wanted to use all of our leftover lemons.”
Caleb was beaming and took the lunch bag, being even more ginger than normal because he was fighting for his life to not pull you into a hug and squeeze you until you squeaked in protest.
“Thank you, doll,” Caleb gently fixed your hair. He looked at his crew and his smile dropped. “Eyes left.”
Everyone turned away, giving him enough privacy to lean down and kiss you.
“You spoil me, mama,” he whispered against your lips.
“I learned from the best,” you giggled. You kissed him again and then skipped away.
Caleb watched you with a dopey smile on his lips.
“Wow… your girlfriend is so sweet. She really takes care of you,” one crew member said.
Caleb nodded in agreement, his mood still bright enough to smile at the crew member.
“She’s like your dog, huh, boss? Always at your beck and call?” Another crew member asked, laughing.
Caleb’s smile instantly dropped and the air came crushing down around them. He leveled an icy glare at that crew member, holding his lunch bag tighter. The towering and fearsome Farspace Fleet Colonel, dressed in all black, was clutching the bright cartoon and childishly cute apple bag as if his life depended on it.
“Lieutenant.” Caleb barked at him. That crew member stood up straighter than a ramrod. “Go run drills until you throw up your lunch. And maybe then, you will be grateful that you were fed at all.”
He scurried out of the room. The second he was gone, Caleb was back to his sweet and beaming self.
“Enjoy your meals everyone. I’m going to my office,” Caleb said. Everyone saluted him as he left.
The crew member, ordered to go on a run, never came back from his run. The only thing left of him was the outline of his bile on the tarmac.
Zayne:
“Hello, my love,” you chirped, holding up a penguin lunch bag. You’d bought it at a cute store and made the penguin a lab coat. You even bought a toy stethoscope that you sewed under the collar.
“I made your favorites! I tried to make some macarons,” your face fell slightly, “But they didn’t puff up and get round… they got flat and spilled over the sides. And the cream inside didn’t thicken, and—”
Zayne gently took the lunch bag, reaching up to you and gently kissing your cheek.
“Thank you, my heart,” Zayne smiled. “I’m sure this will be the most delicious meal I’ve ever had.”
“But…”
“The cookies will be sweet because they're from my darling, sweet, girl.”
You shied away from him, your face warming up as you blushed. “You’re too nice to me.”
“Because you’re not nice enough to yourself,” he said softly. Zayne kissed you, lingering for a while against your lips, melting away all your insistence that you weren’t a good chef. “Thank you for my meal, sweet girl.”
You needed to leave for work and tripped over your feet, still silently gushing and holding your face from his affection.
“Wow, she really loves you,” Yvonne sighed dreamily.
“I’m truly lucky,” Zayne replied, hugging the penguin bag to his chest.
“I’d be luckier if my girlfriend just left that food at home,” a younger male attending scoffed. “It’s so embarrassing for a man to be fed by a woman.”
The air became so cold that everyone’s breaths left as tiny crystalline vapors.
Zayne didn’t bother turning around to address him, his voice dropping several octaves as he swallowed back his anger.
“Nutrition is vital, no matter who or where it came from. And if it came from love, it only makes you stronger and wiser.”
Now Zayne turned around, his loafers tapping on the floor sharply like knives on glass. “Perhaps if you had more of that sustenance, you’d have the wisdom from making such a pathetic comment.”
The attending was frozen to the spot, but it became literal when ice crystals grew up his ankles, biting his skin.
Zayne blinked and walked into his office. “I will be enjoying my lunch that my loving partner made for me. And I will enjoy it to the fullest.”
full shade, but this random resurgence of non mc hate towards authors i’ve been seeing lately is ridiculous. if you don’t like the concept, or insist it’s way too ooc of the boys, just block and move on 😭 ?? no one is forcing anyone to read the boys falling in love with someone who is not mc, and a vast majority of ppl who like it, or enjoy writing it, do it for a multitude of reasons.
like, maybe unclench a little and read fics that adhere to your tastes instead of complaining in other people’s asks
Summary: Growing tension. Missions leading to dangerous places. Wandering eyes and flashing lights make it all too easy to forget this man is supposed to be your enemy... Or that he never really has been the villain.
Word Count: 14,880 words
Warnings: explicit sexual content (18+, mdni), pre-relationship, main storyline, references to main storyline, sexual tension, protocore auction & afterparty, club, grinding, alcohol, aerosol drug/ hallucinogenic, rivals-to-lovers-esque, Sylus is yearning & anxious & protective all at once, hints at his dragon myth, unspoken (but known) mutual attraction, dance sequence, MC has a few dragon instincts, Sylus has a lot of dragon instincts, he just wants his mate back man
Notes: HEAVILY inspired by 'In Your Fantasy' by ATEEZ, which the title and some lines are from!
☟ Continue below the fold ☟
The makeup brush Sylus had given you—impossibly soft and quite possibly the best brush for application you'd ever used—ghosted over your cheekbones. You checked your blush in the mirror before setting the brush down. Your fingers danced over your earring options before you decided on pearls surrounded with tiny gemstones, something to offset the absolutely gorgeous shade of red silk that covered your body. You had to admit, pricey though his tastes were, Sylus' tastes were impeccable.
Bracelets over your gloves. Sparkling hair clips adorning your updo. Your gun holstered on your thigh, hidden by the fabric of your dress. You struggled for a few moments with the pearl necklace, but you refused to go into the next room over and ask Sylus for help getting it on.
Look completed, you gave yourself a once-over in the full-length mirror in the bedroom Sylus had gifted you for the duration of your stay in the N109 Zone. You adjusted a few things, fidgeting with your gloves for a moment. Your gaze landed on the brooch that you had stolen from him some time ago. After a few moments of indecisive haggling with yourself, you put it on.
A knock on the door announced Sylus' presence without him needing to say anything. You took a deep breath before calling, "Come in!"
The man who was to be your ally for the night stepped through the door. You eyed him as he closed it behind him. He was handsome, you had to admit, and today (the smug bastard, you thought as you realized) he was matching you. He wore a red shirt cut from the same silk as your dress, the top two buttons undone, a black suit jacket thrown over his shoulders. As he turned, you noticed the leather belt on his hips, the clasp shaped like a dragon's mouth.
Your mouth watered. Had he been anyone but the leader of Onychinus, you would have been plotting on how to take him home for the night or two or three or—
He is who he is, you reminded yourself, and you are who you are. There's no sleeping with this one.
Yet Sylus seemed to know where your mind was going, and liked to make it very, very hard for you to keep your thoughts in check. He grinned at you as he caught you staring. You looked away quickly, only realizing that was the wrong reaction when that Cheshire cat grin widened.
You focused on yourself on the mirror, pretending to fuss over your hair. Sylus came up behind you, so close that you could feel the heat of his body on your exposed back.
"You," he purred, looking at you through the glass, "are absolutely stunning."
You rolled your eyes. "Are you complimenting me, or yourself?"
"Can't you see I'm looking at you, sweetie?" he murmured. His eyes landed on the brooch, placed between your collarbone and your heart. He chuckled. "Wearing many of my gifts, I see..." His ruby eyes glittered.
"Don't flatter yourself," you snapped.
Sylus smirked. "Of course not," he said smoothly. "You do that enough for me."
You grit your teeth together, willing yourself not to rise to his banter. Whatever you had to say, he had a counterpoint, and eventually you'd lose this verbal battle, one way or another. And you didn't particularly fancy finding out how long your will held for.
Sylus' gaze had landed on your back, exposed in the dress. "We'll be out well after sunset, kitten. Do you want a jacket?"
There he goes again, acting like he cares, you thought. You smiled sweetly at him in the mirror. "No, thanks, I'll just borrow yours." You flicked the edge of his suit jacket.
He hummed. God, why did everything amuse him so much? "Oh? It's lined with paisley, you know. Beautiful, comfortable—but not very warm." He opened the jacket, revealing a black and red paisley. It was eye-catching, and you found yourself wanting to reach out and touch it. Or him. Or both. You weren't sure.
"I'll be fine," you insisted. Sylus shrugged. He stepped away from you, choosing to lean on the post of your canopy bed. He watched you fidget with your jewelry a bit more. The longer he watched you, catching sight of the way you nervously smoothed your hands down the front of your dress, a soft frown appeared between his brows.
"Let's go over it again," he said suddenly, when he'd apparently had enough of you cracking your knuckles.
You sighed. "No, Sylus, it's fine, we've been over it a hundred times—"
"One more doesn't hurt," he insisted. Before you could interrupt him again, he was barreling through a speech you'd heard at least three times a day since the plan had been hatched. "The auction is where we'll find rare protocores. We'll bid high on them—all of them—no matter what they are, to keep prying eyes away from us." His frown deepened. "But the auction isn't what's important. Our bids are a safety net, nothing more."
"I know," you said quickly. "It's unlikely the Aether Core will be—"
It was like he didn't seem to hear you. "The afterparty is where we'll focus our attention. We'll chat, mingle. Drink, dance, converse with whoever we need to until someone lets something slip. The people at the afterparty are important, but stupid. It will only take some drunkenness for someone's tongue to get loose so they say the wrong thing for them, right thing for us. Buy drinks for whoever gets interested in you. Let them buy you drinks, but keep your wits about you. Spit it back into the cup if you think you can get away with it."
"Sylus—" you said, turning around to face him.
"The afterparty's at a club, so watch everything. Pay attention to where your drink goes, who hands it to you, if anything goes in it. Don't make a scene, but don't drink it if anything seems suspicious. Matter of fact, you could just not drink anything at all if that makes you feel better—"
"Sylus." You stood directly in front of him now, arms crossed. He finally stopped talking, eyes focusing on you again. "I'll be fine."
He looked like he wanted to argue, but he only nodded. "Alright. I'll be around if you need me. Close."
I'm not going to need you, you wanted to say, but you weren't sure if that were true. The people here, they were shady, out for themselves. And you had to admit it, you didn't know them as well as Sylus did. He had files upon files of information on everyone you'd come into contact with tonight. He'd reviewed everything, told you the most important things, but he was still the repository of knowledge you didn't—couldn't—memorize that fast.
So you only nodded. "I know."
"You remember the signal? If you need me, but I'm too far away?"
You showed him the hand signal. His shoulders visibly relaxed. "And I'll have you on comms the whole time," you promised. "No turning it off. Not even in the bathroom, but don't be weird about it." This had been the subject of a previous argument; at one of your first protocore auctions with Sylus, you'd turned off your comm for three minutes to go to the bathroom. He'd lost his mind when you turned it back on and discovered that he'd been trying to contact you, only to be met with silence.
"I thought something had happened to you," he'd all but growled when you got back to his base. "You disappeared without a trace, even Mephisto didn't know where you were."
"It was three minutes!" you'd yelled back. "You lose your cool in three minutes? Some great, scary leader of Onychinus you are!"
"You could have been killed!" He'd finally snapped, finally yelled. It had been the first time you'd ever heard him raise his voice at you. It had scared you more than anything else, except maybe the wild look in his eyes when you'd stepped out of the bathroom and ran into him on your way back to the auction's main room.
Only after you'd recovered from your moment of shock, you yelled again, louder than before, "Oh, don't act like you care whether I live or die!"
He'd had no response to that, had looked so stung that you instantly felt bad—simultaneously wondering why, chastising yourself for feeling guilty about speaking the truth—and you stormed off to your bedroom. You hadn't seen him for days afterward. Oddly enough, it had bothered you.
So in the spirit of "keeping the peace" (sure, you could call it that), you looked him in the eye and added, "I promise."
You tried to turn away so you could finally slip on your shoes and feel like you weren't so short compared to him, but he caught your wrist. You turned back to him. He looked sullen again, eyes pinched with that same "slap in the face" look he'd had when you'd accused him of not caring.
"Please don't turn it off," he said quietly—too quietly. Your breath caught in your chest.
"I already promised," you said, your voice a whisper. But you said again, "I won't turn it off."
Sylus nodded. He cleared his throat, and the look in his eyes was gone. He let you go a moment later.
You sat on the bed, pulling your heeled boots on. He knelt in front of you. "Let me," he murmured, fingers reaching the strings before you could. You watched, hardly breathing, as he laced up one boot, then slipped the other on your foot and laced that one too. He looked up at you, and you wanted to devour him just from the glint in his half-lidded eyes. "Breathe, kitten. I don't bite."
"Sure you don't," you said, more breathy than you'd intended.
He stood and offered you his hand. After a moment, you took it.
"You have your weapons?" he asked, leading you to the door. You brushed the silk of your dress to the side, letting him see the gun in your garter. You didn't miss his hard swallow. "Excellent. Let's be on our way, then."
~❊~
The auction was nothing out of the ordinary. A large venue, carpeted floors, pedestals displaying protocores of various kinds and strengths in glass cases, a ballroom with a live band, an exquisite, extensive menu in the dining room.
You were on your own—mostly—for three hours, making purchases with amounts of money you could only dream of. Mephisto followed you and Sylus occasionally chuckled in your ear as he listened to you make bids. His own voice echoed in your ears as he spoke with people who were clearly terrified of him. It was amusing, really, but you would have loved to see the look on these people as they practically wet themselves coming face to face with him.
You met again as you tried to cross the ballroom to get to another one of the rooms. An arm slipped around your waist just as you registered the tall, white-haired figure that had appeared next to you.
"I've already been through that room, sweetie," he murmured, pulling you into a dance. Against your better judgment, you let him maneuver you, bodies close.
You stared up at him, studying. This close, you realized his popped buttons exposed his collarbones and the stacked necklaces he wore. You swallowed. How is he this hot? "You know, for someone so tall, you are remarkably good at sneaking up on people."
He chuckled, glancing over your head to survey the room again. He was quiet for a moment before he bent closer to you. Practically into your ear, he purred, "Enjoying spending my money?"
You could feel the flush creeping across your skin. "I—don't know what you mean."
Sylus smirked. "Oh, sweetie. You've been spending quite a lot of it." The look on your face made him smile far more genuinely. "By all means, keep spending—you've hardly made a dent."
You scowled at him, then smoothed out your expression before anyone around you could catch it. "Does everything you look at have a price tag on it?"
"Hardly," he scoffed. At your skeptical look, he sighed. "I'm telling you to keep up the high prices. The rate we're going at now, no one will question it if we offer this much for the Aether Core."
You wrinkled your nose. "I really don't think it's here, Sylus," you said, keeping your voice soft.
"We thought that coming into this," he reminded you. "But that doesn't mean we can't be careful."
"You're just trying to drown me in protocores," you muttered. You reached up, thumb brushing at the corner of his eye. Another dancing couple nearby side-eyed the movement as if it had interrupted their own dance. "Make me grateful for spoiling me."
He laughed. "So what if I am? Would it really make you grateful if I spent a fortune on you?"
You narrowed your eyes at him. The look in his eye, unbearably fond, made you pause. It was gone in a moment, but you swore he looked a little...dazed. You wondered if he'd look at you like that when he was naked.
"No," you said at last, realizing he truly wanted an answer, staring intently as he swayed you back and forth. It was still hard to tell, sometimes, which of his questions were rhetorical. "I'm not easily swayed by shiny things."
Sylus smirked. "I am," he said, which sounded like a blatant lie until you remembered how his horde of weapons glittered with how meticulously he cleaned them. He slipped his hand into yours and pulled you into another room of the auction, one you had yet to traipse through. "So why don't we spend some more, hmm?"
You scoffed. "You're incorrigible."
He chuckled. "Maybe."
This last room was different from the others. Instead of display cases containing single protocores on velvet beds, attendants stood behind rows and rows of cases, all short and containing...jewelry? Yes, it must be, because there were a few men in suits who were carrying around individual pieces. But why was there room dedicated to jewelry at a protocore auction?
As always, Sylus sensed your confusion. He bent down, whispering into your ear, "These pieces are made out of protocores. People without something dangerous," he added, tapping above your heart, "always want it for themselves."
Does that include you? But the question died on your tongue as you looked at his eye, glowing subtly in the dark room. He already had his own something dangerous. How many people had tried to kill him for it? Tried to take his eye? The thought had you squirming uncomfortably.
"It's the truth of this place," he murmured. "You'll get used to it."
The sound of someone clearing their throat nearby had Sylus standing straight again, both of you turning to look. A young man in a suit was standing just feet away, arm outstretched, jewels glittering on a velvet bed in his hand.
Sylus peered at the piece. "What's this?" he asked, voice light.
"A gift for the lady, sir," the attendant said, eyes skipping between the two of you. "If she likes it."
"Well, kitten?" Sylus asked, a gentle tug on your hand coaxing you to take a look. You stepped close, looking down at the sparkling necklace.
It was a choker, a raw protocore at the center. Rectangular rubies, dark and imposing, were laid into gold all the way around until the clasp. Even with the room's dim lighting, it sparkled. You fought the urge to touch it, your hand instead ghosting over your neck, wondering how it would feel there.
"It's beautiful," you murmured.
Sylus was tracking your every move, swallowing hard as your fingers grazed the column of your throat. "Do you want it, sweetie?" His voice was deeper, rougher. Something primal in it.
You were unable to tear your eyes away from the choker. "I couldn't possibly..." It had to be priceless. It was worth way more than you could imagine, way more than anything you had ever seen. Even your life couldn't be worth those jewels, could it?
A hand slipped beneath your chin, two fingers cradling it, the thumb on your lower lip. Sylus turned you until all you could see was his eyes, the red darker than blood, his pupils blown wide. Your pulse quickened. "None of that," he murmured, voice dripping with... You didn't dare name it. "Do you want it?"
Still quite literally in the palm of his hand, your eyes dipped back down to the choker. The rubies glittered and the protocore gleamed. They were beautiful. The protocore at the center, it was luminous.
It glowed like his right eye.
"Yes," you whispered.
Lips twitching in a satisfied smirk, Sylus finally let go of your face.
The attendant was also smiling. "An excellent choice, miss! It's a stunning piece, really, priced at—"
"We'll take it," Sylus cut in smoothly.
He'd pulled a box seemingly out of nowhere. "We can wrap this quickly for you."
"No need," Sylus said. He picked up the necklace smoothly and brushed your hair out of the way, already putting it on for you. You hoped his fingers did not feel the way your pulse was flying beneath your skin.
"Sir—"
Remembering suddenly that you had Sylus' card, you handed it over. "Put it on this."
The man took the card. He glanced down at it, then back up at you. "We'll need to put a name down for the buyer, Miss...?"
Sylus cut the man a glare, slipping his hand back into yours. "She's with me," he snapped.
"Er, yes. Of course. I'll, um, be right back. My...my apologies, Missus." He scurried off to process the payment.
You glanced at Sylus. "Missus? Last I checked, I wasn't wearing any rings."
He smirked. "If you're complaining, sweetie, I can get you plenty of those, too."
"No," you said quickly, letting go of his hand. "No, I... You've spoiled me enough now. I told you it wouldn't make me grateful, remember?"
He chuckled. "You're right, it doesn't." He took his card back from the attendant and put his hand on your back, gently guiding you through the rest of the room. You hardly felt the heat of his hand through the heat that had flushed your entire body.
His lips were by your ear a moment later. "But it does make you flustered," he whispered, eyes lidded, "which is a sight I enjoy much, much more."
~❊~
Sylus had described what an auction's afterparty looked like to the best of his ability, but you'd never truly understood what it was going to be like. You realized as you stepped through the doors of the club that it was because it was impossible to describe.
There was no clear cut comparison. It was wilder than a college frat party, more colorful and vibrant than a regular club, not as drugged out as a rave. The air smelled of booze and sweat and money—like real, physical cash that had passed through many dirty and tricky hands. You were quite certain that the iron tang in the air was blood that had been scrubbed away, but would never truly be gone.
Ceilings were low, walls were adorned with photos you couldn't make out with the flashing lights. The floor was tiled ornately, but you sensed it was going to be sticky long before you stepped on it, judging by the alcohol sloshing over the rims of glasses. The bar was in the center, golden light illuminating it. Multiple bartenders were at work, each in a uniform designed to make onlookers drool—rolled up sleeves, top buttons undone, waists cinched by tight-fitting waistcoats and corsets.
The people were far more curious than the club itself. The press of bodies was mostly indistinguishable, but you caught sight of bionic arms and legs, metallic eyes, weapons built into bodies. Some were in full suits, others in practically nothing at all. Your own dress, two slits up the side, suddenly felt like you were a prude to some, a whore to others. Instinctively, you pressed close to Sylus as many pairs of eyes roved over you.
"Stay close to me," Sylus whispered, hand falling on your hip. "And remember what I told you."
It was obvious now why he was worried. Elegant as the placed tried to be, a mimicry of Elysium, it and its patrons were still just seedy enough to put you on edge.
You nodded. "I'll be alright," you insisted. He hesitated a moment, but didn't argue.
Sylus led you into the crush of people, and the air changed immediately. Your senses dulled, vision blurring. In just a few seconds, you felt wasted. It was like you'd downed several pitchers of some fruity drink with a high alcohol content that you couldn't taste, only realizing how much you'd had the first time you tried to stand. Even Sylus' touch on your hip felt distant, separated from you.
What happened to your body, you realized, was not happening to your head. They were two separate entities in this space.
You felt lips at your ear, the sensation mildly grounding and mostly arousing. "What you are feeling now," Sylus' voice whispered, "is a relatively new drug that hit the streets of the N109 Zone. I didn't know it had gotten here yet, but they're pumping it out through the vents."
"What is it?" you asked, voice surprisingly stable. Even if you felt drunk, you weren't.
"I'm not totally certain," he said.
"That's not reassuring."
"No," he agreed, "it's not. From what I can tell, it's been created through combining a hallucinogenic and a depressant. Your vision will swim, your head will feel disconnected from your body, the world will get loud. But you haven't injected it, it's just misting over you. This is the lesser reaction."
You scoffed. "This is lesser?"
For the second time tonight, Sylus' fingers slipped under your chin. He turned your head toward him, toward the concern in those deep red eyes. "Are you alright?" he asked. "You don't have to do this. You shouldn't do this if your senses are impaired—"
You shook your head and gently pushed his fingers away from your chin. Your mind felt suddenly clearer. "The Aether Core is here, right?"
Sylus hesitated, then nodded. "It's possible," he admitted.
"Then we're doing this." For a moment, it looked like he might argue with you. You dug your heels in harder. "I mean it. I'm not leaving without it."
"If it's even here," he reminded you. You kept your gaze hard. He sighed. "Stubborn as an ox when you want something."
You elected to ignore that statement, looking around the club again as Sylus continued walking, leading you to the bar. There were eyes on the two of you—of course there were. Sylus had just had his fingers under your chin, and you were wearing a necklace of rubies and protocores that cost more than your life, and it was painfully clear that he'd bought it so you'd match him.
Was it?
Or was this drug making you jump to conclusions?
A drink was set on the bartop before Sylus even had to speak. You recognized the bourbon in a rocks glass—his usual drink. The bartender sized you up, then turned back to his well, already pouring something new.
"Come here often?" you asked, gesturing to the glass as Sylus picked it up.
"No," he said. "The bartender makes a judgment call and gives you a drink they think you'll like."
"So you're just easy to read," you said, raising an eyebrow, "because you have that all the time."
A sly grin passed over his face. "Ah, so you are paying attention to me," he teased.
Your cheeks flushed. "Shut up," you snapped. Your tone was not nearly as strong as you would have liked it to have been.
Sylus turned you toward him with the hand on your waist. He moved it to the small of your back, his pinky slipping down just enough to meet the tiny band of your thong—the only thing you could wear that wouldn't be visible in this dress. Your breath hitched, and you knew he noticed.
"Oh, sweetie," he purred. "I pay so much attention to you. It's only fair that you return the favor."
The sound of a throat clearing broke the tension. The bartender set a glass down before you. Sylus tossed cash at him, and he left you alone again, turning back to his other customers.
You picked up the martini glass and stared at the deep red liquid in it. It shimmered under the golden lights behind the bar.
"It's safe to drink," he assured you. "No bartender would dare put anything in it while I'm right next to you."
You shrugged and sipped at it. Your eyes must have lit up, judging by the easy smile that came to Sylus' face.
You were shoving the drink at him before you could think twice about it, just like you would with your girls. "Try this, holy shit," you said.
Sylus raised one elegant eyebrow, but he accepted the drink, his fingers brushing over yours. Warmth ignited under your skin. Your mouth dried up as you watched Sylus drink, Adam's apple bobbing.
Relax, you told yourself. You have a job to do.
"It's good," he said, pushing it back to you. "Pomegranate?"
You nodded. "I think so!" You drained the glass quickly, and it was Sylus' turn to stare at you like he could devour you, eyes sliding over the column of your throat, pupil blown. His right eye was glowing softly.
Fuck. If you didn't put distance between him and yourself right now, you were going to end up bent over a bathroom sink. And if you were going to succumb to him, it wasn't going to be that way.
Shit, am I really considering this now? He's the enemy!
But...is he?
"Another drink?" Sylus asked.
You shook your head. If your wires were already this crossed after a drink that had hardly hit your system yet, you didn't want to know what would happen if you had more and they all hit at once. "I want to find this thing."
His gaze darkened. "Alright. We'll stick together and comb through—"
"No." You were shaking your head before you could second guess yourself. "We'll cover more ground if we split up, and this place is packed."
"It will be safer if we stay together," Sylus began, a note of warning in his voice.
"I'm a Hunter, Sylus," you said. "I can handle myself. I'll contact you if I need you." You tapped your comm.
He was right, of course. It would be way safer to stay together. You could already tell the seedy people surrounding you would do anything to get their hands on you. You were decked out in protocores—and who knew what they'd do if they discovered the core in your heart.
But you couldn't stay near Sylus. Not with the heat rising in your body, not with the slickness gathering between your thighs at every slight brush of his fingers.
Just a couple minutes away from him was all you needed to calm your body, to get refocused on this. Then you'd comm him. You only needed to calm your spiking heart rate.
You glanced over at Sylus again. He was glowering, his eyes lidded and narrowed. Your thighs squeezed together. Fuck.
"I'm not changing my mind," you said before you could do something stupid, like drag him into the bathroom by his lapel.
A muscle in his jaw feathered. He looked at you for a moment longer, then out across the sea of writhing bodies. "Fine," he said, voice gruff. "You call me the minute you need help." His eyes fell back on you. "The minute."
And just like that, you knew your panties were going to be ruined when you took them off later. Apparently hot and protective was right up Sylus' alley.
"I promise," you said. You pushed your empty glass back toward the bar.
Before you could step away, a hand closed around your wrist. The grip was loose enough that you could pull away, but you didn't, despite the spike of need that shot through your body like lightning.
"Check in every five minutes," he said.
Irritation cut through the building arousal, banking the growing flames. "I can handle myself—"
"It's not you I'm worried about," he confessed, quieter. You blinked at him, at the tenderness you found in his face.
"Every five minutes," you conceded. He let you go.
"I'll take the back," he said. "You focus on the front. It'll be someone seated, so pay more attention to the booths rather than the dance floor."
You nodded.
Sylus waited, hesitating like he wanted to say something else, but he had turned away and walked away from the bar before you could ask. He disappeared into the shadows with alarming ease.
The fog in your brain cleared a little. The drug still dulled the edges of your vision, but your thoughts no longer caught on the giant dam that was Sylus' presence and touch. You released a long breath and left the bar, slipping back into the sea of people.
The stench overwhelmed your senses. That heady smell you'd been hit with the minute you walked into the club came back, paired with the sickeningly sweet smell of the drug and the clinging odor of sweat, vomit, blood, and alcohol.
"The N109 Zone is a cesspool of human corruption," you'd been told by one of your superiors at the Association, someone else who'd gone undercover before you. She'd been in the N109 Zone for five months before she'd been pulled out. "It's decrepit, but it will do everything in its power to make you love it. Usually. There are places that feed into the image of self so hard it's impossible not to see how far people are willing to go to indulge in themselves."
Had that agent ended up here? At a place just like it? She'd never talked about what her mission was, claimed it was just as classified as your own mission. But that haunted look in her eyes... Would you walked out of this place with that same look?
You walked through the people until you were at the edge of the dance floor. You swayed as you walked, bopping your head to blend in with the people you weaved through, though you kept your eyes fixed on the tables that lined the walls. Each one was a booth of black velvet, the seats curving to provide as much privacy as possible to the tables—all of which boasted a chess board and were covered in a thick layer of resin.
What does someone who has the Aether Core look like? you asked yourself. Sylus, of course, came to mind immediately. But you ignored the usual smirk on his lips, seeming to taunt you that you couldn't do your job without thinking about him—
You ducked around a dancing couple, eyes flitting over the seated patrons. At the nearest table, a man in a leather jacket and no shirt leered at his companion's mostly exposed breasts while conducting a deal with a young man who looked like a scared office intern.
The next table over contained a group of five men, all in finely pressed suits with starched collars. All bore the same culty-looking tattoo under their ears.
Onto the next table—but you looked away quickly, nearly squeaking aloud at the sight of a woman plopped in a man's lap, his pants shoved to the ground and her dress pooled around her waist. The table in front of them was nearly completely white with powder.
Your watch beeped.
Sylus: five minutes, kitten
You winced and lifted your fingers to your comm. "Nothing yet," you murmured to him, soft enough that your voice would get lost in the crowd to anyone eavesdropping. "Though I'm not sure I know exactly what I'm looking for..."
"Get closer to the tables," he said. "Listen to their conversations. The speech will be weird, and that's when you'll have found something worth following."
"Code?" you asked.
"Yes," he said. A moment later you heard a click and knew that he'd dropped the line.
You squeezed further out of the crowd, plucking a drink off of a tray of a server who was standing perfectly still between two booths. You let a stumble make its way into your step, the liquid sloshing over the side of the glass. It fizzed oddly and a list of all the known illegal substances currently on the streets of the N109 Zone ran through your head.
You passed the couple shamelessly fucking in their booth and continued down the line. Women in glittery lingerie covered by sheer skirts sat at the next table, whispering about their prospects. A man made almost entirely of metal chatted in clicks with a human woman who answered entirely in English. Another group of men in suits argued about their tanking business.
It didn't take long to sweep through the left side of the club. You weaved through the dancing people at the very front of the club to get to the right side and began combing through again.
"Still nothing," you said into your comm. "Except I'm beginning to see why the N109 Zone has this kind of reputation."
You received a snort in reply.
It was more of the same—people not-so-discreetly fucking, arguments over business deals, conversations with thinly veiled threats, conversations with open threats in the form of weaponry on the tables, men and women keeping an eye out for their partner of the night.
You slipped past the bar, edging into the area of booths that seemed to be hidden in shadows, if not for the single dim light barely illuminating the tables. The faces of those sitting in the booths seemed to be nearly completely hidden, a few sharper features visible here and there.
Low murmuring from one of the tables caught your attention. You faked another stumble, letting your shoe twist around your ankle. Cursing, you stooped down, fixing it slowly in a drug-addled stupor echoing the behavior of many of the other patrons inhaling the stuff like it was oxygen.
"...like nothing I've ever seen," one of the voices at the table murmured. Fingers drummed on the tabletop. "You're sure she's real?"
"Realer than the girls you've been fucking," someone else replied, the voice deeper. "She's genuine. Trust me, I'd know."
"You got her already?" the first voice asked. He sounded on the younger side.
"Be patient," a third voice snapped, a tad nasal. "Anton? She's your kind of jewel."
There was a moment of silence, then the sound of something sliding across a table. A photograph, perhaps. Then a fourth voice—presumably Anton—said, "She's my jewel, alright. Busty, certainly. She'll be a hefty cost, whether you've got her already or not, and people'll pay a pretty penny to get their hands on her."
She. Busty. People will pay. They could be talking about a stripper, but... Jewel. This "she" could also be a protocore.
"She's one of a kind," said the deeper voice. "We haven't gotten our hands on her yet, but my operatives know where to find her. She'll be ours in a week."
Your heart rate spiked.
"You want us to risk everything on a maybe that you'll retrieve it?" the younger voice asked. Your ears snagged on "it." Not a woman, certainly, though with these kinds of men you couldn't be certain a woman wasn't an object.
You finally fixed your shoe and straightened, certain it would become too obvious you were eavesdropping if you didn't move soon.
"She'll start wars," the deeper voice replied, still calm despite the edge in his voice. "If you want her, this maybe is the surest way you'll get her."
Your eyes landed on the table as you put a hand to your mouth like you'd done in college after a few too many. Pretending to swallow down bile, you scanned the table through your lashes—five men, one of whom hadn't spoken yet but was tucking a photograph back into his suit pocket.
You pulled your hand away from your mouth and let out a slow breath. Your fingers itched to reach for your comm, but you were aware that two of the men were watching you.
"So? What'll it be?" said one, the one with the deep voice. He wore a pressed black suit, the only splash of color on him the burgundy tie at his throat and a gold tie pin.
He was staring straight at you. You summoned up a drunk girl giggle, waving your fingers at him. You turned away, stumbling a little, and started back toward the dancing crowd.
I'll call Sylus once I'm in the crowd so they don't see me do it—
Fingers brushed down your arm. You glanced up and found the deep voiced man at your side. He smirked at you and his fingers twitched in a beckoning motion. You paused a minute, let him get further into the crowd, then followed him with a smile forced onto your lips as he looked back at you.
Into your comm, you said, "I got something. Following the guy."
"What?" Sylus said sharply. "Where?"
"He'd headed onto the dance floor. We're near the bar."
"I'm coming to you."
You found the man quickly, easily. He had stopped, standing perfectly still amongst the other people dancing and grinding.
He stepped closer to you. "Aren't you a pretty thing?"
You gave him your best drunk giggle. "Oh, stop it," you purred.
He grinned wide. He was handsome, you'd give him that, with dark hair and charming eyes. But any lingering arousal from Sylus' touch drained out of your body at the sight of that grin, just a little too much to be comforting.
"You look like you'd appreciate a dance," he murmured to you, offering you his hand.
Sensing that he'd suspect you weren't just the drunk girl you were pretending to be if you turned him down, you took it.
~❊~
Sylus was taking forever. Twice you thought you'd seen him, both near the table the man now dancing with you had originally come from.
Honestly, the man had rhythm. He moved in time with the music, kept you swaying close to him. Somehow you didn't knock into anyone as he spun you around.
You found yourself laughing as he dipped you. The drug pumped through the air had certainly hit your bloodstream by now. You could feel it more than before, felt it wafting over you, coating your tongue, burning your nostrils like you'd snorted it.
"That necklace," he murmured, pulling you back up. "Are those real protocores?"
Suddenly you felt very certain that you were right. This man knew something about the protocores. The one he'd been talking about earlier—was he trying to sell the Aether Core without even owning it?
You giggled, hand drifting from his bicep to your throat. "That's what they told me when they sold it to me."
He spun you, pulled your back flush to his chest. His own hand ghosted over the necklace. "Oh, I can verify that for you."
You blinked up at him. "You can?"
He nodded. "I'm in the business of protocores."
"Isn't everyone, these days?" You kept your voice light, innocent, a tad drunk. Let him think you were flirting with a man who looked like he might have money, rather than digging for all the information he could give you.
The man chuckled. "But only I know the rare ones, sweetheart. The good ones. The powerful ones." He punctuated the statement with a roll of his hips into your backside. Surprise fluttered through you. Had he decided you weren't a spy, but that you'd still be a worthwhile night? "You can tell by two things, my dear: the quality and the price."
"Really?"
"So how much did they sell it to you for?" he asked, pelvis meeting your ass again, hands slipping down to hold—no, to guide—your hips.
"I don't actually know," you said.
The man lost his rhythm for a moment. "What? You bought it without knowing—"
A shadow fell over the both of you. "I don't need my lady squirming over the prices of my gifts to her."
Strong relief swept through you, so hard you felt like you might cry. You resisted the urge to throw yourself into Sylus' arms.
My lady.
The man still grinding into your ass stared at Sylus in shock. Sylus' gaze dipped down to where your hips were glued to the man's pelvis.
"And you are?" the man drawled.
"Hers," said Sylus, glowering down at the man. Pleasure shot through you and it had absolutely nothing to do with the man holding you. "I'd much appreciate if you took your hands...off of her."
You shivered. Ooo, that did it, that tone of his voice... Commanding and solid. Stern. Protective.
"And if I don't?" the man challenged, fingers tightening on your hips. You hissed, pulling away from him.
Sylus growled, actually growled at the man, and shifted his weight, pulling his suit jacket to the side. The stock of a gun gleamed in his waistband. "Then you'll be staring at the muzzle of this gun for less than two seconds before you hit the floor."
He reached for you, pulling you closer to him. He tucked you into his side, arm around you like it was your own personal shelter.
This man had never been your enemy. He'd laid himself at your goddamn feet, let you shoot him, let you spend his money, let you stay in his house, called himself yours like you'd been married for decades.
And you, damn it all to hell, liked it.
The man stared at Sylus, eyes dipping to you. For a moment, it looked like he might not move, might actually challenge Sylus' threat.
But then Sylus took a decisive step toward him. The man stepped back instantly, his fear so palpable you thought you could smell it. He melted into the crowd, hands raised.
"That was my lead." You scowled at Sylus.
"I trust that's the only reason you let him touch you and live," he drawled.
"Oh, I think you would have handled the killing part," you said. Sylus slipped in behind you, taking the man's place. His scent replaced the overly strong cologne the other had worn. Warmth flooded your body as Sylus' hands slipped up and down your sides gently, as if he could erase the other man's touch.
You leaned into him instinctively, pressed your whole body against him. You glanced up at him, realizing only as you met his eyes that you'd bared your neck to him. His fingers slipped over your new necklace—his gift, so he said, to his lady.
"We should go after him," you murmured. "Demand more information."
"I got it already," Sylus said smoothly. "His associate talked quite easily."
You huffed. "So that's what took you so long to get to me."
Sylus frowned. "Did he touch you? Hurt you?"
You shook your head. "I'm alright."
His frown did not lessen. "Are you sure? He seemed very...intimate."
A small smile slipped onto your face at the low tone in his voice, which he hardly attempted to hide. "Oh, Sylus... Are you jealous?"
He met your teasing gaze with his own steady stare. "And if I was?"
"No reason to be," you purred. You wiggled your ass and heard his sharp intake of breath. "He may have been leading in the last dance, but I'm reciprocating in this one."
Sylus squeezed his eyes shut, hands gripping your hips. "Fuck," he hissed. "Don't tease me, sweetie. I won't—" He choked on his own words as you pressed back into him, grinding slowly. "If you don't mean it, if this is the drugs..."
"I mean it," you whispered.
He groaned, his head falling to your shoulder. He nipped softly at your exposed skin. You spun in his arms when he finally lifted his head. Once again, his eyes were lidded, and his right eye glowed. You hummed.
"Call Luke and Kieran," you said. "Tell them to leave if they want to get any sleep tonight."
"Fuck," Sylus growled. He took your hand and led you out of the crowd.
You found yourself grinning as you stepped into the cool night air, your thighs once again slick.
~❊~
Mephisto was waiting at the front door of the base when you returned. But he seemed to sense the mood the pair of you were in and waited long enough to ensure the door closed behind both of you before he squawked and flew off.
The walk back to the base, which had been winding to throw off anyone who may have been tailing you, had cleared your head significantly. The fog had dissipated the farther you got from the vents.
Your arousal, however, had not.
Sylus grinned at you as the door shut behind you. The two of you moved at the same time, Sylus pushing you against the wall as you grabbed at his shirt, tugging him down to you.
You weren't sure what you expected Sylus' kiss to be like, but it wasn't...this. This was soft, gentle, almost scared. He nuzzled the side of your face as the kiss broke.
"Sylus?" you whispered.
"I have waited for this," he rasped, "for so long." He pulled away enough to stared into your eyes, his large hand cupping your cheek. You leaned into the touch. "If I let go, if I do what I want..." He shook his head and you heard the warning in his voice. "I don't want to hurt you."
You covered his hand with your own. "I can handle it, Sylus," you murmured. You leaned in, kissed his nose. "I can handle you."
He stared at you, eyes glimmering. His right eye began to glow subtly. "I can't promise that I'll be gentle."
"I don't want gentle," you assured him.
Sylus groaned. He was on you in a second, mouth hungry against yours. This was closer to the kiss you'd anticipated—powerful, needy, begging—though it remained soft. He cupped your head in his hands, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones.
"Sylus," you gasped.
A low, growling purr seemed to emanate from the back of his throat. His tongue met yours, licking and sucking. He tasted slightly of the bourbon he'd drank earlier.
You reached for him, hands resting on whatever they could find—his wrists first, then your hands slid up his arms. One rested on his neck, the other squeezing his bicep. His tongue licked deeper into your mouth and a moan ripped from your chest.
Sylus' hand pushed into your hair, the other sliding down your body. He paused as his fingertips drifted down your neck. "May I touch you?"
You nodded, whimpering desperately, somehow unashamed of it with the way he was looking at you—so adoring, so devoted.
"Where?" he whispered.
"Everywhere," you moaned. You pushed your chest forward and he grinned.
"Shall I start here?" he asked, hand drifting to cup one of your breasts through your dress. He played with your pebbled nipple through the silk covering you, the heat of his hand spreading through your already warm body.
Another groan of his name fell from your lips, swallowed by his mouth. He pulled away at last, looking at you. You could see all he wanted written clearly in his eyes, in the way he looked at your heaving cleavage.
His hand slipped from your tit to your hip, coaxing your leg around his waist. "Your bedroom or mine?" he murmured.
You hopped up, hooking your ankles around the small of his back. "Yours," you whispered.
"As you wish," he said, nuzzling your cheek. He pressed a soft kiss to the side of your mouth.
He walked slowly, carefully, as if not to jostle you, through the base and to his bedroom. You'd only been there a few times—namely as you stole the brooch now fastened at your collarbone. It was his space, the one room in the base you hadn't been able to convince yourself to go into, though he'd never said you couldn't.
Sylus gently set you down in the middle of the room. He dropped to his knees in front of you, your heart thudding in your chest. He took in your wide eyes and chuckled.
"Easy, kitten," he whispered. "Have you fantasized about this?" His hand wrapped around your calf and slid up your leg. You shivered in answer.
His hand slipped back down your leg. He lifted your foot to his thigh, slipping off your shoe. He repeated the process with your other shoe, then kissed your inner knee. He stood and retreated to his bed. He sat, eyes lidded as he watched you, his hand popping another button of his shirt. It wasn't strictly necessary, not with the way his shirt was already open, but you weren't going to complain as more of his skin was revealed to you.
Sylus patted his thigh. "Come take your seat," he purred. You shuddered and obeyed, walking toward him, the carpet soft on your bare feet. You slipped your legs on either side of him as you settled in his lap, his thighs strong beneath you.
His hands grabbed your waist, sliding up to cradle you to him. His lips were on yours in seconds, dragging you back into him. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers grazing the nape of his neck. He shuddered.
Sylus' lips did not stay on yours for long. He nudged your head to the side minutes later, lips seeking purchase on your neck. He sucked and nipped at your skin, soothing his love bites with his tongue.
He worked his way down your body, slipping the strap of your dress to the side so he could kiss your collarbone. But he seemed content to leave the dress on, nipping at the soft flesh of your breasts visible above your neckline.
The marks you'd have tomorrow... Fuck. Wet warmth pooled between your legs.
At last, Sylus lay back. "There's another seat for you," he said, the timbre of his voice skating down your spine, "if you're interested."
You stood up and slipped your underwear down your legs. Sylus watched you toss the red, skimpy lace to the floor.
"If I didn't know any better," he drawled, "I'd say you were hoping for this, kitten."
A sly smile was your answer. He raised a brow. "Know your enemy," you said, shrugging. Then you added, quieter, "Though I don't know that applies anymore."
"It doesn't," he said, voice equally soft. "Not to me."
Ignoring the hopeful warmth that unfurled in your chest, you stalked back toward him, crawling up his body. You hovered above his chest, fingers skimming over his face. His eyelids fluttered and he leaned into your every touch.
"If it's too much—" you began.
Sylus growled, hands latching onto your waist. He tugged you toward him and you let your body slip forward and above his head.
"Beautiful," Sylus purred, staring up at your bare pussy. He bunched the skirt of your dress at your hips, the cool air of his bedroom hitting your soaked, overheated skin.
He gave you no time to respond, however, bringing you to his mouth with a quick pull.
Your body curled, hunching over at the press of his tongue against your entrance. Sylus moaned unabashedly, licking a stripe up your center. He shifted beneath you, lips kissing and suckling your folds, until—
A gasp fell from your open mouth as his nose nudged your clit. "Sylus!"
"There?" he murmured, voice rumbling through your cunt. He was watching you. Had been watching you, you realized.
"Yes," you whispered, dragging your fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead.
He hummed and your entire body shivered. You could feel him grin against you as he devoured you. His tongue slid through your folds, soft groans coming from deep in his throat as he tasted you, drank you. His nose continued to nudge your clit.
Sylus' hands squeezed your ass. "Ride my face," he murmured, barely pulling himself away from the slick mess you had become. When you did not react beyond a hitched breath, he begged, "Darling."
That desperate tone—so at odds with the man you'd thought you'd despised—convinced your hips to move. A slow drag across his face. He laughed through his moan, his mouth suckling on your folds.
"That's it," he murmured. "Just like that."
Your clit bumped his nose and your entire body jolted, a high, needy moan escaping you.
Sylus chuckled. "Shall I pay you more attention here?" he mused, gaze meeting yours.
"Please," you whined. You bucked your hips against his face and he moaned again—savoring your pleasure, your demand for more.
Sylus' lips latched onto your clit. He sucked gently, then harder, watching you closely as the pressure changed. Your chest heaved, breasts straining against the fabric of your dress, against the lace beneath.
He patted your ass lightly, then shifted his hand between your legs, fingers trailing across your skin. He left a trail of goosebumps in his wake.
The tips of his fingers prodded at your wet folds, spreading them, caressing them. Your chest tightened and you nearly stopped breathing in anticipation.
Sylus stopped licking your clit to ask, "Do you want it, kitten?"
"Yes," you breathed out. "Fuck, Sylus, please."
He grinned—and resumed his suckling as he pushed two fingers deep into your wet cunt.
Your breath returned to you in tiny, fast pants as he pumped them in and out of you, settling into a pace that matched his licks and sucks to your clit. In, out, in, out. He spread his fingers, rubbing against that soft spot deep inside you. Embarrassing squelches filled the room—or they would have been embarrassing, if you didn't feel so damn good.
And those sounds were nothing compared to Sylus'. He was vocal as he sucked on your clit, groaning against your heated, slick flesh, mumbling sentences you couldn't understand but could feel vibrating through you.
Already, a tight knot formed in your lower belly. You tugged on his hair and he groaned deeply.
"Sylus," you gasped. "Close."
He hummed against you. "Already?" he purred. You whined. He chuckled. "How do you need me, sweet girl?"
"Your mouth," you gasped. "Just your mouth."
He pulled his fingers out of you, and there was no mistaking the S he drew on your thigh with your juices. His hands grasped your ass, coaxing you to grind against his face.
"Take what you need," he encouraged.
So you rode his face, his tongue lapping at you, his pleasure vibrating through you as he groaned against your cunt. You breathed out his name in warning as your body spasmed and locked up, your orgasm hitting you with toe-curling pleasure. You cried out, your movements faltering.
Sylus gripped your hips, groaning deeply as he tasted you. "That's it," he murmured. "That's my good girl. Cum for me. Let me have it."
He lapped at you, tongue slowing as you came down from your high, body twitching and shaking from the force of it. He helped you slide back down his body, hands rubbing soothingly at your cramping thighs.
At last, you came to lay next to him, his arms scooping you up. Sylus cradled your panting, shaking body to his. "That's it, sweetie," he murmured. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. Your breathing slowed, your pulse relaxing as your muscles did. "Breathe. You did so well."
You looked up at Sylus and found a tender expression on his face that matched the unbelievably fond tone. His eyes were soft, open, watching you with an adoration that made your heart ache.
You rolled away from him, hand skimming down his torso. Your eyes followed the hard line of his body all the way down to the straining bulge in his pants.
"Let me return the favor," you whispered. Your fingers slipped into his waistband. "Please."
Sylus nodded, something akin to desperation shining in the scarlet depths of his eyes.
You dropped to your knees on the floor. Sylus tossed a pillow down to you and you smiled. He let his legs hang over the edge of the bed, scooting toward you until his hips were even with the bed.
You sat up on your knees, resting your head on his inner thigh. You rubbed the flat of your palm over his bulge. A feral, needy groan ripped from Sylus' throat.
Giggling, you unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. You slipped your hand inside the fabric, feeling him through his boxers. He twitched at your touch, hot and heavy.
Your fingers danced up the length of him—the considerable length of him. His hips bucked at the featherlight touch.
"Please, sweetie," he rasped. He lifted his head to look at you. The color on his cheeks was high and deep. It may have been the prettiest you'd ever seen him.
So you tugged his pants down, letting them pool at his ankles. Your attention, however, was solely on the outline of his straining cock still confined by his boxers.
They left little to the imagination, the black fabric clinging to every vein. You trailed your forefinger up the underside of his cock, pausing to tease the head, and Sylus groaned, hips twitching.
"Do you enjoy teasing me?" he panted. "Do you like watching me lose it for you?"
You grinned up at him, leaning down to kiss his head through the damp fabric. "It's my favorite part," you murmured, lips ghosting over him.
You finally pulled his boxers down. His cock jumped, hitting your cheek. You nuzzled into it and Sylus grit his teeth.
He was beautiful. Long, heavy, hot. His tip was flushed with need, pre-cum already dribbling down the length of his cock. Prominent veins under his skin begged you to lick them.
"Pretty," you cooed, and a flush crept up to Sylus' ears.
Fuck. A man about to get his cock sucked should not look this...godly.
Gathering saliva in your mouth, you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock. He groaned, hips barely bucking as he fought his own instinct. You pushed yourself up higher, taking as much of him into your mouth as you could without gagging. The rest you wrapped in your hand.
You paused, looking up at him through your lashes. He threw his head back, a high moan that did not seem to match the man it came from escaping. "Start slow," he begged, already panting. "I... I will guide you...when I need more."
Keeping eye contact, you began to bob your head, your tongue laving at the underside of his head with every pass. Sylus let out a rough laugh.
"Little minx," he breathed.
Your lips twitched, fighting a smile around him. You sucked him deeper, tongue caressing the underside of his cock. You could feel him throbbing, feel his veins pulsing as he held himself back.
Sylus wove his hand into your hair, tugging gently to guide you. His palm settled against your scalp and he cooed softly to you as you let him move you up and down on his length.
"Faster," he murmured. "Just a little."
You obeyed without question, jaw working along his length. Sylus heaved a relieved sigh that tapered into a moan as your saliva drenched him. Pressure at the back of your head coaxed you to bob your head even faster.
"Fuck," Sylus gasped. "I won't—last long." He groaned, throwing. his head back as you paused to kiss his tip, then took him back in your mouth. "Do you want—more? Than this?"
You met his gaze. More. He'd give you everything if you asked, you could see it in his eyes. He'd give you anything you wanted tonight, for the same reasons he'd bought you a necklace of protocores undoubtedly worth five times your life just because you'd looked at it a second too long.
You didn't dare give a name to that reason, but it still made you nod, humming your yes. He groaned, the salty taste of his pre-cum flooding your mouth.
Sylus gently pulled you off of his cock. "Then I won't finish like this," he whispered, propping himself up on his elbows. "Come here."
You crawled back up onto the bed, straddling his middle. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you down to him, your mouths colliding in a messy crush of lips and spit and teeth.
Sylus groaned into the kiss, his mouth hot and needy and as soft as silk. He liked into your mouth and you knew he could taste himself on your tongue, just as your own taste coated his.
His hips bucked, his cock sliding between your folds and then slapping your belly. He adjusted you on his body, tugging your hips down.
"Grind," he ordered.
You giggled. "So demanding," you teased.
"Forgive me," he drawled, not an ounce of apology in his face, "but I've wanted this for longer than you can imagine."
A thrilling spark went up your spine. "No time to waste, then, hmm?"
You sat up, shuffling back. His legs parted slightly and he watched as you took his cock in your hand, stroked it, and lined him up with your entrance. You shivered as his head notched against your pussy.
Sylus caught one of your hands in his own. "Easy," he told you. "Slow. Don't hurt yourself."
You nodded, glancing down. Fuck, he'd been big in your mouth, but positioned like this... It was dizzying, really, and you weren't sure you could fit all of him.
"Take what you can," Sylus said, as if reading your thoughts. "The rest..." He smirked. "Well, the rest will come in time."
Some snarky comeback would have been nice, but none came to mind. You could only hold your breath as you sank down on his thick, perfect cock.
Slowly.
You paused, releasing your breath as you took the tip. Sylus sighed in tandem, lips twitching with a smile.
"That's it, sweetie, breathe through it," he encouraged. His hands settled on your hips once more, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your hip bones. He did not push, just rested there, as you began to lower yourself again.
Slow inch by slow inch, his cock filled you. You stopped when you felt full enough to burst. "That—that's as much as I can take."
Sylus peered down at your linked bodies. "I'm impressed," he admitted. He reached up, thumb brushing your cheek. You turned your face toward that tender touch. "You handle me well, sweet girl."
You giggled. "I haven't even started yet."
He pressed his palm to your lower abdomen, pushing gently. Your eyes fluttered, the pressure outlining his cock in your guts, and you clenched around him. He hissed.
"Careful," he warned, "or I won't last long."
"You don't have to," you purred. You curved down enough to kiss him, Sylus rising up on his elbows again to meet you. "You just need to feel good."
And oh-so-slowly, you began to bounce.
You lifted yourself up until just his tip remained, then sank down again, much faster than you had the first time. A deep, guttural moan ripped from you, louder than Sylus' own.
You aimed for the same up-and-down pace you'd managed with your mouth, faltering every so often as your thighs trembled—from your previous orgasm or your position now, you couldn't tell.
It was a tad awkward, you had to admit, riding him without being able to take him all the way. Your thighs burned from keeping yourself up, from preventing yourself from impaling yourself on him. Yet still, the two of you moaned and panted, sounding far more rabid and animalistic than human.
And, shit, the growls coming out of this man... His noises, deep and needy and heavenly, had you dripping.
Sylus helped you move, slipping his hands under your ass and moving you up and down on his cock, careful not to let you sink down too far.
Your hands found purchase on his legs behind you, slightly bent at the knees, and you found yourself moving faster and faster until you were bouncing on him with reckless abandon. You no longer cared that your moans were echoing throughout his base, no longer cared that anyone on the street could probably hear you, no longer cared that the twins might be inside the base, scandalized.
"Look at you," Sylus growled, his eyes focused on your tits. His hand slipped up your body, briefly pinching your nipple before his fingers ghosted over the necklace he'd bought you. "Draped in the jewels my money paid for..." He sighed, throwing his head back as you rolled your hips. "Ah! That's— That's it!" He groaned. "You know, all the jewels you're wearing. Bought them for you. Just you."
You panted as you lowered your body to his, bouncing on him as you lay on his chest. "They're not just—just from your collection?"
He let out a sound that was nearly a purr, a deep rumble in his chest. His fingers brushed the hair out of your face, holding it back, admiring the jewels dangling from your ears. "No," he murmured. "No. They're special pieces. Pieces made for you."
You moaned softly, mouth finding his nipple. You kissed and licked and a moan—higher than the others—fell from Sylus' mouth.
He nuzzled into your neck, breathing deeply. He sucked on your skin so hard it hurt, stopping only when you whined. He soothed it with a soft kiss and his tongue.
"They're yours," he murmured. "Every jewel you wear. But they tell everyone who sees them that you are mine." He bucked his hips into you as you sank down and a sharp whine fell from your lips.
His hands slid down your body, caressing softly until they came to rest on your hips. He guided you up and down on his cock, thumbs rubbing your hip bones again.
"Getting tired, sweetie?" he murmured. You huffed, cheeks coloring, but nodded. He smiled, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to your cheek. "Let me."
He pulled you off of him and flipped your body with ease. He hovered over you, those crimson eyes surveying you. He stroked himself once, twice, and eyed the mess between your legs with a chuckle. He guided his tip to your folds, rubbing gently. You whined.
"Tell me what you want," he whispered.
"Need your cock," you rasped.
He chuckled. "Oh, need is it?" You nodded. He pressed his forehead against yours, a mischievous grin on his lips. He whispered, "Good girl." You clenched around nothing.
He noticed. A slow grin spread across his face, lighting up his eyes. "You like that, don't you?"
You whimpered.
Sylus brushed his nose against your cheek, then bit you gently. You squealed, nipping him back. He leaned into it.
"That's it," he whispered. "Bite me. Mark me. I'm yours—claim me as such." For such a low tone, there was a growl in his voice. Something primal, nearly feral. But familiar. It rubbed at the edges of your soul, as if you'd heard those words before. As if Sylus was always meant to be yours.
You wiggled your hips impatiently. Sylus chuckled, head ducking into the nook between your neck and shoulder. He pressed a soft kiss there as he looked between your bodies, to where his hand guided his cock toward your entrance.
"Are you ready for me?" He lifted his head, looking deep into your eyes. You nodded. "Words, sweetie."
"I'm ready," you promised, the words tumbling out on a breath, as if you couldn't say them fast enough.
Sylus sucked in a deep breath. "Tell me if I need to stop," he murmured, kissing you softly. Then, slowly, he pushed in.
It was easier this time to get him inside of you. You closed your eyes, your head fell back, you mouth dropped open in a silent moan. But you took him.
Sylus slowed. "Think you can take all of me this time?" he murmured. "You're almost there."
"I want to try," you whispered.
He nodded. Bucked his hips forward a little more. You moaned, but he sank deeper into you. And then you felt him bottom out, his hips nestled against yours.
"That's my girl," he breathed. Again, he pressed his hand to your abdomen, feeling where he lay inside you. It wasn't strictly necessary—you could see him now, see him in the bulge of your belly. And with the man hovering above you, back curved to keep pressing soft kisses to your face...
Sylus was tall. Bigger than you. Just standing next to him made it impossible to ignore. But, fuck, if only now did it really sink in.
His hand massaged your belly. "You feel me?" he purred. "Do you feel how deep I get inside you?"
You moaned, nodding. "Shit, Sylus," you gasped.
He chuckled, nuzzling into you. "Tell me when I can move, kitten," he murmured.
You wrapped your arms around him, nudging his head over until you could get to his lips. You kissed him deeply, sucking on his tongue. He groaned. You nudged your hips up against his, unwilling to break the kiss to beg him to start driving his cock into you.
"Ready for me?" he murmured into your mouth, smiling, knowing instinctively what you wanted.
"Yes," you mumbled. "Please."
Almost experimentally, Sylus pulled halfway out and rolled his hips into you. You gasped, eyelids fluttering, your muscles fluttering around him. He grinned against your skin, nipped at your neck. He pulled out again, further this time, and pushed back in. Again and again until he was pulling out to the tip and driving back into you.
"How do you want it, kitten?" he breathed. He looked like an angel above you, hair falling in his eyes, muscles moving beautifully.
"Hard," you murmured.
Sylus chuckled. "Slow or fast?"
You lifted his head, his chin between your fingers. He grinned, undoubtedly remembering that he'd done the same to you just hours before. "Fast enough that you can see my tits bounce, Sy."
He laughed. A true, full-bodied laugh that had you clenching. He tapered into a groan. His teeth nipped at the pad of your thumb.
Sylus began to drive into you, setting a pace that truly had your tits bouncing. He groaned, lips latching around one nipple and sucking. You whined, throwing your head back.
His hips met yours, the wet squelch of your meeting once again filling the room. You lifted your hips to meet Sylus' thrusts.
"That's it," he coaxed. "Let me give you what you need." He gripped your hip with a hand, lifting you slightly. A pillow slipped beneath your hips a second later. You groaned at the new angle, heart skipping a beat at the tenderness in the action—and in Sylus' crimson eyes.
How often had he looked at you like that? How often had this—had you—been on his mind?
"Sylus," you whined.
"Hmm?" was his only response, looking down at you with lidded eyes.
"Don't stop," you said, "but come here." Your hand slipped to the back of his neck, a slight pressure telling him what you wanted.
He settled on his forearms, hips still pushing into you. His lips met yours and the air seemed to change. He softened against you, relaxed in your embrace. Your ankles crossed behind his back. His movements slowed, just a fraction, as his tongue slid into your mouth.
Sylus' hand slipped under your head and into your hair. He hummed against your mouth, almost a low rumble in his chest.
"Sylus..." you whispered. He cracked his eye open, but there was nothing more to say—nothing but his name on your lips, your every emotion written on your face.
He smiled, face open and fond and you could see your own feelings—nothing you could dare name or speak aloud—written in the lines of that smile.
He kissed you again, and it was an admission.
The tightness in your core became unbearable. Your breath hitched as a familiar wave began to hasten to a peak. "C-close," you whimpered.
Sylus' hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit with ease. You cried out embarrassingly loudly.
"I am too, sweetie," he murmured. "Just let go for me. Cum when you're ready."
Your breath came faster, eyelashes fluttering. Still, you met his gaze as the taut cord within you snapped. It seemed to ricochet through your body as you trembled, legs locking and toes curling. Your back arched, a soft "Oh!" falling from your lips.
A low growl ripped through Sylus. He buried his face in your chest as you came, his fingers twisting in your hair. "Good girl," he moaned. "Good girl, lose it for me!"
His voice faded into a cry. He started to pull out, his teeth gritted to hold his orgasm at bay. But you locked your legs around him.
"Stay," you gasped. "Please."
He groaned. "Are you sure?"
You nodded. "Cum, Sylus. Inside of me."
With a cry, Sylus did, his right eye seeming to glow. He collapsed on top of you, scooping you into his arms. He rolled you onto your sides, slipping out of you with a wet squelch! that had you gasping.
The room was silent but for your panting. Sylus' hands roamed your arms and back, fingers brushing your skin comfortingly. He pushed your hair, stuck to your skin with sweat, away from your face.
You stared at each other. And then a small giggle slipped out of you, and any awkward tension that may have built between you dispersed. Sylus chuckled, pulling you into him, your forehead bumping his sternum.
"That was..." he breathed.
"Yeah," you murmured. "Holy shit, Sylus."
"Don't hate me anymore?" he teased.
"I never hated you," you said, shaking your head. You looked up at him. "I was just...scared."
Something shuttered in his eyes, your heart twanging awfully at the sight, but all he said was, "Can't say that I blame you."
A pout formed on your lips. You nestled into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist. He returned the gesture, one hand sliding into your hair and the other splayed against your back.
Sylus was warm. Sweaty, yes, but it didn't matter—not with the way he held you so tenderly, not with his biceps around your shoulders, not with the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. You nuzzled into him, trying to get closer, deeper, trying to climb into his skin.
He chuckled. "Just breathe," he whispered against your hair. He kissed the top of your head and your heart melted. "You did so good. Took me so well, kitten."
You flushed at the praise, wiggling into him to hide your face. He hissed subtly.
"Careful, sweetheart," he said. "Bit sensitive."
You raised a brow. "Round two?"
Sylus smirked. "Patience, you little minx." You grinned and turned your head, nipping his bicep. He chuckled. "Feisty thing, aren't you?"
"You should have known that already," you reminded him. "I did shoot you the first time we met."
Again, that deep, melodic laugh rumbled from his chest. "At my prompting," he added. He cradled you against his chest. "Though I...had hoped we'd find ourselves like this."
You glanced up at him. "Really?" you whispered.
He nodded, the pink of his cheeks a little darker than it had been.
Words failed you. You reached up, cupped his face, and kissed his cheek gently.
More soft kisses and the smooth glide of fingers over skin followed. Your mouth moved incrementally across his chest, leaving tiny nips and kisses behind. His hand rubbed circles into your back and stroked up and down your side, following your curves with fond admiration.
Slowly your breath evened out and you felt yourself starting to doze in his arms. You blinked yourself awake, adjusting in his arms.
Sylus cooed at you. "You can fall asleep here, you know."
You shook your hand, pressing your palm flat against his abs. Slowly, you slipped your hand further down. "Wouldn't want to cut off our fun." You dragged your fingers up his cock, touch feather-light.
His whole body shuddered, but Sylus still said, "We don't have to keep going if you're tired."
"I want to," you insisted. You shifted to lay on your back, peering down his body. Fuck, he looked like a damn statue, perfectly sculpted.
Sylus tilted his head back. "Alright," he breathed. "Fuck, sweetie..." He twitched in your hand, hardening at an alarming rate. You bit your bottom lip, watching your hand slide up and down his shaft, squeezing his ruddy tip.
He groaned loudly, hips bucking into your hand. "Tighter, please," he gasped out, red eyes landing on you. You curled your fingers tighter around him, grinning at the way his entire body shuddered.
He leaned over to you, hand groping at one of your tits. He squeezed one breast, thumb flicking over your nipple. He watched as the fat of your breast was squished between his fingers. He was playing with your tits, you realized, seconds before he sucked your other nipple into his mouth.
You moaned. His tongue lapped at your nipple, teeth grazing it lightly. You whimpered and he bit the soft flesh of your breast. You squeezed his cock tighter in response.
Sylus' body shuddered beside you. He arched into your hand, hips bucking. "If you keep going like that," he groaned against your breast, "I am going to cum embarrassingly fast."
You grinned at him, fiendishly.
"That glint in your eye," he murmured. "You're up to something, aren't you?"
You let go of his cock and adjusted to lay perfectly flat on your back. He watched as you reached up and pushed your breasts together.
"Since you like them so much," you teased, voice lilting, "why don't you fuck them?"
Sylus pushed his face into your tits, pressing soft kisses to them. "You spoil me," he purred. He was moving before you could really process it, slipping his cock between your tits. He murmured, "Keep them pressed together for me."
You nodded.
His hips began to move, keeping a slow pace. A soft hiss escaped Sylus' lips and you glanced up to find his eyes squeezed shut. His mouth had dropped open.
Despite the soft, un-Sylus-like noises that kept coming from him, Sylus kept a steady pace. You found yourself staring up at him, mesmerized by the way his abs flexed with every thrust. If you weren't keeping your tits squished together for him, you would have lifted up a hand to touch him, to caress his skin.
"You're beautiful, Sylus," you murmured.
He looked down at you, for a moment watching his cock push between your breasts, his pre-cum making them glisten. Your breath caught at the sight of him; his right eye was glowing again, the Aether Core flaring with his desire. It was brighter than before.
"Oh, Sylus," you whispered.
"Yours does it too," he groaned. "Just...harder to see...with the naked eye."
The way his voice was stuttering... Was he close?
"But you can see it?" you asked.
"Sometimes," he admitted, nodding. He tapped right next to his eye. "It was glowing earlier, in the bar."
"Is that how you always find me? This...star in my chest?" you teased.
But Sylus was utterly serious, despite his cock still moving between your clamped tits. "No, sweetheart," he murmured. "Even in a crowd of thousands, I will always find you."
That pleased, fluttering warmth unfurled in your chest again. Your breath hitched at the sight of such sincerity, his blatant honesty unbearably familiar.
Need flooded your body. You wanted to kiss him. You needed him closer. You wanted him to feel good. You wanted him inside of you again, right fucking now.
You stuck your tongue out, licking the tip of his cock as he thrust forward again. Sylus gasped, the sound seemingly ripped out of him. You giggled and kissed the head on his next thrust.
Sylus groaned, his body curving. You watched his abs tense as he pulled his cock from between your tits. You let go of them just as he began to cum, warm ropes of it splattering on your tits. A little fell on your lips; you opened your mouth and licked them clean without hesitation.
Moaning, he stared down at the mess he'd made on you. The corner of his lips twitched into a smirk. "You're glowing right now," he murmured, his voice somehow a composed, silky purr. "Underneath my cum."
You drew your finger through it and sucked it into your mouth. He let out another pleased half-moan. "Tastes like you," you murmured around your finger. It wasn't flattery—underneath the saltiness, there was something else, something wild and distinct and so very Sylus.
He laughed. "Does it really?"
"Yes—yes!" you giggled, his surprise delighting you. "I can't describe it, it just— I dunno, it tastes good, it tastes like you." Your cheeks burned, feeling slightly ridiculous.
But Sylus just lowered himself to hover above you, propped on his forearms. He kissed your nose. "I guess that makes sense. You taste like you." He collected his seed from your mouth, thumb slipping into your mouth. He grinned as he said, "But I'll have to taste it, too, right?"
His words had barely processed in your brain when he bent and licked his cum from your tits.
You stared at him. "Freak," you muttered, though your cheeks were burning and the sight was...perhaps more delicious than he was.
He chuckled. "You like it," he whispered. He nibbled just beneath your nipple for a moment, then murmured, "Flip over."
"Huh?"
"I can tell you're not quite satisfied yet," he purred. "Flip."
You rolled onto your belly without a second thought, excitement building as he kneed your legs apart. His hand found your empty cunt, a finger testing you quickly. His tip notched at your entrance a moment later.
Sylus pushed into you as gently as he had the first time, kissing your shoulder softly. You moaned, twisting your head to meet his gaze. He kissed you softly.
"Sweet girl," he murmured. "How do you want me this time?"
"Soft," you breathed. "Just—just like this."
He laid on you, his weight a comfort, and his hips found a rhythm against yours. Despite the slap of his skin against yours—louder now, more obscene with all the cum and sweat and wetness between your bodies—the moment remained overwhelmingly intimate.
You honestly weren't sure how long it lasted, the shallow thrusts that kept you creeping oh-so-slowly to yet another peak. But you were certain you could have stayed there forever. His body pressed against yours, trapping you against the mattress; his lips at your shoulder and ear, nibbling; his hips meeting yours, nudging his cock against that spongey spot inside of you.
"Sylus," you murmured, eyes fluttering closed.
"Mmm? Yes, sweetie?" he asked, kissing your cheek.
"Nothin'," you mumbled. "Just...wanted to say it."
He smiled against your cheek. He nuzzled against you and you felt him breathe deep. He slipped his arms under your head. "Rest on me," he said. "I'll take care of you."
You let your head fall onto his forearm, content to be caged in by his biceps. You leaned forward a little to bite his bicep softly.
"Feisty kitten," he mumbled, kissing the junction of your neck and shoulder, his words almost lost in your skin. Again, he breathed deeply. "Let me hear you moan. Let me hear how good I make you feel."
Your body rocked beneath his with every roll of his hips. Your soft moans were directed into the muscle of his forearms, his name falling from your lips in quiet gasps as his tip nudged sensitive spots.
"I'm not gonna last much longer," Sylus whispered in your ear, after what could have been an hour of gentle lovemaking. "But I want you to cum first."
"Close," you admitted. "I was...trying to hold it back for you..." Your eyes slid to his, head turning to see him clearly. "Don't want this to end."
"It...doesn't have to," he said slowly. "I mean. If you don't want it to be."
You hummed happily, pushing your lips together. Sylus smiled and leaned in to give you the kiss you were asking for.
"Let go for me," he murmured against your lips. "This isn't... This isn't the last of me you'll get."
"Mmm, I'm holding you to that," you said, wiggling your hips into him.
He groaned. "Careful now." He slipped his hand between the mattress and your body, fingers finding your clit. He slowly began to circle and you moaned his name. "That's it, sweetie. Just feel good for me."
Your orgasm came suddenly, cresting with an ease that you knew meant your body was soon to be spent. You shuddered, riding out your pleasure on his cock, relieved when his fingers stopped playing with your sensitive clit.
"I don't have much more in me," you warned Sylus. But there was no need. He was already groaning, stilling inside of you. Warmth flooded you again and you decided then and there that it was a feeling you never wanted to part with.
Sylus pulled out of you. You both winced, huffing as he began to spill out of you.
"Stay right there, let me get something to clean you up," Sylus said. He pressed a quick kiss to your temple, then walked into the bathroom. You watched him go, unabashedly looking him top to bottom.
He returned quickly, smirking as he caught you looking, and knelt between your legs. A warm cloth sponged away the cooling stickiness. He tossed the cloth aside and scooped you into his arms, sitting you in his lap so you could lay on his chest.
"Are you alright?" he murmured, fingers stroking up and down your arm. "Was I too much?"
You shook your head. "You were perfect, Sylus. I'm more than alright." Leaning up a little, you kissed his jaw. "I haven't felt that good in...a while."
He laughed into your hair, a hand cradling the back of your head. "I'll always make you feel that good." He paused, freezing so suddenly and so completely you were sure he'd stopped breathing. "If you want me to, that is."
You lifted your head to meet his gaze. His ears were red.
"I meant what I said earlier," he continued, voice impossibly tender. "This doesn't have to end if you don't want it to."
"Sylus," you whispered.
He brushed your hair away from your face, playing with it absentmindedly. "My bed is yours. My room is yours. My house is yours. Anything you could possibly ask for... It will be yours as soon as you say the word. And that..." He glanced away, and you could see the hesitation in his face. You cupped his cheek and turned him back toward you. "And that includes me."
You knew you should say something. There should be words in your brain to give this man. But they had melted straight out of your head, and all you could do was stare at him.
"I know that's a lot to hear," he said quickly. "If it's too much, I can—"
"No," you said quickly. He froze again. "I mean— It's not too much. To hear. And I... I'd like that." You rubbed a thumb down his cheek. "I really, really would."
You'd never seen him look more relieved. Both of his arms settled around your waist.
"Stay with me tonight, then," he murmured. "Please."
"In your bed? We'd never have enough room," you teased, gesturing to the large expanse of mattress.
"Perhaps if I let you go—?" he suggested.
You snuggled deeper into him. "Don't you dare."
He hummed, as if to say Just as I expected, and held you tighter. You shifted in his arms, finding a comfortable position to spend the night in with your head tucked into Sylus' neck and shoulder.
In the silence, he asked, "You don't have to be at the Association tomorrow?"
"I'll tell them I had a late night doing some digging. They'll believe it. I'll just have to send in a report tomorrow afternoon."
Sylus hesitated. "Kitten—"
You shushed him. "I want to stay, Sylus. I'm going to stay."
He kissed the top of your head. "Thank you."
You tilted your head up to kiss him properly. "Good night, Sylus. I'll be here when you wake up."
Sylus hummed. "Sleep well, kitten."
You fell asleep with plenty of words unsaid, but they could wait for the morning. (Or, realistically, nightfall.) All that mattered now was Sylus' hand in your hair, coaxing you gently into a dreamless sleep.
☞ ❊ ☜
I do not give permission to repost, translate, or publish my work on any other site or app by anyone except myself. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI (for audio, art, or writing).
Love and Deepspace // Sylus
Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the Sylus taglist!} @yournextdoorhousewitch @plzdonutperceiveme
Content: Throne of Eros AU, established relationship, kissing, make-out in secret, dominant Rafayel, implied violence, court intrigues, mind-control, explicit at the end, biting, and slight possessiveness, explicit at the end, use of petnames, breeding kink if you squint really hard, mostly plot with spice at the end
Word count: ~6,2k
Author's note: this story really hit me hard, and I put a lot of effort into it, so I hope you like it as much as I did while writing. As you voted for, it’s a longer one with a real plot, sprinkled with spice 🩷
A big thank you again to my devoted Queen of Commas, @dat-silvers-girl who helped me a lot this time! She put in as much effort as me. You’re awesome! 🫶🏻
Can be read as a standalone. Continues loosely “Royal affairs”
Masterlist
“What sins do you have to confess, Your Majesty?” the Sanctarch whispers scandalously into your ear, with that sound you are so familiar with by now. A mix of breathy, hushed words, still ringing clear and full of the very sins he had asked of you. And the pure arrogance of someone who knows exactly what effect his voice and certain intonations have on you.
You can’t prevent the heat rushing up your cheeks or the sudden rise in your heartbeat. But you’re dammed when this tease of a man manages to make you stumble during the very dance that is supposed to announce the union of the Empire and the Sanctide Court.
So you only grind your teeth, tighten the hold on his elegant hand, and take the lead with the next twirl. If you hoped that would bother the man in front of you, you’re mistaken.
Rafayel only smiles at you. That wicked, knowing grin that pulls his plush lips into a perfect curve. Oh, he’s so damn infuriating! But surprisingly, he obeys the new change of power and lets himself be guided over the pristine wooden parquet. Light-footed, he follows the complicated row of steps. The brightness of the majestic chandeliers throws specks of golden light into the enchanting colors of his eyes. A deep, bottomless blue like the endless oceans of his home planet, and pink, the shade of cherry blossoms in spring, now speckled with glimmering stars of gold.
For a moment, you’re distracted from the hypnotizing play of colors in the mysterious gaze that never seems to leave you, and you find yourself bending backward in a risqué dancing figure. Rafayel used your short-hazed state to take back the lead. Quite helpless in his firm hold, you furrow your brows.
“What are you doing?” you whisper, trying to move your lips as little as possible. So many eyes are observing you and the Sanctarch, watching you and waiting for a mistake or a hint as to why you chose him of all options as selection for the Imperial Consort.
His face is so close now, and his warm breath caresses the heated skin on your cheeks. Pink full lips are only a hairbreadth away from yours, and his gaze wanders over the expanse of your features, with a short but noticeable pause on your mouth before finding your eyes again.
“I’m dancing, Your Majesty,” Rafayel whispers back, his voice barely hiding the amusement that sets the pink hue in his eyes on fire.
“This figure is not part of this dance!” you scold him through gritted teeth with a neutral expression as he lifts you again, now pressed close to his chest, clothed in a luxurious robe with intricate blue and golden details.
“No?” A turn to the left, past other dancing couples of ministers of your court and invited nobles of high status, a traitorous hand slips dangerously low on your back. “I must have mistaken the steps.” Another teasing grin before these enigmatic eyes sharpen into a cold, observing pierce to your soul. “You have yet to answer my question, Your Majesty.”
Letting yourself be pulled around the vast ballroom, filled with joyful music from the orchestra seated in a gallery above the grand hall, you focus on following the steps of the ceremonial dance and the unyielding lead of the Sanctarch. Your lover all these past months, since you shared that bauble in his private domain. But that doesn’t mean he can control just everything. Especially not you. And certainly not here. In this ballroom, during the dance that introduces the upcoming marriage with him. That is meant to unite the two warring factions in a bond that grants the empire long-term freedom. And Murya, the home planet of Rafayel and the center of the Sanctide Court. In two days, there will be the ceremony, and your enemies are only waiting for an opportunity to harm you because not everyone likes to see the empire’s faith becoming equal to the imperial reign. Or vice versa.
You scrutinize Rafayel under your lashes. There’s a subtle sharpness cutting through his hushed words, now clearly audible in comparison to the first time he asked you his question. You know him well enough by now that there’s always more than the Sanctarch lets on. So you choose your response wisely. “A ballroom is not the right place for one’s admission. If there is even something to confess to begin with.”
A sudden sharp twirl to the left, and you found yourself near one of the exits to one of the many balconies surrounding this hall. The cool night air curls around your calves and feet as it slips between the crack from the slightly left-open glass door and under the hems of your luxurious ballroom gown. The music comes to an end with a sudden crescendo, and so do the last steps of the dance. But Rafayel doesn’t move immediately, a firm hold still around your midriff, and a black-gloved hand is keeping one of yours. For a second, you’re confused why he won’t let go, but then his fingers intertwine with yours, and you’re swiftly pulled beneath the curtained glass doors that shut behind you with a discreet click.
In the blink of an eye, your back is pressed against a cold stone wall, and only the starry night sky above and the dark, piercing glare of the Sanctarch are in front of you. You want to open your mouth, asking him what the hell he’s doing, but no words leave you as his hands are beside your head, trapping you with his body.
“Tell me,” he demands,his voice cold and bare of any emotion. “Why is it that every time I come to the palace for rehearsals and preparations, the weekly charge of Aestuspith that was sent here due to our contracts, mysteriously vanishes. And today of all days, a battleship, filled with Imperial Troops, was about to enter Murya.” The blue shade in his eyes flares dangerously cold at his last words.
“What...?” you can only stammer as all blood leaves your face, making you freeze on the spot between the cage of his robes, and trembling slightly from the cold night air. The lights from the ballroom can’t reach the depths of his bright hood, hiding his amethyst hair under the veil of darkness and his magnificent eyes from you. Through the magical bond caused by the potion you shared, you feel his anger, disbelief, and the sharp sting of betrayal.
But that also means he has to sense your innocence. The bewilderment of this news. The shock that someone, a traitor, was conspiring against you. And the union of the two most important factions in this universe.
Then the blazing inferno of anger flashes through you. Not only did this fool act on your behalf, as the Empress. No. They also try to drive a wedge between you and the man you have fallen helplessly in love with. How dare they!
“I swear, Rafayel. I knew nothing of this!” you hiss back, your body now trembling in hot fury instead of the cold night air. You look up to him, trying to find his gaze under the shadows of the pristine robes. But without success. The Sanctarch is as distant as ever before. “Damn it! They will pay for this. I will let some heads roll.”
Still not getting another reaction other than a hooded, unrelenting stare, you cradle his face in both of your hands. The soft skin is vastly different from the cold that the man in front of you is emitting. “Please, believe me, my Angel. Can’t you feel it?” you’re now pleading to him and slipping the white hood from the purple hair to reveal his face to you.
You focus on his eyes again, still hoping that you somehow manage to transport sincerity; that he will feel that you’ll never act so cruelly against him. Not anymore. Not since he became the most important part of your life aside from the weight of your crown that always sits heavily on your well-dressed hair.
“You really think I’d wait so long to get my justice?” Rafayel’s gaze suddenly softens, nuzzling his face into the warmth of your palms. “This matter has been resolved as soon as we started to dance.” Now, a confident, cold smirk tugs at his plush lips, and the ocean of his eyes locks at yours again.
With a scoff, you withdraw from him, only to smack hard at his firm chest. “You!”
But you don’t reach your aim, as Rafayel catches your wrist before your fist can even come in touch with the golden intricate ornaments of his ceremonial robes. Two fingers of his other hand caress the curve of your chin, then tilt it up. “Say it again.” Plush lips drawn into a satisfactory smile, the blue and pink of his eyes twirling with endearment and tenderness.
Enchanted, you forget the original question, and a weak “Huh?” escapes your mouth before you can stop it.
“What did you just call me?” A hot breath glides over your lips, and the butterfly touch of them sets your whole body on fire.
“M- my Angel...” you whisper, entranced and weak in front of the sinful temptation that is the Sanctarch to you.
“Mmmh.” Rafayel hums. “I like that.”
Then his lips are melting into yours, and you can’t suppress the relieved sigh. Finally, you spoke a language that doesn’t need words, where you both are only you. A woman madly in love. And a man who burns the same for you.
His left hand finds its place at the nape of your neck with possessive purpose, keeping you gently in his hold, making it impossible to free yourself. Not that you ever wanted to. His tongue glides, demanding above your bottom lip, trying to slip into the wet hollow of your mouth.
A yearning moan from Rafayel, filled with an aching need, is your reward for letting him in. The taste of fresh sea salt and burning embers conquers your buds and lets you whimper into the kiss. There’s nothing that compares to that heavenly aroma; nothing else can make you submit to your cunning angel. And you want more, more of him, more of his fire and the sins he asked to hear from you earlier, so you sling your arms around his neck, pulling him closer into the depths of your desire.
He fills all your senses as Rafayel deepens the kiss even more. An arm sneaks around your waist, pressing you against his firm body, no longer touching the cool wall at your back. Now you’re completely engulfed in radiating heat and him. Hungry lips devour, leaving nothing to doubt that he wants you as much as you desire him. Forgotten are all the nobles, ministers, and others in the grand ballroom. Or the various maidens and servants that started frantically searching for the Empress and the Sanctarch.
Only your personal secretary keeps watch with a knowing smile and her back discreetly turned towards the closed glass doors that led to the occupied balcony. It’s really a fun activity to send out the nosy ladies-in-waiting and the nervous attendants anywhere but your position. Finally, some excitement at this boring evening as long as whatever is going on with the pair, is being kept a secret from the rest of the ballroom. But as loyal as the secretary might be, she knocks three times at the glass to signal the lovey-dovey couple that they have to come back to their senses.
Hearing the sound, you unfold yourself from those tempting lips. “Rafayel...” whispering lowly to make him stop, but that greedy man only listens half-heartedly. Peppering your neck with short pecks and soft nibbles, the sole thing that proves he recognized your call out is a little displeased grunt below your ear.
“We need to go back,” you giggle as he targets a sensitive spot with sucking at your skin.
Wet lips continue to torture you deliciously, and you are so tempted to let him have his way, if it weren’t for the hundreds of people waiting inside. But you can’t. Not when the future of the whole Empire is at stake.
Maybe he felt your emotional retreat more than your physical attempts, as his face ascends before you again. The wet, glistening, plush lips adorned with red lipstick marks are drawn into a tiny pout that lets the saturated color shine in the dim lighting through the balcony glass doors. Rafayel leans his forehead against yours as his sunset eyes search for you once again. “Already? Don’t want to.”
A strange feeling rises inside you, flooding your whole body with an unfamiliar warmth and bliss. “Yes,” you smile fondly at your lover’s reaction. If you were to say you hate to experience this side of him, you’d be lying. Nobody would believe that the Sanctarch sulks about losing the chance to exchange more kisses. And you adore it because this is not the cold, scheming head of the Sanctide Court. This is only Rafayel, the man who owns your entire heart.
“Two days until we have all the time in the world for more kisses.” You reward him with a short peck and clean his mouth from lipstick marks with swift swipes of your fingers. “If there aren’t going to be any more incidents...” you add, hesitating. You don’t want to jinx it.
Blue and pink, now sharp as usual, pin you to the spot. “There won’t.” The voice of the Sanctarch is now crisp and cold, and he turns away, ready to leave the secluded place and enter the bustling hall again.
Before his gloved hand can touch the glass doors to open them, you grab the hem of his robe at the wrist. “Wait.”
Rafayel freezes, a side glance revealing he listens, waiting for you to elaborate. So you step closer to pull the white hood of his ornate robe back over the lilac waves of his hair, hiding the mussed-up mass under the heavy fabric, as well as your shared time together.
“You owe me an explanation. Tell me what you discovered,” you demand calmly. There’s no way you forget the reason that brought you here in the first place.
A brief tug at the corners of his lips, something you wouldn’t notice if you hadn’t watched him so carefully already, a millisecond of hidden admiration. “Not here.” A short flick of his eyes to the inside. “Wait for my message. At midnight,” and with this, he steps around and out to the venue, vanishing among the mass of moving, dancing people like a shadow.
Your secretary hushes beside you, only a second later, closing the balcony door again and handing you a piece of cloth and a little handheld mirror. “Here, your Majesty. For your lipstick markings.”
With a shocked face, you look at her, “You know?”
And the secretary now gets a little shy, a lovely red hue coloring her cheeks while she averts her gaze. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Since when?”
“Since your return from the banquet of His Quintessence. Your Majesty was missing for a long time, and when you came back, something about you had changed. I couldn’t pinpoint it at first, but then I put two and two together and...” she sighed, “I hope Your Majesty can forgive me for not saying anything.”
You chuckle and start to wipe away the traitorous traces of Rafayel‘s kisses at your neck and lips. “It’s alright. Are you the only one?”
“Yes, I don’t think anyone else has caught on, Your Majesty. And I plan to keep it that way.”
“Good. Thank you,” you finally smile at her. “Your loyalty means much.”
That seems to let the woman who’s assisting you with everything, your right hand, glow a little.
At midnight, you’re following a step behind an unknown maid. That poor thing is apparently under the will of the Sanctarch, according to the flashes of blue in her eyes. And you’re sure she won’t remember anything about this late-night encounter when released from the mind control. The room you and your secretary are escorted to, is plunged in nearly pitch-black darkness and hidden deep in the basement of the palace, as you both enter through a sleek metal door. You need a moment to adjust to this and blink a few times to take in the new location.
Only one ray of harsh, cold light from somewhere in the ceiling shines upon a human body that is slumped onto a metallic chair. Bound with broad cuffs, the blinking of the controls signals that they hold the captured male person effectively. At the side, leaning casually against the dark stone wall, waits the looming figure of the Sanctarch. Rafayel’s face is drowned in shadows beneath the familiar bright hood, and his arms are crossed above his broad chest. Some guards are covering the entrance you just passed, part of the Sanctide Court, according to their dark blue and sand colored uniforms.
The heavy metallic door slides shut behind you, leaving you and the woman at your side alone in the room with the Sanctarch and the prisoner. Rafayel‘s voice cuts the dusty twilight, veiled in coldness and the ceremonial tone of his duty. “Now that our special guest has arrived, you have been given the chance to confess your sins and to ask Her Majesty for forgiveness and her mercy.”
The words are not meant for you; you register with a moment’s delay. They’re directed at the man who now lifts his head to look at you. Glaring dark eyes roam over your figure, the now grayed out beard, formerly black, is dirty and stained with blood that drips from a small cut on his cheeks. The droplets tangle up in the trimmed part at his chin. The bright, filthy hair - you remember it as dark and full – is now lank and not as meticulously dressed as once.
Nathaniel, the secretary of the former emperor continues shooting looks of disgust in your direction as he only scoffs. You recall your meetings with him in the past. The elderly man was always by the side of your predecessor, or better, three steps behind - A loyal shadow of the mad ruler Lysander who has found his jurisdiction at the Sanctide Court. You also recall that Nathaniel never acknowledged your claim to the throne.
“As if this... Girl...” the former secretary coughs heavily, the last word sounds more like an insult, than as a mere description, “deserves that title.”
You’re beaten to raising your voice, as Rafayel coldly warns him from the side, “Careful, old man. You’re talking about the legally crowned empress, the legitimate heiress of the Throne of Eros.”
But the old man only scoffs again, before glancing at the hooded figure. “What do you want to prove, boy? You’re not much older than her. Do you think your title impresses me? You both are children, playing around with what does not belong to you.”
The young woman who stands behind you inhales sharply. “Father, your words can easily be called treason.”
That gets the full attention of Nathaniel, and his dark eyes, still sharp despite his age, are locking onto your secretary. A barking laugh is heard that turns into coughing. “Of course, you’re here. You’ve always been a fan of that girl. You’re as useless as her,” he waves with a hand that is bound by the cuff.
“Enough.” The Sanctarch interrupts, again, before you even have a chance to gather your wits. You can only glare at him as he shoots you a discreet, playful wink from underneath the white cloth that covers half his face.
Pushing himself off the wall he leaned on before, he strolls towards the prisoner. A short flicker of blue light, and the old man raises his head, now forced to look at the Sanctarch. “Confess your sins, and maybe you’ll be granted mercy.”
A barking laughter erupts again, shaking the whole body of the old secretary. “Keep your mercy, child. I know that you want the throne. But your little Court of fanatics will never rule over the Empire.” The old man’s voice grows increasingly frantic with every word. “I continue the will of Emperor Lysander. The Aestuspith belongs to him, and only him. Not in the hands of children. And especially not in those of weak and stupid women. Crawl to her feet as much as you want, or tangle with her in the sheets. It doesn’t matter.” A short, hateful spit in your direction as Nathaniel adds, “Your justice can’t reach me as I’m acting on behalf of the true ruler. Murya and its Aestuspith belong to Emperor Lysander. Not the Sanctide Court! You are nothing compared to him!” Eyes, gleaming with a manic haze, stare at Rafayel, as if daring to question him.
And you don't know what you expected, but surely not the nearly relaxed reaction from the Sanctarch as he walks a few steps away, as if pondering over something, only to return and continue as if nothing had happened. “So, you think that stealing the weekly shiploads that are sent to the Empress as part of the recent contract is legal? And that calling the troops for a devious attack on Murya is reasonable, despite the union of the head of the Empire and the Sanctide Court?” All his misdeeds are listed further by the Sanctarch, and the elderly man shows no sign of remorse for doing all this.
As Rafayel finishes, you chime in. You didn’t want to interrupt your fiancé, who is rightfully doing his work in the jurisdiction of the Empire. But now your blood boils. All the anger that this madman was about to push all the suspicions on the man you love, trying to sabotage your wedding and the peace you and Rafayel have so carefully crafted, you can’t stay silent. “To bombard this arrangement and the peace accord is treason against the Empire, old man,” echoes your commanding voice through the dungeon.
Now Nathaniel looks at you, those hateful eyes glaring daggers at you. “You are not the Empire, you are only a foolish girl! And I refuse to leave the legacy of Emperor Lysander to you. You have no right to judge me. Only the Stella Ocean and our true ruler have the right to do it!” he nearly screams, his voice turning into a maniacal yelling and hysterical laughter.
You step forward towards to the chair, now standing beside Rafayel, and bending down to the height of the elderly who has apparently lost his mind. “You forget about one thing, old man.” Now your face draws up a cold smile. “I am not the one who will bring judgment over you, since that jurisdiction lies with the Sanctide Court. Always has, and always will be.” And with that, you ease back. Your fingers intertwine with Rafayel‘s. "This man will be my consort, not an emperor. Rafayel will continue to lead the Court, and I will reign over the Empire. I do not intend to interfere with the power balance given by the Stella Ocean."
A surprised look appears on the face of the Nathaniel, as Rafayel lifts your intertwined hands to place a kiss on your knuckles. “And the Sanctide Court won’t ever interfere with imperial matters.” Then a sharp gaze pierces the old man. “Prepare for your judgment, as it is suitable for treason of the highest regard. You may now have a moment with your daughter to say goodbye. Take this as a gift of mercy since I’m getting married in two days.” With this, Rafayel guides you out of the room with a gentle press of his free hand on your back, leaving the man to his only relative, and the two guards who are now entering.
A few minutes later, the secretary leaves the room where her father has found his rightful judgment. There’s one more thing she needs to do, as she already has sight of the Empress and the Sanctarch.
As always, when she catch those two in a moment alone, His Quintessence has a completely different aura. Usually, he appears cold, unaffected, and standing above everything, lofty even. But with his soon-to-be wife, there is this tenderness and warmth in his gaze, and his whole demeanor seems to be drawn to the woman to whom the secretary swore her loyalty. Like now, when his gloved hand traces the side of the Empress’s face with utmost care and gentleness.
And her Majesty is also different in those intimate moments, looking up to him with adoration, seemingly very fond of the purple-haired man.
The secretary was always concerned that the empress would never find happiness or love in an arranged marriage. But seeing her now, her doubts and worries are all gone. The Sanctarch might be a difficult choice as Imperial Consort, but if he makes Her Majesty happy, then so be it. And from what she has seen so far, Her Majesty looks radiant around him. Envyingly so. And with a little smile, the secretary calls out to the loving couple a few feet away, “Your Majesty? Your Quintessence?”
The change is instant. The Sanctarch retreats, keeping a proper distance, and all softness vanishes from his demeanor. The Empress turns around, a little scowl on her face.
“I want to express my sorrow that my father was causing so much trouble and warmongering, and I hope Your Majesty and His Quintessence don’t think the same of me. My loyalty belongs to you, Your Majesty.” She bows her head and sinks to one knee on the cold stone ground in the dark hallway.
Like this, she doesn’t catch the short flicker of surprise and the soft gaze that settles onto her crouching figure.
“It’s alright. I’m aware that you are nothing like that traitor. And I’m looking forward to having you in my services for many more years to come.”
Relieved, the woman on the floor exhales. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“The Empress is blessed to have you as her helping hand. ” the handsome young leader of the Sanctide Court adds calmly, and the secretary nearly wants to cry, but of course she keeps her composure.
“You are released. The Sanctarch and I will find the way back to our chambers on our own.“
"The guard will lead you back to your room." And Rafayel adds and in an unusually soft tone: "The sins of your father are not yours."
“As you wish, Your Quintessence. And thank you." And with a slight nod towards the Empress "Your Majesty.”
As the guards carry away the dead body to release it into the Stella Ocean‘s endless embrace, you follow them together with Rafayel. On a cliff, the traitor is disposed of through a window in the Illusion that surrounds the Empire’s main planet and your home. You watch the inconspicuous capsule being shot into the dark space, and as it vanishes from your sight, you turn to look at Rafayel. A grin spreads on your lips. “Now we’re truly conspirators.”
Your beaming smile is returned by your lover and a soft twinkle of mischief in his ocean eyes before he draws you into an embrace and leans in to kiss you. But before Rafayel’s lips touch yours, he whispers, “We are.”
Not about two days later, the night after the quite performative and stiff wedding ceremony, the morning sun shines warmly into your bedroom, highlighting the room in soft hues of yellow and orange. Amidst this colorful spectacle lies your newlywed husband, the Imperial Consort and Sanctarch of the Sanctide Court - Rafayel.
The chiseled torso bared to the rays of sunshine and your admiring gaze. His legs and lower body were merely covered by royal blue sheets, tauntingly showing off his abs and V-line which are decorated with countless bite marks, long lines of nail scratches and crimson colored hickeys.
Balancing a plate filled with violet grapes and two glasses of water, you step beside the bed and his splayed out figure. Rafayel stretches in bed like a lazy cat, the ocean of his eyes never leaving your figure as you walk around the room to the side of the shared bed. Presenting the exact reason why you hadn’t let the maid in with the refreshments. No way anyone gets to see Rafayel like this. This view of your husband is a blessing for your eyes only.
You set up the plate carefully on the wooden nightstand, and he extends one of his hands to lure you back into bed. His wedding ring, a broad gold one, is adorned with a big blue stone of Aestuspith which catches a sun ray and sparkles in the serene morning light. It matches the slightly more slim one on your own hand.
“C’mere...” his hoarse voice whispers. And you take the invitation, letting yourself be pulled back into the silken sheets and his warm, firm body.
Rafayel’s skin is soft under your touch as your hands roam his beautiful figure freely, coming to rest on his neck as you lean in for a kiss. Which your lover, and now officially husband, does obey. You’ll never get enough of the feeling of his lips on yours, of his taste, and the scent of him that quickly invades your senses. The magical bond in your system is bustling and humming, filled with more emotions than you can discern. And even if happiness and the soft tendrils of devotion are settling into a tight, fuzzy ball in your lower belly, one thought keeps you occupied.
“Are you really content with being the Empress’ consort instead of being Emperor yourself?” you ask the man who is cuddled comfortably in your arms, worried that this might not be what he truly desires.
And Rafayel only smiles - that unreadable, mysterious twist of his plush lips that always leaves you wondering what he’s up to. By catching your wrists and rolling you over, you find yourself suddenly pinned beneath his naked figure. Half-lidded eyes roam your wiggling body; the pink in them getting darker. Now it looks like embers of desire and hunger. His slender hips press delightfully into the still sensitive parts of your body that are already yearning for him again. And with a voice, tinted with the sound of a lazy morning and something more primal, Rafayel answers “I said it before, and I’m not going to change my mind.” A soft kiss on your eyelids. “I don’t want the imperial throne.” A tender peck at your nose. “It is only you that I desire.” Full lips touch yours, worshiping the shape of your mouth before his tongue glides out to start the dance you are already familiar with. It steals your breath and leaves your whole body tingling and filled with a want that aches deep down in your belly, a hunger for a closeness that is barely to satiated.
And Rafayel doesn’t feel any different as the spell of your union emits, and the way his mouth starts to descend on your thinly covered body. The flimsy excuse of a nightgown was wrinkled long ago, clinging to your skin in places that betray how much you’re desperate for the man who is conquering your whole being.
Numerous reverent touches and hoarsely whispered words filled with devotion later, deliberate hands are pushing the sheer fabric up your belly and chest, and with an impatient grunt, over your head. Your body is now left to the cool air, trembling and bare to the hungry gaze of the purple-haired man who has caught your heart. He’s admiring the offering that lies at his knees, entranced by the art that is you.
“Rafayel...” you lowly call out to him with outstretched hands, unable to stand the distance between you.
With a hungry kiss, he’s closing the gap, diving into you like a man starved. As if he hadn’t ravished you all night long. Eventually, you’re skin to skin again, engulfed in his body heat and the burning flames of your desire.
Swept away in the waves of want and need, his hard and hot length glides into you without resistance, your inner walls still pliant from sinful activities of the night before. Both your moans are filling the spacious room, but Rafayel stops moving as soon as he’s fully sheathed inside you.
A heated gaze caresses your face, devouring you with eyes alone. “This is all I want,” he whispers with a breathy voice, as his head goes down to nibble and kiss at the sensitive skin of your throat. “All of you and only you. Until times end, I shall occupy your every thought.” Hot wet kisses are placed on your cleavage, and more love bites are added to the skin that is already bruised and marked all over. It stings a bit, but it only adds fuel to the flames that are burning you from inside.
Your fingers sink into the lush waves of his lilac hair, scratching the skin underneath. “And I’m yours. Until the Stella Ocean vanishes and this universe collapses.” Then you cradle the handsome face, forcing him to stop his worship and to look at you. “And you’re mine. Until this universe burns and everything comes to an end.”
Rafayel’s gaze grows even darker, a desperate feral hunger taking over the depths in the mirrors of his soul. “I am.” A solemn vow from a faithful being to the person who holds the most power in this universe.
Then your lover moves his hips. Slowly. With an agonizingly leisurely pace, he drags his cock along your greedy, clenching walls, until finally only the hot tip remains. You whimper and whine out of desperation, trying to coax him back to where you ache for him with your legs slinging around him. Pushing, stroking, tempting him to do something, anything to come to the place you feel like you’re dying without him. Eventually, the Sanctarch hears your prayers and in one go, using a powerful thrust, your walls are stimulated and bullied in the most delicious, sinful way. The queen-sized bed screeches together with your scream of pleasure and triumph. Your slick, aching core is finally being filled again by him.
And Rafayel whispers in your ear as his hot breath tickles the skin beneath, “Take me, my beloved, all of me.”
Hungrily, he bites the junction of your neck and shoulders, dragging his lower body away from you again. Only to add another desperate, powerful thrust that sends you into the Abyss of endless pleasure. And the bed once more against the walls.
The rattling continues and is nearly drowned by your moans and cries, the slapping sound of body to body, stifled under sheets, but still loud enough to reach your ears.
Rafayel‘s pace is ruthless. Owning. Consuming. Until all that is left is the overwhelming feeling of your impending climax and his passionate, high-pitched moans and groans. He is lost in the desperate chase for the highest of heights, but still wants to drive you over the edge first.
Blown out pupils nearly hide all of the blue and pink in his eyes as he looks at you through the sweat-damped strands of his purple hair. Cheeks glowing in a lovely red hue, only highlighting his ethereal beauty. Swollen, kiss-bitten lips half parted from his breathless pants and whimpers. You’ve never seen something more astonishing in your life.
“Together,” you choke out. Demanding or begging, you’re not sure. But the mighty Sanctarch grants your prayer regardless.
A fierce kiss swallows your “Please” before you can complete it, and some unrelenting, deep thrusts later, you’re thrown into your orgasm like a buoy at sea. Your whole body spasms, toes curling, and your legs wrapping in a vice-like grip around his waist. You scream and cry, eyes squeezed shut as the fireworks behind your lids shoot lightning of pure pleasure into your system.
And like you wanted, Rafayel follows, unable to hold back any longer. Hot spurts of creamy liquid, adding to the aftershock of your climax, and the twitching of his cock stimulates your still quivering walls. He bites your bottom lip in an attempt to stifle his primal moan, but to no avail. His body shuddering from the waves of his own climax.
Eventually, the movement of his hips slows down until a lazy, relaxed pace remains, riding your climax out into overstimulation.
Whimpering, you try to push him back, to get him out of your core. “Stop... Please... S’tomuch.”
A deep, desperate rumble is all you hear, but at least he stops. The hot length is still resting in the heat of your body’s core, but now mostly unmoving. Only some twitches remain, that send delicious tingles up your spine.
Ragged pants shake his chest, the waves synchronizing with your own heavy breaths as his face lifts to take you in. His gaze hazed, eyes glossed over with the afterglow of your ancient dance. “Don’t push me away...” words whispered with a hoarse voice, unveiling a vulnerability you didn’t know he’d ever show you.
Huffing and with a loving smile spreading over your lips, you cradle his love-drunk face. “Never, my Angel. But grant me a break, will you?” completed by a tender peck at the bridge of his nose, which results in a satisfied sighs and Rafayel nuzzling his head into your warm palms.
Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for ‘Love and Deepspace’. I only own the rights to the plot idea.
summary! dancing to nice to see you again never was so hard. even worse if you have to do the challenge in front of everyone because you are mc with kyungmin and woonhak. genre! jihoon x idolmc!reader. fluff. mention to woonhak (boynextdoor) and kyungmin (tws). warnings! not proofread. bad words (damn) wc! 1.4k.
a/n! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BABY JIHOONIE (he’s 20 now but still-). I love him a lot (in case you hadn’t noticed yet) so I hope he is as happy as he can be. I’m so proud of my boy ><. Pd: fic based in real events but without Jihoon 💔🦧. Pd 2: i'm too nicetoseeyouagainholic, sorry.
“Here we go again,” you thought to yourself as you replayed the dance practice.
You got into position, pointed your toes back, turned, moved your foot—but… that last part was deathly. How on earth did Jihoon do that every day?
Ah, what were you doing? To be honest, you didn't even know yourself anymore… You only knew that you had to do the challenge with Kyungmin and Woonhak for the new comeback of Kyungmin's group. “Nice to see you again (Korean ver)” was the title. And to your current horror, when Kyungmin asked if you wanted to do the easy or the hard version of the challenge, you’d already seen both on your feed, so you decided to try the hard one (because, in your opinion, the easy one was too easy). Haha…
So you’d started the session with energy and enthusiasm, thinking it would only take a few minutes. In fact, you weren’t even obligated to practice it—you could even change your mind and everyone would understand because you were swamped too—but you’d made a bet with Woonhak to see who could do it better. And it had to be that version if you wanted to win.
Now you were on the floor, exhausted, because you’d been practicing the same 10 seconds for 20 minutes.
You were starting to hate the sound of the bridge that you used to love so much, and frustration was starting to build. “Ugh! I can’t get this right!” you complained, rewinding it to the chorus and playing it again.
And so, fiercely determined to succeed but utterly exhausted from the crazy day you’d had, was how Jihoon found you.
Seeing him there took you by surprise at first, throwing you off balance, because the dance studio assigned to you and your group was quite a distance from where he and his group were practicing.
“Hey,” he greeted you, pointing to the food he’d picked up on the way. “I brought some food; I figured you’d be hungry.”
You smiled as best you could, and just as you were about to answer him, that damn bridge had already started playing again. Then, almost out of muscle memory, you did the step again (and again, you messed up the last beat).
“Agh!” you groaned again, flopping face-down on the ground in frustration, while the song’s ending kept playing.
Jihoon looked a little bewildered seeing you act like that. “Huh? Why are you dancing to our song?” he asked, setting the bag on the table and walking over to you. He crouched down in front of you, looking at you curiously. “Is the challenge coming up soon?”
You nodded without lifting your head. “Yes, tomorrow. I promised Kyungmin I’d get everything ready, and I promised Woonhak that I’d be better than him.” You explained, and then banged your head against the floor several times. “Man, if only I would’ve said we should do the easy version...”
Jihoon chuckled, knowing how stubborn you were, and without giving it much thought, he asked, “Do you want me to help you?”
You turned your head, looking at him again as if he were the last cookie left on the table. “Would you do that for me?” you asked. “Don’t you have a lot of dance-obsessed stuff to do?”
He laughed, furrowing his brow. “I didn’t know that was a thing.”
You shrugged, now sitting up straight, right in front of him. Close. Very close. “Are you going to help me or not?”
He looked into your eyes with those bright brown ones of his and smiled again. It was that smile you loved so much, the one that could light up entire days. “Sure, but you owe me a cookie.”
You nodded enthusiastically. “One, and as many as you want,” you said, even though your cookies were something totally sacred (and he knew it).
He stood up, still smiling, and held out his hand to you. “You really are desperate, huh. Come on, let’s get started so we can finish soon.”
You took his hand and stood up with his help, because with the promotions for your latest comeback, you were dead tired too. Suddenly, you didn’t feel like dancing anymore.
“Ahhh… Jihoon, I’m sooo sleepy,” you complained, wanting to avoid listening to that damn bridge for the twenty-eighth time.
“Do you want to lose to Woonhak or not?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. You knew he didn’t care at all about your stupid bet, but he wanted to motivate you so you wouldn’t regret it later.
“Ugh…” you moved closer to him, not without complaining.
So, Jihoon went from being a cool guy to Mr. Han, i’m-a-strict-teacher. Everytime he got in that mood, he tried to be gentle and kind, but he was more critical and a perfectionist (even if he didn’t always want to be). “Okay, dance it,” he said, playing the music again, starting a little before the bridge.
You copied Jihoon’s steps the whole time, since you’d chosen to follow him. It was easier for you because you’d seen him practice it so many times before releasing “Hajimemashite” that it was practically burned into your memory.
The chorus, the beginning of the bridge with Shinyu and Youngjae singing… basically everything that didn’t matter for that damn TikTok, you nailed. Almost perfect.
But when Kyungmin’s part came… you did the first foot turn halfway right, then the second, but when it came time to kick, you almost fell on your butt—if it weren’t for Jihoon being quick enough to catch you before you hit the ground. You looked at eachother, and for one moment he could sense how much he wanted to get lost in your beautiful eyes, how much he would want to sit down and count every single one of your freckles while holding your hand softly, and in how much he liked-
He cleared his throat. Okay, maybe it was too much now.
“Whoa, watch out,” he said, taking his hands off your shoulders once you’d regained your balance as if he was touching fire.
You sighed, closing your eyes tightly in frustration, not noticing the look he gave you. “Thanks,” you managed to say. “Any idea why I’m so bad at this?”
Jihoon nodded with a chuckle, forgetting the moment from earlier. “Yeah, because you’re so clueless.” He teased you, and you gave him a nudge. “Ouch, what can I do if it’s true! You messed up the jump.”
You blinked slowly. “The jump? What jump?” you asked, puzzled.
“Of course, don’t you see we do a little jump there? It’s to switch legs, silly.”
“What? Really?” you said, moving closer to the TV and replaying the dance practice. And sure enough, Jihoon was doing a tiny little jump that you hadn’t noticed before.
“Don’t mess with me… of course it’s easier that way!” you complained. “Okay, play it again. I want to try it.”
Jihoon obeyed, because even though he wasn’t very sure you’d get it on the first try, he liked to believe in you.
The music started playing: “하늘 위로 불꽃이 터진—“
Foot, foot, leg behind, foot, foot, little jump, switch, and… to the floor.
Well, you would have hit the floor if Jihoon hadn’t caught you — again. He really was agile.
“Nice to see you fall again.” He teased you again, and you frowned and nudge him one more time.
“You’re such a pain, Jihoon.”
He pretended to be offended, but the corners of his mouth gave him away, curving into a smile. “Hey, but at least I’m your pain,” he retorted with a shrug.
You rolled your eyes, though a smile was spreading across your face too. “Yeah, the ultimate pain.”
Jihoon couldn’t hold back the hearty laugh that came from deep within to keep up his act, so he let the laughter flow and fill the room.
You stood there looking at him, just for a minute. His hair was tousled, his smile bright, and his tracksuit was half-sweaty, probably from dancing all night. He looked tired, and he probably was. And yet, when all he probably wanted to do was flop into bed and sleep, he was helping you. So even if you called him a pain, you still loved him the way you only loved the most important people in your life—with immense love and deep respect.
Jihoon tilted his head, not quite understanding the reason for your distant gaze now. “Shall we start over?” he asked, holding out his hand to you just because he felt like it.
You were mentally grateful, then, that the guy never, ever gave up. That even if you failed, he was there to pick you up and crack a joke.
You wanted to tell him that, but in the end the words got stuck in your throat and you didn’t say anything; but you gave him a smile and a look that only you and Jihoon understood. You knew that a gentle look like that could be worth a thousand words.
“Yes.” You nodded, taking his hand, lowering your arm, and intertwining your fingers with his.
You practiced a lot, much more than it would have taken to learn anything else in 10 seconds. And yet, because you were doing it with Jihoon, time seemed to fly by much faster than it actually did.
And, what about the challenge? Well, you could say you nailed it, and in the end, Woonhak ended up losing the bet (according to Kyungmin’s judgment—and Jihoon’s, who was the one's opinion who mattered most to you).
You and Xavier finally get to the apartments after a long day fighting wanderers.
Originally on starsnowcrow
It was nearly 8 o’clock when you and Xavier finally stumbled into your apartment complex.
Today was long. Longer than long. The two of you were tired. Exhausted. You didn’t even know how you managed to keep Xavier awake the whole way home.
But the two of you made it, and instead of splitting off at your door with a kiss like usual, Xavier followed you inside and locked to door behind himself.
“You’re crashing here?” You asked as you started unlacing your boots. He hummed and nodded before kneeling in front of you and taking over. His swift hands undoing the bows in half the time.
He made quick work of his own boots then led you to the bathroom.
“Let’s shower.” He mumbled as he started stripping off his uniform. You followed suit and he started the shower to warm while he waited for you.
By the time you had gotten undressed the water was the perfect temperature and Xavier was leading you inside.
You both showered quickly, desperate to get to bed, cuddle, and pass out.
He helped dry you off with gentle hands and led you to your room.
He handed you underwear and pjs before dressed in a pair of boxers briefs and socks he had stashed at your last sleepover.
You laid down and he watched you settle in before joining you under the covers.
You two cuddled in close, his arms around your back, your legs tangled with his.
He kissed the top of your forehead, then the bridge of your nose, and finally your lips. “I love you, my star. More than the sun loves the moon.”
You blushed and kissed him back. “I love you, too, bunny.”
The two of you drifted off the lullaby of your breaths, dreaming of endless galaxies and journeys together.
Synopsis: Rafayel accidentally puts you on the spot by asking you his views on his art
Warnings: OOC MC in the sense they’re a bit mean here, feelings of embarrassment, you had a bad day
Tags: angst, comfort, GN Reader, MC/Reader x Rafayel
It hadn’t been a good day. You had been yelled at by a random person complaining to the Hunter’s Association about a different hunter causing damage to surrounding properties while doing his duties. The government would compensate for it anyway, so why did you have to listen to that? After that, you tripped on the pavement, and were scolded by a passerby, who wasn’t even affected, for carelessness. To make matters worse, you had to attend Rafayel’s art exhibit in the evening as his bodyguard. You wanted to bail, but Thomas got to you first with a text.
“We need you here, there’s already many vicious reporters not on the guest list.”
That was just your luck. You quickly changed to a suit, befitting a bodyguard, instead of dressing fancy like you usually would when you went to these places with Rafayel. After all, you were employed by him, right?
You took a bus to the event this time, worrying that driving would end up in you getting yelled at by someone again, and surprisingly nothing went wrong on your way to the gallery, making you think perhaps your bad luck streak had ended.
You quickly met Thomas, who too frowned at your attire, but then shrugged. “Just… make sure they don’t reach him, okay?” He said, referring to the infamous reporters known to trick people into saying incriminating things. You wanted to ask if you could just kick them out, but they’d probably make a big deal about that too.
You couldn’t really see Rafayel anywhere, and you forgot to charge your phone so you couldn’t text him. I guess he’s getting ready for the event.
You sighed, seeing the hall fill up as Rafayel’s paintings were displayed in beautiful 3D layers by a projector on the stage. The reporters were impressed, capturing the scenes, and the famous guests that attended.
“But he’s a little late, isn’t he?” One of them spoke a little too loudly, making heads turn.
“He’ll be here any minute.” You replied, not even sure if that was true.
And that was when you became the target of the night for those two, a camera and mic shoved into your exhausted face.
“You’re his bodyguard, aren’t you?” The reporter’s smile was venomously sweet, but not exactly fake. He was happy to have caught such a prey.
“I… yeah.” You tried, and failed, to sound confident. I’m sorry, Rafayel. You thought, knowing you’d fall in whatever trap they set for you. Whatever though, you had been the villain for many people today, what was wrong with one more?
“So, what do you think about his art?”
“I don’t think my opinion matters here.”
“Actually, it does.” A familiar voice spoke. There he was, in a blue suit, walking towards you, turning all heads towards you.
You didn’t know what to say. The hall was filled with art graduates, people from foreign countries, geniuses, and him. How could you say anything that mattered more than what they were thinking?
“I think it’s aesthetically pleasing.” You murmured. People in the crowd hummed in agreement, and you wished Rafayel would just leave it at that.
“Is that all?” He inquired. You looked up at him, his eyes piercing your face.
Rafayel, I feel embarrassed. Please just shut the fuck up.
Maybe he sensed that, how could he not? He was excellent at knowing what you felt, but he didn’t say anything, as if he really wanted to hear what you had to say.
Fine, then.
“I also think… it’s ridiculous.” You weren’t really talking about the paintings. “You critique the ignorance of elites in society, but it’s funny because you’re being cruel right now.”
Rafayel’s face turned into one of concern immediately, and he tried to speak, but you continued. “Did you get tomorrow’s headlines, guys? Did you have fun, Raf?”
You wanted to take everything you said to him immediately. You were lashing out at the wrong man. Before anyone could see the tears that filled your eyes, you murmured an apology and ran backstage. This was probably the worst day of- well, just the month, and it was only the 3rd. You found a stair to sit on, behind the projector room, and cried with your knees folded. You were embarrassed. You made a fool out of yourself in front of everyone. You ruined Rafayel’s day. You-
“There you are.” You didn’t know when he came to sit beside you, but he was kind in a way you felt you didn’t deserve.
“I’m sorry.” You spoke in a cracked voice, holding your knees closer to yourself.
“What do you have to apologise for?” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him try to reach out for you, but then keep his hand to himself. “I shouldn’t have put you in that situation.”
“Yeah, no, you shouldn’t have.” You admitted, looking up at him with a tear stained face. “But it still didn’t make it okay for me to be rude about your art.”
You wiped your face with your sleeve, turning towards him. He had a neutral expression but there was a much deeper sadness in his eyes. He once told you that eyes don’t lie, and as long as your eyes are visible, you’d always be able to catch someone in one.
He was hurt, deeply.
“I didn’t mean it, you know. I was… I just don’t know why you’d ask me that in front of people you know would make fun of how uneducated I am.”
“No, you’re not-“ Rafayel wasn’t sure what to say. “Does it matter what they think? I think your opinion is the most important, and in this entire gallery, you’re the only one who matters to me.”
“Bet you say that to everyone you’ve been with.” You teased, and he hoped you didn’t see his red ears. He was grateful you weren’t taking him seriously, because would his words even make sense to you, who remembered nothing? But yes, he did only say that to everyone he’d been with, which was you, you, and always you.
“What other people think matters to me.” Your tone was soft, with hints of bitterness. “You wouldn’t understand, because you’re different. You think differently than I do. I… live on earth, and you live someplace I can’t reach. I see glimpses of it when we’re alone, I feel it through your art, but when I’m around people, I feel their words, their judgment, their voices, and I’m back on the ground. I start feeling small, and sometimes, I become someone you wouldn’t like.”
“Hey.” He pulled you closer, resting his head in your shoulder. “There isn’t one version of you I wouldn’t like. I like it when you get angry, and I like your ugly side. I like it when you lash out because you had a bad day, and I like all your little thoughts.”
“I like you too.” You rested your own head on his.
He smiled, his heart going several miles in a minute. He held your hand in his, tracing the shape of a fish with a heart tail. “Are we in my world right now?” He asked, not caring about the event.
Author's Note: I hope you like this second part @uneducatedraccoon! I was thinking about writing a second part anyway but after your note I just had to! I think I let Caleb off too easy but oh well, who can really stay mad at the poor man? 🤣😅 I'm glad to be writing again too, having inspiration again feels so nice after so long 🥹
Part 1
She scrubbed and scrubbed at her hands as the hot water rained down on her. She’d cleaned the blood from Caleb’s wound off before she’d even applied his final dressing upon it, but the stain remained. It had been so thick and hot upon her fingers. She scrubbed and scrubbed as flashes of that wanderer tearing his flesh lit up her mind.
Too quick. She’d killed that damn wanderer too quick for hurting her Caleb.
Her heart was still racing too fast, even hours later. He’d been hurt. Hurt enough to need stitches, and he acted like it was nothing. Like she’d been ridiculous for being mad at him for jumping in front of her.
She’d been ready damnit! She’d left herself open on purpose, was about to leap aside at the last moment and finally kill the damn thing when the dumb idiot just jumped in front of her, taking a hit that never would’ve landed! He often expressed wanting to be her shield in passing when she narrowly missed close calls like that but this was taking it too far!
She’d lost it. For a split second she was back in those flames, hot air around her, finding out that Caleb had been supposedly blown to bits. Then she was back, and that wanderer had his blood on its claws.
She’d killed it without hesitation. And then Caleb- stupid, idiotic Caleb had dared to act like it was nothing. Nothing! Like he’d gotten a fucking scratch instead of a gouging wound 8 inches long that had already all but ruined his commanders uniform (good riddance), which she told him he should get medical attention for, but he refused, leaving her to stitch it up herself.
A skill she luckily had after spending so much time with Sylus, which Caleb had the gall to nearly question her about. He should just be glad she can do stitches at all, otherwise she would’ve had to call Liam to come and pick him up after the prick passed out from blood loss because of his inane stubbornness.
And then! Then he had the nerve to ask her why she was upset with him! As if she had no reason at all to be furious. As if he didn’t realize that losing him again would destroy her completely. As if…as if he had no clue what he meant to her.
He was more than the boy she’d grown up beside. More than the man who she spent every long weekend with when they were both free. The one who knew all her favorite things, from snacks to movies. Who sometimes she swore could read her mind, because he knew her so well. Was he really in the dark about how far her love went?
Did he really not know how much of a shell she’d become in the months following his death. How she’d thrown herself into her work, desperately chasing leads on what had really happened that day. Why that bomb had quite literally blown up her entire life. How she’d cried herself to sleep every night, or worse, the hollow nights when all she could do was stare at the ceiling. Never getting a minute of rest. Not eating. Lost weight. Lost color. Lost the best parts of her.
No. She supposed he couldn’t imagine a moment of it.
The water had turned cold as she’d kept scrubbing away at her hands and had gotten lost within her mind. She sighed. Just grateful that she’d cleaned the rest of her body first, before the endless pursuit to clean off the stain of yet another moment of fear that would plague her for months to come. She’d almost lost him again, because the damn man decided to try and save her.
With another sigh she dried herself, and dressed in one of Calebs plain t-shirts, and a pair of short sleep shorts. She walked out of the bathroom attached to her personal bedroom that Caleb had insisted she made her own when she’d given him back his own room after her first stay here. A stay she liked to ignore, since they’ve gained a tentative truce since then. Even though she didn’t like his…employers or his work environment, she knew that someday she’d free him of them. In time. She was working on it, and punishing him for things he can’t really control, because he was trying to protect her was pointless.
Though it irritated her to no end, this constant need he had to protect her, her journey for answers had opened her eyes to what horrors he must have endured. How that might have forged this need to protect his oldest friend.
Ridiculous? Yes. Yet understandable.
She was still drying her hair when she heard it. The faint knock and her gaze whipped up, eyes narrowing on the door as her anger yet again rose to the surface. She’d told him to rest, if that was him-
“Pips, can I come in?” He called in softly.
“I believe I told you to go rest Caleb.” She called back, ire in her tone, as she put her back to the door. After all he’d be opening the door in three…two…one… CLICK.
The door shifted open as she continued to seethe quietly, drying her hair and ignoring the man who gently sat on the bed behind her. “Let me brush it for you.” He muttered quietly. Something in his tone intrigued her. Almost hesitant?
“If you must.” She muttered. Shifting as she tossed the towel upon the ground. He’d pick it up before he left she knew, was half the reason why she did it, a small way to punish the man for worrying her. He always did bring out her petty side.
She sat silently as he brushed her hair gently, like he had her entire life. It tugged at the heartstrings, but she wouldn’t let herself soften so easily-
“I know you’re angry with me. And I understand why now, I think.” He said softly. “And I came to let you know I’m sorry. Though I’ll never be sorry for protecting you, I can admit that was a particularly…reckless maneuver.”
She scoffed, anger blooming hotter even though a deeper part of her softened at the olive branch he was offering. He didn’t apologize often, always so sure of every action he took, but she wouldn’t let herself forgive him so easily. “Reckless?” She hissed. “Call it what it was; utterly stupid!”
“That’s me right, your big stupid Caleb?” He tried joking but she didn’t look back to see the expression she knew would be on his face; that boyish grin he wielded like a fine-tuned weapon. No, she’d break the moment they made eye contact.
“If you’re going to joke during your apology don’t bother apologizing at all.” She snapped. Things went silent as he gently brushed her hair, never faltering.
After a long few minutes he eventually spoke again. “I don’t want to lose you either. Couldn’t stand it if I had to watch-“ He cut himself off suddenly. “I just couldn’t handle losing you. And I know you felt that fear today because of my own fears. I just wanted to say I’m sorry-“ She whipped around, anger spurring her on.
“As usual, you overlook one key factor!” She hissed and his eyes widened as she rounded on him, face coming close in her rage. “You once again underestimated me! You’d think after spending our whole lives together you’d know I’m more capable than that! You should know me by now! I’m not that little girl at the mercy of mad scientists anymore Caleb! I’m an adult! A badass deepspace hunter who’s killed more dangerous wanderers than that single-handedly! We keep having this fight because you never listen!”
“You know?” He said, and her anger rose. That’s all he had to say- “I’m sorry. You’re right MC.” The use of her real name knocked her out of her anger immediately as those celestial eyes of his swelled with emotion. “I don’t know where your missions have taken you to have learned as much as you have, and admittedly, that terrifies me in itself, but you’re right. You are capable now. You saved me today after all. Please forgive me. You leave tomorrow, and I don’t want to keep having this fight either. Or part on bad terms yet again.”
“You need to promise to never do that again! Protecting each other is fine…” Her voice went quiet suddenly. “But never sacrifice yourself like that again. I can’t lose you again.”
He pressed a gentle hand to her cheek, rubbing her cheekbone in gentle circles. “I promise. I won’t take any unnecessary risks.”
Her eyes narrowed and he gave her that boyish, sheepish grin with not an ounce of shame on his face. She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Not convincing, but fine. I’ll accept it.” He grinned brightly as her cheek warmed from the prolonged contact and she shuffled out of his reach. “Sleep Caleb, I mean it. You need the rest.”
“Fine then,” He said cheekily, and in a quick movement he was laying on her pillows underneath the blanket. “I’ll sleep here! I wouldn’t dare to let you fall asleep alone after scaring you so thoroughly. Wouldn’t want you to have nightmares after all.”
She huffed but smiled softly, “Fine, but don’t you dare try and steal all the blankets. I won’t go easy on you just because you’re injured.”
She laid down, shifting closer to him after shutting off the lights. “I wouldn’t dare steal your blankets Pips.”
“Goodnight Caleb.” She said, voice drifting off into sleep easily with his scent surrounding her.
“Goodnight Pipsqueak.” Caleb said affectionately, shifting closer to pull her into his arms, sleepily murmuring, “I’ll always protect you. Even if it makes you angry with me. Just…try to understand that please.”
Ko-fi ☕️
~ My requests are open, feel free to request LADS Sylus, Rafayel, and Caleb. I also write for Ridoc from Fourth Wing :)
