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explicit 🔞 | sylus/reader | 500 wrds
summary: tired of sylus' distractions, you put him in his place
tags: cockwarming, slight submissive sylus
author's note: this fic can also be read on ao3!
Sylus’ cock twitches inside you again, accompanied by a near imperceptible grind against your core. Unfortunately for him, even the smallest movement cannot evade your notice—not when he fills you so wholly, stretching the walls of your cunt with the impossible thickness of his hard cock.
“Every time you distract me, it will only take me that much longer to finish,” you warn, eyes glued to the page of your open book. You bracket his hips, taking his cock with your book pressed to his chest as he leans against the headboard of his bed. Your bed.
“Kitten,” he groans, heady and desperate. “It’s been an hour.”
“And if you had any patience to begin with, I would have been done already.”
He has no one to blame but himself for his current predicament. You were laying in bed, engrossed in your reading when he slipped in next to you. First it was his arm around your waist, then came the whispers in your ear, and once you made it clear that you wanted to finish the last hundred or so pages tonight, that’s when he ignored your wishes entirely and began kissing down your spine.
You warned him, sternly, that he would regret trying to distract you. But Sylus, ever the insatiable one, just wouldn’t listen—slipping his fingers to your cunt, spreading you open and rutting his cock inside like it would be of no consequence.
So of course, bad behavior needs to be punished. He can have his cock inside of you, but until you finish your book, that’s all he can have.
You’re praying he doesn’t notice, however, that you haven’t registered anything you’ve read since pinning him to the bed. How many times have you reread the same paragraph, just to not absorb a single word by the time you move on to the next? Only the devilish temptation to drag yourself up and down the glorious length of him filling your thoughts. It’s easy to pretend, at least. To flip a page every other minute while he groans beneath you, restless.
“Please, kitten. Let me fuck you,” he whines so beautifully, and you can’t resist looking up at him.
You’re met with the very essence of debauchery—his hair sweat-soaked and sticking to his forehead, skin flushed pink with want, teeth grit as he closes his eyes to suck in a sharp breath. His Adam’s apple bobs with a strained swallow as a salty bead of sweat drips down his neck and onto his sharp clavicle, begging you to lick at it.
It’s impossible to ignore the way your cunt clenches around his cock at the sight, not with Sylus this perfectly pathetic and desperate for you. You use every ounce of your willpower to pretend you don’t want to give in.
“No matter how sweetly you beg, it won’t make me change my mind, you know.”
Sylus growls, canting his hips beneath ever so slightly and yet it still pulls an involuntary moan from you. Your first, and last, mistake it seems—because he smirks then, large hands gripping your thighs tightly as red mist whisks your book from your hands. Too quickly you’re the one pinned instead, Evol wrapped around your wrists, leaving you helpless.
Sylus’ old draconic urges have been sanded down by time and control until they’re little more than faint echoes.
Most days he’s content to be the man who owns the N109 Zone.
But every spring, around the equinox when the city air turns thick with pollen and new heat, something ancient wakes up.
It starts subtle: restless pacing at three in the morning, red eyes glowing brighter in the dark, the shadow of wings he hasn’t had in centuries manifesting under the right light, under his back like phantom limbs. His voice drops half an octave. His touch lingers longer, heavier.
He doesn't say the word "rut," but you feel it in the way he crowds you against walls, in the way his teeth scrape your throat just shy of breaking skin, in the way he starts buying things.
Jewellery arrives in velvet lined boxes almost daily.
Thick chokers studded with black diamonds, heavy ruby drops that brush your collarbones, ropes of pearls so long they drape between your breasts like spilled moonlight. Gold cuffs that clank against each other when you move, rings stacked three deep on every finger, a delicate golden headband that sits like a crown, then a proper tiara, ruby and onyx, sharp enough to draw blood if you're careless. He clasps each piece on you himself, fingers reverent, eyes dark with something older than love.
“You look like a treasure,” he murmurs against your ear one night, voice rough as gravel. “My treasure.”
And you’re already dripping by the time he finishes adorning you. The weight of it all, cold metal warming against fevered skin, gems catching every flicker of lamplight, makes you feel obscene, decadent, claimed in a way that has nothing to do with words.
He doesn’t bother with the bed this time.
He backs you against the full length mirror in the bedroom, spins you so you’re facing your own reflection: flushed cheeks, lips swollen from earlier kisses, body glittering like a dragon’s hoard brought to life. Multiple necklaces layer over your throat and chest, diamond choker tight against your pulse, heavy pearl rope slung low across your shoulders, the long gold chain he draped between your breasts earlier now swaying with every shaky breath. Bangles slide down your wrists, rings bite into your fingers where you brace against the glass. The tiara tilts slightly when he fists your hair.
“Look at yourself,” he growls, voice vibrating through your spine. One hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise; the other guides his cock to your entrance, teasing once, twice, then sinking in with a single brutal thrust that punches the air from your lungs.
Everything clinks.
The sound is obscene, metal on metal, gems knocking together, bangles sliding, chains swaying, the tiara shifting against your scalp with every snap of his hips. He bottoms out and the long gold necklace drags across your sternum, cool links sliding over heated skin. The pearl rope slips lower, heavy beads rolling against your breasts. Every time he pulls back and slams home again the jewellery answers: clink-clink-clink, rhythmic, filthy, like coins spilling across stone.
You watch it all in the mirror, his silver hair falling into his eyes, the way his eyes shine like blood, the way his jaw clenches when you clench around him. His thrusts are deep, punishing, possessive; each one drives the breath from you in sharp gasps, makes the necklaces jump and settle, makes the tiara slip until he reaches up to fix it with bruising fingers.
“Mine,” he snarls against your shoulder, teeth grazing the place where neck meets throat. “Every fucking piece of you. Every sound. Every mark.” He punctuates the last word with a grind that has you seeing white, the head of his cock pressing right against that spot that makes your knees buckle.
You try to answer something coherent, something pleading but all that comes out is a broken moan. The jewellery keeps clinking, relentless, underscoring every wet slide, every slap of skin on skin. Pearls drag across your chest, gold chains catch on your nipples, bangles slide up your forearms when you reach back to clutch at his thigh.
He fucks you like he’s trying to imprint himself into your bones.
When you come it’s sudden and shattering, back arching, jewellery rattling like a broken chandelier, a high keening sound tearing from your throat. Sylus follows seconds later with a guttural curse, burying himself to the hilt and spilling hot and deep, hips jerking through the aftershocks while the chains and beads keep chiming softly against cooling skin.
He doesn’t pull out right away.
Instead he wraps both arms around you from behind, chin hooked over your shoulder, red eyes meeting yours in the mirror. His breathing is ragged, right eye glowing. One hand drifts up to adjust the tiara again, gentler this time, then trails down to toy with the pearl rope draped across your collarbone.
“Beautiful” he says, voice hoarse, almost vulnerable beneath the growl.
You reach up, fingers tangling in his hair.
The jewellery clinks once more when you turn your head to kiss him.
Outside, spring keeps turning.
Inside, the ancient thing in his chest finally quiets again.
You sigh up at him. After all the work it took to get in this position considering your injuries, now he’s being a spoilsport. “Don’t want a blowjob?”
His face flushes at your phrasing. “You’re not kneeling in your condition.”
“I already am,” you shoot back. The three pillows cushioned underneath your knees aren’t actually doing all that much to help the incessant ache creeping up your leg. That damned ankle still hasn’t mended.
Diluc doesn’t leave any more room for stubbornness. He gathers you up into his arms with ease, settling you back on the bed in the most infuriatingly gentle way possible. He takes it upon himself to destroy the pile of pillows you so painstakingly tossed on the floor, his expression steely. Really, he’s no fun at all.
“You’re hard,” you leer.
Diluc clears his throat awkwardly as he fixes the pillows behind your back, leaving you propped comfortably. “I’ll take care of it myself.”
“Diluc.” He halts at the tone of your voice.
“I— we—“ he stumbles. “We can’t. You’re only beginning to heal, and the doctor said—“
He’s rambling. It’s so unlike him. The Diluc Ragnvindr you know would rather not speak at all than make a fool of himself, but here he is, stuttering through excuses.
“Diluc,” you repeat. He stops, and finally makes eye contact with you once more. “Come here.”
His jaw clenches, but he kneels on the edge of the bed obediently.
“C’mon,” you urge. Diluc shuffles, rather awkwardly, on his knees until he’s close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him.
“I’m not entirely sure this is a good idea,” he says shakily.
“I am,” you reply cheerily. You guide him forward, tugging one of his legs to rest on your opposite side until he’s straddling you. He’s not even close to resting against you, much less putting any weight on your injuries, but you can still feel the tightness in his muscles as he moves. He’s overly cautious, as always.
You grab him by the backs of his thighs, yanking him forward until his hips are inches from your face. His breath catches, hand shooting out to brace himself against the headboard above your head. Much better.
“This is a terrible idea,” he mutters again.
“So you keep saying. Yet here you are.” You grin up at him. Diluc only huffs out a breath in response.
You nuzzle against his cock, perfectly at eye level with you leaned against the headboard like this. There’s a smug part of you that is utterly satisfied that your plan has worked out so well after all.
“I think,” he gasps, flushed right down to his chest, “this may be too much for me.”
“You’ll be fine,” you say cheerily, half into the bulging fabric in front of you. It’s an excellent view. He’s left his hair down today, and it frames his face beautifully.
Given it’s his first blowjob, you’ll make sure to give him the full service. You hold him firmly in place by his thighs, relishing in how firm and sturdy they feel beneath your hands. You’ve always know Diluc was fit, given he swings around a claymore and moves entire barrels of wine like it’s nothing. But feeling the ripple of his muscles beneath your fingers, seeing his bulging, solid pectoral muscles and abdomen from this angle— Maybe you do have a kink for muscles after all.
You continue to mouth at him through his trousers, dampening the fabric with your saliva. He’s being awfully quiet, just as he was when he first got off in front of you. You peek up at him.
His eyes are squeezed tightly shut, forehead tilted against the wall.
There’s no need to delay any longer, and you swiftly tug his belt open. His breathing is already rapid, and only quickens once you pull the button of his trousers open. He’s so hard just from a little kissing. The thought sends a shiver down your spine.
Archons.
Seeing his cock this close… You had thought before that it was pretty, but now you’re even more sure. It seems absurd, to call a prick pretty. But Diluc’s is. Maybe it’s a result of his fine family pedigree. Maybe it’s just because it’s Diluc Ragnvindr.
You nuzzle against his length, breathing in his scent. Diluc groans gently, head dipping down.
“Did you just bathe?” you ask. He smells like soap, the soft and slightly sweet kind that only nobles can ever afford. But there’s a heady, manly undercurrent that has your fingers trembling with need.
He doesn’t answer. Maybe he can’t, given the way he’s gnawing at his bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the sounds he’s making.
You suck in a breath as you circle your fingers around his length, giving him a few firm strokes. Prettiest cock in Teyvat, surely.
Diluc gasps when you slip your other hand up to cup his balls, leaning forward to press your lips against them. “Nice and full, hm?”
He chokes on his words, head thumping forward against the wall. He’s going to concuss himself at this rate. The only thing that comes out of his mouth is an indiscernible jumble of words.
You suckle one of his balls into your mouth, lips pursed around his silken skin. Diluc’s entire body shivers, back stiffening, his prick throbbing hotly in your hand.
You pull away for a brief moment. “Look, Diluc.”
“I can’t,” he trembles. “I’ll come.”
“It’s your first time. Come as many times as you want,” you soothe. To say you love a cock seems to be a bit salacious, but Gods, Diluc’s is up there with the best.
He makes an indecipherable sound in response. At the very least, he’s no longer just squeezing his eyes shut. But the way he’s looking down at you, eyes half-lidded and glazed, makes your heart race. Now that you’ve gotten his attention, though, it can’t hurt to put on a show.
You push his shirt up a little more, gripping his bare hip with your free hand as you jerk him. You slow down the pace just to focus on his glans, working your fingers relentlessly over his drooling head. There’s another thud above you as Diluc jerks, a startled, guttural groan escaping his bitten lips. You can feel how hard he’s trembling, can feel the way his muscles are straining as he fights to keep himself still.
Enough teasing.
The noise he makes when your tongue flicks against his glans is too loud, but you can’t find it in yourself to hold back just for the sake of not being found out by others in the house.
It’s difficult, at first, getting your jaw to relax enough to take Diluc in. Even more difficult given the fact that Diluc is a wreck above you, hands thudding against the wall and his entire body trembling with every movement you make. It seems unfair for a man to be as beautiful as he is, as wealthy as he is, and have an obnoxiously large cock. Maybe it’s proof that he truly is adored by the heavens. Visions are meaningless when you’ve got the biggest cock in Mondstadt.
Vulgar sounds come from your mouth as you work his cock, saliva oozing from your lips and wetting Diluc’s prick.
This man has survived death. Fought more battles than you’ll ever see in your life. Known bloodshed intimately.
But here he is, falling apart from getting his cock sucked.
The thought spurs you on. Diluc writhes with every bob of your head. You fondle his balls as you take him down your throat, squeezing as if to milk his orgasm out of him.
He melts under your languid movements, groaning every time your tongue slides down his length. It’s not easy to take him deep, not by any means, but you’re on enough pain medication for any feelings of discomfort to be relatively dulled.
The sound Diluc makes when he finally hits the back of your throat makes it more than worth it. You catch his eyes, and he looks— startled, almost, all flushed and dazed and lovely.
You haven’t done this in a long time, but it’s worth a shot.
You let your jaw go slack, tilting forward. Diluc wheezes as his cock slides deeper into your throat. He’s too big to take in fully, but it’s enough.
It’s clear he’s doing everything in his power to stop his hips from fucking forward unrestrained in pursuit of pleasure, knuckles white where his hands are pressed against the wall. Diluc’s face is contorted with bliss, lips parted and sweat dripping down the length of his neck.
“I’m coming,” he rasps suddenly. His hips startle forward with such force that it’s certainly involuntary. You nearly choke, but you don’t have the time to process your near-death-by-cock before he’s coming into the back of your throat. You have no choice but to swallow, and it’s all you can do to not suffocate as Diluc trembles through his orgasm.
“Sorry, sorry,” he rambles, even as he’s still coming into your mouth. He jerks his hips back to give you air but you hold him firmly, coaxing him through it.
It feels like an eternity before you finally let him go. Diluc sways as he moves from over top of you, barely holding his balance before he crumples next to you on the bed. His face is still red and glistening with sweat, but he looks lovely like this. He’s always lovely, no matter the state of him.
“Good cock,” you murmur, more than self-satisfied. Your voice is completely shot. You wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand, sloppy with come and saliva.
You pat Diluc’s stomach affectionately with your clean hand. Diluc makes a strangled noise. “You’re too much for me.”
He slurs the word like he’s intoxicated. It’s just as amusing as it is endearing, seeing him like this. Boneless. He hasn’t even managed to zip his trousers back up.
“Was it good?” you ask.
Diluc makes a sound between a laugh and a sob. “Fucking hell.”
“Want a kiss?” you say, half-jokingly. You did just swallow his come, after all.
Diluc pushes himself up, pressing his mouth to yours.
─ ❧ 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.
a/n: saw this piece of stunning artwork and immediately got inspired.
"Are they sensitive?" You ask, seated on Sylus' lap while your hands roam his bare chest. The muscles twitch beneath lightly flushed skin, shifting with his every breath. "Do they hurt?"
Sylus chuckles, his warm hands under your shirt and caressing your waist. "No, sweetie," he assures you. "It's been years since I got them done and they didn't hurt back then when they were freshly pierced."
"Bragging about your pain tolerance," you grumble playfully, drifting your hands towards his pierced nipples. Barbells neatly pushed through brown flesh, the silver a wonderful contrast against his skin. "That's unbecoming of you, Sylus."
"So you say," Sylus quips before his breath hitches at your fingers brushing against peaked nipples. "Is my kitten going to play with me?"
You feign a thoughtful hum. "Just a little," you reply and squeeze his chest so the fat spills between the gaps of your fingers. It has Sylus sighing, a soft noise that tickles your senses. "Just wanna see how far I can push you. See how loud I can make you moan."
Sylus huffs, amused, and his eyes flutter shut when you start to pluck at his nipples. You pinch them between your index and thumb, roll them around with enough force that it hurts just enough to have Sylus' back arching. You gently tug at one of the piercings, watching closely when Sylus bites back a moan.
He's melting so prettily, almost like putty in your hands, as he allows you to play with him. His hips raise up in a subconscious search for fiction, his cock hard and heavy in his pants. You gasp when it nudges against the curve of your ass, heat spilling messily between your thighs.
"So pretty," you murmur in awe, eyes roving over Sylus' flushed cheeks and blown eyes, not a hint of red present in them. His lips are bitten swollen, parted as he pants into the space between you. "So pretty, Sylus."
"You flatter me, sweetie," he says, breathing ragged with pleasure. "It's you who is—oh fuck."
Sylus lets his head fall back with an unrestrained moan that seems to echo near and fear. A beautiful result from you ducking down to wrap your lips around his left nipple. You roll it around with your tongue, savouring the cool metal turning warm from your saliva. Your cheeks hollow to suck on it and Sylus trembles ever so slightly, hips lifting up to grind his cock against your ass again.
"Kitten," Sylus groans out, already a little broken and you smile around a mouthful of his chest.
You tug at the barbell with your teeth and Sylus pushes his chest further into your mouth.
᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus who suddenly becomes a regular at the diner you work in. he shows up every night between 11 and 12 like clockwork, getting himself your suggested order of sweet coffee and a classic western omelette. not something he’d typically go for but since it’s a favorite of yours, it didn’t take anything at all to become his.
you’ve always considered him an enigma despite how much you’ve spoken to and serviced him over the course of your building… dynamic. it was a constant thought, wondering why an older man as expensive looking as him was out at such late hours and in a cheap restaurant like this to begin with. you were secretly grateful for it though, never daring to admit out loud how much you looked forward to his visits accompanied with the velvety richness of his voice when he smugly says, “good evening, sweetie. table for one?”
᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus only wants your help when he’s there. not your manager or either of your other two coworkers who work the night shift alongside you. just you, his sweetheart.
it’s not often that an accident turns out to be a beautiful thing for a man like him, but luke and kieran sending him the wrong address after begging for their food to be picked up was a cherished mistake.
᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus will never forget how you skipped over to him in your cute checkered uniform, eyes tired but smile still bright just for him. you’d told him in awe how much his eyes reminded you of deep red salvias and how his hair was the prettiest shade of silver you’ve ever seen.
never did he think he’d live to experience such a fondness so gentle and featherlight, but the surge of sudden emotions you’d set alight in him wasn’t something he was willing to let slip away so easily when he wanted it.
everyday he made it a priority to come see you after he wrapped up whatever business endeavors that prevented him from arriving sooner. but he never left until you did, so despite his idea of what he considered inexcusable tardiness, sylus always ensured he still got a healthy dosage of the unexpected craving that became you.
᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus loves to hear you talk. it’s addicting—much softer and far more pleasant than ricocheting bullets or any gritty gun powder he’s ever rubbed in between his fingertips. you ramble to him all about the things one your age would fawn over: hobbies, movies, books, and family. simply were you an open book, an advantage for someone who wanted to be the reason why the rest of your pages were properly filled.
with every conversation do you find new things to tell him and he never fails to keep them filed away in his mind for safe keeping.
᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus is far from intimated by the age gap between you two and is pleased to see that it doesn’t seem to bother you either. because even with the age lines across his face, he can see how you still stare at him as if you were the one who had gotten lucky. while you do find the fine clothes and his impressively large stature to be a significant bonus, the value you see in his experiences and opinions was something that could change a man for good.
yes, you’re a young woman, much younger than he’s been in a short while, but it’s that kind of vulnerable innocence that he forgets can exist in something so pure. you’re captivation with the kind of life he’s lived screams at him to be the one who gives you better.
᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus always tries his luck when it comes to trying to accompany you home. you kindly turn down his offer every time and he never pushes, understanding your stuttering hesitation and wanting you to settle into the palm of his hand with ease in the same way he’s already wrapped himself around your delicate fingers.
he doesn’t particularly prefer you out when the sun is down without him, let alone working such a job at all. it would give him a semblance of peace to know you made it home safely with him by your side.
does he still find a way to get what he wants by secretly following you while you wait at the bus stop and walk the lamp-lit streets in the meantime? of course.
sylus has always been a believer that patience was a virtue, after all.
᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus didn’t expect for you to ask him if he’d take the bus home with you on the day you finally cave, but he appreciates how much you’ve found your own unique ways to keep him on his toes.
he humbly accepts and continues to be your ideal gentleman, holding your hand inside the wool pocket of his peacoat all the way to your stop and paying for your ticket. he even has you be the one to sit when only a single seat is available no matter how much you urge him to instead.
he can’t help but to stare down at your pretty face, reaching out a hand to cup your jaw and tenderly swiping his thumb along your cheekbone.
“what’re you doing that for, mr. qin?” you look up at him with a partially cocky smirk, a habit he’s unintentionally instilled in you. the heat in your body is still raging despite the loss of his touch when he unfortunately pulls away.
that makes him chuckle, low and smooth like luxurious silk. “because i want you and you let me. isn’t that enough of a reason, kitten?”
᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus didn’t think he’d be teaching you how to give him a blowjob after your unexpected advances in the comfort of your living room, but he was confident that he could die in this moment and leave the planet with no regrets.
the sight of you on your knees, pupils dilated and lustful with needy determination knitting your brows, was an exquisite one. all the blood rushed to his dick as your gaze flickered between his belt buckle that you frenziedly undo and his hooded stare. you’re eager—impatient, but sylus doesn’t interrupt. it brings him joy to see you take.
and once you have him in front of you, cock thick and pulsing in your palm, it’s impossible to ignore the desire to please him that coils in your gut.
“nervous?” he asks softly, smiling at the immediate shy shake of your head that does little convincing. “determined little thing, aren’t you? there’s no need to lie to me, sweetie. you forget how well i know you.”
you tentatively start with tiny kisses down both sides of his length just like you’ve seen in many videos before, suckling on his bulbous tip and rubbing him against your pursed lips
that’s when he accepted your mouth to be capable of making him even more of a dangerous man.
᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus likes to watch how much effort you put into learning his body. you slowly took him in as he patiently instructed, breathed through your nose like he urged, and whimpered when the vein on the underside of his heavy length slid onto your flattened tongue along with the rest of him.
“so eager… and such a good girl. you like being told what to do, don’t you?” he sharply inhales from how he nudges against the back of your tight throat, balls growing heavier the more you try your best to make every inch of him fit.
it didn’t matter how much you gagged. with hollowed cheeks and watery eyes, you absolutely refused to stop.
“obedience, submission…” sylus trails off, captivated by how almost dependent you’ve made him feel. “both are so beautiful on you.”
quickly had it grown filthy, excessive amounts of spit spilling out the corners of your mouth, and your heartbeat thumped harder when he began to guide your amateur yet intoxicating movements.
it made you fixate on the masculinity he effortlessly exudes and the musky smell of him as you found your pace up and down his twitching shaft. every part of him was the most alluring thing you’ve ever had the pleasure to get a taste of. even that saltiness of his precum claiming your tastebuds was something you could get hooked on.
᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus has already decided that you belong to him. how could he live with himself if he didn’t own your warm mouth and greedy licks?
“my p-perfect doll,” he coos. his sincere admiration and hand still firmly wrapped up in your hair has you pathetically humming around his leaking cock. “i can’t wait to worship you. you and your pretty pussy. how much is she drooling, hm? promise me you’ll let me taste it.”
the rug beneath your knees stings as good as his grip in your scalp. with the urgency he puts into his hips, almost as if he’s trying to chase your mouth, sylus’ head lolls to the side and he lets that intense buildup heating his skin completely take over him.
you never falter, sucking him with the same level of appetency until he finally falls apart. his husky groans only encouraged you further.
seeing one as powerful as sylus become completely vulnerable and unguarded despite you being the one giving was a sense of power that electrified your senses.
sticky streams of his cum hit your tongue fast to make your cunt helplessly clench tighter and your panties embarrassingly wetter. at first, you wanted to pull off, to let his seed grace your skin instead, but the way he holds your jaw so soothingly with him still settled in your mouth was enough of an encouragement to not move until he finished.
“you can spit it out,” he offers sincerely, breathless and utterly spent but the most satisfied he’s been in such a long time. “it’s alright, kitten. i promise. don’t force yourself. or… open your mouth and i’ll take care of it.”
sylus hisses as you slowly remove yourself from him, thin strings of your saliva clinging to your flushed lips before falling to your chin. he leans forward when you comply, your jaw lowering to reveal the pool of his seed. you don’t have time to deny the way kisses you with such dizzying force. what you didn’t swallow, he takes both that and your mouth selfishly.
“you do know that i’m far from finished with you, right?” he kisses the corner of your lips.
“i was… hoping you wouldn’t be,” you meekly admit, throat raw and slightly sore in the most invigorating way.
he hums with amusement. “think you can handle it?”
“let me show you that i can.”
᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus never believed he could fall in love. but the night he met you became his proof that anything was possible.
a/n: if you don’t like this… LITERALLY DON’T TELL ME!!!! 😩
creds to @/uzmacchiato for bow divider!!
♾️ 🏷️ : @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @xiaprint @sensual-study @sweetcalebb @asiaticapple @raemanova @callads7 @floatinginaer @crimsonsylus @aquarianbeat @inutrasha94 @ladyjade @lamogliedizayne @sylusqt @gktdh @raendarkfaerie @sickleddreamer @cloudedangels @alyakhq @aoinili @iridescentshine @luvinbloom @loveinorion @wetforsylus @naammiii (i need to start doing my tags again lmaooo)
Xia Yizhou, who prefers being called Caleb, is a young man who requires no introduction. Excellence is expected from him by his professors, his team trusts him to lead them to victory on the court and classmates wordlessly plead for him to carry group projects. He juggles sports, academics and socializing without breaking a sweat, making it look so easy to lead a balanced life.
Magnetic, they call him, with the way he draws everyone in with that effortless charm, well-placed confidence and compassion.
“XYZ” is what he's known as on the court—his swift and precise maneuvers ensure that he always finishes what he starts like the last three letters of the alphabet. He's the face of the basketball program if not the entire institution.
He's the guy who deserves to be popular. Ever ready to help by holding open doors, sifting through papers during office hours, spreading awareness with his influence about campaigns running in the social committee, gives back to the community. He knows many by their names, never letting them feel insignificant.
Admirers were a given. His sunset eyes, dawn brown hair that made him blend in with the late afternoons and early mornings were easy to marvel over. His smiles were generous and his boyish laughter contagious. The way his hair falls over his eyes looks like the wind stirred it but it's almost intentional with how it brings out his dark brows and those gentle, earnest, puppy dog eyes. They're deceptively sweet like a fruity popsicle on a hot day.
Deceptive because if you catch him at the right moment, you'll see the shift. A tilt of his head, a tugging grin and a flash of mischief in his gaze tells you everything you need to know. He knows the effect he has on people and uses it well. He's akin to a golden retriever with how he could stir trouble but one coy, doe-eyed look and you're forgiving him without consequence.
That kind of dangerous combination had girls and guys tripping over themselves to chase after him, hands outstretched to reach for him, confessions of their love spewing from their lips.
So when you come into the picture, he's thrown a curve ball.
Caleb who knows he fucked up by getting his childhood best friend, Emcee, to pose as his fake girlfriend to steer away girls on campus when he sets his sights on you. The attention was overwhelming at times even for a guy like him so the white lie served as repellent to them. Well, the ones who had a good set of morals to not chase after a taken man, of course.
You were one of them.
Not that you showed any interest in him.
He's used to girls getting all shy around him, batting their lashes and touching his arm or even straight up trying to get in his pants.
Wedding bells ring in his ears when he first hears your laughter across the quad, hand over your mouth as more giggles tumble out of you. He was envious of how the sun kissed your face, cheeks glowing with unabashed joy, head inclined fondly as you cast those pretty, intent eyes at your friend who spoke animatedly.
God, he wanted you to look at him like that.
You had some classes together, the ones that were for minimum credits and didn't affect your entrance for exams if you skipped the majority of them. He usually did that but knowing you'd be there had his attendance skyrocketing.
He wouldn't talk to you much, just a greeting in passing. You never attempted to make conversation either but he'd hear snippets of yours with your friends, talking about your weekend, the shows they're hooked on, celebrity they're fawning over and when your next hangout should be.
Even so, he'd fill in Gideon and his other friends about his brief encounters with you like they were stretched out for hours rather than the few seconds they actually were. He'd recount it all, your face, your voice, your gaze on him like a poet would write a sonnet.
“Just talk to her already,” was the response he'd receive time and time again from his frustrated, trusted teammates who swore they wouldn't tell anyone.
Captivating as you were, Caleb found you quite intimidating. Success wasn't based on luck for him, it was a habit. And you were the one person that made him feel like it'd be a feat to win you over.
Just like him, you were untouchable. You had the presence that had people fixing their posture and clothes to mirror yours when you walked in the room. Academically, you were at the top of your class. Students and professors alike strive for even a fraction of your discipline, focus and resilience.
As welcoming as your presence was with your kind smiles, willingness to block out time to tutor peers and giving emotionally intelligent advice, you had clear cut boundaries. Polite as you were, if something was too much for you like an administrator's unending list of extracurriculars or an overconfident suitor who wouldn't take a hint, you made them aware of your limits with grace and poise.
In class, you see Caleb as nothing but another student, not a golden boy. While others try to flirt or strike up conversation with him, hoping to climb the social hierarchy, your interactions are brief with quick smiles and unimportant chatter.
And maybe that's what unsettles the all-rounder, keeping him away from your orbit but still hovering around the edge of it. Everyone else is taken with him to some degree or another and while you see that he's a good person, not undeserving of the applause he receives, you maintain a deliberate distance.
Boy, does that drive him crazy, having him toss and turn restlessly at night, staring at the airplane figurine hanging from his ceiling like it had the answer to his problems. Or maybe it was your delicate scent that was always a head-turner. It clung to his jacket for weeks now and like a creep, he'd sniff it, taking greedy gulps of the heady aroma as he reminisced about the day it clung to his clothes.
One of your friends had been absent so the spot that usually separated him from you was empty. Someone wanted to take a seat causing him to scoot until he was shoulder to shoulder with you. He'd apologised for the lack of space but you shook your head, assuring him it was fine. His shoulder tingles at the memory of yours warming him and he wonders if you felt how his body was burning up from the contact.
Pathetic, that's what he was. If he just spoke to you like a proper human being, he could stop fantasizing and start acting.
Determined as ever, he gets Gideon to personally invite you and your friends to the party this Friday night. It wasn't a regular rager but rather a birthday bash for one of the brothers in the fraternity.
“Not my 21st rodeo” was the theme and the dress code was cowboys.
As many clothes as he had, Caleb did not own a cowboy hat. But Gideon had him covered, even made his life easier by getting him a graphic t-shirt too. He just has to pair it with jeans and boots then he'd be good to go.
The illustration and words at the back of it had him chuckling to himself. He did love a lame pickup line.
Yet his amusement dampened a bit when you took him in that night.
Clad in a cropped button-up shirt that hugs your waist, top buttons undone to show your distracting bust and a strip of your midriff, you look him up and down. The brown belt with a chunky buckle that holds up your bootleg jeans catches the strobe lights of the lively living room, a popular song thumping through the speakers. But all Caleb sees is you and that cowboy hat that hid your pretty face when you glance down at his shoes.
Playful, he does a spin for you so you can see that the seemingly plain white tee that stretched across his defined chest was actually on theme.
“Got any cowboy in ya’? Want some?” You read the writing in a bored voice while your friends giggle.
“Glad to see the frat is matching, I guess,” you comment as a lot of the guys here have obnoxious phrases on their t-shirts too.
Your lack of amusement has Caleb's face burning, ears red as he turns back around with a sheepish chuckle, scratching the back of his neck, his bicep bulging as he does.
How were you okay with the guy dressed as a cow hybrid but not his silly little tee?
“Just playin' m'part, Miss,” he tells you in a Southern drawl, tipping his hat.
That has your eyebrow arching, dry amusement on your face that has his heart kicking.
An hour or so later, when the party is in full swing and all your friends are dispersed to do their own things, you duck into the kitchen to find something other than cheap beer or strong shots.
“Moonshine” as the label reads is what you find in a crystal bowl and the pink punch with slices of fruit looks enticing so you grab a cup from the stack and pick up the ladle.
“I'd stay away from that if I were you,” that smooth voice from earlier says from behind you. “It's loaded with spirits and whatever other shit the guys tossed in earlier for their challenge.”
Curiosity killed, you dropped the ladle onto the counter with a clang. Frat boys were a funky breed so you weren't trying your luck with that. You set down your empty cup, facing him.
The kitchen lighting halos the hat on his head. His eyes look darker beneath it but they're still the epitome of boy-next-door as he gives you a slight smile.
“What you're lookin’ for is in there,” he informs you with a nod to the fridge.
With a nod, you walk over, hips swishing in that strut you do. His eyes are drawn to the satisfying sway of them. It was like watching a panther on the prowl and all you were missing was the curling tail in tow.
Opening the top door only to see that it's a freezer, you bend to browse the contents of the fridge at the bottom. And Caleb traitorously tracks the skin of your lower back that peeks out at him, a dip in your spine that directs his gaze lower to the curve of your rear.
Lightly slapping himself out of his stupor, he brings a hand up to make sure the saliva that gathered in his mouth didn't trickle out and sighs quietly in relief when he finds nothing.
He needs to start talking before he starts imagining unbecoming things.
“So, haven't seen you ‘round these parts.” He kicks himself mentally for that lame accent.
You hum, taking your sweet time to decide like you're oblivious to his conundrum.
“Not really my idea of an ideal Friday night but I wanted to try something new.”
That gets his attention, accent falling away.
“Yeah? What do you prefer to do then?”
You nod your head side to side as you think about it.
“Stay at home and read or watch a movie. Maybe go out for dinner with my friends and walk around the city,” you answer.
He perks up at that, “No way, me too!”
You find that hard to believe since he hosts a lot of these parties.
“Really?” You draw out the word lazily.
If Caleb catches your disinterest, he doesn't show it, sounding even more cheery than usual as he nods.
“Mhm, I know a lot of good spots around Skyhaven so if you get stuck wondering where to go, just ask,” he tells you, glancing everywhere but your bowed form. How could you stand like that for so long?
Your expression that was mildly bored turns frosty as you stand up straight. Forgetting your search for a decent drink, you shut the fridge.
“Why are you—”
Jenna comes bounding into the kitchen just then, grabbing you by the shoulders and ushering you into the living room, saying something about this being her favorite song and wanting you to dance with her.
The coolness on your face melts as you laugh at her excitement and join her, leaving Caleb all alone in the empty kitchen that feels much bigger without you.
No worries though. You came for your friends so naturally you're bound to spend the night with them. He'll talk to you another time.
Meanwhile, in the living room, among the partygoers, you move your body to the beat of the song playing.
Jenna gives you that wide-eyed, slightly panicked, slightly strict look she does whenever you tell her about a bad decision you made and your brows twitch in confusion.
“Steer clear of XYZ,” she tells you, lips close to your ear so you hear her over the loud music.
You pull back, checking to see if she's high. “The alphabet?”
Throwing her head back with a groan, she brings her gaze back to you once more. “Caleb aka Xia Yizhou.”
Mouth forming an “o” you nod in understanding. She could've just said that the first time.
Nodding with you, she hums, “Yeah, him. Stay away from that one, he has a girlfriend in Linkon. They're doing long distance.”
That stumps you. The guy back there who was definitely eyeing your bent over form when you were scanning the fridge is in a relationship with someone?
If his talkativeness hadn't deterred you already, this new information certainly did. Who comes to parties and entertains the advances of single women when he's got a partner a few hours away?
Men are disgusting. They liked having their cake and eating it too.
In a way, it pleases a dark part of you to know he wasn't as perfect as everyone painted him out to be. They were really overselling it like they do with most men, probably because the decent ones were far and few between whereas women surpass them all the time.
And you definitely weren't buying into it now. Infidelity was one of the things that instantly tainted someone's clean reputation in your mind, putting them on the “do not interact” list in your head.
So when he approaches you again on your way to class the following week, you can hardly contain your revulsion even while he's cluelessly yapping away.
“Are you free this Friday? I was thinking maybe you and I could grab a bite to eat together or something. Take a late night drive?” The words rush out of him, pushed from his lungs by the hope that fills them.
Finally, he worked up the courage to ask you out. Something that felt harder than any match, exam or interview he's ever had. He's soaring on the pride it gives him.
Then falls right back down to the ground when your lip curls in disgust. He takes a step back like he took a blow to the chest, deflating.
“Unbelievable,” you breathe. “Don't you have a girlfriend? Cheating prick,” you spit as you shove past him, his heart jumping at your roughness, something he hadn't expected you were capable of.
Girlfriend? He thinks, befuddled as he watches your retreating figure marching away, all wound up and irritated. The fact that he's the cause makes him feel sick.
Running a hand through his hair, he paces, racking his brain to understand where the hell that came from. Sure, you never looked at him sweetly but neither did you glare as harsh as you did just now.
As he's connecting the dots like a detective on a cold case, his phone buzzes. Pulling it out and looking at the text in the pop-up, it all clicks.
It's her.
Shit, he was so caught up in all the fluffy, pink feelings inside him that tasted like cotton candy melting on his tongue that it completely slipped his mind that he had been boasting about having a “girlfriend back home” to everyone who'd listen.
He's at Emcee's door hours later, begging her to stage a breakup. The word spreads on campus the very next day, carried by the big mouths of the gossips, elated by the news.
The entire female population has their eyes on him now, ready to play the role of his caregiver to comfort him through these hard times. Faking heartbreak is easier than Caleb thought, especially because he was nursing your stinging rejection.
His ametrine eyes framed by those mahogany lashes and thick brows make him look like a sulking puppy, as Emcee and Zayne always pointed out. Girls would coo and melt at the sight of them.
You're immune to them, it seems.
“Good for her,” you'd cruelly told him when he informed you of his breakup firsthand.
“Excuse me?” His eyes squinted like he couldn't quite comprehend your lack of sympathy.
Shrugging, you took the straw of your drink into your mouth, sucking the breath from Caleb's lungs as you pulled.
“No girl wants a guy who can't keep his eyes from wandering. If that were me, I would've gouged them out.”
With a flick of your hair, you whirled around and left him standing there, speechless and honestly a bit hard.
A girl told you that while she was at the club, she saw him there and decided to shoot her shot at him. Nervous, she had rambled and he'd nodded attentively, a light smile on his face. It was only when she asked him her last question when he blinked and ducked to listen to what she said. She realised with embarrassment that he had just been bobbing his head to the beat of the song playing, not a thought behind his vacant eyes.
If only he'd responded to girls that way when he was dating, you thought with an eyeroll.
“Don't you think it's too much of a coincidence that she broke up with him right after you rejected him?” Simone asks, legs kicking behind her as she lays on Jenna's bed while the three of you lounge in her dorm.
Scoffing in disagreement, you flip through a magazine, “No, she must've finally caught wind of what a player he is.”
Your friends hum, unconvinced but say nothing more about the man or his ex-girlfriend, knowing you'll just deny it all. And you genuinely believe that there was no correlation of those two events.
For a bit.
Then the courting commenced and you saw how the two of them hid their smiles and pressed their lips together to stop the I-told-you-so's from being voiced.
Caleb doesn't need grand gestures. His presence was loud enough.
It starts small. Bringing you coffee during the morning class you shared, knowing your order better than you did. The grateful look he shot Simone told you she was the culprit who gave it to him. She avoided your gaze.
Your scowls, glares and bored looks did nothing to keep him away. He'd just raise a brow, smile and even chuckle, completely and utterly undeterred.
He'd walk you to class even if you took the longer routes to avoid him. He'd sit across from you in the library, help you with questions you were struggling with when he caught the telltale sign of your pen tapping your lips. Your favorite snacks would be on the desk you often sat at in the private study room and the flavors of the candies you didn't like would be missing.
And gosh, did he try to talk to you. Some days you'd offer a few, noncommitted hums and curt words and others, when you weren't in the mood, you'd say nothing at all. He didn't seem to mind, filling in the awkward silence for you.
Jenna and Simone were of no help. You often wondered if they were really your friends with how they'd side with him, feed into his antics by delivering information about you like top secret agents meeting in an alley to exchange an envelope.
“Come on, it's cute! Not many can say they had a guy like Caleb chasing after them during their college days,” Jenna reasons.
You're currently staring at the official Bratz merch that was sent to your apartment. All the pretty dolls, early 2000s tees and cute keychains were dulled when you remember who got them for you.
All because Simone opened her mouth and told him that you collected these figurines.
“Not many want a cheater after them either,” you counter with a grumble.
Still, you couldn't possibly turn down these gifts. They were your weakness and man, did they get his hopes up when he saw the chibi doll dressed in a onesie dangling from the zipper of your book bag.
That egged him on even more.
Caleb began showing up like your very own cheerleader. It's quiet at first—defending you in rooms you weren't in, remembering the little things and making you feel seen on your gloomy days.
And then, you question why he's a basketball player when he should be on the cheer squad. The man is writing you little motivational quotes and self-care reminders on sticky notes during test week, messages you songs that he thinks you'd like (he got your number during a group discussion), and offering to be your chauffeur to conferences when your car is in the shop.
The pompoms and t-shirt with your face and name plastered on it are all that's missing when he attends the debates and presentations you participate in, clapping louder than everyone else like he's someone proud who's known you your entire life when you win and even when you don't.
Does it get on your nerves? Absolutely. But you find it hard to tell him no. He doesn't push or look at you expectantly like you owe him for all of his efforts and just takes what you give.
Which is honestly kind of sad.
If only he'd shown you he was a good boyfriend, you might have given him a chance.
For now, you'd string him along like a dog on a leash. It was the least you could do after he was disloyal to his ex.
As for Caleb, he adjusted the collar to make sure it wouldn't come loose, tail wagging. If you took it off, he wouldn't run away for freedom like others would and instead sit and look at you with his head cocked in confusion.
Don't let him find out what you find physically attractive in a man's appearance because he is crazy enough to change his.
Then again, perhaps you're being egotistical and delusional from how he's spoiled you but you had to say that it was pretty odd that he grew his hair out and got a mullet along with a couple of piercings after you mentioned that you liked them.
“My ex back in high school had a few,” you had said when Gideon brought up body modifications at a kickback. “I'd treat it like a fidget toy for my mouth. Used to tug at his lip ring all the time when we made out. He was sick of me,” you chuckled.
“I doubt it,” Caleb chimed in, eyes meeting yours across the room. And of course, you rolled yours because you know he wouldn't mind.
Simone and Jenna had a nasty habit of leaving you alone with him, giggling to themselves and smiling all too wide. Gideon and his teammates were none the better, nudging him when you were passing by and calling you “Caleb's special friend.”
It was hard not to tease you both, especially him, when his attempts to impress you were so endearing to onlookers.
But he was beyond distracted.
Thrown completely off when he spots you on the bleachers during practice, chatting with Gideon who was benched and Jenna, your legs crossed.
An ugly feeling snatches his gut, bile rising in his throat when a guy he doesn't know but you clearly do comes up to you. You're more than willing to give him a hug too, arms wrapping around his neck—as opposed to around his waist like you do with others—rising to your tip toes as he engulfs you, hands dangerously close to the patch of skin revealed when the hem of your top lifts.
He can't think straight even after the guy leaves.
Easy shots are missed, his reactions are delayed, reflexes and training failing him like he never had them in the first place. It's like his limbs are jelly with how free throws miss him. Hell, he gets benched for the first time in ages after snapping at a newbie who tries to show off for you by stealing all his passes.
Not that he was any better but he digresses.
A part of him grows impatient, wanting to prove himself to you.
That's why he calls out to you, smiling when your head turns to find him like you'd kept track of him the entire time.
“If I get this ball in, how about one date?” He announces, holding up his index figure for emphasis.
Everyone's watching now, looking at you to see your reaction.
Your eyes narrow ever so slightly at him for putting you on the spot like this but you shrug.
“Sure.”
Oooh's and aaah's sound from his teammates and the students present.
A smarmy look takes over his face as he holds your gaze, back toward the basketball net. You arch a brow, watching to see how he does this.
Spinning the ball on his index finger, he stops and cups it in his palm. Then, eyes locked on yours, he launches the ball over his shoulder. He doesn't bother to look at it as it sails through the air, creating an arc.
There's a collision and then Gideon is sliding off the bench, clutching his stomach in uncontrollable, boisterous laughter.
Caleb turns then and sees everyone's cringing, sympathetic expressions. He knows what they mean. He'd missed the damn basket and hit the frame instead.
When he looks back at the bleachers, you're not there, already walking away after gathering your things, shaking your head.
His stomach churns. He doesn't need to see your face to know you're disappointed and probably experiencing secondhand embarrassment.
The supposed star athlete's aim isn't off when he hits Gideon in the stomach with the ball. His friend groans, rolling onto his side as his body shakes with his poorly suppressed laughter.
Weeks later, he's cutting you off on your way to the parking lot. “Can I have a do-over?”
Confusion creases your face. “What do you mean?”
He grimaces. “The whole “if I win, I can take you on a date” thing.”
Scoffing, you cross your arms. He's noticed how you're always so closed off with him, body facing away when he's in front of you, ensuring yours never grazes him like he's got a contagious disease or something.
Honestly, with how weird his behaviour gets around you, he thinks he does have a sickness. It's just that you're the cause and cure.
Inclining your head, your hair cascades to the side like silk. “Do you really want a repeat of the other day?”
Shaking his head vigorously, his expression is serious.
“That won't happen again,” at least not with how hard he's been practicing lately after that disaster.
With a sigh, you mull over the bet. “What do I get if you lose?”
He exhales, “Whatever you want.”
Your gaze turns cold. “Alright then. If you lose, you're going to leave me alone for good.”
That strikes him in the chest, a sharp pain disrupting his heartbeat. “You're serious.”
A nod is the only response he gets before you're rounding him and walking away.
The ultimatum tasted bitter in your mouth but you were tired of his constant advances. You didn't like watching him lose, it felt like when you'd get an unsatisfactory score on a test. Like it was a personal failing. That very realisation shocked you to your core. You were starting to care for him and if you weren't careful, you'd fall flat on your face.
So this game would make or break whatever you were toeing the line of. Whether you'd give him a proper chance or wash him off your hands.
In some twisted way, Caleb thinks this drastic condition was just the motivation he needed to give it his all. He already planned to, of course but now he had a prize he could not let go of.
Tummy turning, you feel like you're the one about to compete in a college basketball game. It didn't help that you felt overdressed in your dress with the matching shorts underneath which you thought was a clever idea to wear with your platform heels. You'd dressed it down with your oversized university sweater though and put your hair in a half up-do, a ribbon to accessorize it.
A low roar spills into your ears as you step into the arena, the scent of warm pretzels and freshly made popcorn wafting into your nose. Parents and students alike take up the blue seats on either side of the court, donning the colours of the team they're supporting.
Ticket in hand, you shuffle down the steps after spotting Jenna and Simone, going to join them in the middle row as they said that was the best view of the game. You apologise as you brush past people, legs touching theirs even as you try to avoid it. The chair squeaks under your weight as you greet your friends.
The bright lights allow you to take a good look of the empty court and score board, names of the teams playing already on them as a clock ticks away above the basket. Just then, the lights dim, crowd standing to welcome the teams as the announcers introduce them.
Bursting out of the tunnel first in the opposing team, acknowledging the crowd with nods and waves, faces tight with focus. Their supporters cheer and you clap along with them.
Next, your school's team comes out and the audience grows louder, noises swelling. They get deafening when Caleb steps out, handsome as ever in his team jersey. It's mostly feminine screams so you're not that surprised.
He smiles, taking it all in, eyes searching the arena until they land on you and brighten. You feel like you got caught so you quickly move your gaze to Gideon beside him.
“Get ‘em, Gideon!” You shout in encouragement.
One man's chest puffs out in pride while the other's smile wavers just a bit.
You can probably tell which is which.
He doesn’t pout. No sulking. Takes your rebuff in stride. But if he had dog ears, you think they'd lower and draw back.
There's no time to feel bad about how you reacted as the ball is raised, air thrumming with anticipation before the buzzer cuts through and the game starts. The squeaking of sneakers against the polished maple floorboards are a bit annoying.
Confidence you had in winning the bet wanes as the match continues. Caleb's performance is a far cry from the clumsy, bumbling mess it was that day you watched his practice.
Now, he's commanding the court with clean, confident and calculating moves. Your stomach sinks each time he dunks the ball in the basket, shot after shot like he's the only one playing. Contracts, his reputation and future in the sport are mentioned by the commentators as scouts discuss his play.
You've never paid much attention to sports but the incomprehensible shots he scores within the last seconds, fast breaks and clutch assists—or whatever they're called—have you on the edge of your seat. The team moves as an unstoppable unit with Caleb as their leader, each pass so smooth, you can only imagine how much hard work they put in to make it look like child's play.
Gideon is a little shit. He toys with his opponents, faking passes and bucking them only to catch them off guard at the last moment by passing the ball to the star player.
The XYZ alias suits him well. What with how he dominates the final quarter like it was always going to be his, closing the nail-bitting game with a shot that feels inevitable.
Exploding with cheers, the crowd claps and hoots for them, sharp whistles and yells from the commentators giving you an ear ache. Simone shakes you by the shoulders in excitement and you laugh with her and Jenna. Caleb's eyes are on you once more, sweaty and breathless, when yours finds him, teammates bombarding him with hugs and pats on the back.
The nod of approval from you feels like he won the big leagues.
When the cheers die down and the teams retreat to the locker rooms to shower and change, you're faced with the reality that you have to let Caleb take you out. You don't get the chance to chicken out when Gideon and a few other guys come to talk to you and your friends.
You congratulate them with hugs and handshakes while Jenna interrogates one of the guys about the maneuvers he did that she'd like to learn.
Gideon smiles at you, basking in the afterglow of the victory he played a major part in. “Wanna come to the after party?”
Lighting up at that, your bounce on your heels and are about to agree when a hand lands on your shoulder. Mood dampening slightly, you already know who it belongs to as he slots himself into the space between Gideon and you.
“Uh, oh, you're not backing out of our deal, are you?” Caleb's voice is almost a sing-song, triumphant and self-satisfied.
His spider bite and labret piercings glint in the lights outside the arena, cool breeze dancing with his damp hair. You can't decide if his toothy grin or twinkling eyes are brighter. Either way, you look away, not that happy to see how proud he is.
“I'm not a sore loser,” that feels like a lie with how you face is unsmiling, “The after party sounds fun.”
Gideon nods in agreement. “Yeah, you're coming aren't you, Cap?” he asks the man who's still staring at you as he shakes his head.
“Sorry, boys, but I've got a date,” he boasts and the guys hum teasingly. Your friends join in on the taunting too, like you're two kids in school. They're moments away from starting to sing about you two sitting in a tree and kissing.
“We don't have to do that tonight,” you assure Caleb. “I'm sure everyone will be bummed if the man of the hour isn't there.”
He scrunches up one side of his face, eye closing as he shakes his head, the earrings lining his ear swaying with his unwillingness to take the bait.
“Parties happen all the time, they won't miss me much,” he reassures you both, the implication that a date with you is a once-off affair left unsaid but you catch on.
Like he anticipated that he'd win or maybe he prepared to manifest his success, Caleb's sporting a denim fit, jeans and jacket the same shade of blue with a black crew neck underneath, his dog tag popping against the dark fabric, white sneakers completing the ensemble.
You hate how it complements your outfit.
“Aw, man. We'll toast and celebrate in your honor. Enjoy your date!” Jenna says, not sounding upset in the slightest as they group waves and depart so you're alone with him.
Caleb rocks on the balls of his feet, hands in his pocket.
“Don't look so down, that dress of yours is too pretty to be wasted at a stuffy rager.”
“You don't even know what it looks like,” you point out because your sweater is still on.
He smiles, gentle and sincere. “If it's on you, it's always good looking.”
Blush warms your face at that even as you frown at him. He chuckles at your disapproval and nods towards his car.
“You like this don't you?” he asks as you make your way to his ride.
“You're gonna have to be more specific.”
“That smart mouth,” he mutters to himself. “Me chasing you, you keeping me on a leash, leading me on.”
“A little.”
He grins at that. “Only a little? Why are you smiling then?”
“Happy our school won.” You shrug.
“I bet. Now, does the star player get a congratulatory kiss from his pretty little date?”
“That depends.”
“On what?” His eyes are round like he's willing to get on his knees and bark for you.
“His good behavior.”
Groaning, he playfully pouts, “I've been so good, baby.”
“Have you?”
“You're always rolling those gorgeous eyes at me but you never chase me away, do you? Like the attention or something?”
“This isn't about me,” you remind him that you are discussing him.
“Everything is about you,” he corrects, not in an accusing way as if you're self-centered but rather that his world revolves around you.
“That won't last long once you get what you want.”
“What do I want?” he challenges, backing you up against the side of his car but not touching you.
“Your fill of me then you'll forget me and move on or worse, keep me around and entertain others.”
“That what you think?” he questions as he opens the car door for you.
“It's what I've heard.”
“From me?”
“Around.”
“All these months of me courting you and you can't see I'm not that person?” There's a flicker of hurt in his eyes.
“Guys tend to be on their best behaviour until they're comfortable enough to shed their pretenses,” you say despite the twinge in your chest.
Shutting the door once you get in, he nods, “Guess you'll just have to stick around and find out if I'm one of them.”
Unfortunately for you, the date goes well. The conversation flows easily, he gets a few laughs from you with his corny jokes. Your attempts to dissuade him fall flat as he has a counter for every made up excuse or flaw you throw his way.
Can't cook? He's great at it! Suck at chores? He's a clean freak. Don't like being told what to do? He'll handle it! Want to be a stay-at-home girlfriend? He's got you covered!
The glass of wine you drank sloshes in your belly as he drives you home, the ghost of a smile on his face displaying his contentment. Perhaps it's the liquor or another effort to ward him off but the truthful words spill from you before you can think them over.
“I'm also hard to please in bed. Overly dominant men piss me off.”
Caleb slides you a glance for a beat then returns his focus to the road.
“Hard to please, hmm?”
“Yeah, especially if you're like the sorry excuse of a man I slept with last and aren't open to advice.”
He nods slowly. “What did he do?”
“Not make me come, that's for sure,” you scoff bitterly at the memory.
While you didn't like thinking about it, it was at the forefront of your thoughts and the reason you'd felt so easily warm between your thighs tonight. You'd been put off by that encounter for a while.
“The idiot had me on my back, humping away between my legs all excitedly while I counted the ceiling lights,” you grumble, cursing the guy mentally.
Caleb stifles a chuckle. “Sounds horrible. Was it his skill or size?”
You tilt your head as you give it thought. “Skill for sure. He was like six inches which is what I usually prefer. At least I can feel it and not worry about being split in half.”
Shoulders slumping, you practically see Caleb deflate. “That's your preference?”
“Yeah.” You cast him a wary, sideways glance. “Why?”
Tittering nervously, his face is crinkled in what you're assuming is shame.
“I'm a bit bigger than that.”
And those, ladies and gentlemen, were the six words that didn't let you make it home that night. Not after he admitted it like he was embarrassed and that itched the right part of your brain.
Calling it a bit bigger when he had several inches on the guy was either him trying to be humble or purposely piquing your curiosity.
You're palming the bulge in his boxers, precum dampening and darkening the material as you kiss him, tugging at his lip ring with your teeth after bruisingly making out with him from his front door all the way to his bedroom. When he can't take the teasing anymore, he pushes you down and crawls between your thighs, clothes thrown to the floor.
Shit, he can't believe this is real and not one of his lucid dreams.
Holding you open for him by the back of your knees, Caleb shudders as he sinks his cock into your dizzingly warm cunt, eliciting a panting exhale from him and a long, drawn-out moan from you. He was so thick that the fit was snug and paralyzing. His necklace dangles between you like a pendulum, cool metal gently tapping your overheated face and it'd be annoying if you weren't occupied.
“Fuck, baby, you're so soft,” his voice cracks, the sound high-pitched and breathless like he's already taken you rather than just eased in. It's difficult to differentiate the pounding of your pussy from the throbbing of his cock.
Glassy eyes like the dusky sky peer into yours, reverent and ardent. They're hypnotic as they capture your stare and your heartbeat picks up. Stomach twisting, you avert your gaze to the rest of his body, amused to find that his lightly tanned skin is inked with a few tattoos here and there, muscles chiseled and neatly trimmed hair below his bellybutton trailing down to his cock.
His nipples are pierced too and you roll them between your thumb and index finger instinctively, the smooth metal bead twisting slightly with your ministrations. A noise you doubt he thought he was capable of rips from his throat, broken and whiny as he keels involuntarily, weight crushing you.
“Shit, are you okay?” you ask worriedly, letting go to cup his face, raising it to see if he fainted out of nowhere.
Shaking with a breath you barely call a laugh, he looks up at you, eyes drinking you in and committing you to memory, taking note of the little spots and beauty marks he couldn't see before. He's never been so lucky to be this close to you.
“Yeah, uh…no one's ever pinched them before. Caught me off guard,” he chuckles as he braces his palms on the mattress once more, slipping out of you a bit from the distance and you almost complain about it.
Brows raising, your eyes widen a little. “Really? Did you not like it?”
Fiddling with his lip ring, he dips his head bashfully then meets your eyes again. “On the contrary, I think I enjoyed it too much.” He swears he would have come then and there if you pressed any harder and tugged more.
His bedroom is quiet for a moment, your breaths, the muted sounds of the city and the tick of his alarm clock the only noise in the room. You hardly hear any of it when he's looking at you like he can't fathom how and where you've hidden from him all his life.
Your eyes wander his room, wanting to find other things to stare at like the airplane figurine suspended from his ceiling, the models on his shelf, the band posters on his wall. But they land on the girly blind boxes and cute Lego flower bouquet that's half-assembled on his desk which you know are for you with how you enjoy collecting those.
It's way too sweet and intimate for you coming from a guy you're trying to pity-fuck in hopes that he'll finally leave you the fuck alone when this is over. So you push at his chest, confusing him as he sits back on his calves.
“What's wrong? Did I do something to upset you?” He ducks his head to follow your eyes that are actively trying not to clash with his.
Swallowing, you nod, expression growing stubborn defensively, nose in the air as you sit up, sheets rustling beneath you.
“Yes, actually. Be a good boy and take me from behind. Your face is putting me off,” you half-lied. If you had to look into those perpetually sad eyes again, you were going to be riddled with guilt for wanting to hit and quit him.
Twisting around so you didn't have to face him barely blocked out the slight hurt in his voice, “Oh, okay. I'm good with whatever you want.”
His obedience pulls at your heartstrings, chest slightly aching but it's gone the moment his warmth touches your back, shadow over you as he slides in once more, breath fanning your neck, dog tag tickling the dip in your spine.
Something soft slips beneath your belly and you glance down to see he's cushioned you with a pillow to raise your hips as you kneel on the bed, hugging the other pillow doused in his scent underneath your head.
His hips roll, sigh tickling the hair at your nape as he pumps into you slowly and deep, numbing your mind with the delicious drag of his cock. You're stuffed to the brim, the curve of him caressing all the squishy spots inside you, tip dotting sticky pecks on your cervix.
Patient as he is, even Caleb is weak in the face of his desires so when you clench around him every time he thrusts in and push him back when he draws out, there's only so much he can bear, stuttery hips and breathy pants morphing into low groans and gravely grunts as his resolve splinters.
Then you're scrambling for something to hold onto to ground you, face buried in his pillow with a muffled cry as he snaps his hips against yours with feral intent, hitting the end of you over and over again. bedframe rattling as the hinges creak in protest, overpowered by the headboard knocking the wall rhythmically. Your body shakes with the force of his thrusts and he's drunk off the feeling of you clamping down on him, squelching around him with filthy, sloshing arousal, creamy, frothy ring at his base.
“Hah, I knew you were perfect. All that beauty and brains, pussy had to be pretty too. Taking me so well,” Caleb slurs, lost in the plumpness of your cunt nestling him like he's being hugged affectionately.
God, he's rambling even when he's fucking. It'd be amusing if the praise didn't do funny things to your insides that felt a lot like butterflies. You had to remind yourself that it was the lust talking, sputtering sweet nothings so you hum in response.
That's not enough for him it seems because he's bending over, slick chest flushed to your back as he grinds into you at a sluggish pace, nipple piercings cold against your shoulder blades as his big body crowds you, heaviness pressing you into the mattress, the bulge of his cock deep in your belly distinct as it makes your squirm.
Sprinkling kisses to your damp neck all the way up to your ear, his lips brush the shell of it. “Do you know how good you feel?”
His heart thuds against your back and he hopes his thorough strokes convey every emotion he experiences with you, the ones that make him feel like there's cotton in his ears and something fuzzy in his chest.
“Caleb,” you suck in a gasp as he grounds into that spot that has you seeing stars at the back of your eyelids. He was infuriatingly skilled at pleasuring a woman and you wanted to show him that you could return the favor.
Wriggling so he wasn't crushing you into the bed anymore, you turned at the waist to meet his gaze.
The muscles of his abdomen bunch as he rocks into your lazily, he cocked to the side as his fringe falls over his dark eyes that are zeroed in on you, devouring your figure like he's afraid he'll forget a detail if he doesn't keep his gaze on you the entire time.
Emboldened by his appreciation, you lift yourself up, bracing your forearms on the bedding, and drop back down on his cock. An unbidden grunt rumbles in his throat, head dropping forward as his mouth gapes on a harsh breath.
Half-lidded gaze elated and salacious, your smile at him over your shoulder, purring, “Do you know how good you feel?”
There's no response from him, it's like he can't muster up the words and vocalize them into anything intelligible as he watches you lift up then drop down again, the slap of your ass against his thighs scattering his thoughts. Every slide is sloppy and incredibly soft, suckling his cock until it was pulsating, precum dribbling inside you. His whimpers and hitches in his breath only encouraged your movements.
Orgasms from each other may ruin you both for anyone else with how they lock your body up and leave you in a puddle of bliss on his sheets. Only for a few dreamy minutes before the bubble of ecstasy pops and you want another hit to chase that drugging high again. Always a good sport, Caleb nods eagerly despite his flushed body and frantic heartbeat.
Hovering over his lap, back facing him once more, you cup the base of his cock and ease it inside you once more, a relieved sigh passing your lips at the delicious fullness of it. Too eager, you sit on it instantly, a choked sob stuck in your throat when he splits you open mercilessly
Large, warm hands rub at your hips, kneading them soothingly. “Slow down,” he tries to keep his voice leveled, thrown off by how much deeper he is in this position, “Don't hurt yourself, baby.”
“I'm fine,” you grit out. “Just sit back and enjoy, yeah?” you tell him, using the last word like he always does. He smiles as he notices, stomach fluttering at the idea of you picking up habits from him.
Air is knocked out of his lungs before he can respond. It hurt you, this new angle, but he felt so good within you, each bounce on his shaft only satiated by the next one. Gradually, the pain fades until pleasure seeps into you, glides disgustingly slippery as you work yourself up and down with fervor.
Nails digging into his thighs, you feel them flex and yield beneath your touch. Throaty, high-pitched noises he could barely contain punctuate every bounce. You're relentless, hardly giving him a chance to catch his breath with how fast and deep you were going.
His hooded eyes did not know where to look. Your glistening body was a sight to behold and he hates that he's so fucked out, eyes nearly crossing and rolling back as he watches your hair spring and ass ripple like waves, that he can't concentrate properly.
“C-Could you slow down? I'm not gonna last much longer if you're gonna act like a little b-bunny,” he stammers out, giving himself a mental pat on the back for getting that out between his garbled moans.
Glancing over your shoulder, your cunt clenches at the view that greets you.
His brows are furrowing, nose wrinkling, animalistic grunt exhaling from it as he nibbles on his already reddened and raw moist bottom lip, canine hooking on his lip ring as his gaze is glued to where your sopping cunt is swallowing his cock with audible shlucks. Feeling your stare, his slitting, glossy amerite eyes cut to yours and you almost come undone then and there.
The bedside lamp sheds light upon one side of his face in a warm glimmer while other is darkened by the shadows.
A dopey smile pulls at his lips as he tips his head, fondness exuding from him. “Hi, baby.”
Stomach doing somersaults, you turn away again, ending the moment as the familiar goopy puddle in your lower belly rises, your movements picking up. It builds and builds until it breaks, spreading out in ticklish tingles that has you gasping out a cry.
Static branches out all along Caleb's spine, crackling within the length of his cock as he releases a loud groan, twitching hips thrusting up into your as he spills his seed, coating your walls as your spasming pussy milks him dry once more. Your movements grew sluggish with the aftershocks so he grabs your waist and guides you to ride his orgasm out, soft whines sounding in your throat.
Mind muddled, he leans forward and licks the sweat off your spine, the hot swipe of his tongue causing you to shiver as he sucks a hickey into your skin, lips pulling off with a wet pop when he is done.
Somewhere between him burying his face between your legs, eating you out like a man starved and him cleaning you both up in the shower, you grew incredibly sleepy.
Waking up in his bedroom, clad in one of his shirts, pussy swollen and tender, muscles sore when you move was a given.
The guy and girl standing frozen and wide-eyed in his doorway were not.
Squealing, you shot up, clutching the covers and pulling them up to your clothed chest stupidly, wide awake now. Your startled reaction rips Caleb out of his sleep too, eyes wide as he looks around frantically.
“What happened? Is it the Cilantro Zombie?!” He calls out and now your surprise is replaced by confusion.
“The fuck is a Cilantro Zombie?”
“Zayne? Emcee? What are you two doing here?” Caleb asks once he sees them, his hair sticking out in all directions, eyes droopy as he tries to rub the sleep from them.
The man named Zayne covers Emcee's eyes but she tries to peek anyway, giggling to herself and wiggling her brows at Caleb.
It registers later, when you've gotten acquainted with them that afternoon, that she's Caleb's ex.
Well, fake ex-girlfriend, apparently.
Sprawled next to you on the couch, Emcee munches popcorn as she explains the whole situation.
“He was trying to keep the girls at bay,” she says between chews. Then she checks to see if the guys are still gone before listening in, whispering, “Though between you and me, I don't know what they see in his clingy ass.”
You laugh at that, finding her funny and easy to get along with. Zayne too, even though he was a bit more reserved, was a friendly person.
“Ah, well the plan worked well. I called him a cheater and believed it for a while,” you admit though he could have told you about this earlier to save you all the moral dilemmas.
Emcee shakes her head. “He's stupid like that. I told him it'd be a bad idea but he thinks he knows better because he's like two years older than me.”
She slides you a mischievous look. “But I was right in the end, it totally backfired.”
You chuckle in agreement.
“I suppose it wasn't all that bad. Now he has you,” she says, reminding you that he asked to be your boyfriend earlier in the shower.
The steps were in the wrong order but you didn't mind. You told him you'd give him your answer after you thought about it.
But when the front door swings open, laughter flutters in as Caleb reacts to one of Zayne's dry jokes like he does to yours as they carried in takeout, you realise that you'd made up your mind about him long before you accepted it.
note: this is the longest one i've posted by far, damn. dedicated to my dear sweet peach @peachygelic who wrote a great caleb x non!mc three part fic!
sometimes, you wished you could find something to complain about when it came to sylus.
was he aggravating and a borderline pain in the ass most of the time? sure, but he always made up for it.
especially now, with his bare chest pressed to yours, his heavy breaths brushing against your neck as he thrusted a steady rhythm into you.
you honestly didn't know how you both got there. one moment, you were complaining about breakfast.
the next?
you were pressed against the counter, your husband's large hands gripping your thighs like a vice as he grunted and groaned in your ear.
"s-sy-" you moaned, fingers grasping at the countertop, desperately trying to keep yourself steady. "sl-slow down!-"
"is that what you want, my wife?" he was filled with need, one where the greed that consumed him wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by you, deep inside of you. "i would slow down, but this-" he punctuated his words with another hard thrust, "beautiful little cunt seems to want something else."
"h-haah, you jerk-" you whined, fist banging at his back in a desperate attempt to get a break. "please!"
thankfully, your husband was always willing to follow your needs, and his hips slowed. but now you were faced with a bigger problem, the huge length within you keeping you stretched wide. he shifted slightly, wrapping your legs properly around his waist and locking your heels into his lower back.
then, he smiled at you, pressing gentle kisses all over your face. you knew you were the one who asked for a break, but the tension in your core was becoming too much, and you squirmed against him, hips rolling in a sorry attempt to regain friction.
"oh, what's this?" he gasped, tone almost mocking as he tilted his head at you. "i thought a certain kitten was too tired."
"sy.." you whined, mustering the best glare you could at him. but all he had to do was swivel his hips, and your pout dropped into a gasp. "pl-please, can i cum?-"
"of course, sweetie," he mused, lowering his head to bring you nose to nose, "but you know what you have to do."
his obsession with hearing his title would make you roll your eyes, but you were much too desperate. so, quietly, breathily, you whimpered a soft, "my husband.."
and it was over from there.
groaning, he buried his face in your neck, licking and biting at your skin to mark you, to claim you. you were his, you always had been, but the reminder on your neck, and the feeling between your thighs, always calmed that possessive instinct within him.
"my wife, my wife, my wife.." he repeated the term like a mantra, every movement bringing you both closer and closer to the edge. your nails dug into his back, marks that he would wear proudly, and you could only whine as he nuzzled you. "cum for me, my wife."
stars exploded behind your eyes, and you could only fall limp in his embrace as he found his climax as well, a low groan that turned into an almost purr escaping his broad chest. he held you close, fingers running up and down your back as he smiled at you, kissing your forehead.
"you are the best thing to ever happen to me." he mumbled, tucking you into his side with a smile. "thank you, my wife."
you don’t even know why you say it. you’re not the praising type. not really. you tease. you moan. you beg sometimes when he makes you—when he’s in one of those moods, all pushy and mean, telling you to use your manners, sweetheart, like he isn’t already two fingers deep and spreading you open slow just to watch your eyes roll.
and sylus isn’t the kind of guy who needs it either. he’s cold. not just at work. always. cold voice, cold hands, cold look over his shoulder like he’s already ten steps past you in his head. nobody phases him. nobody cracks him. nobody gets to touch him and see him at the same time.
but you do.
and he lets you.
and right now—he’s letting you fuck him soft and slow, chest to chest, mouth to mouth, your hips rolling lazy on top of his while his hand’s curled low around your ass, guiding you, controlling you even when you’re the one on top. that’s how he likes it. how he needs it.
so maybe it’s that. maybe it’s the look on his face. maybe it’s the way his brows are twitching together, like he’s fighting something off—like if he lets you go even a little harder he’s gonna say something stupid, something real.
you’re already gone. you feel too good. you’re too wet. you’re not thinking. so you say it. “you feel so good, sylus.” just like that. soft. breathy. like you mean it. and the second you do—he freezes.
not all the way, not like he’s pulling back. more like he’s startled. like you hit something he didn’t know was there.
“…what?”
you blink down at him, rocking slow. “i said you feel good—”
“don’t.” his voice is raw. strained. quiet like it’s been scraped thin.
you laugh a little, teasing. “what, i’m not allowed to praise you now?”
“no,” he mutters. “you’re not.”
but he’s gripping you harder. his thighs are trembling. he’s looking at you like he’s pissed, but underneath it—underneath that perfect, surgical composure—he’s wrecked.
and you know why. you know him. you know this man who never needs anything, who never lets anyone in, who fucks you like he’s punishing himself for liking it—and now you know what breaks him.
“baby,” you whisper, soft as sin. “you’re so deep. you’re so good to me—so fucking good—”
his breath hitches. he shudders. his grip goes punishing and he grits through his teeth, “shut up,” but it’s not mean. it’s not real. it’s desperate.
so of course you don’t. of course you ride him slow and stroke his face and kiss his jaw and say, “you make me feel so good. you’re perfect. you always take care of me. nobody fucks me like you do—”
and that’s what does it. that. right there. because suddenly he’s groaning into your mouth like he’s never cum before in his life, like you’re fucking wringing the soul out of him with every word, every grind, every good boy whispered between your kisses.
he bucks once. spills deep. and he goes completely still underneath you, eyes wide, lips parted, chest heaving while he shoots every last drop into you without warning, without even knowing it’s happening until it’s too late, until you’re clenching around him and stroking his hair and smiling down like you knew this would happen all along.
you kiss his cheek. he doesn’t move.
“fuck,” he breathes. “you—fuck. don’t ever say that again.”
doggy style so he could press into you and feel himself ❤︎
He only ever puts you in this position when he’s so consumed by you.
With a love drunk Sylus in your ear, murmuring about how good you feel; with a tone—a sultry, nagging tone that always manages to make you break—you never admitted that you weren’t against it, nor hated it, because it was the total opposite of that.
The way he had your face pressed on the velvety pillow, driven deep in the fluff, mouth agape as you screamed your pitiful sounds as he pummelled into you with ruthless thrusts that could tear you apart—there was no way it couldn’t feel better than this. However, it wasn’t until you realized his fingers were stuck on your sides, subtly moving you in a higher angle so he could–
“Ngh–”
His name eventually slips out of your lips in a choked gasp as you tried to call him out for his sudden actions, but he just hummed, leaning in and pressing against your bare back. It wasn’t a normal press that seemed like he was adjusting himself, no.
Still sunken deep in you, he eventually buried his face in the crook of your neck, soaking in your scent before grinding further against you—practically crushing you with the large size difference of his body. His cold chest was the only thing tickling your back and it only made you giggle, tilting your head to the side as he started kissing your skin.
His lips planted soft kisses along your neck before his fingers drifted further across your body and pressed on your lower abdomen.
“Feel it?” He murmured, nipping at your shoulder before slowly thrusting a little deeper so you could actually feel him against you.
A pathetic whine left your lips and you shook your head, hitting your face on the pillow and arching your back further which only seemed to make the situation better for Sylus.
But he didn’t pry any further and kept feeding you slow, languid thrusts as his fingers remained put on your lower abdomen.
“Feels s’good- ah!”
Sylus only laughed, and quickened the pace a little. “It does, doesn’t it?”
“Then put your hand where mine is, sweetie.”
You groan and bite the pillowcase, letting your teeth sink in the material as you try to dodge the demand; but with every plunge of his cock, practically persuading you to listen—resisting wasn’t going to work and you, hesitantly, yet slowly, eventually place your hand on his.
“Now how does it feel?”
“Fuck…”
His fingers curl between yours and he holds onto your hand tightly as his hips start moving lazy rolls against you, and his breathing grows heavier than usual, letting his sounds he held back escape him after holding them back for so long… and that only meant one thing.
“I want to hear it with words once I give you more than…” he raised your hips at a higher angle and you could feel him pulsing heavier—faster in you that it only made you wince and try to look down at the scene. And before you knew it—before you could comprehend it; you felt a weird sensation bubble up within you like he was filling you up?!
“…this.”
a/n. Omg who tf thinks abt sylus nd belly bulging at 1am 💀💀 (I do) btw I proofread the most I could with the consciousness I have </3
fucking childhood best friend!caleb after a date gone horribly wrong
warnings. 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, smut, best friend to lovers, breast play, fingering, penetration (p in v), pwp (but more p*rn than plot lowkey), couch s*x, lots of kissing, yandere (just an itty bitty bit), lebbie’s a yearning pathetic mess here ‘nd reader was just to notice heh (lmk if i forgot any!!)
word count. 2.9k
with love, sumi. this is a repost bc i didn't like the formatting of the first one lmao. it's my first time posting here, so feedback, reblogs, and interactions are greatly appreciated!!
“Men are so stupid, Caleb!”
You don’t even stop walking when you say it. You’re pacing back and forth in front of him, arms crossed, then uncrossed, then crossed again, hands flaring every time another thought crashes in. He had sunk into the couch, one leg bent as he watches you walk.
“I mean, seriously,” you continue, words spilling over each other. “I show up on time. I’m nice. I ask questions, lots of ‘em. I listen. I even offer to pay the bill ‘cause he, and I quote, ‘forgot to bring his wallet,’ and somehow I’m the problem?”
You spin on your heel, clearly not done.
“And then he asked me if i always talk this much—as a joke, apparently—and I laughed because what else are you s’posed to do, right? But then it got quiet and awkward, and he left to go to the... the.. the flippin’ bathroom for a good twenty minutes or so? I don’t know! But I could hear my own heartbeat, and I started wondering if it was something I said or if my laugh was annoying or—“
Caleb watched you like he always does. Not openly. Not obviously either. Just… steadily. You let out an exasperated sigh, running your hands through your hair.
“And the worst thing is,” you say, voice cracking just slightly, but of course Caleb notices. “I liked him. I actually thought, okay, maybe this one’s different. But noooooo. The universe decides to fuck me over yet again.”
He exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, listening intently to what you’re saying. You stop pacing then, shoulders tense. “It’s always the same damn thing. They like me at first, and then something slips. And I never know when it happens or what I did to cause it.”
He shifts forward, elbows on his knees. His eyes don’t leave your face. “Maybe they’re just idiots,” he suggests.
“That’s not helpful,” you say immediately, then sigh, rubbing your forehead. “Okay, maybe it is helpful, but still. I just—“
Your voice stutters. The momentum dies out all at once.
“…is there something wrong with me? Is that what this is?”
That’s when he stands.
The room goes quiet.
It happens so smoothly you barely register it until he’s right there. Too close, Too close, Too close. Suddenly, his presence fills the space you’ve been pacing through, almost like it was always meant to be his.
He closes the distance in one step and takes your wrist before you can start pacing again, his grip isn’t all that tight, just firm enough to stop you. you look up at him, suddenly unsure, suddenly exposed.
“No,” he says flatly. “There isn’t. You’re the stupid one if you think there’s anything possibly wrong with you.”
He cups your face with both hands, and before you can overthink it, before you can say anything at all—
He kisses you.
It’s not gentle. Not rushed either. It lands with intent, so much of it, like he’s been waiting for the exact second you’d finally stop fighting yourself long enough for him to step in. Your breath catches immediately, the rest of your thoughts scattering on impact. There’s a split second where you freeze. Not because you don’t want it, but because it feels too loaded to react immediately.
This is Caleb, your brain insists uselessly.
Another part of your answers: I know. And then proceeds to carry on.
His hand tighten around your waist. The couch presses into the backs of your legs as you stumble, and he follows without hesitation, crowding into your space until there’s nowhere else to focus but on him. His mouth moves against yours slowly now. You feel awfully, acutely aware of everything all at once: the weight of him close, the heat of his body, the way your chest feels too tight and too light at the same time.
And most importantly, how safe his embrace feels. How it feels like home.
You make a small sound before you can stop yourself, and he lets out a chuckle against your lips for a split second. His thumb shifts at your jaw, tilting your face just enough for him to deepen the kiss. Caleb braces himself over you, one knee pressing into the couch beside your hip, the other trapping you in, not crushing but unmistakably there.
He pulls back just enough for his forehead to rest against yours, your lips trembling and your chest rising too fast.
“Don’t let people like that tell you who you are,” he murmurs. His voice is low, even, but there’s something sharp underneath it. “They don’t see you.”
Your hands curl into his shirt without realizing it. “Caleb,” you breathe, half warning, half plea. “We—“
“I see you,” he cuts in quietly. “Every version. And you don’t scare me. Not one bit.”
You don't answer him with words.
Your grip tightens on his shirt first, knuckles pressing into the warm fabric of his shirt, intimately pulling his body closer to your very own. Your mouth finds his again—decisive this time, no hesitation, no pause to think. It's different when you kiss him now. Unhurried, yet fuller. Like you're finally choosing this.
Finally choosing him.
You don’t know how your clothes or his ended up on the floor. One moment, they were on your body. The next? They were scattered across the living room. Your dress was somewhere near the coffee table, his shirt too, and your bra was hooked over the lampshade like some kind of trophy.
Caleb shifts above you, his knee still pressing into the couch cushion beside your hip as his fingers trace the elastic of your panties. “You have no idea,” he murmurs against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “How many times I thought about this.”
His amethyst eyes, usually so steady and calm, are wide and dark, drinking in the sight of you like he’s a man dying of thirst. His hands, the ones that have been tracing the curve of your hip, are trembling. Just slightly. A barely there tremor you feel more than you see.
He’s nervous.
Caleb, who’s never nervous about anything, is nervous because of you.
Your back arches as his thumb brushes over the bare skin covering you, the pressure sending electricity through your entire body.
“Caleb,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.
He lowers his head, not to kiss you this time, but to rather press his forehead against your collarbone, his hair tickling your skin. He just breathes there for a moment, inhaling your scent, and you feel it in the expansion of his lungs against your ribs.
The couch cushions dip as he adjusts his position, his other hand sliding up your ribcage to cup your breasts. Your nipple hardens instantly against his palm, and you can’t stop the moan that escape your lips.
“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice rough.
The air feels cooler against your most intimate skin, and you shiver, suddenly feeling very exposed in a way you never have with him before.
He must have sensed it, because he’s back over you in an instant, covering your body with his, the warmth radiating from him chasing away the chill.
“It’s just me, pips,” he murmurs against your ear. “It’s just me.”
And somehow, that’s the most comforting thing anyone has ever said to you. Because it is just him. Caleb. Your best friend. The one person who’s seen you at your worst and your best, who knows all your secrets and your fears, who’s been there for every heartbreak and every triumph.
And now he’s here, looking at you like you’re the answer to a prayer he didn’t even know he was praying.
His hand slides between your legs, and you gasp as his fingers find you. He is gentle at first, exploring, learning, but as your hips begin to move against his hand, his touch becomes more confident. He finds your clit, circling it slowly, and you feel the tension coiling inside you, tighter and tighter. His other hand comes up to tangle in your hair, his thumb stroking your temple, and the contrast between the gentle, almost paternal gesture and the intimate, erotic one is enough to make your head spin.
"Caleb," you gasp, his name a prayer on your lips. "Please..."
"Tell me what you want," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "Anything. Just tell me."
You can't form words, can't think beyond the sensations building inside you, so you show him instead. You rock against his hand, silently begging for more, and he responds, his fingers moving faster, pressing harder.
The tension inside you snaps, and you cry out as the orgasm washes over you, waves of pleasure so intense they border on pain. He doesn't stop, doesn't let up, prolonging your pleasure until you're trembling beneath him, completely intoxicated by his mere touch.
He pulls back slightly, his fingers still tracing lazy circles against your sensitive flesh. "So beautiful," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "Always so fucking beautiful."
You reach for him, pulling him down for another kiss, slower this time, deeper. His tongue traverses your mouth as his hand continues its exploration, sliding lower until one finger is pressing against your entrance.
"Is this okay?" he asks again, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.
You nod, unable to speak, and he slowly slides one finger inside you. Your breath hitches at the intrusion, at the feeling of being filled by him. He moves slowly, carefully, as if afraid of breaking you. He adds another finger, stretching you, preparing you, and you rock against his hand, seeking more.
His hands roam your body with an expertise that shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. He knows where you’re ticklish, where you're sensitive, where you like to be touched. He’s catalogued every reaction you’ve ever had since you were kids, and now he’s using that knowledge to unravel you piece by piece.
"Tell me if I hurt you," he says, his voice strained.
"You won't," you whisper, and it's the truest thing you've ever said.
He shifts, reaching for his jeans, and you hear the familiar rip of a foil packet. Then he's back, settling between your thighs, his erection pressing against you. he looks down at you, his eyes searching yours, and you see it all there—the years of friendship, the unspoken longing, the fear of ruining everything, the hope that this could be the start of something new.
"Last chance to say no," he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours.
"Never," you whisper, and then he's pushing inside you, giving you time to adjust to his size.
You gasp at the feeling of fullness, of rightness, of finally having him inside you. He stills for a moment, letting you adjust, then begins to move, slowly at first, then faster as your hips rise to meet his. It's awkward at first, all elbows and knees and missed rhythms, but then you find your stride, a dance as old as time, and suddenly it's not awkward anymore. It's perfect.
Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper, and you meet his thrusts with your own. The couch creaks beneath you, a rhythmic counterpoint to your moans and his grunts of pleasure. He's trying to be gentle, trying to make this last, but you can feel the control slipping, the need taking over.
He's been waiting for this for so long, and now that it's happening, he can't hold back.
"Fuck, Caleb," you gasp as his angle changes, hitting that spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyes. "Right there. Don't stop."
"I won't," he promises, his voice ragged. "Never."
His promise barely lands before everything crests at once.
His hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit again, and that's all it takes. It's a fucking detonation. A white-hot explosion that starts deep in your core and obliterates everything. Your body arches instinctively, breath breaking loose a sound you don't even recognize as your own.
You cling to him without thinking, vaguely aware of your nails digging into his shoulders. The world narrows to pulse and breathe, and the way he keeps you right there until it ebbs, until you're left loose and trembling, utterly spent in his arms.
He follows you moments later with a guttural groan against your neck, body shivering as he finds his own release. The weight of him collapses into you, and you welcome it, your limbs too heavy to move.
For a while, neither of you say anything.
You just lie there, tangled together on his couch, your bodies slick with sweat and your heartbeats gradually yet simultaneously slowing to a normal rhythm. Caleb shifts slightly, rolling to the side and pulling you with him until you're slotted against his chest. His leg hooks over yours, anchoring you there.
You're limp. Your head rests over his chest, the steady rhythm thudding against your ear. His fingers trace lazy, nonsensical patterns on your back, and the gentle touch is almost as overwhelming as the frantic passion from moments before.
Eventually, you mumble, barely louder than the room. "...wow."
He lets out a quiet huff of a chuckle, the sound vibrating through you. "Yeah?"
You shift a little, tilting your face up just enough to look at him. He looks relaxed in a way you've never seen before; his eyes soft, and mouth loose. "I..." you stop, then try again. "I think I forgot how to think for a second."
His thumb pauses, then resumes its slow path along your spine. "Good," he says, low and easy. "You think too much."
You snort weakly. "Rude."
"Accurate," he replies, a cheeky grin plastered on his face.
Caleb's arms tighten around you, not enough to make you notice, just enough to keep you exactly where you are. You melt into it easily. Of course you do. You always have.
The room settles around you again, the low hum of the fridge, the muted glow of the streetlight bleeding through the blinds. Your breathing evens out slowly, syncing with his without effort. It feels natural. Almost inevitable. Like this is how it was always meant to end up: the two of you folded together on his couch, limbs tangled, the rest of the world temporarily shut out.
Your fingers twitch once against his touch, then go still.
Caleb watches you drift. He always has a knack for noticing the exact moment your body gives up, when the tension leaves your shoulders, and when your thoughts finally stop racing long enough for sleep to take hold. He doesn’t move until he’s sure. Until your breathing deepens and your grip loosens just a fraction.
Only then does he allow himself to smile.
It’s small. Private. Gone almost as soon as it appears.
He tips his head back against the couch cushion and stares up at the ceiling, replaying the night in quiet, careful detail. not the way you do—soft and hazy and full of feeling—but methodically. Like checking off boxes on a list he’s been refining for years.
You trusted him.
You always did.
His phone buzzes softly on the coffee table. Caleb doesn’t reach for it right away. He lets it sit there, screen lighting up the dark for a second time, then a third. Persistent. Impatient. He knows who it is before he ever looks.
When he finally does, he moves slowly, careful not to disturb you. One arm stays locked around your waist, anchoring you to him as his other hand reaches out and flips the phone face down.
There's a thread of messages already open as he scrolled through his chats.
Different names. Same pattern.
''Hey, man. Thought you should know–'
'I don't think she's as into this as you are.'
'She mentioned she hates guys who–'
'Honestly... It's not worth it. If you don't want drama, maybe don't show?'
Sometimes it takes money. Sometimes it takes leverage. Sometimes all it takes is a well-placed lie and a nudge in the wrong direction.
Luckily for Caleb, he was very good at nudging.
Your last date had folded quicker than most. That one had been easy. a few planted doubts, a fabricated concern passed through a mutual friend, a quiet suggestion that you were 'a lot.'
Caleb glances down at you again, his thumb brushing absently along the curve of your hip, grounding himself in the reality of you here, safe with him.
He never understood why the universe kept throwing you at people who didn't know what to do with you. Who got too overwhelmed by your warmth, your presence. It was cruel. And honestly? Letting anyone else try to handle you always felt like negligence.
The others were never real contenders. They were placeholders. obstacles, lessons meant to push you back to where you belong. Back to him.
So he took it upon himself to fix it. It was for your own good.
Caleb rests his chin lightly on the top of your head, eyes drifting to the dark window across the room. Somewhere out there, there were still some people who might think they had a chance with the apple of his eye.
They didn't. Not anymore.
You sigh softly in your sleep, utterly peaceful. Caleb smiles at the sight of you. And this time, it isn't soft at all.
telling the lads men you didn’t finish during night time activities!
tags: nsfw, slightly silly
!MDNI!
[Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus and Caleb]
Xavier
you're both still tangled in sheets, morning light slanting through the blinds, his arm slung heavy over your waist. he's half asleep, hair a mess, lashes fluttering like he's about to drift off again. you stretch lazily, yawn, then mumble into the pillow,
“xavie, please don’t feel bad but i didn’t finish last night.”
silence follows.
his eyes snap open. blue so bright it's almost glowing. he doesn't move at first, simply stares at the back of your head like he can laser vision the words out of existence. then slow. so slow. he props himself up on one elbow, hair falling into his face, voice all soft sleepy danger.
“...what did you just say?”
you shrug. keep facing away. “nothing. just saying. last night was nice but... y'know. didn't quite get there.”
he makes this tiny wounded noise, like a kitten getting stepped on. then he's rolling you over in one fluid motion, pinning you under him, thighs bracketing yours. sleepy bunny gone. “you’re telling me,” he says, low, lips brushing your ear, “that i had you moaning my name, clenching around me like you were trying to keep me forever, and you didn’t come?”
you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “maybe i faked it a little-”
his hand slides down, cups you through your panties. thumb pressing right where you're already getting wet from the shift in his tone.
“faked it?” he repeats, almost offended. voice cracking just a little. “my love. i felt you. i tasted you. i know what you sound like when you're close.” he rocks his hips once, hard enough you feel how fast he's getting hard again. “so either you're lying... or i need to fix it. right now.”
he doesn't wait for a response. mouth on your neck. fingers slipping under fabric. slow circles over your clit while he grinds against your thigh.
“so tell me,” he murmurs, breath hot. “do you really think you didn’t finish last night?”
you manage a shaky laugh. “xav- wait it was a prank-”
too late. he's already sliding down, shoving your thighs apart, tongue flat and insistent.
“prank's over when you come. twice. maybe three times. until i believe you.”
he doesn't stop until you're shaking, crying his name for real, legs locked around his head. when he finally crawls back up, chin glistening, eyes heavy lidded and smug.
“better?”
you nod. boneless.
“good. next time you wanna play games... just ask me to ruin you properly.”
Zayne
you walk into the kitchen, it’s early morning. he's in his work clothes already, making tea like the responsible adult he is. you shuffle in, wearing a(his) oversized hoodie, hair wild, and lean against the counter next to him. casual. too casual.
“morning. about last night… i didn’t finish.”
his hand freezes mid-pour. tea splashes. just a drop. but it's zayne. he doesn't spill. ever. unless something catastrophic happens. like this.
he sets the pot down. turns. slowly. glasses catching the light so you can't quite see his eyes at first. then he removes them. deliberate. folds them. places them on the counter like evidence.
“explain.”
voice calm. neutral. the tone he uses when he has to ask his patients something.
you pick at your sleeve. “just... y'know. sex was good. really good. but i didn't... y'know. finish.”
his jaw ticks. once. twice. then he steps into your space. towers. one hand plants on the counter beside your hip. the other tips your chin up. thumb brushing your bottom lip.
“you came multiple times,” he says flatly. “i counted. your pulse was 142 at the peak. you soaked my fingers, my tongue, the sheets. your thighs shook for a full minute after the last one.”
you try not to grin. “i was faking it-”
his eyes narrow. dangerously
“you think i can't tell?”
next thing you know your ass is on the counter, legs spread around his hips. his hand between you, pressing firm over your mound through the hoodie.
“tell me again,” he murmurs, lips at your throat. “tell me i failed to satisfy my girlfriend.”
“zayne-”
“no.” he rocks once. slow grind. you gasp. “you don't get to lie about this.”
fingers slip under the hem. find you already slick. he groans low. circles your clit with that precise, maddening pressure only he has.
“i'll make you come until you can't form sentences. until every time you think about last night, you throb.” his free hand pins your wrist to the counter. “apologise.”
you laugh breathlessly. “it was a prank- oh god-”
he curls two fingers inside. hits that spot. he’s relentless.
you come hard. fast. shaking on his hand while he watches carefully. then he licks his fingers clean. kisses you deep. tastes like tea and smug victory.
“next time,” he says against your mouth, “say it to my face while i'm inside you. see how long the lie lasts.”
Rafayel
the two of you are in his studio. paint everywhere. he's shirtless, jeans low, hair tied back in a tiny ponytail, brush in hand. you're perched on the stool watching him work. he glances over. grins that sly grin.
you sip your drink. then deadpan:
“hey. i didn’t finish last night.”
brush clatters. paint splatters the floor like blood. he whips around so fast the easel wobbles. eyes wide. betrayed..
“excuse me?” hand to chest. “what did you just say?”
you shrug. “yeah. it was fun. but... no big climax.”
his mouth opens. closes. opens again. then he's stalking over, paint on his cheek, abs flexing, looking at you like you just told him you don’t love him.
“it was fun?” he echoes. voice cracking. “fun. i worshipped you. i had my tongue so deep-”
he grabs your thighs. yanks you to the edge of the stool. wedges between your legs. hands gripping hard enough to bruise.
“you’re telling me the sea god didn’t make his bride come?”
he's already hard. grinding against you shameless.
“liar,” he hisses. but his eyes are glassy. needy.
you try to laugh. he kisses you stupid instead. its messy and desperate. hands shoving your shirt up. mouth on your tits. sucking hard like he's trying to leave hickeys visible from space.
“gonna paint you coming,” he mutters against your skin. “gonna make you squirt all over my canvas. then frame it. title it 'proof rafayel always finishes the job.'”
fingers between your legs. rubbing frantic.
“say it again. say i didn't make you come.”
“raf- prank-”
“too late to back out now.”
he drops to his knees. shoves your legs over his shoulders. devours. tongue flicking. sucking. fingers curling. moaning into you like he's the one getting off.
you come screaming. he doesn't stop. keeps going until you're pushing at his head, oversensitive.
he pulls back. lips swollen. glistening. grins feral.
“finished now?”
you nod. wrecked.
“well i'm not done. not even close.”
Sylus
you’re in his penthouse. it’s late afternoon. he's lounging on the couch, reading something on his tablet, one arm behind his head, sleeves rolled up(as always). you walk in from the kitchen, glass of water in hand, sit down next to him.
sip. then:
“please don’t get mad sy but i didn’t finish last night.”
his tablet lowers. slowly. then red eyes flick to you. unreadable. then one brow arches. he’s amused.
“...come again?”
“no that's the problem,” you say sweetly. “i didn't.”
he sets the tablet aside now. next, he stands. towers. then drops to one knee in front of you. hand on your thigh. squeezing.
“kitten.” his voice is velvet. “repeat that. slower.”
you hold his gaze. “last night was hot. but i didn't come.”
his laugh is low. his thumb strokes higher.
“you did. four times. i counted. you begged. you cried. you scratched my back raw. liar.”
he leans in. nose brushing yours.
“but if my girl thinks she needs more...” hand slides between your legs. cups. possessive. “i'll gladly give more.”
you're on your back before you blink. couch leather cool. him between your thighs. pants shoved down just enough. thick cock rubbing against you through your underwear.
“say it,” he growls. “tell me i left you wanting.”
“sylus- wait- i was just kidding-“
he rips the fabric aside. slides in. one slow deep thrust. fills you completely.
“kidding,” he echoes. mocking. hips rolling. “cute.”
he fucks you slow. punishing. every drag deliberate. thumb on your clit.
“you come when i say. not before. not after. when i decide you've learned.”
once you come, you come hard. shaking. he doesn't stop. keeps going. over and over. until you're babbling apologies.
finally he pulls out. comes on your stomach. marks you.
leans down. kisses your forehead. soft now.
“next time you wanna play... be ready to lose.”
Caleb
he’s over at your place. he's cooking breakfast with his apron on. humming. you lean in the doorway. arms crossed.
“caleb, i didn’t finish last night.”
his hand freezes mid stir. he turns. brows up. then down. processing.
“...you serious?”
you nod. solemn.
he sets the spatula down. walks over. gentle. cups your face. thumbs stroking cheeks.
“pips...” voice soft. worried. “why didn't you tell me? i would've-”
the guilt trip starts. you almost crack.
“i just... didn't get there. s'okay.”
his eyes darken. not angry. he’s just determined.
“not okay.” he lifts you onto the counter. steps between your legs. hands on your hips.
“i take care of you. always.” kisses your forehead. nose. lips. soft. then deeper.
“let me fix it.”
hand slips under your sleep shorts. fingers gentle. exploring. finding you wet. he groans.
“you’re soaked already...” circles slow. teasing. “tell me what you need.”
“caleb- wait it was a-”
he kisses you quiet. fingers sliding inside, curling. his thumb on your clit.
“shhh. let me make it right.”
slow build up. he’s patient. whispering praise. “so good for me. always so pretty when you fall apart.”
you come trembling. clinging. he holds you through it. kisses every tear.
then pulls back. grins sheepish.
“better?”
you laugh. breathless. “prank. it was a prank.”
he blinks. then laughs, bright, boyish. he pulls you into a hug.
“you little menace.” kisses your hair. “next time warn me. my heart almost stopped thinking i failed you.”
then softer. against your ear.
“but... if you ever really don't finish? tell me. i'll spend all day making it up. promise.”
the lads men making you cum on something that isn't their cock
𝜗𝜚 caleb, his fingers. he’s so careful with them at first, stroking soft over your inner thighs like he’s easing you into a bath instead of getting you off. he kisses you the entire time—on your shoulder, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—while two thick fingers push slow and deep inside, curling with that same practiced rhythm he uses when he’s calming your anxiety. he watches your face the whole time, murmuring low praise, forehead pressed to yours when your hips start to twitch. and when you cum—wet, tight, breath caught in your throat—he keeps them there, fingers coaxing you through it while he whispers, “you don’t need anything else right now. just this. just me.”
𝜗𝜚 xavier, his thigh. you were teasing him. straddling his lap during a movie, grinding just enough to get a reaction. but xavier’s the one who turns it filthy—grabbing your waist, shifting you onto one of his thighs, and whispering, “go ahead, then. use it.” and you do. you try to stay quiet about it, but it’s too much—the way his muscle flexes under you, the pressure against your clit, the way he just watches you with wide, blown-out eyes like he can’t believe you’re really doing this. he doesn’t touch you anywhere else. doesn’t even kiss you. just lets you rock your soaking cunt against his jeans until you’re whining into his neck and shaking in his lap, absolutely undone.
𝜗𝜚 zayne, his tongue. you told him you didn’t need sex, just wanted to feel good. and he said okay. said “c’mere then, lay back.” like it was nothing. like he wasn’t about to put his whole soul into eating you out until your voice cracked. zayne’s tongue is everything. he groans when your hips roll up, when you grab his hair, when you cry out like you’re overwhelmed. and when you cum, he doesn’t pull away. not even close. he groans and licks you through it, nose bumping your clit, arms locked around your thighs to keep you there while you sob into your fist. “one more,” he murmurs, already sliding back down. “lemme taste it again.”
𝜗𝜚 sylus, his bulge. he was just sitting there—hood up, legs spread, pretending to read something while you shifted restlessly in his lap. you were the one who moved first, grinding slow over the thick bulge in his sweats, and he didn’t stop you. didn’t say a word. just went still. let you do it. and god, the way it felt—warm, heavy, thick and perfectly placed beneath the soft fabric—you couldn’t help it. your panties were already soaked. his cock twitched under you every time you rolled your hips, and all he did was exhale, eyes low, voice barely audible when he finally whispered, “don’t stop.” he never pulled it out. never asked for anything. just let you rut against him like you were in heat, soaking through both layers, crying out when you finally came with your face buried in his hoodie. and even then, he didn’t move—just held you tighter. let you grind through it. let your mess sink into his clothes. he came untouched minutes later. but he didn’t tell you that until hours after. voice quiet. flushed. “i couldn’t help it.”
𝜗𝜚 rafayel, the toy he bought you. he sits back on his elbows and watches—still dressed, still calm—while the toy buzzes between your thighs. it’s sleek, curved, pink. something he picked out with far too much confidence, pressing it to your clit with a smirk like he already knew what it would do to you. and it does. your legs are trembling, body twitching every time he presses the button to turn it up, voice cracking as you sob, “please—please, rafe, i can’t—” but he just shushes you gently, palm on your thigh, thumb stroking your skin like you’re being so good for him. “you’re almost there,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “show me how pretty you look when you cum.”
the lads men discover your secret kink when they stumble upon all the x-rated videos you’ve been hoarding on twitter. busted... but why hide it when your boyfriend’s more than willing to take a seat in your fantasy? — wc. 6.1k
STARRING ♱ xavier ⌇zayne ⌇rafayel ⌇sylus ⌇caleb
WARNINGS ♱ X-RATED VISUALS ARE LINKED. must be logged in to twitter/x to view. fem!reader, ungodly amount of pet names, heavy praise — (sylus) free use, bondage, cum eating/swapping, switch!sy, oral (f. receiving) — (zayne) spanking, meanie!zayne, heavy praise, use of good girl, lowk cervix fking — (rafayel) dubcon-ish (?), somnophilia, degradation (use of slut), mean dom!raf, some yandere themes — (caleb) facesitting/fucking, some use of gravity evol, brief mention of insecurities — (xavier) sub!xavier, begging, edging (m. receiving) — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+
KIT’S NOTE ♱ hehe new year, new medicli layout >:3 i hope you all enjoy my first multi hc of the year! if u see any mistakes, no u didn’t! reblogs and comments are so greatly appreciated, i’d love to hear y’all’s thoughts on this :)<3
ᯓ 秦彻 ⟢ SYLUS ˖᯽ ݁˖ — big bf lets you have your way with him #freeuse
sylus shouldn’t pry—this much he knows. there are boundaries that should never be crossed and this? this is one of them.
your phone is open to a twitter profile. some blank account with an obscure user and the locked symbol next to your name. it’s a private twitter account following 20 people with 5 followers. but it’s the most recent tweet that catches his attention—a man naked and bound to a chair with a blindfold covering his eyes and a woman using him how she pleases.
he picks up your phone with a dry throat and his cock hardening under his slacks. the retweet reads, ugh wish he’d let me use him like this </3
you walk out of his bathroom to see his back facing you and you perk up immediately. “sy, you’re back!” you say, cheerily, but when he turns around with his jaw clenched and your phone that quietly plays the sound of one of the many videos you were watching on twitter moments prior, your smile drops.
“i didn’t realize you were into amateur adult films, sweetie.” he drawls nonchalantly, like his cock isn’t aching for your touch. but you can sense an edge that isn’t typically there.
you stammer on an excuse, feeling your face burn in mortification at having been caught retweeting porn on your alt account. “i—it’s… well, i-it’s not what it looks like.”
“yeah? because it looks like you want to use me… just like this.” he stalks towards you and waves the phone in your face, a small smile pulling at his lips. “is that true? you want to tie me to a chair, blindfold me and have your way with me?”
you pull your lip between your teeth, gnawing at the flesh anxiously. you avert your eyes, staring at your sock clad feet before you feel his fingers tip your chin up and force you to look him in the eye.
“c’mon, sweetheart. you’ll tell me, won’t you?” he murmurs, thumb pulling your bottom lip from your teeth.
“yes,” you respond, throat dry and voice wavering in lack of confidence. “i want to have my way with you.”
he gives you a wolfish grin and all he says is, “okay then.”
—
you never thought you’d see sylus like this. in a chair with rope wrapped around his torso and one of his silk ties covering his eyes. there’s a permanent smirk plastered on his face and it makes you buzz with excitement.
“don’t make me wait for so long, kitten.” he drawls, his cock bobbing up and down in dire need of attention.
you grab his neck, tipping his face up and pressing your lips against his for a sloppy kiss. you push your tongue into his mouth, savoring the deep groan that rumbles in his throat. the kiss doesn’t last long—you pull away just as he starts to get needy, watching how he chases your lips with a growl.
your hand trails down his chest, squeezing at his peck before turning around, back facing him, and grabbing his cock. a small gasp of surprise fills the room right before it’s replaced with the sound of your paired moans as you sink onto his cock.
“shit,” he curses, the word coming out breathless. his hands itch to grab you and they could if he really wanted to. he could break free from the lousy restraints, but he knows how much you want this and he wouldn’t dare rob you of this experience.
and you take him like you were made from it, bouncing on his cock, your ass clapping with every thrust. you whine for him, testing his patience. “does it feel good, sy?”
another deep growl fills your ears and shoots straight to your core. “you know it does, sweetheart. what about you, hmm? does, hah fuck, does using my cock like this satisfy you?”
you choke out a sob, sitting on him completely and grinding your hips against him with vigor. “mmhm, you’re such a good boy, baby,” you moan out, feeling his cock throb at the praise. “b-but you know what would make me feel even better?” you ask, voice cracking.
he tries to thrust into you, but you don’t give him a chance. he’s stuck in this chair with you on top of him so all he can do is pant out a strained, “what?”
“if you—mmm, if you came inside of me,” you whimper. “fuck, sy, please? please fill me up with your cum. want you to shoot it so deep inside of me, please please please?”
your pleas are so desperate, almost as if you aren’t already taking everything you want. as if you aren’t already making his cock twitch and his stomach tighten. as if you aren’t already milking him dry while he lets out a drawn out groan.
a happy moan rips from your throat when you feel his cum spray inside you, filling you so deep just how you wanted. you let him empty himself, waiting till every drop of cum is spilled into you before pulling off his cock, grabbing a fistfull of his hair and bringing his face to your messy, filled cunt.
his surprised moan is muffled by your pussy. you figured he’d rip through the rope and push you away, but he happily laps and sucks at your hole, licking up every bit of your mixed arousal that leaks out of you.
you whine, heat flooding your body as you grind your ass against his face. “y-yeah, eat your cum out of me, just like that, sy,”
“dirty girl,” he murmurs against your cunt before devouring you whole, the sounds of smacking and slurping and groaning resuming.
your knees nearly give out, the only thing holding you up is the death grip you have on his silver locks. you jolt and tremble before him and he doesn’t need to see to know you’re close.
all it takes is a raspy, “cum on my face, sweet girl,” for you to completely unravel, legs shaking uncontrollably as you paint his face in syrupy arousal. you’re reduced to whines and whimpers of his name and sylus just wishes he could see you.
and his wish is granted mere seconds later when you’re weakly tugging the blindfold off of him, taking his gleaming face in your hand and pressing your lips to his to taste the two of you on him.
he groans, passing the release into your mouth while pulling on the restraints in a need to grab you.
“you did so well for me, sy.”
“mmm, thank you, sweetie. and,” his voice drops to a whisper. “next time you want to recreate something… just tell me.”
ᯓ 黎深 ⟢ ZAYNE ˖᯽ ݁˖ — meanie!bf makes you ask for permission to cum #spanking
zayne never uses social media. especially not twitter. but you convinced him to download it so you could send him funny tweets and cute cat videos. he shook his head and downloaded the app just to get you to shut up, but he never actually opened it.
one rare and quiet day, with nothing on his schedule and you stuck at work, curiosity finally got the better of him. he made an account on a whim, and that’s when he saw it: suggested accounts. yours, right at the top, labeled as someone he “may know.” a small, fond smile curved his lips as he tapped on your profile, warmth blooming in his chest at the sight of your cute icon staring back at him.
but that smile fell just as quick as it came when he scrolled a bit too far and found a quote retweet captioned, “does anyone wish their bf would do this to them too??? :((( being spanked then doted on… sigh.”
he watched the video with a dry throat and widened eyes. the first thought that came to mind was that you posted this on your public profile—but then he noticed you only had 15 followers. still, he’ll have to remind you of your digital footprint.
once the initial shock wore off… he watched the video again. is this what you wanted? to be ruthlessly fucked from the back and spanked… by him?
zayne closes the app, clears his throat and throws his head back against the couch he’s sitting on. he pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a shaky exhale.
if that’s what you want… then that’s what you’ll get.
—
he waits patiently for you to trudge past the door, trying to keep himself busy with god knows what till he hears it. the sound of your keychains rattling and the click of the door as you unlock it and walk in.
“hi, zaynie,” you breathe, skipping towards him and pressing a wet kiss to his cheek. one whiff of you and all he can think about is doing all the naughty things you’ve been secretly wanting. his cock aches. his blood thrums. he needs it now.
“are you okay?” you pull back, concerned by his silence and even more deterred when you see his hardened face.
when he speaks, it’s low and stern. a voice you’ve only heard a handful of times. “bedroom. now, please.”
you let out a confused chuckle. “what for?”
when he raises an eyebrow at you, you cower, nodding your head and scurrying to the bedroom like he asked.
it’s nothing like what you expected. you didn’t expect zayne to walk in and strip you bare without a word, didn’t expect him to bend you over the bed and press himself into your tight, waiting warmth. and you definitely didn’t expect his hand to come down hard on your ass—the sharp, thunderous crack filling the room, followed instantly by your startled squeak.
“this is what you wanted, is it not?” he pants, fucking into you with vigor melting at the sound of your sweet, surprised moans. “this is what you were talking about on your twitter, right?”
your voice comes watery, confused. “wh-what?” you ask, hands fisting at the sheets, your body jolting with every sharp, rough thrust.
his hand comes down, your other cheek meeting the same fate and it has another desperate moan crawling out of you. “you wanted to, what was it? get spanked and doted on, huh?”
and then it hits you suddenly—vividly. you remember the video. it was a faceless man taking a faceless girl from behind, ruthless, almost cruel in the way he fucked her. you remember the sharp smack of his hand against her skin, how badly you’d wished it were you and zayne instead. but what turned you on the most—what lodged itself deep inside your core—was the contrast of it all. the way the stranger’s rough, unyielding actions clashed with the softness of his words. the concept of being fucked like a slut while being praised like a good girl. it made you spin.
it only made you think of zayne. zayne and his large, calloused hands. zayne and his sweet voice. zayne and his cock that stretched and fucked you so good that it makes you cry.
and you’d be lying if you said the thought of him realizing this… realizing it’s what you’d wanted all along… didn’t make heat pool low in your stomach all over again.
you clench tightly around him, turning your heated face into the pillow that smelled just like him. this only makes him laugh, humorlessly.
“yeah, you’re remembering now, aren’t you, my darling girl?” his throaty voice only turns you on further. you arch your back and wiggle your ass as an invitation. an invitation for him to give you more. to go hard. “that’s it. good girl.”
you shudder at the praise. “f-fuck,” the curse is whimpered against the silk fabric of his pillow. “fuck, zayne, it’s s-so—god! so deep. feels so good!” you feel him everywhere, but especially in your tightening stomach. you’re already at the precipice of an orgasm and it only makes zayne want to fuck you right to the finish line.
zayne hums, spanking you again just to hear a giggly moan and it makes his heart want to beat out of his chest. “you’re so precious,” he whispers before his hand laces in your hair and pulls your face away from the pillow. “did you want me to find that tweet, sweetheart? so i could spank you and pull at your hair? so i could fuck you stupid on my cock?”
you don’t bother hiding it. you wanted this more than anything. you craved this more than anything. “yes, yes, yes! please!”
“gooood girl,” he murmurs softly. it’s a perfect contradiction to the way his cock drives into you, the tip just barely brushing your cervix. it’s too much. you’re wound tight as hell, a dam on the brink of bursting, and zayne feels it instantly.
“you wanna cum?”
you can barely form the words, desperation breaking your voice as you beg, “can i…? please?”
“yes, baby. cum for me,” he grunts, fist tightening in your hair, pulling you into a deeper arch. “come on. cum all over me.”
you shatter almost instantly. your body trembles as you come apart on his cock, a needy, broken moan slipping free while the tight knot in your stomach unravels and you soak him completely.
he doesn’t stop—he only fucks you through it, steady and relentless, before pressing a gentle kiss to your spine.
“you did so well,” you feel his lips curve into a smile as he murmurs against your slick, overheated skin, “he but we’re not done yet.”
ᯓ 夏以昼 ⟢ CALEB ˖᯽ ݁˖ — bf lets you sit on his pretty face #facesitting
it was no secret that caleb kept tabs on you. he was very open about it—he has all your post notifications on, he knows where you are at all times, and he always knows what you’re up to. it didn’t bother you in the slightest, he’s always been protective of you—watching over you like it was his life’s purpose.
but there’s one secret that you keep from caleb. and it’s nothing major, truly! it’s just… an alt twitter account you use to retweet your soft porn. while there’s no reason to keep this from your boyfriend, you don’t have the heart to show it to him. it’s the home of all your fantasies, more than anything, it’s embarrassing.
even so, the last thing you want is for caleb to know. you’ve done everything in your power to keep this secret. you used an obscure email to create the account, a password with a series of random numbers and letters that he’d never be able to guess and an alias. it was practically impossible for him to trace it back to you.
one day, you were scrolling on said account, thighs pressed together as you came across a video of a girl sitting on a guy's face, tugging at his hair while she glided across his mouth and nose. all you could think about is caleb—how good it would feel to fuck his face like you were in heat.
it was something you thought about often. you’ve had caleb eat you out before, yes, but you’ve never asked to try this in fear that you’d either A. suffocate him or B. he’d be turned off.
so you do what you always do, quote retweeting it with a caption that read: “wanna sit on my bf’s pretty face just like this :,(”
you shut out the app and flop back onto your bed, trying—failing—to chase the thoughts of him away. especially the image of him stretched out against these very pillows and you hovering over him while your arousal drenches his face. you lose yourself in the fantasy, hands sliding down your body in need.
but then your phone starts to blow up—message after message lighting the screen, all from your boyfriend:
caleb ♥︎: baby, are you serious?
caleb ♥︎: is that really what you want?
caleb ♥︎: you wanna sit on my face?
caleb ♥︎: forget it, I’ll be there in an hour. we’ll talk about this when I see you.
your breath hitches and brows knit in confusion—then it clicks. your tweet. maybe you should’ve been more careful before hitting send. maybe the app glitched. either way, when you open the app again, dread crashes over you as you confirm that you’ve posted it from the wrong account—the account where caleb has your notifications on. meaning he saw it immediately.
you delete it in a panic, humiliated, praying none of your other mutuals caught it in time. there’s nothing you can say or do to stop caleb from coming over. so you stand, pace, draw in a shaky breath and wait.
—
caleb lets himself in, shuts the door, and locks it behind him. the talk he mentioned in his text never comes. no greeting. no anger. instead, he strips down to his boxers and climbs into your bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
you’re frozen where you stand, lip caught between your teeth, thighs pressed tightly together. when he settles against the pillows, he lifts his gaze to you so calm that it almost scares. he looks at you expectantly.
“well?” he starts. “what are you waiting for? i’m here. you wanted to sit on your boyfriend’s pretty face, did you not?”
you exhale a sharp, nervous laugh, “c-caleb, we don’t have to…” you let shyness take over. “i’ll—i’ll suffocate you. it probably won’t feel good for you either…”
he scoffs incredulously. “come sit on my face before i make you. you do remember my evol, don’t you?”
you barely have time to process it before you feel weightless, a surprised yelp slipping out as he drags you toward him with nothing more than a flick of his hand.
you give in instantly, nodding as you stumble, “okay okay!”
he lets go and watches with hungry, unblinking eyes as you push your shorts and panties down, letting them pool at your feet. you climb onto the bed and crawl toward him slowly until you’re hovering just above his throat, suspended in the tension and your own personal fear.
“caleb, are you sure i won’t be too heavy?” you whisper.
“i’m sure, baby.” he says reassuringly, his hands grabbing your hips and lifting you till your cunt is just inches away from his face. “come on, sit. lemme taste you.”
you let out a shaky breath and start to lower yourself before you can talk yourself out of it, but his arms hook beneath your thighs and force you all the way down, drawing a satisfied moan from him and a startled gasp from you. your hands fly to his hair, fingers threading through the silky strands as you cling to him, grounding yourself before your strength gives out entirely.
you bite your lip, desperate to keep your moans quiet, but the drag of his nose against your clit paired with the warm suction of his mouth has your resolve shattering. it feels even better than you ever imagined. and when his hands come up to palm at your breasts? his fingers tweaking your nipples? you’re a goner.
“fuck,” you whimper, fingers tugging at his roots hard enough to draw a pained groan from him, though it barely registers. all you can focus on is the way he devours you like he’s starving, the vibration of his moans coursing through your body and lighting your nerves on fire, the relentless grind against your swollen, sensitive clit.
“caleb,” you cry, breathlessly, “ah! feels so good.”
“keep fuckin’ my face, pretty girl,” he moans, the words muffling into your cunt. “wanna taste you cummin’ all over me. you can do it.”
he pulls you onto him harder. like he wants to run out of oxygen.
and you obey—even if you wanted to stop, you couldn’t. not when you’re this close—not when caleb wants this just as bad as you do. you hump his face desperately, like a woman depraved, chasing your orgasm. you let your moans out freely, high pitched and needy, letting them join the sounds of slurping and smacking.
your body trembles violently, fingers fisting in caleb’s hair as you shatter, a mix of arousal and slick cum painting his face while you squeal his name like a broken record. “caleb, caleb, caleb—” his name is all that exists—all you can cling to at the moment.
he groans into you, relentless, licking and sucking every last trace, his hips lifting off the bed with desperate urgency. his cock throbs in his boxers, twitching with need for a taste of your cunt.
a sob tears from your chest when he doesn’t slow. “w-wait!” you gasp, legs shaking, body on the verge of giving out. “i’m s-sensitive, ca-caleb!”
“no, baby, please,” he whimpers, raw and earnest. “please let me keep going. you don’t know how bad i’ve wanted this.”
“w-what?” you breathe, dazed.
“for so long, pips,” he admits softly. “just sit there… let me do all the work. please?”
ᯓ 祁煜 ⟢ RAFAYEL ˖᯽ ݁˖ — crazy bf fucks you while you pretend to be asleep #somno
despite his bubbly, sassy exterior, rafayel carried his demons quietly. the kind that kept him watching you—both in real life and through the glow of a screen. the thought of losing you makes something dark twist in his chest. you’re his cutie, his heart, his muse, his entire world wrapped into one person.
he knows it’s wrong to have all your passwords. knows it crosses a line. so he tells himself he’s careful—only checks when he has to, when the ache gets too loud to ignore.
it’s been a while since he last logged into your account, but it’s also been days since he’s seen you. that has to count for something, right? just a quick look. just to scroll through what you’ve seen, what you’ve liked. just enough to feel close to you again.
a smile touches his lips when he sees all the silly tweets you’ve liked.
but then he sees it. a tweet that looks so out of place in the midst of cute cat videos and senseless jokes. a tweet that reads “gf who pretends to be asleep x bf who was gonna fuck her either way,” along with a video of just that. the smile falls immediately, his lips pressing into a thin line while his brows furrow.
his darkened gaze catches on the yellow bookmark, curiosity winning out before he can stop himself. the moment he opens your bookmarks aka the little trove of soft porn, his cock hardens. it’s all amateur and intimate, but worse, there’s a pattern. a theme. every two minute video was a girl getting fucked while she slept. fucked. bred. all while she laid pliant, eyes closed.
rafayel’s eyes drag over the captions again and again, each one making his thoughts spin faster. he loses track of time, an entire hour slipping by as he clicks through every video, cock aching and heart racing, torn between guilt and the thrill curling tight in his chest.
he pictured you like that—lying awake at night, thoughts circling him…his cock… until you finally drifted asleep. he imagined the wetness that pooled in your panties when you drifted off, the way desire followed you even into your dreams. it made something deep in him ache.
how long had you wanted this? with the sheer number of tweets tucked away in your bookmarks, he can’t help but think this fantasy has lived with you for a long time now, growing quietly… patiently.
but why not make your fantasy a reality?
—
rafayel asked you to spend the night, and of course you said yes please. you’d been missing your boyfriend like crazy, and with work constantly getting in the way, time together had become frustratingly scarce.
when you arrived, he’d planned something sweet—movies, cuddling, takeout you both loved. an innocent night in. except you wanted more. every subtle advance you made was met with a gentle deflection. he ignored them all, letting the tension build until you were needy with it. you were wound tight, and he still refused to touch you the way you ached for.
by the end of the night, you felt coiled and restless, yet too perverted to voice what you wanted aloud, especially after being brushed off. so you climbed into his bed with a sulky “goodnight,” a pout tugging at your lips, and tried to will yourself to sleep.
it didn’t come easily. all you could think about was him. your eyes squeezed shut, brows knitting together as the ache lingered, basically impossible to ignore. you were wet beyond belief. and only after you felt slumber slowly pulling at you, you felt your boyfriend press against you.
you felt his hard cock through his pants as he slowly, subtly rocked himself against you with barely steady breaths. your heart raced, holding in the little gasp that’s threatening to spill out of you.
“i saw all the videos you’ve been watching on twitter, princess,” he whispers, rutting against you a little harder, the words hitting just as deep as the motion. “all those videos of girls getting fucked while they sleep… is that what you want?”
both your heart and your thoughts stutter at once. for a split second you think you’re dreaming—but you can feel him, and you can differentiate fantasy and reality. the truth finally settles in as his hand slides beneath your sleep shorts, drifting lower, touching you in a way that leaves no doubt at all. this is real.
he hums when his fingers are immediately met with your slick arousal. “the idea of getting fucked while you’re unconciouis gets you this wet?”
you swallow the whimper trying to break free and let your deepest fantasy unfold. you force yourself to relax, to go pliant in the way you’ve always imagined this—but the moment rafayel circles your clit, your body betrays you, tensing on instinct.
“this slutty pussy wants me to fuck her, doesn’t she, baby? your body’s practically begging for me…” he groans into your ear, grinding deeper into you. “it would be so bad for me to fuck you while you sleep, though. i’d be such a bad boyfriend…”
you want to scream when he slows down. when he starts to retract his hand like it’s some bad idea.
“i shouldn’t touch you while you’re trying to sleep.” he murmurs, a hint of amusement threading through his words.
his hand nearly slips away from your shorts when a frayed plea falls from your lips. “please,” you whimper—and that’s really all the confirmation rafayel needs. he flips you onto your stomach and presses over you like a man starved.
your shorts are barely tugged down and his sweats are pushed just low enough for him to free himself. his hot, thick cock slaps against your bare skin and the contact makes you squeak. he pushes into you, filling you in one deep motion. gasps and moans spill from both of you in tandem, but he doesn’t give either of you time to settle. his hands grip your ass, fingers digging in as your flesh spills through the gaps all while he drives into you relentlessly.
“i knew you were pretending to sleep,” he grunts and it’s barely loud enough to be heard over the sounds of his skin slapping against yours.
you’re breathless when you manage to answer. “h-how?” the question breaks on a whine as his cock drives deeper with every hard thrust.
“i could hear how fast your heart was beating,” he chuckles darkly, never slowing, his pace mean. ruthless. “the way your breathing changed the second you felt me behind you.” his grip tightens as he leans in. “you were just waiting for me to take your clothes off and fuck you, weren’t you?”
you whimper, utterly exposed. “yes…”
“naughty, naughty girl.” he laughs. “should’ve told me you wanted to get fucked while you slept.”
you moan, clamping tightly around him and taking the painful stretch in stride. your back arches for more. like your body needs his cock or you’ll die. the knot in your stomach has been winding tighter all night, waiting for this exact moment, and you’re already embarrassingly close.
“no need to hold back,” he whispers. “soak my fucking cock like the slut you are.”
his sharp words tear a mewl from you, your walls clenching around his cock so tight it steals the breath from his lungs. you break as he drives into you without mercy. you fall apart around him with a beg, “please, please, please—” the word dissolving into a wrecked sob that fills the room.
“good girl,” he breathes. “now go back to sleep and let me have my fun, yeah?”
ᯓ 沈星回 ⟢ XAVIER ˖᯽ ݁˖ — dom!bf lets you edge him and begs you to cum #edging
tara is your best friend in the entire world. the kind of best friend who knows every corner of your life, including the private parts you don’t share with anyone else. especially when it comes to you and xavier.
at first, her curiosity overwhelmed you. her questions were invasive, relentless, sometimes overly embarrassing. but over time, you got used to it. more than that—you started to look forward to it. your weekly dates where you can rant about work at the association and the gory details of your relationship with xavier.
telling tara everything became its own kind of thrill. the late night giggles when she’d come over, the hushed voices so he couldn’t hear anything while he lived in the apartment above you, the way she’d squeal or gasp at every insane detail. it felt good to have someone who wanted to hear it all.
you’d even told her about wanting to try something new with him—something you were pretty sure he’d never agree to. you wanted xavier to be the one begging you for once. he was always so dominant in bed that the idea of flipping the script… of him giving in and taking everything you had to offer, felt almost absurd… which was exactly why you couldn’t stop thinking about it.
you remember when you saw the video of your ideal fantasy on twitter. a video of a guy being dominated by a girl. she made him beg for permission while she rode him and all you could think about was him. how cute he’d be with his blushy cheeks and the yearning look in his eyes. how pretty he’d sound whimpering out pleas and begs to cum inside of you. it shook you to your core. you saved the video to your bookmarks immediately and came back to it from time to time just to fantasize.
the night after you told tara about said fantasy, you decided to send her a visual, just so she knew exactly what you wanted. it’s not like you wanted to tie him up, you just wanted to watch him break underneath you.
@/starringmc: this is exactly what i want to do to xavier!!!
you hadn’t heard anything from tara for a while. you half expected her to open your dm immediately. she’s basically chronically online whenever she’s not on a mission or training, but there was nothing.
a knock at your door pulls you from your scrolling, brows knitting as you get up to answer it. when you swing the door open, your breath catches. xavier stands there, cheeks flushed, posture oddly sheepish.
“xavier? come in.” you step aside automatically, shutting the door behind him before turning back, confusion etched across your face. “what are you doing here? did we have plans?” worry slips into your voice.
he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he lifts his phone and turns the screen toward you—the twitter dm meant for tara, unmistakable.
your throat runs dry. heat rushes through you, mortification blooming in your chest, your face, the tips of your ears.
“i-i can…” you start, words tangling as his gaze pins you in place. “i can explain?”
he cocks his head to the side and asks. “so you don’t want to do this to me?”
“no! i mean—y-yes, but i… i just didn’t mean… i didn’t mean to send that to you.” you splutter. “this is not how i envisioned telling you that i wanted to try something like this. i’m sorry.”
“let’s do it.” he says, tossing his phone on your couch. “let’s recreate it—i want to.”
—
xavier sensed you were nervous. it took you a minute to fully get into it—the headspace, the dominance, but you eventually got there and he believes it’s the sexiest you’ve ever been.
you sat on his cock, slowly grinding against him like you were trying to tease him. your hands gripped at his pecs, palming and squeezing them in a way that made him breathless.
it was a struggle… to let his guard down, to let you dominate him. his hands were on your hips and he urged you to move faster. he wanted you to bounce on his cock till he came, but you said no.
“beg for it.” you whisper. “i won’t move the way you want me to unless you beg.”
he whimpers, the beg slipping past his lips all mumbly and cute—just the way you imagined they would. “please. please, go faster. i want you to go faster.”
you hum, delighted, your walls hugging him nice and tight as his words shoot straight to your core. you kindly oblige, lifting your hips and dropping them to which xavier lets out a blissed out moan. his brows knit in the utmost pleasure and his eyes flutter close.
his hands slide up to your waist, gripping you tight and holding you in place while his cock rams in and out of you. you let out little squeaks with every thrust and it only makes his cock throb intensely, loud whimpers following your sounds in suit.
he tries to hold back. to not get so close, but he can’t help it. you look so pretty riding him with your tits bouncing in his face and your pussy tightening around him like a vice. it makes him twitch frantically.
and you can feel it. the way he jerks and shakes—you know he’s close. you find it oddly endearing…how he’s been reduced to this, but you bite back the smile and school your features into something firm instead. “don’t cum,” you warn quietly. “you can’t cum… not yet.”
his hands still you, keeping you grounded and speared on his length as he begs for permission. “fuck, please—please let me cum.” he pleads, voice broken.
“no, not yet.” and the sound it pulls from him makes your chest ache—the choked, desperate sob torn from his throat at the denial, raw enough to make your heart constrict. “keep fucking me, xavie.”
he shakes his head incessantly, “i c-can’t, baby—fuck, i’ll–i’ll cum!”
“you can hold it.” you say, breathlessly, resuming your wicked motions. “be good ‘n fuck me faster.”
he clenches his teeth, pounding into you just the way you want. his hips snap against you with vigor while his cock helplessly throbs. he wants nothing more than to press deep inside and spill his load into you.
“i wanna cum, please, please, please. baby, please—i’ll do anything.”
you can’t resist him… his pretty face, his sweet voice. you offer a saccharine smile, lean in so your lips ghost over his and whisper. “cum inside of me, xavie.”
a loud, relieved groan slips out of him, his hands grip on you bruising as he pounds into you before he stills. his tip kisses your cervix before he’s pouring his hot, long awaited release into your cunt.
he crashes his mouth against yours, allowing you to swallow his moans as his arms wrap tight around you. he pulls you flush to his chest before he rolls you beneath him, hard cock still pressed inside of you. you squeal into the kiss, breathless and startled as the world tilts.
when he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless, foreheads pressed against one another. you catch the darkness in his eyes, the heat flushing his cheeks, the way restraint is barely holding.
“can i make you beg now?” he whispers, voice low. then, softer… much more vulnerable, “please?”
Sylus isn’t the guy who waits for your birthday to drop something huge on you.
He’ll just… do it. Random Tuesday in March, you wake up to him already dressed, leaning in the bedroom doorway with that lazy half-smirk, tossing a set of keys onto the bed like it’s nothing.
“Get up. Yours now.”
You stare at the key; matte black, sleek logo you recognize instantly. Your brain short-circuits for a solid five seconds.
“…Sylus, what the fuck is this?”
He shrugs. “Your new car, sweetie. Parked downstairs. Figured the matte red would look good with your new gear.”
You’re still blinking at the keys. “You bought me a sports car. On a random day. Because…?”
“Because I saw it and thought you’d look hot driving it.” He says it like that’s the only explanation required. No card, no ribbon, no celebratory card. Just him, already walking toward the kitchen like he didn’t just change your entire driveway situation.
Birthdays and holidays are different with him.
Those are quieter. More private.
On your actual birthday he doesn’t do grand gestures or flashy jewelry. He waits until the apartment is dark, everyone else long gone, and then he sits you down on the couch with nothing but a small velvet box in his palm.
Inside is something small and personal. A tiny silver heart shaped locket with a picture of the two of you in it. It’s the kind where you aren’t posing, not deliberately trying to look good for the camera. It’s a small intimate moment shared between the two of you and even in the picture, his full attention is on you. He’s had it cleaned, strung on a thin chain he picked himself.
No speech. Just him fastening it around your neck with careful fingers, lips brushing the nape before he pulls back to look at you.
“Been carrying that around for a while,” he mutters. “Figured it was time you had it.”
You’re crying before you even realize it. He doesn’t make a big deal, just pulls you into his lap, lets you hide your face in his neck while he strokes your hair like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Valentine’s, Christmas, anniversaries, he keeps it the same. Thoughtful, quiet, stupidly intimate things that mean something only to the two of you: a leather-bound sketchbook filled with his own rough drawings of places you’ve been together, a single pressed flower from the field where you first kissed, a custom knife engraved with the date he decided you were never getting away from him.
No billboards. No parades. No “world’s best girlfriend” mugs.
Just him, quietly proving every day that you’re the only thing he’s ever really wanted to keep.
And then on some random Thursday in July he’ll walk in, drop a set of matte-black keys on the counter while you’re eating cereal, and go “bought you a bike. It’s downstairs. Don’t scratch it.”
You stare at him over the bowl.
He just kisses the top of your head and steals a spoonful of your cereal like he didn’t just casually drop five figures on a whim.
That’s Sylus.
Big gifts whenever the hell he feels like it.
The ones that actually hurt to give, those are saved for the days that matter.
what happens when he convinces himself you’re pregnant?
Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb x AFAB!Reader
Xavier
The apartment smells like burnt toast and coffee because Xavier tried to “make breakfast in bed” and forgot to time the toaster correctly. He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress now, knees bouncing like he’s about to launch into orbit, staring at the pregnancy test on the nightstand like it’s going to start talking to him.
Two lines?
No. wait- one line.
Wait- two?
He squints. Tilts his head. Picks it up. Holds it to the window light. Turns it sideways like maybe the angle will change the answer.
You’re in the bathroom brushing your teeth, completely unaware that your boyfriend is currently experiencing a full mental breakdown over a stick you peed on five minutes ago because you felt bloated after too much food last night.
Xavier’s already three steps ahead.
He’s mentally redecorating the spare room. Pastel yellow walls? No- soft lavender. Better for naps. Crib in the corner by the window so the baby gets morning light. He’s calculating how many stuffed animals is too many (answer: there is no such thing). He’s wondering if he can convince Jeremiah to be the godfather or if that’s too much pressure.
He’s vibrating.
When you finally walk out wiping toothpaste from your lip, he’s standing in the middle of the bedroom holding the test like it’s a holy relic.
“Babe,” he says, voice cracking on the single syllable. “We’re having a baby.”
You blink.
“Xavier… it’s negative.”
He freezes.
Looks at the test again.
Squints harder.
Turns it upside down.
“…It’s negative?”
“Yeah,” you say gently. “I’m not pregnant. Just ate too much spicy food and my period’s late. False alarm.”
His face does this thing where it goes from euphoric to devastated to embarrassed in 0.8 seconds flat. The test drops from his fingers. He stares at it on the carpet like it personally betrayed him.
“Oh,” he says very small.
Then he just… deflates.
Shoulders slump. Eyes get big and shiny. He looks like a golden retriever who was told walkies are canceled forever.
You step closer. “Hey-“
“I already picked names,” he mumbles. “And paint colors. And I was gonna ask Jeremiah to build a crib. I had a whole plan. I was gonna be good at this.”
You bite your lip to keep from laughing.
He looks up at you with those big, wounded puppy eyes.
“I was excited,” he says quietly. “Like… really excited.”
You pull him into a hug. He wraps both arms around you immediately, face buried in your shoulder like he’s trying to hide.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, rubbing his back.
He shakes his head against you. “Don’t be. I just… got ahead of myself.
A beat.
Then- muffled into your shirt:
“…maybe this is a sign to start trying,”
Your eyes widen and you start laughing.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, still a little shiny-eyed, but smiling now.
“I mean with the house now,” he adds hopefully. “There’s nothing holding us back, right?”
You kiss his cheek.
“We can talk about pets,” you say. “But maybe let’s wait until the food digests before we commit to anything.”
He nods solemnly.
Then he picks up the test again, stares at it for a second longer, and sighs like a man who’s accepted his tragic fate.
“Fine,” he mutters. “But I’m getting the paint swatches. Just in case.
You snort.
He grins, it’s small, sheepish and hopeful.
Zayne
The living room is dead quiet except for the hum of the fridge omitting from the kitchen and the occasional beep from Zayne’s phone. He’s sitting at the small table, white coat hanging over the arm rest, his sleeves rolled up, staring at his notes app like it holds the secrets of the universe.
He’s been compiling evidence for three days.
Exhibit A: You’ve been napping every afternoon. Not just dozing, full-on, drooling-on-the-couch, “wake me in an hour” naps.
Exhibit B: You cried at a dog adoption ad on his phone last night. Actual tears. You don’t even like dogs that much.
Exhibit C: You ate an entire jar of pickles in one sitting. With peanut butter. He walked in on you double-dipping and nearly dropped his coffee.
Exhibit D: Your breasts hurt. You winced when you hugged him yesterday. He noticed immediately (he’s a doctor, he notices everything).
Conclusion: You’re pregnant.
He’s already mentally rearranged his schedule. Reduced OR hours starting next month. Found three different prenatal vitamin brands and cross-referenced their reviews. Bookmarked a crib he likes in matte white oak. Even googled “best changing tables” at 2 a.m. last night. He has a color-coded spreadsheet open on his laptop right now titled “First Trimester Checklist - Preliminary.”
When you finally walk in, yawning, hair messy, still in his hoodie, you freeze at the sight of him hunched over his phone, looking like he’s planning a military campaign.
“…Zayne?”
He looks up. Eyes bright. Almost manic.
“You’re pregnant,” he says. Not a question. A statement of fact delivered with the calm certainty of a man who’s already bought the baby shoes.
You blink.
“What?”
“The symptoms line up perfectly.” He turns the phone toward you. “Fatigue, emotional lability, unusual cravings, breast tenderness. I’ve tracked it. Statistically significant.”
You stare at the screen. Then at him.
Then you start giggling. Softly at first, you try to cover your mouth with your hand.
Zayne’s face falls. The excitement drains out of him like someone pulled a plug.
“…You’re not?”
You shake your head, still giggling. “No, baby. I’m not pregnant. My period’s just late because I’ve been stressed about that upcoming mission. And I always eat weird food combos, you know this.”
He looks down at his meticulously organized spreadsheet. Then back at you.
“Oh.”
You step closer. Take the phone from his hand. Close the app gently.
“You were really excited,” you say softly.
He exhales. Rubs the back of his neck, ears pink.
“I… may have gotten ahead of myself.”
You wrap your arms around his waist. Rest your cheek on his chest.
“I thought it was sweet. A little terrifying, but sweet.”
He lets out a small, embarrassed laugh. Wraps his arms around you. Presses his lips to the top of your head.
“I already ordered prenatal vitamins,” he admits quietly. “Express shipping.”
You laugh again, muffled against his shirt.
“Cancel them?”
“…Maybe I’ll keep one bottle. Just in case.
You pull back just enough to look up at him.
“Zayne.”
He sighs, grin still on his face.
“Fine. I’ll cancel them.”
A beat.
Then, smaller, almost shy:
“…But if it ever does happen… I already know which crib we should get.”
You smile. Kiss the underside of his jaw.
“One day,” you promise.
He nods. Holds you tighter.
Rafayel
Rafayel had been rifling through your bag for that tube of lip balm you always "lost" (he knew you hid it just to make him look), when his fingers brushed something unfamiliar. He pulled it out: prenatal vitamins. The label stared back at him like a prophecy from the previous sea gods themselves.
His heart stopped. Then exploded.
"Oh my god," he whispered, clutching the bottle like it was a sacred relic. "She's… we're… I'm gonna be a dad."
He didn't waste a second, he bolted to the studio, grabbing his sketchpad and flipping to a blank page. "Okay, first: nursery. Underwater theme? No, too on-the-nose. Pastel corals and stars. And a mobile with glowing fish!"
He started doodling furiously, tiny crib, little onesies with flame motifs, a high chair shaped like a seashell. "Names! If it's a girl, Artemisia. Boy? Something strong, like… Rafayel Jr. Wait, no, that's narcissistic. Fine, Chaim. Perfect."
By the time you got home, the place was a whirlwind. Mood boards pinned to the walls, fabric samples scattered on the couch, and Rafayel on the phone ordering "organic seaweed supplements for expecting mothers" in bulk.
You walked in, blinking. "What… is all this?"
He spun around, eyes wide and manic, bottle of vitamins thrust at you like evidence. "You're pregnant! I found these! We're having a baby! I already planned the nursery. And names! Artemisia for a girl, Chaim for a boy. And I ordered a stroller that floats. Okay, it doesn't float, but it could if I mod it-“
You stared. Then burst out laughing.
Rafayel's excitement deflated like a popped balloon. "What? What's so funny? This is serious! We're parents now!"
You wiped tears from your eyes, still giggling. "Rafayel… those vitamins are for my iron deficiency. Dr. Zayne prescribed them last week. I'm not pregnant."
He froze. Blinked once. Twice.
Then he collapsed onto the couch, face in his hands. "Oh gods. I just spent three hours designing a floating high chair."
You sat beside him, still chuckling. "A floating high chair?"
He peeked through his fingers, cheeks pink. "It seemed practical at the time."
You ruffled his hair. "Well, save the sketches. Maybe one day."
He groaned, but pulled you into his lap, burying his face in your neck. "One day. But next time, warn a guy before you stock up on vitamins that look like baby prep."
You kissed his temple. "Deal. But the names are cute."
He huffed. "Of course they are. I came up with them."
Sylus
Sylus had been keeping mental notes for weeks.
You were late. Not just a day or two- five, going on six.
You’d been napping more, falling asleep on the couch mid-conversation, waking up groggy and confused.
You’d snapped at him over nothing yesterday (he’d asked if you wanted tea and you’d said “why are you always hovering?” before immediately looking guilty and hugging him).
You’d eaten an entire jar of spicy pickled radishes straight from the fridge at 2 a.m. while glaring at him like he’d personally offended the jar.
And this morning you’d gagged at the smell of his coffee, his coffee, the one you usually steal sips from.
He hadn’t said anything. Just watched. Tracked and hoped.
By the time you came home that evening he’d already mentally renovated the east wing of the penthouse into a nursery.
Soft gray walls (calming but not boring).
A crib with black wood and silver accents (elegant, not tacky).
A rocking chair upholstered in velvet (making sure it would offer utmost comfort for you).
He’d even looked up“non-toxic baby-safe paint” and ordered three different brands “just in case.”
When you walked in he was on the couch, legs crossed, looking far too casual for a man who’d spent the day mentally planning his child’s future.
You dropped your bag.
Kicked off your shoes.
Looked at him suspiciously.
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
He tilted his head. Voice smooth. Too smooth.
“You’re late.”
You blink. “Late for what?”
“Your cycle.” He says it like he’s reading a weather report. “Six days. You’ve been fatigued. Moody. Craving strange things. Gagging at coffee you usually like.”
Your mouth opens. Closes.
He leans forward, elbows on knees, eyes gleaming.
“I’ve already ordered the crib. And paint. And a changing table that doubles as a dresser. Black walnut. Modern. You’ll like it.”
You stare at him for a solid five seconds.
Then you avoid his gaze, eyes looking everywhere but at him.
Sylus’s face falls like someone cut the strings.
“…You’re not?”
You shake your head, exhaling a laugh. “No, you absolute lunatic. I’m not pregnant. My period’s late because I’ve been stressed about work and I skipped a few pills last month. The gagging? I’m pretty sure I ate expired yogurt yesterday. And the moodiness? That’s just me dealing with you.”
He blinks once. Slowly.
Then he drops his head into his hands.
“…my mistake,” he mutters into his palms. “I got ahead of myself.”
You shake your head, laughing, the overexcitement he showcased was endearing.
He peeks through his fingers.
Looks wounded.
Pathetic.
Adorable.
“I was even thinking of names.” he says mournfully.
You crawl onto the couch. Straddle his lap. Cup his face.
“You’re so stupid,” you say fondly. “And I love you for it.”
He groans. Drops his head back against your shoulder. Arms wrap around your waist automatically.
“I’m canceling the cribs,” he grumbles. “But I’m making the twins pick up paint buckets.
You kiss his cheek.
His nose.
His pouty mouth.
“I wouldn’t mind having kids,” you whisper against his lips.
He opens his eyes. Looks at you, soft, hopeful, right eye glowing.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He exhales. Pulls you closer.
Buries his face in your neck.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he mutters. “we can start planning.”
You laugh into his hair.
“We could start trying right now...”
And somewhere in a warehouse, three very expensive cribs are already en route, needed maybe sooner rather than later.
Caleb
Caleb was in the kitchen making protein shakes when your phone lit up on the counter.
He wasn’t snooping.
He just glanced.
Reflex.
The preview text from Tara popped up like a neon sign:
Tara: “Cribs aren’t even that expensive! I guess now is a pretty good time to get knocked up. Luckyyy”
Caleb froze mid-scoop.
The protein powder container slipped from his hand and exploded across the floor in a cloud of chocolate dust.
Knocked up?
You.
Him.
A baby.
His brain immediately blue-screened, then rebooted into overdrive.
He pictured it instantly:
You waddling around the apartment in his hoodies with his baby.
Him building a crib at 3 a.m. because he couldn’t sleep thinking about tiny socks.
A little girl with your eyes and his stupid cowlick.
Or a boy who’d inherit his outgoing nature.
Names already formingx something strong but soft-
He didn’t even finish the thought before he was sprinting to the living room, phone clutched like evidence in a murder trial.
You were on the couch, eyes glued to the TV when he burst in, wild-eyed, covered in protein powder like he’d been in a cocoa explosion.
“Baby.”
You looked up. “Yeah?”
“Are you-“ His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. Tried again. “Are you… pregnant?”
You blinked.
Brows furrowing, visibly looking taken aback.
Caleb’s face went from hopeful to devastated in record time.
“…No?”
Your mouth curled up into a grin “No, Caleb. I’m not pregnant. My period’s literally due tomorrow.”
He stared at you.
Then at the floor.
Then back at you.
“Oh.”
You could see the exact moment all his mental Pinterest boards of baby onesies and nursery inspo imploded.
He sat down hard on the coffee table. Looked like a kicked puppy.
“I… was mentally preparing,” he said quietly. “And I was thinking about how we’d need to baby-proof the balcony. And I was gonna look into knitting classes to attend.”
You crawled over and climbed into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.
He buried his face in your shoulder like he was hiding.
“I got excited,” he mumbled into your shirt. “Really excited.”
You kissed the top of his head. “I know.”
A pause.
Then- small, hopeful:
“…it’s not off the table though, right?”
You laughed against his hair.
“I’d love to start a family with you. Eventually.”
He exhaled, long and dramatic.
“Okay. How do 5 sound?”
He looked up at you, sheepish.
You kissed him hard, laughing into his mouth.
He kissed back, arms locking around you like he was never letting go.
