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strwbrychffoncake · 5 days ago

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Kinktober Day 25 - Cuckolding with Sylus & Zayne

contains: nsfw content: (mdni), fempov, pnv (unprotected), creampie, cuckolding, established relationship (reader is sylus' wife), cheating? (it's agreed to), oral (receiving/giving), 69, come eating, masturbation

˚₊‧ for more kinktober here - wc: 4.9k

a/n: sylus is the cuck because i said so + let's ignore how behind i am right now

You had been married to Sylus for years. He was tender, attentive, making sure you were always safe and of course, a little possessive. Lately, though, there'd been an undercurrent, a tension of sorts, that you couldn't quite define. You didn't know where it was coming from or why, but it was there.

Then there was Zayne—your best friend and constant since long before Sylus came along. Zayne’s presence was different, his caring nature wrapped in an aloof, sometimes unreadable shell. He and Sylus tolerated each other well, their respect tentative at best, for your sake rather than any common bond between them.

Lately, though, Sylus had been catching the subtleties: how Zayne would stare at you a beat longer when you laughed at one of his jokes, or how his hand would brush yours in passing with a gentle caress that made Sylus' jaw tense. He'd always been possessive, but never in a way that made you uncomfortable—until one night, when he told you something that managed to leave you speechless.

Sylus admitted he'd caught Zayne's glances, and instead of anger, he felt something more complicated-something unexpectedly charged. He thought aloud if he had a kink for the curiosity of seeing you with someone else, namely Zayne.

You were speechless at first. This thought of your husband wanting to share you-especially with Zayne-was surreal. But Sylus' vulnerability, as he spoke this desire out loud, called to you. Reeling you into his fantasy of the need to explore this side of himself and strangely enough yours. You’d felt the chemistry with Zayne, the unspoken current you'd ignored for your loyalty to Sylus. But now it seemed like a door opening to something new.

You felt the weight of Sylus' eyes on you from across the room, fixed with longing and tension. He sat in the corner of your shared bedroom, his hands bound behind him with Zayne's tie, his breaths shallow and strained. It had been Zayne's idea-to hold Sylus in place, to make sure he had no control over what happened next.

Zayne's hand rose to cup your face, his thumb brushing light over your lips, as if testing the waters. The warmth in that touch sent a ripple down your spine and you glanced over at Sylus-your husband-bound and silent, his chest rising in uneven breaths, his eyes wide with jealousy, hunger, and something darker that raced your pulse. He'd asked for this; now, as he watched the scene unfold, the intensity seemed to shake him more than any of you had bargained for.

I think you've waited long enough," Zayne whispered, his hand delicately turning your face to his. He leaned forward and kissed you lightly, a teasing kiss, the kind that would relish anticipation. His hand slid down to your waist, pulling you close, as his lips hitched in the kiss and his warm breath stroked your skin. In every touch, it felt like melting into him, the excitement of this moment erasing the lingering doubts in your mind.

The kiss grew bolder, his hands moving with a confidence that sent a thrill through you. His fingers traced the line of your neck, down to your collarbone, each inch claimed with deliberation that felt almost reverent. You forgot everything but his touch, his mouth, the feel of his fingers, and the way he knew just how to make your body respond.

His lips moved down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that grew hungrier with each beat of your heart. Your hands, tangled in his opened shirt, pulled him closer, caught in a moment heavy with both anticipation and release. And still, beneath the desire, you felt Sylus' gaze, sharp and focused, like a steady heat against your skin.

Zayne paused, his lips inches from yours, a wicked gleam dancing in his eyes as he turned back to glance across the room at Sylus. "Think he's holding up alright over there?" he asked with an edge of satisfaction to the tone that carried so clearly across the room.

Turning, you caught his gaze upon you from where he was restrained. He ran his tongue across his lips and managed a mumbled "Just… keep going." His eyes flashed between you and Zayne, his face a mix of hunger and restraint.

A low chuckle rumbled from Zayne as he returned his focus to you, pulling you onto his lap so you were straddling him. His hands gripped your hips with an urgency that felt possessive, his kiss deeper, almost claiming, knowing Sylus could do nothing but watch. The weight of Zayne’s body against yours, his hands sliding up your back, made you feel alive in ways that left you breathless.

Being wanted by both men, feeling Sylus’ gaze on you as Zayne pulled you closer, filled you with a strange mix of excitement and thrill. Sylus was here to witness every moment, but it was Zayne who held control.

His lips travelled lower, each kiss deliberate, as he murmured in your ear, “I’ve always wanted this… to see you here, with me, like this. And now he’s watching me have what he can’t.” His voice dropped to a whisper meant just for you. “You like that, don’t you?”

A shiver ran through you, the unguarded thrill rising with each word. You did like it—the feeling of being caught between them, of being wanted so completely. Zayne’s lips pressed lower, leaving a trail along your collarbone, his touch lingering and unhurried as he traced over your skin.

You looked at Sylus, your heart pounding at the sight of him, bound and silent, his body tense, chest rising with rapid breaths. The raw arousal in his eyes was unmistakable, his own emotions fighting with every moment he held back, watching but unable to act.

Zayne’s hand slipped down your thigh, his touch teasing, deliberate, as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “He’s not going to stop me,” he whispered. “He wants this… needs this.”

Your mind grew hazy, caught between Zayne’s heated touch and Sylus’ unwavering gaze. Every second felt like an unspoken dare, testing your will and Sylus’ resolve. Sylus’ eyes were wide, pupils dilated as he watched, his chest heaving with each ragged breath as his own control began to falter.

With a smirk, Zayne felt your fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling yourself closer as you let the thrill overtake you. His fingers brushed lower, tracing a line that felt both exhilarating and grounding as he murmured, “I wonder how long he’ll last… think he’ll come without being touched?”

Suddenly, you felt shy under Zayne’s intense gaze. He’d been your best friend forever; you’d never expected to see this side of him.

Zayne’s breath tickled your ear, his voice a low murmur, and each word wrapped around you with an intensity that felt almost palpable. The air between the three of you was charged, each look, each touch only heightening the simmering tension. Your heart beat faster as his hands traced along your waist, fingers playing at the edge of your clothes, sending a thrill through you.

Across the room, Sylus sat bound, a mix of control and surrender flickering in his expression. His chest rose and fell sharply, his knuckles white as he gripped the back of the chair with hands bound tight behind him. This was something he’d asked for, something he’d wanted—yet now, seeing Zayne’s hands on you was pushing him to an edge. His jaw clenched, and his dark gaze revealed the turbulent mix of jealousy, desire, and longing within him.

A smirk played on Zayne’s lips as he seemed to relish Sylus’ struggle, his fingers slipping just beneath the fabric of your shirt, grazing your skin with a teasing slowness. “See that?” he whispered, his voice a deep, provocative murmur, meant only for you. “He’s already so hard just watching me have you.”

A shiver ran through you as Zayne’s firm hold and Sylus’ intense stare stirred something deep inside. You let out a soft whimper, Zayne’s hand finding your skin with a gentle but possessive touch. The thrill of Sylus watching, powerless to intervene, mingled with the intimacy of the moment and brought out desires you hadn’t even realised were there.

Zayne met your gaze, and for a moment, the smugness softened, replaced by something familiar, something that reminded you of your shared history. Beneath everything, this was still your best friend—someone who knew you, someone you’d trusted with all of yourself. That quiet understanding brought its own charge, blending comfort with the newness of this intensity.

He kissed you again, more forcefully, with a confidence that claimed you in Sylus’ view. The kiss deepened, unhurried but consuming, and you found yourself clinging to Zayne, your body responding to his touch with every nerve awakened. You could feel Sylus’ gaze heavy on you, each one of Zayne’s movements met with a sharp hitch of breath from Sylus, the tension in his body unmistakable.

Zayne’s hand slipped lower, fingers hooking under your panties as he tugged them down just enough to tease you—and Sylus—with what was to come. He broke the kiss, leaning close, his forehead resting against yours, and in a breathless whisper asked, “You ready?”

You nodded and he slid the fabric away, his fingers trailing a path that made you arch into his touch, craving more with each slow caress. Seeing Sylus react to this, watching his restraint unravel, brought a thrill that you could feel in every inch of your body.

A satisfied grin spread across Zayne’s face as he noted your response, his fingers moving purposefully, his touch exploring your thighs before finally running them along your glistening folds. He threw Sylus a quick, triumphant look, his voice barely above a murmur as he teased, “Look at her… already so eager for me.”

With precision, he positioned you so Sylus had an unobstructed view, every shift of Zayne’s hands carefully in focus for him. Bound in place, Sylus couldn’t tear his eyes away as Zayne’s touch deepened. Knowing you had this effect on both men, feeling their separate intensities, was an exhilarating power you hadn’t expected to feel.

Zayne’s fingers teased your entrance a little, before slowly pushing one inside, his touch confident as he found the perfect rhythm. You gasped as pleasure surged through you, your hips moving instinctively in response to him. He chuckled, his voice low with satisfaction.

“You like that, don’t you?” he murmured, his fingers circling with a maddening slowness. “Bet you’re dying for more.”

With a shift, Zayne reclined back on the bed, turning you around and guiding you so you were almost straddling his face. One hand gripped your hips as the other pressed on your back, urging you closer to his cock that was straining against his boxers. He gave a slow, appreciative smile, his voice thick with need as he whispered, “Come on, beautiful. Show me what that pretty mouth can do.”

You glanced at Sylus, his body was tense, muscles taut with arousal as he absorbed the scene, desire and frustration warring within his expression.

Zayne’s hands guided you down until your lips hovered just above him. You pressed a few teasing kisses to his clothed erection, before tugging them down enough to free his cock, long and pretty. Slowly, you lowered your head, tracing your tongue over his skin, tasting the warm saltiness of him. A low, satisfied moan escaped your lips as you took him deeper, inch by inch, savouring the way his breath caught and his head fell back, eyes slipping closed.

Just as you lost yourself in the rhythm, Zayne's mouth finally began exploring your pussy, his tongue exploring in slow, purposeful circles that made your breath hitch. Your lips wrapped around his cock and his tongue parting your folds created an electric rhythm between you, every touch a wave of pleasure that reverberated through your entire body.

Sylus watched, unable to look away, his own arousal plain, pressing insistently against his pants. His eyes were fixed on you, his expression dark with need, as if the intensity of what he felt for you were palpable in the room. A fierce blend of longing and envy seemed to coil in his gaze, growing with each muffled sound you made.

Zayne’s tongue circled your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through you. His hands tightened on your thighs, steadying you as you rocked against him, chasing every wave, every shudder. The tension coiled tighter, winding deep within you as he continued, each touch pushing you closer to the edge.

You were dimly aware of Sylus, his breaths heavy and uneven, his eyes never leaving your face. You could feel his desperation, the silent plea in his gaze as you gasped under Zayne’s touch.

You moved in rhythm, your hips meeting Zayne’s mouth, each brush of his nose against your clit was a spark against your sensitive skin. Each touch, each taste, was overwhelming. And as his hands held you, his moans mingled with your own, it was a fevered exchange that blurred the world around you. You ran your tongue along his shaft, before returning to take him deeper, bobbing your head as much as you could from the angle. Each pulse bringing him closer, his hands pressing into your thighs with renewed fervour.

Finally, as your body strained for release, Zayne’s hand left your thigh, his touch easing back as he pulled away, his breath fast and his gaze full of promise. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I want to feel you cum around my cock.”

The words ignited something fierce within you, a trembling anticipation as you moved, shifting in a quiet ache for what came next.

Zayne released your hips, and as you shifted, he quickly positioned himself behind you whilst you were already on all fours, his presence warm and solid. His hands moved over you, one sliding around your hip, his fingers finding your most sensitive spot, each slow circle a tease.

You looked ahead, meeting Sylus’ gaze, seeing his chest rise and fall as he watched, bound and captivated, his gaze hungry and unwavering.

Zayne’s fingers continued, slow and knowing, as he pressed forward, sliding his cock inside you with a steady ease that made your breath catch, filling you completely. The feeling of his touch, and Sylus’ dark, intense stare, held you suspended between them, every sensation amplified as your body moved in time with Zayne’s, grounded in him, but electrified by Sylus’ silent, longing presence.

In this moment, caught between their two worlds, every touch felt infinite, every movement a reminder of the power you held over them both, leaving you completely breathless, each sensation more vivid and alive than the last.

You arched your back, pressing your hips against him, craving more of that delicious intensity. Zayne responded eagerly, thrusting deep inside you with a powerful rhythm that took your breath away. He established a relentless pace, his fingers dancing over your clit, each thrust punctuated by the sound of his skin meeting yours, a primal slap that echoed in the charged air.

With a firm grip, Zayne shifted his hand from your hip to your jaw, tilting your head to face Sylus. The moment your eyes met, you felt a rush of heat. Sylus’ gaze was a storm of raw hunger, jealousy, and desire that ignited something deep within you.

“Look at him,” Zayne growled, his voice low and commanding. “See how much he wants you? How badly he wishes he could be the one inside you right now?”

You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Sylus, lost in the intensity of his stare as Zayne continued his unrelenting assault from behind. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body, eliciting gasps and moans that filled the room like a symphony of desire.

Sylus looked utterly consumed, his chest heaving with every ragged breath, an expression of fierce longing etched across his features. He appeared to be a man possessed, his own arousal evident as he squirmed against his restraints, his body betraying the desperation that simmered just beneath the surface.

“Zayne,” he gasped, voice strained and thick with need. “Please… I need…”

Zayne paused, his hips stilling as he turned to Sylus, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. You could see the triumph in his eyes, relishing the power he held over your husband. “What was that?” Zayne taunted, a playful mockery lacing his voice. “You need something?”

“Please,” Sylus breathed again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Untie me. I just need… I need to touch myself, fuck-”

Zayne's smirk widened, his eyes glinting with mischief as he watched Sylus writhe in his restraints. “What’s the magic word, Sylus?” he teased, thrusting deep into you once more, sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body.

You cried out, the force of his movement making you lean forward, your body desperate for something to anchor you amidst the waves of sensation. Sylus’ eyes were wild with need, his breathing laboured as he fought to regain control.

“Please,” he gasped, desperation creeping into his tone. “I promise I won’t touch her. I just need… Fuck, Zayne, I need to touch myself.”

Zayne chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through the room like a potent aphrodisiac. “And why should I let you do that?” he challenged, his fingers gripping your hips tighter, holding you in place. “Why should I give you any relief while you just sit there, watching me fuck your wife?”

The tension in the air was palpable, thick with a heady mix of lust and jealousy. Sylus squirmed against his restraints, the sight of you lost in pleasure, vulnerable and exposed, driving him to the brink of madness.

Zayne pulled out, his cock glistening with your arousal as he approached Sylus, and you whined as you felt the emptiness of his absence.

Leaning in close, Zayne brushed his lips against Sylus’ ear. “Beg for it,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Beg for me to untie you, and maybe I’ll let you touch yourself.”

Sylus' breath hitched, his eyes wide and pleading as he looked up at Zayne. “Please,” he begged, voice strained. “I need… I need to touch myself. I promise I won’t touch her. I just… God, I need it so badly.”

Zayne chuckled darkly, amusement flickering in his eyes. He reached behind Sylus, finding the knot binding him, and with a sharp tug, he loosened it, granting Sylus his freedom.

Settling himself at the edge of the bed, Zayne spread his legs, inviting you closer with a sultry smile. “Come here, baby,” he purred, patting his thigh. “I want to feel you ride me, want to watch you lose yourself on my cock while your husband watches.”

You hesitated, glancing at Sylus, who was already palming himself through his pants, his eyes dark and hungry as they roamed over you. The thrill of being watched, of knowing he was so aroused by the sight of you with another man, sent a shiver of excitement coursing through your body.

With a deep breath, you moved forward, positioning yourself over Zayne’s lap. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you down onto his waiting cock. You gasped as he filled you, stretching you in a way that felt utterly exhilarating, even more so in this new position.

Slowly, you began to move, finding a rhythm that delighted both of you. Zayne's hands slid up your body, cupping your breasts, teasing your nipples until sparks of pleasure shot through you.

As you rode Zayne, your eyes locked onto Sylus’, watching him free his aching cock from the confines of his pants. It stood hard and glistening, the tip slick with pre-cum, and your mouth watered at the sight. Imagining tasting him, feeling him throb against your tongue, sent another wave of desire washing over you, causing you to grind down harder onto Zayne.

“That's it, baby,” Zayne groaned, his grip tightening on your hips. “Fuck, look at you, so desperate for it.”

His fingers dug deeper into your skin as he urged you to move faster, to give in to the pleasure coursing between you. “Tell him,” he commanded, his voice low and rough. “Tell him how good I feel inside you, how much you love being fucked by another man.”

You hesitated, glancing back at Sylus, who was now stroking himself faster, his breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. The sight of him so enthralled, so aroused by the thought of you with Zayne, sent another thrill through you.

“Feels so good,” you moaned, your voice breathy and needy. “Zayne feels amazing inside me, oh god—”

Sylus’ eyes widened at your words, his hand moving faster over his cock, his hips bucking involuntarily. “How good?” he gasped, his voice strained.

You bit your lip, locking eyes with Sylus as you continued to ride Zayne. “So full,” you moaned, rolling your hips in a sultry motion. “He’s stretching me just right, hitting all the perfect spots.”

Sylus’ eyes were glued to the sight of you, impaled on Zayne’s cock, his strokes becoming more frantic. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. “You look so hot like that, taking his cock so well.”

“Good girl,” Zayne purred, his fingers urging you to pick up the pace, the intensity of his thrusts matching the fervour of your movements.

Sylus' hand moved faster over his shaft, each stroke deliberate and firm as he watched you. His breath was heavy, his hips thrusting in time with the rhythm you created, caught in the overwhelming pleasure of the moment.

Your breasts bounced with every roll of your hips, the soft flesh enticingly bouncing as Zayne kneaded them. The tension inside you began to coil tighter, pleasure building with every thrust, and you lost yourself in the sensations, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

“Fuck,” Sylus groaned, his voice strained and urgent. “You’re so fucking hot, baby. Gonna make me cum just watching you.”

Zayne’s thrusts grew harder, more demanding, his voice low and filled with desire. “That’s it,” he growled, his words urging you on. “Take it. Take my cock. You feel so fucking good.”

The dual sensations of Zayne pounding into you and Sylus' heated gaze bore down on you, propelling you closer and closer to that sweet release. Your moans rose in pitch, more frantic as the tension coiled tighter within you.

“Fuck, baby,” Sylus gasped, his voice strained, “Gonna cum with you. I want to see you come on his cock.”

The sensation of Zayne thrusting into you, combined with Sylus watching, stroking himself to the sight, was almost more than you could bear. Your body trembled, muscles tightening as your climax approached.

“I’m close,” you gasped, your voice high and breathless. “Zayne, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” Zayne commanded, his hand moving to your clit, rubbing in firm, deliberate circles. “Come for me, baby. Come all over my cock while your husband watches.”

That added stimulation was the final push you needed, and with a cry, you came undone. Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your body shaking as you gushed around Zayne’s cock, urging him to join you in ecstasy.

Sylus sat there, utterly captivated, his hand working furiously over his cock, eyes glued to the intoxicating scene unfolding before him. You were lost in pleasure, unravelling on Zayne's cock.

And with a groan that rumbled deep in his chest, Sylus surrendered to his own release, his cum spilling over his hand and chest as he watched you completely consumed by ecstasy with another man.

Zayne's breath came out in ragged gasps, and with one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, feeling his cock pulse as he reached his peak. You could feel the rush of warmth as he filled you with his cum, an overwhelming sensation that sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. A soft moan escaped your lips as you felt him spill inside you, the thick release flooding your core and dribbling out and down your thighs.

Zayne’s hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he rode out his orgasm, his body jerking with each pulsating throb. “Fuck, that’s so good,” he rasped, his voice laced with raw desire. “Take it all, baby. I want you to feel every last drop.”

Exhausted and blissful, you leaned back against him, your mind hazy and body spent. Zayne’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close as he pulled out slowly, his softening cock slipping from your well-fucked pussy. A shiver ran through you as you felt his release spill out, a tangible reminder of the pleasure you’d just shared. Sylus remained seated, his own arousal evident as he took in the sight of you, marked by another man.

As you lay there, panting and glowing, you sensed Sylus draw closer, the magnetic pull of your dripping pussy too tempting for him to resist. With a low, primal growl, he dropped to his knees at the end of the bed, his eyes dark and hungry as he locked onto your cum-filled hole. “Look at you,” he breathed, his voice thick with lust. “Taking Zayne’s load like a good girl.”

Before you could respond, Sylus’ hands gripped your thighs, parting you wider as he leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste the sensitive folds. The moment his warm tongue brushed against your over-sensitized clit, you gasped, your body instinctively bucking for more of that delicious friction.

Sylus moaned as he devoured you, his tongue exploring every inch, savouring the mix of your cum and Zayne's. The depravity of it all sent fresh waves of arousal coursing through you, igniting a fire within your already sensitive body. As Sylus pushed deeper, your whimpers turned to soft moans, the pleasure mounting in a way that was almost overwhelming.

“Too much,” you managed to gasp, fingers tangling in the sheets as you struggled to handle the sensation. “I can’t... please.”

But Zayne's hands were firm on your hips, keeping you open and exposed for Sylus’ eager mouth. “Shh,” he murmured, his voice a low, sultry command. “Let him worship you. Let him taste how good I made you feel.”

The vibrations of Sylus’ growl against your body sent shockwaves of pleasure through you, each stroke of his tongue pulling you closer to another peak. As Zayne’s hands roamed your body, teasing your breasts and rolling your nipples, the sensations became a blissful storm.

“Just relax,” Zayne encouraged, his voice dripping with approval. “Let him enjoy every inch of you. You’re such a good girl.”

With each flick of Sylus’ tongue and the soft, persistent pressure of Zayne’s hands, your body instinctively responded, rocking against Sylus’ face. The combination of their ministrations was intoxicating, building you up higher and higher, pushing you toward a point of no return.

Sylus’ fingers joined his mouth, teasing your clit while his tongue explored your depths. The mixture of sensations became too much; you could feel your climax bubbling up, threatening to spill over. “I’m close!” you cried, your voice breathy with desperation. “Guys, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” Zayne commanded, his hand moving to your clit, rubbing in firm, deliberate circles. “Cum for us, baby. Let it all out while your husband laps it up.”

The intensity was suffocating, and with a cry, you shattered into pure bliss, your body trembling as waves of ecstasy washed over you. Sylus lapped at your release, his eager mouth prolonging your pleasure, coaxing every last drop from your body. Zayne held you tightly, supporting you through the aftershocks of your climax.

When the waves of pleasure finally ebbed, Sylus pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal. He leaned up, capturing your mouth in a heated kiss, and you could taste yourself on his tongue—rich and intoxicating. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and crevice as he deepened the kiss, claiming you with a possessive urgency that sent shivers down your spine.

You melted into him, surrendering to the heat of his touch. It felt both filthy and undeniably right, the three of you entwined in a web of passion and desire. As the final echoes of your orgasm faded, the three of you collapsed onto the bed, limbs tangled and bodies slick with sweat.

Zayne lay back, arms wrapped around you as you nestled against his side, head resting on his chest. Sylus sprawled beside you, his hand possessively resting on your hip. For a moment, the room was filled with the sound of your ragged breaths, the three of you basking in the afterglow of shared pleasure. Zayne’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, soothing and gentle, while Sylus nuzzled into your neck, peppering soft kisses along your pulse point.

With a low chuckle, Sylus murmured, “Round two? Where I get to actually join in this time.” You shivered at the promise in his words, your body responding to the heat of his touch. Zayne’s arm tightened around you, drawing you closer as he whispered, “I’m down for that.”

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strwbrychffoncake · 6 days ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖’𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑.

⟢ sylus x fem!reader.

𝐀𝐁𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 night of your engagement ceremony, you suddenly find yourself as the infamous captain sylus’s bargaining chip toward getting back some valued possession of his from your own father. it doesn’t help he’s one maddeningly attractive pirate king, and you’re more than eager to escape from an unwanted marriage. you can only make the most of things on this boat, surrounded by pirates, in the middle of the ocean, and it doesn’t prove too hard with him around.

⟢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 ⨾ slow burn, fluff, humour, rom-com, fantasy + pirate au, 16+.

⟢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⨾ 23.7k.

⟢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⨾ it's here!!! the full pirate sylus fic has arrived!! before we start, though, just a few things: one (1) brief scene of sexual harassment (not by sylus) but sylus is there so you are fine, a lot of pirate slang like wow, (attempts at) humour, i really tried to make this funny because this is to recover from the agony sylus's myth was, reader is kind of an idiot (for sylus) but who isn't, i can't believe i kept this under 30k words & got it out in under a week. anyways, enough yapping, enjoy!!

ao3. ⟢ quotev. ⟢ original drabble here.

You’re not quite sure how you got here.

The bag over your head is moth-eaten, so only the odd sliver of light makes its way through the rough cloth, and it hardly helps you get any more of a grip on your bearings than you already have. Which is very little. And it doesn’t take rocket science to work out what this is.

I am being abducted. Your hands are tied, the person behind you grips the rope binding your wrists as they nudge you forward, and you’re cold. The breeze bites. It’s a bit stifling under this bag, but, mercifully, it doesn’t smell bad. Just a bit dusty. It’s getting harder not to sneeze.

You flinch a little when someone speaks. “Sure this is the one?”

“Yeah,” the person behind you affirms. They sound pretty cheery for a henchman currently kidnapping the innocent daughter of a not-so-innocent nobleman. Perhaps the guy enjoys this kind of thing. “Bit strange, though. She’s not kicking up a fuss.”

You can’t hold it back anymore. Your nose twitches, you gasp in a deep breath, and you sneeze. Loudly.

It’s silent. You’re no longer being nudged forward to keep walking. Despite the less-than-ideal circumstances, you feel terribly embarrassed. It doesn’t help that your sneeze echoes.

“Sorry,” you apologise, politely.

No one says another word for a few more awkward beats, before you’re being prodded forward again. The dude behind you goes, “See? She’s awfully docile. I don’t get it.”

“Oh, well, makes things easier for everyone, I guess,” his companion replies. You feel like asking them to stop so you can take off these damn heels, but you doubt they’d let you. You kind of wish these two abducted you when you were in a less dolled-up state. They nabbed you just as you were stepping out of the main hall for some fresh air, away from all those gossiping nobles, a refilled flute of champagne in hand—which was subsequently knocked out of your hand upon the bag being shoved over your head. Pretty timely, you idly think. You were sick of that ball. Especially considering what it was celebrating. You’re still smarting over your lost glass of champagne, however.

“The Captain will be pleased if she continues to behave.” You pick up on the subtle warning. “Won’t have to turn her into fish food. Way less mess to clean up.”

Why, thank you, good sir. At least you know now that they don’t really want to kill you, so you suppose your life isn’t in danger at present. Or, yet.

Remaining silent and cooperative and calm isn’t something you chose to do. In any other scenario, you’d probably be kicking and screaming to be let free—and then they’d really have a reason to turn you into fish food—but, right now, you can’t really be bothered trying to run. All the self-defence you know how to do is poking an eye out and sending a heeled foot up into a man’s family jewels, and you doubt it’d work here, now. As far as you can tell, there’s two of them. The other would be on you in a blink, and your hands are also tied. So, all you can really do now is just go with it.

You gulp down the lump in your throat and say, “Um, may I ask where we’re going, gentlemen?”

“Wow, she is terribly calm,” the other guy remarks. “Calm enough to be polite, even!”

The guy behind you shifts and nudges you to turn. That’s when you realise, with an involuntary shiver from the cold, that you’re at the port right now. It’s the night chill of the sea breeze. And there’s a strong odor of fish. Yeah. Had an idea it was pirates.

That’s great. That’s wonderful. Just peachy. Fear is starting to settle in now. You, a woman, defenceless and clad in a stuffy ball gown, about to be trapped alone and helpless on a boat at sea, with only men around for company? Pirates, no less? You press your lips together and try not to think about an incident that spread like wildfire of some poor girl being assaulted and drowned at this very port the year prior. Those responsible were pirates. Are these guys the same crowd?

It’s a little harder to breathe and remain rational. You need to sneeze again. A drop of sweat, despite the cold, trickles down the back of your neck. Oh, gods. What do I do?

“Well, milady, you are presently being escorted by two very fine fellows for the voyage of your lifetime!” The man behind you still sounds pretty merry. “But we can’t tell you what boat, though, no! It’s a surprise.”

“Luke, stop being an idiot,” the other sighs. “It’s not a surprise. Don’t listen to him, miss. My brother’s kinda stupid.”

“I am not!” his brother, Luke, it would seem, exclaims in protest. “What’s wrong with making this a little more exciting for the young lady?” “I wouldn’t exactly call this exciting,” you quip from beneath the bag, more to yourself than anyone else, and you wince at the tell-tale signs of a blister forming on your heel. The Luke fellow huffs. “This is very exciting, actually. Captain hasn’t let us do anything so thrilling in so long!”

“That’s because you accidentally set a match to his warehouse of gunpowder back at the archipelago.”

“How many times do I have to explain myself? I thought it was that Corsair band’s stock!”

“At least it was a cool explosion.”

“Yeah. Looked like fireworks.”

“Excuse me, I still don’t know where we’re going,” you hesitantly interrupt, giving an awkward laugh. “I’d, um, like to know the identity of my kidnapper, at least.”

“You’ll find out soon enough, milady,” Luke says mysteriously. “It’s a surpri—”

“Shut up, Luke. We are taking you to the Onychinus, my lady.”

If you could freeze in your tracks, you would. Your urge to sneeze has now been replaced with the urge to scream. “Uh…Onychinus…?”

“The very one, milady.” Luke sounds subdued, but no less humorous. “Cool, right? The greatest privateers of the Seven Seas, abducting you! Huge honour!”

Yeah, massive. Two more droplets of sweat trail down your back. Just my luck. You must’ve deeply offended your ancestors at some point, to the point where they have been out for your blood since day one. Day one being the day you were betrothed to that grubby old duke some provinces over last year, but you digress.

Since ten minutes ago, you had much preferred this little debacle over the prospect of your impending doom (marriage) to some fat noble you met only three hours ago. And since two minutes ago, you have greatly entertained the thought of being diced up into neat little fish food cubes for said fish and dumped into an underwater sea trench somewhere, miles away. At least, then, you wouldn’t have to deal with either dreaded fates before you right now.

“Don’t scare her, Luke. Everyone knows that being abducted by Onychinus isn’t exactly exciting news.”

Thank you. It seems Luke’s brother is the only one with a brain out of the two. But, despite his apparently understanding nature, you still feel awfully apprehensive. What on earth could the Captain of the Onychinus Fleet have to do with me?

Yes, you are a marquess’ daughter, and he isn’t the most agreeable fellow on earth—but you would never have expected him to have potentially incited the attention of the greatest, most notorious, most infamous and most violent armada of pirates in the world. Onychinus, at that. Which meant him, the nefarious Captain Sylus.

Great. Amazing. An impromptu vacation with a couple of bloodthirsty privateers who will probably slit my throat by sunrise is all I’ve ever wanted! Forget your ancestors, it’s probably the gods who have been after you now!

“Does, um, my father have…unresolved business with your Captain, perchance?”

“You will have to ask the Captain himself that question, I’m afraid, milady.” Well, that’s a fat load of help. You feel so assured. Just splendid. I know next to nothing about my father’s internal and industrial affairs! Due to this, the Captain would soon deem you ineffective toward his presumed objectives involving father dearest and, thus, a burden onboard. Then he’d probably make you walk the plank. It feels like you already are.

“Oh, well, alright.” Best remain calm, as you have been so far, for now. You’re not exactly thrilled by the idea of a watery grave, but you suppose your fate’s already sealed. You are helpless against its oncoming whims now.

You are most assuredly at the port, for the hem of your dress has grown damp from the puddles scattered about beneath your feet. It’s getting progressively uncomfortable to continue walking in these heels, too, and you can only hope you can sit down soon. Perhaps even request just one final flute of champagne before Captain Sylus feeds you to his pet sharks or something.

“Alrighty, milady, time to take this old bag off you now!” And with a tug, you can breathe again. You glance over and spot the other boy you didn’t catch the name of. Is that…a crow mask? You blink. Well, it’s fitting, you suppose. Onychinus’ logo is a raven. I guess rumours that the Captain has a pet crow, instead of a parrot, is true.

However, you have only about two-or-so seconds to enjoy the cool, fresh sea air filling your lungs and curiously study the kid before your frame is wracked with another sneeze. You shudder from the cold, and you can already feel a chill coming on. Good grief. Can things get any worse?

You look up and ahead after gathering yourself. You’re being elbowed forward again. But the moon and stars are blotted out by one thing: this utter monstrosity of a ship looming above you, casting a wide shadow across the entire concrete dock it is anchored before.

“Woah,” you breathe, and the kid behind you hums in pleased agreement. “I know, right? Absolutely colossal! Spectacular! Captain Sylus is so cool.”

“Uh-huh,” you absently concur. That is one mammoth of a ship.

The flagship, it would appear. You swallow. No wonder everyone’s always going on about how much of a force he and his crew are to be reckoned with. And it’s also no wonder the emperor’s men have, no matter how hard they’ve tried, never been able to tear the fleet of Onychinus apart. Not once has Captain Sylus been defeated.

He rules the seas, the people murmur about the streets. He is the uncrowned king of the briny deep.

If he hasn’t already, he will go down in history for centuries. Become a legendary figure: the privateer who commanded most maritime trade with an iron fist. Already, bards strum songs of a fearsome marauder sailing the blue horizon with a crow emblazoned upon a blood-red flag. A flag that flaps strongly in the wind, distinct and eye-catching from miles away, striking fear into the hearts of any lesser bands of buccaneers, and even the imperial navy itself.

If this was one of his methods of intimidation, then it was a damn good one. A ship of this size, painted black, the main sail a scarlet so deep, it’s like he splashed the canvass with blood? You gulped. I can only imagine what the man himself is like.

“This way, milady,” Luke guides, gesturing to the gangway of the boat. “Watch your step.”

You’ve heard rumours of his appearance, and it always varies, despite the handsome man the wanted posters, that are plastered everywhere, depict. They say those who cross paths with Captain Sylus are rarely seen again, and hardly anyone has lived to tell the tale of his ‘true’ features. Some profess he is a horror, with a bulbous nose, double chin and a tattered eye patch. He is fat and unpleasant, one who holds a sick love for the sight of spilled blood. And his trusty pet crow, Mephisto, sits contentedly upon his shoulder and pecks the eyes of its victims out for fun.

While others say he is a beauty, one with silver hair reminiscent of the moon’s glow upon the calm nighttime sea, and eyes red as garnets, piercing and cold. A terribly prosaic exaggeration of what the wanted poster, again, depicts, but who can stop the airheads giggling like a gaggle of turkeys during a tea party? Whispers of his alleged tall frame, broad shoulders, and sharp jaw are exchanged among the young debutantes thirsty for the thrill of a forbidden, passionate love affair—and who is better than the mysterious head of Onychinus himself, in all his over-romanticised, illusory charm?

Well, we’ll just have to wait and see which of the two is correct. Not that you really want to find out. What you’d really like to do is go home. Perhaps, if you ask him politely enough, he will let you.

What an idiot. You think a pirate’s going to let you go just because you ask him to? You pick your way up the gangway rather stiffly, feet sore from the heels, and you try to keep balanced. You would very much like to not take a tumble into the ice-cold water below, where your heavy dress would drag you down. You’re smarter than that!

Once the three of you are finally aboard the ship, the two crow-masked siblings begin to lead you along the floorboards and you ascend some steps to the upper deck, passing by the helm. At least, you thought it was the upper deck—they lead you up some more stairs, along another upper deck, some more stairs, then another flight, and then, finally, with your thighs burning and lungs screaming in the confines of your corset, you all stop outside a door.

A double door. It’s oak, the wood garnished to bring out the beauty of its patterned grain, and the knobs are pure gold. Engraved into the centre of each is the Onychinus crest: as expected, a crow.

This guy really likes crows, it would seem. Apparently, the people say “the crow is in flight!” whenever illicit trade has been established between another faction or something. “The crow has landed” states that he has docked at a port, and everyone outside of the crew must be on their guard. “The crow is rallying” means he, or another ship, is surrounding a target, and is preparing to attack. There are many more sayings you can’t quite remember at present, because you suddenly need to relieve yourself very badly.

“May I use the powder room?” you nervously hiss, hopping from foot to foot in urgency. “I need to go!”

“Oh, crap—” The duo look at each other, hesitate, and then Luke hastily unties your hands. “Follow me! We need to hurry; we’ve kept him waiting for a while. Don’t try anything funny!”

“I won’t!” Because you don’t have much to lose either way. If your life wasn’t at risk here, you might’ve been glad for this sudden abduction. Your life would be taken from you, one way or the other.

It takes another ten-or-so minutes before you and Luke are hurrying back from the restroom (a terribly clean one for a pirate ship, too; you were surprised) and are finally in front of the double doors again.

Luke wastes no time in dealing three knocks to one of the doors. It’s silent for a pause; you all exchange jittery glances, you fiddle with your (retied) hands, and then, finally: “Come in.”

A chill slithers down your spine at the deep, muffled voice. Luke’s brother releases a breath and he twists the doorknob, easing the door open, and he enters. Luke silently gestures for you to follow, and you hesitate one more time before reluctantly heading in.

The room is well-lit: warm tones of orange candlelight send flickering shadows across the walls—walls that are lined with maps, paintings, cabinets, tapestries and antiques. They vary from looking very old to relatively new, and all have one thing in common: they are priceless artefacts. Plundered ones, too, almost assuredly.

As you make your way further into the room, the dangling crystal chandelier proves as the interior’s primary source of light, and it glitters exquisitely. Immediately, you know that this Captain has taste.

And then there’s the desk. Evidently crafted from invaluable mahogany, it fits into the cosy design of the study flawlessly, with a large hide rug of a bear—that would have been massive if alive—splayed between the two sofas at the centre of the room, off by the windows looking out to sea. Its head remains intact to it, maw open wide in a snarl, and appears well-kept. You expected the room to stink of rum and tobacco and a man who badly needs a shower, but it has a rather pleasant smell of scented candles, whiskey, and cologne.

You’re led to sit down upon one of the couches. It’s plush and leather, situated to be kept out of the sun to prevent fading, with woollen throws and tassled cushions spread tastefully across its triple seats. The coffee table in front of you, separating you from the sofa opposite, is made of walnut, and has a crystal whiskey decanter upon it, along with two crystal shot glasses, and a vase of flowers. Also, a piece of paper, including an ink pot with a fountain pen inside.

Your eyes finally lift to rest upon the man himself.

You don’t really know what you were expecting. A missing hand, a hook in its place, perhaps? A flamboyant tricorne hat, with the bright feathers of exotic birds sewn into its satin sash? Maybe a greatcoat with flared cuffs and ornate embroidery? An eyepatch, like the rumours? Ebony curls, greasy with gel and rare washes, spilling out from beneath his hat and across his shoulders?

No such thing. Instead of ebony curls, he has short-cropped ivory locks, falling over his right eye. Eyes as scarlet as a ruby, penetrating and sharp, lidded and calculating, framed with long, silver lashes. He wears no hat, he wears no eyepatch, and he wears no greatcoat. His lips are full and pink and shapely, curled up at the corners, and his right hand is not replaced with a hook. In his right hand, in fact, is a folder, its leather worn and cracked, the clasp hanging on by a thread. And the man’s shoulders are broad, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, revealing the beginnings of a sculpted chest, skin-kissed skin, and strong collarbones. A silver pendant rests upon his sternum, just beneath his clavicle, glinting in the light. His slacks are ironed, tight across his sturdy thighs, and he sits in a languid manspread. Big hands, long fingers, veiny forearms, his cuffs neatly buttoned at the elbows. His sleeves strain against his biceps. It takes a lot to not let your eyes pop out of your head.

What. The. Hell. Who knew those gossiping, man-obsessed, still-wet-behind-the-ears debutantes would be so close in their depiction of Captain Sylus? The wanted posters do not do him any justice. If those airheads saw him now, they’d all drop to the ground in a faint, one by one, like a domino effect.

“Um…” you croak, mouth suddenly very dry. “Hello.”

“Greetings.” Oh, gods, his voice is hot too. What is this? Some third-rate swashbuckling romance novel? He certainly looks like he just walked right out of one. One not at all for children. One filled with scenes of a man, as devilish as him, entangled with a woman far more beautiful than you. And he’s taking his sweet time to look you over too, just as you did, with a hooded gaze far more intense than it needs to be. You feel your entire body flush with heat, and you hastily look away, clearing your throat, fidgeting with your thumbs. Your hands are still tied, rested neatly on your lap, and you suddenly feel very self-conscious.

The man closes his legs (about damn time!) and slings his right one over his left. He throws the folder he had in-hand down upon the coffee table with a resounding smack! and he settles an elbow against the armrest to his right. In your periphery, you see him smile at you, but it’s more of a smirk. “How are you, my lady?”

“Er, quite fine,” you reply automatically, and you’re too busy worrying about how much of a mess your hair must be (it had been previously woven into a gorgeous updo before a bag was rammed over your head) to think about how to appropriately speak to this man. “I can’t say I was prepared for such an, um, inadvertent evening adventure.”

The Captain chuckles, and it’s a silky, rumbling sound that floods you with even more heat. You risk a glance up, and he’s tilting his head at you, jaw as sharp as the rumours professed, smirk both simultaneously infuriating and tantalising. Scarlet eyes pin you to your seat, and you quickly drop your own as he speaks. “I am glad you are taking this little escapade well. But, of course, any anger or explosive tantrums on your part would be justifiable.”

“You’d kill me quicker if I screamed and cried,” you blurt, before you click your mouth shut. You idiot! Are you trying to meet your maker as fast as you can?

“Kill?” the Captain echoes, and he sounds almost surprised. “Oh, no, my lady, I won’t be killing you.”

That makes you look up. “You…won’t?”

“No,” he affirms, and he leans forward, picking up the piece of paper you’d noticed earlier. He extends it to you, before his eyes drop to your bound hands. The man glances over to the duo standing nearby. Well, lounging nearby, actually. “You can relieve her of those ropes now, you two. Is this any way to treat a guest?”

Guest? You rub the tender skin of your wrists after one of them slices through your binds and steps away with them. You give a wary glance at the man sitting opposite you. What’s going on?

Said man extends the paper to you once again, and you finally accept it, cautious. He speaks as you read over it. “You see, my lady, your father and I have a little bit of a history.”

Ah. Just as you expected. Of course this has something to do with your father. And of course he’d stoop so low as to be involved with pirates. But, just what has he done to piss off the most savage one of them all?

“I see.” You bob your head in understanding. The piece of paper outlines it pretty well. This guy is awfully sophisticated for a pillaging, ruthless, disgustingly wealthy pirate king. It almost feels like he’s asking you to sign a contract. “So, erm, in exchange for…whatever it is this document is referring to, you will hand me back to my father?”

Captain Sylus smiles at you. “Correct.”

“I see,” you say again. “In short, he has to pay a ransom for my return.”

“It’s nothing personal, my lady. Believe me when I say I wish I didn’t have to resort to kidnapping a lovely young woman such as yourself.”

Liar. One look at his smug, gorgeous, cold face, even a blind man could tell he hardly cares at all for how low he has to stoop for things. He’d probably raze the marquisate to the ground, with everyone in it, just to obtain whatever it is he wishes.

“Hm.” You glance back down at the paper. “Alright.”

“Your cooperation is greatly appreciated,” he says pleasantly. “It makes things far easier for myself, and far safer for you.”

“So, you will be sending this…letter to my father?” You breeze over his subtle warning and force yourself to meet his eyes again. It really does feel like he could burn two holes into where your eyes are thanks to the sheer intensity of his stare. “Tonight?”

“Yes,” the Captain affirms, and you place the paper back down on the coffee table before the trembling of your hands can get too obvious. The man maintains his relaxed posture, which succeeds in both aggravating you and proving to be excellent eye candy. “Surely, your father will go to untold lengths to have his beloved only daughter returned to him?” You almost snort. If it weren’t for my betrothal to that duke, he’d probably send the pre-written reply he has an entire stock of back to this guy, thanking him for his letter. Your father dislikes having to read and personally pen a response to a letter, which bore the idea of scribbling out a couple hundred pre-authored, enveloped and sealed answers to be automatically delivered by the butler himself. And then, if it hasn’t been already, it would really be the Grim Reaper’s crest being stamped onto your death certificate.

“Yes, um, well…” You don’t quite know how to correct the man on that, without possibly having your throat slit right here in the process. You awkwardly scratch your cheek and look away. “It might, erm, take a while.”

“No matter.” He leans forward, picks up the whiskey decanter, and pours two glasses of it. He outstretches one to you, and you have to physically restrain yourself from gulping the liquor down once you accept it. The man has a sip of his own, gazing at you from above the rim of his own glass. “We have a long voyage ahead.”

Just great. It’s one thing to be kidnapped, but it’s another to be stuck on a boat with only the most crooked pirate captain of them all, in the middle of the ocean, without a speck of land in sight, as the daughter of a noble who would not frantically search for his daughter if she wasn’t a vital chess piece in his wider political game. And you’re only vital because marriage to a duke would elevate his status and wealth and reputation overnight.

Too bad you weren’t born a boy. Too bad your mother died during childbirth. Too bad your father never married, and has no male heirs. Too bad the only purpose you’ve ever really had was being sold off to an old duke your father’s age. Too bad you had to be abducted on the very night your engagement ceremony was in full swing.

Your grip tightens around the whiskey glass in your right hand. Too bad, indeed.

Your father’s true origins are common, and he has spent most of his noble life fighting tooth and nail to improve his reputation among the age-old aristocratic families which look down on him, and you, for said commoner origins. Apparently, he earned favour with the Emperor for doing something requested of all citizens: turn in any Evolver they come across. Rewards for such a deed is great—like being granted a title.

Evols and Evolvers—an ancient power and people abolished by the Empire five hundred years ago. Those few who inherit its gene are hunted down and slaughtered without exception, and rewards are generous for those who turn wielders in. And rumour has it that this very man in front of you, is one himself.

It’s only a rumour, though. It’s unconfirmed. If it is true, then that raises a whole lot of other questions.

You’re still not exactly sure what you think of this man. So you decide to test the waters a bit. “Sir, if I am to be staying here, I’d at least like a comfortable room.”

His silver brows lift in mild surprise. “Oh?”

“Yes.” Perhaps the two glasses of champagne you had at the ball and this whiskey here is making you a little more courageous than what’s ideal, even though you’re not that much of a lightweight. There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity. “I am the daughter of a marquess. Who you just kidnapped. It’s the least you can do.”

“Goodness.” The man brushes a free hand across his grinning mouth, giving you a long, assessing look. “Well. I do suppose you’re right. I must extend some kind of welcome and thank-you for remaining so calm in such a…stressful situation for a nobleman’s daughter.”

“Stressful, indeed.” You stare into the amber liquid in your glass. You don’t have it in you to be sarcastic back right now. “I don’t really mind all this, just as long as I have food and water.”

“My lady.” Your head snaps up and you look at him as he uncrosses his legs and leans forward in his seat, gazing at you. “I have a question for you.”

You blink. “Uh. What is it?”

Captain Sylus doesn’t continue for a brief pause—he just continues to stare at you, and then his eyes narrow. “You are terribly unfazed by all this. May I ask why?”

“Oh…” You reach up and tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Um, well, you see, your…henchmen here choose quite the opportune time to seize me.”

He only hums in response, wordlessly urging you to continue. You drop your eyes again. “Tonight is the celebration of my engagement.”

The man takes a sip of his drink. “I know.”

Surprised, you look up at him again. “Oh, you do?”

“Of course. I have had this planned out for a good long while. Naturally, your engagement ceremony was the convenient date to apprehend you.”

Yes, naturally. You chew on the inside of your bottom lip. Your lipstick’s probably smudged. “I see.”

The Captain relaxes back in his chair again. “But I did not expect you to call it ‘opportune’.” He doesn’t ask any further questions to that, though, much to your relief. He has another sip of his whiskey. “Once that letter is delivered, we set sail. In one hour.”

“Okay.” You don’t really know what to think of how he’s ‘had this planned out for a good long while’. You suppose it’s just protocol. Nothing personal, as he’d said—but it sounds pretty borderline personal to you.

“May I just add one thing?” you tentatively ask, giving him a hesitant glance. The man inclines his head toward you in one tilt, staring at you from beneath his lashes. You take that as a yes. “Er, well, you probably already know this, but—my father isn’t the most agreeable of people.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So…what I’m saying is…” And then you realise something: if you divulge all the details of your father (most of which this man will probably already be privy to), he could decide you’re not a useful tool toward obtaining the ransom and thus dispose of you. That’s when you quickly decide to fake a yawn and rub your left eye tiredly. Your finger comes away blackened with mascara and eyeliner. Oops. You probably look like you got punched now. “Never mind! He’s just—well, he’s a handful, haha.”

“Mm.” The Captain’s finger taps against his knee. “Understood.”

Then, apparently deeming the conversation over, he lifts a hand and beckons the brothers over. “I presume you’ve already been introduced, but this is Luke and Kieran. They will escort you to your cabin.”

You make sure you try not to sigh in relief too loudly. “Oh, well, thank you very much, Mister Sylus. Your hospitality is appreciated.” As if you aren’t presently being held here against your will.

“You are welcome.” The man looks immensely amused. “Enjoy your stay, my lady.”

“Haha, of course.” It’s muscle memory, the way you quickly bob a curtsy once you’ve gotten to your feet, bowing your head. “Um, and I apologise on my father’s behalf.” What the hell are you doing, you idiot? Why on earth would thank him and apologise for your father—the one who, essentially, got you into this mess? You’re just asking to become fish food, aren’t you? “Please don’t hold a grudge against me.” Save him the time and jump off the ship yourself already, you fool!

“Like I said, my lady.” He gets to his feet also and steps forward, full lips curled up at the corners, and it’s suddenly a little harder to breathe. Captain Sylus is tall, towering over you, chest wider than you’d initially gambled. He reaches forward, takes your hand, and brings it to his lips. He has garnets for eyes, you think, and his right one is, strangely, a little more intense than the other. I suppose the rumours aren’t as inaccurate as I thought. “It’s nothing personal.”

You gulp and give a wobbly smile in response. Yeah, I think I should jump as soon as I’m out of this office. “Well, thank goodness for that.”

You did not, in fact, end up jumping.

The bed is comfortable, if a little cramped. As expected on a ship—despite its colossal size, and the ample room it does appear to have, your cabin is more befitting a crew member, or a commoner, than a noblewoman.

But it’s not like you can complain, or have expected anything more. You got what you asked for. And you are a hostage here.

However, your room, regardless of its dinginess, is rather quaint. It’s not dirty or unkempt; it is in need of a bit of dusting, but you don’t mind. Its mullioned window is circular, with a direct view out to sea, and its frame is lifted higher than the bed so as to avoid one’s weight potentially breaking through the glass, and into the water below, despite it being plenty thick. Said bed is tucked into a little nook against the window, which is something you especially like, for your room back at the manor never had a view of the ocean. Now, you can see both the sunset and the stars as clear as day from where you sleep now.

Once you were led to your room, you didn’t see another soul for the night, nor into late morning. It was afternoon when someone finally tapped on your door—and you hardly got a chance to say “come in” before they shoved open the door and waltzed in.

“Clothes and a meal for the lady.” It was a female pirate, tall and lithe and dark-skinned. Her glossy raven hair was gathered up into an afro puff, a colourfully patterned bandana wrapped around her head, tied down at the back of her neck, behind her ears. She flashed a bright, good-natured grin and strolled over, relieving her arms of the bundle of clothing and platter of food. “The Captain said to treat ya well, missy. These clothes’ll be comfortabler than that stuffy costume yer got there.”

“Oh, thank you.” You gladly accepted the garments, returning the woman’s smile. “Please extend my gratitude to the cook and the Captain.”

“My!” she exclaimed mirthfully. “Never thought I’d see the day a noble’s nice to me! You rich folk usually turn yer noses up at the likes of us.”

You shrugged, placing the platter on your lap, stomach tightening in hunger. As a young child and teen, you used to sneak out of the estate and go play with the commoner children, pretending to be one yourself. They’d never have looked at you the same, or let you join them, if you didn’t. “You’ve brought me food and clothing, ma’am. The least I can do is thank you.”

“Kieran was right,” she laughed, hooking her thumbs on the baldric surrounding her waist in an insouciant pose. “You ain’t no brat, as far as I can tell. They said you wasn’t even bothered by bein’ kidnapped! If it were me, I woulda kicked and screamed and rammed them up the gonads with me boot before they could say knife.”

You chuckled, slicing through the roast chicken on your plate. “Those two grabbed me at the right time. I’m actually thankful.”

“Oh?” The woman looked rather taken aback, no less humorous. “Why’s that, missy?”

“Last night was my engagement ceremony.” You brought a piece of chicken up to your mouth, but paused to finish your sentence before eating it. “To a man I’m old enough to be the daughter of.”

“Ah.” She nodded, reaching up a hand to scratch at the back of her nape. “Gotcha. Well, I dunno much about you nobles and yer arranged marriages, but it does sound like y’all are a right miserable bunch. Guess yer glad?”

“Guess so.” You offered her a grin. Spending the night sitting in here and staring at the ceiling gave you plenty of time to think about the pros and cons of this. And, eventually, you found that the pros outweighed the cons. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

She chortled, and turned for the door. “Henrietta, but everyone calls me Henry—and no need to call me ma’am! Just glad yer a real one. I’ll leave ya to it now, missy. Will be back later for yer dishes!”

You are, at least, glad for the unexpectedly warm welcome, and the female crew members. You had initially been worried about Captain Sylus’s lackeys onboard being all-male, and thus you would be exposed to the danger of men who have been at sea for too long, been exposed to too much sun, haven’t felt the touch of a woman in years (or ever), and thus their true, ruthless depravity. You have heard far too many tales of the atrocities committed by pirates toward the people in their path of destruction and marauding—and many of them usually involved the young ladies they captured for the very same reasons as the Captain with the likes of you, or even just for entertainment.

You shudder at the thought, despite the cabin’s rather warm temperature, struggling with untying your corset fifteen minutes after you finished up your meal. Your maids last night had tightened the corset as much as they possibly could get away with, all to give you that damned cinched-waist look, leaving you practically gasping for air like a dying old chain smoker for most of the evening. Beats you how you bore with it the entire night—and even managed to get about two hours of sleep in that bodice from hell.

Oh, to blazes with it. With a forceful tug, you snap the strings holding it fast around your middle, and shimmy out of the rest of the garment, breathing a massive sigh of relief once it’s off. Now left in your underthings, you swiftly put on the rather tattered pair of trousers and breezy poet blouse provided for you, and stoop to gather up your gown, skirt hoop and corset. Then you proceed to pull open the tiny closet across the room, ball up the vestments best you can, and haphazardly shove the dirty clothes inside.

Out of sight, out of mind. You don’t want to see the damn things again. You don’t mind dresses, but ones with punishingly tight corsets and ridiculously wide skirt hoops are not your cup of tea. Having this airy, wide-sleeved and baggy shirt on feels terribly freeing.

Then you slump back down onto your bed after letting out your hair, scrubbing off the rest of your makeup best you can in the basin of (cold) water you’d been provided just before you turned in last night, and pull the curtain over the window again. That’s when you curl in on your side, and let sleep take you.

He leans against the door frame, arms crossed, top buttons of his shirt undone, smirk lazy. It appears to be a recurring thing of his: a signature, maybe—always providing everyone a permanent, full view of his sculpted chest, showing off his bulging biceps, and sending people mad with his provocative smirk. Provocative in what way? You’re still working that one out.

“Made yourself at home, have you, my lady?”

This is the beginning of your second-ever conversation with him, and he’s already being sarcastic. You had most certainly not expected a visit from him today; it’s been half a week since you first met him, and you feel subconscious all over again. You resist the urge to subtly fix your hair and smooth down the sun dress you’re wearing this evening. It’s rather disconcerting, how you suddenly feel like you wish you cared more about men’s opinions beforehand so you’d know what to do right now. “Uh, yes, I have.”

The Captain, mercifully, appears to be one who appreciates your unintended, awkward honesty, for he lets out a velvety chuckle. “Well, that’s wonderful news. Have you adjusted well to the seafaring life?”

“Well…” Not really, because you haven’t ventured out any further than just down the hall. They don’t lock your door, but you always opt to remain confined to your cabin anyway, because you’re shy. Embarrassingly so, in fact—one of the most prized attributes of a noblewoman is her grace, poise, and dexterity at being a sociable friend and host. Something that, if you hadn’t been kidnapped and the wedding still went through, you would’ve had to master quick—especially as a duchess-to-be. An eloquent title, sought after by all noblewomen in their right mind, and one you never asked for. So, clearly, you aren’t in your right mind. And you’ve long owned up to that, seeing this man and all.

Also, the ship’s constant bobbing and rocking on the waves is taking some getting used to. Sealegs don’t come instantly, it would seem—and more than once you have had to dash to the bathroom, hand over your mouth and complexion green, your guts apparently more than eager to spill out of you. Maybe going up on deck would help, but you don’t know how well you’d get along with the rest of the crew. Chances are, they would be averse to your company, for your affluent roots and defined upbringing would clash against their brash and boorish and foul-mouthed mannerisms. You’d like to make friends, and the twins and Henry are nice enough, but you’re far too unsure about the rest.

Best act as if I’m just not here, you’d decided a few nights ago. Nothing’s changed, really—for them, or for me.

You fidget with your thumbs and avert your eyes. “It’s been…a gradual adjustment.”

“Understandable,” he genially says. “You will get used to it eventually.” Then the man uncrosses his arms, straightens, and shoves his hands into his pockets. “However, my reason for visiting you is to ask something of you.”

Here we go. You’re torn between being on your guard and feeling rather excited. Damn the man for being so attractive! Why, of all times, do you have to be weak to a man’s charm now? Trying not to freak out, you offer a rather unsteady smile. “…Of course. What is it?”

“Join me for dinner tonight, my lady,” the Captain replies in that suave tone of his. “No need to dress up. It’ll just be a friendly chat over a meal and some wine.”

“Ah.” You look down at your lap. It’d be nice to have control over your blood pressure right now, because you feel like exploding. We’re actually supposed to hate this guy, you know. He kidnapped us!

Those old women who warned you, as a girl, about handsome men and their charm were right, you suddenly find. He is probably the most handsome man you’ve ever come across—all the most-sought-after bachelors in high society have got nothing on this guy. You never thought they were all that much to write home about, anyway, but you rest your case. And this man’s looks aren’t pretty or beautiful or pure in nature—no, he’s devilish, maddening, and hot. A less polite term, something that would make you clutch at your pearls if you had any, at any other time—but it’s no less a fact.

And not a very fun one right now. You’d like to dislike this man, to have a reason to take away his ability to have children, but it’s strangely difficult. His condescending tone does grate on you, though.

“I, well…” It’s probably for the best that I decline. Becoming friendly with your abductor (despite your rather relaxed take on all this) is probably something you want to avoid. “I—I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Impose?” Captain Sylus lifts a silver brow at you. “It isn’t imposing when you have been invited, my lady.” One half of his full mouth quirks up into a roguish little grin. “Besides, you are a noble. It’s only manners to provide a woman such as yourself a meal befitting of your status.”

“I don’t think…status really matters here,” you reply, now fidgeting with a loose thread of your dress, not looking at him anymore. “I’m not exactly a guest.” And you jump to add, “But—I am terribly grateful for your courtesy thus far! The clothing, bedding, and food is much appreciated.”

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart.” You stiffen at the abrupt nickname. And you’re afraid he noticed it, because the Captain’s smirk widens, his eyes a hooded scarlet. “Like I said, none of this is personal. It’s your father I have a vendetta against, not you.”

You laugh awkwardly. “Oh, well, that’s reassuring.”

He insouciantly leans his weight on one foot, and he tilts his head at you, smile far more impish than before. “Aw, don’t tell me I am getting turned down by the most beautiful woman on this boat right now, hm?”

“Oh, no, of course not!” You jump to your feet, heart in your mouth, suddenly very afraid you just signed the dotted line for an appointment with the ship’s plank. And his pet sharks, if he has any. Then that word registers. “…Sorry, did you say ‘beautiful’?” “I did,” the Captain affirms smoothly. Then the man gives you a slow once over. “Am I wrong? I don’t think I am.” “I—” You flush from head to toe. “That’s…That’s very, erm, kind of you.”

“Well, then.” He lifts a hand from a pocket and outstretches it to you. “Shall we?” I guess I don’t get a choice in this. You are feeling rather peckish, anyway, so you reluctantly nod and approach him, taking the Captain’s arm. Let’s just hope he hasn’t poisoned my wine or anything.

He leads you down the corridor outside your cabin, up the steps, and to the main deck, where you can finally get a full panoramic view of the ocean, and the rest of the ship.

There is no land in sight, only an endless stretch of dusk-hued blue in every direction, sparkling with whites and yellows from the gradually setting sun. It’s high summer, and the voyage thus far has been speedy and undisturbed and sweltering, the sun’s ray barrelling down upon the boat and making your room awfully stuffy, even if you open the latched window just below the top of its frame. Onychinus pirates are bustling about the ship, chatting away, or even humming age-old folk songs in unexpectedly glorious harmonies. And you notice that people from all stretches of life and ethnicity and gender merrily go about their duties here, even shouting crass, but jovial, greetings to their Captain as he passes by, you on his arm.

“Evenin’, cap’n!” one calls, lifting a hand in a wave. The man, like most of the crew onboard, is bronzed from the sun, cheery and robust. And then the pirate even tips his hat to you. “Milady.”

You lift your hand in an awkward wave. “Oh, hello, good sir.”

Captain Sylus returns the pirate’s greeting, nodding to the musket in the man’s hands. “That engraving’s looking good, Clive.”

“Aw, thanks, cap’n!” Clive’s words are a little muffled from the puffing cigar in his mouth. “Almost done, yer know! Can’t believe ya scored such a beauty back on the mainland. This oughta be worth a fortune.”

“What are you engraving?” Your curiosity gets the best of you, and you’ve blurted the words out before you can remember your place. “Er, apologies, I don’t mean to be nosy, you just look very skilled, sir.”

“Blimey!” The pirate fixes the Captain with an awed look. “Ain’t ever been called ‘sir’ before, ’specially by a dame. You really scored this time, cap’n!”

The man beside you lifts a brow. “Just answer the lady, Clive.”

“Yessir.” Clive tips his hat in apology and extends the weapon out to you, showing you the intricately-detailed etchings of what is a half-finished boat on the ocean. “I like to carve the odd picture into guns ’n swords, milady.” He taps his graver against the steel side of the musket. “Just a hobby, yer know? Passes the time. Once I finish me duties for the day, I sit here and chip away.”

“You’re very talented!” you exclaim in wonder, admiring the realism and sheer detail of the imprinted scene even on such a small piece of metal. “I knew a gunsmith downtown who took on commissions to occasionally engrave weapons, like this! You’re even better than him!”

“Aw, goodness me, milady,” Clive says rather bashfully. “Yer gonna make me blush! I s’pose if you think it’s good, it must be.” Then he tips his hat to you again. “Much obliged, miss.”

“Not at all!” You beam. “I just think it’s very commendable, achieving such a level of detail, with only a chisel and a few picks.” You glance up at the Captain. “Your ship is full of surprises, sir.”

And, to your amazement, the man gives you a small smile. “That reminds me—you haven’t had a tour yet, nor have I introduced you to the crew.” Then the man gestures to the jolly pirate before you both. “This is Clive, the boatswain.”

You politely curtsy out of simple muscle memory. “A pleasure to meet you, Mister Clive.”

“By me beard!” Clive exclaims, even though he doesn’t have a beard, “you really did score with her, didn’t cha, cap’n!”

“Well, we’d best get going.” Captain Sylus takes your arm again and swiftly begins to steer you away. “Dinner awaits us.”

You let out a small, disappointed noise, and send a wave over your shoulder back to Clive. “Have a good evening, Mister Clive!”

The man chortles and returns the farewell, and you follow after the Captain as he leads you to ascend about three hundred sets of stairs again.

You’re quite tired afterward. “You…huff…sure have a lot of steps for a, haa, boat.”

The man beside you chuckles smoothly. “Let’s say it provides a good bit of extra fitness for the crew, and makes enemy personnel’s trek up to my office a little harder.”

“Um, very strategic,” you offer, not quite sure what to say, and still panting. “Not sure if you know, but your intellect is, uh, renowned, sir.”

“Call me Sylus, sweetheart.” He pushes open the door, steps aside to let you through first, smirking down at you in that way of his. “No need for such formalities.”

“But…” You continue following after him as he leads you further into his study, which apparently will also act as the dining room for the evening. “I’m not a guest, sir. I’m a hostage. And I know this is a strange thing for a hostage to say, but aren’t you supposed to keep me locked away beneath the ship completely?”

“My lady, I may be a scumbag of a pirate captain,” Sylus begins, and he doesn’t sound apologetic in the least, considering that roguish grin of his, “but I do have manners. I run a tight ship. We plunder and pillage and thieve, yes, as pirates do, but I know how to treat a lady. Especially…” That’s when he pauses, faces you, and gently grabs your hand, placing a charming kiss to the top of it. “One as lovely and amenable as yourself.”

Steam’s probably drifting off the top of your head, with how hot you suddenly feel. “O-Oh, my. Well, um…” Those crimson hues, as cheesy as this sounds, are far too deep and intense for you to hold without (probably) melting into a puddle right in front of him. Oh, this is really not good! “Thank—Thank you. Very much. I’ve never been complimented by such a handsome man as yourself before.”

“Handsome?” Idiot! You just had to go ahead and let the h-word slip, didn’t you? Why not get on one knee and ask him to marry you while you’re at it, you buffoon! And that devilish smirk widens, like he knows, damn him, and he coyly tilts his head at you. “You think I’m handsome?”

This is the second time you’ve actually spoken, you inwardly seethe at yourself, trying to keep a straight face and not burst into embarrassed tears, and it’s like you’re desperate to be either a) thrown off the edge of the boat or b) chained to him for good! But, well, even you can admit either-or is better than being carted off back to your father.

No! You can’t let yourself go down that rabbit hole. That’s something where you would choose to be chopped up into fish food other than having something so dreadful happen to you. Remember, we don’t really know this guy! And he kidnapped you!

Right. You’re a captive right now, held against your will, and you’re supposed to be incensed. You should probably be acting bratty and trashing your cabin and sneaking into his room to slit his throat at night or something. But you can’t. You don’t know why, but you can’t.

Because this is better than marrying that old duke. That you know, and have accepted, deep down. And this is better than having to endure the cold, empty, and lifeless halls of your father’s estate and his austere attitude toward you by far.

If Captain Sylus was ugly like the rumours professed, perhaps hating him would be easier. Which just shows how shallow you really are inside. I’m no better than those boy-crazed debutantes.

But he’s not ugly—he is, in fact, the very opposite of ugly—which is annoying all on its own. Because right now he’s rendered you speechless with his question, and you’re itching to run and take a swim with his pet sharks yourself. “Erm, uh, well, I-I…suppose so.”

Sylus’s full mouth curls up at the corners a little bit more, maddeningly smug. “You suppose so?” “I—I was just returning the compliment!” you insist, removing your (sweaty) hand from his grip, clutching it to your chest. “I, um, I apologise. I never really quite know what to say when I am praised.”

“A shame,” he hums, turning to continue leading you into his office, and you both finally stop before the dining table. The Captain pulls out a chair, and gestures for you to sit. “Perhaps I shall just have to compliment you more often, then.” “Oh, please don’t.” You take the seat and hide behind your hair. I’ll combust if you do! “It’s really not necessary.”

He remains standing, and lifts a bottle of wine. “But I’d be a terrible host if I didn’t. Wine?”

Just what I need. You refrain from snatching the bottle and guzzling it all down in one go. “Uh, yes, please, Mister Sylus.”

“Just Sylus is fine.” The Captain pours the wine into your glass and then fills his own, before taking a seat. That’s when you have a good look at all the food laid out for you.

Well, certainly a feast befitting a wealthy pirate king and a captive noblewoman, I suppose. You can’t say you’re exactly fond of using your status as leverage, but this is like a meal you’d expect at a formal gathering between repulsively rich aristocrats. Except, the man before you now is not an aristocrat. He’s a pirate. The same pirate who abducted you. The same pirate who’s out to get your father. And the same pirate you’ve been having a very difficult time not slamming against the wall like this is some brainless romance novel. Get a grip, you blockhead. Closest you’ll ever get to being pinned against the wall is when he’s using you as a makeshift dartboard. Which will very probably happen if it turns out your father really couldn’t care less about you and never coughs up the ransom fee.

You take a shaky sip of wine, and, nice as it is, it doesn’t succeed in immediately soothing your frayed nerves. Which, in your opinion, completely defeats the point of wine, but you make do for now. You just hope you can at least stomach some food.

“Well, this is quite the feast,” you awkwardly say, managing out something like a laugh. It sounds more like a cry for help. “I’m very honoured…Sylus.”

You swear he looks pleased when you finally address him by first name. There are no servants, which is fine by you, and your mood gradually improves as you go about placing some boiled potatoes and rotisserie chicken and fresh green salad on your plate. It all smells divine. The Captain gives a grin. “It’s the least I can do for you, my lady. I have to thank you for being so tolerant of this…what did you call it?” He places the platter of boiled potatoes you’d handed him down back in their place, and lifts his glass of wine to his lips. And he’s gazing at you from over the rim of it. “Ah, yes—an inadvertent evening adventure.”

Heat creeps up your neck, and you look down at your plate. I can’t believe he remembers that! “Haha, um, yes. Quite so. Y-You know, you don’t have to call me by such a formal title.” You place your glass down and pick up your knife and fork. “Just my name is fine. If you know it, that is.”

“Of course I know your name.” He calmly goes about cutting up his chicken, giving you a glance without moving his head, from beneath his brow. The man always tends to execute such gestures in such a way that leaves you feeling a little breathless, and you always look away quickly. And you feel like an idiot. Since when did I allow a man to have such an effect on me? Absolutely beats you.

“Ah, I see.” He doubtlessly did his research on you before you were abducted. Oh, well. You chew away on a piece of lettuce. Just makes this whole thing so much easier to know I’ve been watched this entire time.

You hold back a sigh. Nothing personal, but nonetheless disconcerting.

And the evening carries on rather peacefully—a stark, and almost embarrassing, contrast to your constant inward chaos. You deeply dislike how self-conscious the man makes you, while he just sits there, all relaxed and eternally smug and composed, while you’re barely hanging onto your sanity. I’d best make myself scarce now!

“Well!” you announce, once you’ve finished off your plate and wine, attempting a beam of a smile. “That was a lovely meal. I’m so full! I must return to my quarters now. Thank you so much for your hospitality.”

“You won’t stay for dessert?” The Captain lifts a brow at you, putting his (refilled) wine glass down.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” You’re already standing and pushing your chair in, smoothing down your dress. “The main course was more than enough, I assure you. Besides! I wouldn’t want to keep you any longer, me being a hostage and all.” You swiftly curtsy and turn for the door. “Again, thank you.”

“Well, then, allow me to escort you back to your cabin.” He, too, gets to his feet, rounding the table and approaching you. “It’s dark out now, and I doubt you know the way.”

“Oh, I know the way,” you lie, and you sheepishly drop your eyes when he arches a brow at you again. “Sort of.”

“That so,” he says, and then he extends his arm for you to take like the perfect gentleman again. “Well, as you insist on returning, let us go.”

“Ah! Thank you.” You, with an enthusiasm you curse yourself for having, accept his arm, and you begin your walk with the Captain back to your cabin. “I didn’t expect such kindness.”

That smirk looks more like an accommodating smile than something smug this time. “How can I not, when I have such a lovely lady on my arm?” You almost smack him playfully, and instead roll your eyes. “Oh, enough of that.”

Once you both stop outside your room, you give him another curtsy and turn to open your door. “Goodnight, sir—uh, I mean, Sylus.”

The man takes your hand again, placing a peck to the top of it, and that look in his eye really does almost have you shoving him against the wall. Such a notion has you fumbling to open the door and hide away, and he smirks. “Goodnight, my lady.” He looks a little too good in the shadows like this, and you would probably be wise to be afraid. He finally releases your hand. “I enjoyed our time tonight.”

“As did I!” you squeak, avoiding his eyes, smile stiff. Oh, you’re an idiot! Utter idiot! Maybe, at the next stop this ship has, you should take that chance to run. In a flash, you’re peeking out from behind your cabin door. “Goodnight!”

And the last thing you see is his smug little grin you really feel like both smacking and kissing off his face. You wait until his footsteps have faded before screaming into your pillow. Oh, yes, you are an idiot.

Over the next few weeks of the voyage, Sylus takes it upon himself to give you a full tour of the boat and the crew onboard. He introduces them to you, and their attitudes, like Clive and Henry and the twins, are mostly positive toward you. You voice this surprise to the captain.

“Oh, I gave them a talking-to,” he explains, looking very pleased with himself, “the day after you arrived.”

You blink. “Ah. I see.”

And as you continue on your tour of the ship, a sudden call from high above you makes you jump. “Land-ho!”

Everyone drops what they were doing and gathers at the bow of the ship, hands to their foreheads to block out the sun, squinting in the direction which the watchman is pointing.

Far more calmly, the captain leads you to the front of the boat, and the crew parts the way for him, while you stay behind. Someone hands him a spyglass, which he extends and holds up to his right eye. You can’t see anything, for most of the crowd gathered is blocking your view, and eventually Sylus lowers the telescope from his eye, hands it back to one of the female pirates he’d accepted it from, and turns to face everyone. His hands are shoved languidly into his pockets, coat hanging off his broad shoulders, and his silver hair gleams in the sun. “We’re heading due west, right for Othlan, at present. We’ll reach its port city of Othelm in about two days.”

The crew begin chatting amongst themselves, parting the way again for their captain to pass through, and you continue to try and spot the speck of land sighted over the top of the excited crowd. The floppy hat you’d donned earlier after Henry said the sun is “merciless” this time of year doesn’t help much, and you finally give up once he’s returned to your side.

You, with a hand on top of your hat to keep the breeze from blowing it off, blink up at him. “I’ve never been to Othlan before.”

“It isn’t the most interesting of places.” And nor is it the friendliest with the mainland, your country, Rosmon. There’s more of an uneasy, shaky truce between the nations, but as pirates are not strictly allied with anyone in particular, Onychinus will be able to pass through without much of a fuss. You hope.

“Oh,” you say, giving one last glance out to sea, for the crew members are dispersing and going back to their duties now. “Alright.”

“Did you want to see?” Sylus stops in his tracks and half-faces you. “It’s hard to see from this distance. It was only spotted because the watchman”—He points upwards, to the top of the mast—“has the eyes of a hawk.”

“I see.” You squint into the skyline, and you can only just make out the tiniest dark dot, sitting just above the blue horizon, but the sun is blaring down and bouncing off the water, almost blinding you. “It is hard to see, but—look! I can only just spot it.” You point. “Very far away.”

“Yes.” From where you both stand, you can even see the curvature of the planet, and it’s a view you can’t quite get used to. And the man next to you is part of that. You quickly look away before you can start ogling just how exquisite he looks with the breeze softly brushing his hair to the side, out of his eyes, nose and jaw and frame something mighty, as he looks out to sea. Without any doubt, he fits the role as a sea captain and pirate king seamlessly.

“What will we be doing once we arrive?” you ask, brushing some stray strands of hair out of your eyes.

Sylus does not face you, but he tilts his head in your direction, eyes flicking down to you. It’s a motion that’s, as usual, unfairly attractive, and you almost click your tongue in annoyance. “Ideally, my informants stationed there would have received a letter from your father agreeing to the exchange for your return, as my intended destinations never seem to be something I can keep under wraps. So, doubtlessly, the letter would have been sent to Othelm.”

It’s stupid, the little prick of disappointment that’s dealt to that equally stupid muscle in your ribcage by his words. Ideally. Yes, you are, essentially, both a bargaining chip and liability. Extra resources are wasted on you, really—and you should also be eager to get back, but you’re not. You’d like to be, but you’re not.

The smile you give in response succeeds in hiding your disillusionment, however. “Yes, let’s hope so! Fingers crossed my father already has a ship docked there for my boarding.”

“Yes.” He stares at you. “Fingers crossed.”

The next two days fly by like the wind in the sails, and soon, Othelm is directly in sight. Many ships of varying sizes and shapes sit berthed in their respective docks at the port, and people bustle about the area, securing ropes and anchors and carting barrels and crates of goods around.

But everyone, even you, knows the true nature of this port city. Othelm, in all its renowned trading glory, is a thriving pirate hub.

Ruled by Sylus, unquestioningly. The very vessel you’re on right now had drawn the attention of the lookouts and sailors hurrying about the port long ago, as the Onychinus’ flagship approaches with its night-black hull and its signature jolly roger of a red flag and crow in the centre. The Captain’s men stationed here would be fully prepared for his arrival now, and you suddenly feel a sense of foreboding.

Will I be alright? You, a woman, and a captive one, at that, would assuredly be unsafe in such a crime-riddled place as this. You can’t spot a single woman—there would, certainly, be ones, but they would either be brothel workers or female pirates themselves. And you are no safer with a hostile female pirate than you are with a male one, as sad as that makes you. The difference between them is, a female pirate wouldn’t try to violate you in an alley before finally putting you out of your misery. You’d far prefer a woman’s dagger to your jugular than a man’s vicious, bruising grasp, in all potential scenarios.

A knife is a knife. It can be used to slit throats or cut bonds. In this context, your throat is quicker to be sliced open than your escape successful and smooth, regardless of the wielder’s identity.

“I should probably stay down in my cabin, huh?” you comment, veiling your anxiety, keeping Henry company as she goes about readying the anchor for casting. “I have no place wandering around this city.”

“Well, milady,” she begins in reply, straightening and wiping her sweaty brow, “it’s good to see ya so wise and with a rational head here, but I’m afraid ya won’t have a choice.”

You swallow and nervously smile. “Um, how do you mean?”

“I mean, the captain here’ll prob’ly make ya tag along.” She turns to grab a nearby rope. “To make sure ya don’t escape ’n all.”

“What about just…locking me in the cabin?” Is having to follow him around really necessary?

“To be honest, milady, I’m not entirely sure meself, but I presume that’s what’s gonna happen.” Henry offers you a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, yer’ll be safe so long as yer by the Captain’s side.”

You know that much—but you also doubt the man’s willing to go to any great lengths to make sure you are safe. ‘Nothing personal’, which probably includes your well-being. You’re just one of the many aces up his sleeve, and not one he necessarily needs.

Perhaps you could go convince him to allow you to stay in your cabin for the time the ship’s docked here. Bidding farewell to Henry, you turn and make your way back to your quarters, waving a hello to Luke and Kieran as you pass.

And then, out of nowhere, there’s a grating caw of a crow, and something black and feathery obstructs your vision. It flaps to a stop at your side, and you jump to find Sylus’s trusty pet crow, Mephisto, perched quite happily on your shoulder.

“Oh, it’s you.” The bird has apparently taken a liking to you, for it holds something sparkly in its beak and blinks at you in offering. You reach up a hand, stroking its breast feathers, before accepting the little trinket it brought to you. “Aren’t you an intelligent fellow, hm? A far more interesting choice than a parrot, I’d say.”

“Agreed,” a deep voice says from behind you, and you almost leap out of your skin in fright. Startled by your sudden movements, Mephisto caws loudly right in your ear and jumps off your shoulder, gliding over to settle on a certain pirate captain’s broad left shoulder instead. He grins down at you. “I am glad to see I am not alone in my more unconventional tastes.”

“It—It makes a statement,” you reply, rather out of breath, attempting a smile. “It’s definitely more, um, intimidating.”

That grin widens. “Ah. So it works.”

You’ve gotten used to his more acerbic, dry humour thus far, over the weeks you have, in essence, befriended him. At least, you consider him a friend. You’re unsure if it’s mutual, however. You laugh a little. “Ahem, yes, it would seem so.”

“Where were you off to?” Sylus casually asks, lifting a hand and affectionately scratching his pet crow’s head. If a crow is even capable of purring, it does now. The bird nuzzles into his palm. “We are getting ready to disembark.”

“Oh, I was just going back to my cabin.” You weakly gesture behind you, in the general direction of said cabin. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of anything by tagging along. It’s an unfamiliar and, as you’re well aware of, unsafe place.”

He hums, giving you an assessing look. “You are correct. However, how on earth could I be so cruel as to leave you all alone on a boat? You will be tagging along, and I can ensure your safety.”

“If you’re worried about me running away, you don’t have to be.” You look down at your hands awkwardly. “If you like, you can lock my cabin door.”

“My, you really are strange, aren’t you?” the Captain remarks, crossing his arms. “It almost sounds like you don’t want to go back.”

“Uh, well…” You’re not sure if it’s appropriate to confirm that. “Let’s say…I’ve grown fond of the sea view.”

“Is that so?” Sylus lifts one arm and brushes a hand across his mouth, gazing down at you. “How interesting.”

“But, of course, I do have to return,” you hastily add. Get a grip! Push it any further, and he might leave you here, stranded! You suppose that’s a tad bit kinder of a fate than simply marooning you somewhere. You’d just have to snatch a few coins from a crew member’s pouch, or even his office, and you’d somehow make do in this strange, dangerous city. “My—My father must be worried sick. I can, erm, assure you that he would have sent a letter agreeing to your terms. I assure you.”

“Uh-huh,” is all he replies with, and he lowers his arm back to fold across his chest. You really don’t like that perpetually knowing look of his. It’s simultaneously arrogant and humiliating. And it doesn’t help that his face is easy on the eyes, either, which inadvertently makes things easier to forgive. You’ve found you really quite hate that, actually. “Still. Surely you’d like a tour of the city?” Then Sylus lowers his arms, shoving his hands into his pockets, posture so damn relaxed compared to your tense frame, staring at you from beneath his lashes. “You liked this old ship here so much, sweetheart. Othelm has all kinds of thrills and adventures and things to do, too, you know.”

“Oh, I see,” you weakly reply.

His smirk makes you want to smack him, drown him, kiss him and scream at him all in one breath. “Really, it’s like a manual. The perfect introduction to the pirate life.”

“I see,” you say again, avoiding his gaze. Why does this guy have to be so damn perceptive? It’s not that you want to be a pirate, one who joins in on all the bloodshed and thieving and killing—you just don’t want to go back. And, somehow, you doubt your father has dispatched a letter for Sylus, demanding your return. Despite his rather frightening determination to marry you off to that old duke, you doubt it.

“Either way, you simply can’t hide yourself away down in that stuffy cabin for the rest of the week.” The Captain half-turns to walk away. “Come along. The ship is docking now.”

You hesitate once more, staring at his broad back as he strides away, before heaving a sigh and following after him. Things can’t get any worse, right?

Oh, but they could—especially when it’s pirates and Sylus in question.

You trail after him down the gangplank once the ship docks, trying not to slip on the slimy, wet wood of the wharf as he, with Luke and Kieran flanking him, strides along without a falter to his step. Some other crew members have gathered behind you, their hands resting casually on the hilts of their cutlasses, a dare to those surrounding and watching to just try anything. You slow down and fall into step beside Henry, wishing you had at least some kind of weapon, even though you’re not trained with one.

As if she read your mind, Henry pushes aside her loose-fitting outer vest and hands you a dagger, winking. “You’ll probably need it, milady.”

“Oh.” You breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Henry.”

The attire you chose to wear today proves to be wise: with a baldric hitched around your waist and baggy trousers for your lower half, the dagger fits nicely into one of the empty notches of your belt, and your shoes are far more practical than the heels you were abducted in. They have grip, supportive against the slippery pier you’re walking along now, and the bandana you used to wrap around your hair helps you look more like the part of the pirate.

Blend in, the logical part of your brain had told you earlier this morning, and that’ll lessen the chance of anyone trying anything.

If Sylus had noticed, he’d made no comment. Henry gave you a thumbs-up when she saw you, and the twins gave you two encouraging thumps on the back that almost sent you flying. All that’s left to do now is try to slump your stance and stride a little more, instead of that straight-as-a-rod posture your witch of a governess used to slap into you. She even used to use a switch on you whenever you did something wrong, and the scars on the back of your calves are still fading.

Nobility is a farce, purported to be a life of luxury and little toil and relaxation. Sure, having a full belly at the end of every day and access to a bath and an abundance of clothes to wear is great, but there’s always darker facets to it that remain overlooked, where skeletons reside safely in the closet, and the more illicit is turned a blind eye to. Such an example is your own father.

You’re not entirely sure of what exactly he does, has done, or is embroiled with, but it is nothing moral, as proven by your abduction. Sylus would’ve had a better chance with getting what he wants if you were a ‘beloved daughter’ to your father. However, you have, for much of your life, gone ignored by the only parent you have.

Such is life. Richer or poorer, there are hardships all the way. You’re more fortunate than most, you know this, but it still rather hurts.

Boisterous greetings are exchanged between the crew behind you and the other pirates milling about the port, and a few even approach Sylus to clap a hand over his back. Shared interests in thievery appear to produce a strong sense of camaraderie amongst these people, and the captain, despite his intimidating and rugged and arrogant approach, returns the greetings with a small grin and nod.

The Onychinus head, with his signature pet crow on his left shoulder, continues sauntering through the streets and toward a bouncing pub up ahead. Its sign, nailed into the wood above the building’s door frame, is hanging on for dear life, weather-beaten and grimy. It looks like it might’ve once spelled “Owen’s”, but the E is around the wrong way. Intentional or not, you’re uncertain. Pirates aren’t known for their literacy.

Just outside the pub, the Captain turns and faces the group following after him. “Alright, everyone, you are free to do as you please for the rest of the day. As long as the boat is restocked and cleaned up before nightfall, you may drink to your hearts’ content tonight.”

Immediately, the crew lets out overjoyed cheers and disperse, hurrying off in different directions with their companions. You remain, Henry at your side, with the twins beside the captain, and he turns once more to enter the tavern. “We have business to attend to.”

What business? you want to ask, but you’re immediately deafened by the sheer uproarious volume of the bar, where pirates gulp down jugs of ale and rum and beer, engage in destructive brawls at their respective tables, or rage at each other over games of poker. The place stinks of alcohol, tobacco, fish and unwashed men, and you almost heave your insides out right there.

And it doesn’t look like it’d be an uncommon sight to see in here, either—you have to carefully pick your way through the tables and men and other unidentifiable things you don’t want to find out about on the floor, and it’s clear the place is hardly ever mopped. With a hand over your mouth and nose, you resist the urge to bolt out back into the fresh air, where the stench of fish and filthy pirates is a little less potent.

The other four with you, however, look completely unfazed, and you follow after them as Sylus makes his way through the pub, up for a set of closed-off steps near the back of the alehouse, and barely gives any of the drunk pirates a second glance, even as they slur soused greetings to the man. You keep your head down, and avoid their eyes.

But that appears ineffective—abruptly, out of nowhere, you feel a hand meet your backside, and you yelp, whirling around, more than ready to deal an incensed hand across the bastard’s face. You turn to find a table full of guffawing men, many of them missing teeth, in terrible need of a shave, and puffing glowing pipes of baccy.

“Yer a new face!” your harasser belly laughs, and you almost shriek when he grabs your wrist and tugs you toward him. His grasp is bruising, and you frantically struggle to get away, getting ready to panic. You begin fumbling for your dagger. His companions, all holding sets of playing cards, snicker amongst themselves and watch on with dark glee. “What’s a cute lil’ thing like you doin’ ’round here, eh?”

“Let me go!” you exclaim, enraged and scared, and you lift your free hand to smack his face with all the strength you can muster. It sends his pipe flying out of his mouth, clattering to the ground, and his surprise has him letting your wrist free. Immediately, you back away, rubbing your arm, breathing hard. “Do that again, and I’ll—!”

Your back meets a chest, and a terrified gasp clogs your throat. But the cologne is familiar, something far removed from the reek stifling the air around you, and a large hand meets your shoulder. Your head snaps up to find the face of Sylus, and his set jaw.

“Having fun, boys?” he drawls, gently pushing you behind him. Henry’s standing there also, stepping forward to guard you from the rear, and it takes quite a bit within you not to burst into tears. She gives a comforting squeeze to your upper arm, and softly tugs you to walk away with her. “You won’t wanna see this, milady.”

“What—why? What will he do?” You attempt to throw a glance back, but your view is blocked by Kieran’s taller frame. And then there’s a shatter, a yell, and every pirate in the tavern turns to face the commotion. You’re being herded up the stairs before you can try and catch anything again, and the door at the top of the steps clicks shut just as there’s a pained shriek and collective cheer from down below.

You knew something along these lines would happen to you at some point, as this is the perilous environment you’re now entangled in, but it leaves you greatly shaken regardless. You feel dirty, you’re probably going to cry, and you’re angry. Henry turns and gives you a sympathetic look.

“Don’t ya worry ’bout it anymore, missy,” she soothes, her hand hovering consolingly over the small of your back as she guides you to sit down. “Good thing the cap’n’s fond of ya. Said to us a few weeks ago that if any of us try anythin’, we’ll meet a grisly end.”

“Is…Is that so.” You stiffly take a seat and try to calm yourself, vaguely recalling him saying something along such lines to you. “That’s, uh, kind of him.”

Henry snorts humorously. “He knows this ’as been hard for ya. Sorry that had to happen to ya, though. You got good reflexes!” She grins and jostles your shoulder. “Saw that smack you gave the old scoundrel. Must’ve loosened a few more of ’is teeth!”

You appreciate her attempts at cheering you up, and you crack a wobbly smile. “Yeah. Must’ve.”

Suddenly, you’d really like to go home. And after that happened, slipping away and hiding in a ship set sail back for the mainland isn’t such an ideal notion anymore. Imagine if Sylus hadn’t stepped in? Imagine if you were alone? Compared to them, and their experience in combat, you would be a lost cause.

The ghosting touches of sleazy noblemen that had you spinning around in a rage have got nothing on what you’ve just experienced. You hug yourself and force yourself to relax back into your seat, praying that your father has sent a letter, demanding your return, just so you have a way out of here.

Ten minutes later, the door clicks open, and in enters Captain Sylus. His eyes meet you, trailing up and down your frame in a scrutinising manner, before he strides past and for the door at the end of the corridor. “He won’t be harming you again.” The man casts a glance at you from over his shoulder. “None of them will.”

“Uh, thank you,” you croak, trying to smile again. You rather wish you did the honours yourself. “Much obliged, sir.”

“No need to thank me.” He pauses before the door, pulls out a set of keys from his pocket, and shoves one into the lock. “Luke, Kieran, Henry, you know what you’ve been assigned.”

Henry gets to her feet, smiles, pats your head, and walks over to join the twins. “See ya later, milady. Let’s pray it don’t happen again, but, knee the next guy in the balls, alright? Really give it to ’im!”

That earns her a laugh from you. “Noted, Henry. See you.”

And that leaves you seated here, on the sofa outside Sylus’s presumed second office, the man still standing outside the door. He’s looking at you. “Are you alright?”

You heave a sigh and look down at your hands on your lap. “Yeah. Just a little shaken. Thank you for stepping in.”

“Again, no need.” The Captain turns the doorknob and begins to open it. “I have things to attend to now.” And then he points to the door diagonal to his. “If you would like to rest, there is a bed in there.”

“But, isn’t it your room?”

“I hardly mind.” He shoots you an impish grin, but it’s not unkind. “It seems you’ve convinced yourself you’re a bother, when you’re the hostage here, so isn’t it the other way around?”

“And you call me strange,” you mumble, scratching the back of your neck, “when you treat me like this.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” You jump to your feet and hurry for the door he’d pointed to, offering a bright smile. “Thank you so much for your kindness. I won’t keep you any longer.”

And you swear you hear him chuckle as you shut the door. He’s rather good at distracting you, even if he doesn’t seem to try.

Perhaps that’s the thing. He doesn’t need to try.

A few days have passed since that incident, and you let Henry drag you about the safer streets, pushing it to the back of your mind. But you notice one thing—the pirates bustling about the place seem particularly avoidant of you.

Is that her? You’d heard a few of the escorts serving ale and female pirates murmur amongst themselves. The Captain’s woman?

“The Captain’s woman?” you gasp at Henry, rather mortified. “Is…Is that what I’m being called now?” “Gotta cut ’em some slack, missy.” The woman pats your shoulder. “’Tis a bit of a shock, because he ain’t done that for nobody else in the past.”

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish. “Ah.”

It just makes you more eager to get back on the boat and leave this port city, for its heavy atmosphere, violent crime and the looks everyone gives you has the hair on the back of your neck standing on end. However, no harm comes to you—it appears the warning Sylus demonstrated proved effective.

If only my father could see me now. He’d either have a heart attack, throw a hissy, or personally march you off to the dukedom himself. You, a noblewoman, dressed in the tattered, sun-faded rags of a pirate? Those debutantes would drop to the ground in a faint.

You would’ve, too, if you were that age. No wonder your father was in such a hurry to marry you off—you are now well past the common and ideal age for women to be wed, and you think you did a rather good job at putting it off as long as you have. And, now, despite the less-than-ideal circumstances, you’re no longer so glad to have been kidnapped, but it’s still better than having to warm the bed of some squalid old man you don’t know from a bar of soap.

But, eventually, the day arrives for everyone to board the ship again and head off to the next destination. You’re probably one of the first to hurry on the ship, a safe haven from the malignant attitudes and perturbing stares you receive from man and woman alike at the port, and somewhere you can finally think.

It was a harsh wake-up call for you, all of the commotion and the incident you’re still reeling from. It proves as a reminder that, although Sylus and Henry and the twins and the flagship crew treat you a little kinder than the rest, pirates are still pirates, and are evil people by profession.

This has been a fun adventure, while it lasted. You wait until Sylus has boarded the ship, given the command to set sail, and retreats back to his study before you approach him.

You knock on his door, and the answering “come in” has you, with some hesitance, clicking open the door and entering. You swallow, drawing in a deep breath. Alright. It’s okay. Just pretend he’s ugly and nasty and horrible like the rumours, say your piece, and get out of here. Stop overthinking things!

“Ah, it’s you, sweetheart.” Great. In an instant, all your resolve has crumbled, all because he’s, apparently, taken a liking to addressing you endearingly in a tone so deep, it reminds you of the ocean. That sounds corny. And it makes you want to jump in said ocean, and willingly become fish food.

“Uh, yes, it’s me,” you reply, clearing your throat. “I’m just here to, erm, ask if you received a letter from my father?”

Hours ago, when the last of the resources were being loaded onto the ship, you’d noticed the captain speaking with another man far more well-dressed than all the other surrounding scruffy buccaneers. He’d handed Sylus a bunch of letters, tied securely together by a string, and your heart had immediately lifted with hope. Surely, there would be a letter in that pile that would mean your return home.

The man pauses in his present perusing of said pile of letters, and looks up at you from above the rims of his glasses. He doesn’t say anything for a brief pause, before he puts the paper in his hand down, slips off his glasses, and leans back in his chair. “Unfortunately, my lady, no.”

You immediately deflate. You look down at your hands and stiffly pick at your nails. “…Ah. I see.”

“I am sorry,” Sylus says, but his tone sounds impersonal. You half-consider asking him if you can double-check the pile of letters, just in case—however, you know that would be pushing your luck. Instead, you glance up and try to smile. “Oh, no, it’s alright. It…might just…take a little while longer. I apologise for the wait.”

“Mm,” he hums in agreement, and you avert your eyes from his, unable to hold his stare. There’s a long, tense moment of silence, before you look at him again. “You don’t have to answer if this is too, uh, personal, but may I ask what it is my father took from you?”

Sylus, again, doesn’t answer you for a beat, before standing from his seat and lifting a hand to tug at his collar. His sleeves are rolled up at the elbows, revealing his corded, toned forearms, and you try not to gawk at him. Dammit, I always had a weak spot for tanned men. His bronzed skin looks positively delicious in this low light, and maybe it’s time for you to leave. Before you actually jump him this time.

Besides, you’ve been rather uninclined to male company since that mishap at the tavern. Every time it comes to mind, it churns your stomach painfully.

“Your father is currently in possession of something I discovered myself,” he begins, rounding his desk, crossing his arms and leaning back against it. “Emphasis on the I. It is something called a ‘Protocore’.”

You turn your head to look at him sidelong, puzzled. “Proto-what?” “A Protocore,” he repeats. “Wanderers are thought to be extinct. No one knows how they came to be. It’s been centuries, almost an entire millenia, since the last Protocore was recorded. Five years ago, I found one.”

“I see.” You’re still not entirely sure what he’s getting at, but you understand the gist of it. “So, it’s…some kind of mystical item that provides supernatural powers, perhaps, like in those fairytales?”

His lips twitch with an amused grin. “If you like. Except, they are filled with energy I don’t know how to extract and tap into yet, but it is connected to my Evol, I believe.”

You straighten, startled. “I’m sorry, did you say Evol?”

“I did.” Sylus lifts a hand, and something red and black and like mist gathers around his palm. The empty pitcher of water on the coffee table lifts and clatters to the ground, and you let out an exclamation of surprise. “It’s a less well-known factor about me.” He tilts his head and smiles at you, but it’s sharp as a knife. “Usually, those who see me use it don’t live to see the morrow.”

So the rumours are true. Your heart drops. “Oh. Oh.”

Then, realisation hits you in the face. “Wait. Hold on.” You take a step closer and stare up at him with wide eyes. “Is the reason why you hate my father, why you’re the most-wanted criminal of today, and why my father is out for you…” It’s a little less harder to hold his gaze now. “Is because he turned you in?”

His mouth is tightly shut as he gazes at you, long and hard, before he lets out a breathy chuckle. “Oh, yes, you’re a smart woman, alright.”

You falter, taking a step back. “Oh. Well. This is…” You run a hand through your hair. “This is something.”

“It is,” Sylus croons in agreement. “I was only a boy.” You glance up at him. “How old are you?”

“I am twenty-eight.” He tilts his head. “I thought that was common knowledge.”

You shrug. “Some people say you’re hundreds of years old, an immortal alien creature, and the devil incarnate. Rumours tend to spiral out of control and be exaggerated.”

“That is true.” The man gives you an assessing look. “And how old are you?”

“Well, you know that the night you kidnapped me was my engagement ceremony,” you say, shrugging again. “But I’m actually past the ideal age women are married off. My father was in a hurry to get rid of me. That event was celebrating my betrothal to a duke in the northwest. I’m only a little younger than you.”

Sylus gives a low hum. “Ah. That is the reason why you weren’t all that worried about the abduction.”

You smile wryly. “The man is my father’s age. I was being congratulated left and right because I was about to marry into such an affluent family and achieve a grand title, but…” It has been drummed down your throat your entire life: you are the daughter of a noble, his only offspring, thus, it is only protocol that you would be shipped off somewhere, to some man, who you will long outlive. Yes, the money and position and power and life is attractive, but you just didn’t want it. It wasn’t even because you wanted to marry for love—you just didn’t want another set of chains to be locked around your ankles, more than you already have from your father.

Your mouth twists to the side, and you shrug again. “I don’t know. I just didn’t want to get married. Not to a man thrice my age.”

“I suppose that’s understandable.”

“Anyway, this ‘inadvertent evening adventure’ turned out to be far more than I’d bargained for that night I sat here in front of you.” You grin up at him brightly, and then it fades. “Apart from being assaulted, it’s been…fun, I guess.”

“I…am sorry that happened to you.”

You shrug it off, not wanting to talk about it. “I’m surrounded by pirates. You guys try your hand at anything.”

“If you are suggesting that I would lower myself to such a thing…” Sylus straightens in his spot, towering over you. “You are sorely mistaken.” A hand of his comes up and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your right ear, and his gaze roots you to the spot. “That man met his end in a fitting way for harming a woman.” His thumb brushes your cheek. “And, as long as you are on my ship, you’ve nothing to fear.”

You resist the urge to lean into his palm and look down, biting back a bashful smile. “Oh, well, thank you, Sylus.”

“Think nothing of it, sweetheart. I may be a pirate, and I may have kidnapped you, but I do not happen to be completely immoral.”

“Nothing personal, right?” you say, voice strangely hushed.

The Captain’s shapely lips lift at the corners, and his eyes aren’t such a lethal shade of red anymore. His hand drops back to his side. “Nothing personal.”

Sylus revealing the true nature of his history and relationship with your father ended in connecting a whole lot of dots for you: it explained why your father’s reputation is so good, even though he is ‘new money’ and of commoner origins, why he was in a rush to marry you into even higher status, and his elusive countenance. You actually can’t believe Sylus chose not to kill you—wouldn’t it be the perfect revenge against the man who ruined his life from childhood?

The Empire is, despite openly encouraging people to turn Evolvers in, secretive as to exactly why. They brush it off with an excuse that such people are “dangerous” and “alien”—but it confuses you terribly as to why they haven’t revealed to the public, in the man’s wanted poster plastered across all stretches of the Empire and beyond, that Sylus is an Evolver. Wouldn’t it be the cherry on top? Wouldn’t it be the perfect selling point to really motivate people to hunt the man down and capture him?

The answer is simple, you found, after mulling over it for a good long while afterwards: it would make no difference to his reputation anyway, and Sylus is simply too powerful. He is too powerful an adversary, too influential a figure, and too loved as a pirate king to tear down so easily. He has mastered the art of evading the Imperial Navy. They hardly even try anymore, in fact.

But, perhaps the true nitty-gritty of it is that Sylus has his fingers stuck in everything. He makes deals with nobles, maybe even the Emperor himself, and thrives off of their desperation to keep their illicit trading with the pirate king under wraps. Why does he always get away from them by just a hair? Why does he always remain undefeated?

Corruption. And Sylus is at the centre of it all. The uncrowned king of the briny deep. He, in essence, shoulders all maritime trade. He, in essence, rules not only the verboten business of the sea, but of the land, as well. He, in essence, is the true power behind the golden-gilded Imperial throne.

He’s too useful to dispose of. Too powerful to contend with. The Emperor is a weakling compared.

So, perhaps the reason why he is dead set on getting that Protocore-thing back from your father is because it may just be the very thing the Emperor needs. The very key to finally dethroning Sylus. But, just what is the Protocore?

Not even Sylus knows. Or he’s just not telling you. Why would he tell you? The daughter of the very man who brought about this mess, who threw a wrench in the pirate king’s plans? You stare out your window, seated on your bed in your cabin, gnawing on your thumbnail, buried in your thoughts. He surely knows. The man is too cunning to not know.

You just hope it isn’t anything too risky. Knowing that man, however, it’s guaranteed. And you just hope you don’t get too caught up in the crossfire, if everything ends in blowing to hell.

Days melt into weeks, and weeks melt into months. Soon, you’re sure it’s been at least half a year since you first arrived on this ship, and now you have visited more places than you can count. Henry started showing you a few tricks with how to effortlessly gut an assailant without a hitch. You spend time chatting with the crew members up on deck, helping out with the odd menial task, and gradually adjusting to the seafarer’s life.

One little responsibility you’ve taken up is mending some of the crew members’ torn garments. You’ve always been rather good at embroidery, much to your governess’s (very rare) delight, and you gladly accept anyone’s clothing to sew back together.

Some of the woman pirates aboard the ship expressed wonder at the high quality of your needlework, the seamless stitches patching their ripped shirts or trousers up to perfection again. It proved a good pastime for you instead of just sitting in your room and reading, doing nothing, and it makes you feel useful. Especially when you get to redo the loose and poorly-sewn hems of their clothing, as not one of them appears to be much good with a needle and thread.

“Always get me clothes caught on the odd nail or hook,” Henry had lamented once, sitting by your side and peacefully observing as you mended one of her colourful bandanas. “Before you came along with those nimble hands of yers, most of us used to just continue on with massive holes in our pants or shirts! Then the cap’n got us some thread and all that to fix our clothes, but we didn’t really know what we were doin’.”

“I can see.” The shirt she had given you to repair had the most horrid stitching you’d ever seen. First, you carefully removed the yarn, threaded the needle, and began repatching it. “It’s alright.” You smiled at her. “I enjoy doing this. And it’s really quite easy to get the hang of, too. See? I could even do a bit of decorating for you, if you’d like.”

Word spread, and soon many of the crew’s clothing had piled up in your cabin, ready for you to mend—and even a certain someone knocked on your door and leaned against the door frame.

“If you’re unopposed,” Sylus said, lifting a neatly folded shirt in the air, “I have a few things that need stitching.”

“Alright,” you’d agreed, accepting the garment. Its material was highly expensive, with gold thread and intricate embroidery. “It might take a while, though. I’ve got…” You glanced at the mountain of shirts and pants and other things gathered by the closet. “A lot to get through.”

“Take your time.” And he’d even ruffled your hair. “It’s not urgent.”

Then, Sylus started turning up with the odd trinket and jewellery. A lot of jewellery. It only ever happened whenever the ship would make a stop at a port, and the man had taken a strange liking to showering you with gifts.

You stared at the pair of cream pearl earrings in the velvet box. “You…got me these?”

The Captain was standing on the threshold of your cabin, hands in his pockets, head inclined down to you. “I did. I thought they would suit you.”

“Pearls suit anybody,” you blurted, before realising how that sounded. “That is to say, I am very grateful for this gift, Sylus. They are lovely.”

“Try them on.” He lifted one hand from a pocket and brushed some hair away from one side of your face, tucking it behind your ear. You shivered slightly, trying not to preen at his touch. “Let me see them on you.”

“Uh, alright.” You turned away before he could see how flustered you were. “Let me, um, get my mirror.”

After that, he always returned from trips into cities with jewellery, clothes, or other miscellaneous luxuries you’re quite overwhelmed at receiving. And then you start overthinking things, keeping yourself up at night, mulling over every single act of generosity toward you, and that’s when you decide to get up and cool yourself off with some fresh sea air.

You’re an utter fool, you chastise yourself, tugging your cool, silken robe shut to fend off the chill. Another gift from him. Pull yourself together! He’s most likely fattening you up for the slaughter. Leading you along to let your guard down, and then you’re dead meat!

Most crew members are in their bunks and hammocks by now, while some remain out on guard and watch above deck, and you make your way up to a more secluded area where you can be alone to clear your head.

Only, someone’s already there and enjoying a glass of whiskey.

“Oh,” you say, before you can remember to be quiet and slip away unnoticed. Their head turns to you, and you recognise the build as the captain’s. You awkwardly curtsy in apology, even though you’re in a robe and nightgown. “Apologies, sir. I didn’t know anyone else would be here.”

“It’s late,” he replies instead, lifting his glass to his lips. You remain a polite distance away, ready to turn and leave, but he continues. “What are you doing up?”

What am I, a child? You purse your lips. “I can’t sleep.”

Sylus hums, and his head turns to gaze out to sea again. “I am the same.”

Before you can think better of it, you approach the man and come to a stop beside him, a good metre between you. You’re not about to risk giving into temptation. “Aren’t you cold?”

He chuckles. “I am not, but thank you for your concern, sweetheart.”

“Ah.” What were you going to do if he was? Offer him your robe? You’re chilly enough on your own, even with the dressing gown. This was a very bad idea. You clutch the railing you’re both leaning against. “No worries.”

It’s silent for a few more beats, and you can’t stand the tense atmosphere any longer, so you open your mouth to take your leave, but Sylus beats you to it. “Care for a drink?” Your mouth falls open, before you click it shut, awkward. “Oh, you don’t have to. It would be a long walk from here to your quarters. I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“Sweetheart,” his chest rumbles with a chuckle again, and you can feel his eyes on you, “this is my private balcony.”

You gasp, reeling back. Oh, gods, imagine how this must look! A woman, dressed in a thin, mercifully modest, nightgown, visiting the very man she has an uncomfortable amount of sexual tension with, at night? Especially this late, where it’s quiet and those onboard are mostly asleep? He must think I’m so pathetic! What an idiot!

“I’m—I’m very sorry,” you fall over your words, blazing hot with humiliation. You take three hasty steps back. “I didn’t know, I promise you. I was only wandering about aimlessly, looking for somewhere to think. This was terribly rude of me. I’ll, um, I’ll leave now. Again, I apologi—”

“I never told you to leave,” Sylus softly cuts in, and he sounds so smug. But he places his glass down, faces you, and takes a step forward. You can’t see his face; he’s just one tall silhouette of muscle and arrogance, horribly good at driving you mad, and you clutch at the front of your robe, finding it uncomfortably hard to breathe. “I’m not averse to your company.”

“Oh…” You lower your head and stare down in the general direction of your slippered feet. It’s too dark to see anything, really, as the moon isn’t out tonight. The scent of his cologne and body wash and shaving cream is almost overpowering. And it’s getting harder to resist the urge to not just grab his collar and wrench him down to kiss you. Get a grip, you buffoon. You think this is a romance novel or something? He’d sooner keelhaul you than return such affections! “Well, that’s kind of you.”

He’s close. Standing right in front of you. You can feel his body heat. And you jump when his hand suddenly meets your chin and lifts it. “You know, I had always wondered what on earth I was going to do with all that jewellery of mine.”

“O-Oh?” You swallow and smile unsteadily, despite him probably not being able to see you. If this is his private balcony, why doesn’t he have any lights on, or a few candles lit? You should’ve brought a chamberstick with you. “Is that, uh, so?”

“Mhm,” he hums deeply. “And then I thought: why not just gift them to the only woman aboard who knows what to do with them?” Sylus’s hand moves, lifting to brush his knuckles against your cheek. You shiver, and not from the cold. “Imagine my happiness when I saw how flawlessly they suited you.”

You try not to think about how all that jewellery is likely stolen goods, and their original owners are either dead or still out there, stripped of their wealth, all because of this one man. “I don’t quite know where to start repaying you.”

“You don’t repay gifts, sweetheart.” His hand is warm. “Besides, isn’t it the least I can do?”

“To be honest,” you begin, voice cracking slightly, and you clear your throat, “I, um, there’s one thing I don’t really understand.”

Is he doing it on purpose, the way he caresses your cheek? Damn the man. “And what is that?” “My father is responsible for you leading a life of piracy.” Your words make his hand stop. “I’m his daughter. Aren’t you at least a little resentful of me?”

“If anything, it should be you who is resentful of me, sweetheart.” Sylus shakes his head at you. “Are you forgetting who’s the vile abductor here?”

“Oh, no, of course not.” You twist your robe’s tie around in your hands. “I just—well…” You tilt your head to the side and avert your eyes. “I would understand if you decided to send my head back on a platter to my father as a pleasant little message to hurry up.”

He snorts. “Are you saying you’d let me?”

You shrug. “I say this because I know you won’t.” Then you give him an unsure glance. “I think.”

“Rest assured, I will not.” The Captain then grabs your hand and lifts it to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “I’ve said this countless times before. It’s nothing personal.”

“Sounds pretty personal to me,” you mutter, flushing. “You must be going out of your mind with impatience. He didn’t even bother to send a letter agreeing to your terms.” Is a Protocore more important than his own daughter?

“That is why we are set on-course for Rosmon right now.” He lowers your hand from his mouth, but doesn’t let go. “I have plenty of less-sanguine methods of procuring an item without mailing a human head to someone.”

“That’s a relief,” you softly laugh, still feeling feverish. I should probably leave now. Stay here any longer, and you will be pinning this man to the wall. “That’s, er, all I wanted to say.”

“So you did ‘wander about aimlessly’ in search of me?” Sylus teases in that sultry tone of his. “Goodness, sweetheart. If you wanted to speak to me so badly, you could’ve just said so.”

“I—no, I really didn’t mean to disturb you here,” you insist, humiliated. “I know how that must’ve looked. Those really weren’t my intentions. Please, just—forget it ever happened.”

“Why should I?” It appears he doesn’t intend on letting you off the hook tonight. “You got my hopes up.”

“Wh-What?” Your heart’s in your mouth at this rate. “I—! That’s—I didn’t…”

“A cruel woman, you are,” Sylus taunts, even going so far as to step away and cross his arms. “What else was I supposed to think?” You put your face in your hands. “I’m terribly sorry, Sylus. I don’t know how else I’m supposed to explain myself to you. I swear, none of that was my intention! Stop teasing me!”

He pretends to heave a forlorn sigh. “I suppose I’ll just have to spend the rest of my life wandering aimlessly about these seas, dreaming of what could’ve been, forever heartbroken by one woma—”

That’s when you let out an exasperated noise, lash a hand out, grab the collar of his shirt, and wrench him down, like you’ve been dying to for months. You still can’t really see him, so you blindly push yourself up onto your toes and head for where you picture his mouth to be—and your judgement proves accurate, for Sylus immediately uncrosses his arms, grabs your hips, and pulls you flush against him, meeting you halfway.

The Captain’s lips slot directly over yours, and they’re as soft and satiny and hot as you’d imagined them to be. Your hands are balled into fists on his chest, tightly clutching at his shirt, and one of Sylus’s hands comes up from a hip and cups your right cheek, tilting further into your mouth, deepening the kiss. His lips move, vehement and slow, prying your lips open. You squeak into his mouth as his tongue enters, laving against your own, and you can taste the aftermath of the whiskey he was enjoying earlier. It’s a rich, smokey tang that you find yourself enjoying, as if it’s enough to get drunk off of, and you go limp against him. The one hand left on your side slides to wrap around your waist, splayed against the small of your back, keeping you upright as you tug on the silver strands of hair at the back of his neck. You’re trying to push yourself up higher, to meet him far more closely and comfortably, and Sylus takes that chance to turn you around, back you up against the railing, and continue his burning incursion on your mouth.

“Mmph—can’t—oh!” You try to break away for some air, but he’s far more eager than you’d initially gambled, and you’re cut off by his tongue swathing against your lips, diving back in, leaving you thoroughly inarticulate. You’re probably going to shred his shirt through with your nails from how tightly you’re grasping it, clawing to find some kind of grounding. You can’t keep up with him; Sylus’s ministrations are deep and passionate and sensual, you’re trying to match his speed, hardly lacking in vigor, but you’re running out of oxygen.

My lungs! They feel as if they’re about to burst, so you pound one fist against his wide chest and squirm, whining into his mouth. “Sy—Sylus—air!”

You can see him now, as he finally breaks away; the moon’s peeping out from behind a cluster of clouds, his hair is identical to its pale beams, mussed from you running your hands through it, and he blinks at you, as if drawn from a haze. You’re breathing hard, gulping in the oxygen, offering him a shaky smile. “…S-Sorry, just a bit out of air.”

Sylus is gazing at you with an intensity that makes your heart both stop, plummet, and leap, and the intimate region between your thighs is burning. You blurt out whatever comes to mind to fill the awkward silence. “Um, I didn’t know you were such a good kisser.” You look away and to the side, lost for what to do and say. “And, uh, I’m sorry for grabbing you like that, um…I just needed to, you know, shut you up.”

“Do you know…” he says instead, one of the man’s hands brushing back a loose strand of hair, eyes roving over your face. “How angry I was when that man harassed you?” You blink. Why is he bringing that up now? You’d rather not talk about it. “…No.”

His smirk is something that instills a deep sense of dread within you—not for your life, but for another’s. Another’s that’s already long gone. “I almost razed that pub, that town, to the ground. With every one of those repulsive bastards inside. That man got off very lightly for what he really deserved.”

Your mouth twists to the side. “Didn’t you kill him?”

Sylus’s teeth flash with that sharp smile. “Far too quickly.”

Lowering your head, you bite back a smile. “I wish I’d had the honour.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle and buries his face into your neck, clutching you close. He’s quiet for a few moments, and you try not to preen too much at his previous comments. He’d go to such lengths for you, a captive, and the daughter of the very man he hates? Your cheek rests on his shoulder, and you allow yourself to smile. I suppose he won’t make me walk the plank just yet.

The man’s large frame is warm and wards off the cold, and your hands are gently rubbing into his back, something that makes him purr delightedly into your nape. “I was wondering how long it would be before you finally found the courage.”

“Uh, sorry?” Your hands pause, and then you flinch when Sylus begins placing soft kisses to your skin, nibbling lightly, before he finally bites down and soothes the sting with his tongue. You jolt upright, mind blank, and he laughs softly, one of his hands cupping the back of your head. “I, um, I’m not quite—” Your head falls down onto his shoulder, and your nails dig themselves into his back, through his shirt. “What you—hm!—mean…”

“Sweetheart, I am no fool,” Sylus murmurs against your neck, the other hand around your middle tugging you closer just that little more. At this rate, he’ll flatten you against him. “Did you think you were being subtle with the way you look at me?” Oh, just wonderful. You burn with mortification and embarrassment. “I…didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It was amusing,” he chuckles, lips now pressing against your collar, “if that’s any consolation.”

You keep your face hidden in his shoulder. “Not really.”

“I kissed you back, didn’t I?” Sylus emerges from your neck and stares down at you, and that maddening smirk has you conflicted between pushing him away and pulling him back down again. It doesn’t help that his eyes flick to your mouth and back up to your eyes, his top teeth tucked beneath his bottom lip. “And, I dare say, I enjoyed it thoroughly.”

You lower your head and wriggle out from between him and the railing, too humiliated to look at him anymore. “I, well…it was okay. I think I should probably leave now.”

“Not so fast, lovely.” He grabs your elbow and pulls you back, leaning in—and that’s when he firmly tips your head up, his other arm around your waist again. “You have to give me a goodnight kiss first.”

“You’ve gotten awfully fond of her as of late, boss,” Kieran begins casually, as if only commenting on the weather. “Giving her special treatment and all.”

“Right,” agrees Luke, parking his behind on the Captain’s desk, making Sylus click his tongue in irritation. The mask conceals Luke’s grin, but his amused tone doesn’t. “It’s already been, like, six months, at least. Never seen you so polite and charming around a woman before.”

“I do believe you’re overanalysing things,” Sylus remarks, not looking up from the paperwork he’s busy signing. “It’s merely treating a noble lady with the respect she deserves. Something called manners.” The Captain gives Luke a pointed look. “Something you two could learn a thing or two about, it would seem.”

“Uh-huh,” Kieran draws out, waltzing over from the window to stand before the desk. “Been a long time since you ever cared about decorum and respect, sir.”

“Especially since she’s the daughter of the very man who, I dunno…” Luke selected a pen from the desk and twirled it around his fingers idly. “Maybe destroyed your entire childhood?”

Sylus, already used to such antics from the two boys, gives no outward reaction. “I am assuring that the goods remain intact.” He finishes signing one document and begins on another. “I’ve no need to explain myself to you two.”

Kieran snickers. “You’re only digging yourself a deeper grave with that one, sir.”

“And they sure are taking a while to get back to you about her ladyship, aren’t they?” Luke drops the pen and then leans over to grab an envelope, buried beneath the mountain of paperwork on the captain’s desk, and holds it up, as if only just discovering its existence, and it’s the most interesting thing in the world. The seal of the letter is broken, its crest one they all recognise, and Luke smirks. “Or, maybe they have, but you’re just…stalling.”

“And that is so terribly out-of-character for our dearest Captain Sylus,” Kieran quips, crossing his arms. “It’s also terribly out-of-character for our cold and intimidating and oh-so-chaste captain to smooch up a storm with his archenemy’s darling daughter.”

Sylus coolly places his pen down, takes off his reading glasses, and leans back in his chair. But there’s a set to his jaw, a sharpness to his gaze, that immediately puts the twins on guard. “I do believe the bilge cleaners could use an extra pair of hands or two.”

“See? He keeps avoiding the topic,” Luke hisses to Kieran, as if their captain isn’t right in front of them, and as if he doesn’t look like he’s about to maroon them. “Poor guy. Does he really think no one could see them? All that charm, and he hasn’t gotten any action in his life.”

“Yes, I think a demotion from first and second mate really would prove a nice little reprieve from your duties.” Sylus puts on his glasses and picks up his pen again. “Apparently, there’s a rat infestation in the bottom of the ship’s hull. I think you’ll be plenty occupied helping the crew out down belo—”

“No need, sir!” Hurriedly, Luke scrambles off the desk and they rush for the door, giving their Captain hasty salutes. “We won’t bother you any more! We know full well how busy you are! Have a good rest of your afternoon, boss!”

And the door slams shut. The wearied Captain Sylus releases a sigh. I need a nap.

Sylus was invited to join in on the partying, but he had declined. Usually, he’d be unopposed to sharing a couple of drinks with his crew and enduring their awful jokes, but, tonight, the captain is busy nursing a glass of wine with his paperwork. And a particular letter on his desk.

So, when there is a knock at his door, he heaves a sigh and clicks it open. “Luke, I already said—”

“Ooh, look who it isssss.” He’s mildly surprised to be welcomed with a drunken smile and the swaying frame of his dearest hostage. “The gorgeous Captain Sylus!”

He lifts a brow, one corner of his mouth curling up. “Oh, my. What a wonderful compliment to receive from such a beauty as yourself.”

You giggle. “Y’know, I can never tell when you’re being—” hiccup, “—sarcastic or not.”

Sylus leans a forearm up against the door frame, looming over you, but that doesn’t seem to deter your inebriated self in the least. The scent of alcohol is overpowering, and he’s thoroughly amused now. “I prefer to keep my cards close to my chest, sweetheart.”

“Little too close!” The woman lands a smack to his other arm. “Got any rum? Henry showed me this game called ‘the cup of sacrifice’. It was gross! Beer, ale and salt do not go together.”

“You’re not going to throw up, are you?” Sylus gently grasps your shoulders to steady you. “I’d prefer you to not do so in my office.”

“Noooo! I won’t throw up.” You tip forward, despite his firm hold on you, and your forehead meets his chest. Your slurred words are muffled by his shirt. “I do feel a little—hic—squeamish, though.”

The Captain can’t help but huff out a laugh. “Goodness, you have adjusted to the seafaring life, haven’t you?” He eases you from his chest. “One might even say you’re a full-blown lady pirate now.”

Your head tilts lethargically up at him. “I’d rather that than becoming a duchess.”

“Oh?” Sylus wraps an arm around your shoulder and guides you into his office, shutting the door behind him with his foot, and helps you toward one of the couches. “And why is that?”

“Because,” you say, words garbled, “I don’t wanna marry some paltry old duke. I prefer…” And that’s when you surprise him by reaching up, grabbing his chin, and tilting his face this way and that. “You.”

“I’m flattered,” he croons, gently grabbing your wrist and removing your hand from his face. You slump into the sofa, head laid back against the cushion, smile dopey. You reach up again and poke his cheek. “Yeah. I’d rather marry you.”

That makes him pause. He stares. “That so?”

“Uh-huh.” Your arm flops down at your side. “I don’t want to go back.”

The man straightens and turns to pour a cup of water from the pitcher on his desk. Sylus extends it to you. “I thought any woman would like to become a duchess.”

You give a drunken snort and sloppily drink the water. “Yeah, probably. Is it, hic, so weird that I just don’t…” You sluggishly lean forward and place the cup on the coffee table. “Wanna be forced to bear some old guy’s heirs?”

“I suppose not,” he acquiesces.

“Call me superficial, but he’s ugly, and you’re not.” You flop an arm over your eyes. “Ugh, I have a headache. Anyways, you’re obviously the better choice here.”

Sylus crosses his arms. “That’s terribly kind of you.”

“Can you stop giving me two-word answers?” It was actually four words, but you hardly notice, giving a hiccup and removing your arm to glare weakly at him. “You kissed me. Doesn’t that mean you want to marry me too?”

The Captain cracks a little grin, and takes the seat beside you. “Not necessarily, sweetheart.”

That’s when you wave a hand dismissively. “Was joking, anyway. What’s your hair care regimen?”

Your spontaneity barely fazes him now. He refills your cup, then pours his own. “Why do you ask?”

“’Cause your hair’s so soft.” A hand comes down on his head and pats it. “Dunno how you manage it when spending weeks at sea. You—” hiccup, “—are so strange.”

Sylus grabs your hand and kisses your knuckles. “Let’s say that it’s a secret, my lady. Now, how about getting you back to your cabin and into bed, hm? You’ll have a horrible hangover in the morning.”

“Ooh, you gonna join me?” Your forehead leans laggardly on his shoulder. You giggle again. “You look warm. I get a little cold down in that cabin. Sometimes, the water comes smacking right up against the window…”

“What a terrible state of affairs,” he humours, easing you to your feet, arm wrapped securely around your middle. Your head lolls against his shoulder, and Sylus keeps you steady. “Regrettably, it would be most unbecoming for an unwed man and woman to spend the night in the same room and bed, sweetheart.”

“Oh…!” You appear to only be just sober enough to finally realise the connotations of your words. “No, no, that’s not what I meant…” Sylus briefly considers picking you up and carrying you as you abruptly stumble over thin air, speech slurred from the booze. “I meannnn, I’m not averse to it…but—”

“That’s a dangerous thing to say when you’re drunk, my lady.” He opens his door, sweeps you up into his arms, and turns in the direction of your cabin. The sudden sensation of the ground disappearing beneath your feet has your intoxicated self disoriented and clutching at his shirt. Sylus grunts and readjusts his hold. “Fortunately for you, I am no knave who would take advantage of a defenceless woman.”

“See? Marriage material.” A forefinger lightly jabs at his chest, and his eyes snap down to you. “Could you get me some more rum? We need to toast to this!”

“I think you’ve had quite enough rum for one night.” She is wasted. A rambling nonsense. Nonsense that’s probably going to make him lose sleep tonight.

“You can never—” You let out a very unladylike burp. “—have enough rum.”

Sylus can hear the boisterous celebrations of the rest of the crew down on the main deck, and he holds back a sigh. “I suppose they taught you a few of their favourite drinking games?”

“Sure did!” If it weren’t for his firm stature and balance, perhaps your staggering as you jubilantly threw up a hand in merriment would’ve sent the both of you stumbling. “Real fun. Never did anything like that at those dull old balls!”

“Sounds like the noble life is terribly boring, hm?”

“So boring! It’s…” Your fogged mind has to think hard about what to say next. “Nice to let loose, y’know? Probably why I like this boat and crew s’much.”

“Strange until the end, you are,” Sylus softly remarks, amused, and he gently guides you down the corridor for your cabin. “Almost there. You lie down and I’ll go get you some water, alright?”

“Aren’t pirates meant to be ruthless thugs?” you mindlessly, sluggishly muse, fumbling for the doorknob of your room before the captain takes charge and opens it for you. “So unrealistic. You’re the nicest pirate I’ve ever met.”

“I believe I’m the only pirate you’ve ever met.” He sets you down on the bed, straightens, and turns to open a window. The sea is calm tonight, and so is the cool breeze. “Other than my crew. And, yes, I’m likely the only ‘nice’ one out there. If deciding not to kill you is considered ‘nice’.”

“I’d say generous,” comes your muffled voice from the pillows you’ve buried your face into. “You could wake up tomorrow and settle to feed me to your pet sharks.” “Pet sharks?” Sylus snorts. “Have you convinced yourself that I have pet sharks?”

“S’what those fairytales say.”

“Except, this isn’t a fairytale, sweetheart.” The man picks up an empty jug of water sitting near your bed. “This is very much reality. And I don’t have any pet sharks.”

There’s a grunt. “You should get some.”

The Captain can’t help but chuckle. “I’ll take it into consideration. I’ll be back with some fresh water in a bit.”

When he returns, he finds you grumbling incoherently and rubbing your hands over your face. He sets the pitcher down, pours you a cup, and extends it. “Here. Drink.”

It’s like you hardly even noticed he left, with how you wordlessly sit yourself up and accept the water. Once you’ve downed the whole cup, you peer up at him with glazed, squinty eyes. “Did I ever tell you you’re gorgeous?”

“You did, about ten minutes ago,” he replies, refilling the cup and putting it by your bedside, within reach. “I appreciate the compliment. It’s time for you to sleep now.”

“Sleep with me,” you mumble, and then you yawn. “I’m cold.”

“Can’t do that, I’m sorry, my lady.” Sylus is not a good man, but he draws the line at some things. He takes a seat at the edge of your bed. “You must rest now, or your hangover will be worse in the morning.”

There’s a tug on his sleeve, your grip on his shirt feeble with your clear enervation. The high from the alcohol is dropping into sleep. “…If you asked me to…I’d marry you.”

“Is that so?” He brushes some hair out of your closed eyes. “I’m honoured.”

“Should be.” Your words are fading. “I’m a noblewoman.”

“That you are.”

“So, you have to do as I say…”

“Indubitably, sweetheart.”

“We should…replace the nuptial beverages with rum only…”

“Taken a liking to rum, have you?”

He doesn’t get a reply to that one, and Sylus remains for a moment, ensuring you’re asleep, bringing the blanket up a little further over your shoulders, before leaning forward and placing a kiss to your temple. “Sweet dreams, my lady.”

And once Sylus arrives back to his study, he picks up the neatly folded letter and gives it one last skim-read.

Marriage?

There’s a crackle and hiss as Captain Sylus strikes a match, lifting the flame to the corner of the paper, allowing it to catch alight. He watches, closely, as the letter swiftly blackens to cinders, and he blows the matchstick out. As far as he’s concerned, you don’t need to know of its existence.

Yeah. Sylus disposes of the ashes and burned taper. Marriage. He could do that.

And, maybe, he’ll tell you about the letter. Someday. Just not any time soon.

While it took a few hours for your headache to ease and for your ability to actually function to return, the memories came barrelling for you in full force. You babbling embarrassing nonsense to the captain. Poking his face, whining for more rum, suggesting marriage, and essentially spilling your guts. You sit here, now, head in your hands, considering doing the honours and voluntarily walking the plank yourself. To save everyone the trouble. And to save you the embarrassment of having to face Sylus again.

What the hell was I thinking? Thank the gods the ship’s sailing right for the mainland again. Perhaps you could take that chance to leave a letter apologising to him profusely and then make a run for it. You wouldn’t be taking the pearl earrings, as painful as that would be. And you almost jump out of your skin when there’s a knock at the door, before you force yourself to relax. “Come in.”

The door opens, and the very person you’d really not like to see is standing there, arms crossed, that stupid grin pulling his full lips up. “Morning, sweetheart.”

You put your face in your hands again. “Please go away. Can I jump off the ship?”

“You’re telling your future husband to go away?”

“Stop!”

“And I can’t let my future wife jump off the edge of the boat and go swimming with my pet sharks.”

You’re a hair away from bursting into mortified tears. “Where on earth is Henry?”

“Most of them are still asleep and hungover. Who else would be able to check on you?”

You turn, lie down again, and pull the covers up so you’re covered fully, back to him. “I’m fine! Now, please save me from further humiliation and come back later!”

One of the floorboards creak as the captain strolls into the room, and there’s the sound of water pouring from the pitcher and into a cup. “I thought you wanted to know my hair care regimen.”

“Sylus!” You groan into the pillow. “I have a headache!”

“Of course you do. I’m just being a good host and fiancé and making sure you’re—oof!”

Said pillow comes flying and smacks him right in the face, and you rush out of bed, clothes crumpled and hair frizzy, dashing for the door. “I’m going to check on Henry!”

Hours later, after you finally succeed in booting Sylus out of your cabin, you really do go check on Henry—and find her sprawled across the floor of her quarters, apparently not having made it to her hammock before passing out. You sigh and roll her over so she’s face-up. “Henry. Are you okay?”

“Mmf…” is her answering grumble, one arm sluggishly lifting to rub at an eye. Then it cracks open. “What the…?”

You grin. “Good morning! Do you have a sore back? You’re currently lying on the floor.”

Her eyes shut tight again as she winces, turning away from the light streaming in through the window. “Gods…I feel like shit…”

“Want some water? Apparently, we’re nearing the mainland. You might want to get up.”

It takes a good long while for the rest of the crew to get up one by one, groaning and heads heavy and swearing, but, eventually, they’re jolted awake when the watchman cries from the top of the mast, “Land-ho!”

After months of seeing nothing but ocean and unfamiliar lands, your home is finally in sight. You don’t really know how or what to feel about it. It neither strikes relief within nor moves you. Perhaps, with your speedy and firm adjustment to the ‘seafaring life’, as Sylus is fond of putting it, you’ve grown accustomed to it all. The bobbing of the ship doesn’t bother you anymore. Seasickness is a bygone memory. It’s nice being able to see the stars in all their full glory at night. The seafaring life is liberating.

What if you scared Sylus off with your antics last night? You can’t imagine him being ‘scared’ in any context, but it still makes you shudder. What kind of idiot blatantly and drunkenly announces that she wants to tie the knot with a man she kissed once—and one who’s her captor, no less? You got off real lucky with Sylus being your abductor. Now he’s teasing you about it. Maybe you should just leap off this railing you’re leaning against right now.

But, even as you look at your country in the distance, everything settles into indifference. Your father didn’t send a letter demanding your safe return. He didn’t send a letter to Sylus stating his agreement to the captain’s terms. And, if that’s the case, you really don’t know what’s going to happen the moment the ship docks at the port. Is your hour of execution finally nearing? If so, Sylus has done a damn good job lulling you into a state of false security, before finally taking back that Protocore-thing he wants, while taking the life of the one thing your father needs to secure heightened status with the marriage—you. Your hands, presently rested against the railing and hanging over it, aren’t the soft ones of a noblewoman anymore. They’re a bit calloused now. And you look at them, and the change this journey has brought.

You find that you’d rather die than be delivered back to your father, and finally married off. You’d rather die than living on knowing that this whole abduction-thing was just a bump in the road. You’d rather die than live the remainder of your life with Sylus as just a transient memory. Your father would rage at you, send a letter to that old duke stating the marriage is back on, and that would be it.

You purse your lips. The mainland is no longer a dot on the horizon. It’s growing bigger, closer, by the minute, and it’s exactly where you don’t want to go.

Someone comes to a stop beside you. They lean against the railing too. You turn your head and look up at the captain.

“I’m sorry that my father never sent you a letter,” you say, still sick with embarrassment from the previous evening. Your words are stilted. “I suppose that, now, all you can do is…do what there is to be done.”

“And what’s that?” He looks at you sidelong.

You look at your hands again. “Well, you never got the agreed upon ransom, and isn’t the penalty for that the death of your hostage?”

“Is that what the fairytales say?”

You groan and rub your eyes. “Stop bringing that up! I was off my face and babbling nonsense. And, no, it’s not what the fairytales say.” Your hand drops down again, and you frown up at him. “It’s common knowledge.”

Sylus hums. “I suppose it is. So, you think I’m going to drag you to your father’s estate and kill you in front of him?” “Wasn’t that planned from the start?”

He’s quiet for a beat, and then he chuckles deeply, in that classic, sultry way of his. Then, the captain fully turns and faces you, leaning one elbow against the railing. “Sweetheart, I may have gone to an extreme length to obtain the Protocore by abducting you, but…well, things have changed a little.”

You blink. “In what way?”

“I always have Plan Bs, Cs and Ds. You were Plan A. And you worked. For a time.”

“Until you didn’t get the letter, so I didn’t, really.”

The Captain snorts like something about your words was particularly funny. “That’s my fault, actually.” He doesn’t elaborate. “No, you’ve been perfectly enjoyable company thus far. And Plan B is a perfect logical solution also, one that will procure the Protocore from your father’s office and safe just fine.”

You still don’t know where he’s going with this. “And that is?”

“I have your father’s schedule and everything mapped out. Within the next few days, he will be out and about at events, greeting delegates from other countries, striking a few more illicit deals, the like. The old fool doesn’t know that all said dealings are all tied back to me. He thinks he cut ties with me long ago.” Sylus tilts his head at you. “Luke and Kieran will take those chances to try and break into the manor whilst he is absent. Mercifully, they have time and opportunity on their side. If the first attempt goes sideways, they have the next night, and the next.”

You’re rather impressed. “I see. But…what will you be doing, and where will I go?”

“Let’s say…you and I have a date with another place once we anchor at the port.”

The wind is blowing some hair into your face, and you awkwardly struggle to brush it out of your eyes and mouth. “Um, where?”

And then, he does something rather uncharacteristic. Sylus doesn’t smirk, he doesn’t grin, he doesn’t even give you that signature smug look of his, no—this time, he smiles. And it’s a gentle one. One that softens his sharp features and eyes. One that’s all for you. “The registry office.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⨾

@abyssal-blossoms, @paper-bag-boy, @miudle, @syluriar, @loraleiii, @myabae, @chrissy26, @bubblegum-bee-otch, @mrswanel, @libromancer, @scarlet-ancunin, @mentalnotstable, @rjreins, @seris-the-aminous, @jupiterswrld, @purpleywire, @jadedist, @teewritessmth, @terriblesoup, @kawaiivanilla-chan, @xyzesf2s, @espace--positif, @hauntedbysmut, @whimsiecat.

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strwbrychffoncake · 12 days ago

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"i need you,, 1.7k words synopsis: you miss your florist after being busied with the christmas season, and one night, you cant help but to take matters into your own hands. contains: nsfw! lads jeremiah x afab!reader (boobs are mentioned like twice?), minimal plot (this was written on full horny) ,suggestive -> nsfw but also some fluff ,kissing ,making out ,grinding ,m!receiving (fellatio) ,orgasm (jeremiah + implied reader) cum eating ,facial (kind of).. i think thats it??? note: yk the various bibi songs in her intros where she goes "i need you" ? yea ,thats the title inspo ,and that line alone is loose inspo for this whole piece actually LOL

jeremiah thinks you're trying to kill him when you practically pounce on him, nearly knocking him over, almost as soon as he walks through the front door.

he's quick to regain his balance, catching you with ease, arms sliding under your thighs to keep you upright against him as your own arms slide around his neck. you give him no time to ask questions before you lean in to kiss him.

his eyes go wide as yours are shut tight, pale cheeks dimming into a dark shade of red (no longer solely from the chill that he'd just traversed outside), before reciprocating, meeting your plush, needy lips as you deepen the kiss.

when you can't stand the lack of oxygen any longer you break the connection, pulling back first, gazing at each other as you both pant, breaths mingling from the proximity. your pupils, he notes, are blown but before he can ask you whats wrong, you lean in to kiss down his jawline.

"h-hey-!"

jeremiah's voice comes out strained, still panting and at a loss for words, unable to keep his eyes off your ministrations. he readjusts you in his hold as you begin to kiss down his neck before he feels you sucking gently on the pale skin peeking through the collar of his white shirt.

"wh-what's- ah- this all about, l-love?"

you don't answer right away as you finish leaving mark after mark that's sure to bruise in no time, releasing the skin with a soft pop before leaning into his ear.

"i need you."

your voice is breathy, needy, and it sends a jolt through his entire body, blood rushing straight to his confined cock.

you kiss his cheek, grinding yourself against him to further drive your point.

and now he's sure of it: youre trying to kill him tonight.

his face burns, and he can feel his hard-on straining through his slacks with each one of your actions.

you lean back slightly, cupping his face in your hands and taking in his pretty features.

in this position, he has his first real clear view of you tonight: your half-lidded eyes with that look in them, pretty lips slightly parted, wet from your brief make out session, soft pants emitting from them, your body wrapped in a slightly oversized shirt— one of his, a plain white button up, several mostly open near the top granting a peek at your pretty tits just right, one sleeve slipping down your right shoulder— and a pair of his boxers (your favorite pair, ones that you often wear to tease him, surprising him every time you innocently waltz around in them, claiming its because theyre "so comfy").

he's not sure if he's ever seen anyone or anything so beautiful in his life, now or back in philos.

you blink at his almost-mesmerized expression, leaning forward to place another kiss to his lips.

one kiss turns to two, then three, then more, and you manage the word bedroom out between them to which jeremiah only nods, squeezing your thighs before leading you both there, exchanging kisses all the way.

jeremiah wonders what great deed he'd done in his long life to be rewarded with the gift that was you.

you, who wandered into the shop one day, observing the colorful flowers he had on display, admiring them while shooting question after question about their language.

"that one means 'rebirth.'"

"and this one?"

"longing or yearning."

"and what about this one..?"

"ah, that one is usually exchanged between lovers once they're reunited."

you nodded along at each explanation, trying so, so hard to keep your focus on his words rather than his eyes, round cheeks, pretty lips and his voice transporting you to a whole other world...

"miss?"

you snapped back to reality.

"huh?"

he laughs at your dumbfounded expression.

"i asked if you were looking for something in particular? i can help you get your exact message across, whatever it may be!"

you, who continued visiting the shop, slowly learning more about flowers and simultaneously more about him, the seed of curiosity growing as your relationship began to blossom more and more.

you, who waited for him, always understanding and always so loving when he returned from another long day of taking orders and tending to the flowers.

and you, who now sat prettily on your knees before him, completely focused as you unzipped his trousers in a haste, pushing them down along with his boxers to free what you were truly after.

since the first time you'd both been intimate, you always thought his cock was just so pretty.

you were in awe the first time, mesmerized by the shape, the natural curve, the thickness, the pretty flushed head and the precum that shined under the bedroom light.

now though, you were too needy, too eager having it right in front of you again, grabbing hold of the base (prompting a surprised yelp from the man above who could only stare down at you in response) before diving right in, kissing and suckling on the round head first.

in no time at all, your mouth continued working, free hand finding purchase on his thigh as you slowly stroked his length before licking a stripe on the underside from the base to the tip, looking up at him to gauge his reaction.

he twitched in your hold, heart thumping at the way you looked at him as you tasted him, enjoying yourself just as much as he was.

unable to wait any longer, your lips parted wider to welcome his head fully into your mouth before you began to take more and more of his length, pulling back before going in for more, slowly beginning bobbing motions as your eyes fluttered shut in satisfaction, savoring the taste of him on your tongue again after so long.

too long.

these days he'd been busier (christmas was fast-approaching after all, and even if the month seemed to have just begun, many places sought out the flower shop to secure special bouquets for decoration, gifting or otherwise, racing to place orders in advance to not worry about it later on) and even though you knew he didnt mean to, he was already overworking himself.

at the same time, you were growing needier for him the busier he got, and tonight, all of your patience seemed to snap as you waited, dressing in his shirt as you yearned for him, enveloping yourself in his scent and counting down the minutes for his return.

"a-ah, love-"

jeremiah's hands find purchase in your hair, tightening his hold the deeper you take him, closing his eyes as he feels every way your tongue laps and swirls, twitching at the light gags when the head hits the back of your throat.

"feels go-od, hah, so good for me..."

jeremiah's brain feels like mush the more you pleasure him, sinking into the feeling of your warm mouth, grounding himself with the feeling of your hair between his fingers as his hips buck involuntarily, mindless babbles and breathy moans increasing in volume.

despite how he may appear, you were surprised to learn he's quite vocal in bed, his pleasured sounds bouncing off the walls of the bedroom even now— your way of knowing that he's getting close.

even through your pleasured haze, feeling drunk on the taste of him, you notice. you work faster, wanting more than anything to get him to the peak and drink everything he gives to you, focusing your care back to the head while stroking his length in tandem, humming as you taste more and more from the flushed leaking tip.

almost gone to the bliss, he tries in vain to push your head off of him.

"im so cl-oh-se love, ah, st-o-p you dont have to— ah! hnngh-"

he doesnt get to finish his sentence, biting down on his lip as he feels the last bit of his restraint leave him.

your eyes shift up to take in his face lost in bliss: his eyes squeezed tight, cheeks and ears flushed, mouth open as pleasant sounds and pants escape from them...

"coming! co-ming"

the warm seed fills your mouth as you gratefully swallow as much as you can, some dribbling down the side of your lips before you slowly release him from your mouth, slowly stroking the length as more of it paints your chin and even your exposed chest.

jeremiah pants, catching his breath before opening his eyes to a sight that almost makes him immediately harden again.

you, still gripping his cock and offering small kitten licks to the head (almost leading him into the recesses of overstimulation), pretty face decorated with his arousal (a couple drops beginning to stain your (his) shirt), looking up to make eye contact with him before kissing the head of his cock.

he wonders how, even with how sinful you look with his cum dripping from your lips and his cock in your hold, you still manage to look angelic.

he lowers his right hand from your head to the side of your face, cupping your cheek in his palm, watching how you nuzzle into his touch before his other hand comes to wrap around the wrist of your other hand still gripping him, gently pulling it away.

he leans, kissing you deeply, lovingly. your eyes widen momentarily before fluttering shut and reciprocating.

the kiss is loving and slow (a sharp contrast to earlier), as if he's pouring every ounce of his devotion and gratitude into it, all for you. he's the first to pull away, almost looking at you with hearts in his eyes, forehead touching yours.

"you're too good for me," he smiles

"did you feel good?" you blink at him.

"is that a question?" he teases.

you laugh.

"it seems ive been neglecting you," he brushes his thumb over your cheek.

"you've been so busy, i missed you.."

his heart lurches.

"but i know it wasn't on purpose." you smile, hand coming up to cover the one holding your cheek. "i feel much better now."

its silent for a moment before he speaks up again.

"though..." he trails off.

suddenly, you feel yourself being lifted up before your body bounces slightly, quickly realizing its the soft mattress under you before jeremiah is hovering over you, offering a cheeky smile at your surprised expression.

"don't you think its your turn, now?"

you gasp as he grips your thighs, pulling them apart to reveal your (his) soaked boxers— something you were only acutely aware of, too caught up with trying to devour your florist.

his eyes glimmer as he looks into your eyes.

"let me take care of you properly."

a/n: *talks ab how my only experience w sex is reading smut in my last post* *proceeds to attempt nsfw in following post* in my defense.... jeremiah needs his dick sucked respectfully. i kept thinking ab this at work and tried my best to paint the vision. (this wasnt even in my prio lineup but ended up writing this anyway.. this was also not supposed to be this long ??? i surprised myself.. the power of horny....) > ive read thru/edited this sm im posting it to just get it out of my drafts but may have to edit it again.... my writing style was complimented on my xavier post but i wonder if this one still feels similar ? i thought not but im not so sure lol >> my goal is to release a fluffy zayne piece next and soon so please look forward to it :x

#love and deepspace fanfic #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace jeremiah #lads jeremiah #jeremiah x reader #lads jeremiah x reader #lads smut #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace x y/n #love and deepspace x yn #lads x y/n #lads x yn

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strwbrychffoncake · 13 days ago

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🌊Beneath the Abyss🌊

♡︎ synopsis: Lured by a haunting melody, you find yourself pulled into the depths of the sea, only to be saved by Rafayel, a mysterious merman.

♡︎ pairing: Rafayel x fem!reader

⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒

♡︎ cw: depictions of (almost) drowning, mermaid au , semi-public seggs, oral (f!receiving)

♡︎ word count: 6.2k

♡︎ a/n: the second story for kinktober 2024. the beginning was very fun to write for someone with thalassophobia 🙂

♡︎ Thank you to my dearest friend and my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @cafekitsune

Tonight is like any other night - where you sit on a wooden bench by the cliffside and read an old book. The sky is dark as ink, the stars distant and blinking slowly. The moon hangs low and casts a silvery light, illuminating the worn pages of your book. The sea is far below, its waves like whispers, soothing your thoughts as you read. Each wave crashes against the cliff’s base in a rhythmic hum. This place seems cold and unwelcome, but it’s yours. You’ve always come here, seeking solitude that only the night can offer. The dark doesn’t frighten you—it embraces you like an old friend. You feel safe here.

But then, it happens.

A sound, soft at first, like a breath carried on the wind, slips through the night. As it drifts closer, it wraps itself around your mind, around your soul. It’s a melody unlike anything you’ve ever heard—haunting, hypnotic, and achingly beautiful. It calls to something deep inside of you, and before you even realize what you’re doing, you’re standing, the book forgotten, your feet moving on their own.

The song grows stronger, tugging at you, pulling you toward the cliff's edge. You don’t resist. You can’t. The sea below crashing, dark and deep, but it no longer feels distant or dangerous. It feels inviting. The melody grows stronger, filling the air with its melancholic beauty. It’s not the sweetness of the song that unnerves you, but the way it seeps into your bones, like the sea pulling at the shore. You take another step, the rocks beneath your feet slick and uneven, but none of it matters now. Only the song matters.

And then—you fall.

The world tilts, and the sky spins above you as you plummet toward the water. Panic grips your chest, your heart racing as you crash into the icy depths. The cold is shocking, like needles through your lungs, and the once inviting sea now feels like it has you in its grasp, pulling you under. You thrash, desperate, your limbs sluggish as the water envelops your whole being. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound escapes—only bubbles rising to the surface.

You can’t believe this is happening. You’re going to drown.

Terror floods your veins as you sink deeper, your lungs burning, the black water pressing in from all sides. The song, the beautiful, irresistible song, has led you to this cold, watery grave.

You’re sinking into the deep. How could you let this happen to you?

But then, through the suffocating darkness, you see him.

A figure, a shadow, moving swiftly through the water. His form isn’t human, but sleek and graceful. His movements are too fluid, too fast. You blink, your vision fading as the last of your air escapes in a stream of bubbles.

For a brief moment, you think he’ll leave you to this terrible fate. But then, his hands, cool and firm, wrap around your waist, pulling you upward with a strength that feels effortless. His touch is strangely gentle as he propels you toward the surface, through the crushing weight of the sea.

You break through the surface with a gasp, sucking in air as your body shakes, your limbs still heavy and numb from the cold. His grip remains on you, guiding you through the water as he swims toward the shore. He brings you to a sheltered cove hidden from the world. Here, the water is calm, the sea’s roar softened to a murmur. He releases you gently onto the shore, your body trembling, your mind reeling from what just happened.

You lie there for a moment, catching your breath, your heart pounding in your chest. When you finally lift your head, you see him.

You can’t believe it. You sit in the sand, your breath ragged, lungs burning from the saltwater you swallowed, but your eyes—your eyes are locked on him. A figure not human, not entirely, but something out of stories you were told as a child. Stories you never believed. Myths, you always thought.

A merman.

The word seems impossible, heavy and foreign in your mind, yet he is there before you, dripping with seawater, his form half in the waves, half on the shore. His dusky purple hair clings to his forehead, eyes the color of shifting sunsets—blue fading into pink, hypnotic and unreal. His pale blue tail glistens under the moonlight, every shimmering scale catching the silver glow, moving with a grace that seems almost too smooth.

Are you hallucinating? You struggle to grasp at the fact what you're seeing is true. Mermaids were the stuff of stories, tales sailors told after too much drink, legends spun to explain away the strange sea. But now, here he is. A merman. He saved you.

You feel the weight of that thought settle in your chest—he saved you. Pulled you from the dark, icy depths. His hands had been firm around your waist, his strength undeniable as he swam you to safety, your body limp and helpless in his grip. The memory of it sends a shiver through you, a mixture of fear and awe. And now he is watching you with those strange, unreadable eyes. Your heart beats faster, not out of fear but something deeper—curiosity, wonder, gratitude. You don’t know how to feel.

“Thank you,” you manage to say, your voice hoarse and trembling.

He doesn’t respond, his gaze flickering as if trying to understand your words. He’s silent, but there’s something in his eyes—something that isn’t cold, something that isn’t indifferent. He’s saved you, and yet, you can see the hesitation and caution. His lips part, as if he wants to say something, but no words come. He seems frustrated, as though language is a barrier neither of you can cross.

Still, there’s a connection between you—fragile but real. You stand up and take a small step toward him, your eyes meeting his. He stares at you, taking in your wet form, the way your clothes cling to your body. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—something that looks almost like curiosity. But then, as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone.

As he slips back into the water, his eyes linger on you one last time, and without a word, he disappears beneath the surface. You realize then, with a strange certainty, that you’ll see him again. He may not have meant for you to be drawn into his world, but now, neither of you can escape it. You’ve crossed a threshold, and there’s no going back.

Tomorrow, you’ll return. You both will.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼

You arrive at the cove just as the sun begins to set, the sky turning into shades of amber and rose. What happened last night feels surreal. But the ache in your muscles tells you it was very much real. In your hand, you clutch a small gold bracelet. It’s a token, a simple gesture, but it feels like the least you can offer him for saving your life. You hope he’ll accept it.

You sit by the shore, the same place where he left you, eyes scanning the horizon. You don’t know how long you’ll wait, but something tells you he’ll come. And you don’t wait long.

The water stirs, a ripple moving across the surface. Your breath catches in your throat as you see him. He emerges from the depths with that same graceful ease, his scales glistening in the fading sunset. His eyes find yours, and for a moment, neither of you speak. You simply stare, caught in the same strange tension from the night before. He stays just out of reach, half-submerged in the shallow waters of the cove, watching you.

You shift towards him slowly, trying not to startle him this time. You hold up the bracelet. “For you.” your voice hesitant. You know he doesn’t understand the words, but maybe he’ll understand the gesture.

His gaze flickers to the bracelet, and slowly, cautiously, he moves closer. He raises one hand from the sea, fingers delicate, reaching toward the gift. His gaze never leaves yours as his fingers brush against the gold. You clasp it around his wrist gently, and a breath you’ve been holding leaves your lips. He stares at it for a moment, watching the way it catches the light. Then, he looks at you, his expression unreadable, but his guard... lowered. He doesn’t speak, but there’s a softness in his gaze now.

You smile, gesturing to yourself. “I’m...” You say your name slow and clear, hoping he’ll understand. You point again, repeating, “My name is...”

He watches you, brow furrowing in concentration. He lifts a hand, mimicking your gesture, pointing to himself. “Rafayel,” he says, and your heart skips a beat at the sound of his silky voice.

A smile tugs at your lips. You repeat his name, savoring the sound of it. It’s a small step, but it feels like a bridge between your worlds.

For the next few minutes, you try to teach him more. Simple words. “Water.” You gesture to the sea. “Sky.” You point to the sky. Each time, he watches you closely, though his lips struggle to form the words. He repeats after you, hesitant at first, but with growing confidence. It’s slow, but it’s something. You laugh softly when he stumbles over a word, and his lips twitch, just the slightest hint of amusement in return.

The moon starts to rise. You sit by the shore while Rafayel rests in the shallow water, his body half-submerged. The quiet between you feels comfortable now, no longer heavy with uncertainty. He watches you with a mix of curiosity and caution, his guard still there, but not as rigid.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼

You bring a book the next night, an old fairytale, the kind with simple words and enchanting stories. He’s there again and you sit together by the water, turning the pages. You point at the pictures, saying the words slowly, and he listens, repeating the ones he can manage. Each night, you bring another, reading to him in the soft glow of the moon. His words are broken, but he tries. He watches your lips when you speak, mimicking the movements, and each night, you get a little closer to understanding each other.

And as the days pass, something else shifts between you. His wariness fades, replaced by a playful curiosity. He teases you with small splashes of water, grinning at your surprised reactions. His hands linger when he helps you stand up, his touch growing bolder, more confident. You catch him staring sometimes, his eyes roaming your face, your body, with an intensity that sends warmth rushing through you.

You talk more now, not just with words but with gestures, shared looks, and smiles. He asks questions, his voice thick with the unfamiliar human language, but eager to learn. You tell him about your world, your life, and he listens, even if he doesn’t understand it all. And when he speaks of his world, you try to piece together the meaning from the few words he knows, from the way his hands move as if painting a picture.

And each night, as you leave the cove, there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to go. There’s a part of him, too, that lingers in the water, watching you with a look that makes you think he feels the same.

The gold bracelet still gleams on his wrist, a reminder of the night he saved your life.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼

Rafayel has always been wary of humans, but with you, he finds himself wanting to know more. There’s a softness in your eyes that eases him, a vulnerability that makes him open up, bit by bit. Each time you smile at him, something stirs in his chest, he can’t quite explain it. It’s different from anything he’s ever known. You’re not like the humans he’s been taught to avoid; there’s no malice, no threat in your presence.

Your beauty, though undeniable, isn’t what captivates him the most. It’s the way you see him. He is not a creature from the deep, something to be feared, but something - someone you want to know. And it confuses him—this growing need to be closer to you, to understand you, to touch you. He’s never felt this way before, and it scares him. But he can’t stay away. The more time he spends with you, the more he begins to desire your presence, the way you make him feel more alive.

The comfort of the cove has become a sanctuary for Rafayel and you. But tonight, something lingers in the air. You’ve been thinking about that first night—about the song that led you to the edge of the cliff. You turn to him, your voice soft but curious “That night, the song... were you the one singing it?”

Rafayel’s gaze hardens at the question, his eyes showing a mix of emotions. He doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, you worry that you’ve overstepped. But then, his head dips, as if looking for the right words. He takes a breath, his voice low. “Song... not for you.” His eyes meet yours, and there’s something darker there now, something painful. “For sailors, bad men. Hurt... my kind.”

You feel the weight of his words. You’ve heard stories of sailors plundering the depths, but seeing the pain in Rafayel’s eyes—it feels real now. His hand reaches for yours. He explains, his voice thick with emotions he struggles to contain. “Revenge, for my kind. They come, take… kill. They don’t care. ”His fingers tighten slightly around yours, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say next. “I... stop them. I sing, they follow.”

You realize then what his song was meant to do. It was a lure for the sailors, to drag them beneath the waves. The weight of that presses down on you, and yet, there’s no fear. Only sadness for the pain he’s carried. You swallow, trying to find the right words. “But... I wasn’t meant to hear it.”

He shakes his head, his grip on your hand softening, his voice quieter now. “No. You... not like them. You hear, but...” His brow furrows. “I... not want to hurt you.” The vulnerability in his voice catches you off guard. This creature, so powerful and full of vengeance, pulled you from the depths when he could have just let you drown.

You look at him. “I’m sorry.” you say softly, though you know it’s not enough. “I’m sorry for what they did to you. I didn’t know.”

His eyes soften, the darkness in them fading as he looks at you. “You... don’t need to know,” he murmurs. “You are... different.”

You squeeze his hand gently, offering what comfort you can. “I’m glad you didn’t let me drown.” you say, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Rafayel smiles back and you see a glimmer of warmth in his eyes. “Me too.” he says quietly, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼

The nights spent by the cove have become a routine. You sit with a fairytale book in your lap, your fingers tracing over the worn pages as you read aloud. Rafayel lies on his stomach, his body still, but his gaze is not. He watches you, ombre eyes tracing every movement of your lips, every flutter of lashes as you speak. You glance up from the book, catching the intensity of his stare. A playful smile tugs at your lips, and you pause mid-sentence. "What are you looking at?" you tease.

Rafayel’s brows furrow in concentration. He still struggles to find the words, but he gestures to his own face, then to yours. "You... beautiful."

The words catch you off guard, a blush peppering your cheeks. You are taken aback by his honesty. He says it so simply, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your heart skips a beat, but you brush it off with a soft laugh. “Thank you.”

He tilts his head with confusion in his eyes, as though he doesn’t understand why you would laugh. You shake your head, reaching out to rest your hand on his arm, feeling his cool skin. His body reacts instantly to your touch, a shiver running through him, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hand comes to rest over yours.

Each evening, the distance between slowly fades. Touches become more frequent, more intentional. A hand resting on his arm, fingers tracing his jaw, the way his tail brushes lightly against your leg as he moves closer.

One night, Rafayel’s curiosity takes a new turn. You’re sitting on the sand, the fabric of your flowy dress bunched up around your legs. His gaze lingers on the material that shifts with the breeze. He tilts his head, lips in a small pout. Then he reaches out, pointing at your legs, gesturing to the flowing fabric. “Why... clothes?” he asks.

You laugh softly. “Humans wear different clothing depending on the weather, or their style. And we wear shoes to protect our feet.”

At the mention of shoes, his eyes drop to your bare feet. He looks back at you, his lips parting as if to ask something, but hesitates.

"Do you want to touch them?" you ask.

His face lights up with a mix of curiosity and caution. He nods. You stretch your leg out toward him, offering your foot, and he reaches for it, his fingers brushing lightly over the arch. You smile, watching his face as he studies your foot with such focus that makes you chuckle. But then, his fingers accidentally graze a ticklish spot making you pull away from his grasp and laugh as a reflex.

He jerks his hand back, eyes wide with concern, but you shake your head quickly, still laughing. “It’s okay! You just tickled me.”

His expression softens into a playful one, and he does it again, deliberately this time. He watches as your body reacts, your foot flinching away from his mischievous hands, your laughter bubbling up again. You can see the spark in his eyes, the way his lips curl into that rare smile you’re starting to see more often.

Now your eyes trace pale blue tail that glimmers in the water. You can’t stop yourself from staring. You’ve wanted to touch it from the very first moment you saw him.

You take a deep breath. “Can I... touch your tail? It’s okay if you don’t wa - .”

He chuckles at your stammering and nods, easing your anxiety. He takes your hand in his, and lowers it onto his tail, around where knees would be. Your lips part in awe, feeling the cool, sleek texture of his scales beneath your fingertips. It’s smooth, almost silky.

You look up at him. “Your tail... it’s incredible.”

Rafayel’s lips twitch into a small smile, pleased by your fascination. He shifts his body, fully focusing on your legs again. His eyes travel up, towards the space between your thighs. He glances at your face, then back, as though trying to make sense of something. Slowly, he leans in, his head tilting as he peers under the hem of your dress, his curiosity as innocent as it is bold.

A flush of heat rises to your cheeks, scooting back and pressing your thighs together. "Uh, Rafayel..." you murmur, your voice catching.

He looks up at you, confused. You can tell he doesn’t fully understand what he’s done to make you flustered, but he’s aware of the shift in your energy. “What... there?” he asks, his voice uncertain, his hand motioning toward your dress.

You bite your lip, the blush deepening. There’s no hidden intent in his question—just pure curiosity, the same way he’d ask about the books or the language you’re teaching him. You take a shaky breath. “It’s... private,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “Humans have parts that are personal, and we usually keep them covered, especially around others.”

He nods slowly. His eyes go to your dress for just a moment before they return to yours. “Private,” he repeats, the word unfamiliar on his tongue, but he seems to grasp the meaning of it. You can see the restraint in him now, the way he pulls back slightly, giving you space.

In the quiet that follows, you smile at him, reaching out to touch his face lightly, your fingers brushing over his soft skin. “You’re learning quickly,” you say softly, and he leans into your touch, his eyes closing for just a moment. But now you have a question. Your heart races as you summon the courage to speak. "Rafayel..." you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. You swallow hard, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Where... where are your private parts?"

The words hang awkwardly between you, and you immediately regret it. Your body tenses as you brace for his reaction. Instead of laughing or brushing off the question, Rafayel’s expression softens with understanding. He lies on his back, glancing down at his sleek, muscled form. There’s a pause as he considers how to respond, his lips curving in a soft smile.

"They're hidden," he says quietly, pointing to the area right below his pelvis. "Beneath, for… when we need them."

You find yourself staring at the spot where he’s pointing. You bite your lip, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze is already on you, soft and unassuming, as if waiting for you to speak.

"So… how does it work?" you ask hesitantly.

Rafayel tilts his head, his brow furrowing slightly as he processes your words. "Work?" he repeats. He looks down at his tail, then back up at you. "You… want to know?"

The heat rises to your cheeks, and you glance away, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. "I—I guess, yeah," you stammer. "I mean, you asked me, and I…" You trail off, embarrassed.

Rafayel’s lips quirk into a small, knowing smile, and his eyes soften at the sight of your flushed cheeks. Slowly, he speaks again. "I can… show?"

Your breath catches in your throat. The idea of him revealing that intimate part of himself makes your heart race. But before you can respond, Rafayel adds "If… I see yours too?"

Your hands tighten on the fabric of your dress, your mind racing. There's an openness in the way he asks, a genuine desire to understand you better. "You want to see mine?" you ask, your voice trembling just a little. Rafayel nods, his eyes flicking downward for just a second before meeting yours again. “Yes. You… show me. I… show you."

The tension hangs heavy between you, and for a moment, you both just sit there. You consider his words and finally, you nod. "Okay."

Rafayel hesitates for a moment, his eyes searching yours for permission one more time. With a slow nod from you, he shifts, moving just enough to give you a better view. The area he pointed at begins to part slightly, the scales pulling aside to show what is hidden. Your eyes widen as you catch the first glimpse of what lies underneath. The sight is mesmerizing, a beautiful hybrid of human and something entirely otherworldly. His member, long and thick, tapers slightly toward the tip. The texture is smooth with faint ridges along its surface. Your breath hitches as you notice how his arousal throbs gently, merging seamlessly with his aquatic form.

Rafayel watches you, how fascinated you are by this part of him. His lips quirk into a teasing smile, but a faint blush colors his cheeks. He’s aware of the tension of this moment, but there’s a playful, mischievous glint in his eyes as he tilts his head.

"You… stare long time," he teases, "You… like?"

Your breath catches as you meet Rafayel’s gaze, embarrassed for staring for so long. "Maybe," you admit with a shy smile.

Rafayel’s smile widens, his blush deepening. He glances down at himself, starting to feel bashful under your gaze, before his eyes return to yours. He shifts slightly, his hand moving to caress your cheek. His eyes move downward, toward the thin piece of clothing, then back to your face. You know it’s your turn.

The realization makes your palms clammy. Rafayel’s gaze never leaves yours, patient but full of expectation. And you want to match his vulnerability, to let him see you in the same way you’ve seen him. With a trembling hand, you reach under your dress, tugging down the bottom part of your swimsuit, his eyes following your every movement. Discarding the piece of clothing to the side, you lean back on your hands, spreading your legs.

Rafayel’s eyes widen as he stares at your exposed form, lingering on the soft skin between your thighs, on the slickness already gathering there. He looks mesmerized, his gaze flicking between your face and your body, as if he can’t decide where to focus.

"Can… I touch?" he asks, his fingers twitching with anticipation.

You nod, your heart racing. Slowly, his fingers brush against your inner thigh, cool and soft at first. His fingertips graze your entrance, and you let out a small gasp as a jolt of pleasure courses through you.

He pauses, glancing up at you with concern. “Hurt?”

You shake your head quickly, breathless. "No, no… that feels good," you assure him, your voice a little shaky. "But… if you keep touching me like that, I’ll get more… aroused." The honest answer makes your face flush even more.

Rafayel seems both intrigued and flustered by your response. Rafayel watches you closely, his fingers still resting gently against your slick entrance. He looks down, his breath catching as he feels the wetness coating his fingers. You can see his chest rising and falling as if he's trying to keep control of himself.

He glances back up at you. "Can I… touch more?"

The question takes you by surprise. This isn’t just curiosity or playful exploration anymore—this is crossing into something more intimate. You look at him, your breath catching in your throat. There’s a need that’s been growing inside him for so long—one he’s kept carefully in check, unsure if he could ask, unsure if this moment would ever come.

You feel a rush of warmth flood through you at the realization, and with a soft, shaky breath, you nod, guiding his hand a little higher. "Touch me… here," you whisper, your voice barely audible as you place his fingers on the sensitive nub just above your entrance. "This is… very sensitive. If you touch it the right way, it’ll feel incredible."

Rafayel’s breath hitches as his fingers move under your guidance. His touch is light at first, but as he watches your reaction—how your body tenses with pleasure—he grows bolder, circling the sensitive spot with slow, deliberate movements.

The sensations are overwhelming, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you with every stroke of his fingers. Your hips instinctively move, seeking more of his touch, and you can’t help the soft moans that escape your lips. Rafayel’s eyes are locked on you now, his breath coming faster, his arousal clear in the way his body tenses.

"Yes," you gasp, your hands gripping the fabric of your dress as you struggle to hold back the rising tide of pleasure. "Just like that…"

Your body is trembling now, shaky gasps leaving your lips, each stroke pulling you closer to the edge. He watches you intently, eyes wide with fascination. He’s studying every reaction, every sound you make. Your fingers dig into the sand, gripping tightly as the pressure builds inside you, a tight coil ready to snap. His touch is gentle but insistent, the perfect rhythm against your most sensitive spot, and it doesn’t take long before you feel that wave approaching. Your hips buck against his hand, and the pleasure becomes too much, too overwhelming to resist.

“Rafayel -” you moan, your voice shaky. Everything seems to blur as the intense pleasure crashes over you in waves, your thighs trembling, your back arching helplessly as you come. Rafayel watches in awe, mesmerized by the way your body reacts to his touch, his hand still gently moving over your clit, prolonging your release as you ride out every last wave of pleasure. Your chest heaves, breathless, the sensation so intense you can barely focus, your body still twitching from the aftershocks. But as the pleasure subsides, his curiosity hasn’t. His fingers, still slick from your release, hover near your entrance, and he glances up at you. His fingers brush against your wetness, lingering just on the edge.

“What… if I…” he trails off.

You’re still catching your breath, your body sensitive, but you manage a nod, giving him permission. He moves slowly, his fingers slipping inside you, cautiously exploring. His finger slides into you easily, your entrance wet from your orgasm, and you let out a soft gasp as he pushes deeper. When he adds a second finger, stretching you just a little more, a shiver runs down your spine, the fullness making you moan softly. His eyes flick up to yours again, watching your face for any sign of discomfort, but all he finds is more of that same pleasure, your hips gently rocking against his hand, guiding him.

And then, as he curls his fingers inside you, searching, he finds it—the spongy spot deep within that makes your body jolt with pleasure. You react immediately, a gasp escaping your lips as he presses against it.

“There,” you gasp, your voice breathless and needy. “Right there…”

Rafayel’s eyes light up, his fingers moving with more confidence now, curling and stroking that sensitive spot inside you. The pleasure is overwhelming, a different kind of ecstasy that makes you arch into his touch, your walls tightening around his fingers. Each movement makes your moans grow louder, more desperate.

Without warning, he leans down, his mouth hovering just above your clit. Then he presses his lips to the sensitive nub. The shock of his warm mouth against you makes you cry out, your hips jerking against him as the pleasure intensifies tenfold. His tongue flicks out, tasting you, and when he hears your moan, he repeats the motion. Your hands instinctively tangle in his hair, guiding him as his tongue moves over your clit, licking and sucking in perfect rhythm with the motion of his fingers inside you. The combination is almost too much, the sensations making you dizzy, your body on the verge of losing control.

Rafayel seems affected by your reactions, his own breathing heavy now, his face flushed. He’s learning fast, his fingers curling just right inside you, hitting that sensitive spot over and over, while his mouth works your clit with growing skill. Your hips move desperately against him, seeking more of the pleasure he’s giving you, unable to stop yourself.

And then, you feel it—the tight coil inside you, about to snap again, but this time it’s different. The pleasure so intense it’s almost unbearable. You can feel your muscles clenching around his fingers, wet sounds filling the air as your body responds to him.

“I can’t… I’m going to…” you gasp, but before you can finish, your orgasm crashes over you, more powerful than anything you’ve ever felt before, your body convulsing, your hips bucking wildly against his hand and mouth. A sudden gush of wetness escapes you, your release splashing against his fingers, your muscles spasm with the force of it.

Rafayel freezes for a moment, startled by the intensity of your release, but he doesn’t pull away. His fingers stay inside you, his mouth still working your clit as you ride out the most intense orgasm of your life.

As your release finally subsides, you collapse back against the sand, panting and spent, your body still tingling. Rafayel pulls back, his fingers slipping from your entrance, wet with your release. He looks up at you, awe and a hint of pride in his eyes, as if he can hardly believe what he’s just made you feel.

When you catch the sight of Rafayel’s face, glistening with the remnants of your release, a shy smile tugs at your lips. You reach out, brushing your thumb gently across his cheek, wiping away the wetness. Both of you share a soft, breathy chuckle. Rafayel, his gaze lingering on your lips, leans down slowly. His breath fans across your skin, and then, with a soft press, his lips meet yours. It’s gentle at first, but the moment your lips connect, something shifts. The kiss deepens, grows more urgent, as though all the pent-up desire comes to the surface.

Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more of him. His lips move against yours, his tongue teasing yours, and you feel the weight of his body pressing against you. His tail shifts in the sand, positioning himself between your legs, his hardened member brushing against your thigh. The contact makes you moan into the kiss, and you both know where this is headed. It feels natural, like this is where you were always meant to end up, like the bond between you has been building toward this moment. Rafayel’s gaze locks onto yours, checking for any sign of hesitation. But all you offer him is a small nod, your body aching to feel him inside you.

He begins to push forward, slow and careful, the head of his throbbing member pressing against your wetness. You can feel the stretch as he starts to ease into you, your body accommodating his size. The sensation is intense, your walls fluttering around him as he gradually sinks deeper. His eyes never leave yours, his brow furrowed in concentration, his mouth slightly parted.

“You… okay?” he asks softly, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

“Yes,” you gasp, your body trembling. “Don’t stop.”

Encouraged, Rafayel moves deeper. Rolling his hips, each thrust pushes him further, until he’s fully within you, his body pressed flush against yours. He stills for a moment, savoring the warmth of your body wrapped around him. His hand moves down to where your bodies are joined, his thumb finding your clit, pressing against it in slow circles. You moan, your hips instinctively bucking against his, the stimulation pushing you closer and closer to the edge again.

Every thrust brings him deeper, hitting that sweet spot inside you, and you can’t hold back any longer. Your orgasm crashes over you, more powerful than the last. Your walls clench tightly around him, drawing him deeper, and you cry out his name. Your entire body shudders with the force of your release. The feeling of you pulsing around him pushes Rafayel over the edge. His thrusts become erratic, his breath ragged. With a deep groan, he buries himself inside you, his body shaking as his own orgasm overtakes him.

As the last hints of pleasure fade from your bodies, the night air settles around you, cool and soothing against your flushed skin. Rafayel’s body remains pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with your own as he holds you close. Your legs are still tangled with his tail, the beautiful texture of his scales brushing against your thighs, grounding you in this moment.

Rafayel presses a tender kiss to your temple. His lips trail down to your cheek, then to the corner of your mouth, and you turn your head, meeting him in a soft, languid kiss. Neither of you speaks for a long moment, simply resting in the aftermath. Rafayel shifts slightly, easing out of you carefully, and you can’t help but shiver at the loss of connection. He watches your face for any sign of discomfort, but all you offer him is a lazy smile.

A faint blush lingers on his cheeks, and his lips curve into a small, sheepish smile. "You not hurt?"

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "No," you reply, your voice gentle. "Not at all. That was… wonderful."

He exhales in relief and chuckles softly. "Good."

You move to rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer, as if he can’t bear to let go just yet.

Then, after a few moments, you both start to chuckle, the sound light and easy. "I… didn’t think this would happen," you admit with a smile. "Not like this. Not tonight."

Rafayel hums in agreement. "You… so different. So... human," he adds with a playful smirk, but his tone softens. "And yet…"

You smile, lifting your head slightly to meet his gaze, finishing for him. "And yet, it feels right." Rafayel’s lips curve into a slow, gentle smile, and he leans down, his breath warm against your skin as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. "Yes," he whispers. "It… feels right."

For a long time, you simply lie there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, your bodies warm and comfortable against the cool night air. Rafayel’s fingers continue to caress your skin, his touch tender and slow.

"Stay close," he whispers after a while, his voice barely audible, as if he’s speaking to himself, as if the thought of distance—any distance—is unbearable. His arms tighten around you, his embrace full of warmth and need.

You smile against his chest, nuzzling closer. "I’m not going anywhere," you murmur back. And you mean it. Whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

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strwbrychffoncake · 16 days ago

Text

"ive got my love to keep me warm,, 1.7k words synopsis: cozy mornings with xavier contains: afab!reader (cleavage is mentioned once ,he squeezes ur boob lol) ,fluffy to slight nsfw?? (veeery suggestive but nothing explicit) ,teasing ,kissing ,playful xav ,sleepy xavier (when isnt he) ,he calls you 'miss hunter' teasingly ,playful banter at the end ,reader is wearing a cami + panties (im projecting) ,i think thats it *gulps* note: this is my first lads fic (yay?) here's my peace offering while i try to unravel all of my other ideas into comprehensible stories.. i hope i did him justice for the xavier kissers here :x

peaceful.

thats how you would describe these mornings in a single word.

when the sun has yet to fully ascend beyond the horizon, its warm light slowly reaching down to the ground below, slowly enveloping every building— a gentle wake up call— its effort is futile to chase away the thick blanket of snow that's encased every inch of the city.

the world was silent, peaceful, taking its time to slowly wake from its slumber before the usual bustle of the day would settle in.

but today was different for you.

today was your day off.

something you were ever so grateful for as you cracked your eyes open, quickly being reminded that you didn't need to roll out of the warm confines of your bed, reach for your uniform in a haste, and decide what the quickest breakfast option would be this time while brushing your teeth—

but instead, you close your eyes once more, basking in the quiet calm of the morning, sinking further into the comfort of your soft mattress and warm comforter.

"..."

a shifting movement causes you to peek an eye open again.

you look down, met with the face of none other than xavier, still sound asleep, arms wound around your waist and head pressed against your chest.

you grin, bringing your hands up from under the covers, brushing up his back before trailing over the nape of his neck before landing on the top of his head, fingers tangling in his soft locks.

at your ministrations, he nuzzles deeper into your chest (his favorite pillow), a look of satisfaction spreading across his lips in his sleep.

you can only smile at the sight, admiring him.

xavier was beautiful; this was a well-known fact and something that you couldn't help but to think the first time you laid eyes on him back then.

even in his sleep, his beauty only multiplied. his breathing calm and even, cheeks soft (right one cutely squished from being pressed into your chest), his pretty long lashes stemming from his unmoving eyelids, his slightly-chapped pink lips....

you move your right hand from his hair down to his face, tracing the outline of his eyelids, his cheekbones, the curve of his nose—

he scrunches it at your touch, causing you to pause, but he still doesn't wake.

you cant help but to admire his serene expression. even if he always appeared calm and put together, there were moments where his worry, anxiety, or irritation bled through (namely on more difficult missions together— though, whether you realize it or not, in these moments he's always concerned over your safety and being able to help you out, should you need it) so seeing him like this was an especially pleasant sight to you.

you trail your index finger down, tracing his upper lip back and forth. when you go to trace vertically from his cupids bow to his inner bottom lip, your finger is met with a kiss, making you freeze.

"is my face that strange, miss hunter?"

he peeks at you with one eye from his spot as you snatch your finger back, startled by his cute, sleepy (yet equally attractive) mumble, not realizing he had woken up, having been too lost in your thoughts.

he only laughs softly at this, both eyes open yet half-lidded as he reaches a hand out from under the covers to grab your hand and drag it back towards his lips, planting a kiss onto your knuckles.

"is this a new mandatory inspection?" he grins sleepily at you as he drags your hand closer, placing his left cheek into your palm. "please, take as long as you need," he says, nuzzling into your warmth.

beginning to feel the edges of guilt creep up on you, you try to explain yourself.

"i didn't mean to wake you—"

"hmm?" he hums, closing his eyes.

you stare for a moment before letting out a laugh.

does he not mind after all?

"go back to sleep, xavier," you urge, still rubbing his head with your free hand.

"what 'bout you?"

he releases your hand, eyes still shut as he lowers his right cheek back down, curling his left arm back around your waist, head plush against your chest once more.

"im still a little sleepy myself," you yawn.

"didn't seem that way to me," he mumbles.

you huff out a breath. xavier giggles.

a comfortable silence envelops you both until you decide to speak up again.

"your face isn't strange."

"hm?" he was still awake.

"your question. your face isn't strange.. its the opposite, actually. seeing such a peaceful expression on your face is always... a relief," you admit sheepishly.

xavier cracks an eye open at that.

feeling his stare, you push a hand towards his face to cover his eye and turn your head away, bashful under his gaze.

"stop that.."

he responds by grabbing your hand, easily moving it down from his eyes, and kissing the inside of your palm down to your wrist, making eye contact with you all the while.

"xavier..."

something about the way you show your care for him, your embarrassed expression as you try to hide from his gaze (along with the way a strap of your cami slides down your arm, revealing more of your pretty skin) seems to wake him up and make something snap within him all at once.

"on second thought..."

you don't have time to process his next move.

one second, he was nestled comfortably against you, and the next, he was hovering over you, the hand he was kissing now pinned down above your head on the mattress below.

"i'm not sure i feel so tired anymore..."

your breath hitches, surprised eyes locked with his as he stares down at you.

your pretty, surprised eyes stare up at him, your breathing picking up at the growing tension as his eyes drag over you, from your messy bedhead, your silk cami— wrinkled and showing just enough of your cleavage now— riding up at the bottom to reveal your soft belly peeking out from beneath it, your pretty panties, lace embellishing the edges, hugging your hips so nicely, the beginning of your plush thighs pressed together...

he thinks you look so pretty like this.

"xa—"

"beautiful."

you don't get to respond as he swallows up any words you had within the next second.

the kiss is needy, his tongue quickly overtaking yours and slipping between your lips, breathing you in, taking everything you're willing to give him.

he loves how willing you are to give yourself to him.

always.

when you separate, you're both gasping for air, a string of saliva connecting your now spit-shined lips together.

he frowns down at you suddenly, still catching his breath.

"xavier?" you whisper, puzzled at his sudden change in expression.

you reach out for him with your left hand but before you can reach him, he catches it with his free one, pinning it down over your right hand, adjusting his grip so both your wrists are restrained with his left hand, leaving you helpless while his right begins to trail down your body.

"you woke me up..."

his eyes are darker as his fingers drag slowly down your neck, your collarbones, your shoulder.

did i upset him?

"i said i didn't- oh"

your breath catches in your throat as he squeezes your breast suddenly.

"its only fair you take responsibility,"

he trails lower, touch light over the skin of your stomach before trailing over your panties stretched across your hips (oh, how he loved that you didn't sleep in any pants, even when the weather was as cold as it was), fingers dancing around between your inner thighs.

"right, miss hunter?"

. . .

winter mornings with xavier were something you started to anticipate ever since getting your first taste of one.

at night, you never had to fear going to sleep shivering under layers of blankets, and oftentimes you'd wake up so warm and cozy (thanks to your human-cat like blanket) that you never wanted to get up.

other times, even when a chill permeated through the room, xavier would always take matters into his own hands and warm you up using his own methods, conventional or not.

winter mornings with xavier were peaceful, cozy, warm, and always something to look forward to.

and as small, pretty snowflakes began to float down and meet with the city below, all the world was none the wiser to the sounds of your lovemaking.

more snowflakes began their descent, a light frost enveloping the windows, the blanket of snow concealing the messy kisses, sinful moans, gasping breaths, the way he bent your body to his will, the slapping of skin and the confessions of love amongst everything else.

and by the time most were out and about, running errands or on their way to their respective jobs, you were already spent and shaking, cuddling up to xavier, still nude and stealing each others body heat, marks running along your necks and chests as you slipped into the comfortable embrace of slumber once more.

"are you cold?"

you look up at him.

"why do you ask?"

"you're shaking"

you stare at him, unimpressed.

"well, maybe if someone wasn't so needy, my body wouldn't be reacting like this."

he laughs in response, pulling you closer before planting a kiss on your head.

"sorry," he muses, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. "you just look too good in the morning, can you really blame me?"

you sigh, cuddling closer to him.

"i don't think i'll be able to walk for the rest of the day."

"it's a good thing i didn't feel like going out anyway," he lets out a contented sigh as he hugs you close.

yes, winter mornings with xavier were definitely something to look forward to.

. . .

extra:

"so... you're not cold?"

you don't answer.

"because i can always warm you up—"

you can't fight the urge and hit him with a pillow. he laughs.

"actually, i think i have something to do," you tease, rolling away from him, almost reaching the edge of the bed before he latches onto your waist.

you yelp as he pulls you back against his chest.

"hey!"

"you may not be cold, but i am. stay here and warm me up for now." he shuts his eyes, getting comfortable with you.

you sigh, nuzzling into him.

"i'll have to get up to cook later, and you're going to have to move me."

"we can order takeout."

"xavier that's..."

"sleep," he murmurs, holding you close.

you can only surrender, sinking into the warmth from your beloved.

authors note: yes i wrote xavier as a freak in the morning i think it suits him.. was so tempted to turn this into an actual smut but my only experience is reading 'x reader' smut w fictional characters sigh. maybe ill try writing christmas sex or something but hopefully this will do for now.... dunno if its noted but the title is inspired by laufey's winter ep + other inspos w the other lads li's are on the way ,please look forward to it :x > editing one last time after drinking if there's any typos idk what ill do....

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace fanfic #lads xavier #lads x reader #lads x you #xavier lads #xavier x reader #xavier x you #xavier love and deepspace

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strwbrychffoncake · 19 days ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄

- zayne x reader

everyone knows dr. zayne is cool as a cucumber, and it's a given for him that you're known as his wife, but when a fresh-faced new resident seemingly makes a move on you... what will he do?

genre/warnings: very suggestive, jealousy (a very jealous zayne, in fact), making out in his office, crack, fluff, hunter!reader, you and zayne have a daughter

note: inspired by that one kim min-kyu scene in business proposal :D this is actually an extension for nocturne of twilight and dawn's first light but can also be read as standalone

You hadn't seen your husband for two weeks.

There was a spring on your step when you entered Akso Hospital right after your long intercity mission. You had acquired some bruises and they weren't anything serious, so you figured you’d just have Greyson treat them. Besides, it gave you the perfect excuse to hand him some cookies as a souvenir.

And, of course, ask him to ring for Zayne to meet you once he had the time.

"Miss, do you need help?"

But a curious voice addressed you when you loitered around in the lobby, and you turned around to find a bright-faced young man with red hair and wearing doctor's coat.

"Ah, yes, I want to meet Dr. Zayne," you smiled. "Or Dr. Greyson will do."

The young doctor perked up at the names you mentioned. "Oh, are you a patient? Do you have an appointment already?"

"Hmm, no, actually I am—"

You halted mid-sentence before the words his wife slipped out, rethinking your choice. You knew of Zayne's infamous reputation in the hospital, and while almost everyone in his floor knew you, this new doctor didn't, and you thought it was best to leave it that way.

"Yeah, I already have an appointment," you nodded, plastering an thin smile. "Just tell Dr. Greyson that Y/N wants to meet him."

"Right, right, I'll page him now..." he mumbled, pulling out his pager and his phone. "I'll text him too..."

"Thank you."

"O-oh, Miss! Wait!" the young man called after you in a hurry when you turned around. "I've noticed it for a while, you have a cut on the side of your lips..."

"Ah, this..." Your fingers instinctively brushed the dried blood on your lips. You hadn’t thought the small cut was noticeable. "Yes, it’s from earlier—"

"Actually, I’m an ER resident!" he interrupted with a bright grin. "Let me treat you first!"

Caught off guard by his enthusiasm, you barely had time to react as he gently but firmly guided you towards the emergency room.

"Dr. Zayne! Dr. Zayne! Your wife is here~!"

Zayne had barely stepped into his office after a grueling surgery when Greyson barged in, all too casually, delivering the news with a grin. "She’s waiting in the lobby!"

He blinked, slightly taken aback. "Oh?"

You're back? He pulled out his muted phone, checking the notifications. Sure enough, you’d sent him a message an hour ago, letting him know you’d safely landed in Linkon.

His little, snarky wife. For the past two weeks you had been away, the house had felt lonelier. Sure, his daughter—who resembled you in personality, no less—was a bundle of sunshine and adorable beyond words, but without you, there was always that subtle void in the air.

Or maybe it wasn’t the house at all? Maybe it was just him—utterly, hopelessly whipped.

"Why isn’t she coming up to my office?" he asked suddenly, noticing the odd detail.

"Hmm, yeah, and it’s weird... why did the new resident say she’s asking for me?" Greyson mused, turning toward Zayne. "Don’t you want to meet her instead? Whatever she needs me for, I’m sure you could handle it."

Zayne promptly left his office and took long strides toward the elevator. As the doors started to close, he even half-sprinted, calling out to the person inside to hold it for him.

Okay, maybe he was a little too eager, but was it really so wrong to be this excited to see his wife again when the two of you had been apart for two weeks?

...then again, you didn't need to know. You would roast him to bits should you know he missed you this much.

Zayne got off at the lobby, expecting to find you there— only to find the usual flow of hospital staff and visitors. He was about to call you when he wandered past the emergency room and turned the corner—and that’s when he got his shock of the day.

There you were. But not alone.

With a guy.

Whose hand is touching your lips.

"It must be tough being a hunter, huh?"

The red-haired resident carefully tended to your bruised arm, wrapping it in a fresh bandage as you sighed, thinking back to the mission. "Yeah, there are definitely some hard days..."

"But despite all that, you still keep yourself in shape!" he remarked, eyeing your toned arms with a hint of admiration.

You let out a sheepish laugh, remembering those pull-ups sessions with Zayne. "Haha, that's because my husband makes sure I'm getting enough exercise..."

"You're married?!" His voice was filled with disbelief, and it caught you off guard, yet he grinned afterwards. "Wow! Is he a hunter too?"

You would've never guessed, boy. This resident doctor was cute, you thought, ever so curious at everything. You could only imagine the look on his face if you told him that the Dr. Zayne was your husband.

You were about to refute it when his fingers brushed against your lips. "Oh, sorry, let me apply some ointment here first..."

His touch felt cool to your lips and you were momentarily stunned at the contact— but then a gruff cough startled you so much you almost jumped.

The towering figure of your husband behind him. Zayne's dark gaze was fixed on the man in front of you, like he could murder the poor guy with just a look.

"Z-Zayne...?" you squeaked against the ointment on your lips, and the resident quickly turned behind him in surprise, hastily greeting him, "Oh, Dr. Zayne!"

Zayne shot the poor man a single, pointed look before his gaze shifted to you, clearly unamused.

He suddenly grabbed your hand and, without sparing the resident another glance, swiftly pulled you away. The other guy was left standing there, speechless, as Zayne led you off, leaving him in the dust.

. . .

"Zayne!"

Oh, how he actually missed his name coming out from your lips.

"Are you done with your schedule?" you asked as he pulled you into the elevator, confusion evident in the way you tilted your head. But when he didn’t answer, you glanced down at his firm grip on your arm, suddenly realizing something. "Wait, no... are you angry?"

Sigh. It irked him so much, actually. Because, how could you, after weeks—

No, he actually knew he was being irrational. He shouldn’t overreact like this just because someone else touched you. But why is he so annoyed, still?

"Wait, why?" you kept asking, wide-eyed, as the two of you stepped out and made way towards his office. "I'm not injured! I'm fine! It's just some bruises—"

Without a word, Zayne pulled you into his office, swiftly locking the door behind him. Before you could say another word, he cornered you against the wall, and you fell silent instantly.

It had been a while since he’d seen you this way—stunned, caught off guard, and utterly silent under his gaze. He studied your face closely, watching the way your breath hitched as the tension between you both thickened.

It sparked something inside him seeing you like this, a sense of satisfaction that he couldn’t quite explain, but one he welcomed nonetheless.

That was when he saw the blood on your lips. "Did you get punched in the face?"

"Y-Yes, but— it's nothing severe!" you defended, trying to convince him. "It's such a small cut anyway!"

He frowned. "Why didn't you come to me?"

"What? Hey, I was about to ask Greyson, but—"

That got him frown even deeper, even irate. "Why Greyson? When you come home with any injuries, you come to me, not anyone else."

You let out a resigned sigh, slumping your shoulders in defeat. "Because I know you'll fuss over me, duh."

"I don't fuss," he retorted.

"You do," you shot back, pursing your lips. "You try to act like this cool, calm robot all the time, but you always drone on and on whenever you patch me up. You're worried, it shows."

Zayne huffed, shifting his gaze away from you as he felt his face burn. Was he that obvious? How could he not, though, when you managed to get hurt so often and yet acted so innocent about it?

Then as if inspired, you caught on immediately. Your eyes sparkled, and a mischievous smirk tugged at your lips. "Wait, just now... don't tell me... Are you jealous?"

Damn.

"Heh, Dr. Zayne, really?" Your voice was playful now, mocking him. "Whoa, how can this be?"

How had you figured him out so easily?

You continued in a sing-song voice, putting both hands on your chest, "Ah, my heart flutters! My husband is apparently—"

Enough. This time, his patience snapped.

He didn’t hesitate even for a moment. A low growl escaped him, and in one swift motion, he crashed his lips against yours, silencing you with the most effective method he could think of.

"Mmph!" You gasped in surprise, the teasing words at the end of your tongue completely forgotten. His gray eyes gleamed. Been too long, he thought, and now he was making sure you knew just how badly he craved this.

The kiss was searing as he deepened it, his tongue seeking yours with urgency. "Hngh!" You let out a feeble whine when he teased you by biting your lips.

Zayne held back a snort. One of his hand then strayed inside your hunter uniform, unclasping your bra with a flick.

"—?!" Your eyes widened as you realized what was happening, and before you could process it, he pulled away. But you were far from right in thinking it was over. The dangerous gleam in his eyes kept you tense as he swiftly removed his glasses...

...before he pulled you back towards him and claimed your lips once again.

With a swift, commanding motion, he guided you toward his desk. His papers scattered at the sudden movement, but he had you bent over it regardless, forcing your body to arch. One arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, while his right hand fondled your breasts, repeatedly squeezing, palming and switching between them.

"Mmm...!" You let out a strangled moan, instinctively holding onto his shoulder, feeling the way how he groped you ignited your core. "Ahh..."

Your body was tantalizing as always. Hardened and sometimes bruised from your work it may be, but to Zayne, you were still beautiful as ever.

When you gasped for air, he decided he was done with your swollen lips. His lips then trailed down to your neck, sucking hard on it, creating a squelching sound that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

"W-what's... gotten into you...?" you breathed out, tangling your fingers in his hair, hyperaware of his hands still roaming over your nipples.

In response, he nibbled at your skin and flicked your breasts at the same time, causing you to freeze and draw a sharp, hitched breath. "Haah...!"

Unbeknownst to you, his lips curled wickedly at your reaction, and he continued to pepper your neck with series of wet sucks as if to mark you altogether. You writhed under him, whiny and sighing, relishing his hot breath on your skin.

You were utterly at his mercy, pliant and helpless in his hands. There was a deep satisfaction in knowing he was the only one who could bring you, his lawfully wedded wife, to this state—

Still, he wouldn’t allow you to be indecent in a place like this. When he finally pulled back, he was breathing heavily, eyes dark with lust, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of your jaw. "Don’t tempt me," he muttered, voice low and raspy.

You gazed up at him, your heart pounding. "Zayne..." you whispered, a whine broke through the heat on your flushed face.

His expression softened just enough, a flicker of tenderness cutting through the intensity. Pretty. That’s what you were, undeniably so. How he had missed out on you so long once was his greatest regret.

Carefully, he helped you sit upright, his touch gentle as he clasped your bra and began buttoning up your uniform, disheveled from his earlier ministrations.

The gentle way he touched you was a stark contrast to how it was earlier. "Is that a new way to treat busted lip?" you nudged his collar, feeling a little braver now.

"For bad wives, yeah."

"I'm not a bad wife! Just disobedient on some occasion."

Zayne's fingers brushed your face as he finished with your uniform, his dark-gray eyes steady on you. You pouted.

"You're the one who's bad," you accused with slight resentment, not missing a beat as the heat between your legs started to dissipate. "Leaving me unfinished like that."

"Hmm? Am I?" he murmured, the faintest amusement in his tone.

"You have to take responsibility tonight, you big meanie," you mumbled, your pout deepening as you avoided meeting his gaze.

Zayne snorted at the sight of you—so precious in his eyes, his thumb lightly grazing the corner of your lips in a gesture so tender it made your heart skip, before whispering in your ear:

"Well, if your voice won't wake our daughter, that is."

Epilogue

Not long after, just as you had gathered yourself and were preparing to leave the hospital to head home, a sudden knock at the door of his office startled you both.

Quickly, you moved to sit on the patient’s seat, feigning nonchalance as you braced yourself for whoever was on the other side. Zayne reached for the door, but before he could unlock it, a familiar voice called out.

"Excuse me!" the resident's voice sounded a bit hesitant but firm. "Dr. Zayne, the miss left her handbag earlier!"

Zayne let out a low, irked sigh. You glanced at him curiously, watching as he opened the door and came face-to-face with the redheaded resident.

Without a word, he extended his hand, and the resident blinked before handing over the bag.

"I-is the miss still here?" the young doctor asked, almost intimidated by his unfriendly gaze.

"Ma'am," Zayne corrected, his voice flat.

"Huh?"

"Call her ma'am. She's someone's wife."

"O-oh, and her husband is—"

"Me. I am her husband."

Your eyes widened in surprise at the matter-of-fact exchange, heat rising to your cheeks as Zayne’s words hung confidently in the air. He curtly thanked the poor resident before slamming the door shut in his face.

Your jaw practically hit the floor. "Zayne!" you gasped, staring at him as he turned back towards you, entirely unbothered.

Your husband was as cold as the snowman he often made, but somehow the way he boldly declared he was your husband was just so him that it made you so giddy.

You tilted your head, crossing your arms with a playful smile. "You’re really jealous, huh? How?"

He didn’t answer, his gaze still fixed elsewhere, most definitely trying to save his dignity.

You chuckled softly, stepping closer to him with a teasing sway. Your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, turning him to face you, and you winked at him mischievously.

"Well, I’m all yours. But if it makes you feel better, maybe I’ll stay away from any ER residents for a while~"

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strwbrychffoncake · 19 days ago

Text

my baby, my baby synopsis: glimpses into the life of jonathan joestar & his beloved child

content: alt. timeline (obv)... femchild! reader & dad!jonathan (platonic if that wasn't obvious), pure wholesome fluffy family, dio appearance (dio hates kids but not really LOL) ,lovesick!jonathan & erina ,dio has a job in law + jonathan in archeology like in canon (but they're not explicitly mentioned lol?) ,use manor + estate interchangeably.. jonathan ,erina + dio live in said estate ,dio v ooc (LOL) ,looooooots of petnames ,angst in the last part if you squint but its mostly resolved ,age between each section isn't stated but implied (kinda goes from infant to maybe 4+ yrs old?) ,i didnt do much research for the time period so if anything is out of place no it isnt.... i think that's it disclaimer: this is fiction so dunno if things mentioned are 100% as i have never cared for children myself ,but my mom works w kids/babies & i asked her a lot to try to incorporate it into my writing... for that reason i ask for your understanding if anything is "off" ; regardless ,i hope its still enjoyable <3

jonathan can't think of any particular moment throughout his life that made his heart swell with quite as much joy as it was at this moment.

"watch her head... there you go. isn't she the cutest?"

jonathan can find no words to respond as he gazes down at his child, eyes shining as a pair of curious e/c ones stare right back.

even though he's held you many times the past couple of days, he doesn't think he'll ever get used it.

erina giggles at his awestruck expression, already seeing a clear resemblance between you both.

you must also be amused at your father's expression, as your tiny nose scrunches and you let out a giggle of your own, eyes bright and playful.

jonathan thinks it's one of the most beautiful sounds he's ever heard.

his eyes grow glossy, shifting his gaze to his wife.

"she's perfect."

he's beaming, as if he himself were radiating light.

erina can only spare a kiss for him before they both lock their loving gazes onto you.

erina thinks she finds a little too much amusement in seeing her 189 cm hunk of a husband cradling his little baby with so much care, as if she were made of glass.

when your cries rang out in the middle of the night and reached their shared bedroom, he was the first one up, telling erina to keep resting, he'd take care of it as he quickly made his way to your nursery just down the hallway from them.

as he swiftly entered, despite the maid's assurances that she could handle it, he was insistent that he wished to, instead requesting she fetch one of your milk bottles from the kitchen.

as she made her way out, jonathan was quick to lift you from your crib, rocking you in his arms to calm you.

"now, now, papa's here. shhh, you're alright."

your cries slowly begin to seize just as erina (having followed her husband out of curiosity) arrives, standing by the door.

she watches as jonathan brings you towards his chest, resting your tiny head on his shoulder as he softly pats your back, humming softly to you, your expression becoming serene.

in no time at all, the maid returns with a bottle of warm milk, bowing at erina standing by the door before stepping back inside.

"here's the bottle as requested, master joestar. i will leave it here," she leaves it on the nearby dresser before bowing, making her way towards the door again.

"thank you, delia" he whispers at her as she makes her leave once more.

she stops at the door, gesturing at erina to enter, but she only shakes her head.

"that's okay," she whispers. "i have a lovely view here" she muses.

the maid nods in understanding, returning to her quarters grinning to herself at how lovesick the couple are with one another.

jonathan adjusts you so you're cradled in his arms once again, seeing you still awake, staring back at him.

"are you hungry, little one?" he asks, reaching for the bottle. "would you fancy a midnight snack?"

he shakes the bottle for emphasis before offering it to you.

you take some grateful sips, downing half the bottle in no time before jonathan decides thats enough. he then holds you vertically against his shoulder, secured by his arm and softly pats your back.

in no time at all, you burp, in which jonathan takes another look at you to see your sleepy eyes.

"ready for bed again, little one?" he whispers, booping your nose before carefully placing you back in your crib.

as you wriggle around, sinking into the plushness below you, jonathan takes a seat in the rocking chair next to you before grabbing ahold of one of the bars, and gently rocking your crib, resuming his humming from earlier.

in no time at all, your eyes shut, and you're fast asleep once again.

despite this, jonathan stays for another five or so minutes, admiring you once again, thanking the stars for blessing him with this lovely little treasure.

erina, having stayed for the entire exchange, feels her heart melting, overflowing with so much love for you, her sweet blessing and her darling husband.

overwhelmed with feelings, she walks into the room for the first time that night, making her way straight towards jonathan and wrapping her arms around his neck from beside him, engulfing him in an embrace.

jonathan looks up, realizing who has joined him.

"erina?! i thought you were still sleeping.." he whispers.

"i wanted to see you put the baby back to sleep, and she listens to you so easily. i wonder if you should be given this duty permanently," she teases.

jonathan huffs out a quiet laugh.

"she's too precious, isn't she?"

"she is," she nods, kissing his head.

jonathan yawns, and erina smiles down at him.

"you know" she begins. "she's been asleep for quite awhile now." she unwraps one arm from around his neck, reaching for his hand still rocking your crib.

"its time for you to get back to bed now, don't you think?"

"ah, but-"

"you'll hear her if she wakes again, but im sure that won't happen. come now," she muses, tugging at his hand, prompting him to stand from his spot on the chair.

"alright, alright. lead the way, love."

"ah- careful there, darling!"

a baby living in such a large estate might have been more dangerous than initially imagined. sure, jonathan promptly had the house baby-proofed from top to bottom almost as soon as you began exploring it yourself via crawling...

but you were of joestar blood, and as such, it seemed that trouble followed you wherever you went.

for one, jonathan would prefer not to have a repeat of the time when he left you unattended for what he swore was just a few moments when, while you were exploring the second story of the estate, you collided with dio in the hallway.

rather than crying, you only looked up in wonder, a pair of displeased eyes staring back at you.

jonathan emerged from his room following the sounds of your babbles as dio held you by the back of your onesie, your legs dangling in the air, demanding jonathan "keep a closer eye on his brat" before jonathan quickly snatched you up and began fussing over you.

he chastised dio, demanding he be more careful with you, but dio had already walked off before jonathan could finish.

that day, jonathan decided that he would only allow you to crawl around so long as you were in his sight, lest another instance like that were to happen again.

like right now, as he paused his reading of the morning paper to take a few quick strides, scooping you up before you could bump your head on the leg of the coffee table.

he lets out a sigh as you wriggle in his hold, turning you over to face him, a silly smile on your face.

"you really must be more careful, my dear. where does all of your energy spring from, hm? quite the reckless one, aren't you?"

almost in response to his light chastising, you only giggle, wriggling around more in his hands.

"and you only laugh? what am i going to do with you, hm?" jonathan shakes his head, a smile on his face.

you only reach out your hands towards him.

he promptly responds by pulling you into his embrace, securing you in one arm and resting your head on his shoulder as he makes his way back to his chair, picking the paper back up.

he straightens it out before shifting his attention towards you.

"lets read the news together, yes? you always like when papa reads to you, don't you?"

you push yourself up slightly, turning towards the paper in your father's hands, looking over the black and white ink.

jonathan takes this as the sign that you're ready, and begins reading the nicer stories to you, pointing towards the photographs so you can take a look at them for yourself.

some time passes before erina enters, notifying you both that breakfast is ready.

jonathan wraps up the news story he was on before putting the paper down, securing you before lifting you up with him as he rises from his armchair, striding towards the kitchen.

he shares a sweet kiss with erina at the door before handing you over to her after you reach out for your mother.

"well hello there, little one. did you have fun with papa? you must be hungry, yes?"

she follows jonathan to the kitchen table, seating you in your baby chair as her and jonathan begin their usual morning chatter.

you were mostly distracted with your meal, but would stare at your parents, almost appearing to listen to what they were speaking so enthusiastically about.

taking note of this, they both would ask for your opinion on something, or inquire what you wished to do for the day. even though you hadn't spoken, your babbles answered their questions: this topic was boring, that businessman looked quite silly the other night, didn't he? and the garden sounded like a lovely place to spend the afternoon.

"ohhh, aren't you the cutest?"

"that little outfit is adorable!"

"she looks just like you, jonathan!"

he can only let out a hearty laugh and agree with the ladies that are cooing at you.

ever since you were born, jonathan took plenty of pride in picking out your outfits, maybe even having more fun than erina, spending more money than he should on anything he thought might suit you.

as a gentleman, he not only took pride in his actions, but also in his appearance. this, of course, extended to you, his beloved child.

today, jonathan has dressed you in a sky blue colored dress with a small, matching sunhat adorned with a cute ribbon and little black slip-on shoes, secured with little buckles and gold buttons on each side.

its no wonder the ladies can't help but to admire you.

"i remember when you were young... and now you're all grown up with a child of your own! ah, how quickly they grow..." one of the ladies reminisces.

jonathan laughs again before speaking up.

"i know the feeling" he smiles. "this one teaches me something new everyday, though," his voice takes on a playful tone, "she always knows how to keep me on my toes!"

the lady smiles fondly. "yes, children will do that to you! where are you two headed today? and where is the missus?"

"ah, my sweet wife wasn't feeling too well, so we're out to fetch her some medicine, isn't that right, darling?" he looks down at you.

you only babble in response.

"the poor thing.. i hope she recovers quickly. best to not keep your missus waiting now, off you go!" one of the ladies begins to shoo jonathan towards the direction of the shops.

"yes, we shall be going now. we'll chat again, yes? till next time!" he waves at them before making his way off with you.

after reaching a considerable distance away, he thinks aloud.

"hmm, perhaps i shouldn't have dressed you so cutely today... that's the third time we've been stopped. i suppose no one can resist your charm, can they darling?"

you only hum in response, looking up towards your father's voice, hidden behind the shield of the stroller.

"i hope erina is doing okay... we just have to get some medicine for your mother, but id also like to get her some soup.."

you babble at the mention of your mother.

"you must miss her, yes? then let's make this quick, ok darling?"

you agree with some happy babbles.

before long, you both have retrieved some cold medicine for your mother, along with some soup (of which jonathan had your help in picking out), quickly making your way back to the estate just after noon.

. . .

"how is she?"

"welcome back master joestar," the maid bows, smiling at you in his arms before taking jonathan's bag as he removes his coat, hanging it up before taking a hold of it once more.

"she's alright, it doesn't seem too serious. the maids have been taking turns caring for the madame, but she's been mostly resting."

jonathan breathed out a sigh of relief at the maid's update.

"thank you for watching her. i'll be going to see her now," he turned towards the stairs before the maid speaks up again.

"shall i take the little one off your hands in the meantime?"

"no need, we'll be going to see her together," he offers a grateful smile back to her before ascending the staircase.

. . .

the door to the bedroom cracks open, jonathan taking quiet steps inside.

he quickly makes his way to the large bed, taking a seat in the nearby chair to erina's side as he sets you down on the closest empty spot of the mattress.

"erina, dear, we're back.. we have some medicine and soup for you," jonathan coos softly as he reaches the back of his hand forward to check her forehead.

erina stirs, bleary eyes opening to see her darling husband and, to her surprise, you.

she finds the strength to sit herself up (with the help of jonathan propping up some pillows for her) quickly shooting jonathan a look.

"jojo! what if she gets sick?"

"nonsense!" he waves her off, though her stare remains stern. "oh, don't give me that look! she missed you too, didn't you, love?"

you only hum, reaching out for your mother.

your cute gesture breaks her stern façade, and she can't help but break into a little grin.

"my sweet loves," she smiles, patting your head as jonathan fishes out the medicine and wrapped soup from the bag.

"allow me to feed you your soup and medicine, erina."

jonathan opens up a bottle, pouring it out carefully on a silver spoon before holding it up to erinas lips.

"come now, open up."

erina does as she's told, jonathan quickly feeding her the medicine.

you watch your parents intently, tilting your head at your mother's expression after swallowing the medicine down.

jonathan sees this, and laughs, gesturing to the bottle he's closing.

"it doesn't taste very good, you see."

jonathan hands her the glass of water by her bedside (presumably left there from the maids from earlier) before opening the soup.

"the little one picked this one out, so hopefully it's to your liking," he explains, dipping in another spoon and stirring it up before softly blowing and offering it to erina.

as soon as she takes the first spoonful jonathan offers, her eyes light up & she hums in delight.

"why, this one is my favorite! how did you know, little one?" she asks, booping your nose, causing you to smile.

"you hear that? you did a great job picking this out for mama, yes? perhaps you'll have to come shopping with papa more often!" jonathan praises, smiling at you.

you giggle, your eyes shifting back to your mother.

"m-"

"ma-"

"mama!"

erina's eyes are wide as she stares at you in wonder, wondering if she heard right or if her feverish mind was playing tricks on her.

though, she quickly realizes its real when jonathan is so shocked that the spoon in his hold slips from his hand and clatters to the floor.

"darling, did you-"

"pa-pa!"

jonathan's eyes are glistening.

"she spoke! did you hear that, erina? she spoke!"

jonathan sets the soup down by the bedside table momentarily in favor of lifting you up into his arms.

he holds you at eye level before speaking "say it again, darling, pa-pa, go on!"

erina let's out a laugh, reaching over the small distance to place a small kiss to your head.

"she did say 'mama' first, though.." she teases.

"come on, one more time for papa!"

you only wriggle around in his hold in response.

the rest of the afternoon is spent together, jonathan feeding erina her soup (after a maid happened to come by and bring a clean spoon upon jonathan's request) until its gone, the two marveling once again at their little bundle of joy.

jonathan can't resist letting every maid that comes into the room to check-in of your first spoken words.

to everyone's surprise, as you grew, you developed a strange attachment to none other than dio.

which would result in some... more than bizarre situations, such as the one currently unfolding.

"JOJO!"

not a minute after his name is shrills through the hallway does dio barge into jonathan's office, playful giggles following his heavy footsteps.

jonathan has a hard time controlling his laughter seeing you, his sweet child, wrapped around dio's left leg like a koala, a heavy contrast to dio's complete and utter displeasure.

"get this monkey off of me this instant!"

"up! up..!"

"you want to go up, you little mongrel?" he looks down at you, almsot baring his teeth as if you just challenged him to a fight. "ill lift you up alright.."

"dio, be car-"

dio lifts his leg, lifting you easily with him, causing you to erupt into a fit of giggles.

even as he shakes his leg continously and even swings you around, you don't relent, and simply think you're playing some sort of game.

the only rule was to not let go of dio's leg.

jonathan is both worried and amused at the situation, a smile slipping through his expression as he carefully watches to ensure you don't get hurt from being violently thrashed about.

after a minute of this, dio puts his leg back down, standing properly as you straighten yourself, never losing your grip on him.

he turns his attention back to jonathan.

"does she have glue for hands??? get this brat off!"

"she's just having fun, dio.. she's not hurting anyo-"

"like hell! im busy, get your little spidermonkey off of me so that i may work in peace!" he spits.

"come now, darling.. playtime with uncle dio is over now," he reasons, holding his hands out and gesturing for you to come to him. "why not sit with papa for awhile, hm?"

you whine at your father's suggestion, looking back up at dio before pulling lightly at his clothes.

"again again..."

"no you brat, im busy!"

you frown, looking up at dio with those big, shiny puppy-dog eyes, silently pleading.

"that won't work on me, brat. get off."

you blink up at him.

"don't make me repeat myself."

you blink again.

...

"..later. bother me later when i'm not working. now, off!"

at the same time that you let go, he shakes his left leg, prompting you to fall backward with an oof and a giggle.

"annoying little pest," dio mutters, but jonathan catches the light tugs at the edges of dio's lips before he promptly makes his way back to his own office, the sound of the door shutting behind him echoing throughout the hallway.

jonathan shakes his head, attention completely on you.

"are you alright, dear? here, up you go," jonathan leans down to reach you, lifting you up with ease and sitting you down on his lap.

"quite the troublemaker, aren't you. why do you wish to play with dio so bad, hm? isn't he mean?"

jonathan was genuinely curious. no matter how many times he called you names and shooed you off, you always wound up running back to him, trying to get him to play with you.

and whether it was your cute charm or your continuous insistence, dio would almost always concede at some point.

you shake your head, and with your limited speech, utter "only grumpy.. but he.. always plays" you smile.

"hmm.. he's not more fun than papa, surely?"

you blink up at your father, tilting your head at the inquiry.

"ah! you wound me. papa's definitely more fun, like this," he says, suddenly dancing his fingers across your sides, causing loud giggles to fill the room.

"pa-pa! st-oop" you cry in between giggles.

"im more fun, aren't i?" he continues.

"papa is- f-uu- fun!" you cry out, unable to stop laughing.

jonathan grins triumphantly, stopping his ministrations, opting to hold you steady instead as you catch your breath.

"i knew thats how you truly felt," he boops your nose.

"would you like to stay here with papa?"

you nod happily.

"alright then, thank you for keeping me company, little one."

the late afternoon is spent together as you watch your father sort through and fill out various documents, taking small breaks to chat or play with you or taking a stroll through the second story to stretch his legs. if you so desired, he'd read the documents out loud to you, but seeing as you'd bore of it quite quickly, he'd opt to try explaining his work to you in a way you might better understand. whatever the case, basking in each others' company was the finest way to spent such an afternoon.

tap tap tap tap

pitter patter pitter patter

...

tap tap tap tap

pitter patter pitter patter

...

tap tap tap

pitter patter pitter-

"stop it, danny!"

jonathan looks up from where he's seated, turning towards the sound of your voice.

"has he done something, darling?"

you look from danny (who's standing in front of you, wagging his tail and softly panting) towards your father.

"he won't stop following me, papa!"

so thats what those footsteps were...

while busying himself in the living area, he couldn't help but notice the sound of footsteps going back and forth across the shiny tile.

he must have been following you for awhile then.

he tries his best to stifle his laugh at the sight of your cute pouting face, staring down danny as he only pants at you, wagging his tail, none the wiser to your anger.

"well, what's the reason for that, huh boy?"

danny shifts his attention to jonathan at the sound of his name before looking back at you, almost expectantly.

"danny!" you whine.

thats when jonathan notices something in your hands.

"whats that, darling?"

you turn to your father, pausing for a moment before looking down at your hands to see what he's referring to.

"a snack!"

jonathan glances back at danny, still staring at you, or, more specifically the treat in your hands.

"i think ive figured out why he's following you, my dear"

your eyes widen momentarily, and jonathan is internally gushing at how cute your expression looks as it morphs from shock to realization as you look at your snack and back at danny.

you can't help but to gasp.

"papa, he's hungry!"

he lets out a laugh at this.

"well, would you like to give him a treat then, dear? he's been waiting so politely for awhile now, hasn't he?"

"yes!"

"let me go grab one then." jonathan pulls himself up from the comfy cushions, making his way into the kitchen to retrieve the dog treats from their spot in the pantry, fishing one of them out.

as you wait, you frown at how long it took you to realize the reason for danny following you around, taking another bite from your treat.

"im sorry, danny.." you speak sadly.

jonathan returns with the package of treats, danny's gaze flicking from yours to his, perking up in an instant as he taps his front paws, still seated.

"here darling, ill hold your treat while you give this to him, yes?"

you nod, holding out your snack with both hands, jonathan easily retrieving it with one and plopping the dog treat in its place.

you grip onto the treat, taking a couple of steps towards danny, and offering it to him.

"here you go, danny."

he reaches forward, closing the distance and gently but quickly snatching the treat from your hands before happily chowing down on it in front of you both.

"there, now he shouldn't be causing you anymore trouble." jonathan nods, offering your snack back to you.

you take it back with both hands, nodding before taking a big bite.

after swallowing, another realization hits you, and you're holding your treat (or the little thats left of it) out to your father.

"are you hungry too, papa? would you like any?"

his heart is struck by how thougtful you are.

"now that you mention it, i am feeling a bit peckish," he smiles. "but you can finish this one. i think papa is going to grab a couple for himself."

"i want another one, too!"

"lets go together then, yes?" before you can answer, he scoops you up into his arms, prompting a delighted laugh to ring through the room, one of his favorite sounds.

as he begins to make quick strides towards the kitchen once more, you shove the remainder of your snack into your mouth.

he finds the treats in no time, grabbing three and handing one to you before holding out his as you softly knock them together as adults would with their wine glasses.

"we'll keep this a little secret from mommy, alright? i dont think she'd like that im allowing you such a sweet treat just after lunch."

"secret!" you chime in a whisper, nodding before you both take a bite of your treats.

after you both finish and rid of the evidence, the rest of the afternoon is spent with your father in the living area as he works, busying yourself with the various children's books before you drift off in the comfort of the sofa.

the sun warms the spot in where you rest, jonathan covering your body with a thin blanket before resuming his work, keeping a watchful eye on you as the peaceful atmosphere envelops the both of you, wishing nothing more than for more and more days spent just like this.

"but im not sleepyyyy," you whine once again.

"come now, darling, papa has to leave soon and you need to be asleep before then."

you crossed your arms, looking away and pouting.

as you grew, so too did the hours in which you were allowed to stay up. usually, you would sleep without a fuss, or even drift off when you weren't even trying to.

jonathan was always especially grateful that you slept so well and easily. he had heard stories of other women barely managing a wink of sleep as their little ones seemed to never stop crying, and growing restless in the night even as they grew.

but ever since you were a baby, you seemed to sleep soundly for the most part, and jonathan always thanked the graces of the heavens that you never really put up a fuss.

well, until now.

he guesses he can only blame himself for this one.

to lull you to sleep, ever since you were a little baby either him or erina would sing you a lullaby while rocking you until your eyes slipped shut and you were resting in the land of dreams.

as you grew, the lullabies shifted to bedtime stories. sometimes from books or sometimes it would be stories that jonathan would recount to you yet exaggerate.

more often than not, you would fall asleep in the middle of such stories, but for the times that you would power all the way through, you would still sleep within minutes of the story finishing, dreaming up fantasy lands or adults talking business that you were none the wiser about.

which is why jonathan is so puzzled now, staring at your pouting form, wracking his brain for ways to coax you into bed.

"come on, darling, its past your bedtime by now."

you shake your head once again.

"what is it, love? talk to papa."

you sit down on your bed, arms still crossed, letting out a huff.

"not sleepy."

jonathan is supposed to leave for a business trip in just under an hour, and since erina was feeling a little exhausted that day, he had no problem tucking you into bed before having to head off, figuring he'd have more than enough time to let you rest and check over everything before taking off.

but now, almost 20 minutes has passed and there was still no progress.

he wonders why tonight of all nights was the one in which you had to put up a fight.

"please darling, you're making things very difficult for me. papa has to leave soon and i can't leave knowing you're awake."

"why do you have to go?" your voice comes out sad.

"a business trip, my darling, i won't be gone for long."

"papa is always working now."

you weren't really wrong he had to admit, but he still tried his best to make time for you and erina.

"you're always leaving us," you continue.

"you don't even have time to read to me anymore..." your voice comes out meek at that, and jonathan feels his heart break.

"that's-" true, he thinks. he really hadn't had time to read to you these days, and that was mostly left to erina or even sometimes dio of all people (though, rather than reading, he would more times than not be bickering with you until you eventually dozed off).

the thought of you feeling like you've been neglected by him for even a second almost shatters him completely.

"darling.. look at me, please."

at his soft plea, you turn your head to look at your father.

"i'm sorry papa hasn't been around as much as i want to be. after this trip, papa will have lots of freetime, so i want you to think about how you'd like to spend it, alright?"

your eyes are wide, but you still don't full trust his words.

"for tonight, how about papa reads to you before he leaves?"

you visibly perk up at the notion, trying to hide how excited you are at the thought.

still feigning your resistance, you only nod in response, picking out a nearby favorite of yours, shoving it into your fathers hands, and crawling over to the pillows to lay down properly.

jonathan gives a short laugh, moving to help you out, properly tucking you in before sitting on the nearby chair next to your bed.

he smiles at the title, opting to say nothing about how you probably know this story by heart and could confidently recite it for the both of you from start to finish, opening the thin book to the first page, and beginning to read.

not even getting halfway through the story, your eyelids begin to droop despite your best efforts to stay awake, wanting to relish in all the time with your father as you can.

noticing this, jonathan proceeds to finish the page, and noticing your mostly-asleep state, begins to close the book and set it back in its spot on the small bedside table.

before he can get up, a light knock interrupts the quiet of the bedroom before its opened by one of the maids.

"master joestar," she bows politely, taking notice of you before speaking softly. "the carriage has arrived for you."

"thank you, i will be down in just a moment" he nods.

"of course. i will begin loading your luggage for you, master," she nods again before disappearing behind the door, closing it softly behind her.

jonathan shifts his attention back to you, petting your head before placing a kiss onto your cheek.

he stands up, just about ready to make his leave when your sleepy voice stops him in his tracks.

"do you really have to go, papa?"

his eyes shift over to you once again, meeting with your sad, sleepy gaze.

he crouches down to the bed's level, words coming out softly.

"i do, darling, but papa will be back in no time at all."

"can i..." you're interrupted by a yawn. "can i go with you?"

jonathan smiles sadly, petting your head.

"not this time, darling. im sure your mother wouldn't allow it, and you'd surely be bored out of your little mind," he relays, tapping your head for emphasis before resuming his petting.

"i miss you, papa."

"it will just be for a week, darling."

"thats for forever!" you pout, puffing your cheeks out.

jonathan pokes one.

"it'll be over before you know it. and once i return, papa will have plenty of stories to tell you each night after we have fun together, alright?"

"papa?"

"yes, darling?"

you look up at him, eyes hopeful.

"will you really be able to read to me again?"

"of course, my darling. im so sorry i've been slacking, papa hasn't been very consistent with it these days, have i?"

you shake your head.

"i wont forgive you."

jonathan holds his free hand over his chest, as if your words have physically wounded him.

"is there nothing papa can do to earn his baby's forgiveness?" he softly cries, exaggerated.

you giggle, thinking for a moment before coming up with something.

"only if papa reads or tells me stories every night, and plays with me and danny in the garden."

"thats no problem at all!"

you yawn again, sinking deeper into your plush mattress.

"would you like papa to bring you something back?"

"some treats?"

"don't i always," he ruffles your hair affectionately.

another soft knock interrupts the moment, the door opening once more to reveal the same maid from before.

"your luggage has been packed, the carriage is all ready for you, master joestar," she bows.

jonathan turns his head, offering a polite smile.

"thank you, delia. i'll be on my way now."

she nods, bowing her head seeing your gaze on her before disappearing behind the door once again.

he turns back to you, looking at your droopy eyes.

"papa has to go now," he whispers. "but i'll be back soon enough, and we'll have much more time together again, alright darling?"

you offer a sleepy nod, sad yet understanding.

"okay, papa."

"sleep now, darling."

"papa?"

"yes, my darling?"

"i love you."

his heart swells.

"and i love you, my princess."

he gives you another kiss on your cheek, then your nose and head, eliciting some sleepy giggles from you.

he hugs you, and you hug him back, feeling safe and secure in his embrace.

he soon lets go, standing up and taking a step back from your bed.

he gives your head one last caress before stepping towards the door and turning the knob.

he takes one last longing look at you, seeing your breaths even out as you slip into slumber.

"sleep well, my darling."

he turns the light out, opening the door quietly before disappearing behind it, shutting it softly behind him.

he lets out a sigh, already missing you.

on his way down the stairs of the manor, he swore to himself to never make you feel neglected or the faintest bit unloved by him ever again.

the expression on your face was too much to handle once again, just the thought making his heart drop.

though, the feeling soon faded remembering your laughter and recalling your sweet words.

you really were his precious princess, and he would do anything for you if only it kept you happy.

authors note:

i was possessed months ago to start writing this and possessed once again a couple of days ago before allowing myself to write/post anything else before it. ive been editing this for so long that my head hurts so if there's any spare typos ill end it all. i still have ideas but this is enough for now, i need to lie down.... see you soon :x

i couldnt help but read the dialogue in british accents in my head every read through lmao (thats the only right way after all)

#jojos bizarre adventure #jjba x you #jjba x y/n #jjba x reader #jjba fanfic #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jonathan joestar #jonathan joestar & reader #jonathan joestar x reader #dio brando & reader

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strwbrychffoncake · 27 days ago

Text

─── 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒, 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘, 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒

+ itoshi sae x f!reader | wc 7.1k | content: fluff, making out, college!au, mentions of insecurity, only very brief angst !!, alcohol, slight jealousy

notes: this was supposed to be lengthier and in smau format but i suck at that so here it is in fic format :’) i know i know, i write sae way too much </3

summary: you have a crush on sae. for a long time now. and he’s always known that. he just wants to see how long you can hold out.

HIGH SCHOOL: 2ND YEAR

itoshi sae knows you like him.

you’re really obvious it’s pathetic, really. once during recess, he’d wanted to go back to the classroom to get some shut eye because soccer was way too draining lately, and guess who he saw slipping a little love note into his locker?

of course you. you and your little pink heart-shaped post-it that read i think you’re cute and i really really like you. because it was valentines and you were one of the many to send him little scribbles of confessions.

even now, when you sit just a couple of rows in front of him, he catches you looking behind at him, and sae purposely doesn’t look at you, doesn’t let you know he knows you’re staring. he’s not really sure why. maybe he feels bad if he exposes you or something.

throughout the rest of your sophomore year in high school, he continues to observe as you so subtly (not really) try to be friends with him. you always try to get picked to be in the same group as him for projects (which never works out), you try to sit next to him in lecture halls (but his friends cockblock you always), and during phys ed classes you try so hard with soccer but you’re really quite bad at it.

maybe it’s sae not being able to continue observing your failures that he throws you a bone.

“you need to bend your knees a little more.”

frozen stiff from the unexpected company, you awkwardly try to bend your knees further, all while staring at the ground. if sae was nice, he’d laugh and joke around with you, asking why you seemed so scared of him. but he’s not, so he only sighs and stands beside you while you try.

after a few more seconds, sae understands you don’t really understand so he moves to push down on your thigh, and by then you really freeze up, falling flat on your ass in front of him.

sae wants to laugh now, really, because it’s amusing how nervous you are. for no good reason too.

the next time sae talks to you, it’s during lunch time when he queues up behind you. on purpose. he doesn’t even usually eat from this stall, but seeing you there makes him want to mess with you a little. he purposely stands a little too close, makes himself prone to an accidental bump.

which does happen. because you’re just like that.

“oh, sor—” you stop midway as if realising it’s sae immediately dissolves you of any obliged apologies. “sorry,” you force out before whipping your attention back in front. the both of you don’t talk in that moment and sae can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

but sae continues to help you during phys ed classes, and you still try to get assigned to be his group mate. nothing groundbreaking happens during sophomore year of high school because nothing is born out of it.

nothing, except maybe a tiny bit of sae’s inexplicable emotions for you.

HIGH SCHOOL: SENIOR YEAR

sae thinks maybe you went to a shrine over the holidays. how else would he explain you finally getting partnered with him on a project? and to top it off, it’s a two-person team for the entire year.

you get him all to yourself.

the moment the teacher calls your name after his, it’s like sae can practically see your tail wagging. you manage to compose yourself when you catch him staring at you though.

it’s a little cute, if he’s being honest.

“so, what do you think our project should be about?” your voice wavers a little when you speak to him. is he that intimidating?

sae wonders what if he tries to be a dick during this project. would you be obedient or would you actually bite back?

he tries to find out.

sae shrugs and acts disinterested, staring out the window of the second floor of the library where you’d both agreed to meet to work on it together. “don’t know, don’t care, think you could handle it for us? i’ve got too many soccer trainings, too tired.”

for a split second, you’re taken aback—he sees you sitting upright a little more, blinking twice at him because surely that’s not what you imagined your crush to behave like. not when he has straight As and is almost the top of your cohort.

and for a while, sae thinks you might actually be the former; obediently listening to him, making sure he’s happy. but then you furrow your brows and clench your fists and go “itoshi sae, who do you think you are” and oh, oh, you’re not the former, you’re the latter and you’d actually kill him if he was a dick. fuck.

somehow his hands instinctively come up in surrender and his mouth opens, “i was just kidding.”

it’s almost comical how your expression softens up immediately and you laugh, and sae keeps staring at you because you actually have a really nice smile. he never really noticed it before. and when the two of you actually get started on the project, sae finds himself observing you more than actually contributing.

yeah, you’re really quite pretty.

“any plans for the summer?”

it’s now almost july and summer break is around the corner, and to be honest sae’s kind of bummed about it. it’s beyond him why not seeing you would make him disappointed, but he’s not going to try and pursue the reason. he has his training camps to worry about.

“soccer. you?”

“mmm, a short trip with my parents.”

usually sae would leave it at that, but he asks about you, and he sees that tail wagging again. “where?”

“just gonna go to hokkaido,” you tell him. and you look like you’re anticipating him to ask more, but sae’s stuck. he doesn’t really know what to ask. he’s not exactly curious as to what you’d be doing there.

so you take matters into your own hand when you swiftly grab his phone from the table, key in your number and call yourself from his phone before putting it right back. sae watches you the whole time, wondering when exactly you’d gotten this bold.

“there, now you can’t escape me even over summer break.”

and he doesn’t. because you text him about your trip when you’re there, you send him pictures of the scenery and of the food you’re eating and you’re really inconsiderate because you send him that shit when he’s stuck in soccer bootcamp with twenty-four sweaty guys who’s none the better than him.

sae can end it by all means, just by not responding to you, but for the first time, talking to someone isn’t really a pain, and he thinks you’re kind of funny and the stickers you send are kind of cute so he’ll let this continue. even if by continue he means sending mediocre, lacklustre responses that just barely manages to keep the conversation going.

(in sae’s mind at eighteen, sending replies like okay and i see are considered acceptable and subjectively considered effort.)

when summer break finally ends and it’s early september, sae finally sees you again while he walks to school. he walks a little faster just to catch up to you before he adjusts his pace, acts like it’s coincidence that he’s right beside you.

and somehow he’s made it a routine; to memorise what bus you get off of and catch you on the way to school. even if he sees you in classes and even after classes in the library.

you’re acting a little less like he’s on a podium and more like normal friends and he kind of likes that. he likes being able to see you unfiltered when you gossip, likes seeing you laugh at stupid lame jokes, likes the way you hang close to him whenever you’re beside him.

okay maybe like is a little stretching it, he doesn’t mind being able to tolerate it. or maybe he’s just in denial, whatever.

winter comes and it’s somehow the time when more girls try to talk to him, mainly because somehow the school decides to hold a winter event this year; it’s going to be held near the edge of the city, where the biggest skating rink is.

by his guess, most girls are looking for a guy to have a skating date with.

in the library during your usual meetup for the school project, sae gets more than a couple visitors trying to get him for that same reason. you eye everyone that approaches the table, and sae can’t help but notice how he actually likes when you’re pouty. maybe it’s his twisted thinking that jealousy means you’re still into him.

“itoshi-kun, i was thinking whether you wanted to go to the winter event together?” another girl from your class, mizuno, asks him, and sae is tired of it, frankly. but he doesn’t show it. he only looks at you, and you look back at him because he doesn’t usually stare for this long.

then, he looks at mizuno and rejects her.

“sorry, can’t, i’m going with y/n.”

(you get home that day being completely flustered and completely happy.)

on the day of the event, sae keeps his word. he goes with you, sticks beside you the entire time. his friends snap pictures of the two of you and you always look so embarrassed. maybe you’re just not used to all of this attention. but that’s fine, it’s cute.

one thing he learns about you is that you can be real clumsy sometimes. like now, when you get so excited over your watermelon slushie that you somehow spill it all over your jacket and clothes.

sae ends up giving you his puffy winter jacket while he braves the cold with whatever he has left. that’s fine, he’s strong. besides, getting to watch you wear his jacket the entire time feels like a bonus somehow.

he thinks by now you should confess already, but you don’t. you’re happy to stay in this bubble with him right now, whichever phase the two of you are at. so is he. it feels kind of nice.

feels especially nice when you hang onto him for dear life in the skating rink even though neither of you are moving. sae’s aware that people are staring holes into both of you but it’s strange how much he doesn’t mind when it’s with you. that’s why he holds his hands out, lets you take them, makes himself pull you along. he finds himself wishing neither of you were wearing gloves so he could feel how soft your hands are.

by the end of the day, everyone takes it that the both of you are together, even though the both of you are too avoidant to talk about it.

“hey, sae? thanks for today,” you say later that night when everything is done and you’d had the giddiest experience with sae. he’s walking you home and he doesn’t even know why; it’s a mystery to him why he keeps himself close whenever he can.

“it’s fine, i was the one who told people i was going with you, so.”

when he gets you to your front porch, you don’t go in immediately, standing right there with your back facing him, and sae wonders what’s going through your head. if only he could see the expression on your face right now, maybe he’d know.

you let him; because you turn around, giving him a big smile before you take a step forward and press a chaste kiss on his cheek, immediately turning on your heel and running into your house.

neither of you say bye, both of you are just a little too stunned to speak. sae stands out there in the cold for a little while longer, his face and ears red—he’s not even sure whether it’s from the weather or from you—but even when he starts to leave, you’re still slumped at your front door, covering your face in embarrassment, knees too weak to stand up.

there’s only one more quarter left until you graduate and sae and you both act like nothing happened that day. you still gossip unfiltered and he still listens but acts like he doesn’t.

except now instead of sitting across from you, he opts to sit directly beside you. sometimes sits a little too close just so your arms will brush against each other. sae also lets you keep his puffy jacket because you said you liked it.

you wear it throughout winter.

when graduation comes around and it’s time for sae to choose his university, he can’t help but take a peek at your screen. a smile comes to his face when he sees your first choice is the same as his. you’re smart too, he doesn’t doubt you’ll get in.

“itoshi sae, you can smile?”

sae immediately turns it into a frown. “guess not.”

you take your words back. “hey, i’m just kidding! it’s just rare… that’s all.”

so you notice him a lot then?

sure, you might not have seen him smile a lot. but that’s fine. from what sae knows, you have the entirety of your university years to possibly catch it.

UNIVERSITY: FRESHMAN YEAR

of course you enter the same university as itoshi sae. it’s not on purpose, but you’re glad you both made it here anyway.

at least knowing one friendly face is better than none.

to be honest, you’re not really sure where you and sae stand. he’s never said anything about that kiss, but he also doesn’t stay away from you. can you take that as a positive thing?

if anything, he’s even closer.

somehow, his dorms and yours are practically next door. when you open your bathroom window, you can look right into his. it happened once, by accident, and you’d caught him, shirtless with just a white towel hanging around his neck, hair damp as he brushes his teeth, the droplets of water on his abs looking very inviting.

but then he caught you staring and you’ve shut your bathroom window ever since. thankfully, he never mentions it.

being in university and staying in campus meant that you were both hanging out much more informally. and you’d think that two people at the age of nineteen who’d known each other for three years would be less awkward than this but it’s you and sae and somehow there’s always an element of awkwardness.

it’s halfway into your freshman year and you’d just watched the first match that sae’s playing for the university team. you’re a little starstruck, honestly. to think that the guy you’ve always had a crush on is this good at soccer.

he’s amazing. you’re feeling like a potato sack.

“hey, you know him right?” hime gushes.

your friends are with you, so it’s natural they ask.

mira on your left sighs, “guess we have no shot with him since he’s with y/n all the time,” she says, nudging you in the elbow.

you’re starting to regret bringing them here with all the teasing. you’re also regretting coming here yourself because you see several girls running to him asking for a picture together. some of which you recognise, some of which are the popular girls.

sae doesn’t stop them from snapping what they can, but he also doesn’t stop for them at all. instead, he saunters over to you, hime and mira wordlessly disappearing to the side.

“gimme that,” sae says, gesturing to the phone in your hand. you obey, of course, and he smirks, then he snaps a selfie with you before tossing your phone back and walking off.

the pairs of eyes on you make you half-embarrassed yet half-proud. even with this many fangirls, sae chooses to come to you.

that night sae asks you to send him the picture.

yeah, maybe you can take that as a positive thing.

freshman year after that is generally uneventful. you and sae are both trying to find your footing, with him preoccupied mostly with soccer trainings while you’re drowning in assignments and projects that have nothing to do with him.

but you still see him in the mornings sometimes, when you walk past your common room and he’s in his, and you wave at him when he’s alone so you’re not so shy, and he nods in acknowledgement before he just walks away.

one night while you’re burning the midnight oil trying to cram some accounting knowledge into your brain, you get a text from sae.

wanna get supper?

both of you end up at one of the supper spots outside of school, a little cosy shop that sells boba and ramen even after midnight.

“why’d you wanna get supper?”

sae shrugs, taking a sip of his plain water. “just bored, couldn’t sleep.”

“isn’t this soccer season? you can’t even eat anything in here, it’s definitely not passable for your diet.”

he sighs, leaning back against his chair. “so? quit whining and start eating your shit already.”

if it was some other guy you’d be rolling your eyes and storming off. but it’s sae and you know him and he thinks he’s talking normally like this. besides, when you catch his eyes flicker up to lock with yours you get a little dizzy inside.

“what’re you up so late for anyway?”

sae’s fingers are drumming lightly against the surface of the metal table, teal eyes diligently observing as you bring the strands of noodle to your lips. “told you, i couldn’t sleep.”

you find that strange; he’s always been able to sleep, no problem. and he’s strict about his eight hour sleep schedule. what could be getting to the great itoshi sae?

(sae’s lying through his teeth; having his bedroom right across from yours means he can see when your lights aren’t out. sue him for being a little concerned.)

“so, heard you and the team are going on a soccer trip somewhere in europe,” you bring up. you’d heard it from your friends, strangely, instead of sae himself.

he nods. “yeah, just a select few,” he tells you, “only if we win the tournament though, then the team’ll officially invite us over.”

so-called team you heard about is real madrid, and you’d be crazy to think that sae couldn’t help your university team win on his own.

“guess i won’t be seeing you around when you go,” you mumble idly, not completely aware of what you’re basically saying.

sae is adept at reading in between the lines, but he doesn’t probe you on it. he’s not sure he wants to. he doesn’t know what this is. do you still like him? does he like you too? all these feelings are new; sae doesn’t know what to do with it.

so he keeps it to himself. for now.

he doesn’t really do a good job at following through with it though, because on the day of the tournament finals, he looks at you and winks right as he orchestrates that winning goal for his team, and you’re left wondering if you’re imagining things.

UNIVERSITY: SOPHOMORE YEAR

the final part of your freshman year went and gone, and it didn’t go exactly how you imagined it to be. you didn’t expect to hear from sae at all when he went on his trip after that tournament.

but you did.

he replied you whenever he had the time. told you anything you asked for. even called you when you had a mini meltdown because of finals.

to be frank, you don’t know what the both of you are anymore. you’re cursing yourself for being too scared to ask.

“hey y/n, have you seen hime anywhere?”

it’s oliver asking, captain of the university’s soccer team and also hime’s current situationship. he’d started hitting her up since that first time sae played and brought attention to you and the people around you.

“yeah, she’s by the pool with mira.”

oliver leaves as soon as you tell him, and you stand awkwardly at the corner of the living room, by the full panel of glass windows, wondering if you should just go home. you’d only came because hime and mira both said you needed to experience a party at least once this year but now you’re surrounded by people making out and drunkards slipping into the pool that it makes you regret giving this a shot at all.

especially since sae’s not going to be back till tomorrow, garnering as much interest as he did during his time in spain. you really have no reason to be here.

“hey there, pretty.”

startled, you find a familiar face up close in your personal space, his finger twirling your hair. you’d recognise that head of blonde and pink anywhere.

“oh, you’re ryusei shido right? you’re on the soccer team with sae,” you think out loud, and he nods, and you can see his blonde lashes so closely it’s making you flustered.

“mhm, fwhat’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone in a corner? seems like a shame,” he comments, though he doesn’t even give you a chance to answer. the next thing you know, shido drags you into a drinking game with hime and mira (which is why your first instinct wasn’t to run off, if you could trust anyone it’s your best friends). although, shido is getting annoyingly close and you can’t decide if you’re nervous or annoyed.

and the heavens surely love you when they let shido draw the card that corresponds to a dare, and they love testing your boundaries when some guy called otoya dares him to kiss you.

but no, you know that the heavens really do love you when someone yanks shido’s hair back and pulls him away from your face, taking his spot in between the both of you in the bid for proximity that you don’t mind because it’s itoshi sae.

“sae, what’re you doing here? i thought you wouldn’t be back till tomorrow,” you ask, a little shell-shocked but you still notice he’s discerning frown and how there’s barely any space between the two of you.

he looks at you, tilting his head, “what? my girl’s not happy to see me here?”

you don’t respond. half because you think you’re dreaming and fuck—really, did he just call you his girl?

“eh? i don’t recall you having a girlfriend?” shido leers, a hand on the spot of his head where sae had pulled on earlier.

“yeah, besides, shido still has to do the dare.” otoya sounds bored more than anything, but the guy beside him, karasu, if you remember correctly, is smirking.

sae sighs, and you feel like you must’ve crossed the boundary to another dimension when you feel sae’s lips on yours, and you think you’re in limbo when you feel his hand on your neck, pulling you close. his tongue pries your lips apart and people are whistling while shido’s behind him saying get a fucking room or i’ll beat off to this.

when the object of your affection finally pulls away, you’re met with the same pair of unbothered teal eyes, the pair that immediately turns to face otoya. “there, did it for him. now move on.”

you’re beginning to thank alcohol for its existence when almost everyone obeys wordlessly, moving on to some other guy’s turn. you really can’t remember who sits on shido’s right when all you can think of is that itoshi sae, your longtime high school crush, actually kissed you.

that’s enough to warrant the question, right? the question of what sae takes you for?

the inner debate sparks long into the night, even when sae walks you back to your apartment, the both of you side by side in silence.

“sae, what was that?”

he plays coy. “what was what?”

you’re only a little tipsy, so you can still tolerate his avoidance. “you confuse me a lot, you know that?”

sae doesn’t take the bait. “oh, i see.”

“you were jealous.” he was. he really was. you can tell; he was sour to shido the entire night. he stuck close to you too, sometimes your fingers brushed against each other’s.

“so what if i was?”

this one is new. sae’s actually admitting it. and usually you’d chicken out but you can see your apartment coming into view and you don’t want to let this go.

“what am i to you, sae?” you manage to choke it out a few feet away from the door, and sae stops in his tracks, hands in his pocket and teal eyes looking heavenward.

you’re beginning to regret your decision to ask; you’re not sure if his indecision is a good or bad thing. nothing seems to be simple when it comes to itoshi sae.

but he does nothing to appease your confusion when he steps in front of you, his body pressed flush against yours as he presses another kiss to your lips, and you think this one is special because it’s not done in the name of a dare or in front of anyone else. this kiss is for you and you alone and sae is doing this on purpose.

when he pulls back, you see him furrow his brows and you can tell that maybe he’s just as confused as you are.

“when i managed to get an earlier slot for my flight, all i could think about was how excited i was to see you.”

is this… a confession? you’re even more confused now that you don’t even know what to say.

to be honest, so is sae, which is why he swallows the lump in his throat and relegates to his apartment, “goodnight.”

things after that change just a little.

you’d decided to go with the flow, just because you really don’t want to sabotage whatever friendship you and sae had left, although most of the time, sae is the one toeing the line. even though he doesn’t outright tell you anything regarding his feelings.

but you think you figured him out.

sae asks you out whenever you’re both free, and not for shit like studying or errands, but for movies and dinner and he drives you around in his car and looks at you like you’re the only girl he sees. his eyes don’t wander when he’s with you, and he lets you wear even more of his jackets. it’s also evolved to his jerseys and his beloved windbreakers. you have one of each in your own closet and he never seems to ask for them back anymore. he also lets you wear his rings, puts them on your fingers randomly.

both of you still go for parties, especially when it’s one of the soccer guys who are throwing it, because they practically force sae to go and they know you’re the key to convincing him.

most of the time the two of you just laze on the couch, drinking and talking about nothing at all, and he idly plays with your fingers when he’s tipsy, something you never tell him because you like it, because you don’t want him to feel self-conscious and stop. he also smells your hair after he sends you home and hugs you before he retreats to his place, and you wonder if he’s fully sober when he does that.

you resign to getting your answer some other time, because you don’t want anything to ruin this, if this is just an illusion. yeah, you’d talking feelings some other time.

UNIVERSITY: JUNIOR YEAR

you really had no right to be, but you are. try as you might, you can’t stop yourself from feeling the way you do. especially not when she’s sitting so so close to him, when her hand brushes his fingers.

she’s just his project partner, nothing more, but something irks you about the way she can get so close to him so quickly when it took you much longer. but then you hear from shido that kaori is rin and sae’s childhood friend, so maybe that’s why they’re so damn close.

apparently, she’d gotten back to japan after ten years abroad. with great timing too, right when you thought you and sae could amount to something.

“you know, i could help you make him jealous if you wanna,” shido whispers in your ear one time when he catches you staring at them. “we’ll make him feel how you feel, m’kay?”

and while that’s tempting, you shake your head. it’s unreasonable for you to take it out on him that way, not when he hasn’t actually done anything that proves he’s just leading you on.

lately sae’s been so busy around kaori that you’re just thinking too much. you’re wondering if he’s slowly replacing you. he still talks to you over text, but you barely hang out like you did before. you still spot him through the windows, but he’s always too tired to notice you. even his texts are getting slower.

“hey, you okay?”

trust it to hime to notice your personal dilemma. you’re not really surprised though, because she’s been watching you moping for the last few weeks. she now has oliver wrapped fully around her finger, with him sticking around her all the time, which is a surprise considering his reputation.

but hime will take your side, you know this, and maybe that’s why you play it off. you don’t want her to hate sae because of a momentary feeling, so you tell her you’re just sick and you’ll go back home.

the moment you get back to your apartment, you see sae waiting out on the front, car ready while he leans against the hood, waiting.

and you might’ve asked if he was waiting for kaori, but then he looks up and sees you and smirks and that’s all you need to know that he’s not. he was waiting for you, and now he’s opening the passenger side door and telling you to “get in, stupid.”

that’s how sae is with you, impromptu and surprisingly sweet. he drives you to the pier, a cute spot right next to an amusement park where he’d gotten you some candy floss before the both of you just sits on the hood of his car, enjoying the scenery.

“why’d you suddenly bring me here?”

sae lies down, the sun hitting his face in all the right places. he’s gorgeous, you realise for what seems like the thousandth time since you’d known him.

“oliver told me you’d been a little mopey lately,” sae says, and you’re already embarrassed. “sorry if i’ve been busy lately.”

you mirror his position, lying down next to him, and it feels oddly nice like this. you’re not sure if it’s the situation or the person.

“it’s okay, i heard that kaori’s your old friend right? you guys must have a lot to catch up on.” it doesn’t stop you from feeling jealous, but it’ll pass. you hope.

sae chuckles before he turns to you, and you turn to face him too, “you’re jealous.” he smirks, and you’re reminded of the same thing you told him that first night he kissed you.

“shut up, sae.”

he laughs because you’re being pouty, and because maybe it feels a little nice to know you can feel it too. just then, he mirrors what you did way back in high school, reaching across you for your phone. except he doesn’t key in anything—he opens up your camera and takes a picture of the two of you like this, sae looking naturally handsome and better than you because you’re stunned he’s doing this, eyes wide and expression puzzled.

“what’s that for?”

sae’s still fiddling on your phone as you ask, and then he passes it back to you. he’d set it as your phone’s wallpaper.

“to remind you that you’re the one i like, idiot.”

and even though you and sae aren’t physically too close in the wallpaper, you think maybe it’s enough to tide your feelings through for now. he doesn’t ask you for anything else after that, just leaves his confession at that and sends you home before saying he has to finish up his project, aka going to find kaori.

it’s fine by you though, because now you know where sae’s head’s at, even though he never explicitly asked you anything. you’re sure he knows how you feel too, especially since you’d been the one to kiss him first that day a few years back.

but how apt for you to go to sleep early and be woken up by dozens of messages blowing up your phone, the majority of them attaching pictures at a certain party.

still pictures of sae locking lips with kaori, and you feel your heart sinking.

sae’s message comes through just as you’re scrolling through your phone.

meet me at my place? not what it looks like, i promise.

and maybe it’s because you feel like you know sae well enough that you’re not even panicking. you respond within seconds.

sure, see you!

you take the liberty of going next door, entering when one of the other guys who lives there clumsily walks in drunk. it’s easy enough to find sae’s room, you recognise it from across your own room too well. and maybe it’s a slight invasion of privacy but you can’t help but turn your attention to his desk.

his room is all neat with the occasional laundry thrown on the corner of the room, trophies and medals on the bookshelf by the table. but what catches your eye is the little pink heart-shaped post-it note that looks all too familiar.

your handwriting fills the piece of paper.

i think you’re cute and i really really like you

you could cringe right now from how cringe you were being back then. but then you realise, sae kept this? did he keep this knowing it was from you? you hear the door opening downstairs and jump back a little, accidentally pressing on his keyboard while trying to place your note back in its position, and the screensaver that greets you renders you speechless.

it’s the picture sae took of the both of you at the bleachers of his first match.

someone closes the laptop before you can think any more, and you’re greeted with sae right next to you, cheeks flushed—either from alcohol or embarrassment. you can’t really tell, but judging from the lack of alcohol stench, you’d like to bet it’s the latter.

“you have me as your wallpaper?”

sae clicks his tongue, annoyed he didn’t get there in time for you not to see that. “who else would i put there?”

you bite your tongue to stop yourself from instinctively saying kaori out of spite. guess you’re still a little groggy from being woken up in the middle of the night.

“about earlier,” sae begins, not really sure how to continue.

“you mean the pics going around of you and kaori kissing?” you’re not even mad, you’re sure there’s an explanation—that’s how much you feel you know itoshi sae. he’s not the type to bother with leading someone on; if anything, he’s probably the type to immediately cut things off if he wasn’t interested and so far, he’s always been thinking of you.

sae sighs, rubbing his temple before taking a seat on his bed. “that was fucking stupid,” he grumbles, eyes closed. “she was way too tipsy and getting all up in my face and before i knew it she just—” his eyes are open now, briefly looking at you before looking away, hiding behind the sides of his soft locks, “she kissed me. i was stunned for a little so…”

you snicker a little, because sae looks so different from how he usually looks—aloof, ignorant, arrogant. now he looks like a puppy who’s been kicked to the side and you can’t help but notice the difference.

“sae… why are you telling me this?”

screw his indecisiveness, if it was in the first place. you want his answer now, up straight. and sae seems to know what you’re thinking because he chuckles, relieved because he can read your tone—you’re not angry, not upset, you trust him somehow and it’s only because despite what you think, you know him better than anyone else.

“fuck off, y/n, you already know,” and he says this affectionately because you can feel the tenderness in the way he says your name, in the way he invites you into his arms—the way he pulls you close and lets you sit facing him on his lap. “you gonna be my girlfriend now or what?”

your lips are so so close and you’re both holding back so so much. “mmm i don’t know, itoshi sae, what if i wanna see you beg me for it?”

“god, i hate you,” he says, without meaning it. it’s the first time you’re actually feeling how strong he is, because he lifts you up from the back of your thighs and throws you on his bed as he hovers over you, a little squeal leaving your lips at the unexpected gesture. “hm, kinda like that sound you make.”

he’s saying it so monotonously that you’re embarrassed. “shut up, sae, before i leave.”

“that’s cute, you think you’d actually leave me,” he teases, and you curse yourself for finding that slight condescending tone of his hot. “but hey, really, be my girlfriend.”

“you asking me that after kissing another girl?” you act shocked, acutely aware of how his fingers are all intertwining with yours, your hands on either side of your head, sae pinning you down. if anyone walked in now, they’d get the wrong idea of what you two are doing. for sure. but you try to act unbothered, you don’t want to boost his ego even more.

sae leans down to press his forehead against yours, and you’re hoping your heart doesn’t leap out of your chest because he’d definitely feel it. “shit timing, i know. but you’re the only one i want, so.”

he’s pretty shit at talking emotions, you realise. and then you realise that this only works because you’re equally good at reading his. despite his reluctance to talk emotions, he shows you how special you are, constantly.

many girls want him, but you’re the one he spends most of his time with. you’re the one with his actual clothes in your closet and his rings on your fingers. you’re the one sae kisses and willingly so, the only one who’s on his wallpaper reminding him of what he’ll have each time he comes home.

“i told kaori i liked you and no one else too,” sae continues explaining, though he really doesn’t need to. you listen anyway. “she got mad and stormed off but shit, i don’t care. only care about you.”

and he’s pretty forthcoming with his feelings when he wants to be and that’s enough for you. you squeeze his fingers lightly and smile at him.

you don’t have to hear any more to know.

“i love you too, itoshi sae.”

the way he marks you that night lets you in on everything you need to know.

UNIVERSITY: SENIOR YEAR

six years.

it’s been six years since you’d first had a crush on itoshi sae. and now you’re his girlfriend, always in the front row for every match and the object of most of his fangirls’ hatred. that’s okay though, none of that matters.

whenever you come back home to your (shared) apartment now, it’s like all your worries melt away into the void, and sae reminds you just how much you mean. even if his pet names are less than swoon-worthy at times.

“you really need to stop posting shit like this,” you deadpan, showing sae your phone screen. it’s a picture of you asleep in the morning, drooling on his bare shoulder.

sae blinks, acting coy like he always does. “what? it’s cute.”

“you’re insufferable, itoshi.”

sae ignores that, switching the subject. “hey, you have any goals for your twenties?”

you hum, pondering. “well, i guess if i could do what i want, i’d travel the world,” you pause, sitting up on the sofa and looking at him. “why?”

it’s the last year of university, and the both of you are finishing your degrees, with the possibility that sae might be getting a contract with one of the overseas clubs. you’re not really sure; there’s a few of them who’ve expressed interest, but you’d always let sae think through it on his own.

does his question have something to do with that?

“was thinking i wanted to take you along if you wanted to come with,” sae half explains, because he’s bad with details like that. he continues when he spots your confusion, “if you wanted to explore wherever i decided to go.”

oh, he means he wants to take you along to wherever he decided to go. you’re flattered, honestly.

“you mean, the itoshi sae wants to bring me wherever he goes, huh?” sae is already turning red, sensing your big head. “you offering to be my sugar daddy too?”

sae sighs. “you’re so stupid, i swear,” he complains, his words lacking any bite because he’s rubbing circles onto your arms. “you said you found some remote jobs right? thought we could make use of that and just go wherever together.”

after six years, you finally see sae trying to plan a future where the both of you are together. he loves soccer, but he loves you too, and you’re not the kind of person who’d make him choose, so you appreciate his compromises instead.

“itoshi sae, i’ll follow you wherever you go.”

he presses a hasty kiss on your lips, “good, ‘cause i plan on keeping you forever.”

you grin, pulling him down to you and kissing him even deeper, “i’ll hold you to your words, then.”

sae smiles against your lips. because he knows he got lucky with you, lucky you were there at the right moment, slipping your love letter into his locker. lucky you continued to like him, lucky you knew how to put him in his place whenever. lucky you’re you and you love him.

maybe he’s always liked you, even back in freshman year of high school when he realised how kind you are, how gentle you could be. you looked pretty in the sun that day, when he first saw you trying out soccer in the yard and falling flat on your ass. you didn’t notice him back then but he noticed you, not that you knew. sae didn’t try anything because he was sure it’d fail. but who knew all it took for his mind to change was a simple nudge from you?

he’s pretty sure that you’re his human manifestation of a forever.

“when the time comes, just say yes.”

8K notes · View notes

strwbrychffoncake · 28 days ago

Text

x : BETWEEN LOVE AND LIES :*+ﾟ

in which: you thought nagi was dating you for media reputation... so why does this relationship feel suspiciously real?

warnings: 11.9k words, pro-soccer player!nagi x physiotherapist!gn!reader, reader has hair, lots of food, not at all a realistic story but that's okay pls don't come for me, SLOOWWWWBURN, fake-dating au, reader is oblivious :<

a/n: goodness. if this flops i will cry bc i spent way too long this for it to be healthy for me. enjoy !

↳ 5K EVENT MASTERLIST ༉‧₊

nagi approaches you the day after his name goes viral.

you weren’t doing anything spectacular, merely putting away all the kits and equipment you’d used for the day when the white-haired soccer player approaches you, his hands in his pockets, strolling over to you as he would on any occasion.

your heart races- as it does whenever he’s around, regardless of said occasion, but what tumbles out of his mouth next was worthy of ceasing your heart rate all together.

“wanna date?”

you’re speechless. malfunctioning as you register what he’s saying. the sheer casualness of it all is alarming and you have to snap yourself back into your physical environment before your mind loses to a universe of questions and doubts.

out of all people who have asked you to date, nagi was definitely the most unique. was he okay in the head? did he come for a check up? did he get one of rin’s kicks to the head? or was he just straight up delusional?

“uhh, why?” you ask, cursing yourself a little for how disgusted you sounded.

fortunately for you, your ungracious tone didn’t phase him, not one bit. “isn’t that what two people do when they like each other?”

yeah, romantically. you don’t even think nagi likes you beyond simply platonic, whereas you have to try and shove your feelings for him down your throat every morning before walking in to the training grounds for blue lock’s official team.

you find yourself agreeing regardless, still a little overwhelmed by everything that was going on.

the soccer player then has the audacity to give you two thumbs up in approval, a dumb smile plastering on that expression of his. this confuses you even more.

“okay cool, so what should we do now that we’re a couple?” he asks.

you glance away, unable to look him in the eye for too long without getting flustered. the various weights and foam rollers still scattered on the floor catches your attention, reminding you of your previous task before nagi came to stir up a storm. “well, i have to put these away amongst various things. you can sit on the couch if you want to pass time?”

“do you need any help?” he questions, already bobbing down to be eye-level with you, ignoring the second half of your statement.

“no it’s fine, thank you though.”

“are you sure?”

“yeah! i don’t want to bother you.”

“well if you do this all by yourself, it’ll take longer, and you take longer, it means i have to wait longer to spend time with you.”

when you turn around to say something, the words die on your throat when you realise just how close he’d come to you during the time you had your back towards him. a flash of hurt crosses his typically emotionless eyes when you instinctively recoil from him, his innocent stare dimishing just a little.

“you know how much i hate waiting. it’s such a pain, so let me help out and you’ll get done faster, right?” his hands are already reaching for some of the foam rollers before you can stop him. with an affectionate sigh, you take it from him, placing it back in its original spot.

“fine,” you say with a smile. “if you insist then would you mind putting the ice packs in the fridge? isagi’s ankle was messing up earlier and chigiri came in for his knee again.”

the white-haired hums before obeying, his footsteps that shuffled along the floor telling you know that he is carrying out his duties that you’ve assigned for him. the way his tracksuit makes a noise every time he walks is distracting, but you can’t help but think how much nagi reminds you of a penguin. the adorableness of it all might just kill you.

if only the internet and ‘#nagi seishiro’ tags knew just how much of a teddy bear that 6’3, legendary prodigy, nagi seishiro was, and how you had to massage him almost everyday after training sessions otherwise he’d come to practise the next day with the resolve of a five year old.

being a junior physiotherapist for the blue lock team, you only took care of a few blue lock athletes as your clients since the team was divided between you and a senior physio. nagi wasn’t one of your assigned athletes, however when you first came to the job, he would come during almost closing times (when you had no one booked) and ask for a massage, even if he had his own physiotherapist to request that of. however, nagi seemed to always have some sore muscle because his demands for a massage became a daily recurrence.

you just hope whatever is wrong with him gets sorted out soon.

sure athletes are meant to work hard and use their bodies in the field but physio massages were to assist with injuries by minimising the risk of them, fixing the alignment, or help extend any limited range of movement.

whatever. now’s not the time to think too hard about it because you’re about to go on a date with nagi seishiro.

after cleaning up your space so you could prepare to take care of more athletes tomorrow, nagi is sauntering over to you once more. this time, he drapes himself all over you, causing you to stumble a little from how heavy he is. you pray to whoever’s listening that he can’t feel or hear the way your heart races in your chest, threatening to climb up your throat and jump into his hands.

“tired, nagi?” you question, words muffled against his shoulder as you bring your hands to soothingly pat his back.

“yeah,” whines the white-haired. the smile that creeps onto your face is one full of adoration for the man slung over you. “let me take you out.”

“where to?”

“a night market? it’ll be fun.”

“sure.”

at your confirmation, he separates from you with an excited glimmer in his eyes,

after grabbing your bags and setting out, you’re violently flooded by dozens of paparazzi and interviewers who are click their cameras in hopes of catching blue lock’s soccer player who has taken the world by storm. it’s a little overwhelming, but when nagi covers you from the reporters with his arm which had his tracksuit jacket draped over it, you’re thankful for his thoughtfulness, especially when you’re relying on his grip around your waist to pull you in the right direction.

the crowd is shouting a flurry of things, nothing that you can make out amongst the mess of your mind, your heart, and your ears.

it’s not until you decipher someone shouting something about dating rumours with a japanese pop singer, that you piece together his intentions; a loud wakeup call to the reality of your ‘situation’ with nagi.

the possibility that nagi was using this ‘relationship’ for media coverage and acknowledgement was very likely, especially with his recent growth in popularity and social media following- it would be understandable if he wanted to prolong his moment in the spotlight by entering beneficial relationships.

except typically, celebrities would do it with other celebrities.

so what’s the appeal behind using you?

a funny feeling brews in your gut, one that clawed at your chest with a series of disappointment, anxiety, and dismay. it was unbelievable that someone as hot, both literally and figuratively, as nagi would be interested in you; a junior physiotherapist fresh out of university, but you had hoped. his abruptness today and the whole ‘we should date’ ordeal was to dispel the media from his back, not bred from any genuine feelings.

if this was the only chance you got to stand beside nagi and have him hold you like this, so protectively against him, then you were going to take it until fate deemed it over and pulled you away from him itself.

you were young and simply put, nagi could provide the companionship you were looking for.

fortunately, the press left him alone at the parking lot where security guards were standing, two in the booth and one purchased near the gate. you give them a shy greeting and they return it with a bow.

“sorry about that,” nagi mutters, not looking at you even when you turn your head to stare up at him. “i wasn’t expecting paparazzi to be right outside, they’re such a pain.”

“it’s okay, if anything i owe you a thank you for covering me from them,” you huff, stuffing your hands into your pockets, mind still a little frazzled over the memory of how protective nagi was over you. “stuff like this happens when you’re famous, mr soccer hotshot.”

he rubs his neck, looking to the side as his next words tumble out of his mouth: “does that impress you?”

“why wouldn’t it?”

you try not to think too hard about the blush that manifests on his face, pinning it on the colder weather and frostbite rather than your words.

“so… where’s this night market? i didn’t know tokyo had many night markets.”

“just in shibuya.”

“won’t it be busy?”

“yeah,” he shrugs before adding as an afterthought: “does that bother you?”

“no not at all, i just thought you hated big crowds and busy places.”

“‘s won’t be so bad with you there.”

for someone who prefers to keep quiet majority of the time, nagi sure does have a silver tongue. this is probably the third time in the past half an hour that he’s made your stomach flip, and you can’t help but question his intentions. if he was trying to make you actually fall for him to make your relationship look more legitimate then he’d be disappointed to know that you already had, way before he approached you today.

he agrees to drive the way since one: it was easier and two: you could avoid the paparazzi that way.

upon arrival, you’re glad to see that there aren’t too many people in the crowd. since it was a weekday, students would be participating in extra curriculars and businessmen would be only just finishing work. the majority of the people here were older with a few couples here and there.

“oh, they have lemon tea,” nagi mutters, grabbing your hand before unceremoniously dragging you to the stand. his excitement was endearing, especially when all 6’3 of him approaches the lemon tea stand, needing to bend down in order to be seen by the elderly stand owner. a flash of surprise crosses the maker’s face as he makes eye contact with the white-haired.

“two lemon teas please,” requests the soccer player, using his hands to gesture ‘two’ as he fishes out the appropriate amount of money.

“hey, you’re that soccer player, nagi! you scored an awesome goal the other day. mind if i get a picture?” the owner’s gruff voice requests, a cheery smile making its way onto his face.

“oh. sure.”

you take the picture for them, counting down ‘3, 2, 1’ as nagi gives the camera a peace sign and the owner has a wide, bright smile on his face; so bright that you couldn’t help grinning as well. “i’m putting this on my store front. now you want two lemon teas?”

“coming right up!”

“did you just buy me a lemon tea without asking?” you question, a smile appearing on your features as you glance up at your companion.

he meets your eyes, “yeah, ‘s there something wrong with that?”

“no, not at all. i wouldn’t mind some lemon tea right now. i’ll pay you back.”

“don’t worry about that,” nagi cuts you off before you can even reach for your wallet. “everything’s on me.”

“but-”

“-it’s on me.”

the stand owner is handing over two iced cups of lemon before you can continue bickering and nagi hands one over to you with a wordless expression and you’re compelled to take it, though reluctantly.

“are you two a couple?” the owner asks.

nagi nods, “yeah, we are.”

“ah! no wonder. you two look amazing together, you bagged a real gem,” he says to nagi, pointing at you. you laugh it off, flattered.

“i know i did. thanks for the tea, sir.”

“thank you!” you call out to the owner before being dragged away by nagi again, careful not to spill your drink from how much vigour was in his steps. for his one stride, you had to take two.

after going from store to store and blindly following nagi who led the way with his stomach, you’re eventually brought to a less busy, picnic-like area where there were various benches for you to sit on. it was away from the busyness of the main street, but still had lanterns hung around the premise, combating the darkness of the early sunset during colder months.

you take a seat beside him whilst he sets down the variety of food he bought from the merchants, not trying to think too much about the way nagi presses himself closely against you.

“oh, one of my games had a character drop an hour ago,” he absentmindedly comments, opening his phone for the first time since being with you. you catch a glimpse of his dim phone screen, seeing the notification banner from the game he was referring to.

“that’s cool,” you mutter, unsure of what else to say as you take a bite into the red bean taiyaki.

“yeah, he’s a cracked character. been wanting him forever.”

“are you gonna pull? i wanna see him.”

“really?”

when you give him the nod of affirmation, nagi opens the game whilst you continue eating, gentle anticipation hanging in the air as well as a comfortable silence. it doesn’t take long before he’s purchasing special event tokens, going to the special character screen and pressing the ‘draw x10’ option. you peer over his shoulder, trying to resist the urge to rest your chin on it.

you’re snapped out of your reverie when nagi emits a small gasp. “no way.”

“what?” you ask, watching the way his screen lights up in gold which signalled a successful draw. he looks up at you, eyes wide and mouth partially parted. “did you get him?”

“yeah, on the first go,” he says in wonder, a dazed look in his eyes. “that’s never happened before.”

“no way! you’re so lucky!”

nagi’s face erupts into a small smile, and you’re caught off guard all of a sudden when his hands snake around your waist, pulling you up to sit on his lap. the new proximity and abruptness of it all causes your mind to stop for a second, shutting off as nagi peers up at you with stars in his eyes. you want to hide, but his grip around you is too tight, pulling you in to him.

this feels criminal.

“nah, i just think you’re my lucky charm.”

a quiet squeak of ‘is that so?’ is all you can reply with before looking away, trying to distract your rampant thoughts, hoping that the cool breeze will calm the heat creeping up to your face. ��so,” you begin, trying to recover yourself from embarrassment. “can i see your characters? all of them?”

“all of them?” nagi repeats and you miss the small look of bliss on his expression.

“yeah.”

“i showed them to you the other week.”

“okay, well show me this new character then.”

“as you wish.”

he talks you through the characters and their tutorials, showing you their special combos and ultimate moves, all whilst you have to feed him the variety of foods he bought whilst dragging you around like a dog and its owner. as he munches on the takoyaki, kebabs, and sweet potato, you realise just how bottomless nagi’s stomach was and the way he hums in satisfaction after each bite was very adorable.

the night fades into a nice memory of laughter, emptied food boxes, and easy conversation. somehow nagi has manoeuvred himself so that his head was now in your lap, snowy hair spread so invitingly as you resist the urge to run your hands through it, wanting to respect any boundaries of his.

every so often you have to remind yourself that this wasn’t real.

reality hits you once more the following morning when you check social media just to see ‘#nagi seishiro’ trending all over again, all talking about the paparazzi photos that were taken yesterday. taking a glimpse for yourself, you hate the way your gut sinks, especially as articles with the title ‘nagi seishiro with a new lover?’ shine in your face.

it only solidifies your speculations about this (fake?) relationship, and despite coming to accept it, growing resentment poisons your system, rendering you incapable and bitter as you let your breakfast grow cold.

at least nagi correctly covered you with his jacket, your face is completely obstructed, only your body is revealed. you thank your lucky stars that you decided to not wear your ‘blue lock’ staff clothes that morning and just opted for your own athletic wear, that way your identity could be hidden at least just a little.

a message from reo captures your attention and you click on it immediately.

reo: is that you with nagi?

you: yeah!

reo: about fucking time. got sick of you two never doing anything.

you: haha 😐thanks reo 😐

reo: did he take you to the night market last night?

you: yeah! it was fun :)

reo: that’s good, nagi’s been waiting forever.

reo: don’t break his heart

you scoff at the irony of reo’s last text, typing something noncommittal before throwing your phone else where.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the whole team practically knows about you and nagi when you return to work the following monday and the second you enter the building, you’re swarmed by the friendly faces of bachira, isagi, and chigiri, who are seemingly holding a tired nagi hostage. quite an amusing sight. three people, who are roughly a head shorter than the white-haired, restraining a lethargic 6’3 athlete with their bodies.

“are you really dating nagi?” isagi begins before you could even fit in a ‘hello’.

“uh… yeah?” you sound unsure; because you are. a fake relationship is still a relationship, it’s just that one party is more infatuated with the other.

“damn. i didn’t think it was real,” mutters chigiri. “are you sure? he’s not like… paying you to do this, right? you like like him?”

“yes?” you exclaim, a little overwhelmed. “i’m not getting any monetary returns even though i wish i did.” nagi narrows his eyes at you, you poke out your tongue. “please, no more questions, it’s way too early for this.”

“you don’t know how long we’ve been waiting for nagi to ask you out, y/n. even we placed money on him,” reveals isagi but before you could say anything in response, bachira cuts in, practically skipping up to the white-haired.

“finally grew some balls and asked, good job bro!” bachira sings, patting nagi on the back with a violet slap before disappearing.

“see you at practice, nagi!”

the three athletes disappear and you finally exhale after holding in a breath for what felt like ages. what an animated way to start the day.

you hold your breath again when nagi approaches to stop in front of you, a singular coffee cup in his hand; one that he holds out to you.

“good morning, nagi,” you greet.

“hey, i got you coffee.” instinctively, you take the cup from him, immediately warmed up by the heat emanating from it. “i hope it’s still warm. i’ve been waiting for you for a while.”

“you were waiting for me?”

“yeah. wanted to see you before going to training. makes my day less of a bother.”

you smile into your cup, trying to hide the effect that nagi has on you. you were so stupid for him it was insane.

“i’m sorry for making you wait, the trains were a little delayed this morning,” you confess, “but thank you. you’re very thoughtful, nagi.”

his face contorts into an ugly expression, a display of his feelings that are quickly quelled by the feeling of your cold hand grabbing his warm ones. “you take public transport to work?”

“i don’t want to pay for parking and everything. it’s not all bad, i get lovely views and a wake up call every morning.”

the white-haired athlete makes a face of contemplation briefly. “let me pick you up from now on.”

“no, it’s fine. i don’t want to be more of a hassle. i know how much you hate waking up to even just come to work so-”

“-i want to.”

your heart flutters at his insistence and all you can mutter out is a feeble ‘ok’ before slipping your hand out of his. you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to get used to the way nagi seishiro so effortlessly warms your insides; to the point that it becomes an unrecognisable pool of putty.

after a moment, you regain your senses. “you should be going off to practise. don’t make ego mad before the day even starts.”

he groans, “won’t you come and watch? i’ll feel a little better if you’re there.”

“i have my own work to get to but i don’t have many checkups today so if i can, i will.”

“i suppose that’s good enough,” mutters nagi before pulling you in for a loose hug, arms wounding around your waist, breathing you in before stepping back, as if rejuvenated by your touch and presence alone.

“work hard, nagi.”

you go your separate ways, him to the field and you to your office where various coworkers resided.

after a morning of answering emails, going to meetings and consulting the results from various body screenings, you finally have a chunk of time around 11:45 am to go and watch practice. as soon as you entered the training grounds, you’re a little stunned and impressed to see that they were all doing shooting drills, landing them perfectly with no effort, the harsh sound of shoe slapping against leather ringing throughout the area.

nagi notices you almost immediately, his eyes lighting up a little when you shoot him a small wave before wandering into the bleachers, taking a seat in a second row.

you continue watching, straightening up in your seat whenever it’s nagi’s turn, waiting to watch the genius at work. the results are no less than impressive every time but you have to pretend like you weren’t at all marvelling at him whenever he turns around and looks at you expectantly.

15 minutes later, ego calls for an hour lunch break, allowing the players to break off to do whatever their heart desires. the first thing nagi does is walk over to where you sit in the stands, leaning over the first row of chairs to reach you.

“why hello there, soccer sensation,” you greet and he gives you a lazy smile.

“hi.”

“you going to go for lunch?”

“yeah. have you had something to eat yet or do you wanna grab a bite together?”

“i brought cup noodles but i don’t mind. don’t you want to go with your friends?”

“you’re better.”

“please shut up, that’s so cringe,” you murmur with an undeniable grin, one that causes his gaze to soften as well. “let’s get lunch together then.”

“let me get dressed,” the athlete says, about to run off when you abruptly stop him, causing him to turn around suddenly, his hair whipping around with his actions. “what’s up?”

beckoning him over, he returns to where he stood before and you take out a hair tie, one that you store in your pockets all the time just in case. “does your hair not bother you when you practise?” you silently ask for permission, hand merely hovering near his head until you realise that he was okay with the contact. “it’s getting all in your face, even i was annoyed when watching you.”

gently, you run your hands through his hair and despite the sweat on his forehead, it’s still soft and fluffy. goodness you could play with it forever.

then, you gather nagi’s front bangs, bringing them together to resemble a unicorn horn, tying it with your hairband. when you part from your work, you’re pleasantly surprised that it holds but you suppress a giggle because of how ridiculous he looks, paired with that dazed look in his eyes, you never thought you’d see nagi like this.

when you reach to tug your hairband out of his hair, he waves you off, taking the updo out himself.

“can i keep the hairband?” he pleads and you quirk an eyebrow.

“it’s just a hairband,” you say.

“so you won’t miss it right?”

“no, i won’t-”

“-okay, epic,” he mumbles before putting the hair tie around his wrist and a part of you swells with pride at the sight; a feeling that you try to shove down with little success. “can i get changed now?”

“yes, go.”

whilst you watch the white-haired disappear from your vision, you can’t help but wonder how you got yourself into this situation with such a weirdo. still, you adore said weirdo and this was no one’s fault but your own.

nagi wears the hair tie for the remainder of the day.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

roughly two months or so pass by and the days become a blur, especially since training is becoming more rigorous for the team due to the preparations for their spring soccer season. your schedule is piled day by day with athletes coming for their regular checkups and consultations, leaving you drained as soon as the work day is over.

nagi, your loving ‘partner’ notices this because he always likes to stick around after hours and bother you for a massage. he always insists that you do it because it’s like an immediate ‘full heal’ but you just think that he’s too lazy to book a professional masseuse and that you’re the next best thing.

whatever. at least he’s cute.

“i hardly see you nowadays,” he mutters, voice muffled by the leather bed of your workspace.

you gather a little more lotion on your hands, spreading it along his calves before pressing your thumbs into his muscles, trying to identify where any tight spots might be. “i’m sorry, i don’t have much time nowadays. appointments with you guys go all the way til six, and i don’t get home until 6:30. then i’m practically out like a light.”

he hums in torment and in consideration, tensing his shoulders a little as a natural response to the pain in his legs. “well, tomorrow’s a saturday. can i take you out?”

“i don’t know, some athletes may sporadically come and bother me to get a massage so i’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

“be serious.”

“i am free tomorrow.”

“sick. keep it that way.”

“even if athletes bother me for a much-needed massage in order to perform at their best?”

he huffs something in response before flopping his face back down on the leather bed, the (seemingly invincible) knots in his calves taking too much of your attention for you to think too hard about tomorrow’s date with nagi.

he’s still wearing your hair tie around his wrist.

true to his word, nagi picks you up the next day at 3pm for your date since he insisted that was the earliest he would be ready by (meaning, it’s the earliest he can wake up). when you meet him, you’re a little stunned by the amount of disguises he’s wearing. sunglasses, beanie, and a face mask, you’re not sure whether he’s going to attract more attention or blend in.

also, when you’re 6’3 it’s hard to avoid eyes.

“hey, i’m supposed to meet someone called nagi, he’s got white hair, grey eyes, 190 cm, have you seen him?” you ask as soon as you approach the soccer player. he sighs through his mask when you erupt into a fit of laughter. “i’m just kidding.”

nagi brings down his mask to sit below his chin. “your boyfriend is right here,” he corrects, voice demanding and authoritative, sending shivers down your spine.

“so he is,” you mumble, stepping closer to engulf him in a hug. he wraps his arms around you in return and you contentedly sigh when he pulls you into the comfortable, expensive material of his hoodie. “what’s with the disguise?”

“i don’t want anyone to ruin our day out so i’m wearing this.”

“ever so thoughtful aren’t you?”

when you take a step back, nagi’s careful to not let you stray too far which is indicated through the protective arm he keeps around your shoulders.

“should we get going?”

“yeah.”

the white-haired laces your hands with his, his grip gentle yet committed to keeping you near him as you stroll down the warming streets of tokyo.

“it’s finally spring,” nagi comments offhandedly, causing you shift your gaze towards him. you’re surprised that he was initiating conversation, majority of the time it was you doing the rambling and him partaking in the listening. “the cold weather was getting bothersome. hated going to practise all freezing, makes warmup so hard.”

“i like the cold weather,” you say. “it’s easier to dress for winter than it is for summer.”

“that is true.”

“do you like spring?”

“yeah, ‘s my favourite season.”

you didn’t think someone like nagi would bother too much with having a favourite season. “why’s that?”

“it’s a good season for napping and staying inside. i like that i don’t have to do much nor think about much.”

such a nagi response. you admire how stubborn he sticks to his ideals and general philosophy, it’s a comforting quality and aspect to have.

“plus it’s your birthday season,” you add.

he looks at you with a gentle smile before repeating: “it’s my birthday season.”

nagi takes you to a park where the cherry blossoms are in full bloom, its petals decorating the scenery and ground, creating a dainty, lovely carpet of pink and beauty. however, the main attraction of the date isn’t the scenery of the park but rather, the lake where several pedal boats float on the water; some occupied, some vacant.

the soccer player shows the attendant his purchased tickets, getting them scanned before you’re led to get on one of the boats.

“so… are you liking the date?” nagi asks when you’re out far enough from the dock so that no one can hear you. here, he takes off his mask, tucking it into his pocket.

“i am, i’ve been wanting to ride one of these boats for a long time but i’ve just never found the time,” you confess. “i’m glad that it’s with you. thanks, nagi.”

he looks away, an obvious pink tint appearing on his cheeks as he rubs his neck in embarrassment. “it’s okay, i s’pose.”

“you’re so cute,” you say whilst raising one hand to drag through his hair.

“stop,” he whines but not brushing you off or pulling away, instead, he leans into your touch.

a few minutes of silence pass by before nagi speaks up again, retreating back into his personal space as he fishes for something in his hoodie pocket. he pulls out a long velvet box, handing it over for you to take which you do with a little hesitation.

“i wanted to give you something to mark two months,” he tells you and you feel your heart drop.

“wait what? two months? i didn’t know we were celebrating that!” (because you spend too much time fretting over the day he’d tell you that he wants to break up, not needing this fake relationship anymore.) “i didn’t get you anything, i feel terrible now-”

“-it’s not a big deal, i just wanted to give you something.”

“nagi i can’t accept this, this is too good-”

“-i insist.”

“but i don’t have anything for you-”

in the blink of an eye his hands are clasped tightly around yours, his face incredibly close to yours that you’re stupefied into silence. “i. insist.”

you stare at him for another three seconds before relenting, opening the velvet box with the utmost care in fear that you might drop it in the water; a horrifying thought.

a gasp of delight slips out of your mouth when you see an emerald necklace beaming brightly in your face. it’s in the shape of a pendant, encrusted around a halo plate with gold surrounding it, and from the looks of it, it couldn’t have been cheap.

looking back up at him to express the disbelief you feel, you’re silenced by the gentle look in his eyes, one that shines with adoration and devotion.

“it’s beautiful,” you whisper, unable to talk much louder in fear that it’ll cause the emerald to shatter in your hand. “you shouldn’t have.”

“i wanted to because i really like you. stop worrying.”

you exhale deeply, a little flustered and caught off guard by how candid he was. this feels suspiciously real.

“where did you learn to be so romantic?” you quiz, using humour to narrow how awkward you felt.

“shoujos,” he answers shamelessly.

“ah.” makes sense as to why he makes you feel like you’re in one. “can you help me put the necklace on?”

the white-haired shines with glee, features brightening for a second. “y-yeah, of course.”

“thank you.”

when he grasps the jewellery in his hold you turn around to expose the back of your neck to him, practically holding your breath when you feel his warm fingers brush against your skin, his touch barely there yet still prominent enough to blaze trials of fire where he caresses.

“how do i look?” you ask, turning back around.

“beautiful,” he says, no louder than a whisper.

eventually the boat ride comes to an end and you return back to the dock. a lingering feeling of bliss and giddiness resonates in your chest, evident in the undeniable grin plastered on your face whilst you walk through the park; this time with a pretty gemstone adorning your neck.

“nagi, look!” you exclaim, gesturing over to a company-branded photo booth that had set itself up in the middle of the park. there were various people lining up for one and judging by the pleased squeals from groups of students, it would be a nice memory to keep for today. “should we take one?”

“sure,” he shrugs, letting you drag him to hop in the queue which was going much faster than you anticipated.

when it’s your turn, there’s hardly any time to discuss poses when the cameraman clicks the countdown button so unexpectedly. you reflexively hug nagi whilst smiling and he just gives a simple peace sign. he then stands behind you, wrapping his arms around you to place his head atop yours. finally, he bends down to kiss your cheek, rendering you completely mentally inable as you default a pose, not entirely too sure which one whilst you wait for the countdown and the camera flash.

“you guys are so cute!” the photographer exclaims, handing your photobooth strips already. even then you hadn’t regained your senses, relying on nagi to guide you with his hand on the small of your back.

glancing down at the photo strip, you’re stunned into speechlessness at the last photo. you can still remember the feeling of his lips on your cheek, specks of his warmth lingering on your skin whilst you continue trying to register what just happened.

you might explode or something.

“cute,” nagi mumbles whilst putting the photo strip into his wallet, pulling you in by the waist to stand closer to him, whispering in your ear. “i still have one place i want to take you.”

“do you?” you squeak, earning you a nod as he leads you through the park, coming to a stop when you enter a somewhat secluded section that had a sign labelled ‘private picnic rooms’ with various price ranges according to the number of people.

once again, he claims to have a reservation and you’re led by an attendant towards a specific area that had a table scattered with plates of snacks and various decorations. the vibe of the room was incredible with tatami mats, a floor to ceiling glass window that outlook the cherry blossoms, and if you tried hard enough, you could hear a stream running.

“you… really outdid yourself,” you murmur, wandering over to one side of the table, expecting him to sit on the other. instead, he takes the spot right beside you.

you’re not too sure if this layout is how the establishment intended it to be but it is now.

“so you like it?”

“i do. i love everything you’ve done today, you’re too good for me.”

“not true,” he grumbles, too quiet for you to address it further but loud enough for you to hear.

your relationship doesn’t make any sense to you. why is nagi trying so hard to impress you when this relationship was just for beneficial gain? what does he get from booking a pedal boat ride, buying you a (clearly expensive) emerald necklace, then taking you to have a private picnic?

picking up a piece of halved mochi with the provided fork, you give the first bite to nagi who is more than happy to oblige, chewing on it with a satisfied expression.

he’s so cute, you could pinch him.

your eyes then flit over to the decorations on the table, reaching over to the branch of cherry blossoms in a vase before you could think, ripping off one of the sticks with the bloomed flower and putting it in nagi’s hair and behind his ears. his adorableness just tripled.

“aww you look really cute with pink!”

“ya think so?”

“yeah! you’re so pretty nagi,” you reach over to fiddle with the flower, not registering how close you’d gotten to him until you feel his breath fan across your face.

then you comprehend it, frozen in place for a second as you study nagi’s beauty from an angle you hadn’t before. how his snowy hair fanned perfectly over his forehead, the way the light bounced in the reflection of his eyes, and the imperfections that littered across his skin all contributed towards making the pretty being that was nagi seishiro.

he leans in. you freak out, instinctively turning your head.

your breath gets caught in your throat when you feel nagi’s lips brush against the corners of your mouth, lingering there for a moment before parting and the look of hurt that flashes across his face hurts your soul.

did you do the right thing? you thought you did- you know nagi isn’t into you the way you are into him. this relationship was made for media attraction, for him to gain more seconds of fame, so why does he keep acting like you two are real? why does he keep protecting your identity from the internet, why did he wear a disguise when meeting you when he would have wanted to boast that he was taken, why does he want to kiss you?

why does he look so hurt when he didn’t?

this was all so confusing.

tension lingers in the air for the rest of the date. you try to compensate for it by being a little more affectionate, giving in to your desires of openly loving him for the day. nagi’s satisfied.

you don’t notice how the cherry blossom fell from his ear.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

you won’t find answers to your questions for a long time. in fact, the amount of questions you had quadrupled one night when you had spent the day at nagi’s apartment after work one day to watch a tv show that was on his ‘to-watch’ list.

“stay the night?” asks nagi, resting his head on your shoulder to give you his best puppy-dog eyes. you will yourself to not look at him by keeping your gaze firm on the television screen.

“oh this episode sounds good. maybe we can watch this then i’ll get going,” you mutter whilst fiddling with the remote, dutifully ignoring his pleads and the way he tugs at you; something that does not resonate well with him.

“oi. don’t ignore me.”

with a rough exhale, you finally turn towards him. “i can’t.”

“why not? we don’t have work tomorrow.”

“i know but i just feel bad to bother you and take up your space.”

“you’re not botherin’ me. there’s so much space here, it feels empty without you.”

“nagi-”

“-won’t you call me seishiro? or something more romantic?”

the relationship shifts with his very words and you feel the genuine desperation that bleeds from nagi through his tone. when you look him in the eye, part of you shines with hope that maybe your relationship was real and not bred for media benefit.

in this moment of weakness, you let the top of your walls crumble.

“okay, seishiro.”

he beams. a smile so pure that you shatter like glass in his hands. “yay.”

you then find yourself underneath him as he lays his entire body weight over you, pressing you into the comfortable cushions of his couch as his hands delicately run up and down your waist. paralysed with confusion at the amount of love he pours into his touch, you keep forgetting that the higher you climb, the harder the inevitable fall will be.

“stay the night, please?”

how could you say no when he was asking so nicely? “okay, seishiro.”

“yay.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“hey seishiro, are you ready?” you ask, fiddling with your rings as you round the corner of your living room where your oversized boyfriend is lounging across the couch whilst you got ready (boyfriend still feels weird to say even if he has zero problems with addressing himself by that title).

“yeah. let’s go-” he grumbles, cutting himself off when he glances over at you, eyes widening. “-whoa.”

heat rushes to your cheeks whilst nagi continues to shamelessly marvel at you, slowly standing up to cross the distance between you, his hands naturally hovering to hold your hips when he’s close enough. his gaze lingers even longer on the emerald necklace that sits between your collarbones. “like what you see?”

he stays silent for a second, leaving you to anticipate his answer. “we don’t have to go to isagi’s,” he mumbles. “how do we feel about staying in?”

“don’t. your best friend is hosting this party, can’t you at least show up for him?”

the white-haired sulks. “but you look so good. why should i celebrate that shortie instead of you?”

you push his face away, jokingly fed up with your boyfriend’s lazy attitude. “isagi is also my friend and i want to celebrate with him, just for an hour or two and then we can leave. deal?”

“fine.”

twenty minutes later, you arrive at isagi’s place where a good amount of his closest friends had gathered, showing up far earlier than you and nagi did.

truthfully, you were looking forward to isagi’s party since he was not throwing a massive rave where everyone was invited- those always ended up to be more unfortunate than fun in your opinion, and that wouldn’t exactly cater to his shy and sensible character. tonight was a gathering for his friends to hangout and celebrate. some you recognise from the team, some of them must be from high school or elsewhere.

bachira’s cheery face is the first one you see upon arrival, his smile wide as he practically bounces off the walls in excitement and you already begin to wonder just how many desserts and sweets he’s had upon arrival.

“hey it’s the couple of the century!” he exclaims with a wink. nagi keens at bachira’s compliment, all proud and boastful as his hand creeps up to hold your hip protectively. “lookin’ good as always!”

“yo, where’s isagi?” the white haired questions.

“around, i’ll take you to him c’mon!”

the two soccer players are off before you can even count to three, nagi and bachira disappearing into the crowd as the hyperactive boy drags your 190 cm of a boyfriend through the crowd. well, at least he took the gift you both bought with him, but now you feel a little alone and very awkward.

walking around the hallways of isagi’s, you feel a little out of place since most of them seemed to be high school friends. it’s not until you reached the kitchen that you sigh in relief, met with the familiar, friendly faces of chigiri and reo who see you first.

“hey!” the red-haired calls out, waving at you as you walk over to them. “it’s good to see you, y/n, how are you?”

“hey chigiri, hey reo, i’m good! i just arrived but this seems like a cool gathering. isagi’s really outdone himself,” you greet.

“yeah he did. good way to unwind before the soccer season gets too crazy,” reo chips in. “nice outfit by the way, you served!”

“oh shut up, you look amazing yourself. you too chigiri.”

“so… where’s nagi?” the purple-haired asks, checking his phone to see if he had received any texts from his best friend. “didn’t he come with you?”

“yeah but bachira dragged him to go talk to isagi as soon as i arrived. you know how he is.”

after a few more minutes of talking with the two, you finally pause the conversation out of concern about nagi’s whereabouts might be. you thought he’d come and find you after a while but guess you’ll search for him first.

informing the pair first before breaking away, you wander into the rooms where bachira pulled nagi into, blindly hoping that they’ll be in there. to your chagrin, there were only a few unfamiliar faces spread along the couches, discussing something with a drink in their hand. you ignore the sight of otoya and one of isagi’s friends sitting too close for comfort.

when you walk into the next room, you stop in your tracks at the sight in front of you: nagi leaning against the wall with a stranger who clearly has no distinction of personal space, their hand resting on his chest. your heart plunges the bottom of your stomach as distraught settles within you because of the scene unfolding in front of you, chest churning with a distant ache that you can’t put your finger on.

then he looks over at you.

the instinct to turn around and run overpowers any rational judgement, especially when a flurry of emotions begin to well up inside you, causing you to sink further and further in an ocean of doubt and fear.

you had no right to be jealous, not over nagi because you’re just his ‘pseudo-partner’, he’s not really yours and it’s moment like these that truly humble you into remembering. you’re just his ‘pseudo-partner’, you’re just his ‘pseudo-partner’, you’re just his-

“-where are you going?” comes an indifferent voice from behind you. all anxiety floods out of you like a broken dam. a warm, large hand tugs on your wrist and even if he had not spoke, you’d know from touch alone that it was nagi behind you. the multitude of times that he’s spent holding you, intertwining his hand with yours, and cherishing you has forced you to brand him into your memory.

you are his. even if it is not mutual, you would be his until he stomps the fire out.

“i-i thought i was interrupting something,” you stammer, looking into at nagi’s doe eyes.

“you didn’t. actually, you made it better by coming,” he says before wrapping his arms around your torso. “that person wouldn’t leave me alone, such a pain. tried to say i was taken too, so glad you came.”

you return the hug, trusting his words. “glad i came too.”

nagi pulls you out of the water.

“can we leave yet? i don’t wanna be here anymore.”

“just a little longer. i haven’t even seen isagi yet. plus, we should dance.”

he gives you a quick look up and down before nodding in agreement. you smack his shoulder.

you manage to locate isagi rather quickly. he was near the food bar where refreshments and various desserts and snacks laid so after greeting him, wishing him ‘happy birthday’, and chatting with him for approximately five minutes before nagi started getting bitchy, you’re pulled into the dance floor by the white-haired. he said that they were playing a good song when you asked why he was being so impatient.

with a laugh, you give in.

nagi doesn’t really know how to dance but you can’t help but be a little entertained, deciding to end his awkwardness when you grab his hands and lead him through some moves, singing along to the song with each other. it ends with your arms around his neck and his around your waist (again) when a slower song plays.

hiding your face in his chest, you breathe in the subtle aroma of his cologne that you urged him to put on earlier. when he gently prompts you to look up at him with a hand gently pulling on your hair, your breath gets caught in your throat at the close proximity as nagi stares at your lips, glancing up to meet your eyes again before leaning in.

this time you don’t feel as cruel, bracing yourself for the first sip of water after crossing the desert, for the final puzzle piece clicking into place, for the feeling of his lips slotting against yours; for the feeling of completion.

instantly you relax at the sensation, melting into his embrace as you hold onto him a little tighter, wanting more. you want to take as much of him as he’ll allow and even then, you’ll cherish every last part.

you want him the same way the ocean longs for the moon.

parting from him makes you feel empty. the lidded look he gives you is full of temptation and… love?

snapping out of your reverie, you step away from him, using his dazed state to create some distance between the two of you as you come to your senses. senses that scream at you for possibly ruining… this.

you hate that you keep running away from him, leaving him in the dust of the mess that are your feelings. it’s immature, irrational, and downright childish, really it is, but how else can you stop the way you’re about to burst at the seams? how can you stop yourself from devoting yourself fully to nagi seishiro if you don’t forcefully screw the lid over your emotions?

for the second time tonight, the white-haired chases after you because there was never another option. he despises being away from you and despises it even more when it’s him you’re running away from, wanting nothing more than to be by your side at all times.

for the second time tonight, he grabs your wrist but now, he leads you through isagi’s house, weaving through a series of well-kept and simply decorated rooms to finally arrive at a balcony. one that was untouched by the party goers.

“why do you keep doing this?” he asks, pleading for an answer as desperation laces his voice and eyes. “why do you keep running away?”

you’re stunned. he’s hurt by your carelessness and the way you constantly recoil from him as if he was electric, his powerful figure slouching, all his quiet confidence and stubbornness seeping out of him, running to pool at your feet.

“am i doing something wrong? i thought you liked me.”

“i-i’m confused,” you stammer stupidly.

he grows even more perplexed. “you’re confused? i’m even more confused! one second i think you like me then the next, you’re trying to avoid me. why do you keep doing this? i really really like you, y/n. but it doesn’t feel like you like me at all sometimes.”

“no!” you blurt out. “it’s not like that! i do like you, a lot, in fact i might even… love you? it’s just…”

as you try to recap the timeline of your relationship in the past few months, you find yourself at a loss for words as you truly realise the multitude of your stupidity. you might slap yourself in the face.

this entire time, nagi has liked you- genuinely liked you for who you are yet you’ve been denying the love he has been trying to share with you since you internalised it all to be a sham. that someone like nagi seishiro couldn’t want you in the same way you wanted him. you’ve been hurting him this entire time and you don’t know how to begin explaining why.

well… no other option than with one word at a time.

you go to grab both his hands, inhaling. “i didn’t think we got together based on genuine feelings.”

he recoils, eyebrows and nose scrunching.

“i thought you were using me to- i don’t know, trend on the internet by teasing everyone with some sort of secret relationship which sounds so stupid, i know, but i just couldn’t believe that you would want me for me,” you ramble, only stopping to breathe. “these few months have been amazing but i lowkey thought you were going to break up with me and say something like ‘surprise! i’ve never liked you’ before leaving me. i don’t deserve someone like you and-”

“what?”

you shut up.

“you thought you don’t deserve me? that’s the biggest lie i’ve ever heard. you’re perfect. i was the one that got lucky.”

“lucky? you? really?”

“yeah,” he breathes. “you’re like a gift sent by fate.”

that renders you speechless for a little. there’s more to say, you know there is because of the pregnant silence that lingers around the two of you for a little but maybe that’s for another time.

are you dreaming? this feels surreal. maybe you’ll start floating too.

“also, why would i want to trend for any other reason but soccer?”

“i don’t know! you asked me out really abruptly- i’ve never been asked out like that before! talk about confusing. and the paparazzi was waiting for us after too like, what was i supposed to think!”

“i see.”

“yeah.”

more silence.

“so… you love me?” nagi asks and you groan, removing your hands from his to cover your face from embarrassment.

“i guess i do,” you grumble.

“hey, don’t hide from me,” the white-haired says before grabbing your wrists to lower them from your face. “i love you too.”

“really?”

“yeah.”

“that’s cool.”

“it is.”

you do both of you a favour by kissing him fervently.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“sei, shouldn’t you be getting ready for the match or whatever it is you athletes do?” you ask when nagi’s mop of white hair peaks up from behind the door to your physio office.

he steps out from behind the doorframe, crossing the distance to get to you. he’s sporting his blue lock tracksuit with his hands dug into his pocket and you’re a little envious of how comfortable he looks. “i was until i realised you weren’t there. i was waiting for you to show up.”

“well i don’t really have to be there early. i just get there around 20 or so minutes earlier.”

“i see.”

“why, did you want me there or something?” you ask with a cheeky eyebrow raise, poking him in his sides causing him to recoil a little from your touch.

“why else would i walk all this way?”

“a stunning 50 metres- i’m so sorry for your perilous journey,” you comment, placing a kiss on his cheek before walking away from him to set up your box of medical supplies including kinesio tapes, bandages, and cold spray. he slumps down on the waiting couch near the entrance.

your role as blue lock’s official therapist meant that you had to be on standby for the team at all time during official matches. even though you aren’t their nurse, you still bring first aid things like ice packs to minimise the amount of time spent travelling between offices, especially if that distance is not needed.

after scanning the box for the last time and mentally ticking your checklist of materials required to bring, you pat your leg in satisfaction before standing up. “i can go to the field now. there’s probably tape changes that i need to do.”

nagi lazily grins, searching for your hand to help pull himself up. “yay.”

“you need to be warming up while we’re at it.”

“aw. okay.”

the walk back to the field is painless enough with nagi holding onto your hand for dear life whilst carrying your box of supplies for you. for someone who is about to compete in less than an hour, he is surprisingly calm, hardly different from his passive, pacifistic self. should you be nervous on his behalf?

stepping in to the field, you’re overwhelmed by the enormousness of blue lock’s home stadium, the lights shining down on you so brightly that you need a moment to recollect yourself. to think that all these empty seats will be filled with various people scares you mindless; even vacant it was still overwhelming.

“y/n!” isagi’s voice breaks you out of your reverie and he jogs over to you with that friendly smile of his. “what’s up?”

“hey isagi, sei dragged me out of my office,” you grumble before turning around to the white-haired who places your supplies on the ground, instructing him to: “go continue warming up.”

he grumbles something incoherent, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead before running off, leaving you a little flustered as the dark-haired player waits patiently to talk to you.

“so what’s up?”

“i just needed my ankle to be retaped, is that okay?”

“that is my job so come over,” you say, beckoning isagi to one of the benches nearby where you decide to station yourself for the time being.

whilst you’re unrolling the adhesive, he awkwardly sits there with his shoe and sock off, exposing his joint where he already you tape it for him.

“do you want pink or blue tape?” you ask, holding up the two options.

“pink.”

the background noises of athletes shouting and kicking soccer balls fill the silence whilst you cut up the length needed to tape isagi’s ankle.

“how are you and nagi?” he asks.

“we’re good,” you respond, mentally reminding yourself to give isagi a present in exchange for his birthday being the sole reason why your relationship strengthened. “both been busy cause of the season but it’s fine.”

“that’s okay, you’re making it work!” he reassures, “well, nagi is really happy.”

“is he now?” you ask, looking intently at your hands as they worked around isagi’s ankle, hiding your giddy expression from the soccer player. the effect nagi has on you will never disappear.

“yeah! always talks about you to us.”

“does he?”

“of course, why wouldn’t he? swears you’re the best thing to have happened to him in a long time or whatever.”

your heart warms uncontrollably. nagi seishiro was going to be your downfall.

finishing up on isagi’s ankle, he tests it out quickly before thanking you and running off again to blend in with his teammates again. ‘don’t work too hard!’ you yell out after him.

after retaping chigiri’s knee, commanding karasu to do his recommended exercises, and other various checkups, the boys are ushered back into the stadium so the audience could begin filing in. before nagi went in, he runs over to you, bundling you in his arms despite the various exclaims of ‘hurry up!’ yelled at your white-haired partner.

“gotta go,” he says breathily.

“wait, shouldn’t you take this off?” you ask, gesturing to your hair tie which sat snugly at his wrist.

“do i have to?”

“you can always rewear it after the match sei, it’s not a big deal.”

“fine. i’ll see you soon then.”

you give him a smile of reassurance, hugging him back. “go. i’ll be watching, my superstar.”

his eyes shine. “cheer for me, won’t you?”

“of course i will. i’m your lucky charm,” you tease but he takes your statement quite literally, grinning at what you say which only illuminates the cheery look on his face.

“can my lucky charm give me a kiss?”

cupping his face, you quickly place a peck on his nose before lightly pushing him away. you know the kiss is not good enough to satiate his hunger but perhaps that’s just what you want from him, to try hard for a better reward. and in this case, by trying harder, he would bring home the trophy.

“go line up!” you command.

nagi grumbles something before stepping away, “i’ll score for you.”

he dashes towards the stadium entrance, leaving you in a lovesick daze as you watch him retreat. someone clears their throat behind you and you remember where you are, sitting down to preserve some professionalism.

sitting in the medics corner was scary, especially as you watch every seat getting gradually filled with an onslaught of different people, but all you need to do for the 90 minutes is watch and be attentive to the game and the health of the players. an easy job for the amount of pay you get.

when the teams walks out into the field, everyone in the stands erupt into a roar, waving their various flags and colours. despite the chaos, nagi looks over at you and you blow him a kiss, unsure of whether or not he could actually see you.

as everything settles down, the match finally begins, starting off with a bang. from time to time you talk with the two other blue lock medics and spend the other moments admiring your boyfriend in his athletic glory.

it’s not until almost halftime that something disastrous happens. when itoshi rin collides face-first into another player, toppling over on the field on top of each other, the crowd erupts into a series of gasps and concerned noises. as the referee’s whistle is called, you three official blue lock staff scramble to the middle of the field where a crowd was gathering around the two, trying to help their soccer players but stepping out of the way when you approach.

“where are you?” one medic begins asking.

“the stadium. we’re in the middle of a match,” comes rin’s gruff tone.

“you are?”

“itoshi rin.”

“how many fingers am i holding up?”

“four.”

“what hurts?”

“my fucking face,” rin snarkily replies, trying to stand up but not making it past his knees as he stumbles a little, holding on to his nose. “shit.”

taking his hand away, there are droplets of red coating his skin and you snake yourself under his arm in order to assist with helping him to the medic’s area, another nurse doing the same. hopefully it’s not serious and he won’t need be to sent to hospital, only benched by ego. which, he was.

in your panic, you don’t register any of the commotion happening within the players themselves whereas nagi, on the other hand, hears it all clearly. how a player on the team he was playing against says something like ‘look at that cutie. reckon i could cuff ‘em?’ where his friend replies with a ‘yeah dude. seems like a babe to be honest, workin’ as a nurse and shit’, geturing to you.

nagi has never felt such an overwhelming urge to punch someone, to jump the two players and tear them apart with the fury he feels accumulating in his insides.

the whistle to notify that the game was continuing disrupts nagi’s train of thought. he goes back into position but not without snaring at the opposition.

blue lock seems to be doing fine without their number one player for the remainder of the game; in fact, nagi is practically dominating the whole field as he shoots, earning goals left and right for blue lock. he’s moving with unmatched determination; a blazing kind that you’ve never seen from him despite having seen countless of his games. you wonder what happened to him since rin got injured, where did the calm, unbothered nagi go? why are you kind of scared of your boyfriend right now?

maybe your good luck kiss worked in giving him the boost you predicted.

however, you never could have predicted the huge turnaround that your life would take when nagi’s jealousy gets too ahead of itself. when his urge to show the world whose you are outspeaks his rationality, too caught up in the torments of untamed jealousy. he’s never felt this way before; a carnal desire so inherent that it makes him feel bare.

only you could do this to him.

and only you could fix the ugly monster inside him

when blue lock scores the goal needed to take the trophy home, the stadium is deafening, so loud that you need to cover your ears from the unrestrained passion of fans and watchers alike, the buzz of excitement unmatched.

nagi is awarded man of the match, taking home a shiny trophy in recognition of his athleticism and remarkable talents. yet the first thing he does when taking his prize is not rush over to his teammates and… do whatever it is that men do, but to run over to where you reside, a possessive and dark look in his eyes. it sends shivers down your spine.

he sweeps you into his arms, winding you so close that you can feel the body heat radiating from him, even through the fabric of his jersey. the trophy presses against your back.

“can i kiss you?” nagi questions although it sounds more like a demand, especially with that breathy voice due to how much he’s been running around.

short circuiting for a moment, you reply: “but everyone’s watching.”

“let them.”

you’re well aware of the multitude of cameras that may be pointed at you and nagi. if you act stupidly, it will appear on the internet and who knows what repercussions it might bring, are you ready to be thrown into a life of chaos, joining alongside your boyfriend?

the answer is obvious when you take the initiative of kissing him, allowing him to devour you whole: his first act of establishing just exactly who you were to the entire world.

you adore how scandalous this feels.

his second act comes mere minutes later at the exit where paparazzi and media were waiting patiently behind barriers for their star players. this time, instead of leaving alone or with his teammates, there’s an unidentified figure accompanying him, hugged close to his side and proudly wearing his jersey. the very one that boasts ‘NAGI’ along the back. everything descends into chaos.

an immense feeling of deja vu encompasses you when you recall the day nagi asked you out and the overwhelming lineup of paparazzi and photographers that waited for him outside. it’s different now. you feel confident in your place beside nagi, looking perfect to him in his clothes- as if you were meant to be his.

nagi walks in front of you to use his stature to protect from the greedy eyes of the internet whilst you use your hands to cover your face as best as possible, all to ensure your privacy from those who are going to eat these photos up when they see them.

and- well, if everyone is going to see them then why not send a little message whilst nagi’s here?

the kiss nagi sneaks on your neck is entirely proprietorial, a clear sign of affection for the whole world to see as he eyes the cameras with a deadly look in his eyes.

“mine,” he mutters in your ear, sending one last glare over his shoulder before disappearing from their nosiness and intruding flashes.

the cameras can see your hair tie that slips up when his sleeves are tugged too short.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

your notifications are rampant the next morning, mostly because of friends, and ‘#nagi seishiro’ has taken the internet by storm once again.

this feeling of anxiety settling in your stomach will never go away whenever you check social media to see if any of your information has been leaked and by whatever miracle, you’re absolutely relieved to see that nothing drastic has been revealed.

speaking of boyfriend, nagi stirs from where he lays beside you, stretching for a moment before patting the bed in search for your warmth.

shutting off your phone and putting it down, you watch him try to locate you, unable to stop the smile from stretching at the corner of your lips. he’s adorable. even more so when he has to open one eye because his instincts were failing him.

“oh. why are you awake?” he asks groggily, still adjusting to consciousness. nagi tries to sit up to rest on his elbows only to fail miserably and fall face-first into his lush pillow.

“body clock,” you say. you’ll talk about yesterday later. right now, it was just you and him and the soft glow of the sun saying good morning.

“turn it off and go back to sleep.”

“fine.”

“c’mere,” nagi beckons you over weakly, hands reaching for your figure but falling short due to the enormous size of his bed.

it’s not like nagi to splurge on things but it is like him to splurge on getting the most comfortable bed ever, so when he demands you to fall back asleep, how could you say no when it feels like napping on a cloud? and with your adorable boyfriend? some things in life come too easy.

shuffling back towards him, he’s quick to throw an arm and a leg around you, trapping you in.

“my body hurts,” whines nagi. “so much.”

“what do you want me to do about that?”

“massage later, please?”

“is that all i am to you?” you question teasingly whilst rubbing hearts into his skin.

“maybe,” he sings.

astounded, you give him your best look of betrayal. “we’re breaking up.”

“no, don’t do that,” nagi pleads, hugging you closer as if you were going to get up from his vice grip in the first place. “don’t be mean.”

“oh sure because i’m the mean one,” you joke as he burrows his head into your neck. instinctively, your hands card through his hair, extra soft from washing it last night. after a moment of silence, you speak up. “you’re trending again because of me so just remember that what i said about our fame-grabbing relationship was true.”

“i didn’t mean for that to happen. i’m just too good,” he takes his head out of your neck, doe eyes looking up at you with heart wrenching awe. “and i love you too much to hide it.”

you pat his cheek, unable to stop a wide, dreamy smile from appearing on your face. “go back to sleep.”

“‘k. goodnight.” the second nagi’s head hits his pillow, he’s out like a light.

it’s a little surreal to be wrapped in his embrace like this, to be able to gaze at his features so closely and unabashedly whilst his arms extend to mould you into him. even being as close as humanly possible isn’t enough for nagi who has an unlimited desire for more, at all times.

if it’s you he wants, then you’ll happily grant it.

the last thing you see before falling into a deep slumber is a hair tie that lies on his bedside table.

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strwbrychffoncake · 1 month ago

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A Rising Sun

Summary: Thirteen missed calls and twenty unread text messages. Not even Mephisto could track you. “You’re really starting to worry me here, kitten.” Sylus pressed the phone to his ear, eyes glued to Mephisto’s live feed as he soared through the N109 Zone’s darkest alleys, “If it was something I did, let me make it up to you.” Tags: Sylus/Reader, gender-neutral, slight angst, hurt/comfort, reader is mc, established relationship Word Count: 1.8k A/N: requested by @hrts4hanniehae read on ao3 | masterlist

Crystal clinked loudly against a mahogany table as Sylus put the empty glass down with a seething glare. He would’ve slammed it were it not for your sleeping form just several feet away, however. Your chest rose and fell under his satin sheets, and he counted each breath like a rosary bead; you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine. He unstopped a priceless bottle of whiskey and poured himself another drink, but the tremor in his hand sloshed amber liquid over the sides. Sylus huffed but didn’t bother wiping up the mess. Instead, he downed the whiskey in one go and squeezed his tired eyes shut. The burn was nothing compared to the chill down his spine when he found you.

Thirteen missed calls and twenty unread text messages. Not even Mephisto could track you. “You’re really starting to worry me here, kitten.” Sylus pressed the phone to his ear, eyes glued to Mephisto’s live feed as he soared through the N109 Zone’s darkest alleys, “If it was something I did, let me make it up to you.” The begging in his voice grew more obvious as the voicemails went on, “—Please. Just let me know you’re okay.” Sylus drew closer to the hologram, helpless, as Mephisto investigated another possible location, “I can’t…” Another dead end. The mechanical crow cooed softly before swooping into another street, and Sylus heard his voice catch in his throat, “...I can’t feel you anymore.”

Beep. The call ended, leaving a loaded silence in its wake.

He considered leaving yet another voicemail when Mephisto turned a sharp corner and pointed his eyes at a dark figure slumped against a wall. No, no, no. His worst fears were realized when the crow perched himself on your knee and cawed loudly, as if scolding you for causing so much trouble. Then his lens panned over the blood. So much blood. Sylus couldn’t recall the ride there, which car he took, how fast he was going. Trivial details, to be frank. Your name was the only thought in his mind, the only language he understood—you, you, you. Sense returned to him when he clutched your limp body in his tight embrace, and you groaned weakly in his arms. “I’m here,” Sylus sighed against your ear, “Always here.”

The sheets of his bed rustled as you shifted your weight, and Sylus shot you a look. “Sylus,” You called weakly, and winced as you sat up.

“Don’t lean on your arm.” Despite your discomfort, his narrowed gaze remained fixed on the empty glass in his hand. He made no move to approach you, “You’ll disturb the bandages.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched you take note of the gauze wrapped around your bicep. The bleeding stopped a while ago. “That wanderer missed your artery by a hair,” Sylus drawled, and your confused gaze met his cold look, “Your luck never ceases to amaze me.” Then he stood, your confusion morphing into panic, “Let Mephisto know if you need anything.”

“Sylus, wait—” You outstretched your hand, the bandaged one, and immediately hissed in pain. Sylus froze, but like before, remained where he stood, “How long have I been out?”

His lip twitched. “Three hours now,” A beat, then he was reaching into his pocket, “Here.” Your phone bounced against the mattress at your feet, and Sylus watched you pick up the shattered screen. Wincing, you turned it on, and he quietly studied your distress.

“I’m sorry,” You began softly, but Sylus forced his eyes to the floor. He couldn’t stand the guilt in your eyes, “I got so caught up I didn’t—”

His raised hand cut you short, “Don’t.” And he turned away sharply, “Just focus on resting.” The lump in his throat was difficult to swallow around, so he grabbed the leftover whiskey and rushed out.

Cooling down with some vinyl records had been his first instinct. Dusting them off, running his fingers over the plastic covers, then finally settling on just one. Fretting over their display was a nervous habit of his, his go-to when he needed a distraction. But it proved too difficult to position the needle correctly with trembling hands, and Sylus watched the needle stutter over the grooves with a grimace. Instrumentals kicked in over the stereo quietly, but it still wasn’t enough to drown out his swirling thoughts. He should be with you right now. Tending to your every need and shushing you gently to get some rest. Instead, he hid away with his records, inhaling and exhaling to relax the tight ball in his chest. You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine.

He repeated this useless prayer to himself to prevent other thoughts—darker thoughts—from bubbling up. It didn’t work, though. “Sylus?” His eyes widened at the sound of your voice, before they suddenly narrowed in suspicion. As if on cue, Mephisto breezed to his perch in the corner of the room, and Sylus shot the crow a withering glare. So much for keeping you away from him, damn bird. Mephisto only pricked his feathers innocently in response. Your bare feet then padded across the room, but Sylus refused to turn around. You shouldn’t have to see him like this. “Sylus, would you please look at me?” You insisted again, stronger this time, “Are you angry?”

Usually, he craved your bluntness. Right now, he resented it. “I should have locked him in his cage.” Your steps drew closer, and Sylus concentrated on the spinning vinyl.

Your tired sigh gripped his heart. “I heard your voicemails,” You announced quietly, “It’s…It’s okay if you are. You have every right to be.”

It’s just so like you to put his feelings first. As if he had been the one bleeding in an alley for hours. Sylus pinched the bridge of his nose, “And if I was?” He turned to face you, finally, and noted the half-step you took back. Sylus couldn’t help the scowl that tugged at his lips, “Why aren’t you?”

You frowned at him and rubbed your arm distractedly. “I…feel bad for making you worry. I’m sorry, and I totally understand where you’re coming from.” You then tugged nervously at your clothes, avoiding his sharp gaze, “I would be angry with me too, believe me. Especially after I said I’d be more—”

Sylus couldn’t help it, a humorless laugh erupted from his bitten lips. You only stared in bewilderment as he raised a hand to cover his mouth, “Angry at you…?” He shook his head as another wave of trepidation passed through him, “You misunderstand,” Then his voice fell ominously low, “I’m not angry at you.”

Surprise gripped your expression, “I don’t understand, then. Why are you angry?”

“Why?” It was Sylus’ turn to give you a bewildered look, “Why?” The answer was so obvious, he almost felt ridiculous spelling it out for you. Through gritted teeth, he tried anyway, “Because I failed to protect you, that’s why.” That lump in his throat returned, so he promptly shut up. His words clung to the air for several moments, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off you now. A flurry of emotions overwhelmed you; perhaps you were realizing that, yes, he did fail you tonight. That realization never quite reached your eyes, though. Instead, you slowly shook your head before falling back to get comfortable on his couch.

“Come sit with me.” You patted the area next to you and watched him expectantly. Sylus stared. You always did find new ways to surprise him, somehow. He fought three wars in his head—before losing them all—and hesitantly took his place by your side. The big, bad Onychinus leader avoided your soft gaze. “What happened tonight, neither of us is to blame.” Your voice fell hush, and he didn’t need to look at you to know you saw right through him, “You can be angry, but please don’t hold a grudge.” You scooted yourself closer to take his hand in yours, and his eyes numbly flicked to your linked fingers.

“If Mephisto hadn’t found you…I didn’t know what to think.” His voice trailed off, and he swallowed thickly, “Your aether core. I couldn’t feel it.” His thumb caressed yours gently, “Fear like that isn’t easy to forget.”

Guilt brimmed in your eyes again, and he wished he hadn’t said anything. “You found me,” You began fiercely, “And I’m okay now, thanks to you. Because of you. You could never fail me.” Your words only deepened his scowl. It should never have gotten to that point in the first place. You should never have been in that position—alone. Your interlocked hands tightened, “Sylus…” Your murmur, spoken like a wish, was accompanied by a sudden warmth between your palms. He inhaled sharply as he watched your hands glow, evols linking as you resonated with his. The feeling was difficult to explain. Resonating with you blanketed him in a warmth like no other, like he was morning dew glowing under the rising sun. Like it was the first and last time he’d ever feel sunlight. You were alive. You were well. And if you harbored any ill will toward him, then resonating wouldn’t have come so naturally to you. He’s glad it did.

The resonance ended all too soon, however, and the light of your evols dimmed to nothing. Sylus’ record played softly in the silence. “Thank you,” He murmured at last, feeling calm for the first time that evening, “...And I’m sorry.” You made it difficult to stay upset. You had no idea how much power you held over him—over his mind and body alike—how easily you could mold him like putty in your precious hands. Right now, though, you guided those precious hands to his chin and looked him over properly. The dark circles, the disheveled hair, the cracked lips; you drank all of it in and let worry settle in the crease of your brow. He hid his embarrassment behind wisecracks, “Like what you see? A picture might last longer.”

You shot him a look, “You should take a shower, you’ll feel better.” Your expression then softened, and your thumb caressed the side of his smirking mouth, “But hurry, so you can join me in bed.”

He swore he felt traces of your evol smoldering within him, “Easy, kitten, you’re still recovering.”

Amusement sparkled in his ruby eyes when you abruptly pulled away, flustered, “You know what I meant!” Tsk, it was too easy sometimes. Sylus tried and failed to hide his smile before unexpectedly lifting you off the couch, “Sylus—”

“I’ve got you—yes, I do, now stop squirming,” Hanging on with your good arm, Sylus held you tighter than he’d ever done before. Letting you down would never be an option again. “Save the struggling for later, sweetie.” You merely huffed and settled into his secure embrace, but your free hand clutched his shirt just as tightly. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Morning dew, meet rising sun.

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strwbrychffoncake · 2 months ago

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𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒

even in their relationship with you, they still have their moments of jealousy every now and again

⟡ content: zayne/sylus/xavier/rafayel x gn!reader; established relationship; luke & kieran appearance in sylus’ scene; new receptionist in zayne's scene; andrew appearance in xavier's scene; a little silly and a lot fluffy; 0.8–1k words per scene

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ZAYNE ⟡

Every situation requires an assessment to determine the most logical course of action. Zayne embodied this statement in his work, and even in parts of his relationship with you. One such part was when it came to jealousy. In all his assessments, 99% of the time, there was no threat, and, therefore, no intervention required. In any case, if a guy were to approach you in such a way, he trusted you entirely as well to not entertain him. However, as he opened his office door to call you from the waiting room, he was confronted by that 1%.

The new receptionist hired to work alongside Yvonne was young, charming, and far too friendly. Especially towards you. You stopped by quite regularly. Sometimes for your scheduled check-in appointments, and oftentimes to simply visit Zayne during his downtime. That was enough for the young man to recognise you, his energy ignited by your presence.

Zayne could only see your side profile as you stood by the receptionist desk, engaged in a conversation with the young man. You appeared to be all smiles with him today. Whatever story he was telling seemed to be so thrilling. Zayne’s face remained calm, aside from the twitch of his jaw when he clenched his teeth. If anybody had been watching, they would have likely jumped at such a sign of vexation by the cardiac surgeon.

Until that point, he thought he had known what jealousy was. He had read it in books and seen it in TV shows, all of which portrayed jealousy leading to several outbursts and stand-offs. However, as he felt something rising from the pit of his stomach and burning in his chest, he understood that the purest kind of it now flared inside him. It was a dangerous emotion that clouded his mind and, before he knew it, his feet had carried him right to your side.

Mr. Chatterbox regarded Zayne with disbelief at his approach, standing up to properly greet him.

“Doc! What a rare sight seeing you personally greet a patient at the desk.”

Zayne paid only a cursory glance and the slightest nod of acknowledgement to him before his attention was narrowed on you.

“If you’d like to come in now, Y/N,” Zayne said, his voice smooth and warm.

You nodded. “Of course.”

As you walked, he placed his hand at the small of your back, pulling you closer to him by just a fraction. He turned his head to the side, enough so the young man could see his sharp eyes. Zayne wasn’t one for outbursts, so he hoped this calculated display was enough of a warning.

Watching Dr. Zayne disappear with you into his office, the receptionist muttered to himself, “Why does it feel chillier in here than before?”

Yvonne, a bystander to everything that just occurred, quietly approached her freshly hired colleague from behind. She delt a swift smack on his head with the edge of her palm. He yelped out in exaggerated pain, rubbing at the spot as if she had just given him a bruise.

“Could you be anymore oblivious…” she sighed, shaking her head. Her gaze then turned fiery as she began to scold, “And how many times have I told you to stop yammering around patients!?”

At the sound of Yvonne’s voice, he immediately redirected his efforts. Not even addressing his colleague’s prior criticism, he clasped his hands together.

“Miss Yvonne! How are you doing on this lovely–”

“Fax this, please,” she interrupted, holding a referral letter up directly to his face.

He gave a mock shiver, taking the paper from Yvonne’s hand. “So cold in this division.”

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“It seemed like you were making good conversation with our new hire,” Zayne commented, closing the door behind him.

You breathed a laugh. “He’s quite chatty. I guess it’s good to have someone so energetic working at the desk.”

That sensation within Zayne turned molten, though, you couldn’t have known with the coolness of his palm. What would be his intervention here? Maybe he needed to have a stern conversation with the young man, or perhaps he had to be more obvious in his affections towards you. He could never match the energy the receptionist had, so it would be impossible to achieve such a feat.

In his momentary stewing, you let out an uncertain hum.

“To be honest, he kept talking about himself... it was a little overwhelming,” you confessed sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck with your hand. “I couldn’t be impolite to him, so I just smiled and nodded at whatever he said!”

Instantly, Zayne’s mind cleared. His jealousies dwindled into nothing more than ashes. A part of him even felt silly at how intense he was feeling just a few seconds ago.

Unexpectedly, he rested his head on your shoulder with a sigh. Your eyes widened with confusion before you chuckled.

“Isn’t this a bit unprofessional, doctor?” you teased.

“Feel free to file a complaint to the hospital’s human resource division,” he retorted, not missing a beat.

Your mirth readily turned into concern at the affectionate display.

“But seriously, Zayne, is everything okay?” you asked, poking at his cheek.

Zayne lifted his head. He seemed to be, surprisingly, relieved. Though, you couldn’t figure out what exactly he would be relieved about.

“Yes, everything is perfect now.”

SYLUS ⟡

There was nothing that a deathly glare or a good shove couldn’t do to resolve Sylus’ jealousy. Warding off any unsuspecting parties was his speciality, especially if it involved them getting too close to you. However, the leader of Onychinus was thrown for a loop when his very own henchmen were sparking these feelings.

“You are… going out with Y/N today?” Sylus spoke slowly, as if sounding out syllables to a baby. “Is what I’m hearing correct, Luke?”

Kieran not-so-subtly kicked Luke in the shin. Luke stifled a groan. Rather than be on their way to Linkon (and to you), they were here being confronted by the boss. It was an unfortunate slip-up from Luke as they were about to leave, which caused Sylus to sternly halt their exit.

“Yes, boss.” Luke replied, trying to stand up straighter with only one good shin.

“And for what reason exactly?” Sylus asked.

Luke resignedly sighed.

“They wanted someone to–”

“Help clean their apartment!” Kieran quickly finished.

He turned and started at his twin brother pointedly. You better follow along, it seemed to threaten.

Luke began nodding profusely, “Yep! Gosh, boss, you wouldn’t even believe the mess!”

“This type of menial work was probably too peasantry for you–”

“So, they invited us instead!”

Sylus’ henchmen stood there, looking quite proud of themselves and their innocent display. Sylus rolled his eyes at their dramatics. Luke and Kieran could do any task Sylus asked, no matter how dirty, and yet they were quite terrible at lying. Maybe he needed to teach them some skills in deception later. He dismissed them sharply with a wave of his hand.

“Go. Make sure to return before I leave this evening.”

The henchmen bowed, preparing to scurry away, but before they could, Sylus spoke again,

“Don’t take your eyes off them for even a second, do you understand?”

They turned back to Sylus and nodded, bowing once again.

“And–”

Sylus’ continual interruption of their exit left them in an awkward position right at the threshold of his office.

“–they don’t enjoy mopping, so I trust one of you will play the gentleman and take up that task.”

“You got it, boss.” Luke and Kieran said in unison before finally departing.

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Sylus was planning on sleeping before your date in the evening, but that was completely out of the question now.

Hanging out with Luke and Kieran? To, supposedly, clean? He knew what they had told him was a lie. However, a small, burning part of him was frustrated. If that had been the truth, he naturally would have been the far better partner. With the time you had shared together, surely you had not so quickly found his own company lacklustre in comparison to his henchmen. He could have been in your apartment, with you, cleaning together. Instead, he was in his mansion, alone, and grumpy. Grumpy enough to open his tablet, and switch to his camera feeds connected to Mephisto.

He had asked if his skilled companion could do a bit of reconnaissance at your apartment to confirm what this ragtag trio were doing. As the camera feed loaded, he saw that your home was empty. Internally, he cursed. Mephisto flew down to street level, and, as luck would have it, three familiar people stepped out of the apartment complex. Luke and Kieran were there (wearing face masks and caps that disguised their faces as opposed to their crow masks) along with you.

Sylus sat up in his bed.

He followed this trio as they walked to a nearby clothing store. Unfortunately, it would be considered odd for a crow to be indoors, so all Mephisto could do was perch atop a bench in front of the establishment and watch the three of you retreat inside behind the automatic glass doors.

Tossing the tablet aside onto the silk sheets, Sylus crossed him arms. If the thought of not being able to clean with you had made him grumpy, then seeing that he was not invited to shop for clothes with you truly made his blood boil with jealousy. As he attempted to get some rest, he thought about casual ways to mention on this evening’s date how he could rent out entire department stores for you if you wanted.

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Sylus tapped his dress shoes rhythmically against the floor, awaiting your door to be opened after he had rung the bell. He had arrived at exactly 5 o’clock to pick you up, and although he was always well put together, he put in a little extra effort on his hair this time.

He heard the door unlock, slowly opening to only reveal your head poking out. He cocked his head to the side.

“Sweetie, are you trying to hide from me?”

“Mmm, think of it more like I’m building anticipation,” you explained with a grin on your face.

Sylus laughed fondly. He leaned his own head against the wall beside the doorframe, turning to look at you.

“Consider me sufficiently anticipated,” he replied. “Now, may I see you?”

You gestured for him to move back so you could give a grand reveal.

“I just bought this today.”

The door swung open, and you stepped outside.

“How do I look?”

Very little could surprise Sylus; however, you had utterly blindsided him in this moment. You were wearing a dress that Sylus didn’t recognise from your current wardrobe. He knew then that the outing with Luke and Kieran had been to surprise him with a new dress for your date.

Flowy, ruby fabric draped against your figure, reaching down to your ankles. His eyes followed the heart-shaped neckline that framed the pearl necklace that rested at your collarbones, matching the accessory in your hair. All this prepared just for him.

“You look absolutely radiant,” he breathed.

Closing the distance, he snaked a hand around you, toying with the smooth material under his warm fingertips. Seeing how gorgeous you were almost alleviated his earlier frustrations, until he came to a sour realisation.

“Though, I can’t help but be… annoyed that Luke and Kieran saw this surprise before me.”

You bit your lip. Of course, Sylus had figured out what his henchmen were doing throughout the day. His voice grew deeper as his lips brushed against your ear.

“Next time, kitten, you should invite me to go with you instead.”

XAVIER ⟡

It took very little to spark Xavier’s jealousy, as much as the man himself would want to deny it. Strangers, colleagues, and acquaintances could cause his unassuming appearance to transform into a hostile front if they got too friendly with you. But today was another ordinary workday, so there would surely be no situation where Xavier should feel such a way.

There had been a string of quiet days at the Hunters Association that meant that Team Alpha could finally make use of their office. Namely you and Xavier, who usually were assigned to field missions. Your neglected chair squeaked under your weight as you stretched your body, lifting your arms high into the air then relaxing. Twirling the pen in your hand, the words on page about recent energy fluctuations seemed to swirl in your vision. Xavier turned from his own desk to observe you.

“I’m going to get a drink from the vending machine.” He stood up, the wheels of his chair clattering against the hard floor. “Do you want one too?”

“Green tea, please,” you replied.

“Warm or cold?”

“Cold,” you decided. You clapped your hands against your face, squishing your cheeks. “I need to shock my system to wake it up.”

Xavier’s face broke into a smile. “Sounds like a good plan.”

Before he could walk away, a voice called out your name.

“Morning Y/N!”

Xavier narrowed his eyes slightly at the approaching man.

He was tall (though not as tall as himself), with ashy hair precisely tousled to reveal his forehead, and friendly eyes. Xavier’s senses heightened in the same way as they would in a battle with a Wanderer. The unfamiliar man had greeted you with such familiarity. Only two words had been spoken, yet it was enough to irk Xavier. If he had called you less kindly, that would have helped to lower his guard.

To his surprise, the man turned his attention towards him.

“Ah, you must be Xavier! I’ve heard much about you.” He extended his hand. “I’m Andrew, head of the Data Analysis sector.”

Xavier stared at Andrew’s hand for a moment—blinking and discerning. Head of Data Analysis… Is this some kind of power move? He gave the hand a brusque shake.

“Excuse me, I need to get some drinks for the two of us,” he said, turning on his heel and walking away to the office’s break room.

Andrew furrowed his brows as he watched Xavier leave.

“Quite elusive, isn’t he?”

You shook your head.

“Maybe when you first meet him. But once you get to know him, you’ll see just how reliable he is.”

The tenderness in your tone came unconsciously to you, but it always happened when you spoke about Xavier to others. Especially towards those who might misinterpret his neutral disposition.

Small talk continued over the next minute between you and Andrew, until he suddenly looked at you with a slight frown.

“There’s an eyelash on your face,” he said, pointing vaguely to the left side of your face.

You used your fingers to swipe across your skin, yet Andrew still shook his head.

“No, no. It’s right here.”

He brought his finger closer to show you exactly where it was.

The dull thud of plastic bottles falling to the ground could be heard a couple of metres beside you. A blinding light zipped through the air, alongside a gust of air that swept your hair back. Before you could even register what had caused this phenomenon, Xavier appeared between you and Andrew. Your wide eyes stared at his hand gripping Andrew’s wrist.

“Xavier?” you called in surprise.

Xavier seemed equally shocked at how instinctually he acted. One moment he had seen Andrew’s hand move closer to your face, and the next he was face-to-face with him.

“I-I don’t know what came over me.” He released Andrew from his iron hold. “I'm really sorry”.

With a small bow, Xavier braced himself, ready to receive the full brunt of anger from the Head of Data Analysis. He shuddered at the thought that this might be reported to Captain Jenna. Instead, Andrew shook his head calmly.

“Don’t worry about it.” He gave an understanding smile, observing your worried expression towards Xavier. “In fact, I do believe this was my bad.”

The abandoned green tea bottles rolled lazily beside the desks, and Andrew picked them up. “I’ll be heading off to my office now, I’ll see you two later.”

Handing the drinks to you and Xavier, you both expressed your thanks. As Andrew left, you turned to Xavier.

“Xavier,” you spoke slowly, “what exactly was that?”

He scratched his head and diverted his eyes from you.

“I saw he was getting too close, and my body moved faster than my head…”

It was hard not to react at how adorably guilty he looked.

What am I going to do with you? You thought, sighing in affectionate amusement.

“I know how it must have looked from afar, but there was just an eyelash on my face that Andrew was trying to point out,” you explained.

Again, you swiped a finger across your face. “I still don’t know where it is though.”

Your movements were halted as Xavier gently grasped your wrist. He leaned in close, examining your face. You felt his light touch against your eyelids as he took off the lash.

“You know, there’s a superstition about this,” he began, handing the lash to you.

“They say if you have a stray eyelash, you can use it to make a wish.”

He cleared his throat, the tips of his ears turning red believing his next words to perhaps sound a little childish.

“So, I wanted to be the one who would give you that wish.”

RAFAYEL ⟡

Rafayel’s jealousy would make itself known to you the moment he felt it. Though he would hide it between clever, teasing remarks, it was cute to see how clingy he got when it happened. And there was no better situation to provoke such feelings than at a gala hosted by Flux Arts. Admittedly, it was difficult to get the artist himself to attend these gatherings that featured one of his own paintings, so Thomas had to devise a convincing reason for him to go. That reason, naturally, being you. If you were his plus one, Rafayel could certainly face any battle.

You stood in front of Rafayel’s painting now as he had left you for the moment to speak with Thomas. Even after being exposed to his work many times (both mid progress and completed) they still managed to instil awe within you.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

The voice pulled you back into the room, and you looked over at the stranger beside you. He appeared to be slightly older and was likely a wealthy, enthusiastic patron of the gala.

“Yes, it is,” you agreed. “It’s one of my favourites.”

In truth, you favoured it because you were there when Rafayel painted it. From start to finish, he had you at his side. Though abstract, upon closer inspection, one could extrapolate details of a city with glorious towers and vibrant, thriving coral. It held a special place in your heart.

The man’s eyes were glued to the painting.

“Rafayel truly is an artist you get once in a lifetime.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sincerity in the gentleman’s compliment.

“It’s hypnotising to witness the scenes he creates,” he continued. “He seems to bare his soul in each painting.”

“He is quite an expressive man,” you commented, breathing a small laugh.

From picking out the perfect outfits to the perfect paint materials, passion infused every part of Rafayel’s life, including in his relationship with you. It was one of his greatest traits you adored about him.

The familiarity in your tone was lost on the man, who believed you to only be an admirer of the artist, and not an admirer of a different sort.

The conversation continued, and you discovered the man to be a professor of history. He had discovered Rafayel through his own interest in ancient civilisations such as Lemuria. You couldn’t help but beam with pride listening to the man speak so highly of Rafayel, and the impression his works had left on him. The man soon took his leave, thanking you for entertaining his enthusiastic ramblings.

You were so engrossed that you didn’t notice Rafayel with his arms folding behind you. He graciously gave you a few seconds to detect his presence. Though, his frown grew as you continued to be, supposedly, too starstruck from your earlier conversation with that stranger.

He cleared his throat loudly.

You spun around at the familiar voice.

“Raf! How long have you been standing there for?”

He shrugged with as much nonchalance as he could muster. However, anyone with two eyes could have guessed the annoyance on his face.

“Enough to hear the last bits of your conversation.” He strode to your side, arms still folded tight across his chest. “Found interesting company so soon after I left?”

You closed the gap between the two of you with a step, preparing to explain the true nature of that conversation. Not letting you interrupt his sulking, Rafayel continued,

“I need to be more wary. There are too many people here wanting to whisk you away from me.”

As soon as you walked into the gallery arm-in-arm, people’s eyes were drawn to the two of you. At his mention that you were the centre of attention, you had dismissed it, saying it was him everyone took interest in.

Tilting your head to the side, you placed your hands your hips, almost as if to say: Are you going to let me speak?

Rafayel quickly conceded, spluttering out his next question, “And why were you being so chummy with that stranger, anyway?”

“That stranger said he was a professor of history specialising in ancient cities, and that he’s been an admirer of your works for a long time,” you answered.

Poking at his cheek with your finger, you attempted to remove his pout that remained affixed on his face.

“I was being chummy because he was complimenting your work! It made me happy to hear that people have such high praise for you and your paintings.”

Rafayel’s pout disappeared.

“It just made me think… how proud I am to have you as my partner,” you smiled. “You leave a profound impression on people.”

Your words resonated in his head. He stood motionless, with only the slow blink of his eyes.

His lack of reaction made you flush.

“Ah, that was pretty cheesy, wasn’t it? I’m sorry–”

The apology stopped short in your throat as you were scooped into a tight hug. Rafayel’s arms wrapped around your waist. A few gala attendees looked over at the young couple with admiring gazes, wondering what could have happened that would cause such open affection.

Rafayel nuzzled his forehead into the curve of your neck, mumbling right by your ear, “Jeez, here I was trying to be jealous…”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

4K notes · View notes

strwbrychffoncake · 2 months ago

Text

shot, shot, shot, shot!

what happens when the four love and deepspace men get drunk and jealous? there's only one cure and it's in between your legs!

━ ✧.˖ PAIRING: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel (separate) x female reader (afab)

━ .ᐟ✧ GENRE: smut, porn with very little plot

━ ✧.˖ TOTAL WORD COUNT: 15.7k

━ .ᐟ✧ GENERAL CONTENT WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, mentions of alcohol, recreational drinking (characters and mc), jealousy (guys + mc), drunk characters (guys + mc), use of Y/N, pet names, unprotected sex, never pulling out, fluff/crack/banter, individual content warnings below with their respective fics

━ ✧.˖ LINKS: original inspo | ao3

A/N: SURPRISE ITS HERE EARLY! oof another fic for all four guys? who is she? but actually after this i likely won’t be writing for all four guys like this again, or at least for a while. if i can somehow get better at writing fics that are 1-2k then ill start doing scenarios with all four again! i tried to keep this one short and they’re still all 3-4.3k per guy…this scenario was originally based off the one video of the drunk asian guy! see the clip above under ‘links.’

enjoy guys!! i’ll be taking a much needed break but may write slowly in my own time :) just depends how i feel, how much inspiration i have! i’ll still be on tumblr but will mostly be on my twitter <3 until next time bbs!

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 4.3k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, sylus refers to reader genitalia as ‘she,’ public sex, sex in an alley, standing/against the wall sex, finger sucking, choking, outdoor sex, voyeurism, needy sylus, drunk sylus, jealous sylus, use of pet names, mentions of guns, tiny bit of violence, cumming in coochie, panties over cummies

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | video (how sylus kisses you in this)

Luke and Kieran watch the way Sylus’s eyes track you under the strobing lights of the nightclub. It wasn’t out of the norm for their dear boss to be obsessed with knowing a certain Hunter’s whereabouts. But this was excessive, even for him.

The way he’d already shattered two glasses with the force of his fingers, his eyes scarily unblinking as they trailed your every movement. The club manager didn’t dare kick Sylus out, apologizing to him as he’d cleaned up the glass from Sylus’s feet. But Sylus was too distracted to even notice.

The pair of troublemakers supposed it had to do with the fact that some sleezy drunk had his hands all over your bare thighs. They knew if Sylus had his way, that very man would be unconscious on the floor in half a second flat. But of course, when it came to you, Sylus was helpless as he was whipped, giving into your every desire, even if it physically pained him to do so.

And you had ordered Sylus not to intervene, not when you were undercover, trying to get classified information from the powerful men that frequented this very nightclub in the N109 zone. So he was left at the bar, quite literally fending thirsty women off left and right, watching the way you pretended to laugh amongst the unsuspecting targets. He tried to distract himself from the men who so clearly were thinking of ten different ways to fuck you.

A privilege reserved only for him.

So the twins, who had so enthusiastically begged to tag along, devised a plan to help Sylus take his mind off planning literal murder.

Really, they were trying to help!

But maybe they should’ve stopped after the fifth drink. When Sylus’s cheeks flushed the same shade of red as his eyes, ebbing all the way up to the tips of his ears.

And they definitely should’ve stopped after the tenth drink. When Sylus’s body started to move on its own accord, his Evol practically parting the crowd of drunk and sweaty clubbers to get to you.

But at that point there was no stopping the formidable man from taking what he wanted. And what he wanted, what he needed, was you.

Honestly, you nearly breathe a sigh of relief when you feel Sylus’s familiar Evol wrapping around your wrist, yanking you backward and away from the disgusting man trying to feel you up. You’re so happy to feel his strong arms around you that you don’t notice how atypically clumsy his Evol feels, like grasping for something when blindfolded.

“We’re leaving.”

Sylus’s words are dominating and commanding, ‘no’ not even a fathomable possibility. But there’s a slight waver in his gruff voice that makes you raise your eyebrow at him in question.

The idiotic man before you wraps his clammy hands around your waist, pulling you back, “Hey man. We’re in the middle of something.”

You look up to see Sylus’s crimson eyes, trained on the way the man’s fingers dig into your bare skin, burning with something dangerous, the air around him crackling with an erratic and sinister energy, and you know you have to defuse the situation as quickly as you can.

You bring your elbow to the man’s groin, digging hard. He groans pathetically, wilting to his knees. Truthfully, you didn’t have to elbow him that hard, but you’d become nauseated with how disgustingly he’d been looking at you, touching you, for the past thirty minutes.

“No, we’re really not.”

With that, you slip into Sylus’s side, his large arm wrapping possessively around your naked shoulders, your hand resting on his abdomen. Sylus’s lips quirk up, deeply satisfied with the way you can bring men twice your size to their knees before they can even blink. His girl.

As the two of you make your way out of the crowd, you start to notice the way Sylus’s movements are unusually sluggish, his feet trudging one after the other. Considering Sylus was always poised and elegant, you instantly knew something was amiss. When Luke and Kieran fall into step behind you, you turn to the two masked men.

“What happened?!” you hissed at them, “What happened to ‘Watch Sylus? Easy peasy lemon squeezy?!’” Your fingers are raised in air-quotes as you recall their confident words and uncontrollable giggles when you’d tasked them with keeping Sylus in line, knowing he’d have a hard time watching you faux flirt with other men, no matter how self assured he was.

Kieran is the first to speak, clearing his throat as the four of you exit the nightclub, the night air ruffling through your hair, “Well, you see –”

But he’s cut off when Sylus roughly grabs your chin, pulling your eyes up to his.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Your eyes flicker to his, surprised by his demanding, yet needy, words. Sylus smiles when you look up at him, his eyes, as unfocused as they were, beaming down at you.

His rough fingers caress your cheek, burying his face into your hair, inhaling your intoxicating scent, “Beautiful.”

The scent of alcohol on his breath is so strong you nearly wince. Luke and Kieran seem to notice your realization at the same time, their eyes widening as you start to yell in disbelief.

“Is he drunk?!” you demand, your arms wrapping tighter around his waist, Sylus in a world of his own as he mutters incoherent mumblings into your hair, shifting his weight onto you.

The twins grin at you sheepishly, raising their hands in surrender. Luke speaks, “Well, in our defense, boss never gets drunk –”

“Yeah! Boss is such a heavyweight –”

“So we thought, a few drinks might loosen him up –”

“You should’ve seen him! He was thiiiiiis close to commiting a crime –”

“So really, you should be thanking us!”

The twins finish rattling off, looking at you with puppy eyes.

You sigh, unable to feign anger at them, “How many drinks did you give him?”

“Umm…what was it Kieran…like…eight?” Your eyes widen as they scratch their chins.

“No…no, it was definitely closer to…like twelve?”

“Well we also gave him those cute little drinks with the umbrellas, he seemed to really like those!”

“Yeah and they had little chunks of fruit in them! Maybe that cancels out the alcohol?”

“Yeah! And the one with the olives too! Plus, boss always drinks like a bottle of wine a night!

“So we thought…a few mixed drinks…couldn’t hurt anyone!”

Your head spins as you try to keep up with their conversation, digging through your purse to find the unopened half bottle of water you’d brought. You quickly unscrew it, bringing it up to Sylus’s lips.

Sylus looks surprised when the cool plastic touches his lips, but once his hazy eyes focus on you again, he visibly relaxes. The sharp vermillion hues in his irises melt at the reflection of you, softening into the most beautiful carmine pools of red wine.

His hands come over to cup yours, holding your fingers affectionately in his as you tilt the water back so he can drink. You have to tip toe upward so you can follow his grip, his gulps greedy and eyelids shut in relief, the sensation of your hand cupping his jaw feeling like his own personal heaven.

With the plastic at his moistened lips, his eyes flutter open to look at you, his lids heavy with intoxication. Even though his eyes swim with a murky tiredness, they glow when they watch you, glimmering with a star-struck adoration. His intensity stares you down, a knowing heat piercing right through you. The very same heat that has seen both your naked body and soul.

The moment feels hot and strangely intimate. It definitely felt illegal to have Sylus looking at you like that while Luke and Kieran stood behind you.

He’s so distracted by you, eyes never leaving yours, that nearly a third of the water splashes onto his chest and the pavement floor. He drinks so enthusiastically that you almost want to giggle at how submissive he looks, drinking so obediently from your hands, eyes following your every move. Fortunately the pair of whispers behind you remind you that, even if Sylus stares at you like he’s ready to mount you right then and there, you are not alone.

When the bottle drains, he crumples it in one hand, tossing it to the nearest waste bin.

As it hits the metal trash can, you tear your eyes away from the way Sylus heatedly watches you, turning back to Luke and Kieran, “Are you two insane?!”

The twins look positively offended.

“How did you even convince him to drink so much?”

“Well, he was so distracted watching you that he just downed anything we put into his hands...”

You bite your lip, realizing how difficult it must’ve been for Sylus to sit back and just watch. But he did it, for you.

“Y/N.”

You try to ignore the way Sylus is stroking the bare skin of your shoulders, fingers coming dangerously close to your neck. His ruby eyes beg for your attention.

“Sylus might drink a lot, but he drinks wine –”

“Y/N.”

“Not hard alcohol! Look at how red he is! You guys, this was recklessly irresponsible!”

“Y/N.”

Sylus pulls you forcefully back into his arms, his head dipping into the crook of your neck, teeth nipping at your pulse. Through the darkness of the night, you pray Luke and Kieran can’t see the way Sylus whispers into your ear.

“I need you.”

You fight the shiver that threatens to unleash through your unsuspecting body, his hot breath washing against your skin, the contrast of the brisk night air making you all the more sensitive. His fingers hold you in place, his hard body pressed into your own.

You sigh, trying to brush the arousal away, “Let’s get you home, yeah? We can –”

He nips at your earlobe, eliciting a squeak from your lips as he gruffly demands, “Now.”

Before you can protest further, Sylus’s eyes direct to the twins in front of you, the pair of them snickering to themselves knowingly as he dismisses them, “We’ll meet you at home.”

–

You didn’t even make it to your car.

Far from it, you found yourself pressed into the cold brickwall of a nearby alleyway, not fifteen feet from where Luke and Kieran had left the two of you. Sylus’s lips are latched onto yours in a furiously passionate embrace, his hands alternating between grabbing torridly at your waist and threading into the back of your neck, weaving into your sweat-dampened hair.

Your arms are wrapped around his neck for support against his torridly forceful kiss, his head tilted to the side to give him full access to your mouth, your lips, your tongue.

He doesn’t even stop to breathe, opting to inhale your breath as his own. His tongue forcefully explores every inch of your open and willing mouth, and you struggle to keep up with his excitement. His fingers massage your neck, grabbing eagerly at every part of you he can reach.

Sylus has always been passionate, but this was something else. It felt as if the alcohol in his blood amplified everything tenfold, leaving his cock thicker than ever against your shivering abdomen. His hands roam down your naked back, pulling at your waist again, pressing your body harder against his erection that leaks against his underwear.

Sylus’s head tilts to the other side, your face moving opposite his to instinctively receive his unbridled passion. He cups the back of your head again, shielding you head from hitting the wall, the force of his kiss pushing you against it violently.

He pulls away briefly, panting into you, his canines grazing into the soft skin of your ear, “You’re going to be the death of me, little dove.”

You want to question him, but his lips are back on yours in an instant, consuming you once more. His fingers grip your jaw so tightly, funneling all the emotions he’d held back, while watching you on the dancefloor with other men, into the way he holds you against the wall. Into the way he devours you.

He gives you a brief second of reprieve, pressing his lips into your neck, voice coming out husky and sulky, “I don’t enjoy seeing you with other men.”

You gasp as he pushes you impossibly deeper into the wall, teeth simultaneously digging into the curve of your neck. Your fingers thread up into his hair, tugging to ground yourself as Sylus sucks your soft skin.

“M-sooorry,” you slur, as if you’re the one who’s drunk, “B-But I got the information I – nnghn – needed.”

Sylus growls into your skin, “I knew you would. You’re a force to be reckoned with.”

His thumb presses against your bottom lip, eyes glazed over with a drunken hunger, “And you always have me at your mercy.”

It isn’t long before he has your back arched into his abdomen, the front of your sweat slicked body pressed into the cold alley wall, his cock buried in your wet gummy walls. Your panties are pushed messily to the side, your skirt hiked up to your waist.

Sylus’s fingers are shoved into your mouth, claiming to try and minimize your sounds so passerbys don't hear the filthy things he was doing to you. In reality, he was just addicted to your sweet mouth wrapped around him.

His other hand holds both of your wrists, locking them against the small of your back, leaving you absolutely at the mercy of his thick cock ramming in and out of you.

“S-so damn beautiful,” Sylus is almost slurring, having gotten more drunk the longer the alcohol sat in his stomach. The acoustics of the dark alley made his body pounding against yours all the louder and more sinful.

His thrusts are sloppy, the alcohol making it harder for him to maintain control. But that only serves to arouse you more, the sight of Sylus’s hazy eyes when you crane your neck back to see him, the sweat sticking to his flushed skin.

You can only moan, the pads of his fingers pressing down into your tongue. The loud drunken giggles of people passing by make your eyes widen, but Sylus doesn’t stop, only going faster.

“Never gonna let another man touch you, ever again,” he moans into your ear, as he ruts angrily into your g spot, his fingers pressing tiny bruises into the fat of your hips. He’s ten times handsier when he’s drunk, almost as if the alcohol makes his muscles itch, your body his fixation..

He spins you around suddenly, nearly making you lose your balance, his cock entering you just as quickly as it had slipped out. Sylus is desperate to see your beautifully hooded eyes, the faces you make when you come undone for him.

You grip the thick muscles of his neck, admiring his damp and exposed chest. The buttons of his shirt had been yanked open in the drunken shuffle, leaving little to imagination.

“H-Hey,” Sylus mutters, the faintest hint of a whine beneath his words, “Look at me.” His thrusts, sloppier than ever, never stopping.

You grin, despite how blissed out your mind is becoming, at his adorably needy behavior. As you let your eyes lose themselves in his, you stroke his jaw lovingly.

“Tell me,” he pants, his cock twitching as it presses insistently into your walls.

“Nngh — T-Tell you what Sy?” you coo breathlessly, nails digging into his sweaty skin, trying to distract yourself from the no doubt filthy brick wall pressing into your exposed back.

“Tell me how I make you feel,” Sylus’s jaw tightens dangerously.

He thrusts especially hard and deep when you don’t respond, capturing your wrist and pressing it into the wall above your head, effectively trapping you against the wall, “Tell me.”

You squeal, biting your lips, “Sylus! F-Feels s’good. N-No one else can — hng — make me feel like this!”

Sylus’s glossy ruby red eyes flicker, his fingers finding your clit pressed against his pelvis, “Yeah? You love my cock, don’t you sweetheart?”

You want to smile at how adorably needy his words are, the alcohol fueling him with the rare desire to be validated. Instead you just nod vehemently as he plays with your clit, “I dooo!”

Sylus grunts, struggling to breathe as you tighten around him. He grabs your cheeks in between his fingers, squeezing them firmly until your moans are muffled, “Shhh, we wouldn’t want someone to find us, would we little bird?”

You nod obediently, but your body responds instinctively to his words, your abdomen fluttering in excitement at the thought of being caught in such a compromising position, with the revered leader of Onychinus no less.

Sylus chuckles darkly, his every nerve receptive to your tiniest micromovements, and especially the excited way your pussy clamps down on his erection. His lips come down to kiss your jaw sweetly, contrary to the mean way he bullies himself into your cunt.

When he reaches the space beneath your ear he presses a tender kiss there, whispering huskily, “I can feel the way you’re tightening around me. Do you like the idea of someone watching us?”

Your eyes widen at him, and that’s all the answer he needs.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I would love to give them a show. Especially that man who had his hands all over you, hm? What was his name?”

“I-I d-don’t – hah – remember,” you wheeze, holding on as he bounces you into the wall, the sound of drunk bar patrons growing louder.

Sylus smiles darkly, his red eyes glowing in satisfaction, “Good girl. This pussy belongs t’me, hm?” His words come out in a purr, slightly sluggish with intoxication.

You can’t speak, opting to nod as eagerly as you can, your brain muddling against the pleasure of your joined bodies. Sylus chuckles at your wordless agreement.

“My precious dove…can’t even speak?” he coos, fingers still splayed out against your poor quivering clit, the wet sounds of his furious ministrations echoing throughout the dark alley. He leans in close to your ear.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. She’s so loud she might as well be answering for you,” he grins, clearly talking about your soaked and squelching pussy against his demanding thrusts.

You’re about to retort when you hear another group of people passing by the alley. Your hands fly up to your mouth, forcing your uncontrollable moans away. Your eyes squeeze shut as the patter of feet gets closer and closer, fear and excitement taking over.

“Ah-ah,” Sylus tuts, “You know better than to hide your beautiful sounds from me.” Your eyes widen when his words sink in.

Your hands fly to Sylus’s broad shoulders, but it’s too late to push him back. His hands find the globes of your ass, lifting you off the floor, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. At this angle Sylus can fully bounce you on his cock, using you however he wants. At this angle, the swollen tip brushes right into your cervix. At this angle, it’s physically impossible for you to muffle your cries.

Your nails dig into the ropes of his shoulder muscles as you squeal. Sylus only grins as the sound of feet falter, right in front of the alley.

You try your best to whisper, “Sy-Sylus, please. Th-they’ll hear.” But it was pointless. Even if you could hold back your whimpers, the echo of his arousal dampened pelvis slapping against the space where your thighs met your ass bounced off the walls of the alley like a resounding bell.

“You say that…” he murmurs, fingers coming back down to your clit, balancing you in just one arm, “But why is she getting so tight?”

He’s right, and there’s no denying it. Sylus is well acquainted with your body, knowing exactly what excites you, what you don’t like, what you love.

The heavy footsteps gradually fade, likely too drunk to hear anything than the pounding of distant EDM music. Sylus hears you sigh in relief, releasing a bated breath, but your cunt stays as tight as ever around him. It drives him insane.

Nearly getting caught has only pushed both of you to the cusp of your orgasms.

“Close, dove?” Sylus whispers into your ear, one hand pressed into the wall, the other bouncing you on his quivering cock.

Your head is thrown back as you nod, gasping for your next breath, “Y-Yes! So cloooose Sy!” At this point you don’t even care who could possibly hear you, only able to focus on the angry way Sylus’s cock twitching inside you, stroking your g-spot, begging to paint you white.

“M-Me too, Y/N,” Sylus’s uncharacteristic stutter, driven to madness by the alcohol and you, makes you clench down, hard.

He hisses, hips stuttering, teeth clamping down on your shoulder, tongue subsequently coming out to lap at the space where he bit down, soothing your skin.

The push of pain, the pull of pleasure, it’s just enough to tip you over, careening down the cliff of your orgasm. Your head falls back, eyes rolling with them, body fully preparing to show Sylus just how much you loved him.

But Sylus has other plans, squeezing your cheeks in between his fingers, directing you to look at him.

“Hey. Look at me, please.”

His commanding words remind you that he’s very much still intoxicated, making him adorably needy for your attention.

When your eyes level with his, his red eyes sparkle happily, like a puppy getting its ears scratched, “Hello, my love. Show me, hm?” The duality of his lovable desperation and his downright malevolent plunges into your cervix blurs the lines between pleasure and reality, sanity and madness.

You nod eagerly, holding his intense eye contact, while you burst at the seams, spraying all over his still clothed abdomen. Sparks of white hot electricity travel through every one of your nerve endings while you cum on him.

Sylus gulps, in awe of the way you sing for him, shame thrown to the wind. If anyone were to walk by, they’d hear the way you screamed for his cock. Hear the way your body made him gasp for his next breath. How he grunts with each rope of cum that he dumps into your waiting hole, each sloppy pump filling his vision with bleary stars.

As he cums, he whispers brokenly into your ear, “C-Can never get enough. I love you, sweetheart.” One of his big hands comes up to clamp around your throat, his fingers pressing down forcefully as he erupts inside of you.

“Ngh…I love you Sylus,” you murmur against the pleasure of your constricted air flow, clinging to him, truly like an injured bird.

Sylus kisses your lips tenderly as you both come down from your highs, his fingers carefully laying your panties back in place. When he sets you on the ground, you nearly collapse, your legs quivering from the way they’d been locked around his waist. His arms are back around you in an instant, holding you steady. His cum flows out of you like literal tears, but you can only clamp your thighs shut and pray your pathetic soiled panties can catch the streams of his milky seed.

He guides you carefully out of the alley, pressing affectionate kisses into the crown of your head as he holds your waist protectively. You’re so dazed you hardly notice that your skirt is still ridden up, until Sylus gently pulls it back down, smoothing the rumpled fabric with his large hands.

The sounds of two far too familiar voices greet you when you emerge from the backstreet.

“Are you guys finally done?”

“Do you have any idea how long we’ve been waiting?!”

Sylus groans, running his hand down his face, “Didn’t I tell you two to go back to base?”

And though you’re thoroughly mortified at the idea of the twins having walked into your…situation, you can’t help but smile at the way Sylus handles Luke and Kieran. Like a father reprimanding his children.

“Well we did —”

“But then you guys didn’t come back for a while —”

“So we thought maybe something happened!”

You shake your head at their frenzied explanation, the smile stretching on your lips as you watch the twins move their hands animatedly in their defense, “You guys are impossible.”

Luke gasps in exaggerated earnest, “How can you say that after what you’ve put us through?”

Kieran nods in agreement, shuddering dramatically, “Yeah! I feel like I just walked in on my parents…”

“You two better watch yourselves before I confiscate your guns again,” Sylus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. But you can see the corner of his lips fighting an amused smile.

Luke and Kieran simultaneously gasp, their reaction making it seem like Sylus was a father grounding his children, taking away their toys. You burst out into giggles, hugging Sylus’s side to keep warm as you watch the comical situation unfold.

“There’s no need for you to do that, Sy,” you murmur, looking up at him, admiring the way the moonlight frames his face. Sylus peers down at you, his face softening, before nodding curtly.

The twins snicker. Luke uses his hand as a shield in front of his mouth to whisper to Kieran, pointing to Sylus behind it, “Whipped.”

You shoot them a smile, a deceptively innocent and sweet grin, “I’ll gladly confiscate them for you.”

There’s nearly a cartoon puff of smoke left behind when the twins scurry off, desperately clutching their holsters and begging for mercy.

Sylus chuckles as he watches them run off, his arm slung over your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side as he presses a kiss into your forehead.

“Truly a force to be reckoned with.”

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 3.8k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, drunk mc and xavier, pre-established relationship (but not first time), public sex/voyeurism, sex on the dance floor, standing sex, fingering, dancing without leaving room for jesus, grinding, jealous!mc, not a content warning but xavier is wearing tight black shirt and jeans…….MMMMMM, unprotected sex, handjob through clothes

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | pics (how xavier and you make out in this)

The thumping beat of club music pounds in your ears, making it difficult to hear even your own thoughts. But you really didn’t care, too intoxicated and having too much fun dancing with Tara in a throng of sweaty club goers.

The both of you had requested today off, wanting to see an up and coming DJ at the Linkon Lounge. You’d started the night off at your apartment, getting dolled up in your wispiest lashes and outfits that made you feel strong, confident, and beautiful. You’d shared a couple shots of tequila before slipping on your heels and scrambling out of your apartment, in a fit of tipsy and hushed giggles.

Coincidentally enough, you ran into Xavier on your way out. Your blonde-haired partner was in the apartment lobby, grabbing his mail, when you and Tara bumped into him, literally. If it weren’t for Xavier’s quick reflexes, his forearm darting out to wrap around your waist, you definitely would’ve ended the night before it began, with an ice pack in your hand rather than a fruity drink.

And that’s when Tara had invited Xavier out with you. Truthfully, you were sure Xavier would say no. The club definitely wasn’t his scene, and he undoubtedly had plans to have a cozy night in. But you were pleasantly surprised when he blurted out ‘yes’ before Tara could even get the words completely out. Tara knew Xavier wanted to come to keep an eye on you, and she was all too happy to play matchmaker.

You hadn’t seen Xavier for what felt like at least fifteen minutes. You assumed he went off to the bathroom, or maybe to order some more drinks. Before long, you started to worry.

“I’m gonna go look for Xavier! Will you be okay?” you practically scream over the music, pulling the side of Tara’s face to your mouth so she can hear you better.

“I’ll be here!” she yells, pointing at her phone, “Text me if you can’t find me!” You nod, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

You push your way out of the crowd, apologizing profusely as you’re met with the displeased looks and groans of drunk patrons.

Eventually you make your way to the edge of the dancefloor, scouring the area for Xavier. You had a difficult time focussing your eyes, stumbling about, but did your best to look for the enigmatic Hunter.

You quickly check the line at the bar before deciding to check the bathroom. It’s then you catch the glint of familiar platinum blonde hair, Xavier’s body leaned up against the wall near the public water fountains.

You gulp at the sight of him, his head leaned back to rest against the wall, his hands folded across his chest. The musky sweat of the enclosed space made his black fitted t-shirt cling to his biceps, his skin glistening with sweat under the pulsing LED lights.

Even from this far away, it’s clear Xavier is drunk. His eyes are hooded with intoxication, his throat bobbing with shallow breaths.

You’re about to approach him when the groups of people in front of you shift, and you see a girl latched onto Xavier’s bicep. The two look far too cozy, Xavier not doing anything to push her off as she speaks animatedly up at him, her eyelashes batting seductively.

It’s not like you and Xavier were dating…but it was clear there was something deeply intertwined about the two of you. That, and the fact that you’d been intimate several times. But you had to admit, you’d never made things exclusive.

You turn on your heel, thoroughly perturbed at the sight of Xavier with someone else, making your way back to where you’d left Tara.

You’d just broken into the crowd when a firm hand catches your wrist, stopping you from pushing further. You turn back sharply, ready to throw your fist back, only to be met with the sight of Xavier, in all his flushed and handsome glory.

“Where are you going?”

You fight the urge to smack him, jealousy a true green-eyed monster, instead just feigning ignorance, “What? I can’t hear you!” You gesture wildly with your hands to emphasize your point. You turn away from him, starting to tug your wrist away again when he pulls you back, hard.

He twirls you effortlessly into his chest, his strong arms wrapping around you, secure and unrelenting. You look up at him in question. He leans down, and your breath catches as his lips come an inch away from yours. But he doesn’t kiss you, instead whispering into your ear.

“I asked where you were going. Didn’t you see me?” his breath is warm against your ear, the smell of alcohol invading your senses over the pounding music.

“You looked busy. I didn’t want to intrude,” you try to keep your voice level, but you can tell it comes out petty. You hope through the deafening music, Xavier can’t hear how sulky your voice is.

Xavier looks confused in his drunken state, but shouts into your ear, his tone genuine and endearing even amidst the music, “You’re never intruding.”

You sigh at his sweet words, tiptoeing up to speak to him and trying to be nice, “Who was your friend?”

Xavier looks even more bewildered for a second, before realizing the implications of your words, a lazy smile painting his features. He holds you close, one hand on the small of your back, the other coming up to touch your cheek.

“Not my friend. She couldn’t find her friends and wanted to wait with me.”

You roll your eyes. Xavier was too sweet and unassuming for his own good.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Xavier chuckles, “You don’t have to be jealous, I only have eyes for you.”

Your cheeks flare amidst the flush of alcohol on your cheeks at his words, and before you can speak Xavier is leaning down to kiss you. You squeak in surprise, but respond to his lips, kissing him back.

Xavier kisses you slowly, gently, and tenderly. You can barely even hear the music around you, the musky people bumping into the pair of you. All you can feel is Xavier, lips on yours, his hands stroking your bare skin, his hardening erection against your stomach.

He pulls away for air, his lips swollen and wet from your passionate kiss. Your ears pound in excitement at the way Xavier looks down at you, hungry and wanting more. You hook your arms around Xavier’s neck, pulling him down until your foreheads brush against each other.

“Dance with me,” you whisper loudly against the music. Xavier’s eyes shine with excitement, and he nods, his hands gripping your waist as you start to sway to the music.

You turn around so you can watch the flashing lights, the alcohol making them look like a light show. You feel much bolder with the liquid courage running through your veins, so you grind back into Xavier, your rear molding perfectly against his crotch.

Xavier hardens so quickly against your movements, your body feeling so perfect against his. The alcohol makes everything feel much more fluid and raw, his body responding excitedly.

He too is fueled by the courage of intoxication, his hands roaming from your hips to your stomach, just above the fat of your cunt. He can feel the way you shiver at his touch, and he decides to dare further.

His strong hands wander up, until they cup your breasts through your sheer dress. He rests his chin on your shoulder, whispering into your ear.

“Is this alright?”

You crane your neck backwards to nod at him, eyes flickering to his lips. Xavier leans in to kiss you again, one hand still playing with your nipple, the other reaching up to hold your throat against him gently. The two of you kiss so passionately, so messily, that you hardly notice the crowd of equally drunk and horny people around you.

As you kiss him, your hand comes backward to cup the back of Xavier’s head, grabbing at his soft blonde locks. Your body continues to rock sensually into him, relishing in the way his hard erection sits between the slit of your ass.

Looking up at him through your wet eyelashes, you whisper, “M-More. I want more.”

Xavier groans, looking around, trying to find the quickest way out of the crowd. But you can’t wait, too aroused by the way Xavier’s shirt clings to his muscles, the way his cock fights against his jeans, straining to be with you.

The alcohol dares you to be bolder than you normally would ever be. You grab his wrist, bringing it down to the hem of your minidress, guiding his fingers to slip under it.

You can feel Xavier stiffen behind you, eyes darting around to make sure no one is watching. But he quickly realizes quite literally no one cares about the two of you, too focussed on the music, too focussed on their own partners, to even spare you a glance.

So he follows your lead, his hands roaming under your dress, digging into your soft thighs. You moan into his ear, your head laid back on his shoulder.

With his palm so close to your cunt, you grind right into his open hand, wanting more friction, more of him. Xavier groans at your enthusiasm, quickly forgetting about the people that are packed around you like sardines. He feels something damp against his fingers, making him all the more desperate to have you.

“You’re wet,” Xavier whispers sluggishly into your ear, “Is this all for me?”

You groan at his words, your muscles twitching with anticipation. You try and look at him, the back of your head still resting on his thick shoulder. Your hand grasps at the back of his neck, forcing his eyes to drift down to you, the azure blues flickering to your lips before they come back to your gaze.

“Touch me, please.”

Even under the strobing lights of the club you can see Xavier’s eyes darken, his jaw tightening. His eyes flutter shut as he leans down to kiss you.

At the same time, his finger gingerly dips into your folds, moving your panties to the side. At first he just rubs up and down with his middle finger, enjoying the way you moan into his mouth. But it becomes far too unbearable, not being inside you.

He slowly dips his middle finger inside of you, hissing when your little hole sucks him in tightly.

“Is this okay?” Xavier asks, wanting to make sure you’re alright. Your eyes dart around lazily, making sure no one can see Xavier’s hands underneath your dress.

You nod, your eyelashes fluttering shut as Xavier starts to pump in and out of you. The energetic music makes everything feel more surreal, only the occasional jostling of people bumping into the pair of you reminding you of exactly where you are.

Xavier’s index finger finds its way inside you, his thumb rubbing at your slippery clit. He alternates his free arm between shielding you from people pushing as they pass by, and cupping your breast through your dress. In all your writhing, your ass continues to grind against Xavier’s cock. Under his jeans, he’s leaking so profusely that your body rubs around the slick, creating a sticky mess.

Xavier pumps inside you, enjoying the feeling of you wrapped so tightly around him, the feeling of risk and wrong.

“Please – Please don’t stop,” you pant, looking up at him with starry eyes.

The look of complete and utter bliss on your gorgeously flushed face makes Xavier bite his lip, “I’ll never stop, angel.”

You clench down hard on his fingers at the endearing pet name, one he so rarely called you. It makes you writhe against his hot and hard body, pressed firmly into you, like a puzzle piece.

With your back still turned to him, you reach your hand back to where his bulge presses into you. With careful hands, you cup the massive swell of his manhood, biting your lip when he moans into your ear, teeth grazing against your earlobe.

You rub him enthusiastically through his jeans, enjoying the way he writhes under your touch, his cock straining through the tight restraint of his pants.

“You’re evil,” Xavier groans, pressing kisses into your neck, trying to contain the moans he wants to make for you.

You lean your head back, staring at him through hooded eyes, “Should I stop?”

Xavier holds you tight, almost crushing you, to keep you from stopping.

“No. Never.”

You giggle, turning back to the club stage, watching the DJ perform, hands finding their way back to Xavier’s crotch. His pants are heavy and breathy by your ear, fingers scissoring in and out of you furiously.

Soon enough, the feeling of just your plush body against his isn’t enough anymore. He needs more.

With his fingers never pausing, he asks, his voice smooth and sultry, “I need to be inside of you, is that okay?”

“Please,” you whisper huskily, grinding against his fingers, “I want you.”

You can feel Xavier shifting behind you, pulling out his cock. He feverishly pulls your panties down just slightly, so that they rest under your cheeks. He lifts your dress, enough to give him access but making sure you’re still covered. He would rather die than let anyone see your precious body.

As the music comes to a peak, the beat building alongside your release, Xavier slips his erection into you. You’re thankful for the heavy bass of the drop because you quite literally cannot hold back the scream that rips from your lips as he pushes himself into the hilt.

One of his hands travels from your waist to under the front of your dress. When he finds your clit, he pinches down hard.

“You’re so cute,” Xavier hisses into your ear, picking up his pace, “Were you jealous earlier?”

“N-No! Don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” you whimper, your fingers gripping the arm he has buried between your legs.

“Mmm,” Xavier hums, clearly not convinced, “That’s alright, Y/N. You have nothing to be jealous of, ever.”

“I-I’m not – I wasn’t!” you gasp, forcing the words together as Xavier’s cock nearly finds its way into your throat. But at this point you knew he could see right through you.

“Would travel through time and space for you,” he murmurs, words full of a boundless affection, “I only see you.”

He puts all that same adoration and passion into the way he fucks up into you, holding you protectively in place, making sure no one so much as brushes against you.

Your moans are strangled when his cockhead angles into your g-spot, cutting off the drunken confessions on the tip of your tongue. Xavier’s girth was always something you had a hard time getting used to, and taking him standing was infinitely harder. Your inner thighs burned with the strain of how fully he stretches you out.

Xavier’s hand comes over to cover your mouth, his smile pressed against your throat. The alcohol makes Xavier irregularly chatty, his inhibitions lowered completely, “You’re so loud. Does it feel that good?”

Your eyes are rolled back mesmerized by the flashing lights, unable to discern what comes from the nightclub’s light show and what comes from the pleasure of Xavier’s poignant thrusts. You do your best to nod, your teeth sinking into Xavier’s palm to keep yourself conscious.

You’re nearly doubled over now, your jelly legs unable to hold you up, with only the support of Xavier’s strong hand against your cunt and his other arm wrapped around your chest. He holds you up as securely as he can, his own intoxication growing having not drank any water since you’d arrived at the club.

“Are you okay?”

Xavier’s head snaps up to see a club patron in front of you, a concerned look on his face as he kneels down to be eye-level with you. Xavier squick readjusts to make sure you’re covered.

Your eyes widen, trying to straighten up, “F-Fine!” You nearly scream as Xavier continues to thrust into you, his movement much more conspicuous but somehow more intense.

“Are you sure? You don’t look so good.”

You want to be kind, but you can really only focus on the way Xavier continues to fuck you, not even caring that the good Samaritan in front of you was this close to realizing what was happening. The fact that you were still very much drunk did not help.

“N-No, I’m fine,” you squeak, eyes rolling back when Xavier hits your g-spot. You can’t see him but you just know he’s enjoying the position he has you in. He smirks in satisfaction, grinding into your ass, his thick length nestling into your every nerve.

The man looks skeptical, especially at your unfocused hooded eyes, “Do you want some water?”

He’s about to reach out to touch you, when Xavier yanks you back, both arms wrapped protectively around you, “She’s fine.”

At Xavier’s harsh tone, the man recoils, looking up, almost as if he’s just noticing Xavier. He nods awkwardly before disappearing into the crowd.

Xavier resumes his vigor, kissing your neck and whispering, “Mine.”

“Now look who’s jealous,” you giggle languidly, gasping when Xavier drives into you harder.

“Not jealous. It’s just the truth,” he murmurs, tilting your head back to kiss you, fingers back on your clit.

His tongue explores your mouth excitedly, your pleasures quickly reaching a peak after coming close to being caught. Your body convulses around him, wanting him to push you into the oblivion of ecstasy.

“Always so tight,” Xavier groans, “I-I won’t last long like this…”

You squeal, your sounds drowned out by the vibrating music, “Ngh – me too Xavier.”

“G-Gonna cum,” Xavier gasps as your cunt strangles him, ripping away from your lips and panting for air.

You crane your neck back to look at him, your eyes wide with wonder and desperation. The blissed out look on your beautiful face makes Xavier groan, his hips stuttering into his climax.

“Cum for me, Xavier,” you beg, impossibly close as well, “Want to feel you.”

Xavier shuts his eyes, his body following your every command. His cock explodes inside you, filling you with a hot warmth that spreads all the way to your fingertips and toes. Xavier doesn’t speak as he cums, only suckling hungrily at your neck, moaning and whimpering into your bruised skin.

He keeps thrusting into you, even as his cum starts to leak out of your hole, wanting you to come undone too. Even when the overstimulation starts to border on pain, he refuses to stop.

His cum makes it so there’s zero resistance, only the pure pleasure of his cock against your throbbing gummy walls. Soon, you’re cumming too, screaming into the pulsating music, your climax crescendoing with the drop of the song. The symphony of it all, the alcohol, the threat of being caught by any one of the dozens of people around you, makes it one of your most intense orgasms yet.

Your body instinctively clenches down as you release, making you cream all over Xavier, a mix of both your arousals. Xavier watches in awe at the beautiful way you cum, for him. It’s enough to make him pump a few more ropes into you, even as his dick throbs sharply in protest.

Xavier hugs you to his chest tightly, holding onto you for support as his cock quivers inside you. You can feel his chest heaving against your back, shifting as he slips out of you and redoes his zipper. Xavier puts your panties back into place, pressing a faint trail of kisses along your shoulders.

Suddenly, the crowd feels suffocating and icky and you desperately want to be somewhere quieter with Xavier. You pull him out of the crowd, nudging throngs of drunk and horny patrons out of the way as you make your way to the bar. Xavier follows you sluggishly, his fingers barely closing over yours as you guide him out..

When you reach the bar, you order a water and turn to Xavier worriedly, cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“Xavier,” you urged, “Are you okay?”

Xavier’s eyes flutter open, his eyes slightly rolled back, “M’okay. Just sleepy.” You giggle, patting his face gently, realizing the haze in his eyes is a mix of intoxication and post-sex bliss.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, you’re always so sleepy. Especially after…”

Despite Xavier’s eyes remaining closed, he smiles and mumbles as he leans against the wall next to the bar, “Can’t help it. You drain me.”

You blush furiously, despite it being loud enough where no one can hear you two. The bartender hands you a glass of water, and you bring it up to Xavier’s lips. Xavier’s eyelids flicker open, his long eyelashes fluttering as he takes in his surroundings again, like he’s so intoxicated off the alcohol and you that he can’t make sense of his bearings.

You take his chin into your palm, tilting him up gently so the water doesn’t spill. Xavier drinks obediently, not letting a single drop go to waste. His position against the wall makes it so that you tower a few inches over him, so he has to look up at you through his eyelashes. With each gulp of the icy water he never breaks eye contact with you, staring at you with all the awe and devotion in the world.

His hands gently grip your wrists, nuzzling into your hand. The way he watches you makes you want to squirm, his eyes glimmering under the flashing lights. His azure eyes feel like they hold the weight of an entire galaxy, but in reality it’s the reflection of you that makes his eyes sparkle with the brilliance of the stars.

“Hey! There you two are!”

You whip your head around to see Tara excitedly hurrying over to you as Xavier finishes the last of the water.

You turn to her, “Tara! I’m sorry, I found Xavier but then we got…caught up.”

She smiles and shakes her head. There’s a knowing mischief in her eyes, as if she doesn’t believe you, “It’s alright! I made some friends.”

She looks at Xavier. Even though you no longer hold up the empty glass to his lips, he still stares at you with the same starstruck look, a post-orgasm mist over his entire face.

“Why does he look like that?”

Your cheeks burn and you scramble to find an excuse, “Oh, he’s fine! He’s just drunk. And sleepy. Very sleepy.”

Tara grabs your chin, tilting it up in a squint, inspecting you. You’re about to ask what’s wrong, if maybe your false eyelashes came off, but when you look down at your shoulder you see exactly what she’s looking at.

A bright red, purpling bruise. In the exact shape of Xavier’s lips.

“Oh, I bet he’s sleepy.”

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 3.7k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, drunk zayne, needy zayne, jealous zayne, couch sex, booby sucking, pretty vanilla tbh, slightly sub zayne, zayne begs a lot, prone bone, doggy, choking, making out, cumming in coochie, mentions of birth control usage, zayne is a lightweight

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | video | art (credit to @roschea-arts)

You stumble into your apartment, nearly tripping over the threshold as Zayne’s heavy arm slumps over your shoulder for support. You kick your heels off, briefly bending down to slip Zayne’s shoes off, before you lead him to sit on your couch.

“Sit here while I get some water for you, okay?” you whisper worriedly against Zayne’s nearly unconscious face, pressing a kiss to his heated and clammy temple. Zayne doesn’t respond, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he takes a shallow breath, nodding gently.

Well, this was definitely not how you’d expected tonight to go.

When you’d invited Zayne as your date to the annual UNICORN hosted Hunters’ Association Banquet, you expected it to be a relatively uneventful night. You never expected your raven-haired surgeon boyfriend to get drunk. In fact, you’d never seen him so much as tipsy since you’d known him.

And that was something Zayne intentionally made sure of; alcohol was not something he indulged in, ever.

Except when you’re so busy socializing all night that he gets unbearably bored, curious, and desperate for your attention.

So that’s how he ended up absolutely plastered off two cocktails. In his defense they were deceptively fruity and sweet, the rims coated in thick crystals of sugar. Truly his kryptonite.

So when Zayne grabs your wrist while you’re talking to a fellow Hunter, spinning you gently to his hard chest, you’re completely taken aback.

“Apologies. Can I steal my girlfriend for a moment?”

Your colleague, standing before the both of you, looks flustered at Zayne’s commanding voice, nodding fervently before he turns to leave. His face is pale, not realizing you’d brought a guest to the banquet, much less a guest that looked as handsome and imposing as Zayne. You whip around, eyebrows raised, to face the surgeon in question.

His face is uncharacteristically red, the tips of his ears burning so adorably bright. The first few buttons of his shirt had been undone, the collar disheveled, like he’d pulled at it until the enclosures gave way. What’s more, the tension that colored his words, alarming and unusual.

“Zayne? What’s wrong?” you reach up to touch his cheek worriedly, gasping at how warm his normally chilly skin was, “Are you not feeling well?”

Zayne releases your wrist, instead capturing your hand on his jaw with his own palm, pressing you deeper into his cheek. He practically purrs into your touch, nuzzling into your hand warmly.

“You feel nice.” His voice is low, almost a rough whisper against the cheerful laughter of the night.

It was very unlike Zayne to be so blatant with his affections, especially in front of either of your colleagues. In this case, the packed banquet hall of UNICORN’s annual Hunter’s banquet, filled with curious and nosy onlookers, peering at the two of you embracing in the middle of the party.

Perhaps the bustling activity became too overwhelming for Zayne, especially given that you had been pulled every which way to discuss your recent mission successes. You’d hardly had a chance to make sure he was doing okay.

“Did you want to leave? I can —”

Zayne pulls you closer to him until your bodies are pressed together tightly, his slender fingers holding your waist in place. You squeak in surprise, blushing as you try to ignore the prying eyes of your colleagues as Zayne strokes your cheek, fingers playing with your loose strands of hair.

“Who was that?” Zayne’s voice is deceptively calm against the top of your head as he breathes in your familiar scent, masking the demand and restraint lurking just below the surface. Your pheromones calm him down slightly, making him feel much more at ease.

“Who was who?”

Zayne bends down to reach your ear, his normally calm and stoic voice much more shaky than usual, “That man, who was making you laugh. He seemed friendly.”

Zayne’s words tickle your ear, making you shiver. It’s then you can smell the alcohol on him, as he leans down to whisper in your ear, the bitter scent of vodka mixing with the faint smell of his cologne. Suddenly the questions of his irregular behavior clicked.

You lean back to look at him in shock, “Zayne?! Are you drunk?”

Zayne looks sheepish, his hazel eyes still intense, “No. I don’t – hic – don’t think so.”

You want to laugh at his incriminating hiccup, the surgeon undoubtedly intoxicated. That fact is only confirmed to you when you tip-toe up to peck his lips and taste the bittersweet trace of alcohol on him.

“You were so busy, I got curious and decided to...indulge. Just this once,” Zayne admits, his eyes never leaving yours as he holds you close.

You don’t speak, in shock at the way his words are slightly whiny and sulky all at once, something you never heard from Zayne. Zayne was never one to be jealous, and much less to actually show that jealousy.

Zayne’s eyes lower, glowing at you in a soft regret, “I’m sorry.”

You giggle, resting your head on his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. For that brief moment, you forget all about the watchful eyes around you, only able to focus on the man you loved before you.

“How many drinks did you have?”

He pauses, looking genuinely deep in thought as he tries to recall the night, “Two, no…maybe three.”

You grin wordlessly. Zayne never drank, so he was undoubtedly a lightweight, that was no surprise. But you would’ve thought it would take more than three drinks to knock the formidable man off his ass.

Zayne’s jaw clenched as he admires how beautiful you look tonight, his wandering alcohol-fueled desires pushing him to want to see much more, “Would it be alright if we called it a night?”

You nod, peering up at him, “Of course, are you not feeling well from the alcohol?”

Zayne averts his eyes, clearing his throat. His neck bobs against his undone collar, his tie hanging loosely around his chest.

“I’m alright. I just…want to be alone with you.”

By the time you arrived at your apartment, Zayne had gotten considerably more drunk, the alcohol being further absorbed into his bloodstream.

You hurriedly bring him a cool glass of water, standing in between his thighs, over his limp body. Zayne’s head is thrown back against the cushion of your couch, already having yanked off his suit jacket and tie, the articles of clothing strewn over the arm of the seat, his neck and collar exposed. His snowy pale skin is splotched red, practically radiating a wave of heat.

Your fingers cup his sharp jaw, tilting his chin up, shifting to hold his heavy head in the palm of your hand, stroking his cheek lovingly. Zayne’s eyes flicker up to yours as you tilt him up, his glasses slightly fogged up from the heated crimson flush on his cheeks. His eyes light up when they meet yours, his eyelashes fluttering as he fights to keep his eyes open. You bite your lip, trying to keep your wide smile at bay. He looked so utterly adorable like this, looking up so affectionately obedient like this.

You bring the glass gently up to his lips, encouraging him to drink. Zayne obeys, lips latching onto the edge of the cup as you tilt it forward, gently nudging his chin upwards with your other hand.

His eyes flutter open at the feeling of your touch, his golden emerald irises trained solely on you as he drinks, refusing to look away. He’s so focussed on you that dribbles of water stream down his chin as he gulps down the entire glass, falling onto his collar.

His eyes never leave yours as he chugs the entire glass of refreshing water, the whites of his eyes shining in the dim lighting of your apartment. If anyone else saw the way Zayne looked at you, they’d swear they could see hearts reflected in them as he drank from your hands. He looked at you as if his entire world spun around you, the center of his universe.

When you pull away, Zayne’s eyes still don’t leave yours. Instead, they appear to become more intense, more fiery.

“Zayne? Do you want more water?”

He doesn’t answer. You’re too distracted by the incensed pools of peridot when Zayne yanks you onto his lap, lips capturing yours hungrily.

–

“Ngh – Zayne!” you moan, pulling away from his demanding and bruising lips. Zayne grants you a brief break to breathe, but his fingers firmly hold your hips in place atop his erection that strains against his buckled pants, the two of you nestled deep into the couch cushion.

He gives you a second before he’s yanking your chin towards him again, soft mouth crushed against yours in an instant. Your lips are captured gently between his teeth, his hunger for you insatiable. The taste of alcohol is still faint on his tongue, and he wants nothing more than to overwhelm himself with the taste of you.

You’re completely engulfed by him, the ferocity of his mouth against yours, the warmth of his breath against your tongue. Zayne’s jaw alternates, side to side, trying to give himself the best access to you he can possibly get. The cool touch of metal grazes against your cheeks, his glasses pressing against you in the vigor of his embrace. He groans in frustration into your mouth, forcing himself to briefly pull away.

Before you can even question him, he’s yanking his misted up glasses off by the temples, tossing them onto your coffee table without a second glance, without a single care. His eyes are hooded with desire, his glasses no longer obstructing you from him. They shut sensually when he leans back in, lips parting as his glasses clatter louding against the table.

He says nothing, smashing his lips into yours once again. You can vaguely feel the distinct bump of his nose, pressing into your skin, when he grabs the back of your head, pulling you harder against his all consuming hunger.

His tongue is unbelievably tender against yours, despite how urgently and desperately he devours you. His fingers press into the divots of your arched back, his arms are completely wrapped around you, bringing you into an affectionate embrace as he continues to consume you whole. His fingers stroke up and down the half exposed expanse of your back, enjoying how soft you feel against his big hands.

You grind down onto his cock as you try and match his passion, your panties sticking to your soaked folds. Your thighs are spread so widely against his legs, that the dampness smears against his dress pants, your dress doing little to hold anything back.

Zayne hisses at the delicious pressure, lips leaving yours to gasp into your ear, his hot breath caressing the sensitive skin.

“D-Don’t,” he gulps deeply, alcohol and anticipation making him trip over his words, “Unless you're willing to take responsibility for the consequences.”

You shiver at his words, leaning in to kiss his reddened earlobe, “And if I am?”

And that’s how you find yourself naked, sweaty, and writhing on your back, under the pressure of Zayne’s half naked body on top of you, his cock ravaging every inch of your poor cunt.

Zayne is a mumbling and moaning mess above you, droplets of sweat beading on his bright red temples, his damp hair dangling below his forehead. His unbuttoned dress shirt flies wildly, his thick muscles twitching every time his lower half drives into you like a madman. If it weren’t for the sweat lining your back, you’d undoubtedly be pushed around the couch like a ragdoll under Zayne’s furious passion.

You can barely see Zayne’s eyes, his dangling bangs obscuring much of his frantic face. You do your best to sit up, your chin on your chest, watching the way Zayne’s glistening body jackhammers into you, his rhythm erratic and desperate.

Trying not to drool, you watch his abdominal muscles twitch, his briefs and dress pants hanging off his hips. He’d been so eager to bury himself inside of you that he didn’t even take off his clothing, instead pulling his cock out from under the top of the waistband of his briefs. It’s so heavy and thick with excitement that the restraint of his brief’s waistband is no match for it.

“M’sorry,” Zayne mumbles, so slurred you barely even hear it through the clinking of his undone belt, hanging off his waist.

“Wh-what?” you pant, tugging at the sweat-soaked shirt that clings to his back.

“Didn’t mean to get so intoxicated,” he pants breathlessly, almost sounding guilty, “I’m sorry.”

Your heart clenches at the vulnerability shining in his eyes. You know he’s not used to letting himself feel his emotions like this, to really give into his needs and desires.

“Zayne, don’t apologize,” you whimper through the pleasure, stroking his cheek, “You’re allowed to let go sometimes.”

Your words nearly make Zayne snarl, his pelvis slapping into your ass, his hands elevating hips, your thighs wrapped tightly into his sides.

“You’re so good to me,” he rasps, eyes rolling back as his praises make your body instinctively clench down, “I–I love you.”

“A-ahh nghn – love you s’much Zayne,” you squeal as he thrusts even deeper into you, his confession only increasing the passion he feels for you in the drunken moment.

You’re surprised when you feel his damp hair pressing against your forehead, his cool lips brushing a soft kiss onto it, deceptively gentle compared to the way he ravages your wet heat.

“M’always thinking about you,” Zayne moans, voice muffled as he kisses your forehead over and over, unable to keep his lips, his hands, off of you.

“I think about y’too Za–ayne,” you pant, trying to focus on forming coherent words through the shape of his erection being molded into your core. You knew just how vulnerable the fog of alcohol had made Zayne and wanted more than anything to reassure him.

But his cock stretching you out, nearly the width of a clenched fist, made that so difficult.

“You looked – you look ravishing tonight,” he slurs, kissing down your cheek and onto your neck, “Had a hard time tonight, watching you – hic – be the most beautiful girl in the room.”

Your chest flutters and you blush, clenching onto him, “H-Hardly.”

Zayne’s eyebrows furrow, giving you a pointed thrust, making your breasts jiggle at the force, “Look at what you do to me.”

His fingers cup your breast forcefully, squeezing down on your poor nipple, “You know I’m not one for jealousy…”

“But even I am not immune when you look like that, giving everyone but me your attention.”

“Sorry, my love,” you murmur, trying your best to speak through his frantic thrusts, “You know you’re the one I come home to at the end of the day.”

Zayne’s eyes darken with satisfaction, his fingers twirling your nipple in between them, “I suppose. But does that give you the right to let men flirt with you shamelessly all night?”

“Zayne, they weren’t —” But apparently protesting was a mistake, because Zayne only starts to hammer into you harder.

“They were,” he growls drunkenly, letting his emotions take control for a split second, “But I can’t really blame them, not when you look like this. Not when you feel this perfect around me.”

You whine at his words, his simultaneous threats and praises making it impossible for you to think straight.

“I-I’m soorry,” you find yourself apologizing, wanting to please Zayne, “Won’t do it again, I’ll b-be good!”

“No need to – hah – apologize, my love,” Zayne groans, “Not when I plan on reminding you exactly who you belong to tonight, all night.”

Your body convulses around him, knowing just how much stamina Zayne has, just how serious his slurred words are. Zayne’s hips falter, his body buckling into you.

“You’re s-oo tight,” he groans brokenly, letting his head fall down to your chest, “All for me, right?

“Allll f’you! Only you!” you cry, your fingers gripping onto the back of his shirt when his teeth close over your nipple, nibbling gently. You claw at his back, desperately wanting to be able to touch his bare skin, but his white dress shirt is in the way.

“That’s my girl,” he moans, words muffled by the way his tongue circles around your hardened peaks, suckling like he was trying to find the antidote to intoxication, “So good for me.”

As his thrusts grow sloppier, you know he’s coming close to his end. But you’re surprised when he pulls out suddenly, leaving you feeling empty.

“W-Why?” you demand, leaning up on your elbows in protest. Your eyes widen, almost salivating, when you see the way Zayne is gripping the base of his cock, the thick head red, angry, and ready to burst. He curses, forcing himself to take deep breaths, desperately trying to hold his orgasm back. He was learning that alcohol significantly decreased his normally endless supply of stamina.

“Don’t want to – ngh – finish yet,” he pants, hooking his arm under your back and flipping you over so that your back faces him, your hips arched slightly off the couch. He quickly takes off his pants that are pooled by his knees, his briefs still clinging to his muscled thighs.

You squeak in surprise when you feel the wet smack of Zayne’s cock against your ass, the surgeon hissing at the painful yet arousing sensation. The sting helps to keep him from exploding right onto your beautiful body.

“Ngh – Zaaayne!” you squeal when Zayne shoves himself back into you, parting your cheeks to give himself better access. You claw at your couch as he picks up his speed, rhythm still unsteady.

“I’m sorry,” Zayne apologizes, his words bordering on frenzied babbles as he pounds into you, his heavyset balls slapping against your clit, “M’sorry, love. Let me make it better.”

He leans down, pressing a trail of kisses down your spine, his pelvis rippling against your rear. His veiny forearms cage you into the couch, his foot lifting to step onto the cushion, right by your waist. With his leg raising as leverage, he can truly jackhammer into you.

Zayne goes absolutely feral in this position, his fingers coming up to grab a fistful of your hair, tugging gently as he bounces up and down on your ass. The sounds of skin against skin, drunken moans, and moist squelches resounds like a symphony in the early morning lighting of your apartment.

His grasp tightens in your hair, his other hand kneading the plush of your ass as it ripples against his thrusts. His voice lowers, throwing his head back with a moan, “Been waiting all night to have you like this.”

“Oh-oh God!” you cry when he thrusts into you, particularly hard and deep, making you see stars, “Zayne I-I can’t – I’m so close!”

Zayne hoists you onto all fours, gently lifting your upper body by your neck so that you’re pressed firmly against him with your knees holding you up. He kneels behind you, wrapping one arm around your waist while the other secures your neck against his chest.

“Me too, angel,” Zayne pants into your ear, his breath hot and moist. You can feel the truth in his words, his thighs shaky against yours, his thrusts erratic.

“Please, let me cum in you,” Zayne rasps.

“When have I ever denied you?” you respond. Zayne came inside you nearly every time you two were intimate, ever since you’d started birth control.

“It’s a waste, if it’s not inside you,” Zayne slurs, “You’ll take it, right?”

When you don’t respond, too wrapped up in the bliss of it all, Zayne’s hand descends to pinch your nipple. The power of his thrusts, the tease of his hands, his aura. He commands authority,

“Tell me you’ll take it all, for me.”

“I will, I will! P-please Zayne, give it to me!”

Zayne groans, grip tightening against your body, hugging you for dear life, “That’s my girl, that’s it, just like that.

Zayne has always been vocal, but his drunken ramblings have taken it to another level. You clench down, ready to come undone to the sound of his filthy praises.

Zayne is close behind you, hands kneading your breasts, balls slapping against your clit, “It’s coming Y/N, take it. Take it for me, please.”

You scream in response, cunt spasming around the last of his messy ruts. Zayne’s own strangled groans mix with the sound of wet flesh slapping against each other. You can feel every beautiful ribbon of white hot cum painting your insides, coating every inch of your waiting womb.

Zayne’s skin often felt ice-cold, but his cum always came out so hot and heedy. And now, with the flush of alcohol still clouding his circulation, his milky ropes of seed nearly made you feverish.

Zayne slumps against you, his body spent, drained bone-dry. The weight of him against your quivering muscles is too much, and your thighs give out, sending you crashing into the couch. He catches you before you can slam face-first into the carpeted floor.

He sets your limp body gently into the couch, shrugging off his white button-up.

“Zayne,” you murmur groggily, savoring the image of his muscles peaking through his open shirt, “Come cuddle.”

The corner of his lip twitches, “I will, sweetheart. Let me clean you up first.”

Using the clean inside of his shirt, he carefully wipes off the slick that collects at your inner thighs, before it can pool onto the couch. Your legs are putty in his hands, Zayne cleaning you with the utmost care and tenderness.

When he’s done, he settles beside you on the couch, shifting you so that your neck rests on his forearm. He holds you close with one arm, the other drawing lazy circles into your stomach.

Zayne turns his head to the side, pressing a kiss into your temple, “Thank you. For taking care of me tonight.”

You can tell by Zayne’s calm and steady tone that he’s sobered up quite a bit from the orgasm, the control returning to his deep timbre.

You giggle, nuzzling deeper into his arm, the hairs of his underarm tickling your shoulder, “I hardly did anything.” In the comfortable silence, your eyes start to flutter closed.

“You did more than you know,” Zayne whispers, the tender smile in his voice unmistakeable. You simply nod, muttering incoherently as you fall into a deep and sated slumber.

“You are everything.”

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 3.9k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, car sex, publix sex/slight voyeurism, sex while pulled over in da passenger seat, bottom raf, riding, face sitting, rafayel is a MUNCH, oral f!receiving, jealous raf, drunk rafayel, protective rafayel, somewhat mentions of violence, unprotected sex, no pull out ever

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | pics 1 | pics 2 (both rafayel's car)

The night road ahead of you is peacefully calm, the drive back to Rafayel’s house a peaceful and scenic trip. There's very few cars beside yours, well Rafayel’s, on the main roads back, likely because it was close to 2am.

You were honestly having way too much fun driving Rafayel’s car, thoroughly enjoying the purr of the beautiful Benz. You didn’t have the opportunity to drive many cars, let alone a Gran Turismo.

Your fingers tap gently along the rim of the steering wheel, admiring the elegant LED lights that kept you awake. Rafayel had the car’s interior lights set to a blushed lavender color, ever since you’d said it was your favorite setting. It reminded you of the pink in his cotton candy eyes.

Your eyes flicker to your right, briefly checking on Rafayel as he groans beside you in the passenger seat.

He sat with his arm propped up against the passenger side window, his head resting on his palm. His breathing was still shallow, his eyes closed in a restless and light sleep. The alcohol was no doubt making it difficult for him to rest.

You sigh to yourself, trying to think back to how the night had ended disastrously with him so damn drunk.

Rafayel had invited you as his date to one of his endless art exhibits, a few cities over from your home. Only this one was special.

When they’d unveiled his starring piece, a beautiful oil painting on a massive canvas that nearly reached the ceiling, you nearly fell to your knees.

Because Rafayel had painted the most exquisite portrait of you.

You, surrounded in ribbons of coral and seaweed, the most colorful globs of intricate paint surrounding you, a mosaic of sea glass. You, dancing in the endless sea of pastel turquoise. You, in Lemuria. His home.

Rafayel had painted you countless times before, you were his muse after all. Even if he never admitted that openly to you. But this was different, he’d never so openly shared you with this world before. Never wanted to open himself up like this, to anyone, to you.

It was beautiful as it was magnificent. It made you feel like the most beautiful person in the world, more gorgeous than you’d ever felt in your entire life. The way he’d put paint to canvas and created literal magic.

It appeared others thought so too. All the patrons attending the gala that night clamored around the oil canvas, press snapping photos, writers grabbing at Rafayel, trying to get anything for their tabloids.

It was nothing out of the norm. You’d become quite used to the glitz, glamor, and madness that came with being his girlfriend.

What was unexpected, was the attention you got, as the subject of the painting.

The people who wanted a piece of you, the stunning woman in Rafyel’s newest piece. Rafayel did his best to keep you comfortable, shooing away the throws of people trying to get even a morsel of anything from you.

“Rafayel. It’s okay. I can handle it,” you give him your best reassuring smile, “Go mingle with your guests, I’ll be fine.”

Rafayel looks reluctant, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, unwilling to let go. Eventually you convince him, with the promise of a reward later if he listened, to go speak to the serious sponsors and buyers that demanded his attention.

“Never should’ve painted that damn thing,” he muttered as he walked off, looking back at you as Thomas dragged him off. He should’ve known sharing you with the world would have driven him insane.

So you spent the rest of the night trying to be as sociable as possible, not wanting to upset any of Rafayel’s guests. After a few hours you finally found a free moment, finding yourself in front of the portrait once again. Most of the people had cleared out, giving you a chance to really admire the masterpiece.

Rafayel was undeniably talented, maybe the most gifted artist in the world, you’d always thought so. But the way he painted you here was more than just art.

It was his heart on a canvas. And his heart, his entire world, was you. Every fiber of his soul, woven together into a tapestry of lustrous colors, each one depicting a different memory.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

You turn your head to the stranger’s voice, coming face to face with a handsome man, clad head to toe in the most luxurious brands. He stands so uncomfortably close to you that you can smell the nauseating cologne wafting off of him. And yet it’s his aura that makes your skin crawl uncomfortably.

He fills in your awkward silence, eyes looking you up and down, “Definitely not as beautiful as the real thing.”

You really don’t know how to respond to the stranger’s boldness, in shock at how forward he’s being. Your relationship with Rafayel was no secret, the paparazzi having photographed the two of you publicly many times. And you’d walked into the gala on Rafayel’s arm.

“Thank you,” you say curtly, offering a small smile, trying to return your attention to the display.

“I’m going to buy it, you know. And then maybe after, I can buy you a drink?” when his hand lands on your bare shoulder you flinch back, ready to resort to your tactical training. The thought of this man buying a portrait of you makes you nauseous.

Before you can give him a piece of your mind, he’s falling backward with a surprised yelp.

“Hands off the art,” an all-too familiar voice snarls, as he stands between you and the man. You’re too shell shocked to realize Rafayel is clearly drunk, his charismatic voice drawling muddily.

“Don’t touch me,” the man snaps, “I bought this piece, I legally own it.” The way he says ‘piece’ makes your blood boil, the misogyny dripping off his words.

Rafayel, drunk as he might be, catches on too. Fire burns in his eyes, matching the heat of his Evol. Thomas isn’t far behind, looking at you with desperation on his face, begging you to help him defuse the situation. Rafayel was spontaneous enough as it was, there was no telling the lengths he’d go to when he was intoxicated, especially when you were involved.

You reach your hand out, grasping Rafayel’s fingers and gently pulling him back towards you.

“He’s not worth it,” you whisper when Rafayel’s head snaps to you, his eyes softening instantly when they land on you. Rafayel spares the man, rubbing his wrist with a grimace, a glance. You wrap your arm around Rafayel’s waist tugging him close to you and trying to lead him out of the nearly empty gala.

Rafayel takes a deep and shaky breath, before nodding slightly. As he turns to leave with you, he glances back to the man and Thomas, his chin raised.

“It’s not for sale.”

“B-But I already wrote the check,” the man blew up, face red with anger and disbelief.

Rafayel smiles, a fake and genuinely terrifying smile, “I don’t care how many checks you write. You’re never looking at her again.”

It’s enough to even send chills down your spine.

With those words, Rafayel exited the gallery with you on his arm, you rubbing soothing circles into his back. It was rare Rafayel got full blown drunk; you’d seen him tipsy numerous times, but he was always careful not to cross the line into completely losing control of his inhibitions.

As he slumped in the passenger seat of his car, he briefly explained just how he found himself so shit-faced.

“Everyone was taking your time,” he slurred, breathing heavily. The alcohol made him bluntly honest, much more so than he’d normally be about something like this.

“Oh, Rafayel…” you giggle, bending over to latch his seatbelt in, “I know, it’s usually you getting the attention, it must have been weird to share it. I’m sorry.”

Rafayel scoffs, his head resting on the window, “S’not why I was upset. I don’t like sharing you.”

You bite your lip to fight the smile that threatens to sneak its way onto your face, “Why didn’t you just come back?”

“Was trying to distract myself. Didn’t want to disappoint you,” he mutters, his eyes closed and his arms folded across his chest as you start the car, “I know you wanted me to talk to the annoying old farts.”

And then he promptly dozed off, like a precious little baby.

You were about 15 minutes from his place when Rafayel stirred awake from the mere feeling of your hand on his thigh. It was far too dark to see the tent growing in his pants, all from your fingers stroking his sensitive thighs, even when he was unconscious.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, giving him a smile when you see the movement in the corner of your eye, “You feeling okay? I have water in my bag.”

“P-Pull over,” Rafayel slurs, still clearly drunk. His eyes are glued to your palm on his leg. Not even he knows why the innocent touch has him so worked up and feral.

“What?!” you exclaim in a mix of disbelief and shock, “We’re so close to home –”

“Pull over,” he urges you again, the strain between his legs growing painful, “Please.”

His urgency makes you nervous, and you quickly find a secluded area you can pull over, turning your hazards on when you do so.

“Do you need to throw up?” you turn to him worriedly, grasping his thigh tighter in your fingers and rubbing soothingly, unsure of what to do.

Rafayel groans at your unknowingly innocent actions, rubbing his hand down his face, which only makes you worry more.

You undo your seatbelt so you can sit on your knees and face him, your hands still rubbing up and down his thighs, hoping to make him feel better.

Rafayel takes that opportunity to undo his own seatbelt, hoisting you out of your seat and onto his lap. You try to muffle your scream as he effortlessly carries you onto his lap, cramped between his body and the front dash. It always surprised you just how powerful Rafayel’s body was despite his toned and slender build.

“Rafayel!” you squeal as he sits you on his lap, “What are you doing?!”

He doesn’t speak, only looking up at you with big wet eyes. He spreads your thighs so that they cage his own legs, his hands resting on your sumptuous hips. Despite his strong and possessive hold, you’re still able to twist around to grab your tote bag, pulling out a plastic water bottle.

“Don’t need to throw up,” he mumbles, looking up at you through his long and dark eyelashes, “Jus’ need you.”

With his hand on your back he pushes you down until your chest is flush with his, capturing your lips in a feverish all-consuming kiss. The bitter and sharp taste of alcohol is still strong on his tongue, his lips impatiently messy and insistent. Rafayel rocks up into you as he loses himself into your embrace, his very clear and prominent erection begging for attention.

“R-Raf!” you pull away, even at his whiny refusal, hands still tugging at the clothing at your hips, “Did you really make me pull over for this?” Your eyes dart around nervously, making sure there’s no cars around you. But it wasn’t necessary, Rafayel’s windows were so tinted that even if you had your nose pressed to the glass you wouldn’t be able to see much.

“Come on, at least drink some water while we’re pulled over,” you untwist the cap of your reusable water bottle.

“No,” Rafayel pouts at you, the rose flecks in his eyes glow as he looks up pleadingly at you, “I don’ want water, wanna kiss you.”

You can’t help but laugh, despite the risky and precarious situation you find yourself in. That situation being Rafayel’s very excited crotch.

“Don’t laugh,” Rafayel broods, his bottom lip jutted out, shiny with a sheen of saliva, “I wanted to be with you all night, ‘specially when everyone was getting your attention.” He presses his chin onto your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your body wash and pressing wet kisses into your neck.

“Wan’ my reward now,” Rafayel slurs, his wandering fingers hooking under the thin strap of your evening dress, slipping it off your shoulders.

“You’re drunk Rafayel,” you reason firmly, even though your body is already betraying you. Your thighs squirm, widening instinctively for him, excitement pooling at the apex of your legs.

“Sooo?” Rafayel’s head fall backs onto the headrest, “Just give me a taste, please?”

You want to keep a level head, deny his insane request, but his hard body against your pliable one makes you desperate for more. Besides…the windows are almost completely blacked out and you were in a very secluded upper-end neighborhood, where all the homes had nearly miles of yard between them.

“Fine…” you concede, “But only if you drink some water.”

Rafayel’s eyes practically radiate, nodding eagerly and raising his lips to the cool bottle. His sudden willingness is comical, and you smile fondly at him as you help him to drink. Rafayel’s fingers squeeze against your waist, your soft skin making him grow thicker and hotter by the second.

His body unconsciously grinds against you as he drinks the water, eyes open wide with a faux innocence, staring right at your heated and flushed cheeks. He’s so focussed on admiring the irresistible look of desire on your face as he relentlessly rocks into you, that he doesn’t even feel the cold streams of water trickling down his shaky chin.

His fingers trace delicate and intricate shapes into your waist, eyes hooded at the feeling of your heat against his throbbing member. His eyes never leave yours as he finishes the last of the water, looking up at you through his thick purple eyelashes. His eyes shine brightly, the pinks in them accentuated by the LEDs of the car, watching you with a vast sea of desire.

Just as you remove the bottle from his lips, Rafayel lowers the angle of the passenger seat, as far down as it can possibly go.

You shriek in panic, clutching onto Rafayel as the chair dips suddenly, limbs flailing wildly. Rafayel takes that opportunity to lift your thighs, hoisting you nearly to the top of the passenger seat until you’re kneeling with his face in between your thighs.

“R-Rafayel!” you yelp, gripping onto the leather backseat for balance, thighs squirming at the feeling of his warm breath fanning against your exposed lips. The slick that had pooled in your panties makes you much more sensitive to his heated pants. Practically dripping onto his face.

“You promised a taste,” he mumbles, all consumed by the way you glisten against the dim indoor lights of his car. He doesn’t let you get another word in before he’s pulling your panties to the side and licking a fat strip up your slit, all the way to your clit.

“Ngh – Raf!” If it weren’t for his strong hands on your thighs you would’ve crushed him with the way your knees buckled and you nearly fell on top of him.

Rafayel doesn’t speak, only a filthy string of wet slurps and strung out moans audible, this tongue writhing against you, positively starved. The way he makes out with your cunt makes your muscles melt, your body nearly melding into the seats.

Rafayel can feel your shaky legs struggling to keep you up and he pulls your hips down, guiding you to sit on his face. In your surprise, you fall completely, a choked sob of bliss ripping from your mouth when Rafayel completely engulfs your weeping cunt into his mouth.

You're a babbling mess of the most lewd cries, your thighs clenching unbearably at the pleasure Rafayel’s tongue forces into you. You try not to put too much weight on Rafayel, but he only pushes you down, wanting you to crush his skull.

“Tastes so sweet,” Rafayel moans into you, the vibrations of his praises reverberating through every single one of your nerve endings. As he eats you with a relentless excitement, his eager nose strokes along your folds, gathering your arousal with every stroke.

“And it’s all for me,” he whines in the most pussy drunken voice you’ve ever heard from him, likely from the heavy intoxication, “No one else's, just mine.”

You can tell he’s still reeling from the encounter at the gala, with the man who’d wanted to buy the piece he’d painted for you. Just reassuring himself of things he already knew to be fact.

“And you’re mine,” you gasp through the sparks in your vision, wrought with pleasure. You do your best to keep your nails out of the expensive leather upholstery, tearing at Rafayel’s skin instead.

He grunts with the sting of your scratches, the pain fueling his excitement, which he funnels into the way he devours you, slurping up every single drop that pools down your lips.

With one hand on your thigh, he palms himself through his dress pants, jerking furiously.

It isn’t long before he yanks you away with a desperate gasp, carrying you back down onto his lap, “Need to be inside you now, ‘kay?”

The ears ring with the whiplash, the pleasure being yanked away suddenly, staring at Rafayel with dumbfounded wide eyes. You barely register when he takes his bare cock out, rubbing it up and down your absolutely drenched folds, your dress bunched to your waist.

He holds himself firm in his fingers by the base, squeezing down as he rubs up and down your glistening slit, peering up at your rosy cheeks.

“Baby?” he huffs, sounding faraway, “Can I?”

You barely even register your nod, your body moving on its own volition. Rafayel grins, lining himself up and not wasting another second before sinking himself into you, his favorite place in the entire world.

Your face is stuck in a perpetual oh as Rafayel sinks all the way into you, his veins especially prominent in his intoxication. You can almost feel them throbbing as they squeeze against your tight walls, his hips flattering when he feels himself hit the soft walls of your g-spot.

“Ngh – I love you, Y/N,” Rafayel moans, his arms coming up to wrap around your back, pulling you tightly against his torso.

You nuzzle your head into Rafayel’s chest, needing the support as he starts to rock into you, bouncing your body off his lap with the strength of his thighs.

“O-Oh God,” you whimper into his chest, letting him man handle you against himself, too overwhelmed by the way he’d made you feel with his tongue, and now his cock.

‘J-Jus’ like that, baby,” Rafayel mewls into the crown of your head, taking in deep lungfuls of your scent. His arms are wrapped so tightly around you that you almost can’t breathe, but you only want him to hold you harder, tighter.

You can’t even be bothered to care that you’re fucking in such a public area, the risk of getting caught just a faraway thought. The only thing you can find yourself caring about is the way Rafayel drives deeper into your guts, forcing you to look at him as he buries himself into you.

“Hah – pretty girl,” he breathes out, his body slowing. You realize the alcohol must be making him tired, and you force your weight onto your knees.

“L-Let me, Raf,” you whisper, sitting up as much as you can until your head brushes against the car roof. Rafayel watches you with wondrous eyes as you begin to ride him.

“Oo-oh shiit,” he groans, mesmerized by the way you roll your body into him, “You're so perfect, Y/N. Just like that, please don’t s-stop.”

You whimper, biting your lip and trying to control the way his cock has your body screaming for release. You lean back onto his knees, one hand grappling at the window for leverage, the other cupping his balls.

Your hand is met with the wet condensation of the frosted window, the mixture of yours and Rafayel’s torrid breaths fogging up the interior completely. It’s such a sensual sight that you clench down on Rafayel, thinking about the passion of this moment, in the confined space of his favorite car.

Rafayel lets out the most delicious string of moans and expletives as you gently massage his balls in your fingers, fondling them delicately, “Oh God, that feels so good, you feel – angh – amazing.”

You throw all your energy into rolling your hips against Rafayel’s pelvis, wanting to use him until you were utterly spent.

“So big Raf,” you wail, struggling to keep up a rhythm as his size splits you in half, “I-I’m soo clo-ose.”

“Fuuck, me too,” Rafayel grunts, his neck craning back, back arching slightly at the way you ride him so filthily, “Don’t stop, I’m almost – ngh – there.”

His lewd words are your last straw, your hips stuttering as your cunt coils tightly around his length, your body orgasming so intensely through your tightly shut eyes. You desperately hope no one is nearby, because the muffled screams coming from the inside of the car were sure to be audible.

“You love me, right?” Rafayel slurs, his eyes wet and on the verge of coming undone, needing your words to be the final push.

“I love you Raf,” you gasp brokenly, still bouncing on his lap, “Soo-oo much!”

Your vice grip on him has Rafayel seeing stars of his own, the blinding pleasure signaling his own release. As he cums, he brings you back to his chest in a heated embrace, babbling into your mussed hair.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” comes his strangled mantra, the words overflowing from his wet puffy lips, “My Queen.”

You whimper as Rafayel fills you with rope after rope of his hot seed, it already beginning to seep out of your hole and down his still hard length. He gives you everything he has, the soul nearly being sucked out his body through his cockhead.

Rafayel digs his nails into your back as you overstimulate him with your languid thrusts, urging you to stop.

“N-No more,” he whines, holding you in place, “You’re trying to kill me.”

You still your hips with a chuckle, listening to his rapidly pounding heart, “I would never.”

Rafayel strokes your hair, holding you against his body, his cock softening and slipping out of you. You wince at the feeling of how much dampness leaks out of you, sitting up and trying to cup yourself so it doesn’t leak all over Rafayel’s seats.

But Rafayel holds you back down, “No. Stay.”

“Rafayel, it's going to ruin the seats!”

“I don’t care,” he mumbles, his voice still sluggish from the alcohol, nuzzling his face into your chest as he hugs you to keep you from moving.

“You care, you love this car. I love this car,” you whine, trying to pull away and keep the slick from spilling everywhere, but he doesn’t relent.

“Just say you love the car more than me,” he sulks, his bottom lip protruding.

You glare at him, before deciding to tease him and play along, “I love the car more than y–”

Rafayel covers your mouth with his hand, squinting at you, “If you finish that sentence I’ll scream.”

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