#lnds x mc

[dijayeah]

"The locked room protocol"

art credits: @/pnk_clown dividers by: @/cafekitsune fic by: @dijayeah

🔞 NSFW CONTENT MDNI 🔞 💎 Word Count: 9.1k 💎 Synopsis: Getting trapped in a rogue AI security system was not part of the plan, but neither was the very specific way it demanded compliance. Between the pheromone haze, Sylus being insufferable, and your own rapidly declining self-control, escaping this mission unscathed is looking less likely by the second. 💎 Contains: fem!reader x Sylus, enemies-to-lovers tension, aphrodisiac gas, rough sex, teasing & edging, praise-degradation kink, hair pulling, light choking, possessive Sylus, multiple rounds, breeding kink undertones (AI-approved raw sex), orgasm control, aftercare (begrudgingly), banter-as-foreplay, and an extremely smug bastard of a man. 💎 Please consider following me for more similar content! 💎 Read on AO3.

The lab is abandoned. Has been for years, if the dust layering every surface is anything to go by. But Xander Labs is never truly abandoned, not when they’ve got security systems running like the place is still crawling with scientists in their white coats, too important to look anyone in the eye.

You adjust the earpiece, scowling as static crackles in your ear. "Sylus, tell me you’re not still messing with that security console."

"Sweetie, you wound me," comes the lazy drawl. "As if I’d still be messing with it."

"Then why are we still standing in this godforsaken vent instead of grabbing the Spatium Core Fragment and getting out?"

He hums. "Oh, I don’t know, kitten. Maybe I just enjoy the quality time."

You resist the urge to smack your head against the vent wall on the opposite side of the building (probably). "I will throw you out of this air duct."

Sylus snickers, the sound tinny over comms. "And yet, you haven’t."

Before you can retort, you catch a flicker of movement through the vent slats. "Shut up," you whisper. Below, sterile white lights flicker weakly over the lab floor, illuminating dust motes swirling through the air. Empty chairs. Scattered papers. A place frozen mid-collapse. But the real problem? The still-active surveillance drones humming along the ceiling, their lenses gleaming a little too bright for something supposedly defunct.

"Sylus."

"Already saw ‘em, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice becoming louder as he approaches you physically. "We’re fine."

"Define fine."

"Not immediately about to die."

You swear under your breath. "Not reassuring."

Sylus shifts, now beside you, his body heat annoyingly close. "Relax. They’re running on low-power mode. No sign of remote surveillance. We can slip by easily."

You narrow your eyes at him. "And if you’re wrong?"

"Then we run like hell."

Great.

You suck in a breath, trying to slow your racing heart as you scan the lab below. The place feels too still, too… expectant, as if it’s been waiting for someone to come poking around. A shiver prickles down your spine. Xander Labs never abandoned anything without a contingency plan.

Sylus must pick up on your hesitation because his voice dips lower, almost teasing but with a dangerous edge. "Getting cold feet, kitten?"

"No, just wondering if you’ve actually thought this through, or if we’re going to die because you can’t resist pressing buttons that clearly shouldn’t be pressed." You shoot him a glare.

"Listen, I have a method to my madness." His smirk is audible.

"Which is?"

"Hope for the best, blame someone else if it goes wrong."

You exhale sharply, pinching the bridge of your nose. "I should’ve partnered with literally anyone else."

Sylus chuckles. "But you didn’t, because you secretly love working with me."

"Secretly wishing for your untimely demise is not the same thing."

He leans in slightly, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Sure it isn’t, sweetie. Now, are we moving or are we waiting for Xander’s next automated security feature to come online and melt our faces off?"

You cast another glance at the lab floor, weighing your options. The drones do seem inactive—no flashing alarms, no movement beyond the idle hum of their engines. But your gut tells you this won’t be as easy as Sylus thinks. Still, staying put isn’t an option either.

"Fine. But if this goes sideways—"

"I’ll take full responsibility," he says solemnly, one hand over his heart.

"Liar." You scoff.

He winks. "Absolutely."

You brace yourself as you quietly unscrew the vent cover, the old metal groaning under your fingertips. The leader of Onychinus moves ahead of you, slipping out with an ease that’s honestly unfair. You follow, landing in a crouch. The room smells faintly of antiseptic and something older, something rotting beneath the layers of artificial sterility.

The silver-haired man straightens, eyes scanning the space with that almost lazy confidence of his. "All clear. See? Nothing to worry about."

You’re saying that way too early."

As if on cue, a flickering red light catches your attention—an override panel near the far wall, blinking ominously. You don’t know why it’s on, but your instincts scream that it shouldn’t be.

"Sylus."

"Mhm?"

"You sure those drones aren’t linked to anything else?"

He frowns slightly, following your gaze. "Pretty sure."

"Pretty sure isn’t good enough. We need to move—"

The sudden shift in air pressure is the only warning you get before a low, mechanical whir fills the room.

You whip your head up just in time to see the nearest drone rotate in midair, its lens flickering from dormant white to an eerie, pulsing red.

"Sylus."

"Yeah, yeah, I see it," he mutters, already moving. "Time to go."

You barely have a second to react before the drone emits a high-pitched warning sound and the first round of security turrets drop from the ceiling.

"Oh, for f—"

Sylus grabs your arm and hauls you into motion, and you run.

The hallway twists and turns, leading you both deeper into the facility. Every door you pass is either locked or broken, some not even shifting despite Sylus using his evol, and the sound of the drones whirring behind you makes your pulse spike. Then, suddenly, the walls shift. A mechanical hiss fills the air, and a doorway opens—on its own.

"That’s not ominous at all," Sylus mutters.

"You think it’s an ambush?"

"Only one way to find out, sweetie."

You step inside. And immediately regret it.

The room is wrong.

Instead of sterile lab walls, soft red lighting glows from the corners, casting the place in an unmistakably sultry hue. A king-sized bed dominates the center, adorned with silky black sheets and—oh god, is that a mirror on the ceiling?

Sylus lets out a low whistle. "Well, well. Looks like Xander Labs had some… alternative funding."

You drag a manicured hand down your face. "We just ran straight into a goddamn love hotel trap."

The door seals shut behind you. A mechanical voice purrs, "Security override in progress. Compliance required."

Sylus turns to you with a slow, shit-eating grin. "Sweetie… I think we might have a problem."

You groan. "I hate you."

Sylus stretches, rolling his shoulders like he’s getting comfortable, the absolute menace. He tilts his head, silver hair catching the dim red glow, and you hate that you notice, you really do. Because of course the leader of Onychinus looks unfairly good under the kind of lighting that should be illegal in any actual security facility.

He looks like he belongs here, now sprawled lazily across the edge of the bed like some kind of smug, too-attractive-for-his-own-good prince of debauchery. The fitted black combat gear isn’t helping either—it clings in all the right places, and his leather gloves flex when he moves, all sin and arrogance wrapped in one highly punchable man.

You press your back against the door, willing it to open through sheer force of fuck this entire situation. "We are not staying here."

Sylus, the absolute bastard, just grins. "Sweetie, I don’t think we have much of a choice."

You refuse to acknowledge the way your stomach does a little flip at that nickname. You need your priorities straight, and priority number one is not thirsting over the most infuriating man alive while trapped in an evil corporate sex dungeon.

You take a deep breath. "There has to be a manual override. Something. We are not playing into whatever creepy sci-fi experiment this is."

Sylus taps a gloved finger against his chin, crimson eyes lazily drifting across the room. "Hmm. Y’know, the bed looks comfortable."

You whip around so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. "Don’t. You. Dare."

He smirks, just strolling over like he has all the time in the world, running a hand over the sheets in a way that makes you want to launch him straight into the fucking sun. "I mean, if Xander Labs wanted to trap us in a luxury suite, who am I to complain?"

You are going to kill him. You are actually going to kill him. "Sylus. Focus."

"I am focused, kitten. Just… maybe not on what you want me to be."

You run a hand down your face once more. "For the love of—Sylus, this is a trap. You do realize that, right?"

"Obviously." He leans back against the headboard, arms crossed. "But tell me something, sweetheart. If this room is supposed to ‘persuade’ intruders to comply, why aren’t we feeling… y’know. Persuaded?"

You hesitate. You do feel weird—heart racing, skin prickling—but that could just be from rage. Or the fact that Sylus keeps looking at you like he knows things he absolutely should not know.

"Maybe we haven’t triggered the full effect yet," you mutter, trying not to think about the mirror above him, or the way the red glow makes his already unfairly sharp features look even more criminally attractive. (Not that it helps that he was an actual criminal, but oh well.)

He grins, and you hate how much fun he’s having with this. "What, you think there’s a button that says ‘activate sex trap’?"

"I hate you."

"You keep saying that, sweetie, and yet, here we are. Together. Stuck with a bed."

You take a deep breath, focusing on literally anything but the ghost of a smirk stretching across his lips. We are getting out of here.

You march to the nearest console, determined to hack your way out of this nightmare. The second your fingers touch the screen, a mechanical voice chimes in again, almost smug.

"Compliance incomplete. Stimulation levels insufficient."

You freeze.

Sylus exhales, tilting his head slightly, then—

"We have to fuck to get out of here."

You choke. "EXCUSE ME?!"

He shrugs, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "I mean, that’s what the system wants, isn’t it?"

You stare at him, your brain momentarily blue-screening. "That’s not—No! That’s not happening!"

Sylus places a hand over his heart, mock-offended. "Sweetheart, are you implying you don’t find me irresistible?"

You are implying that if you die here, it will be because you strangled him first.

"Alright, alright," he chuckles, running a hand through his silver hair. "Though I don’t mind a little choking, I won’t make you strangle me just yet. No need to be shy, kitten. We’ll find another way."

You exhale sharply, turning your attention back to the console, trying to ignore the very real possibility that Sylus might actually be right.

And then, because the universe hates you, a slow hissing noise fills the room.

Sylus straightens. "Oh, that’s probably bad."

"What now?"

The soft floral scent in the air deepens, thickens. You realize with dawning horror that the room is actively trying to drug you.

Sylus inhales and then—God help you—grins. "Oh, sweetie, you’re gonna love this."

You slap a hand over your mouth, stumbling back towards the bed. "Don’t. Breathe."

He leans in slightly, voice dropping to something dangerously smooth, crushed velvet. "Now, kitten, we both know that’s not gonna work forever."

Your head is already spinning, limbs feeling lighter, and Sylus—

Sylus is looking at you like he knows exactly what’s about to happen.

"You okay there?" he purrs.

You grit your teeth, sitting down on the mattress. "No. And if you make one more smug comment—"

"What, like 'maybe the room has a point'?"

You throw the nearest object at him. He dodges the pillow effortlessly, still grinning like the devil himself.

Then, it happens.

You don’t know who moves first—maybe it’s you, maybe it’s him—but the second your lips touch, the room erupts.

For a moment, the world outside this room ceases to exist. His lips are warm, teasing at first, but when you don’t pull away, he deepens the kiss, tilting his head to fit against yours like he’s done this a thousand times before. A sharp inhale escapes you as his fingers skim along your jaw, tracing down to your neck before settling at your waist, pulling you closer. He tastes like something dark and dangerous, like honey with a hidden bite of whiskey, and it’s unfair how easily you melt into it. Your hands find the collar of his black shirt, gripping it like he’s the only thing keeping you steady.

Then—

Loud, over-the-top arcade music blasts from hidden speakers, as if you’ve just hit the jackpot on a slot machine. Bright, neon lights flash around you, and—oh god—condoms and flower petals start raining from the ceiling.

Sylus pulls back just slightly, red eyes wide before he bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, this place is unreal."

You shove him, face burning. "STOP LAUGHING! THIS ISN’T FUNNY!"

He barely manages to compose himself, smirking at you with pure, unfiltered amusement. "Sweetheart, this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to me."

And because the universe isn’t done tormenting you, a robotic voice chimes in with the next horrifying announcement:

"Foreplay in progress. Please proceed to the next stage. Complimentary refreshments available."

You want to die.

Sylus, still wheezing, wipes a tear from his eye. "Oh, kitten. We have to see what’s on the menu."

You glare at him. "I hope you choke on it."

The words hang in the air between you, thick and charged like the static before a storm. Your brain is still trying to reboot, process the absolute audacity of this man, when the mechanical voice chimes in again, ever-helpful:

"Physical compliance remains at twenty-two percent. Recommended stimulation increase: skin-to-skin contact, deepened intimacy."

You squeeze your eyes shut and breathe. "I’m going to kill you."

Sylus, lounging like this is all some kind of inside joke he’s having with himself, simply grins. "Sweetheart, you say that like it’s a threat."

You can hear the smirk in his voice, the low, arrogant amusement that makes something deep in your stomach tighten against your will. This room is a hellscape, a fever dream designed specifically to make your life difficult, and worst of all—it’s working.

Because seemingly Sylus is too close now, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, the faintest brush of his breath against your cheek when he leans in just slightly. Not touching you, but just there, testing, waiting. He could move away. He should move away. But he doesn’t.

Neither do you.

Somewhere in the background, the room purrs in approval, because of course it does.

"You know," he muses, voice like velvet and smug satisfaction, "you could make this a lot easier on yourself. Just say the word."

You narrow your eyes, even as your pulse hammers in your throat. "What word?"

His lips curl at the edges, slow, predatory. "Yes."

A warning siren goes off in your brain, screaming at you that this is exactly what he wants, that engaging in this game with him is a bad idea, and yet your fingers twitch at your sides, aching to do something—push him, pull him closer, you don’t even know anymore.

The system is still watching, still waiting.

And worse?

So is Sylus.

Then the real problem makes itself known.

The air is heavier now, thick with something both cloyingly sweet and undeniably dangerous. You realize it with a start—the pheromones, the ones that had been seeping into the room since you got here, are stronger now. You don’t know what changed. Maybe it was the kiss, maybe it was the system deciding that progress was too slow, but it’s like the air itself has turned against you, creeping into your lungs and making everything—him—so much worse.

Your body feels too warm, your breath coming a little too fast. Your skin prickles at the closeness of him, your head spinning like you’ve had one too many drinks, and—

Oh, you are so fucked.

Sylus shifts slightly, his knee brushing against yours, and it’s like a live wire sparking against your skin. The reaction is instant, involuntary—a soft, barely-there shiver that he absolutely notices. His smirk deepens, his eyes flickering with something just this side of dangerous.

"Something wrong, kitten?" he murmurs, and his voice is so much lower now, like he knows exactly what’s happening, exactly what kind of mess you’re in. "You look a little flustered."

You hate him. You hate him, and you hate that he’s right.

The system chimes again, and you swear it sounds pleased.

"Detected physiological arousal. Compliance increased to forty-nine percent. Encouraging further interaction."

You nearly explode. "Oh, fuck off—"

Sylus laughs, and you see it then—the moment he realizes just how bad off you are. His eyes flicker, amusement laced with something far more predatory, far more dangerous.

"Oh, sweetheart," he hums, tilting his head like he’s savoring this, savoring you. "That stuff’s really kicking in, isn’t it?"

You force your hands into tiny fists, digging your nails into your palms just to keep yourself grounded. "Shut. Up."

But he doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t.

Because Sylus is having the time of his life watching you unravel.

He lifts a big hand, slow, deliberate, like he’s giving you time to stop him, but you both know you won’t. His fingers ghost over your cheek, tracing down, down—just barely brushing the line of your jaw before tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

Your breathing is shaky. You can barely focus with the heat pooling low in your stomach, the overwhelming need making itself known in every nerve of your body. The pheromones are relentless now, curling around your brain, making everything too much, too good.

"See, kitten," Sylus murmurs, his thumb dragging over your lower lip, voice sinfully low, "I think you like this."

You make a sound, something caught between a growl and a whimper, because fuck him, fuck this, and most of all, fuck the way your body reacts like he’s right.

The system pings again, delighted.

"Compliance at sixty-two percent. Encouraging additional sensory stimulation. Skin contact recommended."

Sylus exhales a laugh, slow and indulgent. "Now they’re just making it easy for me."

His hand moves, trailing lower, skimming the barest hint of skin at the collar of your shirt, and you sway toward him before you can stop yourself. You’re losing it, every ounce of your control slipping through your fingers like sand.

You should shove him away. You should tell him to quit it, to help you think, but thinking is so hard right now, and all you can feel is him—the heat of his skin, the weight of his gaze, the utter satisfaction rolling off him in waves.

"You know, kitten," Sylus murmurs, mouth just barely brushing the shell of your ear, "we could fight this. We could keep pretending we don’t want this."

You swallow hard, your voice wrecked when you manage, "And?"

He grins, his teeth just barely scraping your jaw. "And I’d win."

The system purrs in agreement.

You don’t stand a chance.

The room is a furnace now, and you are burning alive in it.

The pheromones are relentless, slithering into your bloodstream, into your mind, reducing every thought to static except him. Everything about Sylus is overwhelming—his scent, the warmth of his skin, the way he watches you like he's already won.

And the worst part? You want to lose.

He knows it too. You can see it in the way his smirk softens just slightly, amusement giving way to something else, something darker. Something real.

"Kitten," he murmurs, tilting your chin up with two long fingers, his touch deceptively light. "You’re shaking."

You are, but you refuse to acknowledge it. "It’s hot."

His thumb brushes over your bottom lip once more, a barely-there touch that still sends a shudder down your spine. "Yeah? That all it is?"

You glare at him, but your body betrays you. You don’t pull away. Your lips part slightly, a breath slipping past them that sounds embarrassingly close to a whimper.

Sylus inhales sharply, and suddenly, he isn’t smirking anymore.

The system, as if sensing the shift, purrs its approval.

"Eighty-two percent compliance reached. Encouraging further intimacy."

You want to scream. Instead, you barely manage a strangled, "I hate this place."

Sylus chuckles, but there's a new roughness in his voice, like it's taking effort to keep himself in check, to mask the arousal he’s feeling too.

"Yeah? Well, it seems to like us."

You should be resisting. You should be planning, plotting a way out of this trap. But all you can do is feel—the ghost of his breath against your lips, the way his fingers trail down, skimming the column of your throat, pausing at your collarbone.

He gives you every chance to stop him. Every slow, deliberate movement is an open door, waiting for you to slam it shut.

You don’t.

The words slip out before you can think better of them. "You gonna keep teasing me all night? Or are you actually gonna do something about it?"

For the first time, Sylus falters.

His pupils darken, his fingers twitch against your skin, his jaw tightens like he's physically holding himself back.

"Sweetheart," he says, voice low, dangerous, "you sure you wanna say that?"

You know exactly what you’re doing. And you know exactly what you want.

You tilt your head, offering the barest fraction of space between you. "I’m sure."

A beat of silence. The slow, measured rise and fall of his broad chest.

Then, like a coil snapping loose, he moves.

His mouth claims yours with none of the teasing playfulness from before, none of the lazy amusement. This is something else entirely. It’s deep and needy, a slow, searing drag of lips and tongue that has your knees threatening to give out even if you are already laying down.

His hands find your waist, pulling you against him like he can’t stand the idea of space between you. And you—

You melt.

The system chimes, but you barely hear it.

"Ninety percent compliant. Contact optimization encouraged."

Sylus groans against your mouth, breaking away just enough to rasp, "Optimized enough for you, sweetheart?"

You laugh, breathless, threading your fingers through his silver hair. "Shut up and keep going."

He does.

And then it’s chaos.

Hands grasping, pulling, tearing at fabric like it’s offensive—like any layer between you is too much. Sylus is all heat and impatience, his mouth hungry against yours, trailing down your neck, across your collarbone, lower—like he’s making up for lost time, like he’s been starving for this.

You barely process the moment your back hits the mattress, the scent of fucking flower petals crushed beneath you, sticking to your skin like evidence of whatever the hell this room was designed for. Sylus doesn’t care—he’s too busy devouring you, teeth scraping, tongue soothing, hands gripping at your waist, your thighs, everywhere at once.

The system chimes again, smug as ever.

"Ninety-four percent compliance. Encouraging peak stimulation."

Sylus lets out a short, wrecked laugh against your skin. "They really don’t quit, huh?"

You barely manage a response—not when his hands are tugging at your clothes, peeling them off with a kind of desperation that makes your stomach tighten, makes the heat coil low and unbearable. You’re just as bad—your nails scrape down his back, your fingers working to strip him down with the same frantic energy, dragging his shirt off, tracing over every ridge of muscle, every scar, until he shudders under your touch.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his crimson eyes burning under the dim red glow, his breath coming ragged like he’s fighting a war between control and giving in completely.

"Tell me now if you wanna stop," he murmurs, voice rough, strained, his fingers still curled against your waist, waiting.

You don’t even hesitate.

"I don’t."

Sylus doesn’t waste a second.

The moment the words leave your lips, his restraint snaps, and he’s on you—mouth hot and desperate as it trails down your throat, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open like he needs to touch every inch of you. His breath is ragged, his control gone, and when his lips latch onto the swell of your breast, his tongue flicking over sensitive skin, you arch into him with a sharp gasp.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans, dragging his teeth over your skin before sucking a mark so deep it makes your head spin. "You’re shaking already. Pheromones getting to you?"

You barely manage a breathless laugh. "It’s not just the pheromones."

His eyes darken, his smirk filthy. "Yeah? Then let’s make sure you really feel me."

His fingers slip between your thighs, teasing over soaked fabric, and the sound that leaves you is downright embarrassing. You feel him grin against your chest, like he knows exactly how much he’s unraveling you, like he’s reveling in it. Then, slowly, he pushes the fabric aside and—

The first brush of his fingers against bare skin has you gripping at his shoulders, nails digging in as your breath stutters. Sylus groans, like he’s the one affected, like the feeling of you—hot, wet, ready—is enough to ruin him.

"Oh, sweetheart," he rasps, pressing a slow, teasing circle against your clit that has your thighs twitching around him. "You feel fucking good. Already soaked for me."

Your reply dies in your throat when he presses a finger inside, slow at first, stretching you open, watching you with hooded, hungry eyes. His lips part, his breath heavy as he drinks in the way you react to him—how your body moves, how you cling to him, how you can barely stop yourself from rocking into his touch, chasing more.

He groans, voice wrecked. "Shit, kitten, if I don’t get my mouth on you soon, I might lose my fucking mind."

You’re about to respond when the system chimes again, smug as ever.

"Ninety-six percent compliance. Encouraging oral stimulation."

Sylus freezes. Then, he laughs, low and dangerous against your skin. "Sweetheart," he murmurs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your hip, eyes flashing as he grins up at you. "For once, I think I actually agree with them."

And then he ruins you.

His mouth is everywhere—hot, open-mouthed kisses dragging over your stomach, lower, teasing, before he bites at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, making you jolt. He soothes it immediately with his tongue, his hands pressing your thighs wider as he hums against your skin, utterly fucking delighted with the way you react to him.

"You’re shaking even more now, kitten," he murmurs, dragging his tongue up, closer—not close enough. "You’re so fucking sensitive, you feel this everywhere, don’t you?"

You don’t get a chance to answer, because then his mouth is on you.

Your gasp turns into something embarrassingly close to a whine as his tongue flicks over your clit, slow and teasing at first, like he wants to draw it out, make you squirm. But he doesn’t last long before giving in, before groaning against you and devouring you properly, like he needs this as much as he needs to breathe.

"Fucking hell," the leader of the Onychinus growls against you, one hand gripping your thigh, the other pressing his fingers back inside you, curling just right until your back arches against the mattress. "So fucking pretty down here, baby—hot and wet, fucking made for me."

You can barely think—your hands are in his silver hair, tugging hard, your nails scraping against his scalp, and he groans, rutting against the mattress like he’s the one getting lost in it. His pace is relentless—messy, desperate, his tongue working in tandem with his fingers, dragging you higher and higher until you’re shaking under him, gasping his name like a prayer.

"Fuck, look at you—dripping for me, taking my fingers so fucking well." He curls them deeper, groaning when you squeeze around him. "Bet you’d feel even better around my cock."

The system purrs again, amused.

"Ninety-nine percent compliant. Initiating final stage. Complimentary aftercare available."

Sylus laughs, muffled against your skin, breathless and wrecked. "Sweetheart, I think we just won the jackpot."

But he doesn’t stop.

If anything, he doubles down, lapping at you like he’s starving, fingers moving in deep, rhythmic strokes that have your legs trembling around him. His free hand slides up your torso, palming your breast, thumb circling over a sensitive peak before his mouth follows, closing around it with a sinful groan. His tongue flicks, sucks, sending sharp pulses of heat through you, making you arch against him, fingers tightening in his hair.

"Sylus—fuck," you gasp, the sound wrecked, raw.

He grins against your skin, teeth dragging, biting, soothing as he works you over like it’s his job, like he wants to unravel you piece by piece. "You’re taking me so well, kitten," he murmurs, voice rough with arousal, pressing another deep kiss to your plush thigh before sucking another mark there. "Come on—let me feel you. Let go, cum for me."

And fuck, you do.

Your vision goes white-hot as pleasure rips through you, a cry spilling from your lips as your body locks up beneath him, trembling as waves of sensation crash over you. Sylus moans when he feels it, the way you tighten around his long pretty fingers, the way your thighs press in around his head, like you can’t decide if you want to pull him closer or push him away.

The man doesn’t give you the chance to decide.

His fingers slow, easing you through it, his mouth pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against your thighs, your stomach, working his way back up, soothing, worshipping as you come down from the high.

When he finally looks at you, his lips are slick, his pupils blown wide with hunger as he hovers over you, breathing hard. His body is burning, every muscle tense, like he’s on the edge of breaking.

"Sweetheart," he rasps, pressing his forehead to yours, breath hot against your lips. "You look so fucking pretty when you come."

You barely have time to catch your breath before you feel it—him, hard and aching against your thigh. His hips twitch, rutting against you without thinking, and he lets out a low, shuddering groan like it’s physically painful to hold back.

Your hands slide down between you, finding the waistband of his pants, palming him through the fabric. A low moan reverberates over the back of his throat, hips jerking into your touch like he’s losing it.

"You need me too, don’t you?" you whisper, pressing a slow, teasing stroke over the straining fabric, watching the way his jaw locks.

"Princess," he grits out, hands tightening on your hips like he’s barely hanging on. "If you keep that up, it won’t end well for you"

Your fingers hook into the waistband, pushing them lower, lower—

And then, because the universe hates you, the system chimes again.

"One hundred percent compliance achieved. Congratulations! Proceeding with protective measures. Complimentary refreshments available post-activity."

And just like before, condoms and more flower petals rain from the ceiling like some kind of fucked-up celebration.

Sylus wheezes out a laugh, collapsing against you, forehead pressed to your shoulder as he shakes with it, breathless. "Oh my fucking god."

You slap his arm, mortified, your own face burning. "I hate this place."

He snickers, rolling his hips against yours, making you gasp at the friction. "Think we should make use of all these free supplies?"

You glare at him, but your nails are already dragging down his muscled back, pulling him closer.

"Shut up and fuck me, Sylus."

"Noted, kitten."

Your fingers slip lower, pushing his leather pants and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free, flushed, thick, and aching. The breath he lets out is shattered, his hips jerking at the first brush of your fingers around him. He’s heavy in your palm, the heat of him burning against your skin as you stroke along the length, slow, teasing, reveling in the way his head drops forward, his grip on your hips tightening like he’s this close to breaking.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans, voice wrecked. His forehead drops against yours, his breath hot, uneven, his body trembling against you. "You have no idea how bad I need you."

You tighten your grip slightly, dragging your thumb over the flushed tip, smearing the slick there, and he growls, hips twitching, rutting into your hand like he can’t help himself. His cock is so pretty, long and thick, the veins along the shaft prominent, the head a deep shade of pink, glistening with precum. He looks good in your hands, and the thought of him inside you makes your thighs squeeze around his hips.

"You’re making a mess, Sylus," you murmur, dragging your nails up his pale back with your free hand, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. "Guess I’ll have to put some effort into cleaning you up." You don’t know where the confidence comes from—perhaps it’s the fault of this goddamn place, you conclude.

His head snaps up at that, crimson eyes wild as he stares at you, and then he’s grabbing your wrist, stopping your movements just long enough to rip one of the conveniently gifted condoms from the air.

"Not happening, sweetheart," he mutters, tearing the foil open with his teeth before rolling it down over his length with a shaky hand. "You wanna play? Fine. But I’m not letting you get me off before I fuck you thoroughly."

His voice is thick with arousal, a low, predatory purr as he shifts, positioning himself between your thighs. He pauses, though—just for a second—eyes flicking down to you, to your body beneath him, to your bra shoved up over your tits, your panties still pushed to the side, your skin flushed and wrecked from how thoroughly he’s already had you.

His cock twitches at the sight.

"Look at you, kitten," he murmurs, dragging the head of his cock along your soaked folds, groaning at the wet heat. "So fucking messy already. Think you can take me?"

Your fingers dig into his arms, nails pressing hard, desperate. "Sylus, I swear to fucking—"

He laughs—low, smug, thrilled—before pushing inside in one slow, stretching thrust.

The burn is immediate, a dizzying mix of pleasure and pressure, your body giving way to him inch by inch, the stretch just toeing the line of too much. Your breath shudders out in a strangled gasp, back arching as he bottoms out, filling you to the hilt.

"Fuck, sweetheart," Sylus groans, his forehead dropping to yours, breath hot and ragged. "Tight little pussy taking me so fucking well. Made for this, aren’t you?"

You gasp, struggling to catch your breath, voice breaking as you stammer, "S-Shut up, Sylus. Just… just move."

His smirk is pure sin. "Oh, so you do like being stretched open on my cock. Knew it."

You slap a hand weakly against his shoulder, but it only makes him laugh—low and filthy—before he does as you asked, pulling out just to the tip before driving back in, making you keen.

The first roll of his hips is slow, almost gentle, but it’s mocking—a tease, a cruel promise of what’s coming. Then he pulls back, almost all the way out, before slamming back in with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs.

A broken cry tears from your throat as Sylus snarls, gripping your hips so tight you know you’ll feel it tomorrow, dragging you up to meet every brutal thrust. It’s needy, messy, desperate—like neither of you can hold back anymore, like your bodies are moving on pure instinct, chasing the friction, the high, the inevitable collapse.

"That’s it, kitten," he coos, but his voice is wrecked, shaking, just as desperate as you are. "Taking it so fucking good. Could fuck you for hours, pump you full, watch you drip with it—"

You shudder, but your lips curl, voice breathless, teasing despite how wrecked you are. "All talk, Sylus. You think you could last hours?"

His answering growl is something dark, something feral, and his thrusts turn brutal, each one driving deep, dragging you closer to the edge. "Oh, sweetheart," he purrs, voice thick with amusement and something darker. "I could keep you in this bed for days. Stretch you open every way I want, make you cum until you can’t fucking move."

The system chimes somewhere in the background, the voice of AI drowned by the obscene sounds.

"Reminder: Reproduction temporarily restricted. Override available after sustained coupling."

Sylus lets out a breathless laugh, his head dropping to the crook of your neck, his hips stuttering for half a second before he growls and drives in even deeper, making you sob.

"Fucking tease," he rasps against your skin, biting at your throat before pulling back to watch the way your body takes him, how you clench around him with every ruthless thrust. "Bet you’d love that, huh? Letting me fuck a baby into you? Too bad, sweetheart—guess we’ll just have to settle for fucking you stupid instead."

The words make heat coil in your stomach, too much, too good, the pleasure winding tight, tight, tight—

"Come on, sweetheart," Sylus groans, dragging a hand between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles in rhythm with his thrusts, sending sparks of pleasure rocketing through your spine. "Give it to me. Wanna feel you cum all over my cock once more."

And fuck, you do.

Your vision blanks, pleasure ripping through you so hard you barely hear the keening cry that tears from your lips. Your body clamps down around him, squeezing so tight Sylus snarls, burying himself to the hilt as he loses it completely.

A guttural fuck spills from his lips as he fucks you through it, pace going messy, erratic, rutting into you like he can’t stop, like he needs this just as badly as you do. His head drops to your shoulder, teeth grazing over sweat-damp skin as he groans, chasing his own high—

And then he breaks.

His body shudders against yours as he spills into the condom, hips twitching with each pulse of pleasure, breath ragged and heavy as he rides it out. His hands shake where they grip you, his entire body wrecked, chest heaving against yours as the aftershocks roll through him.

But he doesn’t stop.

Sylus barely gives you time to catch your breath before he’s pulling back just enough to look at you, his crimson eyes dark, pupils blown wide with hunger. His cock still hard, still throbbing inside you, twitching like it never got enough.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he breathes, dragging a hand down your side, fingers pressing into sweat-slick skin. "Still so fucking tight around me. Still need more, don’t you?"

You don’t answer—not with words. You just whimper, legs tightening around his waist, and his grin sharpens.

"Say it."

You shudder, the words barely a whisper. "I… I need more."

Sylus pulls out, the drag of it making you shudder, before he sits back on his heels, peeling the condom off with a flick of his wrist and tossing it somewhere behind him. Then he grabs another from the endless supply still littering the sheets and tears it open, rolling it on with practiced ease.

Before you can even process it, he’s flipping you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up, arching your back like he wants you to break for him.

"Up, kitten," he orders, his palm landing on the curve of your ass, squeezing before dragging a line up your spine. "There you go. Keep those legs spread for me."

The first thrust knocks the air from your lungs.

Sylus drives into you from behind, the new angle deeper, sharper, the head of his cock pressing right against that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. You cry out, fingers scrambling against the sheets, head dropping forward—

"Nah, sweetheart," he growls, yanking your head by the nape, forcing your eyes forward—

Right to the mirror above the large bed.

Your reflection stares back at you—your flushed skin, your wrecked expression, the way your body moves with every thrust, how you take him so fucking perfectly.

Sylus groans, his free hand gripping your hip, fucking into you with brutal, needy strokes. "Look at you. Taking me so fucking well. Bet you’ve never seen yourself like this before, huh?" His grip tightens, forcing you to keep your gaze locked on the mirror, on the way his cock drags out of your soaked pussy before slamming back in. "Watch me fuck you, sweetheart. Watch how fucking good you look taking me."

You whimper, the pleasure stealing your voice, but he just smirks.

"You wanted more, didn’t you? Then fucking watch."

And then, softer, lips brushing your ear, voice dripping with praise—

"Such a good girl, taking me so well. Perfect little pussy, squeezing me just right. Fucking made for me, aren’t you?"

The system hums again, voice sultry, almost mocking—

"Performance levels exceeding threshold. Further restrictions lifted. Proceeding with natural coupling."

Sylus stills, his breath hitching against your skin. His grip on your waist tightens as he leans back just enough to look at you, to take in your wrecked expression, the way your body trembles beneath him, flushed and glistening under the dim, red glow of the room.

"Sweetie," he murmurs, dragging a large hand down your spine, lingering at the dip of your lower back before curling around your hip. "They’re really giving us the green light, huh?"

You can barely process it, barely think—your body still twitching from the last peak, your breath uneven, pupils blown as you meet his gaze through the mirror above you. And Sylus? He looks ruined, silver hair damp, sweat clinging to his sharp jawline, strands falling into his wild, feral eyes as he devours you with his gaze.

His cock twitches inside you, still hard, still aching.

"One more, kitten," he murmurs, sliding his hands up your ribs, his body draping over yours, lips tracing the shell of your ear, dragging slow along the side of your throat. "Let me feel you raw this time. Wanna feel all of you."

The lights flicker, the deep red glow bouncing off sweat-slick skin, casting shadows that make everything blur between dream and reality. You’re both too far gone, too delirious to do anything but give in, to let instinct take over as he pulls back just enough to drag the head of his cock through your soaked folds, teasing, torturous, making sure you feel it.

Then, in a voice that’s all hunger, all heat—

"Tell me you want it. Say the words, sweetheart. Let me have you raw."

Your breath catches, and for a second, it feels like you’re floating, the mix of overstimulation, pleasure, and the room’s heavy, heady atmosphere making everything too much. You feel like you might actually astral project from how devastatingly good this is.

"Sylus—" you gasp, fingers tightening in the sheets, thighs trembling and covered in your own slick. "Do it."

He groans, deep and wrecked, pulling back slightly before reaching down between you. His hand drags over your hip before gripping the base of his cock, and then—

He slides the used condom off, tossing it somewhere behind him again with a flick of his wrist, never once breaking eye contact. "Guess we don’t need that anymore, huh?" His voice is thick with amusement, lazy and dripping with something dark, something dangerous.

Before you can respond, he grips himself, tapping the head of his cock against your swollen, messy folds—light, teasing slaps that send jolts of overstimulated pleasure straight through you. He does it again, watching the way you twitch, the way your breath stutters, the little sounds you make just from that.

"Look at you," he murmurs, dragging the head of his cock through your slick, teasing your entrance but not pushing in yet. "So sensitive. You gonna be good and take me like this?"

You whimper, hips jerking forward, but he tuts, pinning you down effortlessly. "So desperate," he muses, pressing just the tip inside, stretching you just barely before pulling back, making you chase him. "You want it that bad, kitten? Want me to fuck you without anything in the way?"

"Yes," you gasp, voice shaking. "Please, Sylus—"

His smirk sharpens. "That’s my girl."

And then he pushes in, slow at first, dragging it out so you feel every inch of him bare, every ridge, every vein, every bit of heat sinking into you, making your body tremble beneath his. His hands press your hips down, holding you in place as he sinks deeper, filling you completely, burying himself to the hilt.

His breath shudders against your skin. "Fuck, you feel even better like this. So warm, so tight, squeezing me just right."

His fingers slide back up to your mouth, pressing against your lips again. "Open up," he murmurs, and when you do, he slides his fingers inside, letting you suck, letting you moan around them as he starts to move—slow, deep thrusts at first, making you feel him, making sure you know just how well he fits inside you raw.

The sound of your bodies meeting is obscene, loud in the dimly lit room, the red glow casting both of you in something wicked, primal.

And then, his fingers leave your swollen lips just to tangle in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to make your spine arch, exposing your throat to him. His grip is firm, just tight enough, just enough to make your breath hitch, make your pulse thunder beneath his fingertips.

"Look at yourself, kitten," he pants, his voice unraveling. "Look at how good you look taking me. I for one can’t get enough of the sight."

Your half-lidded gaze meets his in the mirror, and the image is ruinous. The way he’s got you bent beneath him, the way his body moves with yours, the frenzied look in his eyes as he fucks you like he’s starving for it.

His free hand is dragging down your chin, your throat, before gripping your waist again, holding you steady as he pounds into you, hard, deep, needy.

"You feel that?" he growls, his voice wild, broken, desperate. "Nothing between us. You’re taking me so well, squeezing me like you never want me to stop."

And, god, you don’t.

Sylus groans, pressing his forehead against yours, lips brushing the back of your shoulder, panting against you. "I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else, sweetheart. Make sure you never want another but me."

You whimper, overwhelmed, eyes rolling back as your entire body tenses, the pleasure winding tight, so tight—

And then he snaps, fingers tightening in your hair, hips slamming forward, voice breaking on a snarl as he chokes out, "Come for me. Now, another one, please."

You shatter, pleasure consuming you, leaving you wrecked, boneless, shaking so hard your vision flickers, you might knock out at this rate. Sylus follows with a groan, burying himself deep, pressing his weight into you, making sure not a single drop is wasted. His grip is bruising, possessive, as he forces himself even deeper, grinding his hips in slow, sharp rolls, milking himself inside you.

"Princess," he rasps, voice wrecked, almost delirious, forehead pressing against your shoulder. "You feel that? So full of me. You're gonna keep it all in, yeah?" His fingers slip down between your legs, pressing over your sensitive, ruined clit before trailing up, where his cum is already threatening to spill out. He hums, pressing a lazy, teasing kiss to your jaw. "Messy already. Maybe I should stuff you again just to be sure."

You whimper, body still twitching, barely able to catch your breath, and Sylus grins, tilting your hips up, keeping himself locked inside you like he owns you. "Yeah, kitten. Just like that. Keep me inside. Let me feel you full a little longer."

The system hums, utterly pleased—

"Sustained coupling confirmed. Partners encouraged to hydrate before resuming."

Sylus shakes his head before letting out a laugh against your skin, still buried inside you, still twitching with aftershocks. "Kitten, I think we’re about to die here."

You groan, slapping a hand weakly against his arm. "You first."

Then a thought hits you, sluggish and delayed, because your brain is scrambled, barely functioning beyond the overstimulation and exhaustion humming in your limbs. Your brows furrow, your voice hazy as you mumble, "Wait… are we sure we can’t get out?"

The leader of Onychinus freezes for half a second before his body shakes with laughter—actual laughter, deep and wicked as he tilts his head back against the mattress. "Oh, kitten… don’t tell me you just figured that out."

Your stomach drops. "Sylus," you croak, turning your head to glare at him. "Tell me you’re lying."

His grin is all teeth, sharp and pleased. "Sweetheart, that door unlocked at least an hour ago. Maybe longer. AI was just egging us on."

Your jaw drops, your face burning so hot you feel like you might actually die of humiliation. "You mean to tell me we’ve been at this for hours when we could have left?!"

Sylus hums, tracing lazy circles along your hip, utterly unrepentant. "Technically, yes. But—we had fun, didn’t we?" He pecks the side of your neck, tender.

You groan, throwing an arm over your face. "I hate you."

He leans in even more, pressing slow, taunting kisses along your jaw, dragging his teeth just enough to make you shudder. "Liar."

You whimper, squirming under his touch, and he just chuckles, rolling his hips slightly against yours, his cock still hard inside you. His breath fans against your cheek, teasing, full of mock pity.

"Face it, kitten," he murmurs, voice wrecked but still so smug, "you love it here."

You groan, rolling your eyes even as your traitorous body melts further into him. "I love leaving. I love not being trapped in a godforsaken AI-run love dungeon with a menace like you."

Sylus just hums, unconvinced. "And yet, you stayed."

"The pheromones made me stay," you shoot back. "Don’t get cocky."

His grin stretches wide, lazy and self-satisfied. "Too late for that, sweetheart."

Before you can snap back, the system chimes again—because of course it does.

"Complimentary post-coital refreshments available in the lobby. Please remember to hydrate."

With a dramatic sigh, he finally pulls out of you, his body still pressed close as he eases you down onto the mattress, shifting beside you with an exaggerated stretch. His hands are already on you again, smoothing over your waist, fingers dragging lazily along your spine, like he can’t bring himself to stop touching you.

"We are never talking about this again."

"Mmm. Sure," Sylus muses, nosing at your temple. "Just as soon as I tell Luke and Kieran how we heroically secured the Spatium Core Fragment."

You slap a hand over his mouth. "I will actually kill you."

Sylus licks your palm.

With an exaggerated groan, you yank your hand away, rolling onto your stomach, feeling the mess between your legs, the soreness setting in.

"Easy, sweetheart," he murmurs as he tugs the nearest blanket over your body, fingers trailing over your arm, absentminded and soothing. "You good?"

You blink up at him, head still foggy, body buzzing in the aftershocks. "No. I am permanently broken. I will never recover."

He smirks, tracing a slow line down your spine. "That good, huh?"

You groan, shoving your face into the pillow. "I walked right into that one."

His laugh is softer now, less teasing, as he turns onto his side, propping his head up with one arm. "Drink something before you pass out, kitten. AI’s probably right about that one."

You sigh, peeking up at him, and—yeah, he’s perfect. Infuriating, cocky, an absolute menace, but perfect.

Not that you’d ever admit that out loud.

Instead, you huff, rolling onto your back. "Fine. But only because I refuse to die in here and let you have the satisfaction of telling that story."

Sylus grins, grabbing one of the bottles the AI so kindly provided, cracking the cap before handing it over. "Whatever you say, sweetheart."

You take the bottle, pressing it to your lips, already plotting your revenge.

Then, with absolutely no warning, something small and crystalline clinks onto the floor with a faint tink, rolling slightly before coming to a stop against one of Sylus' discarded gloves.

Both of you freeze.

Slowly, you turn your heads toward the source of the noise, blinking at the tiny, jagged fragment now resting in the dim red glow of the room. No grand retrieval, no dramatic containment process. Just... falling out of wherever the hell it had been stuck.

The Spatium Core Fragment.

Sylus stares at it, then at you. Then back at it.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you say flatly.

Sylus stares at it, then at you. Then back at it.

You prop yourself up on one elbow, utterly deadpan. "You mean to tell me we could have just sat here and waited for it to fall out of the damn ceiling?"

Sylus lets out a long, suffering sigh, then flops back onto the mattress, dragging a hand down his face. "This has got to be the most anticlimactic heist I’ve ever pulled."

You snort, collapsing back against the pillows. "Honestly? We deserved that."

Sylus groans, rubbing his hands down his face. "All that effort, all that running, all that—"

"Fucking?" you supply, far too smug.

He shoots you a look, but his lips twitch. "And fucking. Just for the damn thing to fall out of the ceiling like a loose lightbulb."

You hum in mock consideration. "Well, at least we can say we worked hard for it."

Sylus tilts his head, eyeing you. "You really gonna phrase it like that?"

You stretch lazily, already feeling the soreness setting in, but the smirk on your face is all teeth. "Oh, absolutely. You think Luke and Kieran don’t already assume the worst of us? Might as well confirm their suspicions."

Sylus groans again, but he’s grinning as he pulls you closer, tucking you under his arm. "You are an absolute menace."

"Right back at you, sweetie."

The AI chimes again—because of course, it does.

"Alert: Unauthorized activity detected. External surveillance ping received. Xander personnel may be en route. Please secure all belongings and prepare for potential contact."

Both of you glance at the Spatium Core Fragment, still resting on the floor where it so rudely interrupted your moment. Neither of you move.

"Are you actually serious right now?!," you say immediately.

Sylus sighs. "Goddamn it."

///

© 2025 dijayeah.

[kyrinnina]

Happy Valentines <3

[connorsui]

Hi! Can I ask for a Sylus fluff, where he gives the reader his bank card for her to go shopping, and he expects a bill to be at least $10,000, but all he sees is about $100. So he asks her if she bought everything she wanted, and she says something like "yeah, there were such good discounts, I didn't spend too much, did I?"

And man is just ಠ⁠益⁠ಠ GIRL GO SPEND MY MONEY I WANT TO SPOIL YOU

My beloved @lalaluch I cannot explain to you just how much fun this was to even imagine but let alone even WRITE 🩷 like I was losing my mind trying to bust out my Google docs to even make this. But my sickness was literally getting to me that all I could do was imagine--but anywhoo now that it's finally done I hope you all enjoy it ✨️

p.s: I hope this sickness finally leaves me because it be making me internally cry on the inside ...I pray for prayers lol 💅🏻

BUDGET QUEEN

It had taken weeks of gentle coaxing, half-joking remarks, and the occasional exasperated sigh before you’d reluctantly agreed. You had this stubborn streak, an insistence on independence that both irritated and fascinated him. But today, you’d finally caved.

“You’ll take it,” Sylus had said that morning, slipping the sleek card into your hand, his fingers brushing against your palm. “No arguments. No excuses.”

You had sighed, rolling your eyes. “Fine. But I’m not going crazy with it?!”

He had only smirked, knowing full well you would—and knowing full well that he wanted you to.

And now, hours later, he awaited the results.

Sylus leaned back in his leather chair, his crimson eyes flicking lazily over the documents cluttering his desk. A rare break in his usual chaos had him sipping on his usual drink, savoring the brief quiet. That was until his phone buzzed. He set his glass down and checked the notification, a message from his bank popping up.

He expected it—he wanted it. You had finally caved to his insistence after a literal month of convincing and taken his black card to go shopping. He’d envisioned the inevitable message all morning, something like:

One-hundred million spent at Celine and The Row’s combined?

Or perhaps?

Fifty million at Loro Piana?

You’d mentioned their beauty and elegance more than once.

Nevertheless, the man wanted indulgence, excess—you deserved it, after all.

Instead, the message read:

$157.45 at… Assorted Stores.

Sylus stared at the screen, unblinking. Surely, this was a mistake. He refreshed his balance multiple times. Same amount. He checked for pending transactions. None.

“…What?” he muttered, his irritation simmering beneath the surface. He slammed his phone down, crossing his arms as he waited for you to return.

Minutes later, the front door opened, and you walked in, humming happily, two bags dangling from your arms. You looked utterly content, your warm smile sending a pang through Sylus’s chest. He didn’t want to ruin the moment, but he had questions.

“You’re back,” he said, leaning against the doorframe to his study, watching you set the bags down in the living room. His towering presence cast a shadow over you, his white hair catching the light, giving him an almost otherworldly aura.

“Yup!” you chirped, rifling through the bags. “You wouldn’t believe the deals I found today! It’s like the universe knew I had your card!”

Sylus squinted. “Deals?”

“Yeah! Everything was on sale! I even had coupons for some things. Oh, and this boutique downtown was having a clearance event! It was amazing!” You beamed at him, oblivious to his growing disbelief.

“Clearance? ..…How much did you spend?” he asked, his voice neutral. Too neutral.

“Um…” You frowned, pulling your phone out to check. “About a few hundred, I think? Oh, wait—like one-fifty! I didn’t spend too much, did I?” You tilted your head, as if genuinely concerned.

Sylus stared at you, his expression shifting to one of incredulous disbelief. His red eyes seemed to glow, and his lips pressed into a thin line. It was the look of a man deeply offended. Not by you—but by the principle.

“…That’s it?” he asked, his voice sharp but measured, as if he were trying to comprehend an alien concept. “One-fifty?”

You blinked up at him, a little confused by his tone. “Well, yes… I mean, I didn’t want to waste your money—”

“Waste my—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his snowy hair. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. “Sweetheart,” he said slowly, “do you have any idea why I gave you my card?”

“To… buy some stuff?” you offered, suddenly feeling like you were missing something obvious.

“To spoil you,” he emphasized, stepping closer. “To treat you like the queen you are. To shower you in luxury. And you—” He gestured to the modest shopping bags on the floor, his voice taking on a dramatic edge. “—come back with clearance items?”

Your cheeks flushed. “But… I didn’t need anything expensive! I found good deals, and I thought—”

“No.” Sylus leaned down slightly, bringing himself to eye level with you, his crimson eyes boring into yours. “Listen to me, love. I don’t care about the price tag. I want you to have the best. The fact that you’re this thoughtful is adorable—don’t get me wrong—but next time…” He paused, his voice dropping into a softer, more commanding tone. “…I want to see receipts that would make the average person cry.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m not.” He straightened, towering over you again, his arms crossing. “Do you know how much money I make? How much I’ve set aside specifically to spoil you?”

“I can guess?…”

“Clearly not if you’re spending less than a casual dinner out on everything.” His voice was calm, but laced with unmistakable disapproval.

Then, with a breath, he softened—only slightly. “I just want to see you dressed in diamonds,” he corrected, stepping closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. “To watch you slip into golden heels that make you shine like the goddess you are. To drape you in silk and velvet, to see you standing before me in a dress that costs more than a car and still doesn’t compare to your worth.”

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the sudden weight in his words.

“I gave you my card,” he continued, voice lower now, intimate, “because I want you to indulge. To spoil yourself the way I ache to spoil you. Because you deserve to walk into a store and not think—just watch and admire”

Your throat went dry.

He lifted his hand, fingers brushing over your wrist before tracing upward, his touch featherlight against your skin. “I want to see you try on jewelry without looking at the price tag,” he murmured. “I want to sit back and watch as a saleswoman fumbles to put a necklace around your throat because her hands are shaking too much from the sheer amount of wealth wrapped around you.”

His gaze dipped lower, lingering on your frame as he exhaled through his nose. “And instead… you bring me deals?”

Your heart pounded, a mix of amusement and something else entirely stirring in your chest. “I didn’t think I needed to spend that much—”

“You don’t need to,” he interrupted, thumb ghosting over your jawline. His voice was softer now, but no less commanding. “But I want you to.”

Your face heated.

“Next time, I’m going with you.”

“What, to make sure I spend enough?” you teased.

“Yes,” he said, dead serious. “And to carry your bags. And to remind you that you can have whatever you want.” His red eyes softened slightly, and he tilted your chin up with two fingers. “All I want is to see you happy. No discounts required.”

You smiled at his sincerity, warmth blooming in your chest. “Okay, fine. Next time, I’ll go a little crazier. Maybe five million?” you joked.

Sylus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Woman, you’re going to be the death of me.”

You laughed, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. “You’re so dramatic, you know that?”

“And you’re too frugal for your own good,” he shot back, pulling you into his arms. His voice softened, turning almost playful. “But I guess I’ll just have to teach you how to spend properly.”

“Looking forward to it,” you said, grinning against his chest.

Sylus sighed, resting his chin atop your head. As much as he wanted to spoil you senseless, he couldn’t help but love your thoughtful, practical side. It was part of what made you you—and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

Still, next time… he was definitely making sure you left the store with at least an entire closet filled with designer bags.

For his sanity—and yours.

[dearieshima]

determined

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷feat. xavier is determined to get your virginity before leaving philos.

His hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, holding you open for his relentless assault. "Look at how deep I am," he panted, watching as he pistoned in and out of your tightness. "Look how well we fit together."

c.w spoilers to xavier's myth, dubcon, groping, scummy!xavier, coercion/manipulation, cherry popping, handjob, fingering, licking fingers after jizzing on them, jealousy, 4k+ words, halfway proofread

On the night of Xavier’s Gladius ceremony, he returned to the palace with a newly discovered understanding. Amidst the celebration, he pulled his father, the king, aside for a private conversation. He presented an irregular protocore to his father, its life force still pulsating in his hand.

“Shouldn't the protocore warrant a formal inspection?” Xavier asked, voice laced with suspicion.

“The lightblade deemed you worthy,” his father replied dismissively, his fingers absently tracing the protocore.

Xavier pressed, “Is there no need for formalities? Or are you unwilling? A heart was once in this protocore–am I mistaken?”

A flicker of tension tightened the king's jaw as he pocketed the protocore. “...I knew you'd catch on.”

The king immediately caught Xavier off, witnessing the disgust in his son’s eyes. “However, it is a necessary duty of the crown prince. It is also the king's responsibility.”

Xavier's mouth widened, and for a minute he stood there in silence. He then turned sharply, storming out without looking back, ignoring his father’s calls. His decision was already made.

He strode into the crowded hall, hoping to shake off his father’s gaze when he spotted you. His eyes darkened.

You were laughing at a joke some man had made, holding a flute of champagne. The dress you wore barely skimmed your knees, and Xavier noticed the man's eyes were fixed and imaginative, longing to see it up to your stomach.

You were a lamb among a den of wolves. If he left too soon, the pack would descend upon your fresh meat. He couldn't leave Philos without sinking his teeth into you first, marking you as his territory to warn others until his return.

He maneuvered toward you, brushing off congratulatory pats and embraces along the way. At one point, Jeremiah slung an arm around his shoulders, only to be harshly shrugged off, as Xavier’s focus remained locked on you. Jeremiah noticed his gaze and, not wanting to interfere, took a long sip of champagne and slipped away.

When Xavier finally reached you, he wrapped a hand firmly around your arm, his eyes flashing a silent warning to the other man.

“Come with me.”

"Hm? Why?”

Xavier's jaw clenched, his frustration mounting. Did you not notice how the other man had been ogling you?

“I have something I need to show you. It's urgent.”

Without waiting for a response, he guided you out of the ballroom, his hand gripping your arm firmly. He guided you out of the ballroom and steered you through the corridor of the palace, his steps determined and purposeful. His hand remained on your arm, his grip firm and possessive. When you reached his room, he ushered you inside.

You perched on his bed, still holding your champagne, swinging your legs. “So?” you asked, a playful smile on your lips as you twirled the drink in your hands. “What’s so urgent?”

Xavier shut the door with a soft click, then slowly turned to face you, a strange expression on his face. He reached over, took the flute from your hand, and placed it on his dresser. “Don’t drink that.”

You frowned, almost pouting. “Hey!”

He ignored your protest, “he could’ve slipped something into it.”

He strode to the window, pausing. “Besides, I want you clear-headed for what I’m about to show you, that's so urgent.” He pulled open the curtains, revealing a brilliant, star-studded sky. The sight drew you to your feet, and you stepped over, awestruck.

Xavier stood close behind you to make space. His chest brushed against your back as he rested his chin on your head, his warm breath fanning over your hair.

“There’s one more thing I want to show you,” he whispered, voice low in your ear. He pointed upward, guiding your gaze. “See? Just above the dipper—that’s the star of our planet.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you spotted the tiny glimmer in the sky, remembering your talks about eloping there. You’d joked about it, but seeing it now made your heart ache with a longing. “It’s beautiful…”

Xavier chuckled, the low sound making your skin tingle. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer until your body was pressed flush against his.

Your breath caught, your heart thudding wildly. “X-Xavier…”

He held you tighter, his hand splaying across your waist. "You should be more careful," he murmured. "Don't you realize how many men in there were looking at you the same way I was?”

“The way you…?”

“—Like a piece of meat.” He was unaware he was contradicting himself. “You're too naive and innocent, and they were preying on it. If I hadn't taken you away..."

He leaned down, his lips just inches away from yours. He hesitated, as though he might ask permission, a question lingering in his darkening gaze. It died as he closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a gentle yet assertive kiss. He drew you closer, his tongue exploring with confident ease.

He was desperate; you could feel it in the way his body pressed against yours, in the way he kissed you as if he was starved for you.

You melted into the kiss, your hands lifting to cradle his face.

Encouraged by your response, he gently lowered you back onto the bed, his forehead resting against yours as he followed you down. His body pressed against yours, and you could feel the deep, unspoken yearning in his touch.

“Xavier—” Your protest was cut off as he deepened the kiss, his lips capturing your voice, drowning any resistance as he poured himself into the moment.

You was a bit tipsy, the alcohol lowering your inhibitions, making you pliant beneath his touch. Xavier's lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, leaving a blazing path of desire on your flushed skin. He pushed you down, straddling your hips as he drank in the sight of you splayed out before him.

“X-Xavier…?”

Your clothes were rumpled, your hair tousled, your cheeks stained with a becoming flush. Xavier swallowed hard, his pulse racing as he finally had you right where he wanted you. This was what he'd been fantasizing about, dreaming of, for so long. And now, with you soft and willing beneath him, he couldn't hold back any longer.

His hands roamed your curves, slipping beneath your clothing to caress the silky skin beneath. He needed to feel you, all of you, with no barriers between you both. His fingers found the zipper of your dress and tugged it down but you pushed his chest, knocking him out of his delusion.

He blinked, as if surprised you would do that.

"What's the matter?" He murmured, his voice gruff. His fingers toyed with the hem of your dress, pushing it up, revealing more of your skin.

"X-Xavier..." You repeated, flushed. You scooted further into the bed, away from him until your back pressed against the headboard.

He followed, his hand slowly trailing back up your thigh, sending shivers through your body. "It's okay," he whispered, his voice coaxing. "No one has to know. It can be our little secret." His fingers reached the hem of your dress, slowly inching it up.

“N-No…” you stammered, reaching down to hold your skirt in place. “I… I don’t…”

Xavier’s face fell, his fingers curling into the fabric, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “You don’t want this?” he asked, voice low. “I though…–You were kissing me.”

“You kissed me back, you let me…” he continued, his voice trailing off as he looked away, shoulders slumping. “Why did you let me, just to pull away?”

You bit your lip, feeling a pang of guilt. “I… I didn’t mean to lead you on. I thought… it was just a kiss. Then it got too fast…”

"Too fast? Why was it too fast?" He glanced up, his brows knitted in frustration. "We've known each other for a while. We're alone. Why are you acting so shy all of a sudden?”

"I, I don't know..." I whimpered. "I don't... I don't know... Xavier, I…”

"You don't know, you don't know," he repeated. "You've been teasing me all this time, sending me mixed signals. And now, when I'm finally giving you what you want, you're pushing me away?”

You opened your mouth but closed it again, struggling to find the right words. “Xavier, it’s not… I just… You’re a prince…”

His lips pressed together, eyes dimming, reminded of the title he hated. "I'm a prince, so what?" His voice was soft, almost resigned. "Do you think that means I can't have you? That I don't have any feelings? That I can't desire you like any man would?”

“It’s not that… you're just…” you stammered, cheeks heating. “You’re meant for someone else, Xavier…”

"Someone else? Who are you to decide that? I don't want someone else, I want you. I've always wanted you." His expression softened, though his frustration was clear. He traced circles with his thumb on your foot. "Don't you want me?”

You bit your lip, finally looking up at him. “I… I like you, Xavier. More than… than I probably should.”

“Then why push me away?” he asked, voice thick with disappointment. “If you like me… then let me have you.”

“I… I don’t know, Xavier…”

He sighed. "You don't know again. Why don't you know?”

"Because I'm scared, Xav…”

"You're scared?" he echoed, his eyes softening. "Scared of what? Me?” Perhaps you've heard the rumors of him frightening away any students who showed interest in you; his father who showed an interest in your heart.

"N-No, that's not true," you pouted, fumbling nervously with your fingers. "I... I've never done it... This before... I…”

"So... you're scared because it's your first time?"

You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat. “Yes…”

He remained silent for a moment, his fingers lightly caressing your hand. "I didn't know," he whispered, though it was a lie. In truth, he was well aware. It was he who had kept you pure, watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity to claim your innocence for himself. He would never allow another man to take what rightfully belonged to him.

“But Xavier… I’m not sure I’m ready…”

His body tensed again at your refusal. He wanted you, and he was determined to ease your hesitation.

"Why not?" he asked, his voice warm and reassuring. "You like me, I like you. You don’t want anyone else, and neither do I. Wouldn't it feel right to do it with someone who’s been by your side your whole life, someone you love and could trust, instead of a stranger?"

He held your gaze, "those other men... they wouldn't take care of you like I would. They wouldn't be gentle–they wouldn't take their time with you. They'd just use you, Y/N.”

In your silence, Xavier took it as a small victory. Seeing you listening to him, processing his words, gave him hope that he was getting through to you, that you were listening to his reasoning. He pushed forward, continuing in a low, husky tone.

"They wouldn't treasure you like I would. They wouldn't make love to you the way I would. They wouldn't want to... to protect you, and cherish you, like I do.”

He could see the hesitation in your eyes, feel nervousness in your body as his fingers continued their path up your thigh, caressing your skin softly. He leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, his voice a low plea.

"Please... let me show you what it could be like... with me.”

Xavier's lips slowly melded into yours, breaking the final barrier of your resolve. His tongue brushed softly against your lips, testing, seeking entry as he drew you deeper into the kiss, making it clear he wanted all of you. When your mouth opened, he slipped in without hesitation, claiming the moment entirely. He explored each part of your mouth, tasting and savoring, leaving no doubt of his intent. His body pressed against yours, his weight grounding you, pinning you with a warmth that left you breathless.

His hands roamed your body, caressing your skin. He gripped your hips, pulling you closer to him, as if trying to merge your bodies into one.

He could feel your body trembling beneath his touch, the way your hands clung to his shoulders, trying to anchor yourself. He reveled in your response, the way you whimpered and mewled in his mouth, the way your body reacted to his every touch.

The heat of his mouth seared your skin as he trailed kisses down your neck, each one more intense than the last. Your head lolled back, giving him better access as he nipped and sucked, marking you as his. The sting of his teeth on your sensitive flesh sent jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

His hands roamed your body with a desperate urgency, as if he couldn't get enough of you. They slid under your shirt, caressing the smooth skin of your stomach before cupping your breasts. You gasped as he rolled your nipples between his fingers.

"G-Gentle…" you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Sorry," he murmured, his voice rough. "I'll make it up to you."

His hands roamed your curves, one cupping your breast through the silky material. With a swift tug, he pulled the dress and your bra down, freeing your breasts from their confines. They spilled out, immediately pebbling without the warmth of your bra.

His eyes darkened with lust as he drank in the sight of you. He wrapped his arms around your lower back, pulling you flush against him as he dipped his head to capture a nipple between his lips. He suckled greedily, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

His other hand came up to massage your neglected breast, kneading the soft flesh. He switched between your peaks, lavishing each one with attention until you were writhing against him, desperate for more.

Xavier released your breast with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your nipple. He trailed kisses up your chest, between your breasts, along your collarbone, before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delved into your mouth, stroking against yours as he deepened the kiss.

One hand tangled in your hair, angling your head to give him better access. The other slid down your side, over the curve of your hip, before dipping between your thighs. He cupped your mound, his fingers rubbing slow circles over your clothed sex, inciting a hiss from you.

"You're so wet already," he smiled, his voice a low murmur.

He hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs. You lifted your hips to assist him, the cool air infiltrating from the open window hitting your heated skin. “X-Xavier…”

He smiled as he saw how wet you were. He spread your legs apart and ran his hand along your inner thigh, spreading them wider. "So pretty," he whispered, his eyes locked on your glistening pussy. He reached out and rubbed his thumb over your clit, making you jump.

“Relax," he whispered, his voice gentle. His touch became firmer, his thumb slowly rubbing circles over your hot, swollen nub. He watched your face intently, memorizing every gasp, every flush of your cheeks, every dilation of your pupils. "Have you touched yourself before?"

You nodded.

"Show me," he demanded, his voice low. He wanted to see what you liked, what you didn't. He wanted to know everything. He brought his other hand up to play with your breasts, pinching and rolling your peaks as he continued to toy with your core.

You peered up at him incredulously. "Xavier…–!"

"Please," he whispered. "I want to know. I want to know what you like, what feels good. Show me, please." His touch was hentley, coaxing.

Slowly, tentatively, your hand drifted downward, brushing over the soft curls at the apex of your thighs. Xavier's breath hitched as you parted your folds, revealing the glistening pink flesh beneath. "That's it," he encouraged, his gaze locked on your movements.

Your thighs clamped shut around your plunging fingers, but Xavier forcefully pried them apart. "Keep them spread," he instructed.

You let out a desperate whine, groping your breast as you frantically pumped your fingers in and out of your dripping slit.

"Shh," he soothed, his eyes never leaving your hand. "Add another finger. Stretch yourself for me."

"I-I can't..." you protested weakly.

He nodded his head as he slowly pushed one of his alongside yours, stretching you deliciously wide. "Yes you can," he breathed. His digit trailed down to join yours, stroking that spongy sweet spot deep inside. Your pussy clenched and fluttered around the stretch.

"Right there?" he asked, his voice low. He crooked his fingers inside of you, pressing against that spot over and over again. He watched your face contort in pleasure, your mouth falling open as you gasped. "Come for me.”

Your back arched off the bed as ecstasy crashed over you in waves, your inner walls clenching around his fingers as you reached your peak.

His dark eyes were transfixed, watching with rapt attention as his hand worked you through your release, prolonging your pleasure until you collapsed back against the sheets, spent and trembling. Slowly, he withdrew your slick finger from your dripping core and brought them to his lips. His tongue darted out, curling around your fingers as it lapped your essence, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

He leaned down and kissed you hard, his tongue sliding into your mouth so you could taste yourself on him. His hands flung to his pants and began to unfasten his belt with eagerness.

As his pants fell away, your eyes widened at the sight of his impressive manhood standing at full attention. The swollen head glistened with pearlescent drops of precum, the color a striking contrast to the milky smoothness of his skin. Prominent veins ran along the underside, pulsing with his heartbeat. He was magnificent, a work of art sculpted by stars itself.

"Sit up.”

You complied, your movements languid as you propped yourself up on your knees. Your breasts swayed enticingly with the motion, nipples pebbled and begging for attention. His eyes roamed over your body hungrily, drinking in every curve and valley.

He took your hand and guided it to his throbbing member, wrapping your fingers around his impressive girth. "Touch me," he breathed, "like this.” He showed you, moving your hand up and down his length.

As your fingers closed around him, he let out a low groan, his hips thrusting forward slightly. "Just like that," he encouraged.

You swallowed hard, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through you. "Is this okay?" You asked softly, his length growing even harder in your grip.

"Squeeze a little tighter," he instructed, his voice strained with pleasure.

Focusing intently, you squeezed just as he asked, marveling at the way his shaft pulsed in your palm. Your eyes were glued to where your hand met his flesh, watching in fascination as you pumped him, his swollen head disappearing and reappearing with each stroke.

He hissed through his teeth, his head falling back. "Just like that," he praised. His hips jerked forward, his body tensing. "Harder," he groaned. He brought your other hand up to play with his balls, showing you how to gently roll and squeeze them.

He gripped your wrist, his breathing growing ragged. "Keep...keep doing that," he hissed. He thrust into your hands, his movements growing jerky. "I'm… I'm going to..." He broke off, his whole body convulsing as he came in your hands.

He threw his head back, tendons straining in his neck as he gulped. Releasing your hand, he gripped his own thighs, fingers digging into the firm flesh.

You gazed at your palm, glistening with his copious release. Mimicking his earlier actions, you brought your hand to your lips, tongue swirling around your fingers to lap up every drop of his thick, salty essence.

His eyes were riveted on your display. With a sigh, he asked you to lay back once more. Seizing your hips, he yanked you towards him, his face flushed and debauched, mouth agape. He reached out and gently spread your thighs, stepping between them, the swollen head of his cock nudged against your slick entrance.

“Condoms…!” You cried out, “Xavier, what about–”

"Shh, don't worry about that now," he said. "I'll pull out, I promise.”

His hungry gaze raked over your quivering form, committing every dip and swell to memory. "Don't look so nervous," he crooned. “I'm right here.”

"Be gentle..." You breathed. “Please.”

He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. You were adorable. "I'll be gentle.”

His fingers delved between your thighs, parting your slick folds to reveal your glistening entrance. He groaned at the sight. "So pretty.”

He then rubbed his thick head against your wetness, coating himself with your fluids. He pressed against your hole, his hips slowly pushing forward. He watched your face, his own contorted in concentration. "Breathe in," he instructed softly.

And before you actually could, he thrusted in.

“A-Ah!”

Tears streamed down your face as he gradually pushed deeper into your tight heat. He paused, allowing you a moment to acclimate to his impressive girth stretching you open. His fingers tenderly caressed your cheek, wiping away the salty drops. "You're doing so well," he praised softly. "Just a little more." With one powerful thrust, he hilted himself fully inside you, breaking through your barrier.

A sharp cry escaped your lips at the sudden sting of pain mixed with overwhelming fullness. Your nails dug into the sheets as you gripped them for dear life. "Wait... ngh... I can't..." you whimpered, trembling beneath him.

Xavier captured your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries. "Shh, you're okay. I'm all the way inside now," he murmured against your lips. He held still, letting you adjust to the intense new sensations as your body stretched to accommodate him. "Open your eyes. Focus on me and you'll forget the pain."

"Hmgh..."

He began to set at a slow, rhythmic pace, his hips gently rocking against yours. He grunted each time he bottomed out inside you. "Look at me," he commanded gruffly. "Open your eyes and look at me." He reached out and gently tilted your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

Your body clenched around him, the initial sting of pain gradually melting away into waves of pleasure. A breathy moan escaped your lips as you felt yourself surrender to the newer sensations.

Xavier's face tightened, and his head fell forward between his shoulders. "God, when you do that…" he hissed through gritted teeth. He continued to pump his hips, his rhythm growing faster. "Wrap your legs around my waist," he instructed hoarsely. "I'm gonna go a little faster."

You complied and wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him closer. When he mentioned he was going to pick up the pace, you weren't prepared for the relentless pounding that followed.

Bracing himself on his hands, he began to ruthlessly slam into you over and over again. Leaning down, he claimed your mouth in a rough, dominating kiss, muffling your desperate moans. His hips moved like a machine, driving into you with animalistic cruelty.

"G-Gentle...! Mgh–! P-Please!" you whimpered against his lips.

But Xavier was lost in his own pleasure, ignoring your pleas as he continued his merciless assault on your body. "You can handle it," he huffed. Gripping your hips, he adjusted your position, allowing him to plunge even deeper inside you. "You're too tight… I'll be gentle after I'm finished breaking you in."

"X-Xavier…! Xav–Ngh!"

He reached between your legs and grabbed your wrists, pulling them above your head as he continued to ravage you. His face was a mask of intense concentration as he continued to thrust into you, his hips moving like a piston. "You're so loud," he hissed, his voice thick with passion.

"Xavier! Xavier!"

His thrusts slowed to a torturous crawl, allowing you a moment to catch your breath before he hoisted your legs up onto his broad shoulders and folded you nearly in half. The new angle allowed him to plunge even deeper, the thick head of his cock kissing your cervix with each powerful stroke. Your back arched off the bed as your arms wrapped around his neck, nails digging into his sweat-slicked skin. A strangled moan tore from your throat.

His hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, holding you open for his relentless assault. "Look at how deep I am," he panted, watching as he pistoned in and out of your tightness. "Look how well we fit together."

"It's too much… please... please..." You babbled, your voice hitching with every thrust to your cervix. "Xavier... it hurts…!"

"It's supposed to," he grunted. "It feels good, though, right? Just bear it a little more. I'm almost done." He let your legs drop, pushing your knees to your chest as he pounded into you.

Your nails raked down his back, leaving long, ten crimson trails in their wake. Xavier grunted in pain, his face contorting as he thrust into you harder. "Mark me all you want," he huffed. "I'll mark you right back." He buried his face in your neck and bit down hard, sucking on your skin as he continued to thrust into you.

"Ahh! Yes! Fuck!" you cried out, your words dissolving into incoherent babble. "You prom–eh…! you promised…!”

Xavier's eyes were closed, his face buried in your neck as he fucked you without a care in the world. The sound of his hips slapping against yours echoed in the room, mixing with your screams and pleas. "God… fuck, fuck," he chanted to himself, his voice muffled against your skin.

"You're so meannnn," you whimpered, drawing out the word as a sob caught in your throat.

Xavier's eyes flashed, dark and feral, as he lifted his head. "I'm mean?" he growled, voice dripping with mock hurt. His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you flush against him. "You're the one getting off on this, aren't you? I can feel how wet you are." To punctuate his point, he reached between your legs and rubbed your clit roughly, making you gasp and arch into his touch.

He gripped your chin firmly, forcing your gaze to meet his intense stare. "Look at me," he commanded, voice low and dominant. "I want to see those eyes glazed when I make you come undone. When I claim every inch of you as mine.”

Xavier groaned, his thrusts becoming even more brutal. "You're gonna make such a pretty mess."

The words were like a match to gasoline, igniting the inferno raging inside you. With a keening cry, you shattered, your walls clamping down and bursting as ecstasy consumed you.

Xavier's eyes widened as he felt your walls clench around him, your orgasm triggering his own. "Ah! Yes…–yes!" he cried, his hips stuttering. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep inside you and came, his hot seed spurting against your cervix.

Xavier let out a low groan, his body trembling as he filled you. His grip on your thighs loosened, his hand caressing the marked skin gently. As he came down from his high, Xavier's pace slowed, his hips rolling forward in shallow thrusts as he milked the last of his release into you.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the world fading away until only the pulsing pleasure remained. With a final shuddering gasp, you surrendered to the overwhelming sensations, your consciousness slipping away.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as you went limp beneath him. He peppered your face with gentle kisses, his touch at odds with the rough way he'd just taken you. "Shh, sleep now," he murmured softly, "You did so well.”

As much as he didn’t want to leave, he gently began to slip out of bed, his body trembling, spent. He pulled the blankets up around you, making sure you were wrapped warmly before crossing the room to close the window. Quietly, he turned to his closet, carefully reaching for his lightseeker uniform and slipping it on, moving with a gentle but determined grace.

He searched for his sword, finally spotting the star-tasseled handle hidden under the bed. Just as he reached for it, he felt a soft weight on his head, your hand, draped sleepily over him.

He froze, worried he might've woken you–worried he would have to explain he wasn't abandoning, but saving you–, but then you let out a soft, contented snore, and he couldn’t help but smile. Slowly, he lifted your hand, pressing a tender kiss to the back before leaning down to brush his lips across your forehead, damp with extertion.

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispered, voice barely more than a breath. “I love you.”

[ramonathinks]

THE GOODBOY CODE

slyus is a good boy and wants to prove it to you.

cw: sylus and reader are both switches, (18+, MDNI), handjobs, pussyjob, cum eating, slight blowjob, making out, finger sucking, orgasm denial, use of restraints, spanking (just one moment of it) slight choking, squirting, eventual sex and creampie

ramona note: just a little drabble since it’s been forever but hope you enjoy! it’s terribleeeee ik ik tagging: @sunasbon @kissxcore @sincerelyzee

“How badly do you wanna fuck me, Sylus?” A simple question but you could already see by how flushed his ears and face were just how badly he wanted this.

A surprising sound erupts from his throat — a whine, a whimper or a combination of the two before he finally speaks, “Really bad. Don’t torture me like this kitten.” You could see he was struggling, he said he wouldn’t use his evol to escape the rope that bound his hands together but his eyes held a different story.

You sit on his lap, your core against him and he shutters. “Can I?” Your hands traveled from his shoulders to his chest, spending extra time rubbing up and down, smirking at every heavy breath. Your hand grazes the area, “You’re hard.” His body goes completely still for a second, almost like he’s embarrassed that you pointed out something so obvious. “I can make you feel good, wouldn’t you like that?”

He’s watching you with hooded eyes, swallowing hard. “Be gentle with me.” He finally huffs out.

Your face lights up and within seconds you’re on your knees his pants are completely unzipped; his tanned cock flops out and you just stare. It’s long and heavy, slightly curved and the head is decorated with pearly beads of precum. Your finger rubs at the slit, collecting the cum and popping it in your mouth.

Sylus just stares, his face twitching ever so slightly as you look at him. You moan, taking your finger out and dipping it back to gather more of him. He hisses, his silver eyebrows furrowed and eyes closed. Squeezing your fist around him, you pressed small kisses to the tip, peppering everything above your fist — his cock now covered in your red lipstick. He’s throbbing in your hands as you continue to work him, the lascivious wet sounds of his cock and his needy labored breathing mixed together in the empty room, “Just like that.” His back arches at the same time that his hips jerk up towards your fiery touch. “Ah!” He throws his head back at the sensation of you suckling a bit on the head while you stroke, both of your hands twisting and pumping him sloppily. Your tongue laps at the head more, swirling around the slit and he moans. He’s not quiet anymore, he’s being loud.

The leader of Onychinus is whimpering and moaning while his toes dig into the sheets. He’s gasping, loudly, repeatedly saying how soft your hands are or how pretty you are, anything with a whiny voice and flushed face.

“Kitten, I’m cl—” You know he’s ready to spill all over you, you can feel him throbbing everywhere and from the way the veins on his thick thighs look as if they’re going to burst… makes you stop.

It happens all within a second, you take your mouth off him and your now sticky hands you give small kitten licks to. While Sylus heaves and glares, “Are you trying to punish me?” He asks, his cock twitching in the air — harder than before.

“Say please and I’ll make it up to you.” You purr, kissing his chest with mischievous eyes.

“You’re pushing your luck…” He murmurs, annoyance heavy in his tone. He rolls his eyes and looks deep in thought before he says, “Pleasee…sweetie.” Dragging out the please to truly win you over.

“Now I have to reward you for being a good boy, huh?” A smirk permanently glued on your face. “I got something better for you.”

You sit on him, his cock flush against your lips as you rock your hips back and forth. More of his own precum leaks on to his abdomen, you don’t know when he broke free of his restraints but his fingers dig into your hips while your pussy easily glides up and down, the combined cool slick covering the both of you.

Your clit bumps his head and you both gasp before you start again— dragging your weeping pussy from the base of his cock to head, circling your hips against him. Every bump of your clit against his tip makes you that more wetter and faster to slide back up and down against him. “You’re soaking me…” His crimson eyes sparkling as he looked at where you’re both connected, his hips meeting yours with each roll. With every roll he does, the more moans comes from his lips — sometimes he says simple words of ‘fuck’ but other than that he just lets out wordless moans and shutters as you work him.

“Sylus—‘M so wet, you hear it?” You tease him, reaching down to put his fingers against your clit; the rough pads adding to your please. A strained moan spills from your lips, grateful for the feeling as you continue to hump against him.

“You’re so soft.” He groans out, your wetness drips down on his shaft and he instantly flips you over. “Making me feel good.”

Sylus uses your wetness like a lube, moving even faster to slot himself between the lips of your pretty pussy, sloshing sounds of wetness and skin slapping as he continues. “Mmf!” He leans down to kiss you, licking your lips to get inside –he swallows all your moans with a devilish smile.

Keeping your lips open to nudge at your clit with the head of his cock, your eyes wide at the slight overstimulation. He says something but you’re too immersed in the pleasure to hear him, he slaps his cock on your fluttering hole.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, kitten.” A dopey grin on his face, he looks as if he’s captivated by you. “I let you take control, but now…” he grips the side of your neck just slightly, watching your eyes roll back and your chest heave. “I’m taking it back.”

You whine out his name and sniffle, still not looking his way. But it’s almost like he was always in charge, the atmosphere heavy.

“Don’t you want me right here? Inside?” He chastises, his lips twitching upwards, failing to hide his smirk. His calloused hands trail from your quivering belly to your mound. “I was a good boy, can’t you be a good girl for me?”

But you’re stubborn, a trait he both loves and hates in times like this. He rubs himself against your folds again, “Or should I stop?”

Your eyes glance at him briefly before looking away, “You like being a bad girl, huh?” He licks a stripe up your neck. The warmth of his body leaves in an instant and he turns you over, taking you over his knees. He slaps your backside, once. Then again, harder. You hold back a moan but your hole flutters around nothing which makes Sylus chuckle.

“You like that don’t you?” His hand comes down on your backside again and your fingers fish the sheets in front of you. “Cat got your tongue?” He teases as you wiggle yourself out of his hold.

You scoff but avoid his glances, if you admit you like it… his teasing wouldn’t stop. He watched your face before he changes the subject.

“How about this…” He offers. “I’ll do whatever you want if you tell me like a good girl.” You squeeze your thighs together and he takes notice.

“I want you inside.” You tell him, voice laced with pleasure. Teasing him was torture enough because you were teasing yourself in the process. “I’ll be a good girl.” You promise, sticking your bottom lip out in a deep pout.

He lays you back down and he opens your folds that are sticking together, rubbing himself through them again before your wet insides welcome him.

You squeal and he’s shushing you, carefully moving in deeper. Your eyes tearing up at the relief his cock is bringing you, you’re babbling nonsense words to which Sylus replies with murmurs against your lips, “I know, I know.”

There’s little to no talking after that, just the sounds of him inside of you, the bed frame and both of you whining against each other’s mouths. Sylus pushes his hips deeper inside before pulling halfway out and repeating the action, his eyes focused on your face.

Bending your legs at the knees to get even more inside — to reach that spot he knows he’s close to. He says your name, he groans it with labored breath and you watch his face as best you can. His eyebrows furrowed and eyes closed, his lips parted before he grits his teeth and bites down. “Feels too good inside of you.” His hips snapping harder when you wrap your legs around him.

“M’gonna cum!” A pressure deep in your tummy, your knees close to your earlobes as he keeps going.

“Oh? You’re gonna? Aren’t you forgetting to ask? Let me hear that pretty voice.” He nibbles at your lips, kissing them.

“Sylus, can I? Can I cum? Please…please? Sylus—!” He’s looking directly at where he’s inside of you, froth covers his base and he bounces you off of him. You groan at the deeper sensation, a feeling so unfamiliar erupting inside of you.

You move your hands to cover yourself, “Sy— don’t… don’t look.” Gushes of wetness squirt off of you and you whine, his hand covering yours as he holds them tightly.

“Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed?” He gushes, his cock twitching inside of you as he finally comes inside

“Oh.” He slips out, watching more of his cum leak out of you. “It’s pouring,” he purrs, scooping some up and gently thrusting it back inside.

[cheshire-chronicles]

something about caleb spoiling you. it’s a habit he’s built since you both were young, and it’s certainly shaped your mannerisms and attitudes as you grew older. like a dove inside a gilded cage.

he’s indulgent with you. you snap and snarl; throw water cups and utensils; shove and push. and despite it all, he only ever accepts it. catches your wrist if your punches grow too violent, but not out of desire to stifle you — only to correct the way you fold your thumb into your fist.

you’ve grown to be quite spoiled at his hands. your first instinct is to look for your gege at any point, knowing he’ll give you answers where you have doubts, knowing he’ll console you when you’re upset, knowing he’ll soothe the ills of any displeasing situation.

when caleb’s own actions shift, take on darker intentions, your mind struggles to keep pace. his hold on gravity weighs your leg down as his hands cup your ankle, slide up your calf, slip under your thigh. his grip on your wrist tightens as his voice, once boyish now leering, croons promises of a garden — one structured like an inescapable maze.

you can’t reconcile this frightening visage with the memory of your indulgent gege. his hands are too rough; his words too cruel.

you struggle. you’re spoiled; and he’s spoiling you still.

he always will. he’s always been so fond of you, hasn’t he? even when his actions were misguided, leading to your tears in a locked attic, his intentions were always honed in on you.

“you. it’s always you,” he coos, brushing raindrops off your cheeks as he gazes down at you with the fondness born of a lifetime together.

the storm outside fills the room with shadows. the occasional flash of lightning eclipses him. his violet eyes look black, pupils swallowed by the night as he absorbs you so intently. your face, your body, your being. you.

your gege has always spoiled you. it’s made it quite difficult, you realize in hindsight, to find the will to fight him when that title loses its lustre.

[4ttack-ur-heart]

Dr. Zayne will handle it.

Pairings: Zayne x afab! Reader

Summary: Zayne finds out your gyno appointment is going to be with a male doctor and he’s less than happy about it.

Warnings: not really any just Zayne being jealous yet respectful, idk if I wrote him ooc or not… but it’s a learning experience lol.

Ps- it’s a lil shorter than what I normally write but I have so many ideas brewing.

————

Zayne’s fingers type quickly on his laptop, a warm cup of tea steeping next to him. His glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose with the lenses reflecting reports and patient files. He had promised only an hour of working in his home office while you stayed with him.

He could hear your voice in the main room arguing with whomever you spoke with. After your tone sharpened slightly, he decided to close his computer, remove his glasses, and see what was happening.

“No, I’ve been waiting for this appointment for two months! There has to be something else you can do.” You plead with frustration.

Zayne raises a brow, wondering what kind of appointment has you so stirred up. He watches as you angrily huff and say goodbye before ending the call. Your phone is tossed to the couch carelessly and you rub your face in your hands.

He carefully comes up behind you, his large hands covering your shoulders and the pads of his thumbs gently massage the tissue.

“Is everything okay, dear?” Concern is evident in his voice.

You nod and turn around to face him. “Yeah, just my stupid gynecologist.”

Zayne remains quiet, obviously waiting for you to continue.

“I’ve been trying to see this specific doctor because the association recommended her, but they just called me and said they overbooked her for this month and she won't be able to see me."

“Why does the association even have a recommended gynecologist?”

His questions hung in the air for a few moments while you scooped up your phone from the couch.

“I guess Dr. Lina is the best in her field. Kinda like how you’re the best cardiologist- most hunters try to see you instead of anyone else for heart issues. I guess it’s the same for her, and since a lot of hunters are women, the association trusts her to handle any issues for us.”

Zayne hums in understanding and places a tender kiss on your temple, his hand stroking your back to relax you. “So, what are you required to do now?”

You let out a sigh, “They can either reschedule me a month from my original appointment or I have to see the other gynecologist that the association recommended… who’s a guy.”

He tenses up and his hand stops moving.

Zayne maintained a high level of professionalism in his interactions with female patients. He recognized that the primary objective of doctors, including himself, is to assist individuals in need. Nevertheless, he experienced a sense of jealousy at the chance of another man observing you in a vulnerable situation.

“And are you comfortable with that?” His voice grows more cold and tense.

You pull your lip that you were chewing on from between your teeth, “Not really… that’s why I was waiting for Dr. Lina. If I’m not cleared soon, then I’ll have to be put on desk duty until I am.”

The foreboding future of being limited to desk duty when you weren't even physically injured was sure to make you go crazy. It was one of the most frustrating things about being a hunter- forget the wanderers, no, it was staying on top of all the appointments to ensure you were completely healthy. Dental appointments, eye exams, physicals, and now gynecology.

“I’ll miss my deadline if I wait for her,” frowning, you collapse onto the sofa in defeat. “Hello desk duty for the next month.”

You glance up at Zayne, searching for a hint of his thoughts on the situation, but he simply exhales through his nose, a silent acknowledgment of your frustration. He settles beside you, and you allow yourself to rest against his chest, feeling the cool steadiness of him. As you roll your eyes at the absurdity of it all, you pull out your phone to dial the clinic once more. Unbeknownst to you, Zayne’s gaze is intently fixed on the screen, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

“I’ll just book with that other doctor,” you say dejectedly.

Zayne's hand clamps down on your wrist with a surprising intensity, preventing you from dialing the number. Shock floods your senses, and as your gaze meets his, you can't help but notice the piercing coldness in his green eyes. The tension in the air thickens, making it clear that this moment is more weighted than you had anticipated.

“Zayne?”

You look back to his hand locked onto your wrist. Little white snowflakes flurry from his arm, and from that, you can tell the doctor is having an internal battle with his emotions.

“Forgive me for my impracticality, but I don’t think I’m comfortable with you seeing a male gynecologist.” You don’t fail to notice the way his voice was now lowered and a chill ran through your body.

The flurry of snowflakes burst from his hand in quicker movements at your words and he quickly lets go of you.

“My, my, is Dr. Zayne… jealous?”

“I don’t see why I cannot clear you for this, I am your primary doctor after all.”

Aww, your snowman was jealous. He just didn’t want to admit it.

“Zayne, honey,” you lock your fingers with his, noting the way the snowflakes start to calm down. “As much as I would prefer you to do it over anyone else, the association wants someone specialized in that field.”

Zayne furrows his brow, a wave of frustration washing over him. He knows deep down that he lacks the authority to grant you the necessary clearance, and the thought that another man will see you exposed, no matter how justified it may be for medical reasons, angers him even more. The tension in the room thickens as he rises abruptly from the sofa, his movements are almost forceful as he unintentionally nudges you aside in his haste, caught between concern for your well-being and the turmoil within himself.

“Don’t make the appointment.”

And with that, he leaves the room.

"Zayne!" You call out, but the sound of his office door shutting was all you received in response.

—————-

About an hour ticks by and you never leave the couch, instead just opting to watch some soap opera to pass the time with a throw blanket covering your body as the rain pelts against the windows.

You could faintly hear Zayne's muffled voice speaking to someone over the phone. You didn't want to disturb him, understanding how difficult it is for him to express his emotions. If he needed some time alone, you would give him that space.

By the time the door opens, the main character is already in tears again for the umpteenth time. He stands over you and you turn off the show.

In the stillness, you can sense his struggle to meet your gaze, while your eyes remain locked on his, filled with concern and curiousness.

Finally, he clears his throat.

“You have an appointment with Dr. Lina at 8 a.m. on Monday. Please do not be late.”

Shock washes over your features and your mouth parts open.

“What? Zayne, how did you-”

“Being at the top of your field has its advantages.”

You're silent, not knowing what to say, just overall confused. It would’ve taken you another month to see her and now you’re seeing her in three days?

“One of my colleagues is Dr. Lina's cousin. I explained to him your situation and he talked to her. I guess she was delighted to find out that the one and only Dr. Zayne’s girlfriend wanted to see her- so she pushed back one of her appointments.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Without another thought, you move off the couch and wrap your arms around his neck. Zayne reciprocates the hug and cradles your head to his chest.

“Thank you.”

Zayne's hand continues to stroke your hair, a bit hesitant as he chooses his next words carefully. "Darling, I want to apologize for my behavior earlier."

You pull away with furrowed eyebrows as he meets your eyes.

"You were right, it seems I was a bit jealous." His hand brushes back a stray lock of your hair. "If you were required to go see another male doctor, I should have been more understanding of that. It wasn't right nor professional for me to intervene without your consent-"

"Zayne." Your sharp tone cuts off his apology. "You don’t need to apologize for anything. I understand how difficult it is for you to confront your emotions. Honestly, I couldn’t be more relieved. I had already told you that I wasn’t comfortable seeing a male doctor for this, so you being jealous and taking action like that is kind of sexy."

"You think that was sexy?" Zayne smirks as if humored by the situation. "Really."

You shrug and nod your head, "I mean, yeah. You being all protective like that and realizing you're jealous is something I don't get to see every day. Maybe I should make you jealous more often..."

He lets out a low growl and pulls you back to his chest, lips brushing against your hairline as he inhales your shampoo.

"It would be wise not to push it," He warns. "Besides, I’d much rather owe Dr. Lina a favor than you forced to be uncomfortable.” His thumb brushes over your ear.

“What’s the favor?”

“That I see one of her children. With the discovery of his new evol, I guess his heart had some abnormal fluctuations.”

You frown at his answer. A child with heart problems already?

Zayne notices your change in demeanor and he tilts your chin up to look at him.

“Don’t fret over it darling, I’m seeing him tomorrow and she had already given me a brief rundown on his condition. It sounds like it’s just the body getting used to the abundance of power. It's common in children.”

You nod, relieved. If anyone can figure it out, it’s your boyfriend.

The rest of the night was spent cuddling on the couch and snacking on sweets while the cliche drama played in the background.

———-

Your appointment with Dr. Lina went very smoothly and she said you were in perfect health.

By the next week, you were approved to continue out in the field and the heavy weight was lifted off your shoulders.

Zayne was very relieved to find out his hypothesis was correct with Linda’s son, Ivan. As it turns out Ivan’s evol was super speed and the fluctuations in his heart were just him needing to burn off the energy.

You were glad it all worked out, thanks to your Dr. Zayne.

[glitch-but-ya]

HIRAETH.

PAIRING: Yandere!Caleb x Blind!Reader TAGS: Disability and blindness, possessive Caleb, yandere tendencies, violence and blood, overprotective Caleb, taking advantage of a disability, SFW but contains mature themes, use of the nickname 'pip-squeak'. SUMMARY: You wore a pair of gorgeous eyes that could not aid you throughout your life. Luckily for you, your childhood companion would be the vessel of sight you always needed. And at the end of it all, you would have his warm embrace to return to. WORD COUNT: 2,775 words.

You had never known what a home was like. Not because you suffered from the lack of one, no. You had a home—a large, two-storey house with white walls and an isolated attic, or so you had been told. Your home had been inhabited by three people. You knew that, of course. As a child, you would lie on top of Grandma, press your ear against her heart, and listen to her rhythmic heartbeat. You had learned that the steady thump... thump... thump... of a person's heart was proof of their presence. Each day, you heard two sets of heartbeats in your home, belonging to the people you cherished the most.

You had been raised with piles of books engraved with odd textures, an endless supply of home tutors, and a heavy stick to aid you for the rest of your life. You remembered tracing your fingers down your first white cane, feeling the cold aluminium against your fingertips. "It will accompany you through your entire life," Grandma had said. But it hadn't. Your cane had broken two years later. It had snapped in half after you dared Caleb to play baseball with it. It had been entirely your fault, of course. You still cringed at the argument that had led to the inevitable. It had started when Caleb caught you referring to your cane as your best friend. In the end, the cane didn’t last. Neither had the bond you shared with it. When it broke, he'd promised to get you a new one. But it always took weeks. Your 'best friend' hadn't rushed to your aid during those weeks. But Caleb did.

"Can you carry me down the stairs, Caleb?" As you had grown, you had found people to be more reliable than poles or sticks. You had believed you were truly fortunate to have such a loving, accepting friend whose shoulders were always free for you to lean on. He had carried you through the roughest terrains, through the darkest of forests, without ever bearing a single crack. All the white canes you had after your first break had eventually been rendered unsuitable for bearing your weight. But Caleb had never complained. He had never asked a crumb of you when you had to rely on him to drive you to places. Never had he turned a blind eye to the constant bullying you had faced at the hands of the neighbourhood kids. Although you couldn't see, you could feel. And you had felt that you were right at home. Home had been where Caleb was. Only with him had you felt at home. With him, you had been seen, loved, and cherished.

"Where'd you get that bruise, pip-squeak?" A natural consequence of being born with a disability was having to face constant bullying. You recall the first day you'd received the white cane. That afternoon, you'd insisted on walking alone without the assistance of Grandma or Caleb. The warm sun kissed your skin as you inched along the gravel. Birds chirped with renewed fervour as if the world had applauded your confidence. Today is a great day, you thought. Not only had you received your first walking cane, but you'd also achieved a feat most normal kids could not-- you'd snuck out of your window all by yourself. Moments like these made you believe you were just a normal girl living life with a small hindrance. For the first time, you felt invincible. What you overlooked, however, was how their presence was not merely a means to protect you from tripping over your feet or getting lost in the streets. They'd also shielded you from what you couldn't see-- the ill gazes of people who wished to utilise your blindness.

It hurt a lot: the bruises. Many a time, they would flog you with your own cane, smacking it over your head and shoving you with its tip all while they guffawed and cackled as they would with an odd-looking dog. They would rub dirt into your eyes and mock you-- "What? They're useless anyway! Who cares if they hurt?" Their actions left large red stripes across your skin that would deepen into a dark purple as you limped home. Not that you could see them, of course. The cold of the evening settled in around you, causing a shiver to travel up your spine. You'd assumed it'd be dark by now. Not that it mattered in your world. But you were often told that the darkness bore nothing but cruelty. If that were true, was your world merely one of savagery and ill intent? Was it even darkness that you saw? Or do you simply see nothing? You couldn't tell. You could see neither darkness nor nothing. Were they even different?

You were blind. You couldn't see. But you could feel. You felt his anger radiating from him, causing a lump to form in your throat. All because you'd replied, "I just got bullied a little." A pregnant pause followed your confession. You were blind. You couldn't distinguish between an uncomfortable silence and a pleasant one. You couldn't decipher it from the looks on their faces, neither could you tell by the behaviour they exhibited. But you could feel the clench of his jaw, the grit of his teeth through which he forced his voice. His tone shifted-- farther from concern, farther from warmth, and he uttered a singular unsophisticated word that confirmed your doubts-- "Who?" You could hear his movements. The irk in his steps, the angry shuffle of his jacket, the creak of floorboards under his weight, and the abrupt slam of the door that left you speechless and bitter. You nudged Grandma's sleeve after analysing the silence the two of you shared. Your fingers curled around the hem of her maxi. You looked up to where you assumed she would be, and a single tear slipped down your swollen eyes. "Grandma," your fingers trembled, "Is Caleb mad at me?"

By the time you began to chase after him, it had started to rain. The downpour sliced through your skin, hampering your sense of sound. You'd ditched your white cane back at home and scurried after him as fast as you could, placing your trust in the enraged and hurried thumps of his boots against the concrete to guide you. Only for the rain to hail in and throw you off course by completely overwhelming the sound of his footsteps. Great. You'd gone too far to be able to find your way back home as well. But you'd called this upon yourself, hadn't you? They were merely the consequences of your foolish actions—the aftermath of being naïve and weak. You were not invincible. You were not a normal girl. You were blind. And you'd dared to overstep your authority. It was only natural that you paid for your actions. Your shirt clung to your chest uncomfortably, creating odd creases across your body. Your damp hair occasionally slipped into your eye. You swiped it away and tucked it behind your ear as you ran across the empty streets. If you were to find yourself under the wheels of a truck, nobody would be there to come to your aid. But that didn't matter. Because this was what you deserved. You were simply experiencing karma.

Hot tears mixed with the cold beads of rain. The mixture slid down your cheek. Some entered your mouth, leaving it saltier than it already was. Some fell to the ground, rendering it indistinguishable from the thousands of droplets that fell each second. You didn't know where you were headed. You'd followed the sound of the pavement to keep yourself off the road, but you had no idea where you were. Had you run to another city? Or had you circled back home? Earlier, you'd slithered out of Grandma's grip before she could lock you away in your room and go searching for him herself. But with you on the loose alongside Caleb, she was sure to come chasing after you as well. Had you run so fast she'd lost track of you? Perhaps. Because she wasn't coming. Judging by the absence of sound, she was nowhere near you. After half an hour of running, your knees buckled. You came to rest beside a railing. Your hands gripped onto it, subtly tracing the intricate design as you panted against it. You inched forward with its support. Your feet throbbed as you walked, and you were sure the soles of your sneakers were torn as well. Oh, well. All you'd hoped for was that Grandma would find you, miserable and soaked in the rain, and take you back home with her as she stuffed your ears with various reprimands. But you were okay with that. As long as you returned to the warmth of the fireplace by the living room window, you were content. You doubted whether you deserved that as well. Eventually, your fingers met the cold, wet metal surface of an indented sign. You traced the words—"Willow Whimsy Park." Your breath hitched in your throat, and your hands flew around in search of the place where the fence ended. You rushed in through the opening, your breaths escaping in ragged spasms. He must've been here. He must've!

"Pip-squeak?" The world stilled. The patter of raindrops against your head became insignificant when your ears caught Caleb's voice. You'd expected him to be angry, to lash out and yell for you to go away. You'd expected him to hate you. To call you weak and pathetic, as you deserved. Yet how he called out your name was none of that. It was soft. Surprisingly gentle. You treaded closer, and you broke down once you were near enough to feel his breath on your face. Tears streamed down your face, painting a sleek path down your chin. Your chest heaved as you wailed ceaselessly. Foul, ugly cries escaped from deep within your throat. You sobbed and sobbed, leaving no place for Caleb to squeeze a word in. With a burdened sigh, he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer until your face was pressed against his chest. Despite your futile squirms, he held on tightly, his grip unrelenting. His fingers curled around your forearm a notch tighter, as if conveying his refusal to let you go in time of need. At last, you gave in. You nuzzled your face against his torso and cried your heart out. You sobbed until your throat screeched in protest. But Caleb did not move. Not a single word left his chapped lips. He simply stood there, willing to linger as long as you'd take to vent your sorrows. Even as you pounded your fists on his chest weakly, he did not complain. He simply stood, his arm coiling around you a little tighter with each sniffle. He treated you with unrelenting patience, and his gaze bore a devotion that gnawed at your skin and begged for a pathway into your soul. It was comforting. It was warm. He felt like home. When your sobs had died down, Caleb released his grip. You raised your chin. Your sleeve rubbed against your face as you wiped the remnants of your tears away. But the drenched fabric aided only in wetting your face further. You looked up at Caleb and swallowed the sobs that threatened to erupt from your throat. With a shaky voice, you cried, "Why did you leave me?!" You didn't know how, but you felt his eyes soften. The intensity of his gaze dissipated, leaving him with a gentle smile on his face. "What do you mean?"

"You were mad at me, weren't you? So you stormed off." You fumbled around before grasping his palm. "I'm sorry, okay? I won't ever sneak out ever again! I'll do all the dishes, and I'll—" Caleb cradled your face with his right hand. His thumb brushed over your cheek tenderly. You could swear, however, that his hand was far more calloused than usual. They also carried a scent that was unfamiliar to you, a scent you'd later go on to realise. But back then, that touch erased your worries, allowing you to sink into a whirlpool of warmth. It was as if he reached into your frozen conscience and brought upon it the warmest summer you encountered. "I wasn't mad." He said, his voice akin to a spring breeze. "Not at you. I stormed out to find the people that..." he spaced out, tracing a bruise under your eye. "That did this to you." You blinked, your sharp senses picking up on the harsh undertone of his voice. The emphasis left you baffled. Was the sun truly capable of such cruelty? You nuzzled into his palm to feel his marred skin graze against your cheek. Had he always hidden his anger behind the veil of your eyes? "They got away, though." His tone shifted, although unnervingly so. "I'll get them tomorrow. Let's go home, now, pip-squeak. Grandma must be worried." A smile graced your lips. Caleb returned your joy with a tap on the corner of your lip—a gesture that belonged to the two of you. He let out a hum, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. The downpour raged on. Thunder began to drum against your ears. "How did you find me without your cane? I guess we're meant to be." You giggled. Although you would've never known he truly believed what he said. Your mouth opened, "Achoo!" In a slow, deliberate movement, he interlocked your fingers with his and brought it to his side. "Let's go home. Or else, you'll catch a fever." He guided you through the entrance, looking back occasionally to ensure you didn't trip over your feet. At the entrance gate, Caleb paused, glancing over his shoulder to take one last look at the scene before him. He was relieved you couldn't see. He was relieved the boys had obeyed. If they'd as much as made a peep, his lie would be caught. What then? How could he have regained your trust? What reason did he have for the boys who were sprawled out in the mud, their faces littered with bruises he did not know he was capable of inflicting? What excuse would he propose in retaliation against your accusation—why had he frightened and 'persuaded' them into not uttering a single whimper or cry, despite their mangled states? And the worst of all was how he did not regret any of the choices he made under the shower of rain. He hadn't thought of taking back the punches that were delivered, nor did he ponder whether the consequences of his actions were too dire to endure. With each shove, with each kick, and with each crack, the lesser he began to feel. After all, he did vow to you.

"What's wrong, Caleb?" Caleb turned on his heels to face you. He leaned in, tucking a soaked strand behind your ear. "Nothing. I just wanted to let you know..." After all, he did vow to you: "I will always protect you, pip-squeak. I've made it my life mission." Caleb was grateful to the veil before your eyes. If you could see, you would have seen the sheer cruelty of this world. This world was far too pernicious for you. Blind or not, in every life, in every body, he would have covered your eyes. The darkness you'd have to endure was temporary, insignificant to the fruits of his labour. You didn't deserve a glance at the suffering that plagues your world. The storms you encounter in this world should not exist. You tilted your head. "You don't have to make up for leaving me behind. It was completely my fault!" He wrapped his hand around the back of your head. "I'm not. Well, anyway, let's find Grandma." Before he could lead the way, you leapt onto him from behind, fastening your arms around his neck. "Thank you, Caleb." He chuckled. "What for?" "For giving me a home." He ruffled your hair. His fingers latched onto your wrist, bringing them closer to his chest, right where his heart was. "As long as you hear these thumps, you will always have a home to return to."

That evening, you left the park with Caleb arm-in-arm. Perhaps, not having the ability to see wasn't that bad after all. At the very least, you did not have to cast your gaze upon the atrocities that occur past the foliage of nothingness. At the very least, you could be ignorant in bliss.

[boobearymuch]

—♡tags: Caleb/afab!reader, piv, creampie, premature ejaculation —♡wc: 399 —♡a/n: Caleb cums too early that's it enjoy :)

Caleb was done for; the moment you leaned him back, head bouncing onto pillows that smelled irresistibly like you, he knew it was game over. He pictured, dreamt, obsessed—about this moment for years. But not even his best R-rated fantasy came close to the real deal. The salt of your skin, the sticky heat of your body against his. Your hungry gaze sent Caleb reeling, and he frantically assisted your clumsy efforts to peel off his boxers. This was usually the part in his fantasy where he’d quip about your eagerness, regain control of the pace with a calculated stroke of his fingers, and tease you for being so wet for him already. All that flew out the window the moment you grabbed his weeping tip and squeezed. 

“Unh—” The groan rumbled from deep within his chest, and his amethyst eyes panicked when you lifted yourself over him. It was difficult to regain his cool after watching you struggle to take his girth, large hands gripping hips like a vice as you whimpered through the resistance. Fuck—another thrill jolted down his spine when you fluttered around him; he’d only ever heard you make noises like that with an ear pressed to your door and a fist stuffed down his pants. To finally hear you make those lewd sounds for him…Caleb resisted the horrifying urge to thrust into you all at once. Despite his possessive tendencies, he’d rather not hurt you—unless you really wanted him to, of course. But the noise you made when he finally bottomed out? Straight up pornographic. 

Caleb burned with shame when he sensed that familiar, hot coil in his lower belly. “Hah—wait, wait—hngh—” He whined but couldn’t help but jerk his hips anyway, sparks flying behind his eyelids when your hands slapped down onto his chest to keep yourself steady. And fuck, he couldn’t stop cumming. Just thrust after thrust of warmth until it was spilling out of you and onto his own sticky skin. He was so fucking embarrassed, muttering apologies in between wet sounds and nasal moans.

Caleb couldn’t look at you afterward, just pouted and flopped his sweaty hair to the side. But you didn’t let him sulk for long; you pressed yourself to his heaving chest and brushed his bangs aside, “Hi, is this thing on?” You tapped his cheek playfully, but this only made the storm cloud worse.

“...Apparently not.”

masterlist

[seradyn]

Yours To Bare, Mine to Cherish

Dragon!Sylus tries to push you away when old wounds flare up, causing him too much pain to trust you. You refuse to let him, and instead teach him how to ask for help, how to be vulnerable and not fear the lashes that follow. Basically: how to train your dragon to let you comfort him and give good massages.

As a chronic pain haver, I am forced to give all my blorbos chronic pain :) I’ve been working on this for SO LONG 😭 Still not over his myth so please enjoy us pampering our dragon 💕

Word count: 11,021. AO3 Link cause it's long

Important tags: gender neutral reader, no y/n, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, chronic pain!Sylus, cuddling and snuggling, massages, Dragon!Sylus, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, present!Sylus (you’ll see), arguing, Sylus x reader, Sylus x MC, canon compliant, canon-typical violence

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your dragon was in a foul mood.

It’d started when you decided you’d like to restore some of the old weapons Sylus had discarded haphazardly around his home. Swords, axes, spears and daggers laid in broken heaps throughout the cavern, each one a trophy plucked from his would-be assassins turned prey, he’d boasted. Impressive as they may have once been, though, they were now but piles of chipped rubbish, pushed up against the walls and out of the walkways, hardly spared more than a glance. A dragon has no use for such weaponry; their claws are daggers, their teeth swords, so the battlements remained as haughty decorations, a warning to all those who dared enter his domain, lest they meet the same fate.

One particular sword had caught your eye. Dragon’s Scourge, Sylus said the warrior had called it, sniffing derisively at the pretentiousness of such a name and the underwhelming performance of said blade. It had pierced neither scale nor flesh before the sorry sod had been strung up in the stalactites of the cave and left to rot, much like his weapon. Sylus claimed it wasn’t even worthy of straightening his bangs, dismissing the old thing, as he had with the daggers you once turned against him.

Upon further inspection, though, after returning from another successful raid, and bored beyond belief, you found the steel to be of decent quality. Being raised under the army’s instruction taught you how to recognize the mark of a good smith. Taught you to know the quality of the metalwork on your blades, how the weight felt as you gripped it, the feeling of it sliding through the air before hitting its mark. They taught you many things, as they groomed you to be their killing machine, while the lordlings sat getting drunk on their own false grandeur.

You hoped with all the blood you planned to spill with it, its steel would take up a new name, carved from crimson rivulets of the faithful. You were thinking something along the lines of Justitia’s Scourge, or maybe even Human’s Scourge, just to rub salty irony into their wounds. But that would have to wait, you thought as you scrutinized it, until it wasn’t caked in rust from centuries of disuse, and a proper whetstone had been taken to its dull edges.

It took a full day and night of work to restore it, though you now reaped the fruits of your labor, watching with a satisfied smile as you turned the blade to catch stray beams of moonlight through the porous cave ceiling. A vinegar bath overnight had peeled off the old rust, and with the tools Sylus had snagged for you from the armories you’d torched, you were able to scour and polish the sword the following day. By nightfall, the edges were properly sharp again, a few experimental swings showed it was ready for battle once more. A bolt of excitement ricocheted down your spine, tingling to your fingertips as you thought of showing the rebirthed blade to Sylus, of cleaving pious flesh from bone to earn it its new name.

It had been at least three days since you had seen your dragon, however. He left you to your devices when you began work on your little pet project, when you’d shooed him out of your chambers to prepare a ‘surprise’. He seemed less than thrilled with the idea, if the downward curl of his lips was any tell, but he’d nevertheless entertained your whims and left you be. You were grateful to have his eyes off you for a day or two, but now that you’d finished, his absence reverberated through the yawning emptiness in your chest, where his claws had carved a dragon shaped hole. Normally, he often lingered nearby, watching curiously as you tried to climb out of his cave, or polished his coins out of sheer boredom, or even while you ate your meals, made of sparse rations stolen from soldier barracks. You hated it, at first, until you realized he didn’t do so out of malice. He was but a shepherd, watching with intrigue as his sheep tried to jump the fence of its enclosure, wondering if it would ever have the strength to clear it, or if it was doomed to an early trip to the slaughterhouse, ushered there on broken legs.

But now you’d seen neither sight nor heard sound of him, and you couldn’t help but miss him. If he wasn’t nearby, you could usually still hear him deeper in the cave, the clinking of coins as he moved about, or the faint rustling of his scales gliding across stone. The gust of wind from a flap of his impressive wings as he took off. The sword was complete the previous evening, and yet the cavern remained noticeably silent. As if the mountain held its breath, anxiously waiting for his return. The mark he left on your neck throbbed, pulsed, beckoning you to him as the fisherman’s lure calls the guppies from the safety of the school.

This wasn’t like him.

Leaving the blade in your chambers; it wouldn’t do to approach an agitated dragon with such a thing; you began to make your way through the winding tunnels, deeper into the darkness. His own quarters, the ones you’d once slunk into with thoughts of dragon eyes and dripping red, were in the heart of the mountain, where the sun didn’t dare reach, and veins of buried magma spread like spiderwebs underfoot, keeping it pleasantly warm. Sylus made it clear his distaste for sunlight, and dragons ran naturally hot; all you need do was follow as the darkness stretched deeper into the earth, down the spiral staircase in the heart of his nest, as the air grew warm and charged.

You descended the last crude steps, carved by his own claws, landing with a thud in his chamber. His overflowing coffers, now teeming with the prizes from your exploits, glittered in the dull orange glow of the candles, a kaleidoscope of technicolor treasures. You felt a wave of satisfaction as you gazed upon your additions to his hoard, proof of your enacted vengeance in every pillaged gem. But less so the jewels, you were pleased with the tapestries, the blankets and pillows now strewn about his cave, after you’d bemoaned the harshness of the stone against your skin. You had no scales to protect you, after all. Sylus thought you odd for requesting things so mundane, but he acquiesced, if only to sate your growing desires.

And there you found him, sat amongst a pile of pillows on his ‘perch’, as you’d lovingly called it, a dark shape against the speckled constellations of his gold. The raised stone dais, where he often lazed about when not with you, had not escaped your demands to make his home more accommodating for a human. A puffy white blanket now laid over the old rock, stolen straight from an Oracle’s bedchamber. You’d tucked ivory pillows with gold tinsel into the corners, to rest his head or back against, you’d reasoned, but Sylus only scoffed. He made no move to stop you though, and you weren’t blind to how he snuggled into the cushions when he thought you weren’t looking, his tail flicking and eyes closed like a contented, oversized cat.

You came up short, however, when you fully took in the state of your dragon. Sitting up, his back turned to you, he was curled in on himself, a taloned hand gripping his tensed shoulders, his tail draped over the edge, twitching restlessly. He hung his head, hiding his face from view, his body heaving with faint pants that echoed in the tight space. Next to him, the once pristine and well kept bedding had been shredded, huge gashes running across the delicate fabric, a plume of feathery down decorating his bed and the cave floors where the stuffing had been ripped out.

The mark on your neck flared to life at seeing him, and you instinctively clasped a hand over it. You could feel the outline of his bite under your fingers, his reminder of your deal, a stamp and signature on your contract. You let out a stuttered breath as the ache spread underneath your skin, consuming, tearing, flaying your flesh open with phantom fire. It burned.

You’d never seen Sylus like this before, never felt the mark throb quite as sharply. It tended to hurt, when his draconic instincts expressed themselves, when you felt him crave mortal souls, but that was a feeling you’d grown familiar with. You knew it, felt it, and discarded it, the mark and his desire tampered down as quickly as it had roared to life. You’d grown accustomed to the feeling, the ache deep in your chest that cried devour, devour, consume, it’s yours, even as it filled you with a sense of wrongness. Sylus never acknowledged it, never hinted that his desire grew in twine with yours, even as you felt the reflection of it in yourself. He swallowed it down, and with it, the mark would go dormant again, like nothing had happened, his stoic expression no less tamed than before.

The pain it radiated now was so different. You felt it travel along the highways of your nerves, burning and burning and burning its way down your spine, through your limbs, all the way to your toes, where it felt like your meat was being pulled from your bones, ripped and sliced and stabbed. You shuddered, a harsh exhale pushed from your lungs as you suppressed the urge to scream, to rip into your own flesh to find the source of your pain, and carve it out. You’d felt a distant ache from the mark as you traveled deeper into the mountain, but standing in front of Sylus, it was nearly unbearable.

Was Sylus…Could he feel it too?

Carefully, on gentle padded steps, you approached him. You made no attempt to hide the sound of your footfalls, you were sure he already knew you were there, if your previous meetings were any indication. However, he was surely irritated, the jerky movements of his tail confirmed as much, and you had no desire to exacerbate it by startling him. You’d been on the receiving end of it before, when you teased him too much too often, or when you demanded he bring you something particularly ridiculous, like the fuzzy mountain cat that now roamed his domain with you. You’d not seen it in a while either though, it could likely sense the ire of its master, and decided it was better to simply stay out of sight, lest it become collateral.

“Sylus?” you broached softly, as you neared his place on the dais. Even the quiet whisper of his name felt too loud in that space, where the tension grew thick, made the air scrape across your suddenly dry throat.

His reply was a deep, rumbling growl, coursing its way out of the depths of his chest and echoing on the cave walls. You stopped in your tracks, eyes going wide as the sound made the fine hairs on your arms stand on end.

“Leave me be,” he spoke, and it sounded nothing like the smooth velvet of his voice, tinged with tender fondness and amusement that you’d grown to adore over the long months. No, this was the voice of a dragon - one filled with seething flames to scorch the earth, make his bed of ash and rubble. A fury so potent, the heavens trembled in its presence.

This wasn’t like him at all. 

“Sylus, what is wrong?” You asked, your worry spreading like mold throughout your body, choking you, covering up the pain from his mark, even as it swelled, surged, pushed into your fingertips.

“I am in no mood for your games. Leave.” He hissed. Actually hissed. His tail lashed, gouging out shallow grooves in the rock below his perch, the pointed barb extending and retracting. Poised and ready, like a scorpion’s, right before the kill.

In all the time you’d known him, all the months of shared hardships, he had never spoken to you like that.

Not even when you both dreamed of tearing the other apart.

“What is going on with you?” You breathed, not bothering to hide the worry in your voice, your heart. 

“It is no concern of yours,” he threw over his shoulder, and it struck like a sword in your chest.

How could he say that, after spending months with you, helping you, fighting alongside you against a world that abhorred you and him?

How could he say that, as the only person who stood by you now? And you, the only one left who stood by him?

“Of course it’s my concern,” you said, and you wondered if he could hear the hurt in your voice. “Sylus, what is-”

“Have you lost your hearing?” He snarled, cutting you off as his voice grew louder. “I thought I made myself clear. Leave. Now.”

You stared at him, stunned, as Sylus seethed vitriol at the tender place inside you, where you’d planted the seeds of affection, adoration, where they timidly poked their tender leaves out. As you felt them wither, their crumbling stalks easily pulled out, shredded in apathetic claws.

Had you made him angry, somehow? Crossed a line he forgot to draw in the sand, and now he wanted nothing to do with you? Your heart kicked, lurching at the thought. Had your dragon finally grown tired of you?

But, as you looked at him, tensed up and refusing to look at you, your intuition cracked like a whip, and you realized what he was actually doing. Your skin rippled, and you felt a steady stream of anger pump into your veins, to match his own, where once was only worry. You’d worked so hard, tending that garden, to grow something other than bloodlust and hatred inside of you. But now they came back, like weeds you could never fully eradicate, twisting around your fragile heart.

Did Sylus truly think he could scare you away so easily? Intimidate you into abandoning him, so effortlessly? Did he forget that you were not the same helpless little thing he rescued from the Abyss? He said it himself; you’d grown your own horns, when you vowed vengeance on those who damned you, and vowed your soul to him in tandem. You weren’t just going to let him destroy whatever it was you two had built together. You hated the thought so much, it filled your mouth with the acrid taste of bile.

“Sylus, I’m not going anywhere.” You said firmly, planting your feet. If he wanted you to leave, he’d have to throw you out. The gnawing worry and anger, coupled with the pain still writhing under your skin, made the thought so unpalatable you wanted to peel yourself open, let him consume your soul if only to let him feel the tender emotions that enveloped you whenever you thought of him, when you looked at him.

“Then you are a fool,” he sneered, and you felt your hopes being snuffed out. “Begone.”

“Sylus, let me help-”

“I need no help.” He spat, the final word tasting foul on his tongue. His tail flexed, muscles rippling as he drove it into the ground, a clean puncture straight through the stone, pebbles scattering across the floor.

You breathed through your nose, trying very hard to stop yourself from saying ‘yes, you do’, bluntly to his face, or it may anger him more than your continued presence already was. You knew when to hold your tongue, despite what he may think.

“Please, can you just tell me what’s wrong?” You begged, hating how desperate you sounded. It reminded you too much of when you first met, when he held your life so easily in his hands. But, strangely, you found you hated his current state even more, could stomach begging like a peasant if it meant you could get through to him.

“Do you truly wish to test my benevolence again, sorceress?” He ignored your question, saying the nickname he normally spoke with such fond amusement, filled with contempt and repulsion. Spoke it the way the Judicators did, as they condemned you, sentenced you to die. As they took you away from everything you knew and loved, and made you watch as they reduced your world to rubble, made you watch as the only people you ever knew chanted for your execution, rejoiced at your damnation.

The extent of this transgression, this intentional cruelty made your skin grow hot, your brows drawing down as nothing but rage bubbled up and shot out of your heart like lava, a volcano erupting and eating away at the worry there. How dare he? How dare he speak to you like that, after all you had been through together? After you blocked blows, fought off the wrath of the holy army that aimed for his vulnerable flank while you raided their temples, their armories, their barracks. You’d taken hits for him, gladly, if it meant sparing him pain, even if it meant feeling the wounds twice; once for when your blood spilled, and again when Sylus admonished you for being reckless, for worrying about him, even if he inevitably patched you up, told you to be more careful in that quiet way he did. After you learned to enjoy what slivers of peace you could find together, how he took you to the night markets, bought you anything your hands touched, and tried to fight the smile that curled his lips as you covered him in cheap, counterfeit jewelry, in leather pouches that he would never use, but you liked the designs of, or that set of old red keys that’d been turned into an ornament, simply because it matched his eyes.

Did all of that mean nothing to him, for him to treat you this way? Treat you worse than he did when you were nothing more than a meal to him?

Part of you was so angry and hurt, you wanted to just do as he said. Leave him to his devices, and let him suffer in solitude. Tell him to never ask for your help again, since he clearly didn’t need it. 

You turned, took a step away from him, fighting back the stinging in your eyes. You stopped, your breath catching, as your heart stuttered, like your chest was caving in around it, crushing it. Your vision swam, and you clamped your eyes shut, as you tried to hold onto your anger at him for speaking so cruelly to you. At hurting you in a way you hadn’t been sure you were still capable of hurting. But all you could see were those moments when he showed you the kind of creature he really was. Those moments like when you sang to him on the cliff, and he looked at you with affectionate awe, promised to buy you an organ so you could play it properly for him. The gentle lull of his voice as he carried you away from the tavern in Tarus City, retelling the play to you when you complained you’d have nightmares if he didn’t. How he snuggled with you at night when you had them anyway, because the thought of him mutilating himself was so much worse than whatever you could’ve imagined was the reason for the end to that awful, awful play. How you two poured over maps and star charts, planning your next assault while joking and teasing each other. Smiling, laughing.

Your heart screamed, as the dragon shaped hole he’d carved hemorrhaged, filled your chest with so much blood, you felt like choking.

As much as you wanted to be enraged at him, force him to suffer for hurting you so thoroughly…you couldn’t leave him. Couldn’t bear to walk away, even if it meant your own destruction. The prospect hurt so much more than the words he used like daggers.

You straightened, hardening your resolve, tucking your anger away for later. You turned back, marched over to the dais. If Sylus refused to see reason, then you would make him understand his own foolishness.

“This has nothing to do with your benevolence, or lack thereof,” you snapped, proud of yourself when your voice came out even, unaffected by the anger and revitalized concern that now mixed into a potent concoction inside you. “It has everything to do with you being too afraid to admit you need help!”

What you thought before was a snarl was nothing compared to the throaty, guttural angry and inhuman sound that burst from his throat at that, echoing around the both of you like the detonating of a bomb. He twisted violently, pinning you with his eyes, the ill omen of those ominous pools of ruby rose. They crackled like a storm, his nose crinkled and lip curled in utter contempt at your accusation. His next words came out as a barely contained roar.

“I am a dragon-”

“Indeed,” you cut him off, raising your voice to match him, unflinching in the face of his utter childishness. “In which case you can surely stomach telling me why you’re so upset.”

He paused, eyes widening for a fraction of a second, almost imperceptibly, before he quickly wiped the expression off with a scowl, turning away from you as his tail continued to flick. You stared at the back of his head, crossing your arms, daring him to try to deny it again. You always did like a challenge, he knew this about you. You weren’t going to leave, if for no other reason than the fact that only he could soothe the burning of the mark, douse the fire that tore through you, even as you stood there meeting his anger head on. The truth was, though, that you still cared about him. You weren’t sure if that would ever change, now. Even when he was being insufferable.

Eventually, he let out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“…Everything hurts,” he whispered through gritted teeth, curling in on himself further.

Your heart dropped at that, the confirmation that the fire in your muscles was also in his, the untouchability of him in your mind shattering.

Sylus always seemed so invincible; he shrugged off the blows from the army as if they were nothing, he stopped arrows with a flick of his wrist, rended battalions with a swipe of his tail. A grimace and a stare, his right eye roaring to life sending whole squadrons into madness, howling as they tore each other apart. You’d yet to see anything perforate his impenetrable scales, save for the greatsword nestled somewhere deep in your chest. Even then, when you first found him in the depths of the abyss, looking up at the sheer size of his true form, all rippling scales, muscle, and teeth, he had seemed more annoyed than anguished, while he sat ran through with the sword, with his massive scarlet wings cocooned in chains. He watched you as the lion does the mouse, waiting for the inevitable, for you to wrap your hands around the hilt, for the blade to slide smoothly out from where it was implanted in his chest, to set him free from the prison of your ancestor’s making.

He seemed so…almost boyish now, in the near fetal position, tail flicking, flicking. And what a strange sight it was. Something filled you at it, boiling and prickly thorned, wrapping around your heart and squeezing, pulsing along with the mark on your neck. It took a moment to recognize it as offense. Offense at seeing your untouchable, mighty dragon, who scoffed at attempts for his slaughter, who laughed as you tried to procure his eye, now besought by something intangible, something which you could not name, that you could not know. Something that your daggers, your swords, all the weapons in the caves could not split away from, could not heal the jagged edges that cut him, and thus cut you.

Through the fire seeping into your veins, though, the only train of thought that remained on course, reverberating through your head was why, why, why is your dragon in pain?

What could be causing your dragon such agony?

You wracked your brain, trying to think if you had missed something, if he had hidden any injuries from your last raid. But the Justitiaurs fell as easily as they always had; tearing each other apart with one look from his glowing red eye. You two were together when you stormed the resident Oracle's chamber, cut his throat with your daggers, and watched his blood paint the ivory tiles a color that matched the gem in Sylus’s chest. Non had presented more than an inconvenience to you both, more like fleas squashed between your fingers. He’d claimed his invulnerability, and proven it just as easily; what could have possibly inflicted such debilitating pain upon him?

Though, you quickly realized it didn’t matter so much the why or how of what Sylus was feeling. What mattered was that he felt it, and you didn’t want him to be feeling it, regardless of the fact his pain was reflected into you.

You gently padded to the dais, watching his twitching tail as you sat on the edge of the coarse stone, brushing aside loose feathers. Here, you caught a glimpse of his face; his nose scrunched, lip slightly curled to reveal pointed fangs, and eyes clamped shut by furrowed brows. Your heart plummeted like a stone thrown in a mirrored lake, lost in darkness’ depths, seeing the pain etched so clearly onto his marble face, disrupting the collected, bored expression he always wore.

“Where does it hurt?” Your voice came out soft, soothing. Gracing the air as a brush of fingers on his skin, a kiss of petals.

“Everywhere,” he huffed, exasperated. He shook his head violently, his claws bearing down on his delicate skin, just shy of breaking the surface and drawing blood. Your fingers flexed, wanting to pull the deadly talons away from his shoulder, away from himself, but you refrained. Patience was key, with a predator so close to snapping.

“Where does it hurt most?” 

A growl reverberated out of his throat, a discontented purr. He peaked open his eyes, though he did not look at you, his gaze remained fixed on the shredded blankets, the frayed threads loosened by his rough scales and talons. You simply waited, for the waves of pain to abate, for him to find his voice again. He let out a heavy exhale, closing his eyes.

“…My tail, my shoulders, and my back.”

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it, gaze flitting to each area as he listed them off. Outwardly, you could see no damage to them, the scales glistened a burned amber shade from the sconces scattered about, his mortal flesh was smooth and unblemished, save for the marks his claws had already begun to leave from gripping his shoulder so tightly. Your curiosity burned with the desire to ask questions - had he been poisoned, perhaps? Was he sick? But again, you reminded yourself that questions could come later. Healing must come first.

“Give me your tail.” You outstretched your hand to him, palm up expectantly.

His eyes opened again, darted to you, the deep, preternatural growl rumbling in his throat. You held his stare, unwavering in his clear attempts to dissuade you.

“This is none of your concern.” He looked away, shaking his head again to try to rid himself of the nagging sensations plaguing him.

You frowned. “I know,” you said, making grabby motions with your hand. “Now stop being stubborn and let me help you.”

His growl transformed back into a hiss as he shot you a glare. When you, again, didn’t back down from his challenge, he let out a disgruntled snort. Spitefully, like a child angry about being caught stealing his mother’s pastries, he turned his back to you, letting his long, lithe tail plop gracelessly onto your lap. You let out a light ‘oof’ as the weight settled across your thighs, effectively pinning you down. It reminded you of when he effortlessly threw the dagger out of your hand and pulled you to him with the lean appendage, like you were weightless, like it required barely a thought. You couldn’t say you were surprised, as you admired it, your hands tentatively brushing along the top and sides, feeling, searching as you thought about how to help him deal with the pain.

You weren’t sure if what you had in mind would work, but you were willing to try, if it meant he had a chance at relief. You were taught some basic medicine in the Sanctuary; as was mandated by the army. Basic first aid, how to treat a wound, what was reasonable to handle on the field and what required a doctor. Nothing too sophisticated.

But most importantly; how to handle basic muscle aches and soreness.

You decided to start at the tip of his tail, the impressive spike and retracting barbs you had enviously stared at more than once. You gently took it in your hands, holding it steady as it attempted to twitch out of your grasp. Sylus let out another angry snort, but held still when you refused to let go. Observing the lithe appendage, you realized the end was forged of bone, and beyond your help, but on the underside, the scales slowly faded into a soft, leathery underbelly. You felt along it, slowly moving up, using your fingers and the heel of your palm to gently push on it until finally, you felt it; a knot of twisted flesh just below the surface.

Being as tender as possible, you held his tail firmly as you began to grind your palm into the center of the knot in tight circles, to loosen and soothe the ache there. It was definitely painful; Sylus growled, his tail jerking to wrest it from your grasp, but you simply tightened your grip, not letting him get away. He slowly relaxed, as you felt his flesh detangle, pushing bigger circles into his scales until it lost its shape, molding into the rest of his powerful, healthy muscles. Sylus let out something like hum, clearly pleased, his body starting to relax under your fingers.

When you were satisfied the knot had been thoroughly worked out, you moved on to the next section of his tail, where the pointed barbs faded into smooth ringlets of scales, rippling from half formed, stubbed spikes. You carefully coiled the finished section around you, not wanting to pull his tail by letting it dangle off the dais, and began running your fingers around the base of his spines. The ones closer to the base of his tail were thinner, sharper, little knives diving out of his scales. In contrast, these ones were wide, dull, and short, as if they hadn’t fully formed yet. You wondered if Sylus was even younger than you first thought, feeling the ache of a body that wasn’t done metamorphosing, hadn’t finished growing all the scales and spikes dragons were known for. You wondered if that was why he ached, why his muscles had tensed into knots.

You gently pushed your fingers into his scales, into the mountains and valleys of the contours of what made his draconic skin. You felt how they dipped, like city streets that snaked through clusters of buildings, made a network of highways where you could see the sky, feel the wind on your face. You felt how they rose again, like shockwaves pulsing away from the origin of an explosion, as you pressed your palm into another knot. Sylus grunted, his tail curling of its own volition, as you soothed his muscles. It was different, from the human skin you’d practiced on, but so similar, too. His scales were warm and rough to the touch, but underneath, his muscles steadily smoothed out, like you’d been taught these massages would do.

When you were done there, you had to scoot closer to him, to massage the last part of his tail. The finished parts curled around you, inviting you closer, keeping you in place. You worked around the magnificent spines that curved toward his back, the deadly weapons smooth to the touch, but unmistakably sharp, as you brushed your hand around them. The scales here were bumpy, like permanent gooseflesh pebbled his scales, though the heat radiating off him proved otherwise. You ran your hands up and down, spreading your fingers, rubbing circles and indistinguishable shapes into the peaks and valleys, the bumps and ridges that made the topography of his reptilian skin. You wrapped one arm under him, cradling him gently, so gently, as you massaged the place under the fin-like protrusions that jutted out from the sides of his tail. A deep rumble broke the stillness, and you smiled, when you realized Sylus was doing the dragon equivalent of a purr. His head lowered, relaxing, as you rubbed the leathery membrane of the frills between your fingers, smoothed over the spiked ridges where it turned back into polished scales.

You leaned back, relishing in satisfaction as his tail curled further around you, without pain, without a grunt or grimace. It quickly faded though, as you looked at him, tilting your head appraisingly. Tracing your eyes over his bejeweled back, how the red streaks flowed from it, slithered around his body and rejoined at the gem in his chest. He said his back and shoulders hurt too, didn’t he?

You weren’t quite done, then.

You angled yourself towards him, his tail still in your lap, holding you in place. You laid your hands on his back, the lower part of his shoulder blades, spreading your fingers across the smooth planes of mortal flesh. They tensed at your touch on instinct, drawing his shoulders together, before they relaxed, surrendered to you, trusted you. His tail flicked once, intrigued, before you started slowly rolling your hands, from his shoulders to his lower back, up and down, like using a rolling pin, kneading out dough with your hands. The rumbling purr grew louder, echoed through the cave, his back beginning to arch slightly to give you better access, his head tilting in bliss. You didn’t bother hiding the smirk that spread across your face. Instead, you had to suppress a shiver as you marveled at the feeling of his skin beneath your hands, so delicate and fragile and beautiful, like what you thought holding a newborn babe would feel like. You moved your hands in, towards the cord of scales that traveled down his spine, untangling the knots you found there too. You rolled your shoulders, the pain that burned and ripped through you settling, easing as you soothed Sylus’s ache.

Once his back was done, you leaned forward, chest nearly flush with it, intent on giving his shoulders proper care next, when you yelped as Sylus fell back into you in a heap, his tail sliding out beneath him. You stared at him in disbelief as he settled in your lap, purring, ever purring, his face completely relaxed as he nuzzled it into your chest. His eyes were closed, and he let out a long, tired sigh, as he made himself comfortable, reclining into you like a chair.

“More,” he mumbled, when your hands didn’t return to him, didn’t continue his massage. Against your will, a bark of laughter erupted from your chest, watching the big, scary dragon melting on top of you. His warmth soaked into you, your skin a greedy sponge, and you let yourself just relish in it, for a moment. The outer caves, where your chambers were, got so cold at night, where the lifeblood of the mountain didn’t flow. He brought you blankets, wrapped you in silk, velvet, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same as the heat that surrounded him, an aura of warmth that kept the fire in his heart, his belly burning. You held him in a tighter embrace, as you were reminded of how much you missed him, how you shivered in the plush nest of bedding you made, how unbearably cold it was, absent of his warmth for the past few days.

Sylus wriggled, grunting unhappily when you didn’t immediately comply. You snapped out of your stupor, chuckling, impatient dragon, before putting your hands on his wide, muscular shoulders, beginning to slowly roll them in your palms. His left one was much harder to work on, the scales rising up like jagged peaks, the pointed ends barely kept from your tender flesh. You did your best to work around them, pressing your fingers into the canyons where the scales parted, rolling the heel of your palm where they met his neck. He huffed, rolling his shoulders as the knots came loose, as the soreness he felt dissolved like warm fog, the reflection of it in your own shoulders draining.

When the taut string that held his shoulder blades together finally went lax, your hands traveled downward, beginning to delicately caress his arms, over the backs of his hands, before ascending again. An achingly tender touch that your caregivers at the Sanctuary used to sooth you with when you were a child, the faintest ghosting of fingers across skin, a touch so sickeningly sweet it made you want to weep. Sylus’s breath hitched, as you shared this delicate caress with him. He let out a shuddered sigh, turning his hands and opening them, so you could slide your fingers all the way over his wrists, down to his palms, and travel back again.

You both let the moment stretch, let the silence bloom between you, save for the occasional purr or sigh. You watched him, as you tended to his pain, how his back pushed against you with every breath, how his eyes were closed in sheer euphoria as he rested his cheek on your chest. You stared at him as you felt emotions build in your chest, push on your tender ribs, your heart clenching. Happiness that he was no longer in pain, anguish that he felt it at all. Joy that you were able to comfort him when he needed it most, despair that you both let him suffer for so long, by not seeking the other out.

I will always come to your aid.

You vowed it, to yourself, in the deepest recess of your soul. You promised it, to him, in the darkest echelons of your heart. And as much as you would’ve liked to let the silence last, let this feeling of your heart leaping as a blissful doe across a grassy, sun dappled knoll, with your beloved dragon in your lap, there was only one way to ensure such a promise remained intact.

You kissed his hair to smooth him, the delicate silver strands tickling your lips. “Sylus?”

“Hmm?” His eyes remained closed.

“What caused you such pain?”

His contented half smile vanished, brows furrowing. He opened his beautiful eyes, averted his gaze from you, tail swaying in renewed agitation. You worried for a moment that he may not answer you, or worse, try to part from you again.

“Before I was imprisoned in the Abyss, many sought me out. To claim glory in my slaughter, to be the one who finally killed the fiend. I was accosted by armies, whole battalions.” He paused, weighing his words carefully. “They were…harder to repel, when I was younger.”

You closed your eyes. You closed your eyes, against the sinking feeling in your chest, against the despair that crested, flooded you. You could see it. The mark pulsed, and you stared out of eyes that were not your own. You heard a dragon's roar, a familiar sound, as you watched a writhing, living ocean of gleaming steel bound down the hilltops towards you. Massive, scaled hands stretched away from you, swatting at the bright shapes as they threatened you with their polished swords, their axes, their spears. You screamed, as they dug into your arms, your flank, arrows embedded into your wings, your neck. A flash of red streaked across your vision, a sword made of blood descending on you, aimed at your heart.

You shook your head, the images swirling together in blotches of color, condensing, precipitating back into a picture of a dark, black cave. You felt steel along your limbs, pinching, pulling and locking you in place. You thrashed, snarling and snapping your jaws at the chains as your muscles ignited with pain from the wounds that never got proper care. But the chains did not yield against the thrashing of your head, the beating of your wings, your lashing tail. A sword made of blood, holding you in place.

You opened your eyes. You opened your eyes, and looked down at the tormented creature in your lap, who trusted you enough to show you his soft underbelly (even if it required some coaxing), the tender parts that took the blade so easily. And what a monumental feat that was, for a dragon, you realized. For a being whose very existence depended on being the strongest, on having the will to fight against a world that longed for his head from the first moment he opened his eyes. Vulnerability was weakness, and weakness was death. Cruelty was a shield against the swords, bows, axes of cruelty that were wielded against him first. He’d snapped at you, before, as a wolf does when caught in a snare, baring fangs and snarling even as the kind hunter tries to free him. Tries to restore his freedom, before he could finish gnawing his leg off, because what is a leg compared to the boundless sky, a forest that stretches and stretches into a pinprick of darkness, or an ocean that reaches so far, it touches the horizon with blue gold fingers?

You rested your chin atop his head, his horns framing your face. Your hands kept moving, spreading your fingers, closing them, down the ridged scales on his arms, back again over soft skin.

“I’m sorry,” you said, because it was the only thing that felt right to say.

Sylus huffed, brushing off the heaviness that cloaked you at his admission. “You’ve no reason to be sorry.”

You squeezed him. “And yet I am, for what my kin did to you.”

He hummed, clearly still in disagreement, but letting the matter drop. He adjusted his position, getting more comfortable in your lap, snuggling against you. You watched him fondly while you bore the full brunt of his weight without protest, shielded him from the pain as best you knew.

“Maybe tomorrow we can go down to the market and get you some lotion for the soreness.” You suggested, not stopping your hands from moving across his skin.

He hummed again, thinking on it. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Why?” You tilted your head at him.

Sylus took a deep breath. “…This is enough.” He said, his voice heavy with emotions he was too prideful to share.

“…Okay,” you said, because you trusted him, now, to be honest with you about this. Trusted him not to push you away when pain made him feel weak, made him want to hide in the shadows.

Even with this newfound trust, though, you gently cupped his chin in your hand, turning his face so he’s forced to look at you. So he could not claim ignorance as his blood-red eyes took in the conviction on your face, in your words, spoken with genuine, honest devotion.

“Come to me next time you’re feeling like this.”

He stared at you. You held his gaze, holding him softly, but firmly, not letting him pull away from the words you needed him to hear from you, and what you needed to hear from him. Would grow sick with worry, if you didn’t.

He looked away, staring up at your lovely neck, his teeth marks in your skin. He nodded, once, before meeting your eyes again.

“Very well.”

You let out a tense breath, your shoulder blades easing. You let go of his face, but he was quick to grab your hand. He held it up, turned his face into your wrist, nuzzling it, his lips softer than the purest, freshest wool as they pressed into your skin.

“Only if you promise to hold me, as you have today, when I do.” He pushed your palm into his cheek, his hot breath fanning down your arm as he sighed, his eyes half-lidded and sleepy.

Your heart swelled, felt like it might burst from affection, an adoration that it felt too small to contain. You swallowed around the lump in your throat those thick emotions formed, as he asked you to be his safety, his comfort.

“Always, my dragon.”

Sylus smiled, buried his face in your palm. He placed another gentle kiss on the outside of your wrist, before returning your hand to his cheek.

“How did you know to come to me?” He asked softly.

You paused, tapped his cheek to make sure he was looking at you. Your hand moved, his gaze following it, as you brought it up to press against the imprint of his teeth marks in your neck.

“Because…I felt it, too.”

He stared at you, with those perfect rubies, traveling across your face. His eyes flicked between the mark and your face, before his nose wrinkled slightly, and he turned away from you again.

“That wasn’t my intention, when I gave it to you,” he said, some of his irritation creeping back at his displeasure.

You let out a heavy breath. You suspected as much, weren’t sure he even knew you caught traces of his own desires through it. “I know. It’s okay.”

“No.” His tail swayed unhappily. “You should be angry with me.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You were angry at him, still. Just not for that. “I can handle the pain,” you said, instead of admitting your hidden feelings.

“But you shouldn’t have to.” He looked up at you, his rose colored eyes filled with…remorse?

“I am willing to, if it’s for you.” You leaned forward, brushing your lips over his temple to reassure him.

He scoffed, shaking his head in disdain. “Humans are foolish,” he hissed, though there was no heat in his words.

You grinned down at him. “One of our many charms.”

He snorted, and you felt how his lips quirked up in a smile. He relaxed again, closing his eyes, your reassurances a powerful balm for his soul. His tail stopped swaying, curled around your ankle instead to hold you closer.

“I am still mad at you, though.”

He stilled, his expression falling. He opened his eyes again, caught your gaze, puzzled.

“I care about you. A lot,” you said, hardening your expression, so he knew you were serious. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you speak to me like you just did without any consequences.”

Understanding colored his features. He had the decency to look slightly sheepish, hanging his head.

“I’d be disappointed if you did,” he admitted quietly. He slowly lowered your hand from his face, guiding it to his chest, to the gem embedded over his rapidly beating heart. You brushed your fingers across the smooth surface, traced the edges of each uneven, polished side. He engulfed your hand with his massive claw, closed both of them over his heart. “I will make it up to you. Anything you desire, it’s yours.”

You hummed, considering his offer, letting him open your hand again, lean down to run his nose across your palm. Watched him, as his forked tongue parted his lips, licked a soft stripe across your skin so sweetly, you may have wondered if you imagined it, were your eyes not locked on him. Not an apology, but perhaps the closest a dragon could come to the concept.

You smiled.

“You’re going to have to be an obedient little dragon for a long time to make up for it.”

Sylus stilled, his talons tightening around your open palm. Then he shifted, met your eyes with his, a toothy grin meeting your own.

“I am at your mercy, O great sorceress.”

🐉 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 🐉

Sylus is in a foul mood.

A deal had gone belly up, that he’d been working on for weeks. Weeks of dealing with the sniveling underlings of a business partner he coveted, whom nearly pissed themselves whenever he spoke, of long, boring negotiations that got dragged on for hours beyond what was necessary, of finally drafting and signing a contract for the protocores he needed, only to have a rival business, some small faction he couldn’t even bother to know the name of, made of traitors and vultures alike, had outbid him with an offer too tantalus; the promise of Onychinus on a platter, them as the new reigning monarchs of the N109 Zone.

Their hubris was their own undoing. They hadn’t tried to disguise the bombs they put in his shipment very well, assuming with the contract in place, Sylus was keen to be lax. What they didn’t know is that Sylus is nothing if not thorough, consistent with his business. Every shipment bound for his warehouses is checked, checked, and checked again, to ensure he gets exactly what he is promised, and to ensure situations - precisely like these - are foiled before even having a chance at fruition. The protocore shaped explosives had been caught on the first scans, and Sylus is offended, not at the attempt on his life, but the sloppy execution of the whole ordeal, especially from his own ex-employees.

He’d repaid the offensive slight tenfold. It was customary, after all. Crushed the insurrectionists who coveted the seat of the N109 Zone, their pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. They’d made their bed, and Sylus is more than happy to help them lay in it, under six feet of dirt. And his new supplier, who was so for such a short amount of time, got the same treatment for consorting against him in his own territory. He stormed the building they used as a den in a hail of bullets and red-black evol, looking forward to the mushroom cloud that would erupt in a ball of fire when he blew the place off the map. He’d smirked, thumbing the detonator in his pocket, as his men scoured the building for anything valuable or useful, while his supplier hung suspended in the air by his evol.

It was when his men reported back what they’d found in the building’s basement that he took a special pleasure in the vengeance he planned to enact. The dozens of women, in cages, they’d found, emaciated and barely alive. Whom he’d had to relocate anonymously to a shelter within Linkon, because he refused to leave them buried among the rubble. He remembers the way his face twisted in outrage when his men first delivered the news of what was going on in that wretched place.

This was one business Sylus refused to dip his fingers into. That level of depravity was lower than a swine’s belly, and he refused to stoop so low as to wallow in the mud with people more monstrous than he could ever hope to be. Had he known about his new supplier’s involvement in such things, he never would’ve pursued them in the first place. But he was a weapons dealer, first and foremost, and his particular brand required top quality protocores to meet his, and his buyers, standards. And, supposedly, his newest catch sold some of the best on the market after his last, and longest lasting one, had been caught in a turf war near the outskirts of the N109 Zone, and was erased from existence completely.

Sylus prefers to keep his emotions out of business; it simply made things easier, less messy. But perhaps he was more biased than he let on, because he let that old, familiar bloodlust make his bones feel restless, let the burning fire of rage seep into his veins like molasses as he discovered the kind of pigs that tried to lay with him. As they tarnished his reputation, by even associating with them.

It was no matter, though. That contract was now neatly shredded in his bin, all copies of it eradicated, and that portly man who ran that business, well, he’d made for a fine night’s entertainment. Sylus feels a deep sense of satisfaction at having acted as his comeuppance, tearing down his fragile kingdom brick by brick, ensuring nothing but a crater would be left of it. His lips quirk up in a smile, as he remembers how the man had squealed - as all hogs do - when he peeled his skin off, slowly, and fed it to the wanderers that lurk in the nearby no-hunt zones.

But, as much fun as he’d had smearing another pest in his territory into the dirt, he is now facing the consequences of his actions, dealing with the fallout of indulging in his murderous whims. Without a proper supplier, he is pressed to find another way to fulfill the orders that had piled up over the last couple of weeks. Onychinus always fulfills its orders, Sylus prides his business on that, but now he is scrambling, trying to find a new supplier who won’t sell him fakes within the next 48 hours.

Sylus sighs, staring down at the papers on his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. Swirls the glass of wine that’s gone warm in his hand. His head is beginning to throb.

A light rapping at the door has Sylus lifting his head. His first impulse is to be irritated, as he suspects it’s the twins, and with the drumming behind his temples, he has half a mind to tell them to leave him be. But, perhaps their reconnaissance to find a new source for the protocores he needed was fruitful. He could handle them for the few minutes it would take to be debriefed on the results, he decides.

“Enter,” the smooth baritone of his voice broke the stillness of his office. Sylus leans back, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair as he waits for them to comply.

The door handle turns, and Sylus sits up, when he sees not the twins, but your beautiful, perfect self, wearing one of the outfits he bought you, dart through his door, quickly closing it behind you.

“Sweetie,” he greets, perking up as you turn, flashing him a sweet, gentle smile as you make your way over to him. Though only an expert could see how the slight widening of his eyes, the faint relaxing of his shoulders belied his adoration for you. You, who made every deal worth slogging through, made every contract a stitch in the fabric of the tapestry of all he would do for you, offer you. You, his most precious treasure, who smiled so sweetly as you approached him, are the only one who can tell his face lit up the moment he saw you.

Your brows furrow slightly as you round his desk. “Everything okay? You look exhausted.” You ask softly. Your voice, a caress of feathers against his rough exterior, made him want to shed the armor that protects the soft, squishy parts of himself. He discards the wine on his desk, opens his arms for you, and you obediently plant yourself shamelessly in his lap, straddling him to bury your face in the crook of his neck, holding him as tightly as he holds you.

He let out another sigh, the stress he feels seeping out of him as he absorbs your warmth, his shoulders slumping. “Unpleasant business,” he answers, kissing the crown of your head, his thumbs rubbing back and forth along your lower back. He feels his heart swell, strain against the warmth that fills it, as you hum in acknowledgement, nestling deeper into him, rubbing your hands up and down his recently tense shoulders. He wonders how you are able to do it, how you are able to tamper the lingering bloodlust towards the sycophants who thought they would consort against him, by simply being there, holding him, existing.

“Do you want a massage?”

Sylus opens his eyes, tightening his grip as he tries to suppress the way his heart leaps at the offer. You do this for him so often, yet his heart is just as excited every time. He thought he would get used to it, that the greedy, yawning maw inside him that wants to swallow you whole would be soothed by your presence. But with every indulgence, every time you run your hands along his skin, he only feels his greed growing bigger and bigger, his desire for you like a cancer that grows and grows without ending.

“I might become a spoiled brat, if you keep offering so often,” he teases, calm, collected. Hiding the way he wants to say yes, please yes into your ear, beg for his desires that squirm and wiggle in the deepest parts of his heart. He would, for you. He’d bend the knee with a smile on his face, if it meant he’d get to feel more of your angelic touch.

You lean back and he lets you, despite his urge to keep you crushed against him. You smile, and he can see that mischievous twinkle in your pretty eyes.

“Who says I don’t want to spoil you?”

Sylus can’t help but laugh, shaking his head. You may make a monster of him yet, with such promises. “I could certainly get used to it.”

You nod happily. “Good,” you say, leaning in to trace your nose up his neck, pepper the underside of his jaw with kisses. He groans, tries to keep himself from devouring you, like he so desires to do. “Come on then,” you speak into his skin. “Let’s go.”

He chuckles, but dutifully stands, lifting you as he does, your legs naturally coiling around his waist. The papers, his problems from the last few days, slide off his shoulders like rain on hydrophobic feathers as he carries you out of his office, down the hall to his bedroom. The door opens, shuts behind him with a soft click and the brush of his evol, the lock sliding into place to ensure you’re not interrupted.

Sylus sits down on the edge of the bed, holding you in his lap as you begin to unbutton his dress shirt. He buries his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder, smelling you, fighting the urge to sink his teeth into your plushness. You kiss the place just above his ear, finishing the last of the buttons and pulling the shirt off him. He takes it, throws it somewhere inconsequential, then shifts you off his lap, looking at you expectantly. You waste no time getting to work, and as soon as you prop up a suitable amount of pillows against the headboard, settle yourself to lean comfortably on them, he crawls after you, letting himself fall on top of you like a giant weighted blanket, wrapping his arms underneath you. You laugh breathlessly, squirming while you complain that you can’t get to the skin oil with him on top of you. Without opening his eyes, his fingers twitch, the sound of a drawer being opened reaching his ears, the small container of oil put in your hands by inky red tendrils.

You scoff playfully at him, before popping the cap and lathering the oil into your hands. Sylus’s nostrils flare, trying to catch as much of the scent as he can. Datura flowers, a splash of vanilla, a hint of lavender. The same scent in the lotion you got for him in Tarus City, when you finally convinced him it would help the muscle soreness, despite his protests. You’d been right, of course.  You usually are, Sylus had learned. Though, he is sure you don’t remember the scent, wouldn’t have reacted so lukewarm towards it if you did. Another attempt at making you remember bound for the bin.

He gives up on dwelling on it though, because he has to swallow a moan as your hands, which are so, so unbelievably soft, start to knead his supple flesh, pushing and pulling on his skin expertly. You trace every inch along the planes of his back, the contours of every muscle, down his spine, the place just below his neck. He can feel as his stress is worked out of every inch of him, your hands leaving no place ignored, forgotten. He shivers, his skin tingling with delight as he holds you closer, tries to absorb the feeling into his bones so he can never be without it. He could live here, he thinks. Would be content if this moment stretched into infinity, and he never had to leave your embrace.

He isn’t sure how long he lets you dote on him. All he knows is that sleep has begun to call for him, he feels so relaxed, so full, completed. That the oil, whose touch was cold at first, is now warmed by his body and your hands, is disappearing into his skin as you and it cradle him. He wants to accept the invitation to unconsciousness, let the world fade into nothing around him, but he knows stress has dug its greedy claws into you, as well. You tried to hide it from him, said you didn’t want to bother him; he already had so much on his plate. When would you learn you are never a bother to him? When would you learn that he would strip Onychinus down to a cadaver, if it meant you are always happy, always pleased, always at his side?

So instead of allowing himself to fall asleep, despite how tempting, he holds you more firmly, before he abruptly rolls, planting you snugly on his chest.

“Sylus!” You protest, and he can’t help but smirk; you’re so cute when you’re annoyed with him. “You could give me a little warning, at least.”

“I could,” he agrees, pinching the fabric of your clothes between his fingers. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You huff, peel yourself off him to scrutinize his form. “You want a chest rub too?” You ask, hands instinctively moving to start anew.

Sylus quickly grabs your hands, gives them a gentle squeeze. “You already pampered me. Now it’s my turn to return the favor.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” you say, shaking your head. “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t,” he concurs again, running his hands up and down your arms. “But I want to. I know you’ve been stressed lately, too.”

Your lips part slightly, eyes going wide. You always thought you hid it so well. “I’m okay, really-”

“Don’t lie to me.” He gives you a pointed look, cupping your face in one big hand, running his thumb below your eye. “I can see the bags under your eyes.”

You stiffen, avert your gaze. Sylus wraps his arms around you, pulls you further into him, so you can bury your face into his neck. He runs the tip of his nose along your own neck, kisses the place his teeth once punctured.

“Let me take care of you.”

You don’t respond, for a long moment, and Sylus worries you may try to deny your fatigue further. But then, you give the smallest nod, and he is relieved.

He doesn’t hesitate; starts working your clothes off as soon as he has your permission. His fingers run across your skin, pulling the fabric up, giving you a chaste kiss when you obediently lift your arms so he can finish removing it. You shiver as the cold air graces your form, and Sylus pulls you more tightly into him, letting you soak up as much of his warmth as you can. His evol stirs when you settle, placing the bottle of oil in his hands. He pours a generous amount onto them, the hands made for you, to love you, made for your pleasure, lathers it into them. He puts them on your shoulder blades, spreading his fingers in an attempt to be as gentle as you, before he begins to slowly roll your doughy flesh. You let out a whimper, then a happy sigh as you melt into him, get lost in the feeling of his hands on you. He allows himself to start humming the tune you taught him, the one he knows you do remember, somewhere deep in your subconscious. Your hands grip his shoulders, clutching him as he watches the oil slide across your body, sooth the deep aches where his hands can’t reach.

It doesn’t take long for your breaths to grow long and even, your body sinking further into him as drowsiness overtakes you. Sylus feels a profound sense of satisfaction that he is able to comfort you so thoroughly as to lull you to sleep, as you just had for him. That you trust him enough to let down all your defenses. He remembers, not so long ago, when you hated him, accused him of being a monster, a title more literal than you remembered. When you thought he was responsible for ripping everything you loved from your desperate fingers.

You’ve both come so far since then.

He lets his lips roam across your scalp, nibbles on the shell of your ear. You stir, shifting to secure yourself more firmly in his lap.

“I love you.” Your voice is gruff with sleep, though the words come out no less assured.

Sylus hums. “I love you,” he echos, nuzzling his face into your soft, downy hair. He presses his lips into your temple one more time before closing his own eyes, settling into the cushions. “Get some rest, my beloved.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had so much fun with this, even though it took around 2 months and like, 20 drafts 😂😭 But I really wanted to show the progression between the past lives both Sylus and us/MC have had and how they are now, while exploring the scars Sylus definitely has from being hunted in his youth. I wanted to show this mirroring effect with past/present and how they’re the same people, but they’ve also changed over time. It was also an excuse to write more nonsexual intimacy, which I couldn’t say no to :)

Btw I hope Sylus wasn’t too mean in this. I HC that he can revert back to such a state when his instincts kick in, because of his cruel lines right before MC stabs him the second time (right before they share souls). It’s like how animals become more aggressive/hide away when they’re sick because they know they’re more valuable during that time. But I hope it wasn’t too much 🙏

I also definitely didn’t cry while rewatching his myth to get names/details right, because the song that plays when he dies plays intermittently throughout the entire myth. You do not perceive me

Disclaimer: I do not consent to my work being translated, published, used without my knowledge, reposted, or used in AI training.

[remireee]

Caleb is the type to reluctantly willingly keep yours and his relationship a secret if you request it—of course, he ain't going down without a bit of a fight but you know how eager he is to please you.

But so help him if anyone asks him about it when you ain't around or god forbid vaguely hinting at their interest in you; 'cause like a waterfall; this man would spill so much that it's so clear it ain't just a slip of the mind.

It's only when words get to you does he start trailing behind you like the puppy he is, sweetly begging for your forgiveness, trying so desperately to hide that shit-eating grin on that stupid face of his ('cause both you and he knows that your guys' secret was bound to be found anyways).

Caleb: "Ohh come on, pipsqueak. I really didn't mean to, it just slipped my mind, I promise it won't happen again. Pleaseee, I'm sorry!"

You: "…you and I both know you aren't sorry."

…

Caleb: "Yeah, you're right~"

[dijayeah]

"You don’t trust me, do you? Let me show you how deeply I can care." //

– An argument after a dangerous mission leads to an intense reconciliation.

🔞NSFW CONTENT MDNI🔞 🐦‍⬛word count: 3.3k 🐦‍⬛synopsis: Sylus has had enough of your reckless decisions, but his frustration spirals into something far more heated, be it for the better or the worse. 🐦‍⬛contains: fem!reader x Sylus, rough sex, evol manipulation (energy attraction/detraction), possessive Sylus, biting/marking, praise-(soft) degradation kink, overstimulation, slight angst, masochistic reader, teasing, edging, intense orgasms, breeding kink undertones (but no pregnancy), aftercare, possessive but tender dynamic, the usual. 🐦‍⬛please consider following me for more similar content! 🐦‍⬛read on ao3.

The silence between you was suffocating, punctuated only by the low hum of the sleek car as it glided over the uneven terrain in the middle of nowhere. You were still catching your breath from the mission—the adrenaline crash, the heat of danger still clinging to your skin like a second layer.

Sylus sat rigid in the driver’s seat, one hand gripping the wheel while the other rested on his muscled thigh. His jaw was tight, the sharp line of his profile illuminated by the faint blue glow of the console. You knew he was upset—not at the mission’s success, but at you. For what felt like the hundredth time, his gaze flicked to you, smoldering, questioning, disappointed.

“You could’ve been killed back there,” he finally said, his voice low but cutting. “Do you have a death wish, or were you just trying to piss me off going after that wanderer?”

You bristled, turning to glare at him. “I knew what I was doing, Sylus. I didn’t need you swooping in like I’m some rookie hunter who can’t handle herself.”

“Handle herself?” He snorted, bitter and sharp. “You jumped into an unstable tunnel with no backup and barely made it out with that core. If I hadn’t been there—”

“But you were there,” you snapped, cutting him off, just as pissed off. “You always are. So why the hell are you so mad? You act as if you don't understand the kind of job I do, we do.”

He didn’t answer right away, the tension in the rover thickened like heavy smoke, and it made your throat scratchy. His large hand tightened on the wheel, knuckles pale.

“You don’t trust me,” he said finally, the words quiet but laced with something raw, emotional even. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? You don’t trust me to have your back, so you go and risk everything like it doesn’t matter if you make it out or not.”

“That’s not true,” you protested, though even as you said it, you heard the hesitation in your own voice.

Sylus laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Don’t lie to me, kitten. I see it every time you look at me like you’re waiting for me to let you down. Like I’m one bad call away from screwing everything up for you. Well, I’ve got news: I’ve had your back from day one, even when you didn’t want it. Do you not trust me just because I'm in charge of Onychinus?”

The heat in his words matched the fire sparking in your chest. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see how much you care? That’s the problem, Sylus! You care too much, and one of these days, it’s going to get you killed, be it your fucking organization or whatever this is.”

The car jerked to a stop, tires grinding against the dirt. You lurched forward slightly, the sudden halt making your breath catch. When you looked at him, his crimson eyes were burning, molten with something that made your pulse quicken.

“Maybe I care too much,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “But you don’t get to use that as an excuse to push me away.”

Before you could respond, he leaned over, his big hand curling around your small chin, forcing you to meet his sharp red gaze. The air between you crackled, the thin veil of restraint he’d clung to snapping like a frayed tether.

“You don’t trust me, do you?” His thumb brushed against your jaw, rough and unyielding. “Let me show you how deeply I can care.”

The words hit you like a shockwave, stealing the air from your lungs. His lips crashed against yours, hungry, demanding, as if he were trying to pour every unsaid word, every bottled emotion, into that kiss. Your body reacted instinctively, your hands tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer.

It spiraled from there—his mouth trailing fire down your neck, his hands claiming your body like he was trying to prove a point, to you, to him, it didn't matter.

At some point, he shifted, unbuckling your belt as well as his, pulling you into his lap. The cramped space of the rover was suddenly irrelevant, every thought drowned out by the heat of him, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to this reality.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice rough against your ear. “Say you trust me.”

You glared at him, defiant even as your body melted under his touch. “You’re such a smug bastard.”

“And you love it,” The silver-haired man shot back, his lips curling into a crooked smirk that was all teeth and arrogance. His hips bucked up sharply, driving a gasp from you as your nails dug into his shoulders. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed, kitten. Every time you glare at me, every time you fight me—you just want me to put you in your place.”

His words made your chest tighten, your breath catching as his hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises. He wasn’t wrong. The way he moved, the way he talked, how he always had to have the last word—it drove you insane. And yet here you were, rolling your hips against his large bulge like you couldn’t get enough of it, of him. God, you needed to fuck this man.

“You’re full of yourself,” you managed to gasp, though the edge in your voice was dulled by the pleasure building with every movement.

The leader of Onychinus chuckled, the sound dark and low as he leaned forward, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Maybe. But you’re the one writhing on top of me, sweetie.”

You wanted to retort, to say something sharp that would wipe the smug look off his face, but the words dissolved into a moan as his hand slid down, pushing your shirt up just enough to expose the curve of your waist. His fingers traced the line of your skin before gripping your hips again, guiding you as you moved on him.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he muttered, his crimson eyes half-lidded as he watched you with a mix of hunger and frustration. “Always running off, always pushing me away—but look at you now, going nearly all pliant on me just because of my cock.”

He thrust up into you, sharp and deliberate, and you cried out, your body arching against him. His hands roamed higher, slipping beneath your shirt to splay against your arched back, pulling you closer until your chest was flush against his.

“Say it,” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less commanding. “Say you trust me.”

You bit your lip, defiance flickering in your gaze even as your body betrayed you, moving in perfect rhythm with his. “I—” Your words caught in your throat as his hand slid down, his thumb brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves between your thighs, through your tight pants.

“Hm, what was that, kitten?” he teased, his smirk widening as he worked you with practiced ease. “Didn’t quite catch it.”

“Fuck, Sylus,” you gasped, your head falling against his shoulder as your nails raked down his muscled arms, through the dark shirt he wore. “I trust you, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yeah,” he rasped, his voice raw with emotion now, the teasing edge giving way to something deeper. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

His lips found yours again, the kiss bruising and desperate, and you felt the tension between you snap like a tightly drawn wire. 

Sylus undressing her, teasing her with the tip of his cock, and stretching her out with his fingers first, all while keeping his sharp, in-character tone.

Sylus’s lips left yours, a string of spit still connecting you as he pulled back, crimson eyes heavy-lidded and gleaming with intent. His hands roamed your body with an almost infuriating slowness, tracing every curve, every soft dip of your skin, like he was memorizing you.

“Shirt first,” he murmured, his voice low, like gravel dragged over silk. His long fingers moved to the fabric clinging to your chest, undoing each button with painstaking precision. “It’s in the way.”

You swallowed hard, heat pooling between your thighs further as he peeled the shirt off your shoulders, his gaze darkening when the fabric fell to your waist. He let his thumb graze over the light lace of your bra, smirking when you shivered.

“Pretty,” he muttered, his tone soft but tinged with something sharper. “Bet you wore this for me, didn’t you, kitten?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could form a single word, his hands slid beneath the fragile straps, tugging the garment down until your tits spilled free. His gaze devoured you, and he let out a low hum of approval before leaning in, his mouth brushing over your collarbone.

“Better,” he murmured, his lips trailing lower. His large hands cupped your breasts, thumbs grazing over your perked-up nipples as he took one into his mouth, sucking softly. The warm, wet drag of his tongue sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your needy core, your nails scraping against his shoulders in response.

“Sylus,” you gasped, your voice breathy and strained as you rocked against him, desperate for more.

“Patience,” he drawled, releasing your nipple with a soft pop. His hands moved to your waistband, unfastening your pants with the same deliberate slowness that made you want to scream. “I’m going to take my time with you. Can’t have you breaking on me too fast.”

He tugged your pants down, dragging the fabric over your thighs with a roughness that sent a shiver through you as you helped him to get rid of them. His hands lingered on the bare skin he revealed, his fingers tracing patterns that made your breath hitch in ways only he was allowed to witness. When he finally stripped you completely, his gaze raked over you with such intensity that it felt like he was laying you bare in more ways than one.

“Fucking perfect,” he muttered, almost to himself, as he shifted beneath you. His own pants were next, the tailored fabric sliding down to reveal thick, muscular thighs and his cock—long, heavy, and already leaking at the pretty tip. You stared, glossed lips agape, and he noticed, his smirk widening as he wrapped a hand around his length.

“I take it you like what you see, hm?” he asked, his tone teasing as he stroked himself slowly, spreading the precum along his length. “Bet you’re already imagining how good it’s going to feel. But not yet.”

Before you could respond, his hand moved to your thigh, spreading you open further on his lap. His fingers trailed up your inner thigh, pausing just before they reached your slick heat over your panties. He let out a low chuckle at the way you squirmed beneath his touch.

“Needy little thing,” he murmured, his tone laced with pure amusement as he pushed your underwear aside. His rough thumb slid through your folds, gathering your arousal and circling your clit with infuriating precision. “Look at you. Pretty fat pussy so wet already. And I haven’t even started.”

You whimpered, your hips jerking against his hand, but he held you down easily with his free arm. He slid one finger inside you, his crimson gaze locked on your face as he curled it just right, making your breath hitch.

“Relax, sweetie,” he muttered, adding a second finger and stretching you with slow, deliberate thrusts. “You can take it. You’re going to have to, if you want this.”

His other hand fell away from your body, wrapping around his cock once more, this time tighter, the tip glistening as he dragged it through your messy folds, mesmerized. The teasing friction made your body ache, your thighs trembling as he tapped the head of his cock against your clit, smearing your sticky glistening arousal over himself.

“See that?” he murmured, his voice dark and low as he watched the way his cock slid against you, slick and obscene. “All of this? That’s mine now. Don’t forget it.”

You moaned, your nails digging into his forearms as he continued to tease you, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance near his fingers before sliding back up to circle your clit again. “Sylus, please—”

“Not until you’re ready,” he cut you off, his fingers thrusting deeper, stretching you until your body softened beneath him. “And when you are, you’ll beg me for it.”

His teasing smirk was still in place as he finally pulled his fingers away then, positioning himself at your entrance. He paused, his crimson gaze locking with yours. “Gonna beg, or no?”

“I want it,” you breathed, your voice trembling but certain. “I want you, Sylus. Please.”

The smirk softened into something deeper, more dangerous, as he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, the stretch making you gasp as he filled you completely. He hissed low in his throat, his head falling forward against yours as he bottomed out.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his breath hot against your lips. “You feel even better than I imagined.”

“You asked for it,” he growled, his voice rough and strained as he thrust into you, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the cramped space of the car. “Begged for it, actually. So take it.”

His hands gripped your hips with bruising intensity, guiding your movements as you writhed on top of him. Each snap of his hips forced you to take him deeper, harder, the stretch and friction igniting every nerve in your body. Your cries filled the vehicle, but the leader of Onychinus wasn’t satisfied—not yet.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his crimson gaze flicking to where you were joined. “Such a pretty little thing, grinding on me. But I can make you feel even better.”

A faint shimmer of red pulsed from his right eye, and you felt it—an invisible pull, like his hands were everywhere at once. Your body jolted as his Evol flared, the sensation of his energy manipulating the space around you adding an electrifying layer to the way he moved inside you. You gasped as you were pulled downward with more force, his cock driving even deeper, hitting spots that made your vision blur.

“Fuck,” you choked out, your hands bracing against his chest, your nails raking over the taut muscle there. “Sylus—what the hell are you—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, a wicked grin spreading across his face. His right eye glowed brighter, the crimson shimmer swirling like molten fire. “Just making it easier for you to bounce on my cock, sweetie. Thought you wanted it rough? Or do you want it soft? Are you trying to be hard to please?”

The pull of his Evol guided your hips, lifting and dropping you in perfect rhythm with his own thrusts. It was relentless, merciless, and utterly intoxicating. Each time you were forced down, his cock filled you completely, the pressure making your head spin. Your walls clenched around him, and his growl deepened, low and feral. The car was filled with obscene squelching sounds as you both listened to them.

“You feel that?” he murmured, his voice laced with dark amusement. “That’s all me, kitten. Every inch of you is mine right now.”

Your thighs trembled as his energy pulsed again, the invisible force amplifying the intensity of every movement. It was overwhelming in the best way, your body arching against his as your cries turned into desperate moans. You clawed at his crumpled black shirt, yanking it open further to expose more of his pale skin.

“God, Sylus,” you gasped, leaning forward to kiss along his neck, your teeth grazing the sharp line of his jaw. “S-so close—”

The crimson shimmer flickered across your body now, the heat of his energy wrapping around you like an extension of him. Every nerve in your body felt alive, hyper-sensitive to his touch, the drag of his cock, the sharp edge of his teeth as he bit down on your shoulder in response.

The bite sent a jolt of pain that melted into goosebumps, your nails digging deeper into his chest as your body instinctively arched into his even more, if that was possible. Sylus growled against your skin, his teeth leaving faint indentations before he soothed the mark with his tongue softly, a possessive gesture that made your breath catch.

“Fuck, I can feel you trembling,” he muttered, his voice thick and gravelly, the faint glow in his eye flaring brighter. His hips snapped up harder, the relentless rhythm of his Evol working with him, pushing you closer to the edge. “You gonna break for me, kitten? Let me feel you fall apart around my cock.”

You whimpered in response, your mind hazy with the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. The heat of his energy, the rough drag of his girthy dick, the way his voice curled around your ears like a command—it was too much and not enough all at once.

“Say it,” The leader of the Onychinus demanded, his hands gripping your plush ass now, the force of his thrusts slamming you down onto him as his Evol guided the motion. The shimmering red energy flickered along your skin where the two of you were connected, a physical manifestation of his control, and the sight of it made your walls flutter around him. “Say who’s fucking you this good.”

“You,” you gasped, your voice breaking as the coil in your core tightened to the point of snapping. “It’s you, Sylus. Only you.”

“Good,” he growled, his grin sharp and dangerous. “And this pretty little pussy? Mine. All mine.”

His words sent you over the edge, your body tightening around him in a vicious grip as your orgasm hit like a tidal wave. Your vision blurred, and you cried out his name, your nails leaving deep scratches on his chest as you rode out the waves of pleasure. Sylus groaned at the way you clenched around him, his thrusts turning erratic as he chased his own release.

“Fuck,” he snarled, his head falling back against the seat as he drove into you one last time, his cock buried to the hilt as he came. His warmth filled you, hot, thick, and overwhelming, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he spilled his cum into you.

For a moment, the world seemed to still, the only sounds the ragged breaths you both struggled to catch. Sylus’s hands softened their hold on you, sliding up to your waist as the crimson shimmer of his Evol faded into nothingness. His other hand brushed the sweat off your brow, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re a goddamn mess,” he muttered, though his tone was softer now, almost fond. His fingers traced lazy circles against your skin as he leaned back to look at you, his smirk returning as his crimson eyes met yours. “A pretty one, though. I’ll give you that.”

You let out a breathless laugh, leaning forward to press a peck to his jaw. “You’re one to talk,” you murmured, your voice still shaky as you settled against his chest. “Look at you. All smug and yet ruined just as much. I wonder what Luke and Kieran would have to say if they saw their boss like this?”

His smirk widened, his arms wrapping around you to pull you closer. “Ruined, huh?” he repeated, his voice low and teasing. “Sweetie, from what I believe we’re just getting started.”

[kyrinnina]

Would you forgive him? 🤎

[connorsui]

Marked in Metal

Caleb... loves ... buying you rings.

It wasn’t something you directly questioned—at least, not seriously. He had always been like that, always finding little things to slip into your life as a form of joy. Bracelets, necklaces, little earrings here and there.

But ...rings?

Oh, those were his favorite.

— Princess cut, Briolette, Trilliant, Radiant.

Oval and round. The entire catalog.

And it wasn’t just about the aesthetic. No, it was something else entirely—something unspoken in the way he always lingered just a second longer when slipping the ring onto your finger, something in the way his eyes darkened with quiet satisfaction whenever you lifted your hand, light catching on whatever new piece he had picked out for you.

Like now for instances.

"Here," he said one afternoon, handing you a small velvet box. His voice was casual, but his fingers brushed yours when you took it from him. "Saw this new piece on my way home and thought of you."

You barely glanced up from your work before popping the box open, the soft click of the latch followed by a quiet inhale as you took in the ring nestled inside. A smooth sterling silver band, sleek and polished, with fluted rose gold prongs holding a citrine gem. The cut was extravagant, the kind of thing that should have been reserved for engagement rings, but you had long stopped questioning Caleb’s taste.

"Caleb," you groaned, rolling your eyes but still sliding it onto your finger. It fit perfectly, as they always did. "You have to stop doing this."

"And why should I?" He smirked, leaning back against the couch, arm thrown over the backrest as he watched you admire the ring despite your protests. "Looks good on you."

You twisted your fingers, letting the metal catch the light. He could see it in your face—the way your lips curved slightly, the way your brows relaxed—that moment of pure, genuine appreciation. He memorized that expression every time.

Because no matter how much you insisted it was too much, you never turned them down.

And he never had to worry about you asking how much they cost.

But it wasn’t about the price anyway. It was about the way you wore them, the way your hands danced through the air when you talked, your fingers adorned with pieces he had chosen. It was about the quiet thrill of watching everyone else notice, of knowing that every time someone asked where you got them, your answer was always the same.

"Caleb, obviously. He’s the reason I have half my jewelry box."

That was enough for him.

But this one was different.

"Wait, Caleb?" Your voice broke through his thoughts, amused and lilting. "Did you know this was engraved?"

You held up the ring between your fingers, tilting it just enough for the small inscription inside to catch the light.

.C.

Delicate, subtle, almost invisible unless you were looking for it.

He raised a brow, feigning nonchalance. "Oh? …I don't actually remember seeing that anywhere?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. "You seriously didn't notice?"

"Guess not." He shrugged, and you huffed out a laugh, shaking your head.

"I don’t think I believe you."

He didn’t respond, only watching as you lifted your phone, snapping a picture. Within minutes, your messages flooded with the usual teasing.

"Another one? Does Caleb just collect rings for you now?"

"That’s basically a proposal, babe!"

"Correction. This is the one billionth proposal"

And, as always, your reply was the same.

"Of course it’s Caleb. Who else spoils me like this constantly?"

He loved that. Loved knowing that when others have noticed the rings on your fingers, they knew exactly who put them there.

But even when he adorned your hands, his own ring was different.

It never sat on his finger. It had its own place, strung securely onto the same chain as his tags, resting against his chest beneath the layers of his uniform.

Same material, same weight.

But the chain never left his body. It was there in the dead of night, cold against his skin. There in the thick of the day, clinking softly against metal. It was there when the world was loud and chaotic, when exhaustion pulled at his bones, grounding him with the quiet weight of something real.

Something that brought him back to you.

And when he returned home?

when he was finally home, the chain came off—but the ring never stayed in some forgotten drawer.

No, it belonged in the same place it always did.

Right where you were—pressed close against his heart.

[kykyonthemoon]

Strayed

They told you he was dead.

Yet far away from home, you find him again.

Or is it just a ghost of him?

.

.

.

Kept in Skyhaven like a stray cat and under Caleb's control, you realize he is no longer the kind-hearted boy you grew up with.

You might love him, you might despise him, yet you could never leave him.

ಇ. Caleb x Reader (MC)

ಇ. Tags: R16, suggestive themes, possessive behavior, hurt/comfort, angst with healing ending

ಇ.Word count: 2031w

ಇ. This story is submitted to the Love and Deepspace Version 3.0 Cosmic Encounter Pt. 2 Fan Art Contest under [Homecoming Wings] category.

Your support on my X is always appreciated <3

ಇ. Artwork by Jessie Mai (as requested by me).

ಇ.Masterlist ♡ Request a fic (closed for the time being)

Your eyelids fluttered awake in the dimly lit room, each breath harsh and frail as it left your body. A cold, metal hand tightened around your neck, pressing you against the wall and lifting your feet off the ground.

“Please…”

You struggled. You screamed. But the person standing in front of you only tightened his grip. On that familiar face was an expression completely foreign to you.

“Caleb?… Please… let me go…”

Yet, this was no longer the Caleb you had grown up with.

You awoke in a darkened room. Cold sweat poured down your back and soaked your shirt. Sitting up, your hand instinctively moved to your neck, where a leather chain hung. It was thin, as a typical choker, and didn't bother you much except that you could not remove it. It had been around your neck since a few days earlier, when you snuck into the Farspace Fleet's secret base. Now you ended up here with a familiar stranger.

You stepped out of bed and strolled barefoot out of the room. You could smell the delightful scent of food, and it almost fooled you into thinking you were back in your old house in Bloomshore on a sunny morning, and that nothing had ever changed. Yet, you were a little too far from home.

The mission led you to Skyhaven, where you found the person you believed you had lost. He was standing in the kitchen, a table full of exquisite delicacies all set up. He offered you a chair and said:

“Good morning, pipsqueak. Come have your breakfast.”

You gazed at him. Was he your brother, your childhood friend, or was he someone else today?

With each heavy step, the collar's bell rang quietly. You settled into the chair that had been pulled out for you and said:

“Hello, Caleb.”

Are you still Caleb today?

He smiled at you and began to eat. Noticing that you hadn’t touched any of the food on the table, he asked:

“What’s wrong? Don’t you like these dishes?”

"When can I leave?"

Caleb's smile faded instantly. He didn't look at you as he neatly sliced the bacon. The sound of the knife hitting the plate made you feel uneasy. 

"What did I say about being obedient, pip-squeak?"

Your hands tightened into fists as you stood up abruptly. 

"I don't want breakfast today," you said, pouring all your anger into your words. You turned away, and the bell on your choker rang louder with each step you took. However, just before you reached the kitchen door, your feet felt numb and stuck to the floor, as if they had turned to stone. 

You turned around. Caleb was standing, and with a flick of his finger, your entire body was pulled towards him. 

“You’re not allowed to skip breakfast.”

Caleb seized you from behind without hurting you. His muscular body caught your back. His breath brushed your hair. His fingers gently stroked the leather chain around your neck before dancing all over your skin. Caleb delicately stroked your neck as if you were a little animal, completely harmless in his captivity. It soon came back to you the nightmare from the night before, when his mechanical arm took away your precious life. Of course, during the mission, you had picked up a few things about the new Colonel of the Farspace Fleet and their secret experiments. However, Caleb did not reveal a word, only leaving you in a mist. You did not like that at all. So you quickly pushed him away. 

“Stop it, Caleb! What are you plotting? Why do you keep me here? Didn’t you say I would be safe and we would be together? Why… Why do you keep me here, with this?” You turned to face Caleb, pointing at the collar around your neck. You looked precisely like the cat you had brought home years ago. Caleb had also put a bell around its neck to ensure he could find it no matter where it ran off to.

"It’s for your own safety, pip-squeak," Caleb explained gently. One hand moved up to caress your face, but you backed away as soon as his Evol stopped affecting your legs.

He assumed the collar was to protect the cat, but you regarded it as a shackle, preventing it from experiencing genuine freedom.

Your reaction left an evident pain in his countenance. Caleb bowed his head and smiled slightly. Then he took a step toward you. With each stride he made, you moved further away from him. The ringing stopped as you reached the edge of the table, and there was no way to retreat.

“We will always be together. Just as we promised."

Caleb's cool fingers brushed your face. You used to appreciate the warmth that emanated from his touch. What about now? You were not sure. Was the person standing in front of you an illusion, a ghost? Or had you never known the real Caleb before?

He leaned down.

“You don't trust me anymore, pip-squeak?”

“Don’t call me like that…” You felt as though there was no air left anymore. “They told me you were dead… Then you appeared before me again… You said you weren’t the boy I’d known since childhood… Then you told me that I could trust you still…”

You hesitated for a time. Trembling, your hand reached out and softly stroked his face. The sparkle in his eyes had dimmed, and his grin had grown much sadder. You said:

“I don’t know where to put my trust anymore… What’s happening to you, Caleb? Tell me…”

His eyes fluttered as his face leaned into the warmth of your palm. He rubbed it, a little too greedily, and placed a kiss there. At that very moment, he wanted to confess to her all the sins he had committed.

Would you forgive him if he told you he wasn't the kind-hearted boy you once knew? If he admitted that he had always longed to be this close, to cross the line between the two of you? He had always dreamed of touching you, to bask in your warmth—only yours. He had envisioned a world where it was just the two of you. However, the choices he made drove him further and further away from you. By the time he looked back, it was already too late.

So, what would he choose?

“Caleb?…”

You called his name, again like you always did. That familiar tenderness pierced through all of his defenses. He lifted you up and seated you on the table. The gap between you grew steadily less. His fingers touch your lips, parting them slightly.

I choose you…

Always.

He placed a kiss on your pink lips, one he had rehearsed in his mind thousands of times. Under the crabapple blossoms. By the window filled with the hues of sunset. In the kitchen, where you would clumsily help him prepare meals... Yet, all those dreams together could not rival this moment, when you at last responded by wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

Gravity, something that had always been under Caleb's control, was suddenly out of his grasp. He was willing to give it up, if you wanted him to. Leaning into you unconsciously, he clutched you tightly, savoring every drop of the nectar on your tongue with a sense of greed. You both trembled at the wave of emotions that were new yet familiar, as if you had been dreaming the same dream for a long time. Caleb pulled away from you slightly, gently caressing your face that was flushed from the heat between you. A tear ran down your cheek and was hastily wiped away. You leaned back and tugged at his collar, compelling him to brace himself against the table.

Caleb chuckled softly as the bell on your neck jingled. He leaned down to kiss you, his lips continued to send electrifying sensations down your neck and shoulder. After his return, you reprimanded him mercilessly. His hand still bore the mark of your bite. Yet at that moment, you poured all your anger, resentment, and yearning into every touch, every kiss you left on Caleb. You raised his chin, allowing him to stare directly at you before capturing his lips. The bite you just gave him, together with the kiss, did not damage him, but it was enough to make him comprehend the conflicting emotions that were surging in your mind. 

You might love him, you might despise him, yet you could never leave him.

You and I, we’re both strayed too far from home.

The siren blared, flashing red across the entire neighborhood. A tall figure dressed in military uniform was rushing to find his way through the crowd of emergency evacuees.

But when he arrived, the place was deserted.

“Pip-squeak? Where have you run off to?…”

The sole response to his cry was icy silence. That soft bell chime had vanished, far away from this place, beyond his reach.

As Caleb rushed out into the street, it started to rain. His subordinates offered him an umbrella, and he just ignored what they said. He went alone in the mild rain, his gaze constantly searching for the little figure and the sweet bell chimes.

Had you left? Had you left him here all alone? Was that not a good thing though? You would return securely to Linkon, to live your life and forget his existence here. Caleb from your childhood was dead. This would be for the best.

There, on the bench in the vacant area due to evacuation following the Wanderers' surprise attack, he found you again.

“You… You’re still here.”

He spoke. Relieved. He had found you.

You looked up. Your hair was a little damp. Just now, when you heard the sirens and saw the lines of people evacuating, you had found her way out of his apartment. At the time, you assumed he didn't want to hide his key at all; otherwise, how could you have discovered it so easily? Once you got out of the flat, you followed the crowd out of the danger zone. You kept walking. Now that you were free of him, you could take a flight back to Linkon on your own. But what about him?

You never wanted to go home without him.

So you pointed to the leather chain on your neck and said:

“I can’t go yet, because it's still here.”

Caleb took a minute to ensure you were not wounded before squatting down in front of you. He set the umbrella aside, on the ground. The rain was still drizzling.

He grabbed your index finger and moved it up to slide underneath the choker. There was a little scanner that read your fingerprint. A little chime rang out, and the chain slipped off in an instant.

“You don’t look surprised,” Caleb said with a faint smile. “You knew, right?”

You had figured out how to remove it, yet fooled yourself into believing you needed that chain there to bind yourself to this place, to Caleb. And you found contentment in doing so.

As you stroked Caleb's icy face, a warm drop fell onto your palm. It was not rain. It was a tear.

“What’s wrong?”

Caleb gave no answer, only placed a gentle kiss on your finger. Something had happened this morning, prompting him to dash out of the flat with a stern expression. And now he was before you, completely drained and distraught with the possibility of losing you again.

“You're still here, pip-squeak. That’s enough for me.”

Before you could respond, Caleb leaned in and embraced you. He nuzzled into the crook of neck, whispering:

“Let’s go home…”

You knew not a single portion of what Caleb was going through. At times you did not even know if the person in front of you was truly him. Yet you wanted to stay, to embrace him for who he was, no matter the cost.

“Yeah… Let’s go home.”

You and I, we’re both strayed too far from home.

But it doesn't matter any more. My home is where you are.

-The end-

[cheshire-chronicles]

caleb admires the parallels between your shared childhood and current habits. when you were younger, you often found yourself chasing after him, tripping over roots and stones, following him like a puppy chases its shadow.

he always caught you, don’t get him wrong. wiping your tears after a particularly painful fall, smoothing bandages over your bruised knees, kissing your flushed cherubic cheeks. teasing and cooing until you smiled again.

you often pushed at him, one time going so far as to bite his hand when he tried to chuck your chin.

“it’s not funny,” you warbled, blinking soft, wet eyes at him. a rainswept flower he wanted to pluck and preserve — but not yet.

“I know, I know,” he said instead as he had carried you back home, lifting you onto his back while you swung your legs and wrapped your little arms around his neck. “you’re all right, though. gege won’t let you ever get hurt, not really.”

you bite him the same way years later; cry the same, too. the sedative he’d given you is slipping through your system; as you stir, you fight him at every turn while he holds you still.

really, he thinks, it shouldn’t be this difficult. he’s doing this for your own good, don’t you see? yes, perhaps his methods are a bit unorthodox, perhaps a bit coercive, but he’s only ever had the best of intentions for you.

when he says all this, so fondly, so warmly, and tries to chuck your chin and make light of the situation, you bite him. just like you had all those years ago; your teeth land in the same place they once had. his blood rushes; something hot and slow pooling like honey in the bottom of his stomach.

he slowly lifts his gaze, pupils dilating as though he were the one drugged, from the bite mark up to your face. you see the glint in his eye; the curve of his lips.

“really? again?” his smile is too sharp. it only unsettles you more, though his voice is as indulgent as ever.

your same gege, the wolf shedding his sheepskin.

“it’s not funny,” you say again, the same warble trembling in your voice. “let me go, gege.”

“don’t cry,” he coos, kissing your tears away so tenderly. “gege would never hurt you, not really. you know that already — don’t you?”