caleb and nonMC!reader in an loveless arranged marriage, where he's secretly in hopeless love with her
warnings. angst fest, eventual fluff, failing marriages, misunderstandings, suggestive content, jealousy, stalking/following, caleb getting rejected, reader in denial, feelings are hard
preview. "Why wouldn't I be romantic? I'm your husband." He's been doing that lately--dropping lines like that out of nowhere, like they're nothing. Somehow always when you're least prepared for it, and always with a lopsided grin that tells you he's either completely oblivious or knows exactly what he's doing. You're willing to bet on the latter.
wc. 7.4k
Your husband does not love you. He doesn’t love anyone except for one, and it is not you.
You used to like romance. You’d fantasize about who your beloved forever would be in your room, kicking your feet childishly at the thought of someone loving you so purely. So innocently. You wondered what kind of person they’d be, what kinds of foods they’d like, what their family is like. You wondered which holiday would be their favorite, whether they’d want children, whether they’d have a time-consuming job. But really, none of it mattered, because you only wanted someone by your side.
So when you were told you’d be put into an arranged marriage, you tried to be hopeful. An embarrassing, pathetic hope that maybe this man could love you the way men love in books and movies if you tried hard enough.
Caleb Xia is not a loving person. You realized this the moment he stepped into the room with cold, lifeless eyes that seemed to stare straight through you as if the wall was worth more than your presence. He’d smiled, but it felt stiff. Awkward. But you’re sure yours was the same.
Still, his eyes were beautiful. Your hope flickered like a small stubborn flame in your chest that you wanted to guard against the blizzard. The marriage was simple. You showed up to the courthouse in a knee-length white dress, constantly adjusting at the pearls around your neck anxiously while he signed the papers. Once he was done, he’d simply slid it over to you, evidently avoiding your eyes.
“Are you sure?” you’d asked meekly, as if speaking any louder than a whisper would shatter your heart. You weren’t sure if you were asking him or yourself. Not that it mattered, much.
He spared you a soft smile. Pity, maybe, with how his eyes remained empty, but you took it anyway.
A starved man does not beg for more. The flame remained.
The only reason he married you was because MC had gotten married to another childhood friend of theirs. When he mentioned it, you thought nothing of it at first. But when the only photo he’d put up throughout your entire house was one of him and her as children, while your awkwardly situated courthouse picture sat beside it, you knew. He didn’t stop to stare at your photo, ever. Not any of the photos. Only hers.
The final blow to the puny flame remaining in your heart was when you’d finally initiated physical contact. To perform the marital duty, he’d hovered above you in just his pants while you stared up at him in your thin pajamas that did little to hide what was beneath it. There was no setting the mood. The air was cold, the room dull because only your half had any semblance of effort that had gone into decorating it. When he kissed you, it felt more like his lips were simply touching yours gently. Almost tapping it.
It felt like nothing.
This was not romantic at all.
“Are you okay? Is this okay?” he asked, pulling back with a furrow in his brows—probably because you were lying lifelessly while holding your breath. You wondered how he could ask something so softly when his eyes remained so muted. Maybe not softly. Maybe just quiet.
“It’s okay.” You wanted to curl up and go to sleep, but he was the only semblance of warmth in the freezing room.
But when his hand slid up your shirt, resting atop of your stomach, you stopped breathing again. He stopped as well. Your gazes met silently, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. A dull, slow stop. And then suddenly, he was off you, clambering to pull his shirt back on as you sat up in confusion, eyes wide.
“I can’t,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.”
The flame went out.
Were you really so distasteful? So disgusting that he didn’t want to lay his hands on his own wife? Or was it that you were just too different from her? Should you be offended? Are you even offended? Relieved? Hurt?
Does it even matter?
Once you were sure he’s gone, you cried yourself to sleep.
The next few years are a blur that you wish had somehow gone even faster. The days are a bore. He’s away for weeks—maybe even months—at a time. In those periods of time, the house feels like a maze not meant for only one person. At the same time, maybe it’s better he’s away.
Caleb Xia is not a mean person. On paper, he’s a decent husband. He cleans, cooks, and never complains if you ask him to do something. He smiles, nods, and goes on his way. Yet, it feels more like a vaguely close roommate than a husband. The two of you eat in silence, watch TV in silence, and even go to bed in different rooms. You suppose you can’t complain—it’s not like you put in much effort to get to know him well anyway.
The only thing he does that even comes close to romance is bringing you flowers. You’d told him once that you wished the house had space for a garden to plant them, and he’d brought you a bouquet later that week. Since then, he brings them every few weeks routinely. They appear in the vase beside the couch as if they’ve just magically appeared.
They’re pretty, you think.
Resentment builds, slowly but surely, probably on both ends as in most marriages. This kind of life is killing you inside. This lonely, aimless life in a house that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world, in a bed that feels too large.
“I want to work,” you say one day, picking at your food blankly. “I have an interview tomorrow, so I won’t be here for most of the day from now on if I get it.”
A fork clatters from across the table. “What? Why?”
You don’t necessarily have to work given Caleb’s plentiful paycheck, but you want to anyway because you can’t stand being in that gigantic house all by yourself. But of course, how could you tell this to the man in front of you? The man you don’t even know the favorite color of?
“It’s a regular office job.”
“I didn’t ask what it was,” he blurts, eyes narrowing in concern. “I’m asking why? Do I not give you enough money? You know you have access to everything on the card, right?”
You shrug. “It’s not about the money…I just think I need something to do throughout the day.”
“What about picking up another hobby?”
“I’ve exhausted most of them.”
“Then traveling?”
“By myself?” you frown. “It’s not like you’re ever here.”
You’re not sure why the words slip through your teeth, but they do, and the disdain is apparent. He seems surprised at first, blinking, before his shoulder slump again and the corners of his lips twitch downward. For some reason, it makes you feel—good? Alive, more so. So you keep talking. “You’re always working. You even missed my friend’s wedding after I told her we’d be there.”
He shoots back immediately, brows tight. “That was a special case—it was an emergency.”
“That’s fine,” you chew slowly on your food. “But I don’t want to wait around all day for you to get back.”
“You shouldn’t work if you don’t have to. I make more than enough.”
“Again, not the point.”
His lips tighten, pursing. “What will your family think if they hear that I’m making you work after I told them that I’d take care of you?”
You snort. “Is this what you call ‘taking care of’?”
Immediately, you can tell that you’ve struck a nerve. And for some reason, it feels good again. Like you’re alive, again. Maybe you just like pissing him off. His expression shifts momentarily to something you can’t recognize before it settles disapprovingly and silence befalls the both of you. You like when he doesn’t have that stupid smile he always has. The fake, lifeless smile he’d given you when you first met. You’d rather he just be upset, just like this. He looks like he wants to say something, but then shuts his mouth, swallowing the lump in his throat.
His phone rings, slicing the tension in the air like a knife. Caleb glances at the caller ID for a split second before he’s already on his feet, pacing to the sink to put his plates away in a hurry. “I’m sorry, I need to take this. Let me know how the interview goes..”
You stare at your plate, listening to his feet pad around in a hurry. “Is it MC?”
He whips his head around. “What?”
You stand from your seat to dump your food into the sink, ignoring the slight clench in your chest. He’s always been this way. Jumping at any opportunity to be useful to her, while he leaves everyone else in the dust. “Nevermind. Go.”
Once you hear the front door shut, you slump into the couch face first, hoping it swallows you whole before he comes back. This has to be some sort of humiliation ritual. Perhaps you committed a grave sin in your past life, because you’re not sure what you could’ve possibly done to warrant such a feeling. The sunset seeps through the window planes and hits half of your face, bathing you in a warmth that had been missing from the rest of the house. The heat makes you sleepy, and you soon find your eyelids drooping shut, gazing lazily at a photo of the two of you on the coffee table. You don’t remember when it was taken, but in it, you genuinely look like you’re almost enjoying yourself. You can’t tell with him, though. You can never really tell.
“Stupid Xia,” you mutter as you fall deep into slumber.
When you awake again, the sun has fully set. There’s a blanket draped over you and when you blink away the blots in your vision, you’re met face to face with a fresh vase of flowers on the coffee table. They smell nice.
Damn it.
Sometimes, you wish he was just an asshole.
You learn about him through the photo albums he has stashed away in the attic. It’s not like you were looking for them. You’d only been cleaning when they managed to topple right into your hands, and since he always says whatever’s his is yours, you figure you might as well satisfy your curiosity. There’s less than you expected, unfortunately. Most photos are taken by him, but there’s a few in between where he’s the subject. Him at his birthday party, his graduation ceremony, him packing for college, and the day he left for the DAA.
It’s odd. You forget he was a normal teenager at one point, and not a high ranking colonel.
The pictures are through his eyes. Before you can stop, you find yourself becoming engrossed in lacing the photos together into some semblance of a story in your head. You see his childhood home and the model planes he enjoys building. His outings with MC and his grandmother. His last minute halloween costumes. Him and his friends carrying out a prank on someone. His studies. His likes. His dislikes.
Caleb Xia is a charming person. If you hadn’t met the way you did, you think you might’ve liked him a little more.
When you ask him a question regarding one of the photos at dinner, he nearly chokes on his food. You quirk a brow in response. “Was I not supposed to see them?”
“No, it’s fine if you look…” he mumbles, taking a sip of water to gather himself. You squint—are his ears pink? You didn’t know he was capable of doing something kinda adorable. “It’s just a little embarrassing.”
“Like the picture of your airplane swim trunks from when you were a kid–”
He coughs again, and you snicker.
You think he’s tolerable—just a bit.
Weeks pass. Life gets a little easier with your job and more to do—it might even be a bit fun. With your new friends at your workplace and a new sense of accomplishment, the less you stress about your loveless marriage and the more you appreciate what you have. Your interactions with Caleb become less forced. Not because you’ve somehow managed to miraculously understand how his brain functions, but because you put less weight on what you say. It’s hard to see someone as intimidating when you’ve seen a photo of them in a stupid halloween costume. He seems to notice the change too.
[Caleb Xia]: I got us fried chicken for dinner. Don’t be too late so it doesn’t get cold :)
Your mouth waters. It’s nice, almost. Emphasis on the almost.
Outside, the evening chill hits your cheeks, sharp enough to wake you up and wrap your jacket tighter around yourself. The street is busy but not crowded, as the sun has just set. A couple laughs too loudly across the road. Somewhere, a bus exhales.
You start down your usual route.
At first, it’s nothing. Just footsteps. Not out of place. People exist. People walk. People go home.
But something’s off. Your gut insists on it, and it’s hard to ignore.
You slow slightly, just enough to be subtle. The footsteps slow too.
Your fingers tighten around your bag.
Coincidence, surely.
You don’t turn around, yet. Turning means you have to see something and acknowledge that it’s real. Instead, you adjust your pace again. Faster this time.
The footsteps quicken, dropping your heart to your stomach.
Your eyes dart around you anxiously. It’s dark. Streetlamps are guiding your path home, and though the neighborhood is nice, it’s empty. Well, except for you and the footsteps that seemingly sound like they’re getting ever so closer every few seconds. You throat feels dry.
Phone. You need to tell someone. Even if you’re wrong—even if it’s just a hunch.
[You]: Still there?
[Caleb Xia]: Yea. why?
[You]: I think there’s someone following me
Your message sends, and for a moment air doesn’t enter your lungs.
The typing bubble appears. Disappears. Appears again.
[Caleb Xia]: I’m coming.
You don’t know how he’s going to find you, but you don’t bother questioning it at the moment. You swallow, and your throat is dry enough that it hurts. The streetlamps cast long shadows across the pavement, and it’s hard to discern whether something is just a shadow or something else in the dark.
You don’t turn around.
Your legs carry you as fast as you can go without breaking into a sprint, and your grip tightens around your phone until your fingers ache. Hurry, you think. Hurry up, Caleb.
A car passes.
He’s closer now, whoever it is.
Your breath catches. Your shoulders tense, every instinct screaming at you to run, but your legs feel like they’ve forgotten how.
Suddenly, a car turns the corner too fast, tires kissing the curb before readjusting and you nearly jump out of your own skin. The tint on the car makes it too difficult to see inside, not that you’d be able to see much regardless due to the dark. It slows to a stop as it sees you, and you think if this isn’t who you’re expecting, it might actually be the end for you.
The passenger door swings open.
“Get in.”
Relief floods your body when you hear his voice and you stumble to clamber in.
Relief?
This is Caleb Xia you’re talking about. Now that you think about it, you’re unsure why he was the first you contacted instead of the police. Your fingers had tapped on his profile faster than you could think. Was it just because he was at the top of your contacts? Was it because he was near? It must be, right? It had been instinctual. Your body had reacted—and it had somehow worked out.
Regardless, you can’t possibly deny how relieved you feel right now.
You wonder if this is how MC always feels. It must be nice to know that someone so reliable is always at her beck and call, right? To come running at just a few words—maybe she wouldn’t have had to walk home in the first place. Maybe he would’ve driven her. You feel sick. This isn’t what you should be thinking about right now. Right now, you need to report it to the police and take a much needed nap.
A part of you is envious of her.
“You should’ve called me earlier.”
The chicken doesn’t look as appetizing anymore even despite it sitting before you in all its crispy fried glory. The growling in your stomach from earlier is replaced by a slight pain, and it’s difficult to tell if you’ve only lost your appetite or if it’s a different kind of anxiousness. He watches you from across the table with a perplexed frown while you pick at the chicken aimlessly, nodding blankly.
“I’ll report it first thing in the morning,” Caleb sighs. “I should pick you up from work from now own. Or I’ll call you a taxi if I can’t.”
You nod again.
“Are you okay?”
Ah, he’s asking that again. You hate when he does.
You tilt your head. “I’m just sort of in shock, I think.”
“I know, but you should eat at least a bit. Here.” He holds a piece of chicken on a fork to your face and you scrunch your nose. He smirks. “Here comes the airplane?”
“I might vomit all over you.” A half lie.
He replies instantly. “Then I’ll clean it. Eat.”
For a reason that you just attribute to exhaustion, you don’t bother arguing. Instead, you pop it into your mouth, cheeks dusting pink at the intimacy of the act. He hums in approval and you try your best not to choke. Why was he feeding you—a grown woman? And why were you letting him?
How bizarre. This whole day is bizarre.
At least you’re home—thanks to him.
“Thank you,” you mumble softly. “For getting there so fast.”
He looks almost offended, shaking his head. “Don’t thank me, it was a given. I’m just happy you thought to call me. I was worried you wouldn’t.”
Why did you call him? Well, you suppose he is your husband at the end of the day. One who has eyes for another, but your husband nonetheless. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He stops for a moment, as if in thought, and then smiles sheepishly. Not the annoying fake smile he puts on for show, but one that’s riddled with guilt. Shame. You want to know why. “Just assumed you wouldn’t.”
Strangely, the words make your chest tight.
Your eyes meet his usual striking violets, shoulders slumping as you look away once the eye contact feels too intense. “I’m glad I did.”
You barely catch the tips of his ears turning pink.
Caleb keeps his word for the months following the event. You never have reason to pass by that street again on foot, and although you continue to insist it’s not necessary, having him as your private driver of sorts does feel kind of nice. You think eventually, you’ve come to call him more than a stranger. He’s easier to talk to. Funnier than you thought, actually, when he’s not being annoying to tease you.
You’d never tell him that though, of course.
You blink warily, rubbing at your eyes with the back of your hand when a ray of sunlight escapes through the shades of your bedroom and hit your face. However, it’s not what awakes you. Rather, it’s the insistent buzzing of your phone on your bedside table, which you barely manage to snatch without falling off the edge of the bed.
[Caleb (husband)]: morning sleepinghead, you awake?
[Caleb (husband)]: Come eat breakfast :> made apple juice too
[Caleb (husband)]: I better hear you shuffling around in your room in the next few minutes or i’ll have to come drag you out.. :)
Caleb Xia, you find, nags a lot.
“Sleep well?” he chuckles when you finally emerge, still half-awake despite being fully dressed. You scratch the back of your neck, yawning as you perch yourself on one of the chairs at the counter where he’s standing with an apron tied neatly behind him. If you were just a tad bit more awake, you’d have a field day making a snide comment about it.
“Mm.”
He laughs again, gently. Did he always sound so soft?
“You can always quit your job, y’know,” he shrugs, placing a plate of breakfast foods in front of you. It smells immaculate, as usual. “Offer’s always on the table.”
You shove a forkful of eggs into your mouth, squinting at him. “Why do you wanth me shoo be unemployed sho bad? My parentsh don’t care.”
“It’s not about your family…It just doesn’t seem necessary.”
“I like working. Just not waking up so early.”
“I only want you to avoid overextending yourself if you don’t have to,” he pops a tomato into his own mouth. “I make enough for you to get whatever you want, don’t I?”
“But I want my own money, too.”
“My money is your money. This is the least I can do.”
“Careful,” you snort. “You sound dangerously close to being romantic.”
He tilts his head. “Why wouldn’t I be romantic? I’m your husband.”
This time, you really choke on your food, coughing as he quickly hands you the apple juice. He’s been doing that lately—dropping lines like that out of nowhere, like they’re nothing. Somehow always when you’re least prepared for it, and always with a lopsided grin that tells you he’s either completely oblivious or knows exactly what he’s doing.
You’re willing to bet on the latter.
Caleb Xia, as you figure out in the time you spend with him in his car on the way to work, has terrible taste in films.
“That movie is awful. There’s no way that’s your favorite.”
He gasps dramatically and you don’t bother suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. “Hey, don’t judge before you try it.”
“I’d like it if I never had to try it, actually.”
The smile adorning your lips falls in an instant the car slows to a stop. You find yourself growing disappointed when you arrive at your workplace, because it means you’ll have to leave him. You want to scold yourself for thinking such preposterous thoughts. What are you? A teenager who’s hanging out with a boy for the first time?
You’re married, for god’s sake.
Then again, so what if his company isn’t so bad? What if you think he’s a bit more to you than tolerable? Isn’t that allowed? He’s your husband, after all. If it doesn’t feel so bad, maybe you could let yourself reprise and enjoy it while it lasts.
“Ah, right, I should tell you—I’ll be leaving this weekend for work.”
Ah, nevermind. Reality has a way of slapping you across the face when you least expect it.
“How long?”
“A few weeks at best,” he pauses, voice quieter. “Months, if I’m unlucky.”
You really despise the subtle aching in your chest.
You hate how easily it slips in. How, for a second, it makes the flame that’s gone out years ago flicker, as if these moments could mean more than they do. They don’t. You know they don’t. They aren’t yours to keep. None of it is.
The warmth, the ease, the way he looks at you like this—like you’re something he actually cares about—it’s all fake. Stolen. You’re just standing in the space where someone else is supposed to be.
You press your lips together, forcing the feeling down before it can spread any further. Get a grip.
His palm pats the top of your head, making your cheeks heat against your will. With a grin, he nods. But it’s stiff. The slight crinkle between his brows. Upset. Upset? “I’ll see you tonight.”
It’s like he knows what you’re thinking before you know yourself.
“Who said I want to?”
“You wound me.”
As soon as you enter the building, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.
[Caleb (husband)]: I know you’re at work, but…
[Caleb (husband)]: Movie night tn ?? i can make us popcorn :D
[Caleb (husband)]: And yes we’re watching my fav so you can stop calling it bad :>
[Caleb (husband)]: Last hurrah before i leave
This is dangerous, you think. Really, really dangerous.
You seriously hope you don’t fall for him, if it isn’t too late already.
A few hours later, the living room is dimly lit with soft lights, the low hum of something playing in the background as Caleb sets everything up. The bowl of popcorn ends up a little too full, a few pieces spilling onto the counter as he carries it over, muttering something under his breath as he munches on the ones that are about to spill over. You sink into the couch, watching him move around the room—adjusting the volume and flipping through options he’s already decided on.
It’s strange, how easy it feels. How normal.
You don’t realize you’re staring until he glances over.
So you look away quickly, fixing your gaze on the screen. But a few seconds pass, and you can feel his attention still lingering.
You pretend not to notice.
What are you doing? What are either of you doing?
You don’t say anything, swallowing the question down into the pit in your stomach.
The movie stars a side character with a passionate devotion to his family, who reminds you of Caleb. Oddly enough, the resemblance is almost uncanny. You kind of want to root for him but also want him to lose terribly. You huff quietly. “He’s so intense.”
Caleb glances over, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “What? You wouldn’t want someone like that?”
You tilt your head, pretending to think. “I mean… he’s a bit much.”
A pause.
“…but it comes from a good place. I like him.”
He stills.
You pick at a piece of popcorn, rolling it between your fingers. “He reminds me of you a little.”
“Yeah?”
You shrug, still not quite looking at him. “Yeah.” A small breath escapes you before you can stop it. “MC is really lucky to have you.”
He goes quiet. When you glance over, he’s already looking at you.
“…Lucky,” he repeats, almost to himself.
You hesitate, then ruin it by saying more. "I mean, you're always there for her, you know? If she calls, you come running. Everyone wants someone like that."
It was supposed to come off lightheartedly, but it only digs the hole deeper.
Something in his expression shifts. His smile fades, his face losing its usual ease as it drops to something you’ve never seen on him before. It contorts in phases. Surprise, and then confusion, and finally into one you prefer the least.
Panic. Something is wrong.
You wish you’d just shut up. The long pause makes you wish you were just a fly on the wall right now.
“Is this why?” he blinks, and his eyes glisten with something you haven’t seen from him. Void of the usual emptiness but replaced with something fuller. Heavier. “Is this why you hate me so much? Because of MC?”
Huh?
“Fuck,” one hand pulls at the roots of his hair, his top teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he attempts to hide his face from you. “I’m a moron. I should’ve known.”
What? Despite your hands growing clammy, you feel cold. Like the blood is draining from your face.
“You must hate me so much.”
When did you ever hate him? You’ve loathed him, certainly, when he’d disappear for weeks on end leaving you all alone in this cold, lifeless house. You’ve wanted to punch your balled up fists into his chest, knowing that it wouldn’t phase him in the slightest simply to alleviate some of your own anger. You’ve wanted to run away a multitude of times. But hate? Have you ever hated Caleb? Can you hate Caleb?
“Caleb.”
“This is my fault. I should’ve been more aware. It’s so obvious now, I feel like an idiot.”
“Caleb.”
“I thought you just hated me because this isn’t a marriage you wanted,” his voice cracks, and he’s burying his face into his palms. “I thought staying away from you was what you wanted. Shit, I’m so stupid.”
“Caleb,” you say, more firmly this time, and he finally looks at you. There’s a watery film over his usually lifeless eyes, glistening against the light of the TV screen, and it makes the pit in your stomach grow deeper. You don’t like seeing him like this. You thought you would, but you don’t.
His voice is a mere whisper now. He looks like he wants to vomit out a million words at once, but there’s three specific ones that linger on his tongue. Is this what they call a woman's intuition? You’re not sure how, but in the moment, it feels like you’re in his head. For the first time in the 4 years you’ve been wed to Caleb Xia, you feel like you can understand him.
A victory that doesn’t feel like one at all.
“Listen to me,” he grabs your hands in his, holding them in front of his chest. “I don’t love her—not as a woman. I haven’t in a long time. She and Zayne are like my family, and I’d be a terrible person not to be happy for them. I’m sorry I didn’t make it clear to you. I’m so sorry.”
Your heart doesn’t seem to be beating anymore.
The air is too thick. Like liquid entering your lungs.
Caleb opens his mouth and then shuts it again, his words stuck in the back of his throat. You’re not sure if you want to hear what he wants to say. The words hold too much value, too many years of hurt, and you don’t know how you’ll react. You don’t want to acknowledge any of this as real, because if it is, what was all of this for? What were the years you spent holed up in your room meant to achieve? Were you just being a fool? And in that case, would you even want to know?
No. You don’t.
So instead, you kiss him.
A wordless, messy kiss. Though he’s taken aback at first, he’s quick to slot his mouth against yours eagerly, hands flying to your waist to pull you closer as if a man starved. It’s desperate. Different from the kiss you shared with him at the courthouse, or for transactional purposes. His mouth feels hot against yours, and when his tongue swipes against your lip, you let him in.
You climb onto his lap, straddling him as he presses you flush against him. The movie is long forgotten. His hair weeds through the crevices between your fingers and he deepens the kiss as if he’s trying to physically become one with you. His heart hammers against your own like a timer, warning you of what this could mean, but you don’t care.
“Put your arms around my neck,” he mumbles against you, and then you’re suddenly being lifted up to your room with his hands supporting your thighs around his waist. But even those few seconds aren’t worth staying apart for, because he’s kissing your neck, mouthing at spots that have you pursing your lips to avoid making any embarrassing sounds. He lets you down gently onto the middle of your bed and follows suit, pushing you onto your back.
You’re here again.
He’s looming over you, face flushed in a deep red this time. He’ll ask if you’re okay. If this is okay. And then he’ll take off his shirt and his hand will slide up yours. It’ll be better this time, because it’s not out of some twisted sense of duty. Desire pulses at your core, but you can’t help but shake off this curdling feeling in your chest, as if you want to hurl. You wait for what you expect, eyes never leaving his.
Instead, he breathes sharply. “I love you.”
The world stops.
“You don’t have to say anything back that I don’t deserve. I just want you to know,” he whispers.
Can anyone love someone like you—much less, your husband? You start breathing again because you have to, staring up at him as if he’s gone insane. In fact, you think you’ve gone insane. Kissing him, lying beneath him, enjoying his presence, looking forward to his breakfasts, letting him drop you off at work, feeling disappointed that he’s leaving—you’ve most definitely died and come back as another person, because this is not you.
This is Caleb Xia. He is an unloving person. He cannot love. But what happens if he does? With tears stinging at his eyes, watching you with a mix of pure adoration and sorrow, he’s telling you he loves you. Love is a strong word, isn’t it? But he means it. He loves you. Caleb loves you. You want to call him a liar, but he’s not.
You want to cry into his chest and run away at the same time.
The flame flickers, and you panic. Not because you despise him, or because his confession is one you don’t want to accept, but because this flame is not one you welcome with open arms anymore. It’s too easy to hurt. Too easy to shrink, yet somehow impossible to destroy.
“I can’t,” you croak. “Not right now.”
Even Caleb can’t mask the hurt that deepens his frown, as if you’ve torn his heart straight from his chest. For a man with so much power, he’s never looked more powerless than he does now.
It feels too vulnerable. Open. As if you’re naked and he’s fully clothed, when it’s infact the exact opposite. You don’t want to open up to him again. You don’t want him to snuff out that small flame you have that never seems to go out no matter how much you douse it in water. Or maybe you do?
He forces a crooked smile, strained against his very will and nods before leaving the room. As the door slips shut, he doesn’t turn to look at you. “Sleep tight.”
You don’t get much sleep that night at all.
Morning comes anyway.
And then another.
And another.
His absence returns, but this time because you’re the one avoiding him. You leave earlier than usual, linger longer at work, find excuses in the smallest things—emails, errands, anything that keeps you just a little out of sync with him. When you do cross paths, it’s brief. Polite. A short good morning or a quick goodnight. It’s easier that way.
You tell yourself this is what you wanted—to put distance back where it belongs. Whatever that night was, whatever flame flickered between you, it will fade. It must fade.
He isn’t yours. Even if he says he is, there’s too much pain--too many years of resentment built up that you don’t know what to do with.
You catch yourself thinking about it at mundane times—standing in line, walking home, staring at your coworkers chatting amongst themselves. The apartment feels different already, like it’s preparing to be emptier. As cold as it was a few months ago, when he was still Caleb Xia, and not just Caleb.
You take the time away from him to reset. To think, but not too much. You find yourself flipping through his photo albums again, smiling when you flip to a particularly embarrassing one. You hear him shuffling outside your room, probably packing for his business trip. You’re aware of what he risks everytime he disappears for weeks at a time—not only his life, but the lives of his men—and you don’t know how he bears to leave home everytime he does.
But he always comes back. He has to.
You suppose it’s for the best for now. And when he returns, things will return to normal. The house won’t be as awkward as it is. The two of you will slip into your usual routine of a loveless marriage, and you’ll find other avenues in life to derive joy from. So will he.
The front door shuts faster than you anticipated.
He’s gone.
This is fine.
This is what you wanted.
The house is empty again. You pace to the living room, and surprisingly, a fresh bouquet of flowers is propped inside their usual vase. You lift the vase into your hands, letting the scent of the flowers waft into your nose. They smell good. New. Sort of like the detergent he uses when doing the laundry.
You set the vase back down, nails pressing faint crescents into your skin.
His face when you last saw him keeps flickering in your mind. So much hurt. Raw with fear.
“I love you.”
You want to tell him he doesn’t. You want to remind yourself that this is your husband. Your heartless, cunning husband who kills people for a living—who doesn’t care about anyone but his family.
But you’re his family, aren’t you?
You can still smell his cologne in the air.
You must’ve missed it from the glint of the sunlight in the glass coffee table—there’s a small shimmer of something sitting beside the vase. With a quirked brow, you pick it up. He usually never leaves trash lying around.
You nearly drop it.
His wedding band.
Your breath stutters, sharp and uneven, like your lungs have forgotten how to work. Your heart pounds as you realize that you're shaking, eyes wide as saucers as you stare at the object in your hands.
No.
He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t just leave it.
The ring sits in your palm like a brick that weighs your entire body down. This isn’t something you can pretend will reset when he comes back.
This means no more quiet dinners. No more stupid arguments over movies he insists are good. No more messages waiting for you when you’re at work. No more him, standing at the counter every morning with a pan in his hand. No more him.
And worst of all, no more chance to fix it. To tell him your side of the story.
Your body moves before your mind catches up.
You wrench the front door open, not bothering to lock it behind you as your feet hit the pavement with just your socks. The air burns your throat as you run, lungs screaming, heart still pounding like it’s trying to break through your ribcage.
He can’t leave.
The stinging beneath your feet go unregistered as you clutch the ring so tightly that it feels like it might dig into your flesh.
Just forward, you hiss to yourself. Faster. You turn corner after corner, your body begging you to stop overexerting yourself, but you can’t bother to care. You don’t even register where you’re going, but you need to go somewhere. It feels like ages and seconds at the same time, as you beg nobody in particular for one more chance.
A chance for what, you're not sure.
Reconciliation? Love? Understanding?
Is any of that possible? And if not, why are you running like your very life depends on it?
The ring digs further into your skin, and you realize it doesn't matter as long as you find who it belongs to. Him. Caleb. The reason and bane of your existence, and apparently what has you running across the entire town in hopes of bringing him back.
Finally, you slam into something solid.
The impact knocks the breath out of you, your grip loosening as the ring nearly slips from your fingers. A hand catches your arms before you can stumble back too far, steadying you with a familiar scent that somehow lets you breathe again.
“Hey—watch it—oh.”
You freeze in place, breath hitching as you look up. Standing right in front of you, he appears slightly disheveled, one hand still gripping your arm while the other awkwardly balances a paper bag of groceries. Caleb blinks, his eyes immediately scanning over your frame before landing on your feet. “Why are you here? Are you okay? And where are your shoes, it’s dangerou—”
“Don’t go, Caleb,” you sniffle, tears already stinging at your eyes as your body finally has a chance to rest, though it doesn’t feel much better. “Please don’t go.”
He stares at you as if you've grown a third eye, nearly dropping his bag of groceries at your pleas. Even the tips of his ears turn red, flustered. "What are you--"
“Why did you leave the ring? Did you lie?” About loving me?
His expression falls, attention honing in on the ring gripped in your fist. Something seems to click in his head, and immediately, he shakes his head. “No, of course not, I was going to leave a note. I just went out to get groceries before I left—”
“So you were going to leave the ring?”
“Well, yes, but can we–”
“Do you not like me anymore?” you blurt, finger bunching at the fabric of his sleeve. “Is it because I ignored you for a week?”
He almost looks offended. “Of course I still like you.”
“Then why?”
His voice softens, as if speaking too loud will scare you away. Hesitantly, he sheepishly releases your arms. Instead, he slowly takes your hand in his, lips pursing as he sighs. His palm feels rough with calluses from the work he does, but light as feathers against your skin. His touch is gentle, as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. “I figured there was no reason for me to tie you to me anymore. I won’t force you to be with someone you can’t even stand to be around. Someone you hate. It’d be selfish.”
Your words tumble out before you can process them. “I don’t hate you.”
Finally, with your hand in his, the world feels okay again. This feeling tells you you’re screwed, but you don’t care.
“I’ve been mad at you, and I don’t know what to do with your feelings because they make no sense, but I don’t hate you,” you mutter. “You’re just too confusing.”
“...Confusing?”
“I just—I don’t know what to do, Caleb,” you wipe vigorously at your eyes with your free hand, head falling to avoid looking him at him. “I don’t know what to think about you. How to feel about you.”
His eyes ease, and you feel him squeeze your fingers. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No.”
“Do you love me?”
“I don’t know.”
Caleb has always been better at reading you than yourself. A flash of hurt ripples across his face, but his eyes maintain its soft glimmer—because he knows. Even if you say you don’t know, he knows. He also knows that you’re afraid of those words, and he doesn’t blame you for it.
So instead, he asks something else. “What am I to you?”
You want to call him a million things. The man who left you by yourself, the man who refused to touch you for so many years, the man who’d chosen to sleep in the guest bedroom just to avoid taking up space in yours. He’s felt awful, inconsiderate, and cold. But he’s also the man who’s gotten you flowers, the man who’d break four speeding laws to make you feel safe, the man who makes sure you’re never hungry, the man who folds your laundry neatly and organizes it color-coded in your closet. The man who you wish you could slap across the face and hold close to you at the same time. The man who’s made you feel alone yet so cared for all at once.
You like him, you think. In some strange way that’s never been covered in the romantic films you used to clutch onto like a life line, you like him. The ‘L’ word teeters on the tip of your tongue like a marble rolling around to decide what these emotions settling in your heart really are, but it doesn’t really matter. All you know is that you need him. You want him. You want him to hold your face and kiss you tenderly, like he did that night. You want him to do it again and again until you can’t breathe, and all you can feel is him. You want to eat dinner with him every night and wake up in the morning to his stupid apron. You want to go grocery shopping with him. You want to fall asleep watching a movie in his arms.
“What am I to you?”
Tears fall down your cheeks in fat globs and you try your hardest not to let your voice crack. “My husband.”
His eyes widen for a moment, and then his lips split into a wide grin that resembles the lovesick expression of a teenage boy who’s holding hands for the first time. Caleb drops his grocery bag to his feet and reaches either hands to the sides of your face, cradling you gingerly as he guides you closer. Before you’re even registering it, he brushes a strand of hair out of your forehead and presses a soft but firm kiss to your temple, where you can feel him smile against your skin.
“Who am I to say no my wife?”
Your marriage is a messy, complicated jumble of emotions. The confusion. The fear. The warmth. It’s not perfect. It never will be. And despite it all, you don’t want it any other way, because Caleb Xia is a loving person.
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And he wants to give you all the space you want to deal with your emotions before you're ready to talk to him about it.
But as he sits across from you while you ignore him to watch some cliche soap opera that's been ongoing for 10 years with more than 600 episodes and refuse to eat, he can't help himself.
First, he has to rein the laughter in. He schools his features into one of grave seriousness like he's about to interrogate a criminal and in a solemn tone, finally attempts to address you again.
"Psspss, kitten"
It's almost comical how fast your head snaps up, almost identical to a real ball of fur, head snapping around before your gaze lands on Sylus who is trying his hardest not to laugh.
"Did you just-"
"Are you hungry?" Sylus shows no signs of having said something prior to this at all, looking serene but you're sure you heard him.
When you going back to ignoring him, not deeming him worthy of even a response, Sylus tries again.
"Psspss here kitty"
This time, you're sure of what you heard, indignation filling your veins at his audacity as you get up from where you'd been watching your show, aiming straight for your boyfriend, violence clear in your aura.
Sylus, for all his flaws, knows when self-preservation should take charge as he shoots up from his seat, dodging your attack and making a run for it with you hot on your heels.
"I can't believe you would psspss me like I'm some stray-!" You pick up a throw pillow in the midst of your chasing, tossing it straight at the Leader of Onychinus who ducks at the correct time and successfully dodges it.
"I tried to get you to eat with me before and it-" Sylus ducks again to dodge your attack- two throw pillows thrown in succession- standing up straight before he resumes running around the couch with you right behind "-and you wouldn't acknowledge me"
"Because I'm still mad at you!"
Sylus stops running at that, turning to face you as you attack him with balled up fists that land no damage at all "Be mad at me all you want" He says, long fingers encircling your wrists and holding them right over his heart "But don't skip your meals because of it"
You frown at him "Acting all sweet now won't work after you watched the season finale without me!"
Again, Sylus tries his hardest to hold his laughter in. But you catch the smile threatening to break on his features anyway.
"You're in timeout" You even point to the far wall and Sylus finally ends up grinning because he thinks you're really cute when you're joking.
His smile drops real fast when he realizes you're not.
Two minutes later, he's standing by the wall, fully grown adult, mob boss, one of the most feared beings on the planet, trying to appease his girlfriend but you know it won't be long before he can't help himself.
When you feel something collide with the side of your foot a while later, you peer down to see a bunched up ball of string at your heels.
With Sylus holding the loose end tauntingly.
The moment Sylus sees you bunch up the ball in your fist as you slowly stand to face him, he knows he's screwed.
But he doesn't need saving. He's right where he wants to be.
tw ( yandere , stockholm syndrome kind of ? , reader has already been kidnapped )
lol i havent posted since january i think ... long overdue
you thought that if you stayed in there long enough, he’d go away. unfortunately, you were wrong.
“…you locked the door,” he said eventually, as he slid down to sit against the door, “that’s okay. i’d be scared too,” he added, softer.
don’t speak, you reminded yourself.
“it’s quiet in there, yeah?” his tone stayed even, careful, like anything sharper might send you further away. “i bet it feels safer in there for you, doesn't it?”
a small pause.
“gets lonely, though,” he murmured. “you know it does.”
his hand pressed lightly against the door.
“did i do something wrong?”
fuck.
he sounded so sincere.
that was the problem.
he would always make you feel guilty, his stupid words, the way he would just say them so gently, as if his words were full of concern rather than control-
“i just…” he exhaled quietly. “i’ll give you space, okay? i mean it. just… open the door for me.”
“please.”
your fingers trembled as you turned the knob.
he moved back the second he heard it, shifting away from the doorway without hesitation… just like he promised to give you room.
his eyes found yours immediately, softening in a way that made your chest twist.
“that’s better,” he murmured.
your grip stayed tight on the door.
ready to close it again. he noticed, but knew to not comment.
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you're upset over sylus missing your date night, but he's more than happy to make it up to you..
tonight was supposed to be perfect.
tonight, you were supposed to go out, have dinner with the man you loved, and forget all about the terrible week you had.
"i'm really sorry, sweetie," to his credit, sylus sounded truly apologetic, "but this deal needs to be made by tonight. can we reschedule?"
you looked at your reflection in the mirror, your perfectly done hair, your shiny makeup, the red dress he had bought you specifically for date nights like these.
"of course," you willed your voice not to break, even as your throat closed up, even as your nose became runny. "i hope it goes well."
"i'll treat you another night, i swear." a man's tense voice on the other end was heard, and he let out a sigh. "i love you."
"love you too." no matter how much you wished it to be some sick joke, the line went dead. you found yourself staring at your phone, turning it on and off, as if that would bring him back.
as if he would magically appear at your side.
the tears started flowing before you could stop them, and an ugly sob escaped your chest. you could care less that your makeup was ruined by now, or your hair messy from the way you had ran your fingers through it.
kicking your heels off, you fell to the couch, clutching a pillow to your chest. you knew he couldn't control it. he was a busy man, this was something that you had known from the start.
but tonight was supposed to be your night, and you really needed him. it felt childish, and wrong, but he was supposed to wash all your worries away. he was supposed to make you laugh, sweep you off your feet..
you were crying harder at your own train of thought, and that was how you fell asleep, longing and aching for him to come home.
when the morning came, you expected to wake up in the same position. instead, there was a noticeable warmth at your side, a steady breath against your neck, and a comfortable weight across your waist.
shifting around, you found sylus, fast asleep at your side. a look at your surroundings revealed you were in your bed, and a glance down showed you were now in your pajamas, not the expensive dress from last night.
before you could stop yourself, you were crying again, and the realization you had no makeup on made you cry harder.
you tried not to wake him, but sylus stirred at your movements. upon seeing you in tears, he moved into action immediately, drawing you close and kissing all over your face. "shh, it's okay sweetie, i'm here." his voice was a balm to your frayed nerves, and you sobbed into his chest.
"you- you're home.." it was all you could really say in your anxiety, sniffling and sobbing as you looked up at him. "when did you..?"
"late last night." he gently wiped your tears, an apologetic look on his face. "i am so, so sorry, my love," he pressed a kiss to your lips, his grip on you tightening, "i tried to find every work around i could, but it seemed nobody can do anything without my help."
"it's okay," you sniffled, even though it felt like the opposite, "i know your work is important.."
"nothing is more important to me than you, sweetie." he sighed, tilting your head up towards him. "i promise, these next few days, i'm all yours. nobody's going to interrupt us."
"nobody..?"
"nobody." he smiled at you, rubbing your cheek with his thumb, "so be greedy with me, kitten. i'll take you on as many dates as you want, so don't hold back." he pressed himself against you, warm and comforting and home, "i love you so much."
one of my favorite kinds of non mc angst is when you have stood by the boys through every lifetime, so much so that your presence has become a quiet certainty for them.
they expect you to always be by their side, moving through the world as if your loyalty is as certain as the sunrise.
and whether they are blind to your feelings, consumed in their quest to reunite with mc, or simply incapable of truly seeing you, they’ll never choose you.
still, you remain, tethered to their side through every heartbreak.
but when you find out your cycle of reincarnation is finally ending, you keep it to yourself. is it selfish? perhaps. but your heart is weary, your love is stretched thin, and you know that if your devotion was never returned before, it never will be.
so when you finally slip away—cradled in their arms during a mission, surrendering your soul to the ocean at a seamoon ceremony, or resting among a field of datura flowers—they mourn you. of course they do. tears will fill their eyes as they whisper your name into the silence.
but some part of them knows you’ll come back.
you always do.
they’re certain you’ll return just as you always have, and that soon enough you’ll be smiling beside them again, teasing them like nothings changed.
you always return as yourself—changed in small ways, perhaps, but still marked by the beauty spot beneath your eye or the gentle brown of your gaze.
your face may shift with each timeline, but the faint scar along your arm from protecting him from wanderers or the wound over your heart always remains.
it’s all a quiet testament of your love.
so when the next cycle comes, and they cannot find you in a scattered crowd of villagers, when they don’t sense your presence in a university hallway, when they wait for you to find them in a game of hide and seek on a playground—the one right next to your father’s house—or amongst the last remaining lemurians who reside in verona, they begin to question it.
they start to wonder.
where were you? what’s taking you so long to come back to them?
where is the one who knows them best? the girl who shares every memory, who understands their purpose, who feels their pain more deeply than anyone else?
simply put—
where are you?
but the truth is painfully simple.
you are not here.
not anymore.
your soul is finally at peace, and alongside it, your love.
or maybe, somewhere in the world, you still exist.
maybe you grew up wrapped in the warmth of a loving family. maybe you still remember the warnings of hunters past and steer clear of those forbidden no hunt zones.
maybe you attend college, or perhaps you open a flower shop in a city where no one knows your name.
maybe every night you dream of a life you have never lived, with a man whose face you have never seen.
maybe you are sitting right beside them, by the sea or on a park bench, laughing at a joke you just told, while he absentmindedly takes your hand in his.
and maybe when you wake with tears drying on your cheeks, you’re confused, unable to understand what it all means.
but dreams fade the longer you remain awake, and slowly, you return to your life.
you feed your cat. you take out the trash. you spend a tuesday afternoon tackling a week's worth of laundry.
you live through mundane, ordinary moments.
you meet up with old colleagues for brunch, talking to your mother on the phone while waiting for the next train. you reply to the messages of a man you matched with online and let him take you out for a drink or two, thanking him at the end of the night for the fun you had.
the next day, you pass by a mural painted by a well-known artist from whitesand bay, leaving you so awestruck that you take a quick snapshot to post on your moments page before continuing on your way.
you arrive at akso hospital, stepping into the lobby to find the rest of your family sitting anxiously for news of your niece’s birth. you sit beside them, praying for the time to pass more quickly, absentmindedly reading the framed research credits of a 28-year-old cardiac surgeon hanging on the wall nearby.
and when you return home that night, head stuck in the clouds, swiping at the hundreds of photos you took of your sister's baby girl, someone stops you in the street.
their eyes—sky blue, violet-gold, or cotton-candy—search your face with overwhelming relief, haunted by a grief that feels centuries old.
“i’m so glad i found you again,” they’ll whisper as their arms wrap around you, the embrace tight enough to keep you from pulling away so easily, but gentle enough not to steal your breath.
“i missed you so much. where have you been?”
you freeze, fear rooting you into place as a voice inside urges you to fight, to punch, to kick, to scream—anything to break free from the arms of someone you don’t know.
you tense, and they feel it immediately. they notice your stillness, your lack of recognition, and finally, they let you go, albeit slowly.
their hands settle gently against your shoulders, smiling with a softness you have never seen directed to you, and they ask again:
“where have you been?”
you force yourself backward, taking three deliberate steps to create space between you, your left hand already searching your purse for anything to defend yourself with.
the more i'm in the novel chapters, the more i realize cha eui-jae (thgll) is actually (still) a scammer like the rest that i read *cough* (tcf, orv, tsctir)
Synopsis: It's six days before Sylus's birthday, but you can't plan anything because of the interference of a birthday boy himself.
Characters: Sylus x Non-MC!reader
Warnings: fluff
A/N: this was supposed to be a part two of another fic, buuuut Sylus had other ideas haha.
It was six days before Sylus’s birthday, and you really needed to lock in and plan the actual day.
You had been so busy tending to that tiny garden all year that it had completely slipped your mind to make plans for the birthday itself. But now, when it actually mattered, you couldn’t get a single thing done.
Because the birthday boy (who had been suspiciously well-behaved all year) had apparently decided that good behavior was overrated.
Ever since you showed him the fruits of your labor, he just couldn’t leave you alone. He followed you around like a shadow, seizing every possible opportunity to be close to you.
Yesterday night?
He had practically forced his way into the shower with you. (Not that you were really against it.)
But to your surprise, nothing happened. Well… nothing you had expected.
Instead, he had gently tilted your head back, carefully working shampoo through your hair, fingers slow and deliberate as he massaged your scalp. You had almost melted right there under his touch. And even while rinsing your hair, he had stayed impossibly close, chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapped around your waist like he was afraid you might slip away.
When you had tried to step out first, he had simply clicked his tongue and pulled you back under the water for five more minutes.
Afterward, he had dried your hair with surprising patience, occasionally pausing just to run his fingers through it again, like he couldn’t help himself.
Then he had tucked you into bed. Actually tucked you in. And only slipped away to deal with his work once you had already fallen asleep.
And now?
Now it was morning. Your time to start the day, his time to go to bed. And you found yourself completely trapped in his arms.
“Sylus,” you murmured softly. “I really need to get up.”
His response was immediate. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer against his chest. You could’ve sworn one of your ribs protested under the pressure.
“No, you don’t,” he mumbled into your neck, voice rough with sleep. “You’ve worked hard all year. Now you rest.”
You huffed, though there was no real annoyance behind it.
“I’ve slept the whole night. I don’t need more rest…”
He pulled back just enough to look at you. And then he gave you the most devastating pair of sad puppy eyes you had ever seen.
“Well, I do,” he said, voice quieter now.
Before you could react, he threw one leg over your hip, effectively pinning you in place.
You stared at him, unimpressed.
“Sleep then,” you said. “I’m busy.”
You tried to shift out of his hold.
Big mistake.
His leg pressed down harder, anchoring you. A low, warning sound rumbled in his chest. Not quite a growl, but also not quite anything human.
“I need to plan your birthday,” you insisted. “It’s in six days.”
“It’s six days away,” he countered lazily.
“It’s only six days away!” you shot back. “That’s not a lot of time!”
“Sweetie,” he exhaled, nuzzling into your neck again, voice muffled, “with my money, you could throw a grand celebration in under an hour.”
You opened your mouth to argue and then suddenly the world shifted.
He rolled onto his back in one smooth motion, dragging you with him, positioning you on top of his chest. Before you could even process it, his form shifted.
Scales appeared on his face, his wings unfurled just enough to wrap around you, cocooning you in a dark, warm shelter. His tail slid around your waist, tightening just enough to keep you firmly in place.
“Got you.”
You stared down at him, caught somewhere between exasperation and fondness.
“I cannot decide if I want to slap you or kiss you,” you muttered.
“Both are acceptable,” he replied immediately.
You sighed, giving up for the moment. Arguing clearly wasn’t going to get you anywhere. So instead, you shifted slightly, settling more comfortably on top of him. His tail flicked once in response, tightening just a little more. You raised a hand and scratched lightly under his chin.
“What, big bad boss missed me so much that he…”
The words died in your throat.
A low, deep sound filled the air.
You froze.
It took you a second to realize what you were hearing.
Purring.
You slowly looked down at him.
His eyes were half-lidded now, pupils blown wide, lips slightly parted. A faint flush had spread across his face, and his grip on you had softened.
You stared.
“…Sylus.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, his fingers curled against your back.
Pressed.
Released.
Pressed again.
Slow. Rhythmic.
Your eyes widened.
“Are you… kneading me?”
The purring cut off instantly. His eyes snapped open, sharp and narrowed.
“No.”
You raised a brow.
“Absolutely not.”
You hummed thoughtfully and very deliberately dragged your fingers along the underside of his jaw again, scratching lightly along the sensitive line of scales.
The reaction was immediate. The purring came back, louder this time, vibrating through his chest and into your body. His fingers resumed their movement, pressing into your back more insistently now, like he couldn’t stop himself.
“Oh my god,” you whispered, delighted. “You are kneading me.”
“No, I’m not…”
Another scratch.
His eyes fluttered shut. The kneading got stronger.
“…I’m not,” he repeated weakly.
You bit your lip, trying not to laugh.
“Oh, this is priceless.”
His tail flicked sharply, then wrapped tighter around your waist in retaliation.
“Careful,” he muttered, though his voice lacked any real threat. “I can stop.”
“You won’t,” you said sweetly, scratching just behind his ear this time.
He inhaled sharply. The purring deepened.
“Are you sure you’re a dragon?” you teased. “Not a very large, very spoiled kitten?”
His eyes cracked open, narrowing at you. But instead of snapping back, he did something worse. He leaned into your touch. Slowly. Deliberately. Then, very pointedly, he bumped his head against your hand.
Once.
Twice.
You froze.
“…Did you just nudge me?”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t.”
You laughed softly, unable to stop yourself, and this time ran your fingers more confidently through his hair, scratching along his scalp.
His entire body relaxed beneath you.
His wings shifted, curling tighter around you. His tail swayed lazily now, no longer restraining. Just there.
He blinked at you slowly.
Once.
Twice.
You tilted your head.
“…Did you just slow blink at me?”
Silence.
He did it again.
Your heart melted.
“Oh, you’re impossible,” you murmured, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his lips.
He hummed softly against you, clearly pleased, one hand sliding up your back to pull you closer.
“Stay,” he said quietly this time.
Not demanding. Not teasing. Just… soft.
You hesitated. Then sighed, giving in, resting your head against his chest.
“…Fine. Five minutes.”
His tail flicked in satisfaction.
“An hour.”
“Ten minutes.”
“Two.”
You lifted your head to glare at him. He smirked. And then, without warning, he buried his face in your neck again, purring louder, kneading resuming like he had decided negotiations were over.
you introduce a gold star system to sylus. needless to say, things get chaotic very quickly!
sylus didn't notice anything different until there was a solid collection of gold stars on his fridge.
he thought it was amusing. was this some kind of reward system? you hadn't said anything on the matter, and as long as the stars kept growing, he would let you do as you wished.
he started keeping track of it. anytime he complimented you, or gave you a new gun, or took over a chore, there it was. a new gold star to his ever growing stack.
he was proud. even though it went unspoken between you both, he was clearly doing something good.
but then, disaster struck.
suddenly, one star was gone. then two, then three, until a good chunk was missing.
and all sylus could do was panic.
had he done something wrong? were you upset with him? did he do something you didn't like without knowing?
he had to investigate.
he was extra careful with you the following days, quiet where he would usually tease, gentle where he would usually let his strength get the best of him.
and oh, were you laughing about it when you were out of his sight.
when no new gold stars were added to his list, he was getting desperate. buying everything he laid his eyes on that reminded him of you, presenting you with bouquet after bouquet when you came home from work, cleaning the base from floor to ceiling..
and still, there was no new stars.
he caved, finally. pulled you into a tight hug and buried his face into your neck, as if that would grant him your mercy.
"i'm sorry," he breathed, rubbing his cheek against you, "i'll make it up to you. do you want a new gun? a car? do you want to go on a date? i'll do anything, just-"
"just what, sy?" keeping your composure had never been harder than when he looked at you, red eyes wide.
".. just give me my gold stars back."
and he sounded so sad, so scared that he had lost your favor, that you couldn't help but burst out laughing, kissing his cheek.
"alright, i'll give them back." when he still didn't look happy, you squeezed his cheeks gently, "i'll even give you ten more, since you've been such a good boy."
the twins couldn't help noticing how bright their boss was that day.
(and frankly, sylus, the twins and mephisto were more well behaved when you started offering prizes along with your gold stars.)
summary: in which you (jokingly) tell the lads boys that they're not your type.
ft. xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus & caleb
notes: established relationship (!!!!) for all of them bc it felt a little angsty to do it pre-relationship LOL, xavier is a little cutie, zayne is cocky, raf is strange, sylus is reader enabler no. 1, caleb is also...strange. no explicit mentions of gender!!! only tiiiiny suggestive mentions in sylus's texts (i need him can you tell), that's it (i think) ^^
p.s. any and all grammar or spelling mistakes are not my fault...i literally just work here...reader/mc is a taaaad bit mean but that's the nature of the prank i swear...these are all very silly and loving relationships...this is also based on a req by @wildest-dreams-at-midnight I HOPE YOU LIKE IT SNOWWWWWW ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊ thanks for always being #thegoat
a/n: i actually had to try to make AND post this smau three (3) separate times because my power went out three (3) separate times so that is sooooo fun !!!! (spare me i can't make it a fourth i'm terrified as i write this...)(not rlly but yk)(anyway) ty for reading (- -)(_ _)
gimme context!! reader is being petty over a prank/argument they had with the guys
gigi says i haven't posted on tumblr in a while so if you recognise this from my tiktok....no you don't
tag you're it fem reader, all LI, mentions of death in Sylus's but it's not serious, super duper short fluff/humour kinda
xavier ⟢ 沈星回
“Are you sure you’re not mad at me?” Xavier asks, standing behind you, fidgeting his fingers like a child getting scolded, “Nope not at all”
A blatant lie, considering you’re scrubbing a pot in the sink with more strength than needed, you’re still seething from his comment about how many beef slices you ate at hotpot. Since the words exited his mouth, you’ve been as silent as a mouse, even avoiding eye contact, to really get the point across
Xavier apologised, but he was still worried, so he’s been asking all day how you’ve been feeling. Hearing you finally say you’re fine xavier sighs with relief and reaches out, tilting your head toward him, and gives the crown of your head a soft kiss
“I love you”, he mumbles into your hair
“Good for you”
He pulls back, realising you’re still holding on to your attitude, his pout finds home on his lips again for the rest of the night
zayne ⟢ 黎深
You’ve hit Zayne’s feet for the fourth time while vacuuming, except he wasn’t sitting on the couch anymore, you were purposefully chasing him around the house with the machine
It wasn’t for no reason, last night you put a fresh box of macarons in the fridge for your favourite show's season three release today. But when you came home from work, a thief stole all of them and dared to leave the box in the fridge, the thief in question played confused as to how it went missing when you confronted him, leaving a sour expression on your face and a stinking attitude for the day
“Excuse me” Zayne was standing by the kitchen counter, sipping on a hot beverage, when his feet got run over again. At this point, he’s thinking of finding an attorney for his feet to sue for disfigurement
He quietly sighs, setting the mug down and faces you “If I confess, will you stop targeting me?”
“Confess to what?”
Zayne shuts his eyes and sighs for a second before opening them and confessing his sins
“I ate them, I apologise, it was a moment of weakness, and it won’t happen again” his eyes show he truly is remorseful for ruining your plans for tonight
“Received” You end the conversation and continue putting your anger into the vacuum, walking away from him
Zayne sighs and walks away, gathering some pillows and a blanket from a cabinet. Hopefully, the couch isn’t too hard on his back like last time
rafayel ⟢ 祁煜
“Cutie, you have to believe me, it attacked me first! I was defending myself!” Rafayel has been pleading his case for ten minutes now, his dramatic gestures trying to help his story
You walked into your apartment, exhausted from a long day of saving pedestrians that have the spatial awareness of a three-year-old, only to find Rafayel drowning your recently collected cat plushie, you’ve been dodging and weaving his affection since
“Cuutiieee, c’moonn are you really going to avoid your handsome, perfect boyfriend for some plushie?” Rafayel is sitting on the couch next to you while you're scrolling through your TV subscriptions, trying to find a movie to watch
“Cuuutiiiee”, he pokes your arm
No reaction. He pokes twice. Nothing. Pokes again. Nada
“C’moonn don’t be angry”
“I’m not angry”, you reply
Rafayel internally swoons over hearing your voice after what felt like five years, “Really? Are you sure?” he asks again
You nod silently, your focus still on the TV
Rafayel perks up and leans over to kiss your cheek, but his lips reach nothing because you dodge it, reclining your head back like Floyd Mayweather dodging a punch. He slowly turned his head towards you, his lips still puckered up, stunned by your relentless attitude, but also impressed with your dramatics, starting to become on par with his
That realisation makes him cringe at the countless apologies it takes from you for him to go back to normal after a petty argument. Rafayel stands up, walks into the bedroom and after a few minutes comes out in a different outfit with his wallet and phone in hand
“Was it Dior or the Coach bag you wanted?”
sylus ⟢ 秦彻
Recently, you’ve been stressed by all the recent events in your life
That pedestrian who yelled at you for not letting him get hit by a car, getting cut in line at a cafe and your lovely boyfriend playing a silly little prank on you that convinced you he died
You were lying on your couch already dreading tomorrow’s work, contemplating quitting your job, when you got called by a number you didn’t recognise, you picked up, and the words on the other side made your heart stop
Sylus was pronounced deceased at 4:11 PM; the cause of death was still being investigated
Your body suddenly had the energy of an Olympic player. You don’t remember how you got to the N109 zone, but before you knew it, you were running into the base’s living room with tears streaming down your face, your heart that previously nearly died by mere words was pounding out of your chest
You were breathing rapidly when you saw Sylus sitting on the couch leisurely, your stride halted, and you stared at him like you saw a ghost, which he technically was to you
He chuckled and said it was a prank the twins thought of, and he was bored, so he called someone to call you and tell you he died, at first you were relieved, wiping your tears and laughing along, but then the situation sank in, and you remembered how dishevelled you were, and now he might as well be dead because you won’t acknowledge him
“Sweetie, are you still angry at me?” you were stirring a pot in his kitchen with sylus standing next to you, you refused to eat what his chef made deciding he doesn’t deserve your company at dinner but your stomach growling told you that you can’t keep this up forever so now it’s 10 PM and you’re making a meal for one.
“Kitten, my patience has its limit”
“As does mine”
You transfer the food into a bowl and walk towards the dining room, reverting to acting like he was a ghost again
He chuckled, entertained by this stunt of yours, but his amusement died when he was sitting in bed an hour later, waiting for you
He slipped out of bed and walked out of the room to see you walking into another room, sparing a glance at him before closing the door. He smirked and walked over, but the handle was stuck
“Sweetie” he said knocking on the door
“Goodnight Sylus!”
caleb ⟢ 夏以昼
Spoiled doesn’t even begin to describe how pampered you are by Caleb
Is your bathroom drain clogging up? Caleb can clear it! TV isn’t connecting to the wifi? Caleb knows how to do it! Your shoelaces have a tight knot on the string that you can’t undo? Caleb can undo it in five minutes
Your phone call history has Caleb's name appear 3x more than anyone else’s. He’s your version of a genie, call Caleb and your wish comes true
But recently, you got into a stupid argument about how he treats you like a child. He argued that you act like one, which had you so offended that you blocked his number and have been raw dogging life for the last 2 days, which has you wondering… was it always this hard?
You convinced yourself it wasn’t hard without him, but when you knocked over your glass flower vase, you instinctively called for Caleb to help clean it up, but only silence replied to you. You groaned, remembering why he isn’t there, and tiptoed around it to grab a broom
When you were at work, you were drowning in paperwork to complete from the recent wanderer attacks. You picked up your phone to rant to Caleb about how tiring it is, but your finger hovered over messages, remembering you blocked him. You put the phone down and dramatically sighed
Coming home, you were starving, so you opened your fridge looking for something to eat and sighed seeing ingredients looking back at you. You were way too tired to cook
“Caleb would make me something...” you say sadly, reaching out for the bread, settling on toast for dinner
“Yeah, I would”, you jump at the voice and quickly turn to see Caleb leaning over the kitchen counter, flashing a boyish grin at you
You started to melt at his smile when you remembered his words and fixed your face to make it stoic, “Get out of my house”
His smile drops, and he blinks, confused, “What?”
You pull out your phone and dial a number, but it only takes three presses before it starts ringing
HEYYY can i please request LADS men when you sleep on the couch after a heated argument
LaDS men when you sleep on the couch after an argument
pairings: LaDS men x Reader(separate)
content: hurt/comfort, arguments
a/n: these are so long idk what possessed me
Xavier
You tried to just keep it a casual conversation, bringing up how you still felt like he was keeping things from you at times, like he still didn’t trust you with everything after you two have been together for so long but with how he kept his answers short and clipped, his expression as cool as always, trying to change the topic, things started to get more heated.
You didn’t like how he was brushing you off again.
“See this is exactly what I’m talking about, Xavier.”
His lack of response was really getting to you.
He stays expressionless, you keep saying things trying to get a reaction out of him but he doesn’t falter.
On the inside, he feels regret and seeing you angry at him upsets him, too.
“Fine. Whatever, be that way.”
He doesn’t feel relieved when you walk out of the bedroom, but he just doesn’t know what to say to make you feel better.
He follows after you, going into the bedroom, he freezes when he sees you grab the sheets and your pillow.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m sleeping on the couch, Xavier.”
You try to slip past him but he doesn’t let you,
“No, you’re not.”
You stare up at him and seeing the usual affection replaced with anger hurts him.
“Please, don’t.”
“I’m mad, Xavier. I don’t want to sleep with you tonight.”
The tremble in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed,
“I can’t sleep without you next to me. And I know you feel the same way.”
You try leaving again but he just won’t let you,
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to see you right now.”
You notice the hurt in his eyes and you feel kinda bad but you can’t back down now, right?
He nods but still doesn’t step aside,
“I’ll sleep on the couch then. You take the bed.”
Your shoulders slump, seeing as he resembles a sad bunny.
“Fine.”
You say and turn around, trying not to let this feeling get to you. You put your things back on the bed and hear him leave the room.
Confusion overtakes your features, why didn’t he take his stuff? You wait a minute and walk out after him, after some hesitation.
As you quietly go back into living room, you see him lying on the couch, no blanket, no pillow, eyes closed.
“Xavier, go get your things. You’ll catch a cold.”
He doesn’t open his eyes as he speaks again,
“It’s what I deserve. I upset you.”
Your mouth falls open at that, the ridiculousness of his behaviour almost makes you break out into a laugh. Almost.
“Xavier, even if I’m mad at you, I don’t want you to be cold and uncomfortable the whole night.”
He cracks one eye open, looking at you.
“But I want to be cold and uncomfortable for making you mad.”
You sigh, trying to fight the smile that’s making its way onto your face,
“You’re unbelievable.”
He’s looking at you with both eyes now, noticing the tension dissipate. Xavier props himself up,
“I’m sorry.”
You know he got you once you walk over and sit down on the couch next to him,
“I know.”
Reaching out with your hands to brush through his hair,
“And you know that I’ll forgive you once I wake up.”
He leans into your touch, testing the waters by lying his head in your lap.
“Thank you. But please don’t make sleep without you. I won’t intrude on your space, I just need to know that you’re still here.”
Scratching his scalp a defeated groan leaves your mouth,
“Go into the bedroom. I’ll be right there.”
His lips curl upwards, he begrudgingly lifts his head off your lap. He lingers, not getting up from the couch yet. You can guess why and knowing he needs the comfort just as much as you do, after everything that was said, you lean over and press a soft kiss to his forehead. A relieved hum forms in the back of his throat.
He then gets up, not trying to push his luck.
Xavier knows your feelings are valid and he would never want you to feel like they aren’t.
He doesn’t always handle things the right way but nothings more important to him than making it up to you. He’ll fix this, he’ll show you how much he truly trusts you.
Rafayel
You didn’t mean to leave him waiting, again.
Wondering where you are, if you’re okay and why you weren’t answering your phone.
This morning, you texted him, letting him know about today’s mission.
An emergency, there wasn’t much time and you had to get going now. You promised to come see him and call once you were back.
Rafayel kept himself busy all day, he noticed how you didn’t read his text, telling you to stay safe.
You also didn’t read any of his follow up texts and as the hours passed and there was still no answer from you, he started to feel anxious.
It was getting late, the sun setting soon.
He tried to call you and when it went straight to voicemail, he couldn’t help the concern clawing at him.
You should be done by now. You said you’d call him, once you were back. So, what was wrong?
-
It was dark out now, you had finally wrapped everything up.
Your phone had died in the middle of the mission, as soon as you had gotten back to the HQ you left it to charge.
You knew Rafayel was probably worried but you had texted him this morning, it shouldn’t be too bad. Or so you hoped.
Bidding your farewells to your coworkers, you left the association’s building, finally turning your phone back on.
The wall of missed calls and messages from Rafayel didn’t help your conflicted heart.
You tried to call him back, he wasn’t picking up.
You tried once, twice, it just kept ringing and ringing.
As you finally arrived at his art studio, you noticed the gate was closed.
Confused, you unlocked it and walked to the door.
You were thinking of how to apologise him, you didn’t mean to leave him hanging all day but it’s not like you did it on purpose.
Walking into his home, you saw him painting in the living room, back turned to the door.
“Hey, I’m back.”
You said quietly, placing your keys on the table, waiting for a reaction from your boyfriend.
You expected him to pout, whine, be upset but you were surprised, when… nothing came.
No reaction, he didn’t even turn around.
You approached him slowly, not knowing what to do.
“I’m sorry, Rafayel. My phone died and the mission turned out to be more difficult than expected. I left as soon as I got to the association.”
Usually, he’d be talking to Reddie now, acknowledging your presence in some way or another, making sure you know he was upset.
But still, nothing.
He just kept painting.
No hum, no change in his movements, no looking over.
You sighed, you knew you messed up but the least he could do was talk to you about it.
“Look, I know I should’ve been more careful, made sure my phone was charged or given you more details. I didn’t know, though. So, can we please just-“
“Just what?”
The first time he spoke since you’ve arrived and he still wasn’t looking at you.
“What do you expect me to do now? Throw myself into your arms, crying?”
You were taken aback by his tone,
“No, I didn’t mean-“
He cut in again, voice steady, words sharp,
“This isn’t the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. Am I supposed to lose my mind everytime you pull something like this? It’s not like you keep your word, anyway.”
The accusation hung heavy in the air and you were trying to deal with this as sensibly as possible but he was making this increasingly more difficult.
“Rafayel, you know how my job is. I’d never ignore you on purpose. I kept you waiting and I’m sorry, I really am. But sometimes, there just isn’t anything I can do.”
A scoff escaped him and you could feel a headache forming. You were expecting him to follow up, come up with a retort, tell you how disappointed he was but he just went silent again.
You felt tired, your eyelids heavy and you simply didn’t have the emotional maturity to deal with this appropriately right now.
You went to get changed, as you were leaving the room, you heard him mumble something under his breath,
“As expected.”
You halted, standing still for a moment before turning back around,
“What was that? If you have something to say, speak up.”
You crossed your arms and he finally looked up at you, gaze completely void of emotion.
“Not like you care, anyway.”
Your eye twitched at that,
“I understand if you’re upset but if you’re not willing to talk to me like an adult, I can’t help you. If you want to act like a child, be my guest.”
An ironic laugh left him at that and his eyes went back to his painting,
“Im the one acting like a child?”
“I don’t have the energy to deal with this right now, Rafayel. I have to do my job, grow up.”
You spun around on your heel to actually leave the room this time, when you heard rustling behind you, he was getting up.
He grumbled under his breath again,
“Didn’t know being a hunter meant you have to ghost your boyfriend.”
You clenched your teeth at his condescending comment but decided to not dignify him with a response.
You quickly walked into your shared bedroom, changing into your PJs.
Finally catching a glimpse of yourself for the first time today, you looked rough.
Thinking about how Rafayel still treated you so harshly, after seeing the state you were in.
Impulsively, you grabbed your pillow and your blanket and stormed into the living room.
He wasn’t there anymore, probably having gone to the bathroom to get ready for bed as well.
You settled down on the couch, you knew you were acting petty but you just didn’t want to put up with his attitude tonight.
You laid on your side, back turned to the room, when you heard the bathroom door open.
Rafayel’s steps were loud, you could feel his eyes on you as he came to a stop. The urge to turn heavy but you refused to budge.
He inhaled sharply, you could hear him mumble something under his breath again but couldn’t make out what he was saying, even if you could’ve, you were done arguing.
When you still didn’t hear him move, you turned around, seeing him standing in the middle of the room.
He looked hurt, making eye contact with you but not saying anything else.
He turned around, walking into the bedroom.
You heard the door click shut and a feeling of hurt settled into your chest.
You laid awake for a while, tossing and turning, regret seeping in, you didn’t want to fight with him like this.
Soon, sleep found you.
Eyes falling shut, mind still stuck on the interaction with your boyfriend.
-
Your eyes fluttered open, taking in the darkness.
You wanted to rub your eyes, when you felt your left hand being engulfed by something warm and heavy.
As you looked over, you immediately noticed the mop of purple hair being on eye level with you.
The scene in front of you made a lump form in your throat;
Rafayel was sitting on the floor, one hand holding onto yours, face resting again the couch.
His long legs were crossed and his posture was atrocious, you knew he’d wake up sore like this.
Him setting his pride aside, seeking you out in your sleep, made your heart race, even after how he was acting earlier.
You knew he was trying to hurt you both in an attempt to put his walls back up, he was scared for you.
There was nothing he feared more than losing you, you disappearing again. He didn’t want to wake up one day, finding out you were gone.
And you admittedly weren’t always making it easy for him.
Your other hand reached out and ruffled his hair,
“You idiot…”
You got up to the best of your ability, with him still gripping your wrist, sitting down next to him.
You managed to wrap him up in the blanket as well as you could, pressing your head into his shoulder.
You two would make amends once he woke up.
You couldn’t help but press a chaste kiss to his cheek.
Zayne
You’ve been buried in work lately, barely having time for yourself. No time to cook meals, so you’ve been relying on take out. Coming home so late from work makes you feel like you’re not making the most of your day, so in turn you stay up late, watching shows, playing games, trying to keep up with your boyfriend’s schedule.
Zayne has been trying to be lenient, he doesn’t want to tell you what to do and what not to do but he could see how your unhealthy habits have been getting worse and how it’s wearing down your condition.
Once he brings it up, he’s objective, neutral, speaking as your doctor, not your boyfriend.
When you try to reason with him and explain how those little acts may be unhealthy but they’re the only comfort you have in the midst of so much work.
You promise him, these habits aren’t here to stay and once you have enough breathing room again, you’ll go back to doing all those things he puts so much emphasis on.
He’s unimpressed, urging you to rethink. You know it comes from a place of concern, he’s telling you these things out of love but it simply feels so belittling.
You’ve been so overwhelmed and he’s seen firsthand how badly you need some understanding more than you need health advice.
Seeing how he doesn’t back down, you start to feel irritated. He refuses to see things from your perspective and you refuse to back down now.
The argument spirals as you call him out on not being much better,
“Overworked? Bold coming from you.”
His voice is steady and his words are harsh as he doesn’t pay much attention to your feelings,
“Yet I still make sure to get my nutrients. I also don’t spend my free time rotting away in front of a screen. You barely go outside during your time off.”
Zayne notices the hurt on your face a little too late,
“You’re my boyfriend before you’re my physician, Zayne. Act like it.”
His brows furrow at that, not responding.
He leaves the room before this could escalate any further, telling you to calm down first, which naturally sets you off even more.
You weren’t done with this conversation but realising he won’t continue you this, you decide to back off.
You’re mad at him and you’re going to show him.
While he’s in the bathroom, you grab your things from the bedroom and bring them over to the couch.
After he’s done getting ready for bed, he walks out and sees you sprawled out on the couch, cuddled up with your pillow, clinging onto it, the way you usually would to him.
He lets out a sigh, he can’t see your face, but that sound aggravated you even more.
Zayne sits down next to you, you don’t look at him.
“Do we have to do this?”
You don’t answer, he stills for a moment before getting back up.
Your lips tremble, seeing how quickly he gave up but to your surprise he comes back with his own blanket and pillow in hand.
“It’s going to get cramped. But I don’t mind, if you insist on sleeping here.”
“Zayne, I wanna sleep alone.”
He shakes his head, putting his things down next to yours.
“We might’ve disagreed but I don’t want the day to end like this. If you don’t want to talk to me right now, that’s fine. But don’t push me away, please.”
You stay silent at first, not knowing what to say.
Your heart feels a little warmer,
“Almost forgot you can be thoughtful, after all.”
He chuckles at your snarky comment, showing he’s not irritated.
You push your pillow lower, making your eyes visible to him.
Your eyebrows are still furrowed but he can tell your gaze softened.
You turned away and scooted over, making some space for him.
He took the hint and laid down next to you.
You’re lying in the dark, breathing slowly, starting to miss your boyfriend even tho he’s right next to you.
It’s not like you enjoyed fighting with him, especially with how apathetic he could be when he thought he was right.
You knew he didn’t say any of those things with malice, he was worried and that was his way of expressing it.
Unable to sleep due to the emotional and slight physical distance to your boyfriend, the thoughts running through your mind and the tiny couch you were sharing with your freakishly tall partner, you opened your eyes again.
“Zayne?”
You whispered, being quiet in case he had already fallen asleep.
He hummed in response and you shimmied back a bit, wanting to feel him,
“I don’t want to fight anymore…”
He shuffled, wrapping one arm around your waist loosely, not wanting to overstep,
“I’m glad. Me neither.”
His voice was low, not disturbing the quiet.
“Do you think we could go back to the bedroom?”
You heard him exhale a laugh,
“If you’d like to.”
You nodded, still not turning around.
Before you could say anything else, Zayne spoke up again,
“I’m sorry. I overstepped earlier. I have no right to tell you what to do. However, I only want the best for you, even though I might not be the best at expressing that at times.”
You turned around, looking up at him in the dark, and he was still able to make out your features,
“I’m sorry, too. I wasn’t willing to hear you out at all.”
“The same goes for me. I wasn’t offering solutions, I was just lecturing you.”
Leaning your head against his chest, you snuggled closer,
“Honestly, you had some valid points. I should spend more time with you whenever I finally have some free time.”
Zayne cradled your head,
“Don’t feel forced to. I just think I could make you food whenever you home, you don’t have to get junk food. In hindsight, there’s nothing wrong with indulging once in a while.”
You nodded,
“Yeah, sounds like a good plan.”
The two of you basked in each other’s presence like this for a little while longer, before Zayne dragged you back to bed.
His main priority is looking after you, his love for you is unrivalled but he’s still new to all of this, he’s trying.
Caleb
You and Caleb rarely fought.
Ever since you were younger, Caleb was always willing to bend to your whims.
He’d always back down and let you have your way.
Whether it’d be about who got to go first in a game, who got to sit in the passenger seat of the car or who had to clean up after playtime.
The older you two got, the more serious your fights became at times but Caleb would still back down, wait for you to let your anger out at him.
Obviously, whenever he could, he’d try to mediate.
He never wanted to fight with you, it was the worst.
There was this irrational fear in his mind, that whenever you were mad at him, you’d leave, hating him, never wanting to see him again.
He knew it was stupid, unrealistic but he much preferred your loud anger, yelling at him, staring him in the face, not turning away and ignoring him.
It was the same reason he’s never truly been angry at you.
Yeah, he’s been irritated because of careless things you’ve done but that comes from a place of concern.
He loves you too much, feels too much for you to ever show his anger, however that doesn’t mean the mask doesn’t slip sometimes.
Still, he wouldn’t keep arguments going.
He’d serve as an outlet for your anger, he’d let you get everything off your chest and whenever he wanted to bring something up that bothered him, he’d do it in a way you wouldn’t notice his true feelings.
So, whenever it did come to an argument, you knew it was serious to him. But you simply weren’t used to having him not agree with you, especially because you knew you were in the right about this.
Well, so you’d say, if you could recall what “this” was.
You don’t even remember what the fight was about, you two have just been spiralling from one thing to the other for a while now. The tension was starting to become unbearable.
Especially because Caleb was doing what he’s always done, taking whatever you throw at him and just accepting it.
He’s willing to be the bad guy in your eyes, as long as it meant keeping you safe.
And you were starting to grow sick of it.
Caleb would never raise his voice at you, he’d never intentionally do anything that could hurt you, whether it be emotionally or physically.
A stark contrast to how you’ve been shouting at him for the past 20 minutes.
Everything was so different now, it was like you were both speaking a different language. Not like when you two were kids, not when it felt like it was you and him against the world.
You didn’t want him to just stand there and take it while standing his ground, insisting he knew better than you.
It was starting to drive you crazy, so the next thing you knew, was you angrily stomping out of the room.
Caleb stood in the living room, unmoving.
Replaying the argument in his mind, trying to think of where he went wrong.
As he was standing there, starting to wallow in self pity, you returned.
He was thinking of how to solve the situation, when he noticed the blanket and pillow you were holding.
You waltzed straight past him, plopping down on the couch, fluffing up your pillow in silence.
“Pipsqueak, c’mon.”
Not looking at him, still preparing your newly decided sleeping spot, you answer,
“We’ll talk in the morning. I don’t wanna be near you right now.”
His eyes widened slightly, moving towards you but keeping his distance, as to not set you off more.
“I understand that but I don’t want you to go to sleep upset.”
At that, you paused for a moment, fingers hovering over the pillow you were still adjusting, before you collected yourself and went to busy your hands again,
“It’s a little late for that.”
You heard a thud near you and you quickly looked up, worried.
You saw Caleb on his knees in front you, head hanging low,
“I’m sorry. You’re rightfully upset but please, let me fix this.”
You sighed, lying down.
“Caleb, go to sleep. We’re not doing this right now.”
Once he looked up at you, you felt your resolve waver. Just why did he have to resemble a kicked puppy so much?
You turned around, not letting your wet dog of a boyfriend get to you.
“Okay, I love you. Sleep well.”
He said but he got up really slowly, hoping you’d change your mind after all.
He went into your shared bedroom, leaving the door open behind him.
Caleb tried to sleep, he really did but he’s been laying awake for the past two hours.
It felt wrong to sleep without you in his arms. The right side of the bed shouldn’t be cold; you shouldn’t be away from him, especially after such a long time apart.
He didn’t want you to be mad at him, he didn’t even want to fight with you but you were just so stubborn.
Why couldn’t you just see he was trying to protect you?
He stopped his train of thought, knowing it was just putting him in a worse mood.
Surely, you were asleep by now, right?
And you’ll have cooled off by the time you woke up.
So, you definitely wouldn’t blame him if he joined you on the couch, would you? He just missed you so much, he couldn’t sleep without you.
He quietly walked into the living room, not wanting to wake you up.
When he saw you there, lying all by yourself, he felt something in his chest tighten.
It made him feel like he was a little boy again, like you were right here but so far out of his reach.
So, fragile and vulnerable, like if he touched you, you’d break, disappear.
He was pulled out of his thoughts, when you mumbled quietly in your sleep,
“…caleb, don’t..”
He couldn’t make out what else you were saying, but you were thinking like him, even in your sleep.
He never wanted you to go to sleep upset.
He slid in under the covers with you, wrapping his arms around you.
He couldn’t stand being away from you too long, he needed to make sure you were real, that you were with him.
And with that thought, he finally managed to drift off to sleep.
Sylus
This was the angriest you had ever been at Sylus.
He prided himself on being a man of his word, keeping all his promises, especially the ones he made to you.
So, when he showed up again after 4 days, you were making sure he knew how mad you were.
He had promised you, he wouldn’t repeat what happened with Tulla Island.
He wouldn’t disappear without saying anything, he wouldn’t leave you wondering whether he was dead or alive, but that’s exactly what he did.
He send you a cryptic message the morning of, not answering when you tried to figure out what he meant.
Mephisto was still around, but he was no help either.
So, when you decided to pull up to the base 2 days in, having Luke and Kieran explain to you, that your boyfriend had to leave on urgent business that they couldn’t elaborate on, you felt many things at once.
You’d been seething until he showed back up, acting like nothing happened.
“You promised, Sylus.”
He was sitting, while you were pacing around the bedroom, anger evident in your voice.
“This time was different. I didn’t leave without a trace. You ended up asking the twins, no?”
You stopped in your tracks, looking at him in outrage,
“And they were no help at all! I didn’t know where you were, I didn’t know what you were up to, actually, I still don’t know!”
He was trying to be understand and pragmatically approach the situation but you weren’t putting up with this.
“Sylus, you’re not listening to me at all. How many more times are you planning on pulling something like this?“
He raised a brow at you, having a hard time hiding his amusement, you thought he was mocking you, when in reality he felt relieved to know you cared about him so much,
“This isn’t much different from you leaving for your missions. You don’t tell me where you’re going, either.”
You crossed your arms,
“You can’t be serious. You can utilise your stupid resources and figure out where I am, you find a way everytime. It’s either Mephie showing up or you! How is that fair?”
He propped his chin up on his palm, looking at you with hooded eyes,
“Those resources are open to you, too, sweetie. What’s mine is yours. Besides, don’t you know the saying? Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Maybe you weren’t trying hard enough.”
You couldn’t deal with his sarcasm, not when you’d been worried for the past four days, wondering if he was alright, whether this was his way of disappearing out of your life after all, still feeling the anxiety you had the last time this happened.
The smugness on his face was just pissing you off more.
“Can’t you be considerate of my feelings for once? Is it fun to you to see me suffer like this? Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you.”
You knew you didn’t mean any of the things you just said, he knew you didn’t mean any of it, he was always bending over backwards to accommodate you.
His love for you was unconditional and whenever he kept you in the dark, it was for your own sake.
But his usual teasing was just setting you off.
You were getting more animated by the second, the realisation of how you had been feeling for the past few these really settling itself in your mind.
Sylus was just silently watching, not saying anything but seems like that was also not quite the right choice, as his silence irritated you as well.
At some point, Sylus started answering. His patience started to run thin, while it would never run out when it came to you, he didn’t appreciate the tone you were using with him.
He stood up in the middle of your sentence, walking towards the door,
“What, so you’re just going to walk away now?!”
“Yes. Before either of us say something we’ll both regret.”
And with that, he was out of the door.
You watched, dumbfounded.
Your firsts clenched, you felt like he wasn’t taking you seriously.
He was definitely underestimating your level of pettiness.
-
Sylus had left your apartment, thinking of how to make it up to you.
He understood why you felt the way that you did and he never meant to leave you worried but sometimes ignorance was bliss.
Admittedly, his business ended up taking longer than expected.
He originally wanted to be back sooner, before you even knew it but things played out more complicated.
Still, you should know he was essentially undefeated.
There was nothing, that could stop him from coming back home to you.
So, coming back to just to see you hurt like this, because of him, made his heart break.
He also didn’t dislike your angry side, he liked seeing you give into your emotions, showing what you truly thought.
What he didn’t like, was seeing you talk yourself into a spiral without letting him get a word in.
He thought it would be for the best to leave you to cool off, while he tried to get back into your good graces.
Now, what he didn’t expect upon his return into your bedroom, was the emptiness on your side of the bed.
He walked into the living room with quick steps.
And there you were, in all your glory, hogging the entire couch, duvet, comforter, multiple pillows, plushies included.
You were on your phone, paying him no mind.
“What’s the big idea, kitten?”
You just hummed, turning to lay on your stomach, kicking your feet up in the air, tapping away on your phone,
“I’m mad at you, so I’m sleeping here tonight. Good night.”
The laugh he let out vexed you even more, and of course, he noticed that.
“That’s funny, sweetie. Come now, get up.”
When you didn’t move, the corners of his mouth curled up in an entertained smirk.
He walked over to you and stopped right next to the couch, towering over you.
“Don’t make me say it again, kitten.”
You didn’t miss the amused lilt in his voice.
You barely spared him a glance,
“Sylus, I don’t want to sleep in the same place as you tonight. You managed for the past four days, I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it today as well.”
He let out a huff,
“My, that’s too bad.”
You thought that meant, he’d leave you be, so imagine the surprised noise you let out, as he picked you up and tossed you over his shoulder.
“Sylus, you jerk! I’m not joking around with you!”
Sylus tightened his grip on you, as you started thrashing around,
“I know.”
Your escape attempts were futile, he carried you back into the bedroom and dropped you onto your bed,
“You can be mad at me, scream at me but you don’t get to avoid me. That won’t make things right.”
You jutted out your lower lip, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden,
“You don’t get to lecture me right now.”
You rolled over onto his side of the bed and hid under his covers.
The bed dipped, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him but not taking the blanket off your head,
“You’re right. But I don’t want the love of my life to feel even more alone than they already have for the past four days.”
You slowly lifted the blanket off your face, not looking up at him,
“Allow me to mend things between us.”
You scoffed,
“There’s nothing broken…”
“Then, let me show you just how much I adore you.”
─ ❧ READ WITH CARE: mdni, Sylus under the influence of his Aether Core, power play, power struggle (obviously they are both stubborn), begging, cum play, multiple rounds, manhandling, reader is being carried around, Evol play, energy manipulation as a stimuli, marking, minor hunter / prey, slightly filthy language, finger sucking, spit, overstimulation, Sylus can be a bit pushy / needy at times but you gave consent, almost squirting, pet names (sweetie, kitten, baby, good girl, sweetheart, little dove, little fool, the list goes on), praise, many different positions, cockwarming, aftercare
─ ❧ WORD COUNT: 17k
─ ❧ LINKS: sylus masterlist | general masterlist | AO3
𖤝 PREMISE: When the Aether Core demands for more than Sylus was ever willing to give, his most beloved treasure walks in on him looking like a lamb ready for the slaughter. Sick with worry for your dearest, you decided to put his wellbeing before all warnings and isolations he imposed upon himself—and therefore you as well. But now you are here, in his hidden lair filled with useless trickets and a bottomless pit of desire flaring brightly. Please, won't you help him feel better?
𖤝 A/N: I was always curious to figure out why exactly MC is THAT wrecked after a night with Sylus. And I guess a whole year of being teased by Infold about those secrets happening behind closed doors, I needed to bring my own interpretation to life...
Love. Devotion. Desire. Lust. Fulfilment. Madness. Sylus no longer bothers separating the words. Whichever one may choose for the feelings plaguing his mind, Sylus is a willing victim. A fool most rejoicing at the hunger his mind succumbs to once his Aether Core needs more than silly little trinkets to prevent it from turning against Sylus himself, and his weakest link.
It all blurs together behind his right eye, which throbs in a slow, merciless rhythm that has nothing to do with reason and everything to do with want. The Aether Core plagues insistently, like an unrelenting presence deep in his skull that gnaws at the seams of his restraint until even discipline begins to feel like a fragile, foolish thing.
He has been trying his hardest to let it hurt, to ignore the pain. But for a man who prides himself on control, Sylus stands motionless in the low light, his body barely covered, spine straight as if firm posture alone might save him. And yet, beneath his skin, something boils harder with every breath he takes, heat blooming where there should be nothing at all.
The darkened room he retired to is immaculate—too immaculate. Still air, drawn curtains, every decoration where it belongs. A sanctuary built for control, though his eye burns even brighter in the dimness. Soft at first, then more intense, like a slow, living being that stains the angle of his cheekbone in crimson.
Remnants of prior attempts to quench its hunger lie abandoned on the table, from fractured stones emptied of their shimmer to useless little things that once held enough energy to satisfy lesser desires. Sylus had consumed them without hesitation, one after another, chasing the dull relief they promised. It lasted seconds. Minutes, maybe, but never long enough.
It can never be enough again. The ache sinks deeper now, no longer content to linger just beneath his skin. It slides inward, wraps around thought and instinct alike, tightening until even breathing feels difficult. His fingers curl slowly at his sides, though not in anger, at least not yet, but in a battle for dominance and restraint—a restraint so sharp it borders on pain because this thing wants what Sylus tries to protect most.
And you are too close. He knows it the moment you step into the room, before you speak, before the door even finishes closing behind your heavenly figure. The Aether Core reacts instantly—flaring in an eager, unmistakably alive sensation. His jaw tightens as the sensation surges through him, a painful swelling of need that has nothing to do with sanctity at all.
Oh no, this hunger has a shape now. A name. A face.
You.
Slowly, Sylus exhales through his nose; it is another measured attempt to stay aware, to remain almost defensive against your worry for him. For once in his life, he even refuses to turn; he cannot afford to look at you. Not when the core strains so openly, so greedily, as though proximity alone is the most unholy relief for greed.
"Don't come any closer," he says at last, attempting to keep a low and even tone for your compassion to ease. A pause follows momentarily, a crack stirred by your scent slowly creeping its way over towards nerves that are far too receptive. Then his voice turns quieter, almost pleading. "I'm serious."
"Sylus," you begin your argumentation, but the man in question refuses with a shake of his head. The glow beneath his eye pulses again, brighter this time, responding to your presence like a heartbeat gone wild. He swallows hard and forces his eyes to flutter shut as the control he is known for across planets slips in places he refuses to name.
His hands have moved over the silken robe that barely manages to keep his body covered. Has the temperature inside the room risen? Everything feels too tight, too small, he needs to…
Sylus flexes his fingers just as they are about to drift over his thighs, almost as if to remind himself they still belong to him. "It wants more than trinkets," he admits while finally turning to face you. His gaze locks onto yours with an intensity you haven't caught before.
He looks distressed, to put it nicely, flushed from the tips of his ears down to his chest, where you can see every heavy drag of air he seems desperate to inhale. "More than consumption." A brittle smile curves at his mouth at that, accompanied by that charming tilt of his head as he studies you. "It wants you."
The confession hangs heavy between you, thick enough to choke on. The core flares in response, heat rippling through him in demanding, relentless waves which are no longer content to be ignored. Sylus feels the true danger then—not the loss of control, but how willingly his body leans toward it. Toward you.
And you, silly little fool, you do not step back. That, perhaps, is what surprises Sylus most.
Though the tough act is becoming more difficult to uphold once you feel the pressure in the air, the heat rolling off him in waves, almost like some entity stirs just beneath the surface of his composure. You don't understand all of it. Not his core, not the depth of its hunger, not the way it pulls at him. But you understand him and the fear that wraps so tightly around want it almost hurts to look at.
"Sylus," you say again, softer this time, as the man in question takes another step closer despite his warning. Your gaze remains unwavering as it lifts to meet his. "You keep telling me to leave, but you're the one closing the distance between us."
Caught red-handed, you see fear flicker across his expression. Though not fear of what he might become, rather fear of how much he already wants to let it happen. "If you stay," he murmurs while taking yet another step despite himself, "you don't get to pretend you don't know what you're offering."
You feel the hunger of the Aether Core, how (im)patiently it waits, watching you through his eye.
"I know," you answer simply, boldly. Perhaps normal Sylus would call it rash. The light beneath his eye burns brightly, straining against its human cage. "And if I fail," Sylus continues, his voice is rougher now, stripped of its polish, "I need you to understand this—" His hand lifts, hovering just shy of your skin, trembling because he still tries to keep it under control. "I won't stop myself from devouring you, little dove."
You remain where you are, close enough for him to feel the warmth of your body, close enough for the Aether Core to know you're not going anywhere. "I won't leave you tonight," you promise with an unwavering gaze.
"Reckless girl," Sylus exhales under his breath, a strained huff that might have been a laugh, turning his tone almost amused. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"
You know deep down that you should be afraid, or at least worried for yourself. Somewhere, reason demands it. But all you feel is that familiar, steady pull between two bodies, two souls of one. "No," you admit softly. "But I'm not leaving."
The Aether Core behind his eye pulses brightly in response, but the relief your presence offers only deepens the hunger beneath. Because now it not only knows what Sylus wants, but worse—it knows it can have it.
Sylus takes a step closer before he realises what he's doing until the space between you collapses. His presence feels oddly heavy and overwhelming, the heat which is rolling off him coming into your awareness. "If you had any sense of self-preservation," he mutters, just before a thick swallow forces him to pause, "you'd be running." His hand lifts again, and it hovers just shy of your waist. "But now I would chase you," he adds in a heated breath across your jawline, "and I would catch you, my beloved."
The light beneath his eye taints your softer features. "And I haven't figured out whether to curse you for it," a groan flows free from the breath hitching as the pull deepens between you, "or thank you." He does not give you time to answer; he does not even hesitate any longer. Whatever fragile line Sylus had been clinging to snaps the moment you remain where you are, unflinching and unafraid. He closes the distance in a heartbeat, firm hands coming up to take, to claim the space you occupy as his own.
His mouth finds yours like he has been starving for you, slotting his lips over yours in that familiar second-nature type of way. There is nothing careful about the kiss, no pause, no hesitation. Sylus devours you, a crashing of lips into yours like a bruising force. Heat spills from his body in waves, overwhelming your cool touch as large hands grasp into your clothes and pull you into a sweat-dampened chest.
The taste of want is sharp on his tongue, and the sound he makes is low and wrecked, torn from deep in his chest as he pulls you closer, closer, until there is no space left at all. Teeth graze and breaths stutter as the kiss turns desperate and consuming, as if he intends to swallow you whole and finally be sated.
For only a breather, Sylus presses his forehead to yours before another kiss chases you like oxygen. His lips return to yours immediately, rougher now, needier, every movement speaking of a man who has already lost and no longer cares to recover. Control is leaving his body—burnt away by the move of your mouth beneath his.
When he finally tears himself back just enough to inhale, his voice is undone by his woman. "…You should have run," he murmurs against your mouth, and you willingly swallow the warning down with the next kiss.
It happens too soon, suddenly your feet leave the floor as he encourages you to wrap your legs around his waist. The motion knocks the air from your lungs in a startled sound that he devours greedily, using the moment to slip his tongue past your parted lips to steal any sense of self from you.
The room blurs just as your skin begins to tingle from Sylus's heated figure before the cold press of leather meets your back. Your combined weight causes the couch to welcome you with a soft creak as Sylus settles over you, caging you without breaking contact. His kisses are all messy, teeth tugging at your lower lip as if to prove his hunger with every press of his mouth.
One hand slides into your nape to tilt your head back for him to admire his ravished Magnum Opus. "Still not running," Sylus murmurs between kisses peppered all over your pretty features. The other hand drags slowly along your side, lingering just a moment beneath the swell of your breast, your waist, mapping your body through fabric and lust. "You're so very brave," he all but purrs as he leans towards your lips again, brushing soft, split-slick flesh against another. "Or very imprudent."
At that, his thigh slots between yours as he leans closer, perfectly applying pressure where you will soon ache for him most. The gesture coaxes soft sounds of pleasure from your chest before you can think of stopping them. Attuned as Sylus is to you, he feels the shift immediately. How you move against his muscles without hesitation causes a low hum of approval to vibrate on your lips.
Unrestrained hands roam over your lands, sliding down your hips, where he pulls you closer until there is no escape for you but to press into his defined thigh muscles. You never would have imagined that kisses could be even more demanding than they usually are with your passionate lover, but Sylus is always there to surprise you still.
He kisses you harder, slower and deeper while cherishing every single reaction you reward him with. Until your breath stutters against his mouth, until your body feels almost equally as heated as his own. His kisses lead south, then, moving sloppily along your jawline and down your neck. "Do you want more?" Sylus merely murmurs, the question slipping in between those devious marks of devotion until his breath tickles your ear.
Here, his voice drops to a softer tone as he adds, "Do you want me?"
Though the tightened grip of his hands speaks of possessiveness that urges movement, coaxing you into the slow grind along his thigh. "Say it," nothing but honeyed words that drip along your fluttering pulse, "tell me you'll take care of me."
Unfortunately, you don't often do what's wise for you. Which is why you leave him hanging in suspense, forcing Sylus to feel a hesitation in your demeanour that causes him to pause, to reconsider even as he fights that raging hunger within.
It is most unbecoming, most ridiculous. That giant of a man is at the mercy of you, your dignity. But when you finally speak, your voice is almost amused—one might argue. "Ask nicely," you murmur. "Or beg."
For a heartbeat, Sylus's posture stiffens, pride rearing its head. He leans back just enough to look at you, to reveal the war waging inside him. "Careful," he murmurs against your mouth, already trying to regain the upper hand. "You're making unreasonable demands, kitten." He is beautiful this way, all flushed features and heaving chest with that intoxicating cockiness in his gaze. "I don't beg," flows free almost automatically, though the words lack conviction even as they leave him.
Provoked, that is what you are. So you raise your chain slightly in answer, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes while the silence stretches. It coils tighter, ever tighter, since neither of you wants to surrender.
But Sylus is always prepared to fight for what he wants, to get his way one way or another. Even if it's foul play. His hands move again, sliding between your body and the couch to hoist you up, easily managing to guide you until you find yourself straddling his lap. He sinks back into the leather, long legs spreading just enough to force you to settle on his aching bulge. You can feel how hot his body is now that you're pressed against him, arched forward through the glide of his palm down your spine.
The greedy mouth never leaves your skin for long; kissing, nipping, dragging along your jaw, throat and cleavage because he intends to make you forget that you even asked him to beg in the first place. Sylus grips you firmly enough to remind you how easily he could take control if he chose to.
By now, he conquers your waist, your back and hips as long fingers easily reach around the swell of your ass to pull you just a little bit closer still. His very being makes it difficult to think, guiding you into movements until the heat between you becomes undeniable.
He shifts beneath you in a subtle movement, just enough for the provocation to draw a reaction from your body before your mind can catch up. Your covered pussy drags perfectly along his aching erection in a slow grind that causes his breath to stutter. A low sound mixed by equal measures of pleasure and desire leaves him, his lashes already fluttering from the stimulation. Bless you for wearing a skirt, bless you for wearing those lacy little things that do nothing to soak up your arousal.
"That's it, sweetie. Don't think. Just feel me." His hands slide higher, then lower, mapping you, coaxing heat into your limbs, into your breath, as if tainting the way you melt against him, so convinced that he has already won.
"You don't need me to beg," Sylus continues the sugarcoating of his stubbornness while softly trailing his mouth along your throat. "You want this just as much as I do." He tilts his hips again beneath you, just to prove his point, because he is so sure you will react with the same level of want he feels boiling inside himself.
Ah, but you… you don't give him the satisfaction. Instead, you still on top of him and lean down close enough that your lips brush his ear as you speak with an infuriatingly steady voice. "I said ask nicely."
For a moment, Sylus doesn't know how to react. His hands tighten at your waist, pride flaring one last time as he considers his options, and then he cracks under the weight of his want. Checkmate. His head falls back against the couch, eyes half-lidded from lust, though his jaw remains clenched as if the admission might actually physically hurt.
But you wait, run your fingers through his dishevelled hair while giving him a look that calls for surrender. In the worst possible moments, you're suddenly the human personification of patience.
Then, a sound torn from a place that might actually leave Sylus wounded, he sighs as his forehead drops to your shoulder. A laugh under his breath follows before you can feel silver strands brushing along your skin through his nod.
To hell with kindred spirits, to hell with anyone thinking you're the innocent one in your pair.
"Damn you," he mutters without any real heat. His hold on you tightens then, as if that gesture alone may be the only thing keeping him together. He looks back at you then, really appreciates the demon you have become since desire turned into a shared experience.
The sound of his voice causes your core to flutter; you feel yourself tighten around nothing due to that soft, defeated rasp. "Please." Light as a feather, his fingertips move up beneath the hem of your top, teasing along your lower back as if ready to strike. "I need you. I want you to take care of me," he adds then, but Sylus never half-asses anything in his life, and if somebody already managed to make him beg, he might as well hit them with the full force of his need.
The nibbles he leaves along your neck turn deeper then, needier as his trimmed nails tease your skin until you shiver. "Won't you help me?" His forehead presses to yours then, his nose nudging yours in the sweetest attempt to give in. You feel his shaky breath fan across your lower face as his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. "Tell me you will, hm, kitten?"
You don't pull away from him again, not this time, not ever again. If anything, you give him more. Your mouth opens willingly, and Sylus groans into the kiss like the sound is dragged out of him against his will. You feel the size of his hand at the back of your head as he deepens the kiss—tongue pressing, stealing, chasing yours every time you try to breathe.
There is no grace left in it now, only want, wet and desperate, paired with the faint sound of shared air and swallowed moans that fill the space between you as your bodies grind together.
"Fuck—" Sylus exhales against your lips in the most wrecked and shaky state you have witnessed. "That's it. Don't stop." His hips roll up instinctively beneath you, and he doesn't apologise for it anymore; doesn't slow down. Instead, he only drags you closer, encouraging the friction by guiding your hips on top of him, pressing you down harder into his lap and rocking up into you.
Leather creaks beneath you as your weight shifts, your bodies finding a rhythm that's messy and thoughtless and far too good to stop. Sylus makes a sound every time you move—low, needy, embarrassingly honest—as if he's forgotten how to be quiet entirely.
His mouth leaves yours only to press hot, open kisses along your jaw, down your throat, lingering wherever your breath stutters the most while his hands tug at fabric, at flimsy nuisances keeping his treasure hidden.
He mutters against your throat as he works on your body, half-coherent and entirely needy. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."
There's impatience in the way he handles you now, a rough urgency as your top is pushed up over your head and thrown carelessly aside. You feel his muttered curses vibrating softly into your skin when something slows him down, feel the sharp tug as he gives up on playing fair entirely and tears your skirt off in one skilled move.
"Sylus!" You gasp in shock, no matter the way your hips had shifted against him harder from how much the gesture aroused you. A broken laugh leaves him at your reprimand, though his mind is occupied with the perfect feel of your ass cheeks in his palms, settling firm and possessively for him to squeeze the globes.
"Perfect," he breathes, praising and filthy all at once. "You're so perfect," he continues with half a mind, entirely ignoring the chance you might mourn your clothing item. His fingers flex around your ass just as he dips his head to drag his tongue along the swell of your breasts until your moans dust over him like powdered sugar—sweet and addictive, and never enough.
He chuckles once more at the sound you make when he guides your hips again, leaving you both utterly aware of lace and cotton being soaked in pre-cum. "There," Sylus murmurs. "Just like that."
It might be your imagination, but the pressure beneath you feels heavier tonight. The size of his bulge is impossible to miss, impossible to ignore, causing you to drag yourself along his length without shame, and letting Sylus feel exactly what you want.
"More," you demand softly, unembarrassed by the need threading through your voice as your hands slide to the tie of his robe, fingers already fumbling to undo it and free him from those last scraps.
At last, he feels a pair of familiar claws streak along firm muscle, carving lines down his abdomen and drawing shuddering breaths past his lips. The sounds Sylus makes are hot and wet, muffled by your cleavage as he tastes your skin, bites your tits, and presses himself into you like he means to disappear there entirely.
Vocal and responsive, every sound spills freely from him in broken breaths, murmured praise, and quiet pleas breathed into your skin like secrets he's been waiting lifetimes to confess.
"More?" Sylus echoes while his fingers make quick work of your bra, an effortless snap allows his hands to take its place for him to cup your breasts. His thumbs brush over your sensitive nipples, teasing them into even harder points until you whimper in the cutest way possible.
The sensations cause your core to flutter, making you squirm as he toys with you. "Like this?" Sylus murmurs with a coaxing tone. "Is this what you need, my princess?" His thumbs are awfully slow, entirely cruel in their precision as he teases you with circles drawn around your nipples. "Do you need me to touch you like this? To tease your pretty nipples until you're writhing and begging me?" The rebuke follows immediately, since you push your hand weakly against his chest in protest at his choice of words. "Don't call them that," a mutter quietly and utterly embarrassed.
But when Sylus looks up at you again, all protest dies thanks to the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What? You don't like it when I call your nipples pretty?" he all but coos with faux compassion before nuzzling into your neck. "But they are, they are just as pretty as everything about you. They are perfect, how they strain against my fingers, begging for more of my touch… so cute, I could devour you."
His words are punctuated by a sharp bite to your neck while his fingers continue their slow torment of rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. One hand then slides down to your hip, pulling you more firmly on top of him.
His mouth returns to you again and again—kisses pressed wherever he can reach, wet and open and desperate as he guides your hand down to his bulge. "You said you'd help me," Sylus murmurs, voice low and pleading without shame now. "Don't stop now. Please—"
There's no resistance left in you, allowing for Sylus to move your fingers along the bulge straining against the cotton of his briefs. Not because he asks so prettily, but because you want to see how badly Sylus can further unravel as he moulds your palm to his aching length.
"That's it, sweetie." The pleasure begins to lower his guard, causing his voice to feel heavier and more coaxing while his hips jerk up in a sharp, unguarded motion. A low sound tears free from his chest before he can stop it, because whatever composure he had left splinters at the contact, his body answering yours with embarrassing honesty. "Don't stop now."
His hand remains over yours in an effort to encourage your touch, to show you exactly how much he wants this, how badly he needs you to feel the effect you have on him. Every drag of your fingers draws another breathy sound from his lips, another tense flex of muscle beneath your palm as he gives himself over to the sensation.
Sylus lets his head fall back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut in sheer bliss now that you're finally here to take care of his ache. His chest rises and falls in heavy inhalations of air, his body reacting to you without restraint, without pride. In this moment, Sylus is nothing but warmth and need, so responsive, so very easy to read.
Though he could never forget about the relentless assault on your breasts, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh, rolling and plucking at your nipples until you, too, are whimpering from pained pleasure.
One stiff little peak is captured between his teeth, drawing quiet sounds from your throat as he nips lightly, then soothes the sting with a lap of his tongue. Sylus takes his time, mirroring the leisure of your stroking hand, to leave you equally as dizzy and overstimulated.
"You're perfect," his voice vibrates where his mouth presses into your soft flesh.. "I could stay right here forever."
You snort at that, a small breathless sound.
Liar.
And sure enough, he doesn't stay like this much longer. Not because Sylus doesn't want to, but because he can't.
His attention shifts back and forth between giving and taking, between driving you closer to the edge and rocking helplessly into your touch. With every passing second, it is becoming more difficult to keep the Aether Core in check. Crimson colour casts over your entwined bodies, painting you both in the light of his hunger while he needs to watch your smaller hand move across his bulge.
Fabrics grow damp, straining over his throbbing erection as it leaks pre-cum into the soft clothing item, his need palpable in every movement, every sound. The control slips through Sylus's fingers like sand, the glow in his eye flaring brighter as you bring him closer and closer to the edge. He can feel it—how close he is, how close you are, and how thin the line between teasing and cruelty has all but vanished.
He wants you to lose yourself in it first. Wants your breath gone, your thoughts scattered, your body aching before he allows himself anything resembling relief.
That is, until you can't take it anymore; until the heat in that small space between your bodies becomes unbearable and you dare to tease him. "How much do you need me?" you whisper, your voice barely there, wicked in its timing, while you tease the evident stain of pre-cum.
How you rub that spot with the perfect amount of pleasure ignites tingles low in Sylus's back, leading his breath to turn ragged, his urgency tearing through him with no mercy. He wants you, he wants to be in you, to be one with you. His fingers toy with the thin strap of your panties before repaying your cruelty in kind with the perfect pressure of two digits tracing the shape of your pussy through silk.
"All talk and no bite, sweetie," Sylus manages to tease with a mocking lilt to his voice despite the torture. "Aren't you just as desperate as me?" he goes on with a sigh, rubbing his fingers along the fabric until it moulds to your pussy lips.
You bristle at that, even as want throbs low in your core. It rewards Sylus with a glare, one that speaks of pure need and pride. He loves you like that, snarky, lust-filled, insatiable, just like him, while this dance between you continues. "Hmm… you are so cute," Sylus breathes you in at that, shamelessly inhaling your perfume mixing with the distinct scent of your arousal for him to moan low.
Pale lashes flutter shut momentarily as soon as Sylus feels your touch through the damp fabric of his briefs. His hands reach around your hips, firm enough to pull you down into him with little hesitation to grind the heavy weight of his arousal against your barely covered pussy.
After all, it is only fair that you feel what you have created. You need to be held accountable for the ache only you can craft. "Come on, conquer me," Sylus coaxes, while slipping his fingers beneath your panties to tease you more. "Take me down with you."
His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them aside just enough for his hand to slide between your bodies, a single finger dragging through your slickness. The moves are painfully slow, intentionally taking his sweet time thanks to the language your body speaks. "You're so wet already," he murmurs, while his thumb finds your clit to make you squirm. "Seems we're in the same trouble."
The space between you grows unbearable. Every small movement feels magnified—the way your weight settles, the way his body reacts instantly, helplessly, to the closeness. But you let him touch you, let him tease you, allow him to settle you right down on his bulge for him to gasp.
"Boss-man, you're so sensitive," you purr lightly, teasingly, just like you have learned from your lover. His breath stutters when you press down just a little more, and you can feel Sylus trying to regain composure, trying to act like he's still in control—and it makes your grin widen wickedly.
"Then do something about it," he says instead, whispering the challenge against your mouth, as his eyes remain locked on yours. "Show me you can handle me." His palm slides up your back, his fingers spreading over your shoulder blades as he pulls you into a kiss that's all heat and need.
The sight you are greeted with once you pull back is beyond the paintings people pay heavy sums of money for. Sylus's robe hangs open, his sweat-damp chest rising and falling with each exhale and topped off with his cock heavy and flushed, leaking against his stomach. He looks like a man consumed, a man driven mad with desire, held back only by the thinnest shred of control.
"Come here," he urges, softer now, coaxing instead of commanding. "Use me. I want to feel you."
His hands slide over your ass, lifting you with ease and settling you over his groin. The head of his cock nudges against your entrance, slick and insistent, impossibly hard. "Sweetheart," and what's left of Sylus is only need, pure need for you to take care of him, to settle on top of him. "I already begged. Don't make me do it again." The red glow in his eyes flares faintly, bright with focus as his hands guide you.
Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you shift, and for a moment—just a moment—your touch softens, your hand wrapping around his length gently as you grasp him for support.
Sylus shudders at the bliss of your soft hand wrapping around his aching cock, stroking him with a gentleness that belied the desperation in his eyes. The contrast of your delicate touch against his throbbing, rigid flesh sent a jolt of electricity through his body, making him grit his teeth and suck in a sharp breath through clenched jaws.
Your hand is so cute, so much softer than his own, so graceful in its touch. Even in a most filthy situation like this, do you stroke his cock like it's some sort of treasure to you.
"Fuck, your hand feels so good." his hips jerk involuntarily into your touch. "So soft and perfect, like the rest of you." He can't take this, can't take how sweet and caring you can be when he least expects it.
You lean down just enough to brush a playful kiss along the edge of his jaw, making him hiss softly and smirk when his fingers tighten. Exactly as planned.
All of this, only to wreck him further as you guide the tip through your slick folds, rubbing it against your clit for sweet moans to ring right beside his ear. Sylus watches it all with a near transfixed attention, paying witness to the view as you rub the swollen head of his cock through your slick folds and coat him in your arousal.
The feel of your pussy lips parting around his tip, the sounds of your sweet moans falling like music into his ears, it all pushes him to the brink of madness. He can feel the heat of you, the slick, silken walls that would soon be gripping his length most perfectly, and it makes him throb and leak all over your fingers.
His hands slide along your waist, coaxing you closer with a gentleness that seems at odds with his needs. But then, thank the heavens, you finally move, even if just a little, and Sylus shudders.
"That's it," he exhales, and sounds almost grateful. "Just like that." His eyes roll back from pleasure, his thighs flexing in response–he almost feels like tearing off his own skin.
But Sylus needs to watch, needs to peel his eyes open again to take in the way your body hovers over him, the way your breasts sway, the way your slick coats him as you rub him where you need it most.
Whether it's mercy or your own lust that finally tips you over the edge hardly matters, not when you finally lower your hips, not when all that is wrong in the world might finally be right thanks to the perfect hug of your walls around Sylus's cock.
His ragged, broken exhales of relief and want tangle together so tightly there's no separating them. "…There," Sylus exhales through his nose, then takes a moment to compose himself before he adds. "That's where you belong."
You grin at his most filthy words because you always find amusement in the lack of filter once he gets like this. But the brush of a fingertip along the tense line of his jaw reminds Sylus of how very much you are in charge, even in the moment he's lost completely. The Aether Core pulses in his gaze in response to the way you take him in inch by inch until there's nowhere else for either of you to go.
Your breath stutters the moment his hands lock around your hips, almost as if Sylus is daring you to try and escape. Not that you would. Not when every movement beneath you steals the air from your lungs and leaves your thoughts scattered.
Every drive of his cock pulls a breathy tune of pleasure from your chest, every drag of his length stretches you open, filling you so deeply it borders on overwhelming. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, then, matched only by the way his breath breaks against your throat and your own voice slips loose without restraint.
"That's it, sweetheart," and Sylus sounds almost drunk on the moment. "Take what you need. Use me. Don't stop until you can't anymore."His words are filled with confidence in how well he knows your body. "I want you right here. With me. On me."
His hand slides up your back, dragging you into a kiss that is all heat and teeth and impatience. You answer it on instinct, fingers fisting in his hair to tug just hard enough to draw a broken sound from him. Your body tightens as sensation builds, and you hate how easily Sylus reads it—you can see the knowledge in his gaze, in the way his mouth curves like he has already won.
"Come on, baby," he coos near your ear. "Take care of me. Don't tell me you're already satisfied."
"You're annoying," you pant as the urge grows to bite him, the words slipping out on a groan because you know he's teasing you on purpose.
A crooked smile pulls at his mouth, then his cock throbbing inside of you all because of the banter he is so addicted to. "Annoying, huh?" His voice drops, smug and wicked. "Seems like it's working then."
It does work, and you hate that he knows it. Your body reacts instantly, betraying you as the challenge in his tone sinks under your skin. Everything tightens, slickens, draws him in closer with each movement. He watches it all—every shudder, every gasp—eyes dark, intent, devouring you without mercy.
"Fuck," he breathes out in complete disbelief. "Look at you." It becomes a shared effort as Sylus helps lift you off his cock and sink back down. The couch groans beneath you, the sound obscene enough to make heat flood your body as you lift yourself just enough to feel him stretch you again before sinking fully, making him bottom out. It stings, yes, but you don't stop, and the sound he makes tells you he wouldn't want you to even if you could.
"You're an expert by now," Sylus murmurs with a wrecked voice. "All those test rides paid off." Your lips part on a sharp breath, a grin tugging at the corner of your mouth despite the offence you should perhaps be taking.
And then you take control, lifting yourself and sinking back down on him for Sylus to admire. Your back arches, your breath stutters because your body struggles and yields in equal measure as you take him again. Slowly, you let him feel it all—every inch he has claimed flutters in a tightening hug, every breath he has stolen now heats his sensitive skin as you let your body collapse on top of his.
When you start to grind into him, pressing your clit forward before lifting again, he finally tightens his grip, helping you move and guide you just enough to keep you steady. Sylus is drunk on the sight of you working yourself on his cock; how your chest rises and falls fast, breasts bouncing with each determined drop of your hips, and the look in his eyes turns dark with appreciation.
The glow beneath his eye flares brighter; it pulses in time with his uneven breathing now that whatever restraint he had left is burning away slowly but surely.
Sylus begins to meet you halfway, thrusting up to match your rhythm. He's breathing hard now that your body tightens around him again and again. And you feel it building too— the tension, the pressure. He pulls you down into another kiss to steal and savour every sound you make.
Every movement feels sharper now, every response amplified until it is impossible to tell where one of you ends and the other begins. "You feel too good to be true," he groans, so greedy, so needy as his face ducks into the crook of your neck, pointy teeth teasing your skin, wet tongue tasting your sweat.
Maybe this is all a fever dream conjured by the Aether Core. But your ass feels too good in his hands, too perfectly squeezable to be a dream. He lifts you just enough before letting you drop back down on him, over and over, until the sensation builds too high to ignore. "Come on," he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. "Let go. I've got you."
It feels almost ridiculous how those few words make you come undone. But the pressure snaps all at once, and your body tightens hard around him as you break. Sylus follows you with a final, deep thrust where he buries himself inside you, his body shuddering as he fills you, holding you there like he needs the closeness as much as the release.
Then, for a charged moment, he doesn't move at all—just stays pressed against you, lost in tranquillity, while breathing you in. When he finally exhales, it's long and ruined, his body still shuddering beneath you while his forehead falls to your shoulder.
"…You really are going to ruin me." Though he sounds like he's already long accepted such a fate.
Just as Sylus has accepted, no embraced the delicious sting of your fingers now that they tighten in his hair, tugging at his roots as you tilt your head just enough to lean in further, to look a bit like a hunter eyeing her prey. "Good."
But it doesn't just stop there–not tonight, no, that was just the beginning. It's way more fun to nudge your hips into lazy motions while you remain pressed against Sylus's chest, still warm and oh-so pliant from the aftermath of the first round.
It's subtle at first, just enough movement to make you register it, to realise he isn't done with anything at all. His chest rises against yours, slow and controlled breaths of rich air, while his fingers curl with intent now that they guide you again before you can decide whether to resist.
There's no mistaking it, not with the sound that falling past Sylus's lips. A groan so utterly debauched upon that first flutter, you reward him with. Warm breath brushes past your temple, then down slowly along your cheek, jaw and throat as Sylus nuzzles into you.
"You have to forgive me, kitten," he murmurs into your ear. "But I don't think I can be satisfied with one round." The breath he blows against your ear is cruel in how effective it is to make you shudder, and you hate how quickly it works as well.
His hands slide beneath your thighs, squeezing as he lifts you without effort. Paired with the murmured command for you to "Wrap your legs around me, sweetie," your body betrays you instantly. Locked around him, Sylus begins to carry you through his sanctuary leisurely.
Settled deeply inside you, you feel every step Sylus takes. With each step, you feel the tip of his length pressing insistently into you, demanding more and more. You squirm, whine under your breath, claw at him in protest—though that only seems to encourage him further.
"Where should we go, hm?" Sylus muses aloud, mostly to himself, but with all the time in the world. He knows you're past offering any useful input now that you're clawing at him. Your arms are already around his neck, holding on too tight for someone who plans to argue.
Strong hands light you a little higher then, before letting you sink down on his cock again, to allow a beautiful and softened moan to breathe across your naked skin, thanks to how perfectly you hug him.
Could he put you down on the TV cabinet? No. How about the bathroom? Hm… That's better for an afterthought, Sylus decides.
By now, you press your face into his shoulder, equal parts annoyed and breathless, while painting pretty little streaks of red along his shoulder as you struggle for any small amount of moral support.
"Careful," you grumble so incredibly sweet, that it is impossible for Sylus not to chuckle softly in response, then brush a kiss to your temple where he whispers, "you're not very convincing..."
You're just about to snap back when cold meets your spine without warning.
The shock draws a sharp gasp from you, your fingers clawing into his arms as that familiar, and awfully arousing, glare is pointed in his direction. How you hiss his name, enunciating each syllable with venom makes Sylus throb inside you.
He laughs then and there. That unmistakable, rich and deep laugh from the depths of his chest as he presses you into the window, caging you in completely with his body. "Mhm, I love it when you look at me like that, kitten…" he murmurs while drinking in your angered look.
His eyes gleam when he feels you tense, when he feels how quickly shock turns into something entirely else. "What's weighing so heavily on your heart, sweetie?" He purrs along your throat. By now, you're pressed up against the glass to the point it's hard to breathe, two sweat-slick bodies flush against another with the icy touch of the glass along your back. "Oh. I get it. You want more, right?"
He presses a soft kiss to your jaw—mockingly gentle. The familiar, and deeply appreciated, sting to his scalp welcomes Sylus in response as your nails scrape just hard enough to get your point across.
"Don't you dare mock me, Sylus," you warn him with that utterly cute and breathless stutter you only use when arousal and anger war inside you. "Sylus~" A sigh of his name thanks to a potent shudder lapping at your sanity.
"Sylus, Sylus, give me more, Sylus~" he dares to mimic your voice with a lovesick sigh before burying his face in the crook of your neck. "Don't worry, I'll warm you up soon enough," he murmurs with another stupid smirk on his face. His hands have long since started roaming along the goosebumps covering your skin, drawing teasing circles around your hardened nipples.
How can a man wreck you this much time and time again? Most humiliating about this scenario is how you swear to yourself not to stoop to his level again, never again. And yet you find yourself in his trap, a willing victim despite the teeth you try to use on him. "Screw you," it could have given Sylus pause, were it not for the strain in your voice and the weakened attitude.
His laughter vibrates through you where he's pressed so close. "Oh, I intend to, kitten," it's sinful amusement weaving its way through his voice."I will screw you over and over again, as you so eloquently put it."
He draws back slowly out of your dripping cunt, just enough for you to feel the absence, just enough to make you tense and miss the stretch. Nuzzling against you, with his lips brushing chaste kisses against your glossy, kiss-swollen mouth, Sylus takes his time, letting you feel the loss, the emptiness.
"Right. Now." The movement that follows knocks the air from your lungs, drives a sharp sound from you that you absolutely do not mean to make.
Sylus pulls you closer, closer, closer until there is nowhere left to go. He begins to move in earnest, pulling your body down as he thrusts up into you, this time less relenting and entirely conquering. Warm hands grip the backs of your thighs, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he hoists your legs up and over his elbows, letting your ankles dangle uselessly like a pretty accessory as he looms over you, his broad chest heaving with each ragged breath.
A softened command breathes gently over your lower face when he leans in for silvery strands to tickle your forehead. "Arms around my neck, sweetie," to then wait until you comply, until your arms rest securely around him, nails digging into his shoulders.
He is so very drawn to you that every sound will play in his mind forever, unfiltered and raw. "And let me hear that pretty voice of yours," he adds while tickling the shell of your ear with a blow of cool air. "You're holding back." Take the nip of his teeth as encouragement to part your lips.
It's cold at your back, and unbearably hot everywhere else. The dual sensations cause dizziness, and your vision blurs from the intensity of the moment. Sylus is overheating from his desires, and the heat seeps into every curve of your being as well.
You don't even know where else to put your hands because just holding him isn't enough, and well, holding onto Sylus for long isn't as exciting as being pressed into the window. So, your palms push him away only to draw his face right back against yours to chase a kiss that is all teeth and tongue—nasty and untamed. The pulse behind his eye flares at that, thrives back to greedy life and seems to burn ever brighter at the sinful view that you make.
"Come on, sweetie," so rough, so raspy that nobody could resist him now. "Tell me how good this feels." But you, ever the hissy little thing, refuse to answer properly—of course you do. The sound you make instead is sharp and breathless, pulled out of you when Sylus shifts again, when the pressure builds in a way that causes your thoughts to scatter.
Delicious, how your body reacts, how you tremble even as you try to hold onto that bite of attitude.
It only makes him worse. Makes Sylus want you way worse. He keeps moving, relentless without being hurried, though buried to the hilt with each thrust. His movements are designed to push you to the brink of madness, to make you squirm and use those little claws to make him yours.
The sound of your breath mixes with the low, broken noises Sylus makes when his control slips further and further through his fingers. That's when his mouth finds yours, silencing whatever sharp remark you tried to throw at him. It's a deep kiss, all-consuming in its intent until you are left dizzy.
Though you bite at his lip in retaliation, which prompts a pleased sound from deep within his chest. Despite yourself, your body betrays you anew as it softens where you tried to fiercely to remain sharp. You lean into Sylus's onslaught on your senses, clawing and pawing and hugging his figure like your personal canvas in desperate attempts to anchor yourself.
Sylus just grins wider; that triumphant smile sends a shiver down your spine. He loves seeing you like this; so lost in pleasure, drowning in the sensations of him inside you, around you, consuming you utterly. "I know you're tired," he says softly, almost indulgent. "But your body disagrees with you here."
Your back arches off the slippery glass, a sharp inhale sounding in the small space between your lips when the tension coils too tight to ignore. You glare at him through it, furious at how right he is, at how easily he reads you.
"Don't deny it, kitten," Sylus murmurs. "I can feel how much you are enjoying this."
Smug bastard.
Your walls clench around him then, gripping his cock in the most perfect way to put Sylus in a situation akin to yours. So close to sweet release, to pure bliss. So he can't stop chasing it, chasing you, driving his length into you with increasing fervour. Each thrust pushes you higher, tighter, until you are teetering on the brink of ecstasy.
"Fuck, yes. That's it, sweetie. Let go for me," he groans into your chest after his face collided forward, lips dragging across the swell of your breasts. The lust has roughened him, has shed off the layers of restraint Sylus usually likes to don. Each thrust settles him snug against you; he craves to grind his pelvis against your clit–eager to hear those pretty whines and breathy moans until the pleasure borders on pain—but you crave it, need it, ache for more.
Uneven waves of satisfaction ebb and flow inside you, causing your nails to dig into his skin as softly spoken curses rain in on his parade for how good he makes you feel, for how impossible it is to stay defiant when he knows you this well.
His hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts, kneading the pillowy flesh as he rolls your nipples between his fingers. Sylus pinches and plucks at the sensitive buds, sending jolts of electricity shooting through your body, stoking the flames of your desire to a fever pitch. Teeth graze, then sink into the hollow of your throat just enough to leave you gasping, marking you in ways he simply can't resist.
"Come on, baby. Give me everything," he urges in a low and seductive rumble. "Let it happen. Allow me to feel you come undone in my arms again."
Ah, how perfectly your breath stutters, how loudly your pulse drums in his ears, how your blood races underneath your heated skin. Muscles tense, then give as the second release hits hard enough to leave you shaking against him. You don't scream his name, but it's right there on your tongue, swallowed only because he steals your mouth again and keeps you close, keeps you right where he wants you with your nails raking down his back most deliciously.
"That's it, kitten," Sylus moans right beside your ear, panting roughly from the art of your pussy clenching around his cock, gripping him and throbbing so perfectly until your juices coat his shaft and balls. "Give me everything," he adds quietly, forehead resting in the crook of your neck. "I want all of it, just like that."
Gone is the pride, to hell with the attitude, all that remains are breathless calls of "Sylus!" in trembling variations as you cling to him while riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm. In the same moment, his composure finally shatters for good. He continues to thrust into you and prolongs the ecstasy with every deep, grinding stroke. The Aether Core blazes, light flaring bright enough to paint the glass and the room and your skin alike. Sylus groans long and low as the tension finally breaks, leaving him just as undone as you are.
Buried securely inside you, his cock throbs and pulses, accompanied by shudders wrecking his broad frame from the force of his release. "You feel so good, sweetheart. So perfect around my cock." He praises in the most sweet, most filthy way possible with a love-drunk expression on his face.
He keeps you close while the aftershocks move through you both, with firm arms locked around your body because Sylus has no intention of letting you drift even an inch away. "You tremble so much because of me," he observes, not to mock you, but more so to stroke his own ego. "It's… charming."
But you lack time to respond since his mouth finds yours again in a slow, claiming kiss that lingers. Fully satisfied, though still very much hungry. The movement of his lips on top of yours makes your head spin almost as much as the release did, for your thoughts to scatter again.
When he finally pulls back, Sylus rests his forehead against yours, noses brushing softly. It's apparent that the glow in his eye hasn't faded yet, the Aether Core still very much alive and feasting behind his gaze as he takes in every single detail about your debauched state.
Sylus indulges in the lingering heat of you, in the way your body still responds to him despite the fading tremors. Despite your satisfaction, he knows that he can push you for more eventually. This moment, this night is far from ending—though he momentarily considers a respite.
"We're not done, kitten." The words are low and assured, touched with a hint of amusement and a hidden care behind them all. "Not yet." His tone turns almost deceptively sweet as his gaze roams over you openly, affectionate and hungry all at once.
"Do you want to lie down for a bit, hm?" But you don't even have to respond for Sylus to move again. You're being carried across the room until your back finds comfort in silken sheets while Sylus remains snug inside you, giving you a lazy thrust forward that causes you to squirm as he shifts his weight on top of you.
The protest is cute, how your palms push against his chest. It earns you a low chuckle that vibrates through him. "Too much," it's barely louder than a breath, in a way that causes Sylus to take pity for his hand to smooth over your hair and his lips to press a gentle kiss against your forehead.
"Okay. Okay," he concedes then and eases back agonisingly slow.
Oh, but the noises. You're so sweet; the sound you make leaves his composure visibly frayed. So stuffed with your mixed juices that Sylus can't help but lean back on his shins instead of pulling away completely. His hands continue to hold your thighs open so he may appreciate how warm and soft you are, so full of his cum that he can't look away as it slowly spills from you while your body flutters around nothing now.
A slow exhale of a deep breath seems to echo in the quiet of the room. "Shh, I know, baby," he murmurs gently as he brushes your hair back when you squirm. "I know," added with a gentle trace along your thigh. "You did so well for me."
The feel of two long fingers moving through your folds to gather some of your mixed juices makes you squirm, makes you whine out his name in a way that causes his heart to stutter. "And look at you," he continues, because Sylus can be so sweet, so praising and proud of you. "Look at the mess we made." The unmistakable note of possession that he never bothers to hide softens his words.
But he can't stop, can't turn away from you, can't let go of his dearest treasure. He much prefers to bring his fingers to his mouth without breaking eye contact, sucking on them with all the time in the world until he pops them out once they stop tasting like you.
"But I can see that you need a little break," he says softly. "Don't you, kitten?" His lips curve upward, a smug little smirk tugging at his lips, savouring the exhaustion of your body. "Don't worry. I'll take very good care of you. I always do."
His hands move back to your body then, settling over your breasts in a warm embrace meant for comfort. He feels your pulse beneath his palms, the heat of your skin, the way you respond even now.
Unable to resist you for long, Sylus leans down again to place a trail of soft kisses along your collarbone, down the valley of your breasts, where he decides to linger, to mouth against the giving swells. His tongue flicks out, tasting the salt lingering on your skin from your intensive endeavours until you shift against him.
"You're insatiable too," Sylus murmurs, close enough that his words brush your ear. "I can see it in the way you react to me, even now." His thumb circles your sensitive clit, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips before he stills again—he is so pleased with himself.
"Mhh… but I promised you rest," he whispers into your breasts. "Regain your strength, kitten." Sylus's eyes flick back up to your face, a wicked grin spreading across his handsome features. "And once you're better… then, kitten, I'm going to make love to you again. All. Night. Long."
Sylus pulls back at last, finally taking pity on you. He massages your calves first, where his thumbs work in steady strokes, then he moves up to your thighs, to press slow circles into your hips until the tension eases little by little.
You huff quietly at the attention, half spent, half stubborn about how much you still want him, even as your body betrays you by relaxing beneath his touch.
Sylus tracks every shift in your breathing, every flicker of expression as the post-fuck haze settles in beautifully. That is when his focus drops, his gaze following the path of his hands down to watch how your mixed juices create a perverse masterpiece as it slowly pushes out of you.
You tense instinctively, thighs twitching as if to close while a heated wave of embarrassment washes over you. It's obscene in its intimacy, the way it tells on you so openly, revealing the evidence of what you have shared, like a private testament to the way Sylus has taken his time with you.
He feels his body respond instantly, his cock twitching against his thigh as a hummed tone of want rumbles and rises in his chest as he tries to behave. "Beautiful," Sylus sounds low and rough with rekindled lust. "Look at your pretty pussy, so stuffed with my cum."
You will never grow accustomed to that shift in him, to the way the polish and decorum can peel away once he allows himself to indulge. Beneath all those layers of outward control, there is a creature made entirely of lust and desire—and it has a filthy mouth.
Worse now, with his breath hot against your sensitive flesh as Sylus inhales the musky scent of your essences deeply. The awareness of his touch slides up your thighs again, nudging them wider, and opening you fully beneath his ravenous gaze. He takes his time looking, drinking in every small reaction you give him, and you feel every second of it.
"Tell me, kitten," his fingers trace a teasing path through the glistening folds there, gathering proof that you are not nearly as done as you pretend. You gasp sharply with trembling thighs , and mutter something under your breath that might be his name or might be a warning.
With a smirk to his lips, Sylus lifts his hand and swipes the tips of his fingers across his lips. His tongue flicks out slowly to taste you, to make a show of your flavour as his eyes flutter shut most theatrically. A low moan of content leaves his chest before he looks back at you again.
"Do you see the problem?" he inquires, and suddenly Sylus sounds almost casual. "How am I meant to give you a break when your body looks like that?"
He leans down as he speaks, close enough that you can feel the heat of his mouth as he just hovers right above your clit in a most maddening way. "I want to taste you," Sylus confesses with a featherlight caress of his lips along your outer lips.
A quiet whine slips free as he hovers right there, impatience growing with every quickening beat of your heart. Sylus is excellent at coaxing you to give him just a little more, give him the filthy view of your pussy clenching around barely more than his cum… And the chuckle he offers in return is rich with satisfaction.
"Ah, but I promised," there, mocking compassion with an almost airy delight to his voice. His lips move continuously against your pussy, each word a well-chosen test of your composure. "Patience, baby."
The kiss he presses there is barely more than a suggestion, light enough to make you gasp sharply and send a jolt of electricity through your figure. You try to bite back a moan and fail miserably.
"You're not ready for more, are you?"
But in reality, the bastard got you worked up all over again with nothing more than teasing touches and those almost-innocent kisses. That look that tells you plainly he is nowhere near finished with you, that his mind is still full of filthy plans he intends to carry out at his leisure. You play directly into his hands now that you find your spark again to glare up at him with a sharp huff of breath.
"You're so annoying," you complain flat out right into his face as your brows knit together in irritation. They create that look Sylus adores so much. "Aww, kitten… none of that," Sylus cuts in immediately, silencing whatever protest is about to slip past your pretty lips by kissing you instead.
You are not entirely sure when or how he manages to move above you once more, when his weight settles over yours and pins you back into the mattress, but it hardly matters now that all you can register is the taste of him, the lingering mix of you both on his mouth. His lips move against yours with need, the heat of his body seeping into you all over again now that you are pressed back down almost too eagerly.
Seems like the promise of a break lies forgotten in the depths of his mind now that Sylus drags his length through your slick folds again. The sensation is impossible to resist, and each thrust brings his tip to catch against your clit—almost like he is trying to stir you awake.
"You feel heavenly, baby," he praises, and then he reaches for your hand, guiding it down between you, dragging your fingers through your own folds for you to realise how soaked you are, how messy, how completely filthy.
It is nasty.
It is so hot.
You barely have time to register it before he lifts your hand again, though not to allow you to pull back, no, but to allow Sylus a moment to appreciate the sheen clinging to them. His attention makes your tummy flutter with want as you appreciate him—just Sylus. How pretty he is in these low lights, how sharp and beautiful his features align. But you also know exactly what he is thinking without Sylus having to say a word.
Then, warmth encloses your fingers without warning, and the sensation makes your breath hitch sharply in your chest. "S-Sylus-!" Is nothing more but a cute stutter upon the drag of his tongue along your digits, through each gap. He takes his time and thoroughly coats your fingers with spit until drops of it run along your knuckles.
You can feel it everywhere, can hear the slick sounds of him sucking in your fingers paired with his softly muffled moans that move through his chest. You feel the heat in your face, feel the tightness in your throat due to the way Sylus lingers long enough for your hips to twitch, for your thighs to tense as if your body is trying to follow where your hand has gone.
Drunk on the view Sylus presents, you are caught on the sight of silver hair falling loose, lashes low, and his usually smart mouth occupied with sucking your fingers. The gesture works you up so fast it makes you feel near lightheaded as you feel your pussy throb in response, needy and insistent for more again and yet again.
Sylus reluctantly releases you, allowing a trail of spit to connect his lips to the tips of the well-coated digits to exhale a low drag out of his mouth. "So responsive…" he murmurs, and sounds incredibly pleased with himself. "You liked that, didn't you? Liked seeing me suck on your fingers," while already guiding your hand back down where he positions them right above your clit.
It's almost ridiculous how you only manage to moan his name, to groan his name, to try and warn him by hissing his name because your mind lags behind most terribly. But what else could you do when Sylus orchestrates that wet slap caused by your fingers connecting with your pussy? He makes you slap your clit once, twice, even with that crooked smirk on his lips.
His own hand replaces yours then, middle and ring finger sinking into you without hesitation, and you take him right back in, your body fluttering and squelching greedily around the intrusion as his mouth trails kisses down your chest.
"Tell me you want more. Tell me you are ready," Sylus nearly pleads with you. Though you are so far gone that you barely register his words, barely register your own fingers moving, rubbing your clit until his voice cuts through the haze and pulls you back just enough to hear yourself answer.
"Uhm, I want it, I want you," you admit, softer than anything you have said to him since this whole ordeal began, while your free hand tangles into damp silver strands.
Sylus's pupils dilate at the sight of you touching yourself so unashamedly, feeling your body arching and tightening around his fingers. He has never seen a masterpiece to equal the beauty of your need, written there across your face without shame.
"That's it, baby. Touch yourself for me," his voice feels near decadent. "Get yourself nice and worked up again." He begins to pump his fingers slowly, letting you feel every inch of the intrusion as he coaxes you back into relaxation. "I want to hear my little dove. Can you moan for me? Can you make those pretty noises, kitten? Don't be shy." He purrs into your neck, his breath layering hot and heavy on your skin like the most powdery perfume.
Desperation rolls off you in waves now that you tremble anew, your body betraying you for Sylus to drown. His cock throbs and leaks against your thigh as he grinds into you, smearing you with the proof of how badly he wants you. Please, won't you take him out of his misery?
"Fuck, I can't wait to be inside you again," his hips drag against you while his fingers pump relentlessly into you. They curl just right, brush that sensitive place inside you that makes you moan out loud, and suddenly you are too aware of everything, of the way your body tightens, of how close you are tipping.
There is a sudden and new sensation to it all as Sylus starts to circle your G-spot and presses into it to feel it harden and grow bigger. "That's it, kitten," he encourages as well, eager to watch you come undone once more. But the pleasure builds too fast, too sharp and overwhelming to make your breath break into short gasps.
Why does he keep stroking that spot? Why does the pressure make your thighs twitch? It pulls that strange, dangerous sensation up from deep in your stomach, close to something you are absolutely not ready to give him—or anyone.
Perhaps it's the sensations that overwhelm you too soon, another orgasm threatening to crash over you in mere moments after he swore you would have a break. But you move without thinking, planting the sole of your foot against his abdomen and pushing away from him before scrambling as your fingers dig into the sheets. Swiftly, more swiftly than Sylus would have ever expected in this scenario, you twist and try to turn away from whatever madness is about to overtake you.
However, you forget briefly that Sylus already promised he would chase you.
Before you can even get your bearings, the familiar red mist coils around your ankles, sliding up your thighs with just enough pressure to wrench a moan from your chest now that you are dragged across the bed, your body pulled inexorably toward him.
"Kitten…" His voice is almost scolding, but the pleasure he takes in this is unmistakable. Your fingers' strength as they cling to the mattress holds no candle to something as unfair as energy manipulation, causing you to be tugged back across the giant bed until your ass bounces against Sylus's thighs.
And then he is there, all of him, draped over you like a heavy blanket of muscle and heat as he pins you in place. Lazy kisses trail up your spine until his chin hooks over your shoulder and the tip of his nose nudges your cheek. "Running from me? Really?"
"Fuck," you curse out quietly because of how much his Evol always turns you on, without fail. Then, slowly, carefully, you turn your head just enough to meet his amused expression—already knowing you have walked straight into exactly what he wanted.
You do not expect the sound he makes then, that soft click of his tongue paired with a crooked little smirk, as though he has any right at all to judge you when he is the one who set this in motion, who tugged and coaxed and pressed until your body reacted before your thoughts could catch up.
"You said you wanted to continue," he murmurs while peppering the sweetest kisses all across your cheek and eyebrow; they feel almost unfair in their sweetness. "And now you're trying to run from me? You shouldn't play with me like that."
"'S just… what you did, you…" You stumble over your words like a fool, the dread of embarrassing yourself causing your thoughts to tangle on your tongue as the memory of that overwhelming sensation swirls in your mind. "I mean—"
A sound that becomes a mix between a hum and a laugh vibrates against your back, and his mouth slides down the line of your throat to your shoulder. "Mhm… forgive me. Perhaps I should have warned you," he concedes softly. "I suppose my surprises don't always land quite the way I intend."
His Evol tightens around your thighs then, a gentle pressure at first to coax rather than confine. And it works, oh, does it work wonders now that the red mist moulds to the shape of your breasts and cups them. The flow of energy is delicious; it's warm yet cold at once, sometimes almost suffocating before its touch threatens to vanish.
It makes you squirm back, causes your hips to shift on instinct to seek the familiar solidity behind you. "You're teasing me again," is your softened, breathy complaint, followed by a whimper that makes Sylus's eyes roll back in pleasure before nuzzling into your nape.
"Okay. No more teasing, sweetie, mh?" He gives in with a roll of his hips, using the red mist to swiftly position his cock to glide through your folds. "Better now?" Sylus whispers gently while allowing you to work yourself up along his length as it slides through your folds.
A chuckle rumbles through his chest when he feels the tension drain from you. "Shh. It's alright, kitten. I've got you," he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. "I know I can be… a lot. But I'll always catch you when you fall. I'll always chase you and make it all better again."
His hands settle on your hips, squeezing the soft flesh enough for his fingers to sink into your skin as he holds you close. He encourages you to draw back until you can feel every inch of his body pressing against yours, from his broad chest to his muscular thighs bracketing your own.
"You feel that? Feel how much I want you, always?" he purrs, seductively needy and full of love. "I can't get enough of you, can't stop touching you, tasting you, fucking you." His mouth returns to your neck, slower this time as plush lips map familiar paths. His Evol follows the motion of his body, guiding the way you move, the way your hips respond.
"Just like that," an encouragement accompanied by his touch sliding between your thighs to rub your clit in slow, gentle circles. "Let yourself feel it. I'm right here." Your body trembles in response, the hitch in your breath a traitorous sound that begs the fiend to rub you faster.
His cock throbs against your ass, leaking pre-cum and smearing it across your skin as Sylus grinds into you—seeking friction, seeking relief. "Feels good, baby?" His breath is hot against your ear. "Let yourself enjoy this, let yourself feel every inch of me. I want to be inside you again, may I?"
Sylus's hands slide up to your breasts, where you feel the warmth of his palms cup your soft shape to knead slowly and just enough for your nipples to stiffen. The small sounds you try and fail to keep entice him to give you more—always more. Because those sighs and breathy moans do something to him, he likes them. Likes how easily he pulls them from you, how your body answers him without hesitation now.
His fingers pinch your nipples properly then, rolling the peaks just enough to make your back arch and your hips shift restlessly against him. Until your breathing stutters as you squirm restlessly, helplessly. You're caught between wanting more and already feeling as if this is too much.
Why is it too much?
Because Sylus's Evol relentlessly conquers your figure, the red mist curls close, holding your back pressed firmly to his chest for the tendrils to slide over your breasts and hips. They guide the slow push of your body back into him while his lips scatter soft, however indulgent, kisses over your shoulder.
That's where Sylus decides to settle, savouring the alluring scent of your perfume and the drumming pulse of your little heart. His hands drift down to your hips, fingers sinking into the pliant flesh as he draws you back against him, encouraging a steady grind against his cock.
You're slick, so very wet and warm and messy from your earlier shared bliss, that it makes everything glide far too easily. With each roll of his hips, the thick head catches on your entrance, teasing you both with the promise of being filled once more.
"Fuck," Sylus murmurs in that uncharacteristic rough tone before it is softened by a huffed chuckle. "I can't get enough of you." Aware of how much you enjoy hearing his sounds, to lose your mind in his pleasure, Sylus moans softly right into your ear. "Can you feel how wet you are, kitten? Feel what we did to you?" His tone softens at that, at the memory of making love to you time and time again.
A shuddering breath causes goosebumps to trickle down your skin then, before Sylus's hips press forward just enough for his cock to nudge inside you, only a fraction, before he pulls back again. Over and over. A fiendish cruelty to make your body ache with the lack of it—the lack of him.
The force of his Evol vibrates against your skin as it lifts and kneads your breasts, making them sway with the slow drive of his hips. Heat and energy crackles across your skin, though ultimately it's the familiar roughened touch of Sylus's fingertips that causes you to give in.
He drags them down your stomach, finding your clit where he circles the nub in leisure patterns. Just enough pressure to make your thighs tremble and your breath hitch, your body reacting openly as his cock throbs against your ass cheek, where pre-cum leaks and smears across your skin as he moves, chasing friction, chasing you.
"That's it," he encourages. "Grind back on me. Show me how much you want it… how much you want me again." The red mist tightens around your breasts, squeezing gently but insistently.
Your skin feels too sensitive, every nerve alight at once. Empty, swollen, your body clenches around nothing, fluttering in a way that draws a sound from you Sylus will store in his mind for eternity.
He feels it all, the way you start to shake, the way your breathing breaks into desperate little pants as your hips rock back into him with growing urgency, the head of his cock catching at your entrance again and again, teasing the stretch you crave without ever following through.
"Come on, sweetheart," Sylus coaxes softly like the devil upon your shoulder out for redemption. "Don't be shy. If I can beg, so can you."
"Sylus," you moan, but your voice is strained. You already present yourself in the most admirable arch, open for him to take you again if he wasn't so terribly proud at the worst times.
He knows what he has done to you, knows that he finally managed to break down your walls. "I know, baby," Sylus whispers as his lips move along your jaw and pepper kisses across your cheek. "You're tired." A pause, it's almost playful how he leaves you in suspense. "And now you want to play princess with me after trying to escape me."
With a shake of your head, you finally give up and say the word he has been longing for, the retribution for the way you earlier dared to tease him. "Please," nothing but a mumble regarded at the mattress underneath you.
But you can't seriously expect this to be enough for Sylus? No way would a whispered 'please' satisfy him after the show he put on for you.
"You know that's not enough. Don't you?" A breathy chuckle warms your skin as his fingers leave your clit, and his Evol takes their place. The energy swirls through your folds, pulses directly against you in a way that immediately makes your thighs shake harder than his fingers did.
It draws moans from you whether you want them to or not, your grip tightening in the silken sheets as your words stumble out. "P-please, Sylus, please, ngh-, just," your voice falters, pride warring uselessly with the way your body gives him everything anyway. It's never been clear whose pride runs deeper—yours or his—and moments like these prove it.
But the pressure doesn't relent. Neither does the sensation of his heavy cock, so warm and hard, nestled right against the soft flesh of your ass. Sylus is draped over you like a meaty blanket, squishing you not just with muscle but also his stubborn will.
"Please, Sylus," he murmurs the words right beside your ear, instructing you to repeat them.
And when you do, when you grind your teeth before mumbling another, "Please, Sylus," he grins and can't help but nip into your neck, right where your traps are. A slow lick of his tongue soothes the burning pain a moment before he resumes his guiding words. "Fill me, make me feel... whole," is almost a purr now, the way he pronounces the word 'whole' carries an entirely unique meaning for you and him. For your souls are one.
You turn your head then and meet the wicked glint in those crimson depths. "Kitten…" the asshole in question breathes into your ear. How on earth Sylus suddenly possesses this much restraint is a conundrum to you. Just this afternoon, he nearly wanted to devour an entire planet.
Though your pride finally gives way to lust when he dares to move his Evol along your slit, over your hole dripping with his cum, to push in slowly.
"Please. Make. Me. Whole." You bite the words out he longs to hear, and are rewarded with a groan and the feel of his hips finally moving. "That's my good girl," he purrs in the most seductive tune. "Such a good little kitten, begging so sweetly." He murmurs in victory over having finally managed to make you crumble.
His Evol throbs against your pussy, the red energy curling low and close, swirling and tingling against skin that already feels too sensitive—pushing more heat, more want through you until your thighs tremble. You feel it everywhere, not just where it touches, but deeper, coiling inward as Sylus's hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to anchor you there, to keep you open.
"You want to feel whole, baby? I'll make you whole, I'll complete us both again." There is affection in his words despite the promise threaded through them. When he finally pushes forward, it happens smoothly, almost effortlessly, your body stretching without resistance thanks to how wet you are.
You feel him sink into you at once, buried to the hilt in one long motion that pulls a sound from your chest as your walls clamp and flutter around his thick shaft, as if trying to pull him even closer.
He stays there for a moment, fully seated, hips pressed flush to you, to make you aware of how full you are, how stretched, how your body keeps reacting on its own. "That's it, kitten. Fuck, you always feel incredible."
When he starts moving, it is slow and steady, his hips rolling and rocking into you with an undeniable intention to make you feel everything—each thrust pushing you further up the bed, your body jolting with the force even as you try to brace yourself.
Every press, every pull, courses through you like the most potent liquor. The sounds that fill the room are messy and intimate, your breath breaking apart alongside his very own until you feel close to giving up. With his weight settled over you, Sylus presses his chest into your back, one hand moving until his palm may rest flat against your stomach to keep you stable.
His mouth finds your shoulder, where he nips and kisses before lingering on exceptionally sensitive spots, while his Evol slides up your sides to cup your breast. You hear your own breathy sounds slipping with every press of his hips.
"That's my good girl," he murmurs in a voice strained with lust. "Always taking me so well. Because you're made for me. And I'm made for you." His other hand slides around to your front, fingers finding your clit and rubbing firm, fast circles that make your body tense immediately, your walls fluttering tighter around him as the pressure builds yet again.
Strained little moans fall from your lips as Sylus fills you like this, stretching you in a way no one else ever could, but your thighs are burning now, muscles trembling after everything he has already taken from you on the couch and against the window. Being held up, folded around him, takes its toll.
Sylus knows it too. You become aware of that fact once his chest presses more firmly into your shoulders, encouraging you to give in without asking. His Evol steadies you where your strength falters. "You don't have to act tough with me," he promises through shaky moans from behind your shoulder while you feel his touch travel down your side until he guides your body to lie down.
The mattress receives you a moment after the red mist tucks a pillow beneath your hips, raising you just enough for your back to fall into a natural arch. It eases the strain, even as the new angle pulls a gasp from your lips. Sylus straddles you from behind, large hands moving along the curve of your ass, gripping your thighs and watching the way the flesh gives under his touch.
"Yes, just like that, sweetie," he coaxes as he settles you fully into prone bone, while keeping himself elevated. A firm hand is planted beside your head, the other secure around your hip as he begins to move again.
You feel his weight more fully now, almost as if you are pinned beneath him, though it feels far too good to resist. Sylus moves deep and slow as he takes you, gentle even in his strength. Curiously, you turn your head and press your cheek into the sheets as you glance back just enough to see the strain in his muscles each time Sylus draws your hips back against him.
You feel just how deep he is through every slow movement brushing against your cervix, and still, he stays close, almost needy. Sylus's body shields yours while he moves in deep, languid strokes for your softness to give easily beneath his strength. His hands wander across your skin, squeezing, soothing, leaving goosebumps wherever they may pass.
His hand slides around to your front, finding your breast and cupping the soft mound as he continues to rock into you. "That's it, baby. Just like that," Sylus encourages while pulling you back onto him with each thrust. Your body trembles now, muscles aching from the overwhelming pleasure you have given yourself over to.
Sensing it, Sylus gentles his pace until his movements are little more than a steady rhythm meant to keep you right here with him. "I've got you, kitten. I've got you," he murmurs. "Just relax and let me make you feel good. Let me take care of you, like I always do."
His hand slides up your thigh, cupping your pussy for his fingertips to rub slow circles against your clit that make your breath hitch again. His hips roll steadily, filling you so completely you can't think past the sensation. "That's my girl," he praises. "My perfect love."
The urgency builds anew when his thrusts grow harder, faster, causing the bed to creak beneath the force of your passion. Your body tightens again, your walls fluttering around his shaft most encouragingly. "That's it, sweetie. Come for me," he coaxes so gently, almost like he wasn't the one thrusting into you from behind. "I want to feel this pretty pussy squeezing my cock, want to feel you coming undone around me."
He feels his own climax creeping closer, his body tightening as the pleasure gathers low and heavy. But Sylus holds himself back, determined to give you the release you crave first.
He wants to watch you break apart beneath him, to hear you cry his name when the pleasure finally carries you over the edge once more.
"Come on, kitten. Give in to it," he urges, his voice strained and rough with lust. "Let go, baby. I've got you. I'll always catch you." With a final, hard thrust, Sylus buries himself deep inside you, grinding against your cervix as he rubs your clit firmly. Your orgasm is a sensation to him as well, the way your hips lift to escape the insistent circling of his fingertips around your clit as that tidal wave of pleasure drowns you whole.
You feel yourself clench around his cock, your fingers curling into the satin sheets as crumbled moans of his name in variations are breathed from your lips.
Through ragged breaths, he praises you as the aftershocks of your shared climax roll through both of your figures. "I love you so much, sweetie. More than anything in this world or the next." He sounds almost sated now…
Sylus’s hands do not settle, not even after everything he has already taken from you. They keep redrawing the deeply cherished shape of your body like he wants to explore you forever. Your skin gleams beneath the soft glow of the lamp, sweat catching the light along every dip and curve, and the sight alone keeps his fingers wandering.
When he finally pulls out, he cannot resist squeezing your ass, watching the flesh give and shift beneath his palms. Only then does Sylus guide you onto your back, though his hands never leave you. They slide over your waist and upward to cup your breasts as he leans down.
His mouth is still warm when he begins to kiss along your collarbone, then the soft curves of your breasts, almost worshipfully.
But desire runs too hot in his body; it is never-ending for you. Not when your thighs are so squishy beneath his firm grip now that he kneads the sore muscles. He can't get enough of you, not when you spread your legs so willingly for him to nuzzle into your slick folds and breathe you in slowly.
The mingled scent of sex and heat drives him to groan against your flesh. "Kitten," he murmurs in guilt, with lips pressed close enough that you feel the heat of his words. "I don't think I can ever be sated."
His tongue slides over your pussy in slow strokes to taste and linger where you are most sensitive. Its warmth and pressure cause your hips to squirm and shift as if to escape, but his hands tighten on your thighs to hold you exactly where he wants you.
The sensation is too much and not enough all at once, his lips sealing around you as he sucks gently, then firmer in an unbroken rhythm. Your breath stutters for his name to release like a whimpered prayer. "Sylus, please." You really can't do this anymore; you feel like you will melt if he keeps going.
But Sylus, Sylus has full trust in you. And if anything, he presses closer as his mouth works you steadily, relentlessly, as if his whole purpose in life is to pull every sound and sensation from you. Beneath him, his own arousal stirs again from the taste of you, hips pressing down into the mattress for friction he barely registers while his mouth stays devotedly between your thighs.
His tongue pushes deeper then until your vision blurs. Your body begins to tense around the rising pleasure, breath breaking into short, uneven pulls as the edge draws closer.
"Please—Sylus—I can't—" Your hands fist in his hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away.
"Shh," he breathes softly now, but no less certain. "You can handle it. I know you can." The moment he adds is fingers, something snaps loose inside you. With two digits sliding into you and curling just right, you are helpless against the onslaught as pained pleasure builds too fast to track.
"I've got you," he murmurs, tongue lashing your clit while his fingers work on you. "Let go for me, kitten." Sylus feels it when you start to tighten, the way your body stiffens from pleasure coiling too tight to hold. "There you are."
Your body convulses as your orgasm crashes through you, your hips lifting helplessly as you come apart beneath him. You feel everything: his mouth, his fingers, and his hunger. Through it all, Sylus stays with you, in you, drawing the pleasure out slowly until your thighs tremble and your breath breaks into helpless, uneven sounds.
Only when it starts to ebb does he slow, gentling his touch while pressing soft kisses along your inner thighs and up to your mound, before easing his fingers out carefully. "That's my girl," in a honey-warmed voice.
Now that he is on top of you, darkened eyes gaze fondly over that sated look on your face. Then, at last, he kisses you gently for you to taste yourself on his tongue, to feel the lingering proof of what you have done together.
"I'll never get tired of you," Sylus repeats quietly against your lips. "Not ever."
Once you are in his arms, he holds you close as if he strives to keep you there. With absentminded strokes along your skin as if stopping is imply be unfathomable. "Now rest," he whispers. "Let me take care of you."
He carries you to the bathroom when your legs won't quite cooperate to the bathtub that is already beginning to fill by the time he lowers you into it. The heat warms your sore muscles and draws a soft sigh from you.
Only once he is entirely sure that you have settled does Sylus allow himself to follow. Settled behind you, he pulls you back against him with his arms securely around your waist.
"Is this alright?" He allows the question to be barely more than a breath brushing your ear. And you respond with a nod while already sinking into him, into the warmth of the water and the comforting strength at your back. His hands set off to ease and ground your figure until the last of your tension slips away. For a long while, Sylus simply holds you as he tucks his face against the curve of your neck to press lazy kisses into your skin.
Beneath the water, his hands roam you without purpose beyond touch itself; he simply follows the shape of familiar ground. Until his fingers find your breasts to cover them in the warmth of palms and draw you closer until your back is flush with his chest.
When his lips brush your ear, his voice is quiet and pure. "I love you more than anything, kitten. In this world, and whatever comes after. You're mine—and I'm yours. Always."
Now, unable to resist your gentle giant, you turn in his arms to look at Sylus and raise your hands for a cradling touch to his cheeks. His eyes are so soft whenever he says things like that that you cannot resist the urge to kiss him. Slower than before, a silent way to reciprocate his confession.
Firmly, his hands slide down to your hips until your body finds itself pressed so close that there is no space left between you. When you part, you let your fingers drift down to confirm what you already felt.
Sylus is still hard.
His length juts against your tummy in an attention-demanding way. But for once, he won't push for more, won't hope for anything. Perhaps that is the reason why his breath catches when you wrap your fingers around his shaft to stroke, squeeze, and deliciously torture him until you feel him throb in your hand.
Sylus lets out a low sound of restraint, though his hips shift instinctively into your hand. "You feel what you do to me?" It's a complaint accompanied by a willing body as his forehead rests against yours. "You're enjoying this a little too much."
But he enjoys it too. He guides your hand, encourages the motion without rushing it due to the gentle touch he keeps. "Yes, just like that," he murmurs. "You always know how to touch me."
His hips begin to move with your hand, causing the bath and bubbles to awaken around your bodies. And then he succumbs as he pulls you on top of him and ducks his face into your neck for another confession. "I want you," he says softly. "Let me feel you around me. Sit with me like this, will you?"
The way he asks sends a pulse of heat through you before you even give your consenting nod. His fingers tighten at your hips as he guides you back down onto him, and your breath catches as your sore body adjusts to his size all over again.
But your typical attitude is long gone by now. What remains is an undying ember of lust and love for your Sylus, and the terribly gnawing desire to forever feel as one with him.
Here, he doesn't thrust, nor does he roll his hips or move at all. He just lets you feel every inch of him while holding you as close as possible. "Stay with me," he murmurs. "I only want to feel you."
There is no rush in him now, only want and warmth while he keeps you tucked against his chest. You stay there with him, his cock throbbing faintly inside you as his hands soothe and trace you. Eventually, when you are both loose-limbed, he lifts you easily from the tub and dries you off with a careful hand.
With your signature robes draped over your bodies, Sylus carries you back to the bedroom, settling onto the mattress with you straddling his hips. The gentle pressure of his thumbs easing the tension from your shoulders brings your cheek to rest against his chest, and you let his heartbeat be your lullaby for the night.
"That's my girl," he murmurs softly. "You're so beautiful." He tilts your chin up once more, crimson eyes softened until they look like candy as he leans in to kiss you again, slow and tender and so dearly filled with love. Beneath you, his hips move just enough to remind you of his presence.
As he kisses you, Sylus’s hips begin to roll beneath you, his hard cock stirring inside your still-sensitive core. A soft groan escapes him now that his hands guide you to move with him. The robe around your figure falls open, baring your breasts to his hungry gaze and pressing them flush against his own now that you are lying down. Together on the mattress, you find yourself cradled against his chest with his cock resting deep within your warmth.
Through it all, he lets his fingers brush along your hairline and gently massage your neck until you manage to doze off. When sleep finally takes you, Sylus feels it immediately, your body relaxing fully against his.
In response, he holds you a little tighter and cradles your head while his lips rest on your temple. "Sleep," he whispers. "I've got you. I'm sorry for taking it all out on you."
He lets his eyes close soon after, with arms securely wrapped around you. The last thought in his mind before slumber claims him is of how utterly perfect this moment is—holding you, being one with you, in every way possible.
