#in love or in limerance? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

comatosebunny09 · 1 month ago

Text

tempest | sylus q.

summary: sylus sabotages all your attempts to move on. things come to a head after you grow tired of him giving you mixed signals. genres: angst, erotica warnings: melodramatic af, alcohol, jealousy, unprotected intercourse, size difference, written with female reader in mind, dirty talk, restraints, profanity, emotional hate sex, “slut” used like once notes: a consequence of staying up past my bedtime, this late night/early morning blurb was born. thank you so much for reading, lovely! hope you like it! ❤️❤️❤️ now playing: masc - doja cat

Nothing seems amiss tonight, Sylus thinks, leant against the rail of the second-floor balcony in his club.

He studies the crowd—the sea below of writhing, sweaty bodies. The floor thumps beneath his feet from the bass of the music. Red strobe lights briefly highlight his features, revealing a pristine glass of whiskey poised at his lips. Nothing in particular seems to capture his intrigue. There are no suspicious-looking people sinking into the crowd. No dancers to protect, no fights to break up. He’s about to retreat into the quiet safety of his office, but—

Oh, what’s this?

Something finally does pique his curiosity tonight. That very something being you, and he finds his brow ticking upward at what’s got you so tickled. You come to him in a flash of sensual grins and carnal titters, tucked away in the corner of the first-floor VIP section. Sylus bristles at the sight, blood turning to icicles in his veins.

You’re not alone, much to Sylus’ chagrin. Shacked up with another performer, and Sylus doesn’t like how close he is to you on the red leather couch. Doesn’t like how he nuzzles into the hollow of your shoulder, whispering God knows whatever obscenities into your ear. And his hands are on a languid excursion over your waistline, down the swell of your thighs...

You don’t push him away. Instead, you encourage his advances with a hand clasped around his neck, an airy sigh parting your lips. Your laugh pierces through the dense fog and thumping melody, heard only by Sylus. And the sound of it curls its fingers around something hidden in his chest, squeezing.

Sylus sets his jaw into a rigid line. Narrows his eyes. The whiskey glass suddenly explodes in a flurry of jagged, glittering shards in his palm. He ignores the lazy drip-drop of his blood pooling on the marbled floor, unable to tear his eyes away from you so effortlessly entwined with another man. What’s more off-putting is that you’re doing it of your own volition, blatantly playing in Sylus’ face. In his club, no less.

His girl. Enthralled by someone else.

The iron-wrought rail screeches and bends under Sylus’ crushing grip. He turns away from the scene with a tempered rage, stalking into his office. None the wiser to your eyes, boring holes into the space between his shoulder blades as he retreats.

—

You have a thing for blondes.

Platinum blondes, to be specific, the unnatural sheen reminding you of a figure stuffed in the darkest reaches of your fantasies.

He talks too much, you muse, tugging at the give of your newest conquest’s belt. Still, he’ll have to do for tonight.

He chuckles, hot and lustful against your shoulder, open-mouthed kisses emblazoned into your skin. He promises the best of things whilst his hands smooth over the silk of your nightgown. He bunches it between your thighs as he seeks out the searing heat of your womanhood.

You roll your eyes. You’re all too familiar with this song and dance—a convenient face in your bed to chase away the loneliness, whispering hollow words. White noise in the muddled mess of your mind, your need for instant gratification blotting out all thought and reason. Tamping down your dignity, your pride.

You giggle despite yourself to play up the theatrics. Act all docile so you can get what you want as he moors you to the bed beneath him, branding your throat with kisses. Despite the angle, his belt finally gives, and he sighs something relieved as he slots himself between your thighs.

At least he feels good, you reason, lying back once you’ve unfastened the buckles of his jeans, and you grant him whatever claim he wants on your body. Your eyes slide shut, your mind spilling into a fitful haze. You will yourself to relax. Will away thoughts of a man clad in black and his stupid hair and equally stupid, stunning eyes boring into you.

But it seems fate has other plans for you tonight.

He comes to you in a flourish of inky feathers and sparkling, claret orbs of energy at the foot of your bed.

Initially, you mistake him for a trick of the light, your bedroom’s muted, amber glow distorting your vision. Desire dulling your senses. There’s no mistaking the shift of pressure in the room, however. The air crackles with static, the hairs adorning the back of your neck standing stiff.

“What the fuck?” you mutter over your counterpart’s shoulder, sitting up as best you can with the hard press of his body weighing you down. You find your blood running cold, your breath corked in your lungs.

It’s him, alright.

“What’s wrong?” asks the man between your legs, all breathy and concerned through the fog of lust. He ingests you with mussed hair and lidded eyes. Kiss-swollen lips part, and he scrutinizes you before chasing your line of sight over his shoulder.

What greets him turns his body to stone.

“Mi-Mister Sylus?” the man cowers, scrambling off you. He stands at your bedside, bowing profusely beneath your intruder’s glare. “I-I didn’t know this was your ho—”

“Leave. Now.” The control of Sylus’ voice leaves no room for argument. Promises the worst of things if he’s not heeded, the glint of his Evol on his fingertips driving his point home.

Your former one-night stand books it, scooping up his clothes to slip past your employer out of your abode with his life intact. You sit up on your elbows with a scowl, your body awash with the heat of embarrassment when Sylus’ disapproving gaze slides over you.

“Un-be-fucking-lievable!” you grate, clambering out of bed. Under normal circumstances, it would be comical to watch you tumble to the floor, fighting with your sheets. But now, you crave nothing more than to distance yourself from the center of your heartbreak.

“What is? Me catching you screwing around with the help, or your state of dress?”

You give him a sharp look, ignoring how the rake of his eyes over your form makes your body hum. Fixing your negligee, you stalk out of your bedroom, Sylus hot on your heels.

The gleam of your decanter on your counter calls to you. You snatch it up without thinking, the dark, viscous fluid inside violently sloshing about. The cork popping is jarring in the stillness of your kitchen, contending with the violent thrum of your pulse. You greedily drink straight from the bottle, caramel streams of bourbon easing down the sides of your face, your neck.

When the acrid sting reaches your nose, you slam the decanter on the counter. Just in time for Sylus to blur into frame, and he props his hands on your kitchen island as he watches you with his mouth carved into a tight line.

You pace. Massage your temples and smooth back your hair with a shaky hand, finally giving in to your frustration. “What the fuck are you doing here, huh? What the fu—what do you even want with me?”

Sylus’ shoulders drop the slightest. He exhales slowly, the red wash of his irises glinting dangerously in the light above your stove.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you sneaking around with my staff?” He quirks a brow at your scoff, the tendons in his jaw jumping. He otherwise appears composed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head with disdain. “This is very unbecoming of you, sweetie.”

“Are you kidding me,” you say with a bitter laugh. Against your better judgment, you maneuver around the island until you’re standing before him. He swaddles you in his imposing aura, peering at you with an air of indifference, a silent rage brewing beneath the surface of his skin.

You’re breathing hard over crossed arms. Refuse to back down despite every synapse in your brain alerting you to flee. “Didn’t you once say I can have whoever I want?”

He bristles at that, squinting at your brazenness. You’ve struck a nerve. Buried the knife to the handle and twisted.

“Since when do you give a fuck who I sleep with? I never gave you shit for chasing that—” In a fit of rage, you kick one of your stools over, the clatter of it against the hardwood not once deterring Sylus’ stare. “—fucking Hunter around like a lost puppy!”

He scoffs bitterly. “So that’s what this is about?” It’s infuriating how calm he is, contrasting the tempest raging behind your ribs. “Petty revenge?”

“Oh, fuck you,” you seethe, stepping around him.

You barely take two steps before limber fingers wind around your forearm, searing you to the bone, halting your escape. You stiffen. Surprise briefly glazes your features before you give him a haughty, sidelong glare. His own holds a warning. An alarm you don’t heed, trying vainly to shake yourself out of his grip.

“Let me go!” you snarl, struggling to no avail. You’re grossly outmatched. Can do nothing when he effortlessly pulls you stumbling in front of him, irritation coloring his features.

He passively waits for you to finish thrashing about. For you to stop shoving the heels of your palms against the rigid pane of his chest in an effort to free yourself. You pause to catch your breath, glaring daggers between the divot of his collarbones.

“Are you quite finished, sweetheart?”

The childish look in your eye begs to differ.

The air shifts. His expression warps into one of conflict as if he’s waging an internal battle in his mind. He huffs out a breath, fixing you with a look that sets your body aflame.

“Do you love me?”

The question catches you off guard. Floors you, and you replay it in your mind, unsure if you truly heard it. You blink dumbly at him. “Do I—huh?”

“Are you in love with me,” he repeats as if it isn’t the most earth-shattering thing. “And don’t lie to me because I can very well see through your ruse.”

Sylus leans closer, the warm scent of his skin overhauling your senses. His right eye glows a sinister red as he threatens to tap into the power of his Aether Core. Like a door being knocked upon, you feel him poking around the edges of your mind, those sickly tendrils of power begging for entry.

You avert your gaze to the side. Even without the use of his Evol, he reads you like the deckled pages of a book.

Of course you care for him, your feelings rooted deep like a sturdy tree. You’ve been his ace for years—his trump card. Yet, he’s treated you with nothing but kindness. Built you up to believe you meant more to him than just a tool to lure out and kill off his competition. The errant touches. The unguarded words he whispered…

Dammit.

You were foolish to think you could ever erase the thought of him with cheap carbon copies and one-night stands.

“Let go of me,” you say again, though the fight’s left your voice.

“Answer me.” The hard edge his tone once held is traded for something softer—more beseeching. “Please.”

You reply with a sardonic chuckle, the taste of the truth pungent on your tongue. “Even if I were in love with you, it wouldn’t change anything. I’m nothing more than a pawn to you, Sylus. A pretty face. Your moneymaker. I’m damaged goods. ‘m nothing like her, and I never will be. So, would you—”

You try weakly to free yourself, your chest swelling with emotion. God, why do you feel like crying? “—would you just piss off?”

It is his turn to look wounded. You stiffen when the callused fingertips of his opposing hand graze your cheek to sweep some hair away from your face. You don’t deserve this tenderness—his pity. His hand falls listlessly at his side, and his trembling lips part, voice abrasive with the strain of whispering. “Is that what you think of me? That I don’t care about you? That I’m using you?”

The tremor of his voice makes your stomach pinch with regret. Its painful, sharp talons sink into you. Despite it all, you refuse to face him fully, instead swept up in your own head.

He laughs bitterly, disbelieving your apathy. There is no warning. No preamble when he suddenly hefts you onto the counter by your waist, the air pinched from your lungs as the brisk countertop touches your thighs. You blink at him disbelievingly, rooted to your spot.

“What the fuck? Are you putting me in timeout?”

Sylus doesn’t dignify you with a response, instead shrugging out of his overcoat and ducking out of sight into your darkened entryway. You watch the path he forged with your mouth agape, ears straining for every bit of sound. Every flicker of static.

He returns soon after placing his coat on the rack. And you’ve nothing but the gleam of red and rigid hips bullying their way between your legs as preparation before he snatches you into a kiss that siphons the breath from your lungs.

“Sylus, what the f—” you pant between the fusion of your mouths. You push against him, scrambling for reprieve. He doesn’t let up, instead using your shock to his advantage. He slips his tongue into your mouth, leaving no part of it unscathed, greedy as he swallows the noises you make for him. His grip on the nape of your neck is almost bruising. Desperate as his lips slant possessively over yours.

Your pounding fists devolve into weak thuds against his chest. You find yourself melting into the warm pull of his mouth. Find your ire petering, something hot pooling in the pit of your stomach. He breaks away with a sticky click, his hands finding the crooks of your knees to tug you impossibly closer. You share a breath out when your chests crash together. He doesn’t grant you the luxury of an inhale, his lips sealing to your neck, blistering the column of it with sweltering, open-mouthed kisses.

You instinctively wrap your arms about his shoulders, weighted fingers sifting through soft strands of white.

“It seems you need to be reminded of your place,” he huffs, highlighting his words with a sharp nip to your flesh whilst his hands smooth up and down your sides. Curl around your ass, squeezing and kneading, eager to lay claim to whatever parts of you he can reach.

You snort incredulously, doing nothing to deter his ministrations. Breathless as you are, you still taunt him. “And what is my place, Sylus? Curled up at your feet like an obedient little dog?”

That gets his attention.

He draws back to fix you with a simmering look that makes your limbs sparkle with anticipation. “No.” You suck in a breath, gritting your teeth against a moan, when his wide palm slips between your bodies, digits pressing into the seam of your muff. “You’re mine. Have I made myself clear? Mine.”

Arousal dampens the seat of your panties. Your scent betrays you, radiating in the space between. He hovers his mouth over yours, breathing hot and ragged while he strokes you with meticulous arcs, dredging the prettiest little sounds from your throat. “Were you really about to give this to him,” he husks, smug in the face of your keening. “My body? My cunt?”

Try as you might, words elude you, the tremor of your body belying your earlier fight.

“Fine. If you wish to act like a brat, then I will gladly treat you like one.”

He snatches you to him, your legs impulsively encircling his waist. With one hand sealed to the small of your back, he spins you ‘round to walk you towards your living room. His effortless display of strength makes the apex of your thighs throb. You’re a mess of shaking tendons when he deposits you onto the shag rug, peeling back to snatch his sweater from his shoulders. To fret with the buckles of his belt, freeing his girth pushing against the stitch of his slacks.

Saliva puddles in your cheeks. You missed the sight of him. Hard planes of muscle rippling and contracting, his gaze predatory from above. You reach out to touch him, to familiarize yourself with the tan stretch of flesh covering his abs, to chase the neat trim of hair dipping beyond the waistband of his briefs.

But he stops you. Snares your wrists in one hand, and your throat burns with ash when the smoky stems of his Evol materialize in its place. He lifts a brow in warning. Behave, his expression reads. Once perfectly coiffed hair falls into his face, adding to his wolfish appearance.

Soundlessly, he eases down the sprawl of your body, blazing your stomach with languid kisses. His eyes never disconnect from yours as he pushes your negligee over the ripple of your ribcage, dipping his face between your thighs. You arch with anticipation. Why is it so damn hard to breathe?

Deft fingers bow beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging them down none-too-gently. He drags them over your ankles, flinging them over his shoulder, and the warm musk of your sex causes his eyes to smolder and his lips to part. Drawing your thighs further apart with one hand, the other seeks refuge at your bosom, curving around a swollen breast, thumb grazing over your pebbled nipple.

Your lips part with a sigh of his name. You don’t know if you’re begging him to leave or stay. He reads between the lines, parting your sticky labia with the upside-down V-shape of his fingers before diving in for a taste of your pretty pussy.

You scramble for purchase of his locks. Drive your fingers between the strands, tugging, burying his face deeper into your muff. He feasts like a man starved, his appreciative groans growing in volume and tingling your stomach whilst he relentlessly sucks on your clit, alternating between licking that sticky bud of pleasure and tonguing the pucker of your pussy.

You chase that cresting wave of pleasure, your hips surging off the floor. His hands mold around the globes of your ass to keep you fastened to him. To keep you nice and open, humping pitifully against the glide of his tongue.

Your toes strain with the effort of keeping you up, your head thrashing, and you’re pulling so roughly on his tresses, his grunts of satisfaction intermingle with those of pain. You don’t care. Not thinking straight, your mind a nebulous cloud of pleasure. Pleasure you’ve missed, pleasure that only he can give you.

With another succession of licks, you come undone in his mouth, your orgasm spilling through you like warm liquid. You sigh all hot and wanton, your hips slowly meeting the ground with your exhale. You shake like a fawn when Sylus laps up the remnants of your orgasm, and you tug at his hair with your manacled hands when the stimulation borders pain.

“Done already, sweetheart?” he goads huskily, sitting back on his haunches, eyes shrouded by alabaster bangs whilst he swipes his thumb over his cheek to chase the last vestiges of your nectar away. Such a feral sight makes you clench, a reawakened surge of need rippling through you.

“Too bad,” he croons, coaxing and tender, the texture of his voice betraying the sinful things he’s doing with his hands. He palms himself, lip pinched between his teeth. Reaches beneath the band of his briefs to pull his cock free, and it slaps intimidatingly against his navel. “I’m just getting started.”

The head burns an angry red. Shines with a pretty, pearlescent bead of pre-spend, and you swallow, watching his fist swallow up the bulk of it whilst he strokes himself. With a devious cant to his lips, he taps the milky mess of your cunt with his cock, and you gasp, your hips twitching whilst your sex throbs in protest.

There’s no preface when he takes hold of your hip, effortlessly flipping you onto your stomach. The carpeted rug bites into your naked torso, leaving pretty, raw indentations on your skin. You peer over your shoulder, a flash of crimson alerting you to what Sylus is up to behind you.

He rucks your hips up until you’re on your knees. Positions himself between your splayed thighs, fisting his cock. You’ve nothing but the crisp kiss of an errant breeze on your sticky cunt as a warning before you feel him pressing into you, the engorged head of his cock slowly feeding into the clench of your pussy.

His groan is strained from the force of your union. You quiver around him, and despite your overstimulation, you suck him in so greedily. So filthy, your pussy squelching as he sinks further in until his hips notch up against your ass.

His grip is vexing on your hips. For a moment, the pair of you sit like this, the searing channel of your sex readjusting to his size. It’s been far too long since you’ve felt like this. Felt so full, your stomach pinching pleasantly.

When you clench around him, finally reacquainted with his girth, he moves. Slow and steady at first, drawing out the agony, killing you with suspense. You grit your teeth as your arousal resurfaces, your cheek buried in the carpet. His pace quickens thereafter, and he alternates between sharp snaps of his hips and shallow thrusts that leave you keening and leaking.

He gathers your makeshift restraint in his hand, tugging on the band of his Evol as he fucks you, your arms awkwardly folded behind your back.

“This is what you wanted, right?” he huffs amid the lewd symphony of skin slapping skin, your bodies adorned in a fine sheen of sweat and slick. “For me to fuck you like old times?” He slams into you with a particularly violent thrust, punching the air from your lungs, your body painfully scrubbing against the high-pile rug. “To fuck that little attitude out of you?”

You can only pant, a hot film of tears blurring your vision. Your mouth hinges open, saliva leaking from between your distended lips. Feels so good. Hurts so good, and you can hardly speak, trained only to the sensation of him moving inside you.

“It seems you only understand me when I’m using you like some wanton slut. Is that right, sweetheart?”

Of course you can’t respond, your voice siphoned with each pump of his hips. He clasps your ankles, drawing your legs up until your heels dig into your buttocks. And he digs a little deeper with this angle, his thrusts growing erratic as he batters against the swell of your cervix.

Finally, finally, his hips stutter. Stiffen, a groan pushed through grit teeth. You milk him, hot, furtive spurts of cum bathing your sex a milky white. So much, it seeps down the inner curves of your thighs, pooling in the carpet. Slowly, he draws out of you, releasing your ankles and freeing your wrists of the harsh pull of his Evol. You lay flat on the floor, thoroughly spent and heaving breaths, something between a laugh and sob caught in your throat.

He leaves you sprawled out like this, and you’re remiss of his warmth. He doesn’t leave you for long, coming back to you with a towel he’s procured from your linen closet to clean the aftermath of your union. There’s reverence in his ministrations, contrasting the beast he was mere moments ago. As if he fears causing you further harm, gentle as he cleans around your swollen sex, whispering words of praise and reassurance.

The remainder of your time with him slides into a confusing blur. With him helping you stand, arms snaking around your waist to keep you steady. He kisses you like you’re something fragile. Like he’ll never see you again, though you doubt this will be the last of your encounters like this.

You help each other with your clothes. And there’s an unbearable silence between you when you watch him leave through the doorframe of your front door, bidding him a fitful goodnight.

“See you tomorrow night, sweetheart,” he promises, a smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes, cresting over his lips. You nod quietly, and you’re surprisingly lovesick mess as you close your door behind him, battling with a new onslaught of emotions swelling in your chest.

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus angst #limerence #i’m sorry this got out of hand #reader insert #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #sylus #lads sylus #l&ds sylus

466 notes · View notes