This banner is so cute. Just another reimagining of this scenario. Kinda makes sense to be in your birthday suit tho if you transform from a cat then back to being a human 😂
A render I did a while ago. I like that it turned out more romantic and sensual than I originally planned. I'm still trying to figure out how to use his model properly in Blender.
Anyway, this might be my last post on this side blog. Enjoy the boobs. 🖤
I have said it before on many occasions but it's worth reminding people that Sylus is a WHORE. And I love it.
He gives major fuck you in the bathroom on the first date before dessert arrives energy.
Think about it.
In his vampire myth, this man was ten seconds in from meeting MC and had every single intention to kill her and he STILL made out with her. Zero memory who she is, ready to impale her to death after bleeding her dry and has the audacity to be like “hold on, give me a kiss real quick,” LMAO!
In his dragon myth when MC was sneaking him, and she started acting like she was trying to fuck cause she feels bored did you see the look on his face? He was down!
I'm convinced if it wasn't for her hating his guts on sight in main story, because despite that she does admit he is hot as fuck so I KNOW he would have taken her amnesia having ass to base and slutted her out regardless. All she had to do was say when.
Nobody can tell me otherwise.
Sylus is easy. And I love that about him.
Fake sleeping so he can get handcuffed to his bed wearing nothing but a silk robe.
Just stamp the words “Fuck me whenever” on your forehead Onychinus leader cause we all see you're about that life.
f2u MC gifs/stickers
i can't believe we're getting a joyride card!!! did y'all see MC running to hug him? #felt that (๑˃́ꇴ˂̀๑)
good luck to everyone pulling!
―⭑❥.ᐟ GENRE/WARNING: f!reader x m, Professor sylus, student reader, college au, student x professor, forbidden romance, academic misconduct, slow burn, angst, fluff, eventual smut, slight age gap, teacher student relationship, power imbalance, idk the list goes on lmao
―⭑❥.ᐟ SUMMARY: Your final year of college was supposed to be simple: Keep your head down, survive the year, and graduate. Easy enough right?
Unfortunately, trouble came in the form of Professor Qin.
―⭑❥.ᐟ A/N: I've been dyinggg to write a college au so I really hope you guys enjoy this while I update! This will also be published to AO3 if you prefer to read on there. If you wish to be tagged for updates, please comment below and I'll add you to the taglist :3
Synopsis . The last thing you told your ex-best friend before he was dragged off to jail for arson was one well-deserved, 'fuck you.' Five years later, he broke out of prison, and now he's coming to make good on those words. (nonnie req)
Pairing . fugitive!Sukuna x fem!reader / Content . afab!reader, rough sex, possessiveness, a hint of yandere!sukuna, implied stalker!sukuna, manhandling, heavy tension, confessions, creampies, mirror sex, manipulation, jealousy, full nelson, filth, sukuna’s quite literally insane, heavy yearning, violence, major pain kink, toxicity, dirty talk, slight angst, blood, pet names, praise, degrading, he has a dick tattoo, spitting, squirting, orgasm denial/edging, biting, breeding kink, obsession, reader in denial, death threats, attempted murder (?), making up for lost time, etc. / wc . 9.7k
A/N: This might be one of the craziest things I've ever written... Banner art by Rororogi Mogera. (Kinktober Masterlist.)—Ignore how we’re well into November now. Not proofread, sorry if there's any errors! [MDNI]
Your best friend tried to kill you.
Multiple times, in fact. That was the harsh reality of having a man like Sukuna as your closest friend; he was absolutely insane.
Piss him off even the slightest bit and he was sending you all sorts of violent threats, no matter who you were. So, for some reason, when it came on to you—the only friend bold enough to put up with him for the past ten years—he always made sure to follow through on those threats of his.
And as of recently, the man had set your house on fire as you were inside. For what? Oh nothing, just overhearing you have the audacity to refer to another man that wasn’t him as your best friend.
Totally not an overreaction.
——
You remember being laid across your bed, phone in hand as you yapped away to a new friend of yours. Now, you and this friend got along because he was the complete opposite of Sukuna. He didn’t threaten you over petty things, didn’t curse you out and call you mean nicknames, and most importantly, he wasn’t batshit crazy.
While you were busy half-listening to your friend’s voice on the line, you began to smell the faint scent of something acrid. The smell made your face scrunch up, nose crinkling as your brows furrowed and you glanced around your room. You thought that maybe you could’ve left the stove or oven on somehow, even though you don’t remember turning either of those things on..
The scent reminded you of burnt toast if it was intensified to the third degree so, clearly something was burning.
“Are you even listening to me…?” The man on your phone grumps. You could practically picture the pout on his lips, “Hellooo?”
Shaking out of what’s got your expression shifting, “Yeah-, yes, I’m here,” You replied hurriedly, “Sorry, Satoru, gimme a second.” You end up telling him as that smell from the first floor of your home began to grow stronger.
The whole thing was making you very uneasy and it didn’t take much for you to feel the panic seeping up into your veins as you slipped out of your bed and went rushing towards your door. As soon as you opened it, you were smacked in the face with clouds of thick, black smoke that made you cough, bringing one hand up to cover your nose as you ducked and walked out into the wall of heat coating your home’s air.
“You alright over there?” Gojo had asked you, having heard your coughs and even catching a faint crackling as the phone picked it up into the call.
Between another cough, “Yeah, m’fine,” You say jokingly, “My house is just on fire.”
“What??” He gasps, taking in the full severity of the situation, “Shouldn’t you be calling the cops or something?”
You’re leisurely making your way down the hall with your nose still covered and your body slightly hunched over so you don’t inhale too much smoke. This isn’t the first time a certain someone has set something of yours on fire so you suppose that’s why you’re more annoyed than you are scared as you make your way to the edge of your staircase.
Standing there, you lean into the phone a little more. “Yeah, I’m getting to it…” You tell Gojo, easing your way down the steps to peak around the corner and see that the fire is much bigger than what you were expecting.
Again, this isn’t the first time that “best friend” of yours went setting shit on fire in your house. But, this is the first time he set your actual house aflame. Your eyes widen and all that casualty you previously had died inside you as big, wild flames pop and crackle with heat from your living room.
“Oh shit,” You gasped, “S-Satoru, I’ll call you back.”
“Are you oka—“ Before he could even finish, you were hanging up and moving with shaky fingers to dial the police.
And somewhere under all those flames, you swore you heard laughing. Sick, maniacal, and twisted laughter—a sound of which you’d come to recognize anywhere.
Everything that happens after that is one big ugly blur of events. Such an innocent night had turned into something foul all because you’d called Gojo one of your best friends earlier in the day. You don’t even know how the fuck Sukuna got wind of that comment but low and behold, he was the one who set your living room on fire.
The cops were called shortly after you’d discovered the flames and you remember having to be transported out safely in the arms of one hulky blonde fireman, who Sukuna then tried to attack before he was swiftly arrested and pinned to the ground by policemen.
Outside of your home, the two of you had argued back and forth from a distance while they worked cuffs over his wrists. You don’t remember the details of what you’d shouted at him as most of what you spewed was in anger but you do still picture the crazed smile the man had on his face every time you said something especially vicious to him. That was exactly why he liked you so much–, or rather, liked being your friend so much.
Sukuna always adored how you never let him walk all over you, even after he’d literally burnt a part of your house down.
Somewhere between him getting arrested and that sweet blonde fireman—who’s name you noted as Nanami—Sukuna happened to see a gently clothed hand cleanse your face from the few ashes that’d covered your features. The only thing you heard was a snap as he’d broken out of the cuffs and launched himself forward.
It was an even bigger mess from then on.
You barely remember seeing that poor fireman get punched in the face, to which you jumped up, went swinging at Sukuna and… yeah, it was bad. Really bad.
It took multiple police officers and firefighters to pry the two of you off of one another. Well, more like to pry you off of him. You’d landed multiple blows to his face and quickly caused his nose to bleed but, the thing about that entire altercation that had you livid was the fact that he was smiling throughout each second of it.
This was another thing that wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to do. You’d done almost everything under the sun towards one another within the past ten years that you were acquainted—which yes, includes fighting one another. Though, the fighting in question mostly consisted of you hitting him and Sukuna just taking it.
He may have been crazy in every other field imaginable but he'd, surprisingly, never hit a woman. Especially not you.
While you'd been beating up on the man and just before the officers had pulled you two apart, you do remember one more little detail that still manages to cling to your mind to this day.
It was just as an officer had shouted something along the lines of, "Stop right there!" that you recall the glint in Sukuna's eyes dimming and the way his smug smirk flickered. It seemed like reality had finally settled back into his head for a moment and even though you still had a partially bloodied fist hoisted up, ready to land on his face again, you swear that second stretched out longer than it should've before his voice came out ever so softly.
"Fun's over, huh?" Sukuna had whispered to you, as if he somehow knew and fully expected this to be his last moment seeing you. He understood that he was going to jail for all this but that wasn't exactly his biggest concern.
His main thing here was that he had to accept the fact that you probably hate him now—
"Fuck you." You spat, finally, before he could even finish his thought.
If the pill wasn't a tough one to swallow previously, it damn sure was then.
You were pulled off of him seconds later and he was dragged away—this time towards the back of a police car—and although there was something distant and somber about the way his eyes still lingered on you and that same fireman who came to help you, he kept those two words of yours in the forefront of his mind.
After all, it was the last thing you'd said to him.
“Are you okay?” Nanami ended up asking you as he stepped impossibly closer and was quick to tend to you as if his condition wasn't worse off. Concern was etched all into his features but, even though you heard him, your eyes were busy fixed onto Sukuna.
You managed a nod and felt the man's hands reach for yours to clean the blood off of them. You should've been able to take your eyes off of the same guy who literally just set your house on fire and then proceeded to attack someone just for helping you.
And yet, there you were, letting Nanami's smooth suggestion of, "Let’s get you checked out,” flow through one ear and out the other.
Even as he gently pulled you away from the scene, your mind was one big mess of confliction. You're supposed to hate Sukuna now, obviously. He was insane!
But... he's always been that way and somehow, you've always forgiven him for it. Maybe it was because there was more good with him than there was bad. Or perhaps it was because he was the only man you knew could match your crazy.
Part of you wanted to go and fight for Sukuna's freedom after the whole ordeal, y'know, that really delusional and stupid part of you. And the other half of you knew that the sensible thing to do here was to leave him where he was. Maybe a couple years in jail would do him some good.
Right?
——
That was five years ago from now, where your home has since been repaired and free of the violent crimes of which your ex-best friend committed against you.
Luckily, you listened to the logical half of your brain and went against fighting for his freedom or contacting him at all, no matter how many times you found yourself missing him.
These days you try to convince yourself that you don't even think about him as much but, every time you bring a new guy into your life it just feels weird or, something feels like as though it were crawling up your spine. Especially if you tried to talk to someone romantically.
You'd always experience this odd lump of guilt eating away at you and it made you feel strange considering the fact that you should feel free of Sukuna's control over you and who you date. You'd been in relationships before he was locked up, after all.
Even though most of them ended in the weirdest ways...
You remember how one guy told you how he didn't want to die just for dating you. At the time you laughed it off, thinking he was being dramatic, but looking back on it now... perhaps Sukuna had something to do with it?
There was also the time a guy completely ghosted you just a few days after you'd both admitted you were in love with one another. You don't know what that was all about but, again, looking back on it now...
To take your mind off of the man you're not supposed to be thinking about, you end up fishing for your remote after plopping down on your living room couch. The TV soon flicks on and you shove all thoughts of your ex-best friend into the very back of your mind where he belongs.
He's exactly where he's supposed to be now anyway; rotting in a cell somewhere.
On a brighter note, for the past five years straight you've been living your best life. For the most part, anyway.
You and that nice blond fireman got closer through the years and he often comes over to your house to give you some company after you'd explained how Sukuna was your closest friend years ago. You know Nanami visits you out of pity but, you never exactly reject him.
The only unfortunate thing about that situation is the fact that every time he flirts with you, you can't find it in yourself to reciprocate. There's nothing wrong with him and he'd be a good fit for you, truly. The issue here is that you can't ignore how wrong you feel when you're with him.
He could be doing nothing more than sitting on your couch watching TV with you and yet you felt as though you had Sukuna's eyes burning into the very back of your skull—watching, judging, daring. There was even a time you and Nanami tried kissing. He wasn't bad at it and neither were you, something was just wrong about it and you didn't know what it was.
Perhaps Sukuna had unconsciously conditioned you into some sort of deep rejection towards anyone that wasn't him and you hadn't realized it.
Things only became clear for you when the same thing happened with Gojo. Who you tried going on dates with, tried to let spoil you, and even tried sleeping with. All of which failed miserably, especially that last little act. You'd felt off the entire time, so much so that you don't even think you were turned on.
Which was crazy to think about considering he's Gojo Satoru! It's not like you weren't into him.
He'd treated and touched you better than any guy ever had before—as did Nanami—but maybe that was the problem. Maybe you didn't want something that was smooth and gentle with you. Maybe you needed the craziness you only knew to come with the asshole sitting in prison right now.
Or at least... the asshole that was sitting in prison.
The moment your TV finally turns on, there's a news report playing that instantly snatches up your attention and makes every vein in your body run cold. The report ahead explains how a man who'd been convicted for arson had recently escaped prison and has been on the run for at least three days now.
You swallow thickly and your eyes quickly flock around to various corners of your house. Three days? Logically speaking—and not like you looked this up before or anything but—that's about the same amount of time it would take for him to get to your house on foot...
You turn back to your TV and sink further into your couch, turning the volume up to listen intently to the rest of the report before you drive yourself insane. The fugitive could be anyone after all. Arson is a pretty common crime to commit, isn't it?
"—The man is said to be at least six feet tall with pink hair, dark red eyes, and tattoos all over his face," The woman on your screen adds on suddenly before a mugshot pops up just a few inches away from her.
Aaaand fuck, it's him.
You immediately shoot up from your seat and start rushing around your house to make sure all the doors are locked and that every window is shut tightly. Hell, you even consider bordering up all exits and entryways.
The sound of your heart racing in your chest thumps all the way up against your eardrums as you fight with the increasing sensation of paranoia rising within you. You move all throughout your home, slamming doors shut and double-checking each lock with slightly trembling hands.
You hate how all it took was one little report to have you all anxious and thinking about him again. It's been five years. Maybe you saw the report wrong, maybe it was about that younger, identical nephew of his...
No, no, that doesn't even make sense. He was just a kid the last time you saw him and from what you remember, he wants to be nothing like his crazy ass uncle.
Fuck.
Over six feet tall, pink hair, dark red eyes, tattoos all over his face... Only one person fits that description and you know it.
Fuck.
You saw his face too, you can't just ignore that and try to convince yourself it isn't him.
The news is still playing off in the background, echoing throughout the walls of your house almost hauntingly now as you struggle to ignore the punctuating reality of Sukuna no longer being behind bars.
"He's not coming here," You mutter to yourself, despite the suddenly pounding memories of him flooding right back into the forefront of your mind.
Fuck.
It's been five years, there's no way he's going to escape from prison just to come torment you again. Or worse, to come get revenge from you not coming to see him all this time...
Then again, if you still can't help but think about him in moments where you really shouldn't be, he's probably been doing the same thing. Hell, you're probably the only thing on his mind right now.
Something in your chest throbs at the mere idea. You don't know why that invoked such a physical reaction from you, it's not like you've ever liked the guy or anything like that.
Aside from the first few years of your friendship when you had the biggest crush on him.
But that was fifteen years ago, feelings like that don't linger this long. Feelings like that shouldn't linger for this long, not after he's burned down a quarter of your house and has been sent off to jail for it.
For a moment you consider dialing the police but, what exactly would they do aside from send an officer or two out to your house for the night? Your phone is in your hands now and all you're doing is staring at the screen with a million thoughts in your head.
You can't call the police, that'd just end in another big brawl between you and Sukuna before he's arrested again and, unfortunately, the last thing you feel like doing is fighting anymore. You don't think you have the energy for that, especially not this late into the night. So, you end up pocketing your phone and instead head back to your living room.
Up until you hear a sudden thud from somewhere behind your house.
Your heart sinks into your ass and you freeze. Straining your ears to catch more sounds, you slowly turn on your heels and creep back towards your kitchen. The floorboards beneath your steps creak softly but you swear you hear a distance set of steps creeping around as well.
Yet, when you stop, the sound stops as well.
So perhaps you were just driving yourself insane?
Yeah, that's probably it. It's been five whole years, Sukuna would not spend all that time thinking about you and then turn around and come back to the same woman who got him thrown into jail. He's crazy but he's not that crazy.
Taking one more stretchy moment to let the silence linger on, you release a long sigh and pace into your kitchen. Just in case, you still want to have a weapon on you in the event that your delusions turn out to be true.
Right before you reach the knives, the sound of your house phone ringing like something out of a cliche slasher movie cuts through the air and easily scares the shit out of you.
Flinching, you hurry over to it and scramble about to get the phone into your hands properly, quickly lifting it up to your ear. "Hello?" You call out with a slightly shaky voice.
At first there's no sound, just static. Which, of course makes you want to hang up.
You've never been a fan of scary shit and the only person who knows that about you is Sukuna. So if the creepy silence was telling you anything, it's that it was definitely him—
"Hey, have you seen the news?" Gojo's voice rings out to you after one too many deafening seconds of eerie silence.
With a heavy sigh of relief, you almost smile into the phone. Thank God it's just him. "Yeah," You reply half-breathily, "Of course I saw it."
There's a slight sound of shuffling over the phone and you think you hear keys for a moment, "Do you want me to come over? Y'know, just in case that maniac shows up?"
You're shaking your head before speaking, "No, no, you don't have to do all that, Satoru. I'm fine-, it's fine."
"You don't sound fine..." He points out.
You roll your eyes for a moment, hating how well he's gotten to know you over the past few years. Leaning against your kitchen counter a little, you glance over at the knives just a few inches away from you, "How do I sound then?"
Gojo scoffs harmlessly, "Shaken up."
You're quiet for a moment and within it, it's almost like your breathing is echoing around you. Ignoring the intensified sound, you shake your head and shut your eyes for a second to ground yourself, "I'm fine, really."
The man over the phone lets out a long hum and you could almost hear the skeptical look on his face, "I'd be over in fifteen minutes top, y'know... I just-"
"Satoru," You cut off gently, "Seriously, I'm okay. I... I know how to handle myself and I doubt he's even coming here. It's been three whole days after all. He's probably on the other side of the country by now."
"Right..." Gojo trails off for a moment before shrugging, even though you can't see it. "Well, if you're sure. Just uh," He clicks his tongue slightly and leans into the phone, voice getting a little louder against your ear, "Call me if you need anything."
"I will, I will." You promise, "Goodnight, Satoru. A-And don't call my house phone anymore, you scared the shit out of me."
He chuckles, "Sorry, you weren't picking up your cell so I got a little worried. But, yeah, goodnight, sweetheart."
You place the house phone back into its original place and the call ends there. Your hand lingers on top of the phone for a bit before you slowly slide your touch away and let your shoulders relax.
All the tension that'd been there just a moment ago has died down a little and you feel calmer now.
See? Everything is perfectly fine.
But, it wouldn't hurt to grab one of those knives just in case...
Fishing through the knife holder, you eventually pluck one up and bring it closer to you for inspection. You let the blade's end tap against your finger softly to make sure it's sharp, not exactly cutting yourself but just checking it out. Then, you breathe out another sigh as if to steady yourself again.
You had a weapon and you could call up Gojo if anything else went sideways so, everything was okay.
Just as you turn around, that last little thought of yours is practically fucked out of your head violently. There's a tall, brooding frame of a man standing a few feet away from you inside of your kitchen, the sight of him enough to make your entire body flinch with a physical force strong enough for you to drop the knife you just picked up.
You shoot down for the weapon you dropped and scramble it back up into your hands before rising up to your feet again, seeing that the man who'd just scared you hasn't moved an inch.
As your breath remains uneven and weighted with fear, the male inside your house is standing there with that signature smile of wickedness plastered all over his face. Cocking a thick pink brow, which you notice has two slits in one them, "'Sweetheart', huh?" He drawls, voice all dense with a baritone that fills every inch of the space between you both.
Your eyes are wide and frantic, running over every bit of your ex-best friend standing before you, trying to figure out whether or not this is real or just some fucked up nightmare. His hair, that same bright pink you know it to be, is all unkempt and wild atop his head as his eyes, low-lidded and dark, steadied onto yours.
"What the hell are you doing here?" You hiss out slowly, sounding unsure in your own tone given the abundant sense of unease inside you.
You watch his lower, rose-toned lip get pulled in between his teeth at the mere sound of your voice before his head angles to the side in slow motion. Then he lets his crimson eyes drag up and down the expanse of your frightened frame and swallows up every inch of you with his gaze alone. It's only been a few seconds and you felt as though you were shrinking under him already, despite the distance between you.
Sukuna's voice carries out with the same rasp that never fails to drive you insane, "Awh, come now," He coos with a pout of mocking smearing across his face for a moment, "Is this any way to greet your best friend? Pointing a knife at me as if it hasn't been years since we've last seen one another."
Your eye twitches in annoyance, "You set my fucking house on fire!"
He visibly reacts to the elevation in your tone with a rise of his brows and a slight adjustment backwards as if you'd pushed at him. "Surely you're not still mad about that," He purrs lowly before taking a small step forwards and ignoring the blade you have aimed his way.
You shift backwards but you merely meet the counter and realize you'd have to run left or right if you wanted to escape him. That, and most of the exits are somewhere behind him.
"You need to leave," You breathe hotly, "Get out before I call the cops again or I swear to—"
"Call the cops again?" Sukuna scoffs loudly and his next step closer makes the floor groan distantly under his bulky frame, "You think they can keep me locked up forever? I escaped once, I can do it again." Now he's only a few more steps away from you and you've yet to pry yourself away from your spot.
You hate how you can hardly move under his gaze, as if you'd been put under some type of spell or something, your body condemned to stay in place.
"And do you know where I'll come once I do?" He adds on slowly, sneaking nearer until he's only one step away from your personal space. "Right," The distance lessens as he takes that final step, "Back," Sukuna extends an arm out and you feel it brush against your side as he places his hand on the counter behind you, his lips grazing your ear now, "To you." he finishes off in a chilling whisper.
You fall impossibly quieter and he pulls away from your ear just to meet eyes with you, leaving you there to stare up at him with years of and years of emotions floating around your gaze. You wanted to say something, anything, but the only thing you could manage was a subtle twitch of your lips. To which he took as an opportunity to fill the silence.
Tone almost vulnerable if you listened hard enough, "I just wanted to see you," Sukuna admits, almost like he'd missed you or something.
Your grip on that rather useless knife of yours tightens, as does the feeling in your chest. You're standing face to face with him now, halfway trapped between his large body and the counter behind you.
And as if to unintentionally ruin the moment, his eyes sink further along your frame, drinking in your lack of a response to him and instead letting his expression color itself in amusement as he leans down to you and whispers, “You look good.”
The heated, “Fuck you.” that pours past your lips is instantaneous. You didn't even have to think about the words before uttering them, nor do you regret saying them to him in such a distasteful tone.
Sukuna hums somewhere deeply in his throat and draws himself back just a bit, “That’s what I’m here for, brat.”
You blink, “What?”
“Don’t you remember?" He continues, eyes studying every curve and twitch in your face as if he'd forgotten how expressive you could be. "All those years ago, that’s what you asked me to do, isn’t it?”
Your lashes are batting with perplexity now, “I didn’t ask you to do shit-”
“Well, that is the last thing you said to me.” He cuts off quickly. Then his hand moves off of the counter behind you and you instinctively draw your knife up, the tip of the blade tickling his chin and causing his head to tip back some. There's a faint hitch in his breath as he's caught off guard ever so faintly.
Testingly, your eyes remain vexing and pointing upwards on his, “So?”
His hand carefully reaches your wrist and his fingers curl around it, his touch a sense of gentleness you've never felt from him before. Sukuna was touching you as if you were made of some kind of porcelain—liable to break at any given moment. Which, naturally, had you even more pissed off. It lets you know that five years away from you did nothing but make him think he'd left you all fragile and on the edge of breaking or something.
“Are you really gonna sit there and act like you didn’t miss me all this time?" The fugitive questions further, voice an annoying cadence of softness. It was so out of character for him that it made you feel even more uneasy standing in front of him.
Something wasn't right here.
“I didn’t," You claim as if you hadn't spent over half of those five years doing exactly that.
“Mh," Sukuna hums again and this time his lips twitch back up into that usually smug smile, voice dropping, "Yeah? Is that what helps you sleep at night?”
To combat with his never ending smugness, you try to appear as nonchalant about it as you can and drag out your little white lie some more, “Yup.”
“Tch.” He's quickly irritated by that one word threading past your lips with such indifference, “So I set your house on fire one time and now all of a sudden ten years of friendship don’t mean shit to you?” He asks.
The statement itself was almost more concerning than the fact that he'd done that to you. You'd think five years in confinement would help a person think over their actions and actually consider the wrong in their crimes but apparently Sukuna Ryomen wasn't prone to such a thing.
“You tried to kill me, asshole.” You remind him for the nth time.
He talks half a step away from you and chuckles, “I’d never do something like that and you know it. If that fire had hurt you that day, I’d never forgive myself for it.” Sukuna claims in a weirdly endearing way.
You hate how that makes your chest do that weird clenching thing again, as if his words still had an honest affect on you after all this time. Somewhere distantly in your mind, you were screaming at yourself about how you should've called the police on him again when you had the chance, while you were still somewhat in your right mind. But now it was too late, you were already wrapped around his finger tightly with no desire to unravel yourself from him.
Before you can manage out another jab, he ends up bringing one of those large hands of his up to his sharpened jawline and then runs his palm over it carefully, gaze drooling out an emotion you don't care to acknowledge right now, “And I meant what I said,” He whirs, “You look good.”
Finally rolling your eyes elsewhere, “You shouldn’t be here.” You deflect.
Sukuna obviously doesn't move, “You’re not telling me to leave.”
“You need to.”
“Do you want me to?” He retorts, taking the following long second of silence as a decent enough response from you, “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
After which you allow yourself a moment to finally take the sight of him in. He's not as close as he was before which is somewhat helpful to your buzzing nerves but... fuck, he got even hotter within the time he's been gone.
Sukuna's always been tall but you swear he's grown a few more inches. All his features are sharper and more defined as if he hadn't let a day go by without properly taking care of himself, despite being locked away for so long. His body is staggering more so now than ever before as he stands in front of you clad in nothing more than a crisp white T-shirt and the rest of his prison jumper sitting low on his hips.
Now, this shouldn't be as distracting as it is but, as soon as you look down you can't help the way your eyes widen at the sight of the slightest sliver of smooth skin peeking out from the space between his lower abdomen and his pelvis. That bright orange fabric was way too low on his hips and you're sure he was aware of it too.
The toned V-line of his was adorned with trails of teasing veins that led to something you swore yourself up and down you didn't want to think about at all. But of course, it's hard not to think about it when you see that heavy tent in his crotch. You always knew Sukuna was... packing but, most times when you'd acknowledged it, you tried to shove the thought away just as quickly as it came.
It's a little hard to do that now when he's standing right in front of you watching you watch him. You don't even realize the way your eyes all but linger there as your lips part and a soft breath ghosts past them.
Then you're speaking your mind without thinking first, “You got… bigger.”
Your eyes are still glued to that outline of something bulky in his pants just before you hear him scoff at your shamelessness and force yourself to look up again. Sukuna's eyes look hungrier now. Shit, that wasn't your intention at all. You're should be kicking him out of your house right now-
“That’s what five years in a cell does to someone, woman," The man drawls, voice a pitch lower already.
One little moment of taking in his appearance and he was already feeling the effect you had on him. Moving your gaze away from his starved one, you resort to studying his now folded arms and how hefty they are tucked over his even broader chest. The tattoos across his skin still seemed as fresh as ever, almost as if not a day had ever gone by.
Clearing your throat and ignoring how hot you start to feel when your mind flashes an image of those same arms around you, “F-Five years in that cell and you still can’t even address me by my-” You're cut off when he looms closer all of a sudden, causing your stammered words to die out in your throat somewhere. He's mute as he draws close and then cranes his head down to your neck, inhaling you sharply. “...What are you doing?” You ask slowly, heart beginning to do that loud thumping thing again.
“You smell like another guy,” Sukuna utters a few inches away from your skin. It was almost as though he could see the scent of someone else on you before he even leaned in like that.
It gave you chills.
Trying to laugh his actions off again, you end up reaching a free hand up to his chest to try and lightly push him away, “What are you, a dog?”
“Woof," wisps out of his lips in a half-joking manner but with the way it slathers against your skin before the tip of his nose replaces the sensation as he zeros in on your neck, you're left struggling with a million and one emotions.
“The fuck…?” You whisper to yourself.
He only chuckles at your reaction, finding it rather cute, “Is that what I have to be to get in your good graces again?" Sukuna asks as his face adjusts to your neck and his teeth graze you, "Some kind of mutt?"
"No," You scoff, "Y-You're never getting in my good graces again." Your hand pushes at him again but even he could tell you don't mean anything by the gesture. Especially considering how you finally place your knife down somewhere behind you.
To which he smiles knowingly, "Oh yeah?"
"...Yeah," You manage out softly, turning your head to try and see what exactly he's doing.
"You don't sound so confident," Sukuna utters into your skin as if to let his words tattoo themselves into the area.
And hey, maybe you didn't sound confident because you weren't. So instead of searching for something new to say to him in response, you fall back on the same thing you've been saying to him for as long as you can remember. Angling your head elsewhere as you scoff a neatly said, "Fuck you."
"You keep saying that," He replies quickly while steadily gliding his head away from your neck and lifting. It's then that you're made well aware of how close he is to you now. Such little distance remains from his face to yours and all it would take is a short lean downwards for his lips to be against yours if either of you wished it so, "And I'm starting to think you want me to." He finishes off bluntly.
You blink out of your temporary daze just then, "What?"
"Fuck you," Your ex-best friend half-way clarifies, "It seems like you want me to fuck you."
"You-," Your words pause whilst your lashes flutter over one another, mind troubling itself trying to wrap around the audacity he seemed to carry after all this time. "You can't set my house on fire, go to jail for it, and then come back to me years later and try to sleep with me," You remind the man as you carry your stern gaze back up onto his, "Time does not equate to an apology, asshole."
Sukuna cocks a brow and bites back a laugh at the sound of that, "Is that what you need from me? A measly little apology?"
You scoff, "No, I don't need one from you but it would be nice-"
"I'm sorry." He says frankly, "Now, what else can I do to make up for it, hm?" His other hand presses behind you and you're trapped between both of his bulky arms before you even realize it, his voice dropping a tone and making the moment all the more intimate, "One thousand, eight hundred, and twenty nine days in which I have not seen nor heard from you and yet," You watch as his head tilts slowly and his eyes cascade down to the curve of yours lips, "You expect me to pry myself away from you?"
"Sukuna," You whisper, feeling almost suffocated in the lack of space between the two of you. Every fiber of his being was swallowing you up by the second and yet no matter how consuming it all felt, you couldn't find it in yourself to want to pull away.
You're unsure why his name even tiptoes past your lips like that when you carry no sort of argument against him any more. Sure, you should hate him now-, you think you still do but, it's hard to consider those emotions when he's so close.
Then his voice sinks another octave and your knees are feeling weak as his words exit him with something sinfully heated behind them, "I have missed you, achingly, for years," Sukuna claims, leaving you intoxicated in everything that pertains to him all over again. The tip of his finger meets your chin and forces your head further up, both of you now looking at the same thing now. "Yet you deny me. Why?" He questions.
You swallow thickly, as if that would lessen your nonexistent will to escape him, "You tried to kill me..." Your voice is meek and you hate every second of it, "Y-You set my house on fire."
The man fights with the smile that nearly broadens itself across his lips, "You remain unharmed."
"What about my home, Sukuna?" You ask in return, seeing as that is the most important thing here second to your well-being. Your tone is a little more sturdy now and he catches onto it, the sound making that undesirable glint in his irises return.
"It has been repaired, I see," He points out comically. After which his hand shifts and he holds the entirety of your jaw in his palm, thumb caressing your skin whilst he leans in and stops juuuust before his lips are on yours, "What more do you want from me?"
Your mouth trembles with the words that ached to leave them, unconsciously longing for the finality that is him kissing you at some point. You hated how in all the time he's been gone you'd done everything but move on and instead worked yourself up to a point so low in being touch-starved that you wanted to whine from the sheer closeness you shared with him alone.
"...Tell me why you did it." You eventually manage to demand from him.
He sighs but his answer is immediate, "You tried to replace me."
"What?" Your brows meet and your eyes shoot up to his, "No I didn't. I-I'd never-,"
"Gojo," Sukuna starts off interruptingly, allowing himself to meet those gorgeous pupils of pure vexing distaste he'd missed oh-so-graciously, "The fireman..."
"You can't be serious," You spat as you barely made an attempt to tug your chin out of his hold.
The effort you make is completely in vain since he only tightens his grip and this time tugs you impossibly closer, your breaths intertwining with one another now. "Forgive me," He demands, lips grazing the skin of yours as he does so.
Your mind halts every thought for a moment. The way he was looking at you alone was enough for you to have forgiven him a long time ago. Hell, you almost forget you were ever even mad with him to begin with. Sputtering, "I-I can't just-"
"Then let me apologize properly," Sukuna cuts off smoothly, words practically seeping out directly into your mouth now.
And all you could do was swallow down each one, completely entrapped in every thread of seductive manipulation he'd woven into you over the years. Your statement is airy as it strings out of you slowly, "You shouldn't even be here."
"I'm here because you need me to be," He protests.
You detest how true that may be but, you lie anyway, "No, I don't."
"Your body betrays your claims," The fugitive points out in the same way he always had whenever he saw directly through you, "Just look at the way you've leaned into my every touch as if you crave it—long for it, even," Sukuna continues on as his lips being to part over your own, ready to capture them in the sweetest, long overdue kiss. "Let me make my amends to you, woman." He requests of you kindly, shortly adding a borderline desperate, "Please."
——
You should never have given to that, really.
You were supposed to keep up with your act of stubbornness and not go back to your old ways of forgiving him no matter how wrong he did you. Yet, like any toxic relationship, you can't seem to find it in yourself to do that at all.
So here you are now, debauched and ruined in front of your own bedroom mirror. Having been put on display by the same man you were supposed to kick out of your home hours ago, you're busy bouncing up and down a looong expanse of his thick inches as he did nothing more than talk you to filth.
“Y’see this? See what’s all mine?” Sukuna rasps hotly against the sensitive shell of your ear, having one of his thick hands settled neatly onto the curve of your hips as he guides you up and down his swollen shaft with no sense of gentleness whatsoever. His other hand busies itself away with your jaw to keep your head facing the mirror just a few inches away from the edge of the bed where the two of you are sat, “Yeahhh, look how pretty she is taking all that cock. Taking all my cock. Uhuh..”
Your pussy is left swallowing up everything he stuffs up into you, singing out sloppy glistens of wetness and slick every time he hits that spot inside you no one else ever has or could before. All whilst your mouth dangles open, gorgeous strings of moans 'n whimpers gliding out of your throat and filling the air of your bedroom—the same bedroom he'd previously heard you talking to so many other guys in.
You never knew it of course; never knew that he had your entire home bugged from top to bottom, always listening to who you talked to and how you spoke to them. So five years ago, that might've been how he'd heard you call Gojo your best friend but, none of that matters much now. You're exactly where Sukuna has wanted you to be all this time.
“Fucked so stupid on it already,” He grunts at the way you're struggling to keep up your rhythm on top of him. “How cute,” Sukuna adds on cooingly, to which your cunt flexes ever so deliciously around his slobbering length.
Everything's a literal mess now.
You've got your neck plastered in spit and bite marks, all from the man who just swore he had to make sure you and anyone else who dare set their eyes on you after this knew you belonged to someone. The two of you have been at it for hours now and at this point you're hoping the police have long since forgotten about searching for him.
At some point you think you should've gone numb from the pleasure he'd given you but instead it was the exact opposite; you just couldn't get enough!
With the way your walls hugged the fat of his cock so snuggly every time he spoke, he couldn't help but carry out his teasing, “No one else has been in here, huh?” He asked, despite already being quite sure of the answer.
From drooly lips, “N-No, Sukuna,” You hardly manage out, especially with the way the wide crown of his cock is just thrashing up against your cervix, leaving the nastiest of kisses all against it so that you'll never forget the feeling, “Jus’ you.."
He smiles proudly at the sound of that and something in his chest swells dangerously. Hips bucking up faster-, harder to rudely knock up against the same place that's been gushing all over every inch of him for fuck knows how long now, "Really? So you were saving this pussy just for me, hm?”
“No,” You try huffing out. Instead, the short word comes out as more of a moan than anything but, all your syllables had been leaving you like that.
Just a few minutes ago he'd had you spread out over your bed and mumbled apologies into your cunt with nasty swirls of his tongue, inscribing every "sorry" into your walls with searing licks and lathers. It was the only time in all this that he'd gone somewhat quiet and instead let your pussy do the talking.
You hardly grasped what transpired from that to now since you're struggling to take everything he's giving you. Hell, you can barely get yourself to sink all the way down to that dark ink he's got wrapped around his cock, having told you that the tattoo there is—apparently—what you're supposed to be reaching with every thrust.
“Feels like you were,” He husks out thickly in between ragged breaths, grin only enlarging itself out across his slicked face, “Look at how sloppy she is around me,” And just as he says that, you're doing nothing more than watching the way your pussy lips drool so stupidly against the angry veins of his dick. To which he snickers into your ear just to tease you some more, “Such a wet lil' thing.”
You can't even control the way your head flops back somewhere against him, hips growing fatigued by the minute and throat hoarse from your pathetic mewls of pleasure, “Hnngh, S-Sukunaa."
The man only tuts before shaking his head a little to get the sweat-soaked pink locks of hair sticking to his forehead to move a bit, taking in the sight of how slovenly the both of you look right now.
With his lips sticking to the sensitive crest of your ear, he whispers ever so tentatively, “Made s’perfect for me,” A praise that only has you drenching the stretching girth that's tucked heavenly inside you, “Aren’t you?”
“M-Mhmm,” You agree instantly, of course. You think you've forgotten how to and the overall desire to deny him a long time ago from now.
Just then you feel a certain twitch spasming against your honeyed walls, causing a lewd squelch to ring out. Sukuna's breath gets even more breathier as his heavy balls ache for the release he's been saving just for you. “Slut,” He calls, almost as if that were your birth given name. “Look at me,” The same strong hand on your jaw forces your head to turn and your eyes meet his dilated pupils, “Can you feel that? Feel what you do to me? What you’ve been doing to me? Hm?”
Just as he asks you all those dirty questions, you feel him rolling the rest of his cock deeper inside you, trying to make that slathered tattoo disappear all the way past your puffy folds already.
“Yes,” You croak pliantly, earning a mocked pout of his kiss-bitten lips.
“Yeah? How do I feel inside there, huh?” He asks, just to earn a soft whine out of your throat instead of proper response. Then he cocks his brow up, “S’good you can’t answer me properly? Poor thing—here," All. of your breath is ripped out of your lungs as he then moves both of his arms down to swoop under your thighs and lift them up and out. Followed by which is him finding the nerve to stand with you in his hold.
You quickly find yourself in a full nelson before you have the time to break out of your cockdrunken state. The drool from your lips drips out onto the floor with soft, nasty splatters that match what's currently leaking all off of his balls and onto the floor.
Oh, the sight is nothing short of pure filth.
But—naturally—Sukuna's not phased by the change of positions in the slightest, "Tell me if this is better for you.” He taunts.
Better for you? As if. You could feel a tingling sensation thrumming all throughout your legs as they reduced to utter mush in his arms, especially as he starts moving. His thick cock dives in and out of your leaking hole, creating the prettiest sounds of nastiness that reverberate throughout the space around you.
Sukuna spreads you out impossibly wider with his rugged, tattooed arms secured too neatly under the plush of your thighs, having you take him fully now. Your hips feel wobbly whilst he hauls you up and down his cock, leaving you to do nothing but sop up everything he slid so thoroughly into you.
You're gasping when his wiiiide cock lodges so suddenly against your sweetest spot, “Kuna’, c-can’t—mmgh! Fuck! M’gonna cum,” You pant heavily, adding on a cute whine of, “S'too much!”
He's kissing somewhere near your neck now but you're too focused on the feel of his weepy head against where you needed him most to realize. Not until he starts that raspy purring against your hot skin, “Again? You like my cock that much?”
“N-No,” You manage to argue playfully, “I just-, mmnh! I-I like the way you fuck me.”
“Oh really?” He scoffs instantaneously, as if offended for a second. “And yet look at this messy pussy," Sukuna directs, causing your attention to shift down at the way you've left the creamiest mess of release all around that dark ink of his. "Crying alll around the same cock she hates.”
“Ohfuck,” You gape, eyes watering up again when he bites down hard at your neck. Something deep in the pit of your stomach felt as though you were bursting and fuck did it feel good.
So good that you're driven straight into overstimulation for the nth time of the night, all while sobbing and pleading for something—though you're not quite sure what for. It's not like you wanted a break by this point, no, no, you were much more interested in him breaking you.
So why does your body start squirming in his arms all over the place as if to escape him? You've no idea.
“Don’t do that,” Sukuna starts scolding you the moment he catches onto it, arms bulging around your folded body and locking you in place, “Take it, since you like the way I fuck. Take it, every fuckin’ inch—none of these-," His head angles up to lick the streaming teardrops off of your cheeks, "Mmh… sweet-, tears. Awh, look at you trying to run from it. S'this too much for my slutty girl?” He sears into you.
“Sukuna, please,” You beg. For what? You're still unsure but by this point you're unsure about everything. The only thing you can think about is the way he feels inside you.
He's still breaking out that smug smile of his, taunting, “Please what?”
“I-I can’t—“ You don’t even know what you were trying to say with the way your mind blanks and you cream around the thick of his cock yet again.
“Shh, shh, listen to her," Sukuna instructs, letting your gasps and cunt become the loudest things in the room. “Y'Hear that? That’s what good sluts sound like when they get fucked right.” He explains to you, talking into your ear once more just to have you spasming all around him for the millionth time. The baritone in his voice gets impossibly heavier in the next second, “Hah, ready to hear how they get bred?”
In response, all you can do is clench around him and manage a lazy, fucked-out nod of your head.
“Ohhh, you are, huh?” He coos.
“Uhuhh,” You babble, “Please ‘Kuna... N-Need it."
A scratchy grunt tumbles up from his throat, “Need what? Say it for me.”
“Cum inside me,” You say fully and almost perfectly for the first time in hours, “Fuck me full.”
He almost does at the sound alone but for some reason, he feels as though he needed to hold out just a little longer. "S'that what you need?" Sukuna huffs, thrusts entirely uneven now with the way his pearly 'n dawdling cockhead thwacked around your insides with no more direct focus, just feral need. "You need my cum inside you?"
"Yes," You weep delightfully.
Your best friend can only manage another, "Fuck, I've missed you so much." at the sound of that. Then he's spilling every globbing rope of cum inside you. His thrusts punctuating to make sure it takes, "Thought about you every. single. day."
"Sukuna," Your head is turning elsewhere again and for some reason he hates that.
So he's rasping a needy, "Look at me," all over again, swallowing down the terribly plead that nearly jumped out of his throat. Masking the near level of patheticness he'd reached, "Now tell me you love me." he demands instead.
Your mind may be a mush of cockdrunk and fucked-stupid but you still carry that same strength to push his buttons one more time, "F-Fuck you,"
Sukuna groans harshly and turns around with you. One second you're held tightly in his hands and the next he's laying you down on the bed flat with a rough grab on your head just to push it against your bedsheets. The next few moans that leave your throat are broken and muffled as he plows into you in yet another new position—prone bone—and driving his fat cock into every quivering crevice of your cunt.
His free hand presses down against the newfound arch in your spine and his dick feels even thicker inside you somehow. Eyes fluttering, you end up giving in without him having to say anything else, "F-Fuck! I love you, 'Kuna..." You sob into the bed.
He tugs your head up by your hair with a sharp pull, "One more time f'me?"
"Hnngh, I l-love you," You whimper.
He chuckles as if he's aware of something you're not, "Oh, I know you do, sweetheart, I know." Then he's leaning down, wide, muscular body caging yours as he speaks carefully, "You're never gonna send me off like that again, right?"
"Never," You're choking now, his hard tip kissing that spot of yours yet again.
"So obedient," Sukuna comments whilst practically spelling his name out into your cunt, "All I have to do is give you some cock for you to obey my every word, huh?"
You're nodding like some idiotic whore now, "Mhmm.."
"What a slut." He scoffs—as if he isn't into it or something—and then lets his eyes glide down your gorgeously ruined body, "My slut though, isn't that right?"
You don't even try to think before speaking. The words easy fall past your lips in a wispy puff, "All yours S'kuna."
"Juuust as I fuckin' thought," He breathes out in return. And then with one last little snicker, his voice dips to something so quiet that you nearly miss the way he finishes off with a softened, "'Love you too, woman."
synopsis: it's natural for a guy to have a boner. or short story about how caleb’s dick realised that he was in love in you sooner than he did.
tags: mdni, alternative universe, university, slowburn, mastrubation, dirty fantasies, dirty talks, mention of the alcohol, caleb is your bestie, he's being a pervert kinda, mention of his possessiveness.
wc: 2.3k.
don’t get any wrong ides, caleb has always been a description of the perfect best friend. when you two were just kids, he protected you from stupid boys who were eager to tease you about anything they could. when you tripped and fell during the games, he was the one who treated your wounds. and when you were crying, caleb was there, he made you smile like nobody could.
and through ages nothing changed.
he’s still your main protector. he’s the only person you can rely on without any doubts. and you’re the only one for him as well. because who can understand him better than you do? who can read him like an open book? who can be as understanding, sweet, amusing and kind as you are?
for caleb, no such person exists. his focus always has been on you. because even though you two went to university, caleb still saw you as a little girl who needed to be taken care of.
you were seen together quiet often. caleb didn’t leave your side even for a minute, knowing that your sweet demeanour like a red rag to many guys. he didn’t want you to get hurt by those bastards who ogle you every damn day. he didn’t want to see your crying, especially because of such petty creatures.
that’s what he’s been telling himself for a while. you’re his best friend, childhood friend, and he’s a man. he’s supposed to protect you, right? it’s only his duty as a good friend, nothing less or more.
but perhaps, lines between friendship and something more intimate are blurry when it comes to your so-called friendship. you really were always and everywhere together. you often spent the night at each other's places, fell asleep hugging each other, cooked breakfast for each other. caleb scared other guys away from you like he had right to do so. and his hand was always resting on your waist.
you were no better sometimes. you pouted when some girl gave him chocolates threw a tantrum. you crawled up to him with hugs when you were cold. you always fell asleep next to him during thunderstorms.
but you both thought it was something normal. you grew up together, of course you’d be clingy with each other, that was understandable. plus, you didn’t have friends, except caleb. i mean real friends who’ll be there despite any circumstances. and you know for sure caleb isn’t as close with any of the guys as he is with you.
anyway, you both didn’t pay much attention to it. you were pretty content with everything you had, even if sometimes it made your mates laugh.
they noticed the chemistry between you a long time ago. and they aren’t afraid of bringing this up when there’s such opportunity. especially gideon – caleb's classmate at the faculty of physics. this guy can’t help but smile every time when caleb acts possessive over you, finding amusing his blindness to his own feelings.
“ah, this little dress suits her, by the way,” gideon comments during the one of university parties that you attend very often.
he doesn’t mean what he says. no, he means it. you’re wearing black dress that leaves nothing to imagination, but it’s not like he is staring at you, really. you are no-no for gideon since there’s obviously something going on between you and caleb.
he just loves teasing caleb about you.
because the way caleb’s head snaps to his direction as soon as he hears those sinful words is the piece of fucking art. the way he tenses, his jaw clenched, his face is red from embarrassment and something else… god, caleb is so funny, he just doesn’t realise it.
“yeah, we bought it together,” he murmurs for no reason. no one literally asked him to reveal this detail, but he feels obligated to.
gideon chuckles. he sips his drink, looking at caleb attentively, and contemplates what to do next. you’re chatting with girls, sitting comfortably on the sofa in a few meters away, and gideon has enough time to rile him up.
and he’s not dumb to waste this opportunity.
“i’m shocked how you allowed her to wear it,” gideon continues, seeing displeasure flickers on caleb’s face.
is he jealous? yeah, he is! probably he didn’t initially like this idea. university parties can be messy, especially when alcohol is involved, and everyone is ogling you at this rate. and knowing how possessive caleb can be over his best friend, gideon doesn’t doubt he didn’t support your choice of clothes.
he’s blushing. he’s clenching his fists.
he’s definitely jealous.
“allow? is she some kind of pet or something?” caleb says, giving his friend a disapproving glance. “she decided to wear it, i supported her. this dress suits her, i mean. and i’m not her boyfriend to forbid her something, ya know”.
okay, he's not jealous. he's just mad at the thought of being an idiot towards you. allow you to do something? forbid you to do something? god, he's not an insecure teenager! and he’s not some jackass too! how can gideon think so low of him?
despite his attitude, caleb would rather encourage you. if you want to do this, he’ll be the first who will show a thumbs up and say that you are the best. it includes your choice of clothes. yeah, caleb didn’t appreciate the way guys look at you like you’re a piece of meat. but at the same time, you’re not the one who must limit yourself. you’re beautiful, divine, you have every right to show off your body. and if someone has a bad thought, caleb will interfere and kick their asses. simple as that.
“that’s good, actually, she’s a sight, caleb. have you seen her legs?” gideon continues, choosing another way to rile him up.
“shut up, dumbass, and stop staring at her, she’s not toy on display,” caleb tells him, but he does look at your legs.
he does agree you’re a fucking sight tonight.
the dress you two picked out suited you. it showed off your shoulders, collarbone, it accentuated your legs... god, caleb wondered how soft your skin was. you loved using a lot of creams and gels. you always smelled... nice. and he would give anything to just bury his nose in your neck and...
he shakes his head, averts his gaze and drains a glass of beer in one gulp. he’s tipsy. he needs to stop drinking until he loses all senses of sanity. he can’t think of his best friend in this way, can he? you’re like a little sister to him, for god’s sake!
why does he want to taste your skin then? why does he wants to see everything? lead you away from the crowd, take off this damn dress and show you exactly why he can be considered as a good, loyal boy.
fuck, it is hot here. and it is hard for him to return his thoughts in the right direction.
and your sudden approach doesn’t make it easier. he wasn’t watching you for one minute, trying to regain his composure, and during these seconds you managed to sneak away from your company because you noticed his strange behaviour.
his cheeks were red. he was tense. he was… he wasn’t caleb you knew.
it’s only natural you felt a pang of concern, right? you don’t want to neglect your friend’s feeling for the sake of the good party, so that’s why you’re here, standing right in front of caleb who needs anything but you at this exact moment.
“hey,” you call him, your hand lands on his forehead to check his temperature. “you’re burning!”
jesus christ.
caleb naturally jolts, gentleness of your touch goes to his lower abdomen, and he finds himself at the strange state. it's like he has a fever. somewhere in the groin area. and his thoughts are confused. and he feels terribly awkward and confused.
aroused.
but he’s dumb to understand that.
“no,” he manages to mutter, his voice sounds raspy and husky.
your concern skyrockets. is he sick? he can be! he could agree on attending this party because he didn’t want to disappoint you, yeah. but at the same time, he could feel terrible. you know him! and you know he could sacrifice his own health for you.
and he can sacrifice your friendship for the taste of you right now.
“caleb, is your throat sore? really, let’s go home,” you continue, his heart does a flip at the sound of your voice.
so… sweet. he bets it’d sounds even sweeter once he has his hands on you. once he has you in his bed, completely naked, vulnerable and opened for him. he knows your body with be responsive. he knows you’ll be a mess by the time he’s done with you.
he knows he wants to lift up your dress and just...
“caleb, buddy,” gideon interferes, trying to get his attention. standing behind you, he lowers his eyes, mutters some word inaudibly and caleb...
caleb’s is ready to die right here from the embarrassment. understanding his friend, he offers you lopsided smile and quickly excuses himself, heading towards the bathroom. you want to follow him, but gideon stops you, grabbing your writs gently.
“he’s fine, just can’t stand his alcohol,” gideon reassures you. caleb doesn’t need your presence now because it’ll only make things worse, he’s aware of that.
“but…” you start, but you are cut off by the giggle from the guy.
“don’t worry, he’s not sick or something like this,” gideon says nonchalantly. “relax, sweetie, he’ll be there in ten minutes”.
he doesn’t lie. caleb isn’t sick. and he really can’t stand alcohol because this damn beer, combined with the sinfully beautiful dress, did a thing to his body. thing that has never happened before.
caleb doesn't even know how to react to this. as soon as he slams the door shut and leans his back against it, he takes a deep breath, his hands shaking, his thoughts still a mixture of desire and guilt. fuck, he need to do something, anything. he can't stay here for long. you’ll be even more concerned.
fuck.
it’s not his fault. it’s not your fault. it’s nobody’s fault, yeah? he’s just a man. he can react… this way. it’s a natural thing.
fuck.
no, it’s not.
“fucking hell,” caleb mutters, opening his eyes and looking down at his boner. “it’s not okay, dumbass. you can’t be aroused because of your best friend. but god, she’s so damn perfect…”
he tries to get rid of the feeling of guilt when he unzips his jeans. he tries not to think about the fact that you are his best friend. he’s just tipsy, he’s just aroused. he’ll deal with it.
wrapping his hand around his dick, caleb closes her eyes, but everyhing he has in mind is your image. you were so worried about him a few minutes ago, you were so cute, so innocent, so… his. he holds back a low moan when he starts moving his hand, up and down, up and down.
would you be happy if you knew what he was doing right now? he doesn't care anymore. he just wants to cum. preferably... on your worried face. fuck, you'd look even more beautiful with his cum streaming down your face. you'd still look at him innocently and sweetly, even when he was rubbing the head of his cock over your swollen lips.
or over your swollen pussy lips. it’d be even better, damn it. he wants to rub his dick against your wetness. he wants to hear your gentle moans, your pleas to put it in and finally fuck you.
“pips, you’re so… fuck, you’re so tight,” he mutters, starting to move his fist faster and faster.
he is completely absorbed in his fantasies. he pictured you wrapping your legs around his waist while he pounded his hips into you at an animalistic pace. how he would leave hickeys your neck, your collarbones, your chest.
fuck, he wants to take you from behind too! he wants to slap your ass, kiss your back, choke you and make you a fucking mess.
“shit, pips, i’m close, can i… fuck, can i cum inside? fuck, fuck, fuck, ” he curses under his breath, his dick twitches, and before caleb can react, he cums into his fist with a shamefully loud groan, folding in half from the force of the orgasm.
five minutes he comes to his senses. five minutes he washes his hands, looks at his clothes, he doesn’t want to have his cum all over his shirt. and five minutes later he comes out to you, smiling, as if nothing had happened.
as if he hadn't jerked off to the bright image of his best friend before.
“let’s go home, party is dull,” caleb tells you, hugging you and ruffling your hair.
you sigh in relief and nod, wanting to leave this place as much as he does. your concerns fade, because caleb seems completely fine. and it’s the only thing that matters to you right now. you didn’t know what happened when he was in the bathroom, but you assumed he just washed his face, puked probably. in other words, he did everything he needed to sober up.
the drive to your house was quiet. you were falling asleep on caleb's shoulder, and he was thinking about what happened. and he came to the conclusion that it would never happen again.
his dick would never get hard again to the image of his best friend.
although it would be better to say that it would not get hard again today.
I hope my teachers will never find out what I'm doing instead of my homework
Here is a sneak peak of smutty Sylus thing I'm working at rn! Even with this shitty quality and frame skip my gpu is dying. I swear finish render would take weeks at this rate 💀
All anatomical details were thoroughly cutted out but you'll see everything once i'd finish
Excuse me, Mr Skye, I think this is yours. (Yes, you are.)
Summary: You get a weird package in your mailbox. Luckily, there’s a phone number attached so you can return it back to sender. Unfortunately, the sender gets attached in the process—and decides to keep you too.
Tags: oc x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, grumpy x sunshine trope, kinda ooc sylus, fluff, crack, heavy angst i’m kidding lol, strangers to friends to a secret third thing, thought of this while waiting for uber eats to arrive
A/N: Lmao, hi there. Here’s a brand-new series for y’all (just a lil refresher from Error asfklsdf I did NOT treat that motherfucker as chill writing, I fear). It’s just a short crackfic to alleviate my need to write something, so if I take this one seriously, pls god just shoot me point-blank. Enjoy!
Pt 1
There’s a package sitting innocuously in your mailbox, wedged among the rows of metal lockers in the communal entrance of the residential complex.
You don’t notice it straight away. You’re too busy whistling an off-key 90s ballad on your way back home, juggling a tote stuffed with colorful balls of yarn and a paper bag full of bagels from the bakery down the street. The owner, Dmitriy – austere as ever in his early seventies – always slips in an extra piece, and always reminds you, less and less subtly each time, that his grandson from Moscow is single.
The blue-eyed boy is polite enough, if you don’t count the way he stares like he’s trying to see through your soul. There's this air of casual indifference to him that you’re not exactly into (You like loud declarations of love and being unapologetically affectionate in public), but also this sort of weird intensity whenever he thinks you're not looking.
Still, you never have the heart to turn down the old baker’s earnest attempt at matchmaking, so you put up with a few stilted conversations whenever you find his grandson milling behind the counter.
Now, back to the present.
You find yourself staring quizzically at the slim parcel you’ve pulled free from a bunch of junk mail littering the small compartment. It weighs almost nothing.
You give it a careful jiggle. Something rattles back at you.
(There's a faint sound emanating from when you shake it, almost as if it’s… ringing?)
The box itself is nondescript—except for the rectangular card laid on top, in 300gsm premium stock, one you’d expect to be used when announcing someone’s nuptials. It offers no other clue as to what’s inside. No return sender, no stamps.
Nothing at all, except for a short, elegant script written neatly across the front: Your end of the deal.
Any chance at ominous gravitas, though, is promptly ruined by the fluorescent pink Post-It slapped to the side. You peel off the bright sticky paper, squinting at the rushed scrawl: Send out ASAP to this location—your address and house number aggressively underlined—and I mean FAST. Call Jake at this number when you’re done.
And below, almost too helpfully, is the number of this Jake person.
You already chalk it up to a mix-up. Your area shares a postal code with another suburb, and the mailboxes around here have seen their fair share of misplaced deliveries. An easy enough mistake to make, if not exactly the most convenient.
Poor guy, you think sympathetically. Whoever Jake is, he must really need this package expedited if he’s placing a rush order for it.
With nothing else to go on, you decide the simplest thing is to call the man himself. You fish out your phone, punching in the digits. It picks up on the second ring.
“Y’sent it?” a gruff voice demands, loud in your ear.
You brighten instantly. “Hi! I think I have your package?”
Dead silence.
“…Um, hello?” you try again.
All at once, panicked whispers erupt through the line, and you catch two (maybe three?) voices talking over each other.
“Who the hell is that–”
“Did he—fuck! That motherfucker can’t do one FUCKING thing right, I swear–”
They sound frantic, the type of frantic that belongs to people who’ve just lost something they really, really shouldn’t have. You picture poor Jake at his wits end, probably tearing his hair out from all the worry.
You’re about to jump in and reassure them that the item is safe with you when the call drops. You glance at the home screen, bemused.
With a shrug, you head upstairs.
In the foyer, you tug your scarf loose and drop your things by the door. The matte black package sits cushioned between balls of indigo and baby-blue yarn, looking absurdly out of place. The sight makes you grin.
The door clicks shut behind you just as your phone buzzes again. You pick up with a chipper, “Y’ello!”
A distinctly masculine voice greets you without preamble. “Who gave you that number?”
You blink, the smooth baritone not what you were expecting. Definitely the voice of somebody who doesn’t belong on the other end of a misdial.
“Oh, hi! Is this Jake?” you guess, crouching to untie your shoes. You switch the call to speaker, balancing your phone on your knee. “There was a note stuck to the box, so I figured I’d call! Looks like the address got mixed up, but that’s okay—we get those sometimes, no biggie. I can send it back, or if you prefer, I can drop it at the post office–”
The man cuts straight through your rambling. “You will head to the location provided. Be there in thirty minutes.”
The line goes dead before you can get another word in. You stare at your phone, baffled, still crouched over one untied shoe. Geez, Louise.
Not even a minute later, you get a text—a long string of numbers, no explanation.
You frown, thumb hovering before you type: Sorry, I don’t get it? Is this some kind of code?
Almost instantly, another message comes through. A pinned location. You stare at it for a solid minute before it clicks. Oh. Coordinates! They’re coordinates, dummy.
...Whiiiiich is kind of a weird way to drop a meeting spot, but hey, you’re already getting the vibe that your mystery caller’s a little eccentric.
You react with a thumbs up and fire off one last reply—
Shoot, right! See you there, stranger! :)
I meant Jake, sorry! This is Jake, right? Just making sure I don’t get it wrong >.<
-
-
No dice. Oh, well.
_____
The meet-up spot your stranger acquaintance picked turns out to be a small park by a quiet riverbank.
Getting there is easy enough; just a short bus ride and a few minutes walk away, though the last stretch takes you a little off the main path—secluded, the kind of place you probably wouldn’t stumble into by chance. You don’t think much of it.
Now you’re on a bench, legs swinging while you scroll through your phone. Dusk has started to settle, the last bit of sunlight filtering through the trees, when the loud purr of an engine breaks you out of focus.
A black SUV pulls up, dragging your attention away from a strawberry roll cake recipe you’d just downloaded off Pinterest.
Two men—you assume—step out of the SUV synchronously, masks covering their faces. The design is quite avian, with the red-tipped beaks and slitted eyeholes, like something out of a Spirit Halloween clearance rack. They scan the perimeter with a certain vigilance that feels wasted here, considering the only company apart from yourself is a passing cyclist and a handful of frogs loitering by the water’s edge.
Another man emerges. Taller. Broader. Dressed immaculately in a pair of tailored suit trousers and a charcoal button-up, accentuated with a burgundy pattern that looks suspiciously like someone took a paintbrush to it. A shock of white hair gleams golden against the fading light, and the whole look reads more “high-end masquerade” than “novelty Samhain.”
Sharp red eyes zero in on you. Then on the package.
You light up, waving like you’ve just spotted a neighbor across the street. That must be him. “Hi there!”
His gaze snaps back, and there’s something almost clinical in the way he takes you in. The first thing that comes out of his mouth: “You opened it?”
You shake your head quickly. “No, no– of course not!”
This seems to put the reticent man at ease, if only by a fraction. Until you add—
“I, ah, shook it a little, though. It made this ringing sound.”
A beat.
Flatly, he repeats, “…You shook it.”
Your eyes widen, realizing too late that the object inside could’ve been more fragile than you thought. “Just a little!” you insist, earnest as ever. “Like, barely. I promise.”
He holds your gaze, inscrutable. Then, without warning, a crimson-black mist unfurls over the parcel in your lap. In the blink of an eye, the box is gone.
Your jaw drops. “Whoa, that’s amazing. How’d you do that?” Your eyes sparkle with unfiltered wonder. “Are you, like… a magician?”
He doesn’t deign to respond, looking exceedingly underwhelmed by the assumption.
You nod, undeterred by the lack of answer. “Right, right. Trade secret. Got it.” A magician never reveals his tricks, after all. Maybe they’re LARPers? Oh, maybe they’re a stage act!
While you’re busy puzzling over the man in front of you – and, by extension, the two others now milling by the water, idly weighing pebbles to skip – Sylus finds himself sharing the same sentiment, studying the… peculiar woman before him.
He already knows the facts; dug through the records, sifted every dull scrap of your life from the databases on the way over. A civilian. Unremarkable as they come. One of his men had been careless enough to place something highly classified in your hands. Careless enough to pay for it with his life. Still, he wants to be certain whether you’re truly as harmless as you appear.
He entertains the alternative, if only briefly. Sylus lingers on the wide, unguarded smile you’ve plastered on since his arrival, traces the offensively loud pattern of your jumper and the frankly horrendous article of clothing on your head. And perhaps it’s a front, some asinine attempt at lulling whoever’s on the other end of the phone into a false sense of security.
But then there are your eyes. Painfully guileless. Reminiscent, almost, of an innocent fawn. And that utter disregard for your own safety—naivety in its purest, stupidest form—makes something in his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t dare dignify with attention.
(How profoundly inconvenient.)
“If you know what’s best for you, you will not speak of what has transpired here today.”
You cock your head confusedly. “Wha– who would I tell?”
His expression doesn’t shift – save for the subtle twitch of his lips, gone before you can begin to register the reaction. “Go home, little doe.”
He turns, a sharp flick of his hand pulling the masked men from their pebble-skipping contest. They instantly fall in step behind him.
“Well… nice meeting you, Jake!” you call out.
That earns a pause mid-step. A short, incredulous huff slips out before he can stop it.
Glancing back, his mouth curves with the faintest trace of amusement. “Skye,” he corrects.
“Huh?” You tilt your head just so, and the resemblance is almost painful—like a puppy waiting for instructions it doesn’t understand. The baffling sensation in his chest returns.
“You can call me that.”
“Oh!” You perk up, and Sylus can almost imagine the tail wagging behind you. “Nice meeting you then, Skye!”
You don’t expect him to reply. You’ve already filed your mystery person as the stoic, quiet type. So it catches you off guard when he reluctantly parts with—
“…Likewise.”
And then he’s gone before you can even think to offer your own name.
What an odd guy, you muse. Still! You made a new friend today, and that always counts as a win in your books.
As you start to make your way back home, you find yourself idly wondering what kind of pastries Skye likes.
End A/N: I live ! (Sorry for going semi-awol 🥹 No go to Tumblr much lately… Just do some writing when Dobby finds the time… Hope you can forgive Dobby. Kk mwah fuck JK R*wling <3)
"ONE MORE SHOT, I'M SUPER TWEAKED! THAT LIQUOR TURN ME TO A FREAK!"
— “That’s what boyfriends do, right? Show out. Keep your girl and her friends happy.” — ft. ryomen sukuna
+18 MDNI. WARNINGS. baddie!reader x boyfriend!sukuna, porn w/ plot, clubbing culture, houston club scene, mentions of alcohol, drinking, ryomen treating the girls, plotting to get your boyfriend drunk, established relationship, f*cking off the liquor, unprotected sex, dom/sub undertones, possessive, praise & body worship, creampie, edging, nasty rough sex, dirty talk, aftercare. notes. image sourced from pinterest. word count 4.5k. title: Latto - Liquor
The bass hits so hard it shakes the cup in your hand, bubbles fizzing against your tongue as you lean into your best friend’s ear to laugh about something stupid she just said. The club is a whole different planet tonight— strobe lights flashing, bodies moving like they’ve got something to prove, perfume, smoke, and sweat mixing in the air until it’s thick enough to taste.
You’ve been dancing for what feels like forever now, your heels biting into your feet, with your hair sticking to the back of your neck. So when one of the girls yells, “Bathroom break!” you’re the first one to agree.
The four of you spill into the restroom like it’s home base, laughing too loud, clutching onto each other as you wobble on unsteady heels. There’s a line for the stalls, so everyone crowds around the mirrors— phones out, purses open, liner getting touched up.
You’re halfway through blotting your lipstick when one of your friends leans in with a pointed look. “So…is your man good out there?”
You glance at her in the mirror. “Whatchu’ mean?”
“I mean he looks bored, like he doesn’t wanna be here.” Another pipes up, fixing her curls. “Yeah, I don’t think he looked away once the whole time we were dancing.”
“Girl, stop.” You laugh, but they’re all giving you that you know we’re right look.
“She’s not lying.” Your best friend says, smoothing her leave-out down with a pocket brush kept stashed in her purse. “He looks tense. Like, scary tense. You think he’s having fun?”
You hesitate, dabbing the corners of your lips with gloss. “…Probably not. No. You know he doesn’t go out. Clubs aren’t his thing.”
“Okay, but he came out for you.” Another says, pointing at you with her powder puff. “So don’t let him sit there looking like Secret Service all night. He’s scaring the hoes.”
“That part!” One of your friends calls from inside a stall, the door clicking shut behind her.
You laugh again, but softer this time, tucking the gloss back into your purse. She’s only saying that because earlier she thought some guy had curved her— too intimidated to come up to the section y’all are in to talk to her.
“I’m just saying.” She adds, zipping her purse. “Maybe pull him in a little. Dance with him, something. Make him feel part of it before he kills somebody.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling as you fix the strap of your dress. “Fine, fine. I’ll talk to him.”
“Please girl, ‘cause I could finish another bottle. It’s too early to be going home.”
When you finally push back into the crowd, the heat hits you again— music pounding in your chest, lights flashing across sweat-slick faces. Your boyfriend Sukuna is still sitting exactly where you left him, posted at the edge of the booth like he owns it. Well, technically he does for the night at least. Shades still on, jaw tight, phone in his hand like he’s scrolling, you catch a cup shifting in his grip every now and then— he’s making himself look busy, but you know damn well he’s not looking at anything important.
And now he’s watching you cross the floor. Slow. Head to toe. Like every second you were gone cost him something. If looks could kill, half the club would be gone by now. Maybe it’s the way his grip on that small cup tightens for a second when your eyes meet, something about it makes your stomach twist.
“Hey, baby!” You purr, sliding up next to him and slipping your arm through his like you’re calming down a pit bull. “Miss me?”
Lowering his shades, he drags his eyes from your legs to your face, mouth twitching with a shrug. “Nah, just countin’ how many guys stared at you since we walked in.”
You laugh, lifting off him to reach for the pitcher of water on the table in front of you to pour yourself a glass.
“Don’t do that. It’s a club. That’s what people do.”
“Yeah, well…” His gaze drags slowly over you like he’s trying to memorize every inch and curve. “They need to un-do it before I cause a problem up in here.”
You just smirk, sipping slow. “Mm. Somebody’s jealous.”
“Somebody’s real fuckin’ observant.” He mutters, tugging you closer by the waist like that’s gonna fix anything. He’s not mad at you, pissed for coming here if anything. You’ve seen him at his worst enough times to tell the difference.
He always hated this kind of scene— the blaring music, the crowded dance floors, the neon lights bouncing off bodies pressed together. He’d made that clear every time you and your girls went out, but tonight, after a heated argument about him being too controlling, he decided to prove a point.
Spitefully. He bought a whole section for you and your friends, smugly declaring that if you wanted the club, he’d give you the club. But you know him too well; he didn’t drink much, hated the chaos, hated the tight outfits you wore, the way you acted when you had one too many drinks in your system. He was already twitching at the first thump of the bass when y’all walked in.
Thinking to yourself— you’ve got to do something, because his attitude is not going to be what sours your mood tonight. Maybe if you get him a little tipsy, loosen that iron grip just enough for him to let go and have fun without realizing he was enjoying himself, then maybe y’all both can have a good night.
Spotting your girls making their way closer to your section, you lean into him further, brushing your lips against his ear just to watch him twitch. Something about the way he tilts his head back makes you wonder if he’s already had a little drink before this.
“‘Relax, ‘Kuna. Matter of fact, how about we get us some more shots?’
He blinks at you, deadpan like you said something off. “Us?”
“Yeah.” You point over to where your girls are. “That’s what boyfriends do, right? Show out. Keep your girl and her friends happy.”
“Where they start doing that at?” He laughs like you’ve lost your mind for asking, setting his cup held in his hand down on the table. The look on his face makes you grin so wide your cheeks hurt. He hates this. You know he does, that’s why you love doing it.
So maybe you did lose your mind. Getting the section was already a stretch, but it’s a fact to everyone who knows Sukuna that he doesn’t give handouts, let alone to your homegirls, but it’s worth a shot.
“If you ain’t treating, you ain’t tricking.” You set your finished glass down next, kicking a leg up and over his lap, letting it rest there just long enough to make him shift. His hands wrap around your legs like he wants to do more than just look.
He freezes for a beat, jaw tight, trying to hide the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t play with me.” He says, narrowing his eyes, voice low, like he’s counting down how many seconds you got left to cut it out.
Rising to your feet, you let your hips sway just enough to draw his eyes, fluttering your lashes slow and deliberate.
“Baby, I’m not playin’. We like Casamigos…” You drag the words out, letting your smirk do half the talking.
He exhales, leans back, giving you that slow, knowing look, and you grin to yourself, satisfied— because let’s be real, you’ll always get your way one way or another.
With a playful toss of your hair, you turn back toward your girls to meet them on the dance floor, letting him watch as you disappear into the crowd, the smirk still lingering on your lips.
Fifteen minutes later, you’re sliding back into the booth with your girls, and there’s a tray of shots on the table— glasses clinking like music. You cheer with them, throwing back tequila like water, and before long you’re warm and giggly, pressed against his side with your fingers hooked in his belt loop.
“Kuna’, help us finish this bottle. Can’t have it go to waste.”
You’re close enough now that your knee brushes his thigh every time you shift. His eyes drop there, then back up at you with that lazy, irritated stare that really means he’s thinking something else.
“You really want me drunk?” His hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb grazing skin like he’s trying to distract you. “For what?”
“So you’ll stop mean-muggin’ everybody in here.” You giggle, leaning off him to pour a shot halfway, holding it to his lips like you dare him to refuse.
He does. Instead tilts it towards you, watching as you take it slow, his fingers brushing your lips on purpose. Heat rushes to your face, but you play it cool, reaching for the bottle of cranberry juice to fill up a cup, throwing it back quickly like the burn didn’t faze you.
“Two more— me and you.” You lift the bottle up, showing how much is left. He hasn’t had a taste of this liquor yet, though you know he caught a sip of something earlier, just enough to make his eyes linger on you differently. Meanwhile, between you and your girls, you lost count a couple shots ago.
“Look at you, already drunk.” His voice dips, rough in a way that makes your stomach tingle, taking the bottle from your grip.
“This how you get when I’m not around?”
Your lips curve as you let him have it, leaning in close enough that your breath grazes his jaw. “I’m not that drunk. Tipsy if anything, but not drunk.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” His eyes cut to yours, lingering like he’s searching for the lie.
“Please? Finish it with me?” You whine
“I still have to drive, don’t I?” He sets the bottle down slow, like he wants you to know he’s the one in control— even when you’re trying to play.
“Call your friends over. We all can split it since we’re not wasting.”
Calling your girls back over, Sukuna moves to pour six shots, one for each of you, nearly finishing the bottle out. The girls cheer like it’s the biggest win of the night, clinking their glasses against his before tossing theirs back. He hesitates for half a beat, then downs it, jaw flexing as the tequila burns its way down.
“See? Was that so bad?” You grin like you just scored a winning shot. He shakes his head, setting the empty glass down, but you’re already moving to pour another.
“Don’t get cute.” He grumbles.
“Too late.” You laugh, sliding it toward him before he can protest. “C’mon. Loosen up. Dance with me after this one.”
That earns you a sharp side-eye, but you know you’ve got him. It’s in the way his hand is already resting on your thigh, squeezing just enough to remind you who you’re teasing. He tips the second shot back without another word, face balling up. He slams the glass down with a whistle, shaking out his arms, and that’s when you know the heat of the liquor starting to run through him.
The bass drops hard enough to rattle the table, and you don’t even wait for him to think twice. Fingers laced through his, you pull him up, ignoring the curse that slips from his mouth as you drag him into the smoke and the lights, a grin breaking across your face when you feel him follow without resistance.
You can’t say what happened between then and now, other than the fact that you’re down in the garage being buckled into the passenger seat of his car. Your entire body light, lips buzzing from laughter and lime, the world feels like it’s tilting, like it’s been set to a softer, slower spin.
His hands are steady on the seatbelt buckle, veins in his forearms jumping as he clicks it into place before jumping into the driver’s side then turning to ask if you’re all good, before backing out.
The drive is quiet except for the hum of the engine and your shallow breaths, your thighs pressed together because every time his hand slides up your leg at a red light, your body lights up feeling sensitive. If you were any more sober, you’d be less ashamed to tell what followed next when his fingers brushed against your pussy, but that’s what tints are for.
By the time you make it through the front door of your shared condo, you’re not sure if you walked in or if he carried you. Everything's a blur now— the slam of the door, the sound of your heels hitting the floor, his jacket dropping somewhere you don’t care to look— because the only thing you can focus on is him. His weight against you as your back meets the bed, his breath hot and sharp in your ear.
“Had me sittin’ there watchin’ you all night, little ass dress ridin’ up, dancin’ like you ain’t got nobody at home. You know how bad I wanted to drag you outta there?”
Your head is spinning, but it’s not just the tequila— it’s him. The way his mouth claims yours before you can even think of an answer, the taste of liquor on his lips, his hands everywhere at once like he’s trying to make up for every second you kept him waiting. You melt easily under it, giggling into his kisses when he lifts you clean off the bed just enough to slip your dress and thong off, like you weigh nothing.
The bed catches you in a soft bounce, his mouth brushes yours again, slower now, teasing, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth until your toes curl.
“Look at you.” He murmurs against your chin, voice rough.
“Drunk off your ass and still so fuckin’ pretty. You know how many dudes were starin’? How many I wanted to break in half for even thinkin’ about you?”
Your laugh is breathless, shaky. “You’re so jealous…so fucking jealous.”
“Damn right.” His smirk is dangerous, something serious behind it, that makes your stomach tingle. “They get to see you like this. Only me.”
When he kisses you again, it’s slower, deeper, like he’s trying to swallow every sound you make. His tongue slides against yours, sloppy and hungry, and you can taste the tequila on his breath when he groans into your mouth.
Your hands tug at his hair, as your knees fall open without thinking, giving him space to press in. A moment after, he’s trailing wet kisses from your chest to your stomach, pausing to swirl his tongue just above your lower belly before traveling further to kiss at your pussy. Within seconds those kisses turn into licks with his tongue flat against your clit, heavy enough to make you feel pinned in the best way.
“You feel that?” His voice rings, lips brushing your inner thigh as you catch your breath.
“Been wantin’ this all night. Watchin’ you out there, dressed like that, lettin’ those bastards look at what’s mine.”
You can’t even answer— just a breathless whimper when his fingers slip in slowly for you to feel every inch of them, curling. Then he moves, flips you like it’s nothing, strong hands guiding you flat onto your stomach.
Your face sinks into the sheets, hips tipped up just enough for him to squeeze your ass, the sound of his belt loosening and pants dropping to the floor quieter than your moans as you rock back needy, chasing his fingers to fill you up again. Pushing his dick through your slick folds, he sinks in deep from this angle. The sound you make when he bottoms out is filthy, your head spinning as he sets a brutal rhythm— each thrust punching the air from your lungs.
He groans, palm sliding up spine, pressing until your stomach flat against the mattress and you’re taking him the way he wants.
“Stay like that. Don’t move. Just lay there and take it for me.”
You do. You take it, face buried in the sheets, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth as he fucks you hard, your body rocking with every deep, punishing stroke. You’re too inebriated to make this any sexier for him, eyes threatening to roll to the back of your head each time he hits up against that bundle of nerves that makes your toes curl.
For all that shit he talks about hating you drunk, you know he eats it up. Love how loose you get, all giggly and slick-mouthed, talking back like you don’t know who you’re speaking too. Loves how easy you are to handle, body gone soft, limbs like damn Jell-O every time he puts his hands on you.
Drunk sex is your favorite for a reason— because when you’re like this, he takes full advantage, folding you into any position he wants, fucking you deep until you can’t do anything but moan and whimper.
Right as you reach a hand back to spread one of your cheeks, he pins your wrist back down, hips slow, almost stop, and you whine at the sudden loss of motion. He’s still deep, buried so far it aches, but he just stays there, pulsing inside you like he knows you’re seconds from falling apart. His mouth drops to your ear, voice low and hot enough to make your stomach tingle.
“You feel that, baby?” His words flow like honey, coming off more as taunt than a question.
You nod quick, breath shuddering, but that’s not enough for him. Never is. “How that feel?” He presses, hips giving the smallest grind that has your toes curling.
“‘So good.” You whine, pushing back hard, desperate to get more of him, all of him, anything but this teasing.
“More! More! More!” You rock against him, needy, trying to force the rhythm back, but he’s stronger— holding you there, feeling his smile against your back as your walls flutter around him. Then he eases his hand, shifting his weight off you to give you just enough freedom to grind back on him, pussy hugging him tight. “Fuck— Fuck— Yes! More!”
“Fuck…you’re so wet baby. I’m not even moving, that’s all you.” He murmurs against your shoulder, hot breath fanning against your skin. You can hear it in his voice how weak you got him, and it makes you whimper even louder, feeding him every broken whine slipping past your lips.
“Move! Please! I wanna cum, I wanna squirt on you.” Your words come out rushed, as if begging alone could make him snap.
You don’t care how desperate you sound, you need him fucking you so hard you’re gushing around him when it’s due. You think you hear him growl out something along the lines of promising to give you exactly that, but you’re too drunk, too wrecked, too focused on the grip of his hands pinning your hips down.
You feel the mattress dip on your right as he hikes a leg up, planting it besides your head, shifting into a new angle that gives him even more leverage to fuck into you. The thrusts hit deeper, rougher, downright nasty. His dick got you so stretched out you already know the second he busts, that cum’s going to be spilling easily.
With one hand gripping the sheets to keep yourself from riding up the bed, the other slips between your thighs, fingers circling your clit in messy, desperate strokes. Your body trembles with every pass, that familiar heat rushing to your pussy as you inch yourself closer and closer to your orgasm.
“This my pussy!?” He growls low through clenched teeth, his weight crashing down on your ass as he pounds into you back to back, he’s fucking into you like a man possessed— hips snapping, strokes deep and ruthless, not a single flutter in his pace.
“Yes!” You cry out brokenly, you’re so close, so damn close, already starting to feel your pussy squish around him, your wetness trickling down your thighs. You’re about to squirt— you can feel it, fuck, he can feel it too— your whole body gives it away in the way your voice and legs start to shake.
“This always gonna be my pussy?” His question rips through the air right before the sting of his hand landing upside your ass. One slap, then another, and another, each one knocking a moan out of your throat. Your fingers don’t stop— they can’t stop— tight circles spinning on your clit like your life depends on it. Sex feels so fucking good drunk, right behind being high. You wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Yes!” It’s almost a sob.
“Huh!?” Another smack, even sharper, echoing. “You never gonna give nobody my pussy?”
“No! Fuck— No!”
“C’mon then! Show me this my pussy!” His voice is pure sin, all possessive and demanding.
“Yes— yes— Kuna’, baby— don’t stop! Don’t fucking stop!” It rips out of you, wild and shameless, right as your orgasm hits, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your whole body shakes, squirting around him, wetness gushing down your legs as his name keeps falling off your lips like a prayer. A brutal, nasty groan rumbles from his chest, as he buries himself to a hilt, dick twitching, filling you full.
For a second, all you can hear is the wet, filthy sound of your pussy talking back, sucking him in. He pulls out slow, then sinks back in even slower, humming like he wants to memorize the way you feel.
When he finally pulls out of you completely, it’s with a wet pop that has your hips trembling. He crashes back against the mattress, breathing like he ran a 4K. You’re no better with your chest heaving, face buried in the sheets, trying to remember how to breathe. Your thighs are still trembling so you’re half convinced they might give out if you even think about moving. The sheets under you are a mess— sticky, damp, and smelling like cum.
Beside you, you hear him exhale sharp through his nose, humming deep and satisfied. For a second, there’s nothing but the sound of his breathing— before the mattress dips again.
“You made a fucking mess.” He murmurs, voice rough, sliding a hand down the curve of your spine. Stopping at your ass, squeezing lazily, messaging the muscle out. His fingers then drag through the slick between your thighs, and you flinch, hips jerking.
“Kuna’” You whimper, breath still catching. Your voice sounds wrecked, throat raw from all the crying and moaning you’ve been doing.
“What?” He leans down, lips brushing your ear as his hand presses down against your lower back, keeping you still. “Don’t start actin’ shy now. You just squirted all over this dick like a good girl.”
You groan into the pillow, heat flooding your cheeks as his fingers glide through the mess of your pussy, lazy and teasing. When you look back, you catch him bringing them up to his mouth with zero shame, sucking them clean with a hum that sends another shiver through your spine.
“Drunk sex ass.” He teases, lips curling against your skin as he kisses the back of your neck. “Got you talkin’ all that ‘don’t stop, baby’ shit like you wasn’t tryna fight me when I first got in it.”
You let out a breathless laugh, face still buried in the sheets, too tired to argue. He’s fucking right. And he knows it. For a moment, neither of you move. His hand stays on your ass, thumb stroking lazy circles, while you feel your heartbeat slow to something steady. It’s quiet now— except for the soft hum of the A/C in the background and the faint wet sounds when he drags his fingers through you one last time before finally letting go.
“C’mere.” He says, voice softer now. Grabbing a handful of tissues he wipes you down slow, surprisingly gentle for someone who just fucked you into the mattress like that. You peek back at him, lashes low, and he smirks, tossing the tissues aside before pulling you into his chest. His skin is hot and sticky with sweat, and you sink into him without thinking, letting his arms lock around you, as he throws the blankets over you both.
“That’s my pussy.” He mutters again, low and possessive against your temple, before pressing a wet kiss there that makes your face ball up. You should say something smart, roll your eyes and tell him to shut the hell up. But all you can do is hum, eyes feeling heavy, because if this is what being his means— warm and wrecked and too tired to move— you’re not complaining.
₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊
“I said that?” He shoots you a look over his shoulder, stirring the creamer he just added into his coffee. The two of you are in the kitchen, enjoying breakfast this morning— delivery, of course, spread out across the table, because neither of you were fit enough to stand over a stove after last night.
For the past twenty minutes, you’ve been recapping everything that went down, from estimating the amount of liquor you drank, to what the bottle girls wrote on their signs each time they marched out.
For the most part, you’re on the same page— until you got to the part where he cracked you down so good, he knocked out before he could clean his own nut off the bed. He doesn’t remember anything after getting through the front door, barely recalls driving home, or the filthy shit he was talking while he was deep in you. Sukuna’s always been possessive— you knew that a month into dating him, when he made you delete every guy in your phone and proved exactly why. But last night? Last night was something out, and it definitely needs a conversation.
“Yes! Yes, you said that! You don’t remember?” You press, driving a knife through your pancakes a little harder than intended. You’ve been going back and forth for minutes now, and he’s refusing to admit he could have possibly said the things he said.
“No.” He mutters, turning back to his coffee with a lazy shrug. “I was drunk as fuck.”
“You had two shots! Two!” You throw up both hands, fork and knife tight in your grip like you’re holding the evidence in court.
He glances at you then, grin slow and sharp. “Could’ve been two shots of anything.” He taps the spoon against his mug and sets it down with a clink. “Maybe I’m a lightweight.”
You blink at him, stunned, squinting like you’re trying to figure out which alternate reality you woke up in. Because this? This makes zero sense.
“What the fuck did you drink then?” You hit back with, and he just looks at you and laughs.
being daddy's girl is hard work, especially when he's one of the biggest political leaders within the country, and he's amping up the security around you. Unfortunately, you've cooked up a reputation of having your bodyguards fired, so your dad hires another one of the guards introduced to him--Sylus--much to your dismay.
Well, it wouldn't be hard to get rid of another bodyguard again, right?
based on this Sylus bodyguard AU post.
warnings: smut, porn but there's plot (LMAO), reader is kind of bratty, sexual tension, mutual pinning, protective!Sylus, mentions of gun violence, unprotected sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, breeding kink, cuss words I guess?
a/n: we're so back.
The loud steps echo across the large and empty halls of the mansion as you descend down the wooden staircase. Each step heavy, laced with frustration and reluctance, being summoned by your dad again.
The dress drags against the spotless marble floor.
The first thing your peripheral vision catches is the unfamiliar figure that stood at your father's side.
Of course, you've seen many unfamiliar men in suits standing beside your father, considering his position in the political world right now. Some of which were once assigned to you, and you made sure they'd see you once and then never again.
“Daddy, you called for me?” You greet, your arms crossed.
He smiles at you. Then he speaks.
“Yes, darling. You know I've been getting busy with my campaigns, so I’d look for someone to look after you because I don't really have the time right now.”
You cock an eyebrow.
“So you've gotten me another bodyguard?” You taunt. “You know that's never gonna work, right?”
Your father could only sigh, memories of countless amounts of bodyguards he'd fired over the past few months. Some barely lasted a week.
Right. That's why he’d look past that one incident where you had ditched one of your previous bodyguards at a concert–intentionally losing him in the crowd, and almost giving him a heart attack when you disappeared. Or another incident where you ditched another bodyguard by giving him the wrong address when he was supposed to pick you up so you could escape. Then another one where you disappeared to a toilet and never came back.
Either your dad was purposely being ignorant about these repeated isolated incidents or he just really is that clueless. You believe the former.
You see where he's coming from, but you really cannot be bothered and aren't comfortable with someone just following you around like that.
Unfortunately, your father thinks otherwise.
“That's exactly why I'm assigning you a new bodyguard”, he curtly replies. His hand gesturing the male beside him to step forward.
The male takes a bow, and when his eyes lock with yours, something makes your breath hitch.
He's so fucking tall. He could just tower over you. His hair is a shade of dusty white but he doesn't look the least bit old. But that's the least of your concerns, because his eyes match the colour of his inner shirt–a dark, crimson red.
He speaks, voice low, and sounding like it's dripping with honey, “pleased to meet you my lady. My name is Sylus. I hope we get along.”
You wonder where your father picked this man up from.
For some reason, you can't seem to cut your gaze from Sylus.
“I hope not to hear complaints, darling”, your dad speaks, snapping you out of your trance. “The extra safety needs to be guaranteed. You're my daughter after all. I can't let anything happen to you, not when the election is nearing and I have my hands full.”
You mentally pinch yourself back to reality.
“Yes, daddy”, while your thoughts swim in the ways to start getting rid of this one.
What could be so difficult?
You underestimated him.
You underestimated Sylus.
He was like a stain. A lipstick stain on a white shirt you could not get rid of.
All because he did his job too fucking well.
Usually you'd find or do things to nitpick on your previous bodyguards, but Sylus…? It was as if you had met your match. The worst part was that it was as if there something about him that seemed…different. But you couldn't put your finger on it.
You know most of the bodyguards you had, never liked talking and Sylus? He was no different.
He kept to himself a lot. Maybe it’s the pale hair and red eyes that had you intrigued. Maybe it's the way his expressions always seem so indifferent.
Nonetheless, he would respond to you calmly, no matter what you say or do to him.
Maybe it’s the way he seems slightly more attentive than the other previous bodyguards you had.
He would deflect a lot of your snarky remarks with the same energy and accompany them with a smile, leaving you with the strong urge to bite his head off.
Maybe you just weren't used to it.
“I'm curious. Were there reasons why you got your previous bodyguards fired, my lady?” Sylus asks one day while you continue to pile shopping bags on his arms. It's a routine thing you love torturing your bodyguards with.
“I didn't like them”, you curtly reply,
You glance up at him, matching his indifferent expression.
“And I doubt I'll like you either.”
You swear you see the corner of his lips curl.
“I'm not here to make you, my lady.”
That makes you cast him a sharp glance, but your thoughts are anything but.
But you're still keeping your guard up.
You think, maybe he isn't so bad. You'd keep him, a little while longer, for now.
Much to your dismay, you had grown used to his presence around you.
The day is very peaceful, so Sylus isn't around you that much.
In fact, he's barely around. It feels weird. There are more bodyguards patrolling near the gates, of course, they don't interact with you.
Other than the usual housemaid and gardener doing their work, it’s just you, and supposedly Sylus.
He had mentioned that he would be away for a short while, something about the gym near the pool, and that he wouldn't take long.
He makes you sound like a clingy girlfriend.
You pause and consider the choice of going to find him.
Sylus is wrapped up in making sure the punching bag breaks or something–the loud sounds of punches fill the empty gym. But then something else gets his attention–the sound of the door opening. He plans to disregard it at first, but when he realises that it's you in his peripherals, he pauses.
“Fancy seeing you here, my lady.”
As you close the distance, you can't help but notice the way his sweat cascades down Sylus’s body–from his cheek, down to his chin, trailing down his neck, disappearing into the curve of his cleavage and into the fitted sports tank top he wears. He’s panting slightly. You’re not sure why you can’t get your eyes off him.
Then it dawns on you–you’ve never actually seen him wear anything outside of his suits and business casual attire. His arms are thick, his chest and shoulders are big and wide. You can’t help but wonder if Sylus was sculpted by the gods themselves for having such a body.
Suddenly you feel your chin being lifted, and your eyes are focused on Sylus’s face instead.
“Don’t get distracted, my lady.”
Shit. You blink, realising the situation. Sylus releases your chin. His expression doesn’t hide that he’s amused.
“Did something happen?”
“I was just wondering what took you so long.”
The smirk on his lips grows more prominent. You’re sifting through ways to wipe it off in your brain. The worst part of it is that you feel something strange bubbling in you when you get to see Sylus like this, and that he’s letting you see him like this.
“So, you were bored?” Sylus asks, breaking the gaze. He reaches out to take his face towel and dabs his neck. You have to keep reminding yourself to stop staring.
It seems like he doesn’t expect you to reply to him. Instead, he walks over to an area padded with mats. He gestures to you to come over.
You do.
He answers your curious expression. “Since you’re bored, you should pick up a couple of self-defense techniques.”
That only makes you more confused.
“Why would I need to if I have you?”
Sylus closes the distance between the both of you. You don’t realise how much you’re staring at this chest until Sylus has to tilt your chin upwards to meet his gaze. The faint smell of his cologne mixes in with his musk envelops your olfactory senses. It makes you feel tingly inside for some reason.
“As much as I can be around you at every waking minute, you don’t gain extra losses if you learn to protect yourself, my lady”, he explains. “At least you’re able to fight back if someone takes advantage of you.”
Well, he’s not wrong. It would definitely be an added advantage.
“Okay”, you agree to the impromptu lesson. You’ve got time to spend anyway.
He teaches you the basic techniques, which you catch on relatively quickly.
“You need to catch your balance” Sylus instructs, scanning the way you’re performing the front kick. He inches closer.
“Is it okay for me to touch you?” He asks.
You nod, your hands still in mid-air.
Sylus instructs you to stand still once more. He shifts in front of you, and his hands take your wrists and positions them properly. Your palms are inches away from his chest.
“Keep your hands close to your face. Lift your leg up and then extend.”
His hands take your leg and bends it to your chest.
“It's okay. You can hold onto me.”
He shifts your leg to demonstrate the kick to you and returns you back to your stance.
“Try again”, he encourages.
You try to land a kick.
“Not bad”, Sylus compliments, taking a couple of steps back.
“Now try to kick me.”
He points to his abdomen.
You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion.
“Kick you?” You clarify.
He nods.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, my lady. I'm not made out of tofu. I can take it.”
You ready your stance, keeping your fists close to your face, leaning back slightly, then lifting your knee up, and finally extending your leg for the kick, aiming for his abdomen.
He catches your leg easily, and nods in approval.
“One more time.”
You redo it one more time.
This time you're a little more confident and you're able to catch the momentum to launch the kick. Sylus nods again.
He releases your leg.
“Try with more force.”
You add more force to your kicks, feeling the impact of your bodyguard’s rock abs. You’re getting the hang of this.
“That’s it. Give me three more.”
You brace yourself and kick, hitting Sylus square on his side.
You brace once more for the second kick and he catches it.
“One more.”
You’re confident. You stand back once more to take the stance. But you realise it too late when you launch your kick.
You’re too far back.
This makes you lose your balance. You wobble and panic.
Many things occur during the fall.
Sylus’s eyes widen, and he rushes towards you, managing to grab you by the waist. He tries to hoist you back up but fails, and opts to protect the back of your head instead, ultimately joining you in your fall.
And he lands right above you.
You stare back up at him, taking in his features close up. The air feels still and so does the moment. He’s disgustingly handsome, and you would never admit that to him. You watch the way his deep red eyes reflect concern, scanning every part of your face to search for any signs of distress you may have. You can’t help but notice his lips–how prominent his cupid bow looks. He always looked like he’s smirking.
“Are you hurt, my lady?”
It takes a little more than five seconds for you to process the question.
“I’m okay. Thank you Sylus.”
A drop of sweat splatters onto your cheek and you jolt slightly at the reaction.
His fingers reach out and he wipes it away. You feel the way his fingers brush against your cheek, leaving a trail of warmth.
He slowly sits up, carrying you up with him.
Sylus briefly checks your body for any visible injuries, and lets go once he deems you physically unharmed.
“We’ll end the lesson here. You should go wash up now. I’ll be right with you in thirty minutes”, he says, extending his hand for you to take. You gingerly do.
“Maybe this is a little danger-”
“That was fun”, you cut him off. “I’ll make sure I’ll come in more appropriate attire next time.”
Sylus pauses. His eyes trails to your face, wondering if you’re serious.
“Sure. I’ll usually be here on Thursdays, if you’d like to join me, sweetie.”
Slowly, your Thursday afternoons are spent with Sylus in the gym.
“You seem to be getting along well with your new personal bodyguard.”
You glance up to meet your father’s gaze.
“Sylus?”
“Yeah. He’s…good at his job.”
“I hope he is. I also hope you aren’t giving him trouble.”
You don’t reply to him, only answering him with a slight nod.
That one time you met Sylus in the gym seemingly gradually erased the distance between you and Sylus after that. You began talking more comfortably with him, and acted more naturally around him. He’d listen to your rants attentively and you would listen to his, well, if he had any (which he almost never does). Nonetheless, you had grown very accustomed to his presence. It seemed like it was the same for him too.
If anything, you started feeling grateful for his presence. He would be around you during the events you were forced to go to because of your father, and it made things slightly less suffocating, because Sylus was there. He’d pick up on your mannerisms, like when you would tug on his sleeve. Then he would make an excuse to bring you out for some fresh air.
He made things like these bearable.
You hate those fucking parties. These people talk too fucking much about nothing. But you've learned to navigate your way through these events. The only part you enjoyed about them was getting to wear expensive dresses and jewellery, but even that enjoyment was snuffed out when you had to adhere to the stupid dress codes some of these events had. It didn't help that your dad restricted more of your outfits as he climbed the political ladder.
This round is no different.
The night drags on, and you’re still forcing smiles with the officials around you, contemplating whether to kill the bland conversations or not. Sylus continues to stay near you silently.
The alcohol is slowly buzzing in your system. You told yourself that you wouldn’t drink too much wine, but it’s just been such a long and draggy night.
Sylus watches you talk. He watches you down another glass. You look a little too relaxed. The way that the other male is touching your arm elicits a prick of irritation in him. That male is talking way too much to you. Why is he trying to get your attention so much? Sylus can only bite his tongue and watch.
Since when does he care about all of this?
The party slowly winds down. Your dress is starting to feel itchy. Your necklace feels suffocating and heavy around your neck. You force a smile and excuse yourself, using your father as a reason to leave the endless networking empty chats.
Your eyes scan the crowd for Sylus, trying to regulate your breathing in the process. He doesn’t seem to be around. You decide to take the chance to escape the event and back to your suite.
The walk back to the hotel suite is silent.
Something doesn’t feel right. Maybe it’s the alcohol that’s slowly suppressing your senses. You try to shake off the feeling. You knew it was foolish to leave without Sylus by your side. You still dropped him a text that you were heading back to your suite. Security should be all around here, after all, this is such a high-profile event.
You continue your path, wanting to ignore the fact that the hallways are getting emptier and more eerie. Before you could reach your door, a hand slaps over your mouth from behind, and panic immediately floods your system. Your arms react as fast as they could, elbowing the perpetrator behind you with all your strength. You hear a pained groan behind you and he momentarily releases you from his grasp.
Then a loud whack is heard. Then a thump. You turn around, watching the name unconscious on the carpeted floor. You look up to see Sylus standing over the man’s body.
Adrenaline is still pumping in your body from the shock.
Sylus mutters something into his headset before he walks over to you, and pulls you into his arms.
“I’m sorry. I was a second too late”, he mutters, attempting to hide the panic in his voice.
“I’m fine, Sylus. I’m used to things like this”, you reply. “After all, the lessons you’ve been giving me didn’t go to waste.”
You feel his tense body relax slightly. He pulls back, and you watch him return your light banter with a relieved smile.
“I know. But I was still worried, sweetie”, he says. For some reason, your face starts feeling warm. Are the effects of alcohol still in full swing even now?
“I’ve been instructed to change suites”, Sylus continues. “I’ll have someone clean this up.”
Before you could respond, Sylus bends down, and scoops you into your arms.
It feels as if he’s some kind of prince. You’ve never heard of a prince who sports platinum locks and garnet-coloured eyes, maybe he’s the first.
The walk to the new suite is as quiet as when you were walking back to the previous–only this time, it’s with Sylus.
Not that you minded, but you suddenly feel self-conscious when you notice Sylus enters the room with you.
“Sir’s orders”, he assures you. “There are two more guards on standby outside. I'm just the last layer of protection.”
He watches you kick off your heels. He watches the way your cheeks and neck are flushed red.
How much did you drink?
“Of course it is”, you mutter, your fingers fidgeting with the ruby drops that hang down your ears. You drop the earrings onto the nearest platform. Sylus drops a pair of bedroom slippers for you and you thank him quietly, fitting them onto your feet before heading to the bathroom.
“Sylus”, you call, shattering the long silence.
Sylus paces over to where you're at.
“Could you help me loosen my necklace for me?”
“Of course, my lady.”
You feel the warm brush of his fingertips against your skin. He unclasps the hook of your necklace and it drops into your hands. Your neck feels so much lighter.
“One more thing.”
Sylus waits for you to continue.
You turn behind slightly, bringing the locks of your hair to your front. You wonder if Sylus notices how flushed the back of your neck is.
“Could you…unzip this for me?”
Sylus pauses for a moment. You're smart enough to have your back turned to him so he doesn't see the expression on your face. You don't dare to turn back to meet his eyes either.
“Of course, sweetie.”
Oh god.
He steps forward once more, you feel his knuckle brush against your skin while his other hand finds the small zipper on the back of your sequin dress. He holds the dress with one hand and tugs the zipper downwards, the dress slowly opening itself up. Opening you up.
Sylus watches the way more of your skin slowly comes into sight as the dress unzips. He's fighting to keep his mind out of the gutter but how can he? Especially when you’ve blatantly asked him to undress you like this.
You hear him chuckle behind you.
“You really treat me more like a personal assistant than a bodyguard, you know?”
You turn around, letting the weight of the dress drop off your shoulders, letting it pool to the floor. Sylus keeps his eyes on your face.
“And you should be grateful. I usually don't let my own personal assistants get this comfortable with me.”
That earns a scoff from Sylus.
He offers his hand to you.
“Then your personal assistant should lead you to the bathroom so you don't trip and fall.”
A smile forms naturally on your lips at his words. Your fingers are light on his palm, but his warmth spreads over to your skin. His guidance is slow and gentle as he motions to you into the bathroom, albeit just a couple of steps.
He stops when your feet are on the cold, white ceramic tiles of the bathroom. The moment is swift, yet it feels like it lasted for an hour.
He lets go of your hand. Suddenly your palm feels cold again.
“I'll tidy up your dress from here. Let me know if there's anything else you need, my lady”, he nods over to where your dress is.
You're almost disappointed that he's not accompanying you, but when he leaves, you blink at your thoughts.
Why disappointment?
Sylus is right. Maybe you do need a shower to get rid of your weird thoughts.
Sylus hears the bathroom door open after a while, but he stays put on the couch in the suite. His mind is swarmed with thoughts about how intimate the scene played out just moments before. He's almost amazed at himself for not pouncing onto you. Maybe it’s the way you had hid your expression from him when you asked him to undress you.
Maybe it's the way these soft touches just came so naturally to the both of you, spending so much time together like this.
Maybe it's the way he doesn't want to hurt you.
But in all of his years being a high profile, he's never felt this way, no matter what looks, profile and personality of his clients.
This could be dangerous, he thinks. Maybe he should keep a distan-
“Sylus?”
His gaze shoots up immediately to meet yours. You're in the hotel pajamas, your hair still wet with a towel draped over your shoulders. He reminds himself to swallow.
“Ready for bed, my lady?”
“In a bit. The shower kind of sobered me up a little”, you sigh, relaxed, joining your bodyguard at the couch. “It feels better to get the alcohol out of my system.”
You feel Sylus’s fingers cup your cheek, then forcing you to stare at him.
“Then you should cut down on your glasses.”
You puff out your cheeks, grabbing his hand gently to shove him away. He chuckles, turning away to pour a glass of water. He pushes the glass into your hand.
You take small sips.
Then your fingers clutch the glass.
“Sylus?”
“Hm?” He doesn't face you, scrolling through his phone.
“I'm sorry”, you mutter. “For making things difficult.”
Granted, things like these weren't one-off situations. It only makes you feel even more guilty, even though at the end of the day, it was Sylus’s job. But you hate that his safety was more compromised than yours.
Sylus turns to you, his gaze in his crimson eyes softening. His hand brushes through your hair, caressing your head gently. It makes you burn up inside.
“It’s my job, sweetie”, he assures. “You think I'd complain? Watching over you is the only thing that keeps me sane.”
The way he's staring at you suddenly feels too intense. Any more and you'd turn into ice cream on a hot summer's day.
You break the stare, hoping he doesn't realise how hot your skin is suddenly feeling.
“You should go wash up. There's extra towels in the bathroom.”
“I don't think I should–”
“Y/n’s orders”, you imitate with a small smile.
Sylus chuckles, and it makes something bloom in your chest.
“Okay. You'll be fine, right?”
You nod. “I'll wait for you here.”
He hesitates for a moment, but listens to you, leaving the couch to one of the three bathrooms available.
You notice he went to the one in your room.
He smells like the same vanilla body soap you use when he comes out. He seems surprised when he sees you still on the same couch.
“Aren't you going to bed soon?”
You nod, your eyelids feeling a little heavy.
“Shall I escort you back to your room?”
You grab his arm, and it takes him by surprise.
“No. It's okay. The bed's too big for my liking.”
He chuckles.
“I thought you'd be used to things like these.”
You pull him back to the couch, and he seats himself comfortably.
“I do, but that doesn't mean I like it”, you sigh, positioning yourself to lie on his lap. Sylus doesn't resist, rather, he's more amused that you're using him as a personal bed this time.
“So now I'm taking over the title as a personal bed?”
You have the audacity to nod as-a-matter-of-factly.
“Just for tonight. If I start sleep talking, you didn't hear me sleep talk.”
A playful smile dances across his lips. He feels the weight of your head comfortably on his lap, and he thinks this isn't so bad.
“You can wake me up if your legs are about to fall asleep”, you remind him, shutting your eyes.
“I'll just carry you back to bed.”
You tuck your arm underneath your head. You also realise you might wake up with a sore neck the next morning, but that's the least of your worries.
The last words in your mind leave your lips.
“Whatever you do, you're not allowed to leave my side.”
“Of course, sweetie.”
“This looks better on you”, you hum, pushing the designer sweater against Sylus’s wide frame.
“I could buy these myself, you know?” Sylus scoffs.
“Yeah, but why buy them when I can buy them for you?” You retort. Sylus is about to reply, but your finger presses against his lips, and he frowns.
“Think of it as a…bonus from your client's daughter. Besides, you should be grateful. I've never personally shopped for my bodyguard like this before. Daddy’s pleased that we're getting along swimmingly, anyway.”
Sylus doesn't reply, mostly because he thinks it's pointless to fight back. He doesn't mind receiving gifts–but undoubtedly, he's not used to it. Besides, he's certain that buying clothes for the opposite sex other than during gift-giving occasions isn't conventional. Don't most couples do this?
He watches the way your fingertips breeze through each piece of clothing on the rack, until it stops on another piece of article, which then is pulled out, then pressed against his body to gauge. The cycle repeats until you're satisfied.
You fit a pair of trousers against his thighs with one hand and another top against his chest with another, trying to envision the outfit. It's the fifth time you've done this mix and match shenanigan, and while Sylus is secretly enjoying the attention you're giving him, he doesn't want you to overdo it.
“What do you think, Sylus?” You ask, swapping over clothes within seconds of each other.
He grabs your hands to stop you, not realising he's pulled you close to him.
“I think they all look good, sweetie”, he curtly replies. His eyes are boring a hole into your head, and you feel the heat creep into your cheeks.
“Then we'll get all of them”, you tease back, lifting your covered arms to poke his cheek with your finger.
He narrows his eyes. “That's not what I–”
He sighs while he holds your arms steady, locking you to face him. He watches the cheeky smile already spreading across your cheeks, unwavered by the fact that he's grabbing you.
“What?”
“Little miss princess needs to listen to her bodyguard sometimes, hm?”
“Make me”, you challenge.
Sylus blinks at your words. His stare grows in intensity. He's not pissed at you, but rather, something else is just brewing inside of him whenever you challenge him like that. He’s picked up your habits and mannerisms, knowing you like the back of his hand, but just because he knows it, doesn't mean it doesn't catch him off guard sometimes. Especially during times like this. It somehow takes him the extra effort to think of something professional to say.
His fingers leave your wrists and he catches your chin with his thumb and index instead. His chest takes up all of your vision.
“One set is enough for me, sweetie. No need to rush. There's no one else I'm wearing this for other than you.”
There you go–the shyness that floods your cheeks when he says things like that to make you listen to him. Then you're suddenly obedient, playing it off like it's nothing while you escape his predatory gaze.
Sylus thinks it's so cute.
He also thinks that it's pushing his limit.
With the impromptu shopping session for Sylus ending with flushed cheeks, the both of you make your way back to the car.
The both of you enter the car, and drop the shopping bags in the backseat. Sylus starts the car and drives back to your place.
That is, midway through the drive, you notice he's not driving back. It's a different direction instead.
“You've finally noticed, sweetie”, he says, as if hearing your thoughts. “Someone's following us.”
You furrow your eyebrows, concerned but not panicking since Sylus is right by your side.
Indeed, reflected in the mirror, an unmarked vehicle has been tailing the car since fifteen minutes ago.
You watch Sylus fiddle with his earpiece, and listen in to half conversations of him with someone else to take care of the issue, and that he'd bring you somewhere else for the time being.
When he hangs up, you ask immediately.
“So where are we going now?”
“To my place.”
Initially, you questioned if it was safe to go over to his place because it would compromise his safety, only to find out that it was just one out of the many apartments he owned. What else does Sylus do out of bodyguarding?
You step into his spacious apartment. His apartment has a simple layout. While he told you that this is one of his multiple apartments, you notice that the apartment still has hints of Sylus–the way that the furniture is mostly red or black, and the decorative pieces littered around the shelves just scream him.
“First time at a man’s place?” He teases when he notices you staring as he drops the mountain of shopping bags onto the floor before organising them neatly into rows. He makes a mental note to separate the bags of clothes that you bought for him.
You wonder if he sees through your nervousness–the way you say “no” so fast when he asks. Sylus chuckles at your answer before he disappears into one of his large rooms.
You settle down, sinking into the black leather couch in the living room that had a leather jacket draped over it. You wonder what other hobbies he has other than kickboxing.
Speaking of kickboxing, a wave of guilt washes over you when the thought surfaces–you haven't been spending time with him for boxing sessions recently. You're digging through reasons in your brain to tell him just in case he asks. But deep down, why you're skipping the Thursday sessions with him was another can of worms you feared to open, because confirming the truth would be bad. You knew that. Unfortunately, that was what your feelings ended up developing towards your bodyguard.
Then, Sylus’s voice snaps you out of your emotional battles with yourself.
“You should go wash up. I'll go make dinner.”
You look up, confused.
“I… don't have extra clothes to wear, Sylus.”
“Wear mine then.”
Your eyes widen in reflex. Before you could reply, he cuts in.
“I left a set of clothes on the sink. They might be a little too big but that's all I have.”
There's no point trying to argue with Sylus, so you nod slowly before you disappear into the bathroom Sylus directed you to.
The clothes left neatly folded on the sink was a set of dark gray silk pyjamas that are at least two sizes too big for you.
Nevermind. Shower first.
The shower thoughts were really turning the cogs in your brain, especially since the realisation that you're in Sylus’s apartment is sinking into you. You're using his shampoo, his body soap. You will smell like Sylus. You will wear his clothes.
No. It's fine. He's your bodyguard. This is just one of his protocols. You pray that you're able to remind yourself like this.
Sylus hums while he’s cutting up ingredients, his thoughts busy with making dinner.
He picks out the meat and vegetables, considering your diet almost automatically.
Ultimately, he decides on making stew for the both of you.
When he was picking out extra clothes for you to wear after you washed up, it didn't dawn to him immediately the concept of you wearing his clothes. That reality only slams into him the moment he looks up when he hears your footsteps and he sees you wearing his clothes.
“Sorry I'm only wearing the top. The pants were too loose”, you mutter.
“As long as it's comfortable for you”, he curtly replies, breaking eye contact and trying to focus on cutting the carrots.
You walk over, your shoulder bumping his arm as you look over at what he's cooking.
Another realisation–you smell like him. Sylus is starting to wonder if he's setting himself up at this point.
“What are you making? Smells good”, you switch the topic, looking over between the chopping board and the bubbling pot. The shopping was definitely some form of cardio. You didn't realise how hungry you got until the aroma activated your olfactory senses.
“Just a simple stew”, Sylus responds, glancing over at you over at the stove.
You stroll over to stand to face him, entranced by the way he swiftly chops the tofu up.
“My apologies if this is more simple than what you usually have.”
You shrug. “I don't mind. The fact that you're making it for me exceeds all the dishes I've had at home.”
A small smile spreads across Sylus’s lips.
“Besides, I like doing things with you.”
“Shit-”
Sylus pulls his finger off the chopping board, momentarily caught off guard by your words, and now, cutting his finger.
Your fingers get to his before he turns to the sink, and then your lips.
You're sending Sylus into the gutter when you have his finger in between your lips, and sucking the wound. The warmth of your lips spreads across his skin, and it reaches his cheeks, the heat rushing to other parts of his body.
Sylus can't tell if the throbbing sensation is from his finger or elsewhere, and he's not willing to find out.
When you finally pull away, the bleeding seemed to stop. Sylus then remembers that he's still preparing dinner.
He turns away to the sink quickly to rinse the wound, hoping you didn't notice that the red had reached his cheeks.
“Go take a seat. Dinner will be ready soon.”
Thankfully nothing wild happens over dinner. The ambience is comfortable. The both of you (well, mostly you) talk about anything, throwing in some playful banter here and there, of course.
Sylus wonders when was the last time his home felt this lively, his smile reflects his thoughts as he watches you switch to another topic unprompted.
Despite your insistence to help clean up, Sylus doesn't allow you to. He forces you to stay put and digest your food.
“Take the bed tonight. I'll be taking the couch tonight.”
He tries to ignore the doubtful expression you wear.
“Are you sure your couch is long enough…” you tease, your gaze jumping between the couch and Sylus. He scoffs lightly at your comment, tapping the tip of your nose with his fingertip in retaliation to your comment.
“Well I can't make my lady take the couch right? That wouldn't be gentlemanly of me. You might just send your father after me”, he teases you back while he loads the dishes.
For a second, you consider his statement. Maybe you wouldn’t have to worry about him being just your bodyguard if that’s the case.
“Maybe I should”, you wonder aloud.
“Maybe you should?” he repeats your reply mockingly, closing the distance between the both of you as you attempt to escape to his room.
“Maybe you should stop following me!” you squeak when you feel his body warmth radiating over to you.
“Sweetie, I need to use my bathroom, in my room,” he clarifies, gently flicking your forehead, and any strange thoughts that start brewing in your head.
You make sure your back is completely turned to him–your face is turning a little too pink.
Scrolling through your phone, you try your best to ignore the fact that the shower is running a little too loudly–the awareness that Sylus is fully naked in all of his glory and showering just fucking metres shy from the bed you’re lying on is making you feel flushed.
Normal thoughts. He’s just a guy. He’s just your bodyguard.
Your bodyguard who invited you into his own place.
Your bodyguard who helped you unzipped your dress while you were half drunk.
Your bodyguard that you’re head over heels for.
Fuck.
This is not working. Deep breaths.
The breathing exercises work for a good five minutes. Only five minutes because the door to the bathroom slides open, and out comes the hot shower steam and Sylus. He’s fucking draped in a towel from the waist below, his tanned skin shiny with droplets of water dripping from the tips of his hair, down to his collarbone, down his thick chest. It sides off his nipple and further down to his abs, before it completely disappears into his towel.
If your father’s opposition don’t get you first, Sylus fucking will.
You clear your throat and bury yourself deeper with his blankets, which do nothing but ramp up the heat you’re experiencing, mostly because his bed is just flooding your nose with Sylus’s scent.
It would be much easier to give in and admit defeat.
He glances over briefly to make sure you’re tucked in.
“Goodnight, princess”, he says in such a gentle voice.
You peek out slightly from the heavy duvet covers.
“Goodnight, Sylus.”
Since when has he started calling you ‘Princess’?
Sylus switches off the lights, but he leaves the door open, and he leaves the room.
It’s just you, the darkness and your thoughts.
You shut your eyes, trying to induce exhaustion.
The tossing and turning not only lasts for a good 30 minutes, it’s definitely not helping at all.
You sit up and sigh.
The dim light from outside that bleeds into the room a little catches your attention. Is Sylus asleep? He probably is. There’s a strong desire to look for him, as if it’s natural instinct at this point.
Nonetheless, the decision to get up and look for him solidifies in your books. If he’s asleep, then you’ll just get back into the room. If he’s awake and catches you, you’ll just lie and say that you’re getting a glass of water.
Sounds like a plan.
You slide yourself off the bed and walk out. The figure of Sylus on his couch slowly comes into full view–he’s in his silk bathrobe, cleavage out and everything–breathing slowly with his eyes shut. He has a blanket draped over him at least. You exhale and turn around, preparing to walk back to his room since you’ve gotten your answer.
“Can’t sleep again, my lady?”
You freeze in your steps and slowly turn.
Under the dimness, you meet his eyes–gentle and alluring–as if he’s caught his favourite prey in his trap. The silence lasts for a while.
“Yeah”, you force a laugh. “I’ll just get back to bed. I’m sorry if I woke you up, Sylus.”
You turn again, but you’re immediately stopped when his hands grab your wrist.
“You know, princess, it’s okay to ask for my company if you need it”, he reminds you. You’re not sure how close he is right now, but you pretend you don’t feel his breath tickling the shell of your ears.
Your walls of your resolve are slowly breaking.
You don’t say anything, but you shake your hand off Sylus’s grip. That slightly shocks Sylus for a brief moment, that is until it’s your turn to grab his wrist and you lead him into his room.
The bed instantly feels a lot warmer when Sylus joins you there. Your heart is beating at a million miles a second when you realise what you’ve done. Sylus lies down beside you, his crimson eyes fixated onto yours.
The both of you stay like that for a while. You swear you see the corners of his lips lift slightly under the darkness.
“This is quite nostalgic”, you mumble. The memories of you sleeping on Sylus’s lap at the hotel streams back into your mind. You can’t help but smile.
“I’m just glad I’m doing this in the comfort of my own home, sweetie. The hotel couch wasn’t the most comfortable.”
You smack his chest instinctively. “Then you should have told me!”
“I didn’t want to wake you up.”
Shit. You feel your cheeks turning red. You opt to shut your eyes. You know he does things like that because he probably thinks that it’s “part of the job”. But that was what made it feel so annoying. The fact that’s learned your routine, your likes and dislikes, your mannerisms–you wonder if it was really just him being considerate as part of what he thinks he needs to be.
You sigh.
“I don't think I'll find anyone who understands me like you do.”
“It's because that's the nature of my job, sweetie.”
Your eyes flutter open at his answer, and you feel your heart drop. Sylus is still looking at you.
You ball your fists.
“What if it doesn't have to be just that?”
There is silence.
“I need you to elaborate on that.”
“What if I don't want it to be just the nature of your job?”
Sylus doesn’t realise he’s holding his breath at that moment. He doesn’t want to impose anything on you, because the last person he wants hurting you is himself, and so, he’s been swallowing down his feelings–keeping the feelings and doing all the little things under the pretense of “just being considerate” and “part of his job”. It makes him feel slightly better about it, albeit the underlying selfishness beneath.
You get frustrated when Sylus doesn’t answer.
Whatever, you’ve already got one foot in the grave.
“I realise I like you a little more than just as a bodyguard, Sylus.
Maybe, a lot more.”
Something snaps in Sylus. Maybe it’s from the way you openly admitted that. Maybe it’s from the tension between the both of you that has led things to this point. It doesn’t show on his face, but his heart is running miles per second, just like yours.
You’re about to tell him to forget what you said and turn away, but a pair of large warm hands cup your cheeks.
Before you realise it, you’re pulled in, and your lips are pressed against his warm lips.
“I never thought I’d hear you say that, princess”, Sylus chuckles when he pulls away.
“Shut up and kiss me, Sylus.”
He doesn’t question further, of course, diving in deeper into your lips and heat, sharing his. He tastes like peppermint.
“Open for me”, he instructs. You part your lips, and he invites himself in, tasting you greedily, like he’s been waiting his whole life for it.
Your brain is melting. Sylus tastes so good. The way his tongue is enveloping yours feels so fucking good. You want more of him, so bad.
When the both of you finally pull away to catch breaths, you catch the look of concern on his face.
“Are you sure you want this?” He cautions. “If anything happens to you, including me, it's my responsibility.”
This time, you’re the one who initiates the kiss. Sylus groans in your mouth and you clench your legs together from what it just made you feel.
“I don’t want you doing this on impulse”, Sylus continues, his face flushed from the pleasure, fighting to gain any final ounce of rationale.
This time, it’s your turn to grab his cheeks.
“Then you should take responsibility for the mess you’re about to make”, you retaliate cheekily. Sylus seems completely entranced by you and your words. His desire is seeping through the cracks, and he’s not bothering to seal it up anymore.
His lips crash onto yours. His hands are trailing underneath your clothes–his clothes on you–teasing your nipples with flicks and pinches, enjoying the way you’re begging him while your body starts twitching from the pleasure. Everything he does is shooting straight down to your throbbing pussy.
He unbuttons the dress shirt just enough for your nipples to peek out, and enjoys his meal with your perky nipples. Your eyes roll back, whimpering, with your fingers threading his soft silver hair. Sylus’s fingers trail lower and lower, down to your hips, to search for the waistband of your panties, only to realise you have none on.
“Fuck”, he curses at the realisation. You’re really fucking with him so good.
To reward you, his fingers gently flick your clit and he pays attention to your reactions. You squirm and try to shut your legs in reflex, but of course, you can’t match Sylus’s strength and his determination to fuck with your pussy.
He begins flicking more, the fluids dripping from your pussy making it easier to do so. Moans start pouring from your lips, the pleasure so dizzying and like a dopamine hit every time his finger rubs and flicks.
Your moans slowly grow choked, tears start filling your eyes when he teases your hole with his fingertips. Then it’s completely taken away when he pushes two fingers in your wet and warm mess.
“Oh my fucking god, Sylus. Oh fuck”, you cry out, fisting the sheets. Sylus grabs hold of both your wrists and pins them above you, essentially forcing you to feel him finger fuck you dumb.
Sylus is taking in all of your expressions–the way your jaw hangs and your eyes roll back while you let your body submit to the pleasure he’s giving you, and his hunger only grows when he feels your walls flutter on his fingers.
“Cum on my fingers, princess. You know you want to.”
Waves of white wash over you, the sensation so perfectly overwhelming. It sweeps you under and pulses into you. Your cream soaks Sylus’s fingers to the knuckle while he lets you ride out your orgasm. He slowly pulls out and releases his grip on your wrists, letting you catch your breath. You twitch at the feeling of him leaving your pussy, but you know that’s only just the beginning of the night.
Sylus slowly unties his robe, and drops it while he claims your lips for the nth time. His hand guides your fingers to his boxers, letting you feel his thickness. You tease him–stroking him lightly, pinching his tip–pulling out his grunts.
So he can make expressions like that too..
Sylus leads your attention back to him with a finger under your chin. You roll his boxers off, taking in the shape of his thick cock from your peripherals. He looks absolutely delicious.
You take his cock in your fingers, feeling the thickness on your fingertips, the ridges, the texture of his veins, and you slowly pump him.
“Shit-”, his breath hitches. His fingers are tensing on the bed.
And you continue–stroking him, letting your fingers wander to the tip, collecting his wetness from the tip and staining his length. He watches you spit on your palm, and then stroke him with more ease.
It fucking drives him nuts.
Every stroke you give him, he’s slowly losing his composure. The desperation is starting to leak out.
“I don’t think I can wait any longer”, he swallows hard when you flick your wrist, and more thick white bubbles out from his cockhead.
“Me neither”, you reply. Your heart is hammering in your ears.
Sylus pushes himself in, stretching you open as he goes in deeper. It feels like electricity down in the best way possible. He fits you so well, fitted in your tight, warm walls, as if it was just made for him.
You gasp and Sylus groans.
“Could I start moving?” Sylus still asks. He brushes off a lock of hair from your face.
“I’m all yours, Sylus”, you nod.
Sylus realises he’s more head over heels than he thinks.
His strokes are gradual–slow, making sure his cock fills you up all the way while his lips explore yours, swallowing up your whimper every time he hits the perfect spot. Sylus is practically crushing himself against you, the both of you pretty much sharing each other’s body heat.
The spots on your skin where Sylus had placed his hands on leaves a trail of warmth, and his kisses burn at higher degree.
“Tell me what you want, kitten. I can give them all to you”, his voice sending you shivers the way it's so deep.
“After all, you've been such a good girl.”
His bucks his hips, and the sensation he gives you makes your toes curl. You throw your head back, tensing your body from the mind-breaking pleasure and your fingernails leave trails of lines on his thick arms.
Sylus can't help but smirk when he sees you falling apart like this right in front of him. He loves that he's the cause of it. Now that he's gotten a taste of you–something he'd been holding himself back from doing all this time, he's only gonna get greedier.
“More… please.. I want more”, he hears you beg. He mentally sighs in glee.
What the princess wants, the princess gets.
His thrusts ramp up in power, knocking the wind out of you while simultaneously sending your mind into a complete frenzy, hitting your spot over and over again.
Sylus groans when he hears your broken moans. The wet sounds of his cock fucking your pussy only riles him further.
“Feels so good, Sylus. Fuck!” You let it slip, struggling to keep eye contact with the beautiful man above you.
Through the steamy moment, your palms rest on Sylus's cheeks, your watery eyes meeting him to get his attention. It's all yours.
“Wanna feel you more, Sylus”, your gaze flickering between his eyes and lips. You don't know how hungry you look for him. “I wanna get on top of you.”
He doesn't take a second to hesitate–immediately letting himself hit the back of the couch. Sylus watches you with pure amazement while you sling your legs over his thighs, lining yourself up. He breathes shakily when he feels you stroke him. He doesn't realise how actually fucking wet you really were, until your legs spread open, the glistening fluids from your pussy dripping down to his thick, fat cock.
The anticipation is fucking killing him. He keeps his hands flat on the couch.
But he's patient. He's always patient with you.
You lower yourself down at a rather agonising pace, taking in the way he's stretching you open again, giving Sylus the gorgeous view of your pussy taking all of him in.
He almost loses his mind, especially when you're moaning about how fucking big he is.
When he's fitted right in, he exhales, so do you.
But you barely give it a minute before you lift yourself off him, then slamming right down. Sylus scrunches his eyebrows and his jaw hangs slightly open from how good your pussy is squeezing him. His palms instinctively grab your thighs, guiding your thrusts.
“That's it! Yes, right there”, you moan, bouncing yourself uncontrollably off his cock. Every time he enters you, it pulls you so much closer.
“I'm cumming, Sylus”, you whimper. Your arms are wrapped around Sylus. Now his hands are on your ass, guiding you to your climax.
His voice bleeds into your ear, “let it go, princess.”
The orgasm hits you like a tidal wave that you lift yourself up from his lap, your pussy convulsing, cream dripping out from your wet hole. Your body shakes and you fill Sylus's ears with your endless moans of his name over and over, and it sends him off the edge.
He grabs you by the waist and sits you down on his cock again, ignoring your squeals and the fact that you're still in the middle of finishing.
The overstimulation sends goosebumps over your body. He's fucking you from below again.
“Be a good girl and take all of it, yeah?” It's not a request. It’s an order. You're not in the position to object either.
All you're able to do is cry out his name with your eyes rolled back when his cock pulses and he fills you up with his thick cum.
“It's so much”, you exhale, another load spilling into you, making you tense in pleasure.
You hear Sylus’s soft laugh. You feel his lips brush against the shell of your ear.
You slowly release your arms around him.
His pants synchronise with yours while you wait for your highs to go down. Sylus’s eyes meet yours and you suddenly feel shy. Instead, you lean in and close the distance between the both of you, sealing his lips with yours. He's taken aback, but immediately returns with a deep kiss, a deep sigh following after.
“Don't move. I'm carrying you to the bathroom”, his voice barely a whisper.
His lips trail to your forehead, gentle and warm as he lifts you up effortlessly, moving to the bathroom.
<EPILOUGE>
You dab your sweaty neck with the towel.
The self-defence classes with Sylus became more frequent since. You were slowly catching the flow of the combos, especially with the help of Sylus. Watching him sweat and pant in a tight tank top and shorts was a bonus too.
“Hey, you’re not wearing your ring!” you accuse, pointing to the empty space on Sylus’s finger.
Sylus looks at you, slight annoyance. After that night, the both decided to make things official, buying matching black promise rings. It never left his finger, other than during showers and boxing, of course.
He squeezes your cheeks with his fingers.
“Of course I’m not, sweetie. We just finished training.”
You giggle before running off to grab both your stuff.
Sylus wanders off towards his phone at the other end of the gym to check for any work messages. One name catches his attention.
It’s from your father.
[You’d better do it today.]
He takes a deep breath.
You call out Sylus’s name. He waited for you to finish showering. You fingers entangle with his as the both of you head out for a meal post-workout.
Sylus’s hand is in his pocket, his fingers playing with the velvet ring box tucked.
Back at the gym before, your father’s message to Sylus continues.
[You’d better do it today.]
[It’s a ring I’m confident she likes. Do your best.]
stormborns
kaledo-art
snowghoul
tangentwithtanner
origamiaround
kianamaiart
turnnoffyourmind
annaxmalina
