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zara-renata · 11 days ago

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The Holiday Party | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: You are dragged to yet another one of your crappy boyfriend's miserable work functions only for him to abandon you to his awful colleagues, but you run into a man who helps you admit that you deserve better. You think you're having a one-night stand with a handsome stranger, but there's nothing casual about his intentions toward you.

Notes: Sylus x fem reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV. This is not part of the Sylus series, it's just a long-ass oneshot, there is no mention of evol or magical sci-fi powers or wanderers although you are a hunter… of something? does it matter? not when sylus is here to tell you that you have shit taste in boyfriends. This story contains: a crappy boyfriend, banter, hurt/comfort, fluff??→Sylus just being intensely sweet, a breakup, sex with Sylus [sylus penetrating, giving oral] this is not sex education, do not use it as a manual for fucking strangers (no condom, no discussion of STI or birth control), sociopolitical commentary and violence, a happy ending

You really, really don’t want to be here right now.

The twinkling fairy lights are lovely, looping in extravagant curves across the ceiling, spilling down the walls covered in pine wreaths and garlands, filling the luxurious bar with a pine scent that is incongruent to such an upscale, urban setting, here in a rooftop bar of a five star hotel in the heart of the city. In the corner opposite the band stands a huge Christmas tree, crystal ornaments twinkling in the fairy lights.

Glasses clink, a live jazz band, dressed in red and green velvet and wearing jaunty Santa hats, is playing tasteful classic holiday songs on a dais in the corner of the room. Over the music the crowd murmurs, sophisticated men and women engaged in boisterous conversation, toasting to the closing of a lucrative business year, successful client networking, the landing of the biggest cases from the most outrageous scandals of the year.

They’re friendly enough, if you consider snakes wearing bowties and dripping in haute couture friendly. The mask of civility is firmly in place, as polite laughter and faux congratulations are exchanged between colleagues whom you know would slit each other’s throats to make partner first, between partners who funnel profits from the law firm to supporting political campaigns that keep the regulations loose for the white collar criminals who make up the bread and butter of the client register, while tightening the noose around the necks of the blue collar criminals the firm represents on a pro bono basis for the sake of good public relations.

You really, really don’t want to be here right now.

You sip on your champagne. You can taste that it’s expensive, sharp on your tongue—like everyone in the room, but it does nothing for you. You’d rather be at home, in your pajamas, playing a video game on the couch or watching your latest detective series hyperfixation.

Everything is very nice, very fine, if you close your eyes and ignore everyone else in the room. If you ignore the fact that your boyfriend has once again asked you to come to one of his work functions as social currency, a pretty bauble to stand quietly, smiling pleasantly, as these birds of prey discreetly gloat about the carcasses they pick over on a daily basis to pad their bank accounts and their investment portfolios.

“Have you heard? McFayden just bagged the Benzos pharmaceutical case.”

There’s a low chuckle. “So the opposing counsel couldn’t convince the jury with the sob story of the adverse side effects on the poor children with cancer?”

“You’re terrible,” another voice purrs, not sounding upset at all—some spouse of one of the people making jokes about the failure of a class action lawsuit to secure justice for the parents of hundreds of kids who died as a result of the Benzos company intentional tampering with the results of clinical studies.

You wish you didn’t know these things. You wish you could stand here, soaking in the luxury of this beautiful, exclusive bar at the city’s pinnacle, blissfully ignorant of the absolutely gleeful depravity of the lawyers and their biggest clients swirling around you. But you’re not ignorant, or naive. Your boyfriend brings home stories of his colleagues, of the arguments he makes in briefs and before judges every day, as he fights tooth and claw to achieve partner status, along with the rest of the associates in the firm. You know all of these things, so you can’t even bring yourself to grab any of the delicious looking hors d’oeuvre from a passing waiter, holding more champagne flutes and small plates aloft. You have no appetite, in this hungry, churning crowd.

It didn’t used to be like this. When you first met him, your boyfriend was a sweet, starry eyed young idealist, going to law school to change the world. You were a young hunter, fresh out of the Academy, equally full of hope and plans to save the world. You fell in love with his mirrored values, his easy affection for you despite the pressure of both of your schedules. You overlooked the fact that when you would tell him about your job, his eyes would glaze over and he rarely asked follow-up questions. So what, if he was never interested in your hobbies, the things you liked to do in your precious free time? He was so tired, from school, and then from studying for the bar, and then being ground down at various non-profit organizations, fighting the overwhelming tide of corruption and injustice. He was sweet to you. He would tell you how beautiful you are, he’d make polite, efficient love to you on the days he had the energy for it. You could tuck your own problems, your own wounds and interests into your pocket, carry them with you quietly until one day he’d have the energy and interest to ask you what you’re up to, what you’re reading, how your workday was, and actually listen to the answer. There are so many worse men out there than him, after all. You had dated a lot of them before you met him—cheaters. Toxic, jealous men who you were afraid to make angry, even if you knew you could probably put them down before they actually hit you. Your current boyfriend is kind, at least. For the most part. He only occasionally says small things that chip away at your self worth. About what you’re wearing, or your weight, how much, or how little you eat. Who are you to sometimes wish that someone would look at you and really want to know your thoughts, who would look at you and not just see a beautiful face, but a skilled, competent person? A funny, clever person. Your boyfriend never seems to get your jokes, but he does make an effort to chuckle sensibly when you tell them.

It didn’t used to be this way—you, standing abandoned in this crowd of piranhas. But somewhere along the way, your boyfriend changed. He became jaded, burnt out from his constant struggle against the unfairness of a system stacked against the vulnerable, and went to work for one of the most prestigious law firms in the country, defending insurance companies and insider trading finance moguls, pharmaceutical companies and pop stars who murdered their spouses. No longer is he too tired because he was fighting the good fight. Now he comes home, exhausted from trying to undercut his colleagues in the rat race to secure his future as a permanent partner in the firm with the nice shareholder bonuses. He says it’s for you too. That his future is your future, and that once he’s established at the firm, he’ll devote half of his time to pro bono cases. That he can have his cake and eat it too. That you just need to be patient with him, let him compromise your own values by staying by his side. He has always been (mostly) sweet to you. You feel bad every time you look at him and want more from him. He’s so busy. He says he’s doing this for you, even if you don’t want it.

You wonder when you became so passive in your private life, when you’re so assertive in your professional life. You don’t need anyone at all, after all. You aren’t actually limited to only choosing between your current boyfriend or any of the other dirtbags you’ve been with in your life. You could be alone. You are wondering more and more if maybe you wouldn’t just be happier being alone. But then your boyfriend will manage to remember your favorite drink from the cafe near your place, after forgetting it the last few times he brought something for you too (hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?), and you’d be touched and you’d feel bad for thinking that you’d rather not have anyone at all than him at your side.

Not that he’s at your side right now. He’s across the room, in an intense discussion about the latest client’s case he’s just taken on. Something big, complex. He’ll likely have to make multiple business trips for the discovery process alone. He doesn’t bother to try to help you engage in discussion with his colleagues, or to involve you in his own conversations. He just asks you to hold on a minute, he’ll be right back.

You shake your head at these thoughts, the empty feeling in your chest. You’re used to this. He promised to take you to your favorite bookstore after this function, like you used to do together before he got so busy working overtime that you rarely see him outside of bed these days. It’s unfair of you to feel treated like arm candy, a warm sex doll, a body to warm the ultramodern, stark apartment the two of you now share when he does come home before eleven at night.

You take a big gulp of the champagne, smile at the awful jokes being shared in the little group you’re standing with, and then excuse yourself to get another glass. Maybe if you get drunk, this horrible feeling in your chest will go away.

You glance around discreetly, locate one of the floating waiters, are about to ask for another flute, when you suddenly feel a warm presence behind you. The hair along your bare arms stands on end, static electricity washing over your skin. You turn and find a man standing closer to you than is polite. You take in his wide chest, because it’s at eye level, he’s so tall. Defined pectorals, even under a black dress shirt and vest that look impossibly soft, slick, expensive. Under the strong scent of pine in the room, you smell something delicious. Dark, clean musk. Your mouth starts to water. You lift your eyes, savoring the pale skin exposed under the casually unbuttoned shirt, so incongruent with the clear quality and sophistication of his clothing, as if he has studied how to appear artfully dishevelled. You admire the dip of his clavicle, the strength clearly visible in his broad shoulders, his neck, until you have to hold in a gasp when you reach the beauty of his face.

Sharp jaw, wide, generous mouth. His nose. You want to die, his nose. Long, nostrils flaring as if he too can smell whatever is making your saliva glands flood your mouth, a noticeable bump along the bridge of it. He has the nose of a Roman emperor, a god carved in stone. You have a fleeting impression of soft, silver hair, premature graying in contrast to his youthful face, but when you meet his eyes, everything else fades away.

The warm glow of lava over the rim of an active volcano. Tempting, beautiful, but you know if you try to touch it, you’ll lose yourself, melt—it will be over for you before you even know it. The red of banked, burning coals. They’re familiar to you, in the way that your own reflection in the mirror is familiar on your best days. When you look in the mirror and love yourself, which is often the only time these days that you feel loved at all, despite having a boyfriend.

At the thought of your boyfriend, you sever the connection, looking away from the beautiful stranger who has simply stood there and let you look your fill without saying a word, as if you didn’t just devour him with your hungry gaze, having to swallow the extra saliva the sight of him sent flowing through your mouth.

Your boyfriend isn’t jealous like other men you’ve been with. He never acts possessive in public, doesn’t worry if other men and women look at you, admire you. But he is always worried that if he’s not there, someone will try to poach what’s his. That they’ll hit on you, and you’ll fall under their spell and cheat on him. You sometimes wonder why he would even care, considering how little he touches you these days, but out of respect for him you never act in a way that could cause him to feel insecure, whether he’s around or not. And even if you didn’t respect him, there’s no way you would throw away the peaceful, if unfulfilling stability you have with him right now, not for a man like the one in front of you, who is dripping in sex appeal, who is gorgeous and knows it, who could snap his fingers and have most of the people in this room on their knees for him. Why would he ever look at you? A pretty bauble, yes, but someone who would rather be at home, replaying Stardew Valley for the 47th time. Not someone exciting, exotic. Just a person who doesn’t dress quite right, with humble hobbies and a hard job to do, trying not to be an asshole.

You look away and try to take a step to the side, to allow this man to pass by you. You’ll remember his eyes until the day you die, you think, and he’ll never even know you existed.

But as you take a step, so does he. You find yourself still eyes-to-chest with him.

“Oh, sorry,” you murmur, and try to step to the other side. Sometimes when you’re trying to scurry out of someone’s way, you just make yourself more of a nuisance.

But as you take the step to the side, so does he. You two could almost be dancing, with how close you are, with how in sync he’s matching your movements.

You laugh, a little breathlessly, embarrassed that you’re fucking this up so badly. You’re trying to let him pass, and you keep getting in his way.

“Don’t apologize to me,” he says, and his voice sinks into your chest, filling the void that you realize you’ve been carrying for months now. Maybe even years. You feel it keenly now, as if in the filling, the emptiness is exaggerated. Like after being ill, when the fever and the vomiting have passed, you suddenly realize how healthy you feel, how grateful you are to be feeling well again. With his voice filling the hole inside you, you’re so grateful to remember what it is like to feel whole again.

Impossible, crazy thoughts.

You look up again, get caught in the vice of his gaze again. His uncanny red eyes are soft as they look down into yours. He has a frown line between his dark silver eyebrows, as if he spends a lot of time thinking deeply. He’s not smiling at you, but you get the delusional feeling that he’s happy to be looking at you. But his face is blank, an impassive mask, quietly observing you. Why on earth would he be happy to see you?

“Oh, sorry,” you say again, apologizing for apologizing, unintentionally defying his command.

He snorts softly through his big, beautiful nose. “Not very obedient, are we, kitten?” he asks.

You scowl at him. Okay, so he’s beautiful, but as you suspected, he’s beautiful and he knows it, and he thinks he can get away with speaking to you so disrespectfully without even having properly met, simply because he’s the most attractive man in the room no matter where he goes.

“Not for douchebags, no,” you say smoothly. But you’re actually polite, so you tack on, “Excuse me. If you stay put, I’ll step to the left, and you can continue to where you want to go.” You wait for him to acknowledge your suggestion, to avoid another accidental dance with him.

“No need to lie, sweetheart.” He flicks his gaze across the room, and you have the strange, impossible feeling that he’s looking at your boyfriend. “And I’m probably the least douchey person in this room, besides you.”

You take in his expensive clothes, the soft sweep of his beautiful hair. He’s wearing a tight black vest over his black silk shirt, perfectly tailored to reveal his huge chest, his narrow waist, the proportions of a cartoon superhero, not a real man. His long, thick legs, wrapped in tight black trousers. Monk strap shoes, their attractiveness ruined by stupid fucking chains around the heels. He looks like the wealthy, spoiled adult son of a mob boss. You wonder if he is one of the law firm’s soulless clients.

“Doubtful,” you clip out, because you learned long ago that the more you engage with egotistical pricks, the more likely you’ll end up in trouble with your boyfriend for embarrassing him. That is why you just stand around at events like this, smiling vacantly, trying to get through the evening without causing a scene and either punching someone or drenching their expensive clothing in wine.

“Oh, I like a challenge.” His eyes, already bright, sharp, light up. “Allow me the opportunity to disprove your doubt.” He ignores your clear dismissal, your request for him to pass you by. Your breath catches again. How can one man be so magnetic? Why are you so attracted to such terrible men? You think of your boyfriend, how sweet he used to be capable of being.

“I think you’ll be just fine if one person doesn’t fall for your charms,” you say, suddenly exhausted. You really, really, don’t want to be here. You turn your head, look for your boyfriend. He’s still in deep, serious conversation with colleagues. You wonder why he wanted you to come at all, when he never had any intention of spending any part of this evening with you.

“And what if I don’t care if the entire world falls for my charms, but I won’t survive the one person who resists?” he asks, drawing your attention back to him.

“Typical rich bastard problems,” you snort. “Wanting only what you can’t have.”

“There's nothing typical about me.” He laughs softly, and even his laugh is dripping with money. “And there's nothing I can't have, because I don’t give up when going after what I want. It’s not a matter of if, but when.”

You give in to the urge to roll your eyes so hard you probably look like you’re having a seizure. “I’m not even sorry for being the one who shatters your delusion. Thank you for your interest, if that’s what you’re implying, but the feeling is not mutual.” Maybe you were tempted, or impressed, before he opened his mouth, but with every word since he opened it, he reveals himself to be exactly the same as all the other assholes in this bar.

“Who says I’m implying anything?” he asks, his strange wine-bright eyes shimmering with amusement at your blunt rejection. “I prefer a straightforward approach. I’m interested. Tell me how to make it mutual.”

You can’t help but admire the audacity of this guy—he seems completely unfazed by your clear disgust. You wish you could have half his entitlement on a daily basis.

You fix him with an unimpressed look. “I doubt there’s anything you could do to make it mutual.”

“Again, with your doubt,” he tsks. “How are you so sure that you could never return my interest? You stand there, judging me without even knowing me, just as guilty of dismissing people based on their appearance as all of the shallow, hypocritical animals in this bar.”

You laugh in his face. “Oh yes, I’m just as terrible as these lying, defrauding, malicious fucks. You got me.” You turn to walk away.

“If you recognize these parasites for what they are, then why are you here?” he taunts.

His bait is successful—you turn your head and look at him again, once again struck by his beauty, the intelligence in his eyes, the soft fall of his light hair.

“The main reason you don’t have a chance tonight. I’m here with my boyfriend.”

He steps closer to you, and you have to tilt your head back to look into his entrancing eyes. “If you’re willing to settle for one of these cretins, and you think I’m of the same ilk, then why am I the exception in not being able to catch your interest? I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.”

You stare at him, suddenly struck by the absurdity of this conversation. With just a few words, he has held up a mirror, forcing you to look at what your life has become. Cold, empty, and hollowly attached to a man who is everything you just accused this man of being. Why are you here? Why do you continue to look the other way as your boyfriend sinks ever more deeply into his new identity of a lying, defrauding, malicious fuck?

And yet part of you can’t help but defend him, despite what he has become. Despite the fact that even from the beginning, he was (mostly) sweet but uninterested in who you really are.

“He used to be sweet,” you say, at a loss as to why you’re telling this stranger this, revealing so much to him in those few words.

“I can be sweet,” he says, lifting his hand, taking a lock of your hair between his long fingers, fiddling with it in a surprisingly endearing way. “For you.”

“I can’t imagine a man like you and ‘sweet’ in the same breath,” you smile, despite yourself.

“Your imagination is terribly limited, then. We’ll work on expanding it,” he says, as if the matter is settled. “What else does he offer you?”

You hesitate. Maybe it’s the champagne. Maybe it’s the gloating, disgusting conversations you have had to endure tonight, again, and you’re just finally reaching the end of your rope. Or maybe it’s this man, teasing, baiting the truth out of you with his intense focus, an incubus tempting you not with his sexuality, although he is carnally appealing to you, but with his apparently sincere interest in your answers. You don’t think your boyfriend has ever looked at, listened to you with such intense focus before. Maybe it’s the fact that this man is someone you’ll never see again. You find yourself answering. “Despite all his flaws, he never cheated—that I know of. He didn’t ever want to hit me.” Your voice trails off, as you draw a blank as what your boyfriend still has to offer you.

His dark silver brows draw together as you go quiet, as he realizes that you have nothing else to say. “That’s all? It’s not even a challenge.” He sounds disgusted.

You look away, suddenly feeling pathetic, as if his disgust is aimed at you. And in a way, it is. What does it say about you, that these meager offerings from your boyfriend have been enough to keep you by his side for so long?

“Look at me,” the stranger says, in his low, deep voice. It’s a command, but soft, like a crowbar wrapped in the velvet that the jazz musicians are wearing.

You obey him this time, your resistance pried open.

You look into his beautiful eyes again. He’s closer now, like he took another step forward while you weren’t looking. You can feel the warmth of his body. If he leaned down, he could kiss you with his soft looking lips without having to step closer.

“Why?” you ask, but you don’t even know what you’re asking. Why does he want to disprove your doubt about him? Why is he asking you questions that tear off the blinders you’ve been intentionally wearing for so long, in an effort to maintain, what? An easy, but unsatisfactory status quo? Why does he want you to look at him? Why is he still talking to you at all, when he’s so terribly handsome, so unreachable for someone like you, who can’t even get your boyfriend to stand this close to you these days, after compromising so much of yourself to keep him happy, to keep from rocking the boat, from hurting his feelings, when he has given so little in return?

“Indulge me. What man wouldn’t want a beautiful, clever, sharp-tongued woman to look at him, and only him?”

You smile, a little helplessly. For some reason, you want to cry, hearing these affirming words from a total stranger. Even though you know they're probably just a line he says to everyone who catches his briefly attention.

Still fingering the lock of your hair, he gently strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, and then lets it drop again before anyone else would notice. “Your smile is so sad,” he breathes, almost to himself. “I don’t like it.”

“What do you want from me?” you ask, a little desperate, resisting everything in you that suddenly, painfully, despite your earlier disgust with him, is whispering for you to lean forward, to chase his hand, to put it back on your face, to rub against him like a cat, to beg for more of his kind words and touch. It’s as if his touch on your cheek unlocked something in you that you didn’t even know was there. Have you been so hungry for affection, that even these sparse crumbs are enough to have you salivating for a man who is likely much worse than your current boyfriend?

He hooks his thumbs into the belt loops of his trousers, bends down so that he’s speaking into your ear, softly, but still over the holiday music, the susurration of the crowd. His breath is warm over your skin. “I want to see a genuine smile from you.” He turns his head, runs his nose down your temple, along your cheek, and breathes deeply. “I want you to look at me, and only me.” He lifts a hand and trails the backs of his fingers along your bare arm. “I want you to come with me, instead of staying here, drinking champagne you don’t like, surrounded by people you despise.”

You shiver. You suddenly want that too. You want to go with him so badly, despite the fact that you have already decided that if he’s here, he’s probably one of the people you despise. Despite the fact that if he’s here, he probably sprays this abhorrently expensive champagne all over fawning sycophants every weekend at the same clubs your boyfriend now has “meetings with clients” at on a regular basis, not coming home until four in the morning, stinking of alcohol and cigarettes, rubbing his nose strangely, almost compulsively before passing out. Despite the fact that you know the moment you give in, and give him what he wants—whatever it may be—is the beginning of the end of his interest in you.

“Who are you?” you ask, resisting the wild, reckless urge rising in you to simply listen to him, to follow where he leads. You lean back, give yourself space to breathe, to regain your composure.

He lifts one corner of his mouth, a sketch of a smile, and it feels like dark petals whispering along your skin. “Tell me what you would do, if you could do anything at all right now, and I’ll tell you who I am.”

You consider him, trying to figure out what his angle is. Wondering how honest you should be. Wondering how he’ll exploit your honesty if you tell him the truth. Perhaps it’s the champagne on an empty stomach. Perhaps it’s the way the gaping hole in your heart feels filled every time this stranger opens his mouth. You tell him the truth.

“I want to go somewhere warm and quiet, curl up, and watch something silly on television.”

He takes one of your hands in both of his, cradling it as he looks down at your palm thoughtfully. “That’s all? You could be a little greedier. Why not go on a midnight cruise on a luxury yacht?” He strokes his thumbs along your palm, so softly. “Why not try to earn your fortune at the casino downstairs, or party in the VIP booth of an exclusive nightclub?” His eyes flick back to yours, as if gauging your reaction, as if to see if anything he’s saying triggers desire in you. “Or we could go shopping with my black card, and you can buy anything you want.”

You sigh. You were right. You’re too boring for this bright, pretty man. You gave him your truth, and he asks why you don’t want all the things you hate, that your boyfriend is clawing his way to achieve over the burnt-out careers of his colleagues, over the broken lives of the victims he ensures continue to suffer with each lawsuit dropped, each client walking free.

You try to take a step back, but he’s still holding your hand like it’s something precious, and he follows you again. You’re suddenly so tired, you don’t even have the energy to lie to him. “Because those things sound terrible to me. I don’t want your black card, when I’d rather just know who you are. I don’t want a super yacht with an exhausted crew, when I’d rather just sit with you in a canoe. I hate casinos—people feverishly wasting money—it feels like a slap in the face to people who are working their asses off just to survive." You shake your head. "I’m tired, and I want to take these stupid fucking shoes off.” There. Maybe with that little tirade, he’ll give up on tormenting you with his mysterious, intense focus and leave you alone. Alone to sort out how to fix your life. Alone to finally gather the energy, the backbone, to leave your shitty boyfriend. To stop drifting from one unworthy man to another. To stop compromising yourself, your self worth, and your values, for companionship, cold comfort, crumbs. You don’t know if you’re ready yet. But looking into the mirror this man has held up is a start.

Instead of dropping your hand, carrying on with whatever business he was on his way to do before you created an obstacle in his path, he squeezes it gently in his, and his thumbs begin to massage the meat of your palm. “Allow me to give you what you want, then.”

You laugh, disbelieving. What is his game? “I answered your question. Now it’s your turn to tell me who you are.”

He keeps rubbing your hand, and for some reason you keep letting him. It feels so good. There’s no one else in the world, now. Just him, your hand in his, that unidentifiable delicious scent in the air, mixed with pine.

“My name is Sylus,” he says, simply.

You stare at his face, but he’s still looking down at your palm.

“It’s a beautiful name,” you say, honestly. You’ve never thought about the name Sylus. It was just a name before, like so many others. But bizarrely, because it’s his, you suddenly think it matches him. It’s beautiful, just like the rest of him. “But that doesn’t answer my question. It doesn’t tell me who you are.”

“It tells you everything. It was a gift, given by someone precious to me.” He draws you closer, pulling you nearer to the garland-filled wall, turning so his big body is blocking the rest of the room. “I can tell you that I own this hotel. I can tell you that I’m an entrepreneur, and make my living buying and selling all sorts of things.” He lowers his voice even further, meeting your eyes again. “I can tell you that I’m very good at it, and it has made me very rich.” He slowly, gently, backs you up into the pine scented wall, until you have nowhere else to go. “And I can tell you that I despise everyone in this room, because they represent the worst of humanity—for all the reasons you hate them too.” He lets go of your hands, but then runs his own up your bare arms, trailing his fingertips along the sensitive skin of your inner forearms, elbows. “But those things are only parts of me, just like your clever mind, your sad, lovely eyes, your sharp tongue calling me a douchebag, are only parts of you. They’re not the heart of you.” He pauses, ember-glow eyes drifting from your eyes to your mouth, back to your eyes again. “I’m Sylus, and I’d like to give you what you want tonight. Say yes.”

You feel like you’re in a dream. The thoughtfulness of his answer, all of the surprising things he just revealed about himself—hotel owner, very rich man, pale in comparison to the shared feeling of hating everyone in this room. Of his having looked at you for less than ten minutes and being able to tell more about you than you think your boyfriend could tell after years of being together. Your sadness, your biting sense of humor, your intelligence.

You wonder if one night with him is worth immediately trading years of the relationship you share with your boyfriend.

You remember just minutes ago thinking that you’d remember this man’s eyes for the rest of your life, even as he passed you by without even noting your existence.

You force yourself to look away from him. You let your head tilt, so that you can see past his big bicep to look over the crowd. The flashing white veneers of so many mouths talking, drinking, smiling, all belonging to people who don’t deserve the nourishing food in the canapés they’re biting into with their vicious teeth, the quality of the alcohol now sloshing in their stomachs. Your eyes find your boyfriend, and for the first time tonight he’s not trading strategy with his colleagues, oblivious to your existence. He’s staring at you, your body mostly hidden now by Sylus, from across the room with a funny look on his face.

You feel one of Sylus’s hands slip from your elbow, drifting down. He palms your waist, sliding around your back, low, pinky and ring finger brushing your ass, before coming to rest on your other hip. He draws you gently into him, hips flush with your stomach, his arm an anchor behind your back, his hand an anchor at your hip. You feel small, protected, warm. You stare past Sylus’s arm at your boyfriend, who is now gaping at you.

You straighten again, look back up into Sylus’s lovely face. He’s smiling now, with such warmth. You allow yourself to be honest with yourself—you want him to kiss you. You think that a night with this man will be worth the trade of all the years with your boyfriend, who you suspect is now starting to try to shoulder his way to you, with a look on his face that telegraphs that he has something to say and you’re going to fucking listen, dammit, how dare you embarrass him like this in front of all of his colleagues, the firm’s partners, cucking him like he always knew you eventually would, even though you’ve only ever been faithful to him, respectful of his insecurity, loving in the face of his benevolent neglect of you and all of your needs.

Sylus must see your yearning written all over your face. Your silent acquiescence to his request to give you what you want, just for tonight. He leans down, pauses, his warm breath the only thing separating his lips from yours. He looks into your eyes, a warm glow under his long, sweeping lashes. You nod, just a little, to his unvoiced question. Yes, please kiss me. Yes, you have my permission. Yes, please give me what I want tonight. It will be worth all the cold tomorrows. The silent treatment from your boyfriend as you pack up your things in a few boxes, because you’ve never been one to carry too much baggage—you’ve never really had a home, not really. Your blank memories, then your Gran’s house, not yours. Then student housing, then small, temporary places as you moved around for your job, as you roomed with various colleagues before moving in with your boyfriend. You let him choose the decor of the apartment, because he was so vocal about being forced to accept your own unique taste that wasn't to his. Easier to just give him what he wants. You didn’t mind, since the overpriced apartment, filled with cold furniture and his absence, never felt like home anyway, after he got the job at this awful firm and wanted to upgrade from your cozy, cramped little apartment above your favorite bakery that always smelled like fresh bread.

Sylus searches your face for a moment longer before leaning down the rest of the way. He presses his soft, full lips to yours.

Kissing Sylus feels like coming home. Like how his voice feels in your ears—the constant, aching emptiness in your chest, filled. You don’t know how this stranger can already feel so familiar. You don’t know how just the chaste press of his soft lips to yours is making your body light up like the Christmas tree in this fancy bar, in this fancy hotel, like the fairy lights draped above and around you. You feel desire rise in you, a slow, steady wave of anticipation, the wanting a pleasure in itself, even unmet and unsatisfied. He pulls you closer, his arm an inexorable force at your back, gentle yet firm. He flicks his tongue out, sweeps it across your lower lip, then little licks, asking a question, a big jungle cat lapping at the pool of your mouth, and you open for him. He sinks his tongue in. He’s making soft little noises of pleasure, a low vibration in his chest.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Your boyfriend has reached you, has the audacity to stand just off to Sylus’s side, confront you with such a stupid, obvious question that you want to laugh. You feel the tethers of the years between you snapping, and you feel wild, reckless, a little mean. Because fuck him, and his cheerful neglect of you. Fuck yourself, for having accepted it. Sylus may want to give you what you want for tonight only, but just kissing him, being seen by him, makes you want to give yourself what you should have been giving yourself all along. Freedom, self respect, acceptance that the love you feel when you look at yourself in the mirror is worth more than the crumbs you receive from a boyfriend who you let treat you like a pretty, ultimately worthless trinket. Sylus may only be offering you a dream for tonight, but the feeling that filled you just from his kind, validating words to you is not a dream. You want to give that feeling to yourself, from now on. And dumping your hypocritical, morally bankrupt, shallow boyfriend is how you’re going to start the process.

Sylus slowly pulls away, not taking his eyes off you. He licks you a few more times, presses a few more quick kisses to your lips, like he can’t help himself, just a little sustenance before having to deprive himself for a moment.

“What does it look like?” you ask, turning your head, still pressed against the wall by Sylus’s big body. He’s so warm. His pecs are so pillowy. You want to knead them like the kitten he called you earlier.

Your boyfriend grimaces at you. “Who the fuck is this guy? I knew you were fucking cheating on me,” he bites out, voice rising.

Before you can answer, Sylus rests his cheek on top of your head. “I’m the largest shareholder of your law firm. And your replacement. Your services, such as they are, are no longer required in the boyfriend department.”

There’s a moment where your boyfriend just stares at Sylus blankly, as if his brain is having difficulty processing everything that he just said. And then he gasps. “Sylus Qin?” His eyes go wide.

“Yes. If you want to keep your current professional position, walk away now and forget everything you know about your ex instead of causing a scene.”

Your boyfriend’s jaw is a little slack as his eyes ping pong between your face and Sylus’s. For a split second, he looks like he wants to say something to you, a calculating, mean look in his eyes, that you’ve only ever seen directed at other people before. But then he startles, eyes jerking back to Sylus, and he suddenly looks terrified.

And then he simply turns and walks away, slipping back between the high top tables surrounded by human-shaped sharks, effectively showing you that it was never you, but his job, the wealth and power that he’s chasing, that has always been the main focus of his heart and mind. And that’s fine. You already knew that. It’s just that now, if you had any doubt about your sudden, insane decision to accept Sylus’s insistent request to give you what you want, it is now gone. You’re not willing to remain in a relationship like that, anymore. You’d rather be alone. You turn your attention back to the man currently cocooning you with his big body. He hasn’t moved, as if he’s waiting patiently for you to make the next move.

You ease back as much as you can into the wall, and he lifts his head, looks down into your face.

“Boyfriend replacement, huh?” you ask drily.

He shrugs his big shoulders. “If I’m lucky, with immediate effect. If I’m unlucky, eventually, but inevitably.” One sharp canine, peeking from between his soft lips, gleams under the fairy lights.

You want to laugh. What is even happening? Why go to such lengths to pretend like he’s somehow committed to you, to this insane demand to give you what you want? You just watched your boyfriend walk away without giving you a second glance. You feel entitled to a big, sexy rebound as a treat. You don’t even care what tricks this man is trying to pull to get you into the sack. You’re already convinced. But you are bothered by one thing.

“You’re the largest shareholder in this law firm?”

“Does it bother you?” he answers with a non-answer.

You take in his pretty mouth, his intense eyes. The humor glinting in the curve of his lips.

“I hate what they do. I hate what they stand for. I think I’ve been wanting to leave my boyfriend for a long time, after he started working for your firm. I want to see them go under.” You answer him with a non-answer of your own. Why should he care if it bothers you that he basically owns the firm? He offered to give you what you want for tonight, and then you’ll never see him again. You think that just for one night, it’s your turn to be a little cutthroat, a little malicious, to take what you can get from a shitty world. Maybe that makes you a hypocrite, the same type of person your now ex-boyfriend is. But for tonight, you’re willing to give yourself over to this terrible man. You will wake up tomorrow and self-flagellate to make up for it. You’ll then carry on, trying to do good in the world.

He tilts his head. “If you destroy them, people like them will just fill the crater left behind, if you don’t dismantle the system that allows them to flourish.”

You’re in such danger. With everything this gorgeous, rich man says, he reveals himself to be thoughtful, clever. You don’t want him to be thoughtful and clever. It would be enough if he were simply kind to get what he wants, as he was when describing you, and pretty, so that it feels good to kiss him. You don’t need him to have depth for tonight.

“Why wait to destroy them until the system comes crashing down? Why not actively want the destruction of both?” you ask, only half-joking. You don’t want to talk about this with him. You want him to do as he promised and take you somewhere quiet, warm. But you don’t want to watch television anymore. You want to kiss him instead.

“Then you shall have both,” he says, strangely, before squeezing the hand still holding yours and leading you from the bar.

You follow, focusing on his broad back narrowing to his strong waist, his incredibly thick ass underneath his fancy trousers. Your mouth is watering again. You want to unbuckle the clasp at the back of his vest. You want to slip your fingers under the waistband of his pants and squeeze.

It should be illegal for one man to be rich, powerful, smart, thoughtful, and drop-dead gorgeous.

Your hand is warm in his, as he leads you past the bank of elevators that you stepped out of on your way to the bar, instead going down a short hallway that ends in a discrete black door. He leans forward, lets the retina scanner do its thing, and the door clicks open. You find yourself in what looks like a service passage. Bare, dark walls, the same quiet carpet as the rest of the hotel’s hallways. He leads you further in, until you’re at another door, another retina scan. This door opens into the kitchen of what can only be the hotel’s penthouse. Soaring windows offer a view of the city��s nocturnal skyline below. You have an impression of dark, heavy furniture, sophisticated ultramodern technology and design mixed with more baroque, vintage accents. Potted plants offer a little verdant pop of green in the very rich, urban atmosphere of the space. A big, open floor plan with a full kitchen, a sunken den area with a huge screen over a glassed-in fireplace, pretty stained glass chandeliers and lamps. Hallways leading from the den further into the penthouse must go to the bedroom, the bathroom.

“No wonder you were so willing to fulfill my desire. A short trip down the hall, and here we are,” you laugh a little, half teasing, half serious, after Sylus patiently waits for you to finish gawking at the spacious, expensive room.

He gives you that mysterious little half smile. “I told you that you could be greedy.” He leads you to the large marble-topped kitchen island, slides his hands around your waist and lifts. He sets you on the counter and nudges your legs open with a big hand, fits himself between them. He takes your hands in his and just holds them, thumbs stroking over your skin. “If you had asked to go to a three-star Michelin restaurant, I would have cleared the place and taken you.” He leans forward, kisses you lightly on the lips, pulls back. “If you had asked to go deep sea fishing on one of my yachts, I would have asked what type of fish you were interested in catching.” His eyes flick to yours, then back to your mouth. “If you had wanted to go shopping, I would have—”

You lift your hands and his, pressing them to his lips. “Okay, okay. I get the idea, Sylus. Thank you. Although I don’t understand why you’re doing anything for me at all.”

He turns your joined hands and rubs his cheek against the back of one of yours. “Is it really so incomprehensible that a man would see someone stunning across the room and want to get to know her better?”

“You offering me your black card and to close out a Michelin star restaurant seems a little extreme for just wanting to get to know me better,” you retort, not even touching the fact that he just called you stunning. There were plenty of beautiful people in that room. “Is that really all there is? If you thought I was pretty, you could have just offered to buy me a drink like a normal person.”

“I didn’t think you were pretty,” he says, and your heart sinks a little. He just called you stunning, but maybe he was just…going through the script. The script he doesn’t even need with you, since you’re here, in his nice hotel room, with him between your legs already. But he continues. “I thought you were magnificent. And why would I offer to buy you a drink like we’re two normal people, when we're kindred spirits, and you deserve so much more?”

Okay, so that’s intense. Maybe he’s a little psycho—one of those yandere guys that sees a person and decides, based on an accidental look, that she is their ideal, their possession, their obsession. Guys who place a random person on a pedestal before locking them in their basement. You tilt your head. “How would you even know?” you ask. You don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. You’re thankful for his strange kindness tonight, the feeling of being the sole focus of his attention, the reminder that you deserve better out of a partner than what you’ve settled for, for years. But you can’t understand why he would have chosen you, out of everyone there tonight, out of what is surely a multitude of options for him. Now you’re worried, possibly a little too late, that he’s a little nuts.

He sets your joined hands back in your lap and gently withdraws his. “How much champagne have you had?” he asks as he turns to the refrigerator and pulls out two glass bottles of fancy looking water.

He twists the cap off of one and holds it to your lips. “Drink.”

You obey him without thought, watching him watch your drink, his eyes drifting from your eyes to your mouth, to your throat swallowing the chilled, refreshing water.

You lean back when you’ve had your fill. “I only managed one glass of champagne,” you say. “And you?”

“I haven’t had anything to drink at all,” he answers, lifting the half-empty bottle to his own lips and taking a few long pulls, never taking his eyes off of you. You return his gaze, enjoying the strong line of his throat, the bob of his Adam's apple.

After he empties the bottle, he sets it on the counter next to your thigh. “Are you hungry?”

You know that he hasn’t answered your question yet. That he may never answer. Despite all of the possible red flags he’s throwing up, you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care. Perhaps you’re just repeating old patterns, allowing a handsome man to lull you into settling into another toxic relationship. But as of tonight, you’re done with all that. After tonight, you’ll never see this man again, whether he turns out to be a good man or not. “I don’t know.”

And you really don’t know. You think you’re in shock. You just broke up with your boyfriend in public after kissing a man you just met, a man you’re now alone with in the penthouse of the hotel he owns. Are you hungry? What the hell are you going to do after tonight? Who can you stay with? How are you going to arrange to get your things from your now ex boyfriend, your now former apartment?

Sylus, inexplicably—considering your boyfriend never managed this feat after years of being together—must see your anxiety spiral, because he lifts you again, sets you on your feet. He leads you past the den, down one of the hallways, until he opens a door into a bedroom. Again, you just have impressions because you are so focused on the man leading you by the hand. Gigantic bed, dark, cloud-soft puffy blankets and pillows, a little sitting area, the city’s skyline glittering below the wall of windows. A door to the right leads to an ensuite bathroom—marble floors and counters, huge tub, walk-in shower.

Sylus leads you to the bed, urges you to sit on it. You sink into the covers, legs dangling off the end. He kneels before you without a word and begins to remove your uncomfortable, modest, discreetly formal shoes that you wore for this occasion, and only wear when you’re forced to attend your boyfriend’s—your ex-boyfriend work functions like the one tonight. Nothing like what you’d wear for yourself, if you were to go out on the town, nor what you wear when you simply want to be comfortable.

You just stare at the top of Sylus’s head, shoving thoughts of your ex out of your mind. His hair is so fluffy, you can’t resist reaching forward and gently running your fingers through its silver strands.

He neatly sets your shoes aside and then grows still, remaining on his knees at your feet. He leans forward and rests his head in your lap, cheek against your thigh. He encourages you to keep petting him by lifting his hand and nudging yours to keep moving.

You stroke his hair quietly for a while, chalking up your inability to question anything, to think too hard about how you found yourself here, the enjoyment you feel running your hands through his soft hair, to the shock of tonight’s unexpected turn of events, the recklessness and despair that led you to being alone in this stranger’s penthouse bedroom.

However, after a while, you force yourself to speak. “What are we doing, Sylus?

He lifts his head and meets your gaze, the electric zing of his otherworldly eyes coursing through you. He places one big palm on each of your thighs.

“You said you wanted to go somewhere quiet, and warm, to watch something silly on television. The remote is in one of the nightstands. The screen can be lowered from the ceiling with the remote. I’ll make you something to eat while you find something you want to watch. Deal?”

“You can cook?” you ask, because it strikes you as odd that a man with everything at his fingertips would spend any amount of time in the kitchen.

“I can watch online tutorials,” he says, shrugging. “It’s not hard to follow directions.”

“What if I don’t want you to go?” you ask. You should be afraid of how reluctant you already are to be separated from him, all while not knowing if he’s a little unhinged, all while knowing this is temporary.

His eyes widen a little, as if surprised at your question that reveals how much you don’t want him to leave. “I can order something from the hotel kitchen. Would you prefer that?” He sounds pleased.

You nod, not trusting your voice. You’ve only just met him, and yet his presence is so comforting, despite the strange intensity of his answers to your questions, of his eyes following your every move.

He removes his own shoes, lines them up next to yours.

“Come,” he says, nudging you to climb further up on the bed, to lean against and rest your head on the soft padded headboard. He opens one of the nightstands, hands you the remote control to the television, and then calls the kitchen on his mobile phone, ordering what sounds like an entire banquet’s worth of food in a low voice.

When he’s done, he joins you in leaning against the headboard. You haven’t turned on the television yet.

“Do you think you ordered enough food?” you ask.

His eyes soften in a not-quite smile as he turns his head and meets your teasing gaze. “Do you think I ordered enough food?” he counters.

“If I were an army, you still would have ordered too much,” you say, smiling now.

He reaches over, runs his fingers up your arm, slides his arm over your shoulders and pulls you close to his side. “With the way you’ve already conquered me, an army isn’t such a far-fetched comparison for you.”

You groan. “Who knew such a good-looking guy would resort to such cheesy lines?”

He laughs softly. “You think I’m good looking?”

You look up at him from your cozy position of being cocooned in him again, your face so close to his that you can see the dark striations in his ruby irises. “You know you’re good looking,” you whisper.

He lifts his other hand to poke you gently in the forehead. “I don’t care if I’m good looking to anyone else. But I like knowing I’m good looking to you.”

You have no idea why he’s trying so hard to make you sound special to him. You’re already here. You already dumped your boyfriend as a result of less than ten minutes of talking to him.

“Then yes, I think you’re good looking.” You stare into his eyes, bathe in his warmth. The scent you were salivating over in the bar is simply Sylus’s scent. Not cologne, or laundry detergent. Just his skin. Something clean and primal. You want to lick him.

He returns your stare. “Why haven’t you turned on the television?”

You swallow, increasingly aware of being in his arms, on this big bed, alone with him, in a warm, quiet place. His scent, the beauty of his face. The way he touches you so gently. The way he knelt at your feet, like a large, powerful beast quietly asking for the affection of your hands in his fur.

“What if I changed my mind?” you ask him, biting your lip.

He lifts his hand, pulls your lip from your teeth with his thumb. Presses against your lip, gently, with its calloused pad.

“You can always change your mind, kitten,” he murmurs. “But what do you want to do instead of watching television?”

“I think you know,” you say, letting your tongue brush against his thumb.

“Do I? Why don’t you tell me?” He’s teasing you. Daring you to say what you want out loud.

“I want you to kiss me again,” you admit. He looks pleased with your honesty.

“And if I want to do more than kiss you?” he asks, sliding his thumb into your mouth. You suck on it, tasting the salt of his skin.

“Please,” you say. What else is there to say?

“Tell me what you like,” he says, pressing his thumb deeper into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, before withdrawing it so that you can answer him. Your mouth feels empty without him in it.

“What I like?” you ask, buying time. What do you like? Feeling loved. Being praised. Reassurance that you’re fine, just the way you are. But you know that’s not what he’s asking. What you like in bed will likely sound very boring to someone like him, with the world at his feet, money to buy all the pleasures he could dream of.

“Don’t overthink it,” he says. “If you could have me do anything for you right now, without restrictions, what would you want?”

It’s like the question he posed in the bar. If you could be anywhere else, doing anything else, what would you choose?

What does it matter if he knows that you’re boring? If you want someone to say something kind to you. That you want to be touched in a way that your boyfriend hasn’t touched you in a long time, if ever.

You take his big hand, place his palm on your cheek, nuzzle it. “I want you to say nice things to me, but only if they’re true. I want you to take the lead and make me feel good, and I want you to feel good too. I don’t want you to hurt me.” You tell him your most basic desires, as boring as they may be. If he laughs at you, if he pities you for your unsophisticated wants, then you can always get up and walk away. You walked away once tonight. You can do it again, and again. If nothing else, meeting Sylus has given you back the freedom that somewhere along the way you forgot you even had.

He leans toward you, running his nose alongside yours, breathing deeply. He kisses your cheek that isn’t covered by his palm, a soft brush of his lips. He kisses the side of your mouth, right at the corner. He turns your face towards his own, and he kisses you softly on the lips again. Leisurely, again and again. He smells so good. “I knew we were kindred spirits, because I watched you in the bar, listening to those assholes, and you were terrible at hiding your feelings. Your disgust, frustration, boredom. Clear, for anyone who cared to look. The same feelings I was experiencing in that room full of unrepentant, self-righteous bastards,” he says softly against your lips. “When you called me a douchebag, and tried to dismiss me with such arrogant disdain.” He kisses you again, hard, as if excited by the thought. “It was like looking at the truest version of you—principled, an empress dismissing a worm. I could tell that you were wasted on that cretin you dumped tonight. You’ve been wasted on everyone in your life who has failed to recognize your value. I was willing to offer you so much instead of just a simple drink, because I’ve been looking for an empress for my empire and not just another beautiful face.”

You can’t help it. You laugh. “I’m nobody’s empress.” You shake your head a little, bathing in his pretty words. You realize that he’s doing what you asked—saying nice things to you. In this moment, it doesn’t even matter if they’re true or not. The fact that he listened to what you wanted and is trying to give it to you, is enough. Tonight, you can pretend, for a little while, that his nice words are true. “I’m off-putting, too blunt. People don’t know what to do with me. I’d never be able to manage the diplomacy required for running an empire, especially one based on snake-charming like yours.”

“I don’t want you to run my empire. Leave the work and the worry to me. I just want your unvarnished company.” He kisses you again, slides his palm from your cheek to your hair, takes a fistfull of it, gently tugs your head back so your throat is exposed to him. “Be your off-putting, terribly honest self with me, and you will have given me everything I could want.”

You can’t help the little noise that comes out of your throat. He kisses your lips again, licking into your mouth. With your hair firmly in his grip, he tilts your head as he wishes, his tongue big, pressing deeper, slick against your own. He kisses you like this for what could be hours. Your body reacts, you can feel your heartbeat between your legs, the wetness pooling in your underwear.

He does what you asked of him. He takes the lead, slowly undressing you, still kissing you, his long, clever fingers working your top off your shoulders, freeing your breasts from your bra. He tosses them over the edge of the bed. You grow impatient, begin unbuttoning his vest, slide it off his shoulders. Repeat with his dress shirt. Once you are both bare from the waist up, he presses his chest against yours, rolling you underneath him, sinking into the covers on top of you. He palms the back of your neck, and you arch your back, pressing your breasts harder against his chest. The soft silver hair on his chest feels so good against your sensitive nipples.

He grunts, licking out of your mouth, kissing your cheek, your chin. You turn your head, sliding your hands into his hair, dragging your fingertips across his scalp. He shivers. You lick the shell of his ear and he grunts softly again. You drag your teeth along his earlobe, bite down gently on the soft flesh. He whimpers a little. You continue lapping at his ear for a few minutes, until the demands of your body let you know that this is no longer enough. You want more of him. You turn your head again, look back into his now flushed face, watch as he pants through his slightly open mouth.

“And you looked offended when I called you kitten the first time.” His smug smirk is undermined by his obvious excitement. “But here you are, lapping at my ear with your tongue.”

“And yet you’re the one mewling like a kitten as I lap your ear with my tongue,” you counter, reaching up and gently pinching his earlobe, still wet with your saliva.

His smirk takes on a feral edge. “Touché. But now it’s my turn to make you mewl. May I continue?”

You nod, and he wastes no more time, dragging open-mouthed kisses down your neck, between your breasts. He licks, nips, little bright flares of pain, sharp and quick, that you hope will leave marks for you to carry into the next few weeks. He drags the rest of your clothing off, your underwear, with his long, thick fingers, throws them over his shoulder. He hovers on all fours over you, trousers still on, his large dick clearly visible underneath.

“What would you like now? Do you want me to eat your pussy?” he asks, pearl-sheened hair falling over his forehead, messy from your hands in it.

You tense up a little. Your boyfriend hasn’t given you oral since the early days of your relationship. It always felt obligatory, perfunctory foreplay to ensure that you were wet enough for what he was really interested in. The idea of Sylus between your legs like that, his face so far away, not being able to tell if he’s actually enjoying it or just following a script, fills you with anxiety.

You shake your head no.

“No, you don’t want it, or no, you don’t think I want it?” he asks, reaching for the waistband of his trousers, unzipping his fly, all while not taking his eyes off of yours.

“Both,” you say, honestly. “I don’t want you so far away.”

He hums thoughtfully as he efficiently removes his pants, his black boxer briefs, and tosses them aside. He grunts softly as his dick, his heavy balls are freed from his clothing. They’re big, pretty, just like the rest of him. “Okay. We do what you want, sweetheart. If you change your mind, tell me.” He lifts his index and middle finger to his mouth, sucks on them slowly, working them in and out of his mouth while letting his gaze drift from your face, down to your breasts, lower, and then up again. When he removes them from his mouth, they’re soaked with his saliva. “I would love to lick you until you come on my face, but I can be patient till you're ready.” The image of you riding his face at his request sends another jolt of desire through you, layers into the want you already feel for him, throbbing between your legs. But before you can respond, he lowers himself on one elbow, settling a little bit on his side, and lets the wet fingers of his other hand dip between your legs. He slips them easily inside you. He watches your face as he leisurely pumps in and out of you, as his thumb presses down on your clit, as you start to move your body restlessly, because you want more than his fingers. There are only the sounds of your breaths mingled with his, the wet slide of his fingers inside you. You watch, mesmerized by the long, pale line of his strong forearm flexing in the light from the city spilling through the windows, his big hand twisting, thrusting, as he ensures that you’re wet enough, soft enough to take more of him.

“May I continue?” he asks, leaning down, kissing your lips, again just soft presses of his mouth against yours, little flicks of his tongue in between.

“Yes,” you breathe. He lifts his hand from between your legs and then palms his cock with it, slicking it with the combination of your own wetness and his saliva. He leans over you, nudges you between your knees with his wet hand, and you widen them for him. He kneels between your now open legs and lowers his hips until he’s nudging you, pressing in, the slide slick, slow. He watches your face for any signs of discomfort, but even though he’s big, you just feel full. Full in the way his voice fills your chest. Full in the way his sweet nothings fill your heart, despite knowing that they’re just empty, pretty words. He bottoms out, his hips flush against yours, and leans down. He kisses you again, this time opening his mouth wide, fucking into yours with his tongue in the same way that he begins to fuck into your body with his cock. Slow, deep, firm strokes. There is only the sound of his body moving in yours, his panting breath, the soft noises in your throat that you can’t stop with each of his thrusts. The only scents—clean sheets, clean sweat, the musk of his precum and your slick combined.

He feels so good. He watches your face, and when you do truly start to whimper as he promised, he adjusts the angle of his hips, the angle of his dick inside you, and you begin to openly moan, the pleasure filling you. You lift your arms, run your hands down his broad back, his muscles undulating under your fingers, palms, as he rocks both of your bodies.

“I love your hands on me,” he says, not stopping the sinuous roll of his hips. “One of the first things I noticed about you was your beautiful hands, holding the champagne flute.”

“They’re rough from lifting weights. I use them too much when I’m telling a story.”

Sylus leans down, kisses you hard, just shy of punishing.“I don’t want to hear your ex’s bullshit from your mouth while I’m inside you,” he commands. “You deserve more than what you’ve been allowing yourself.”

You’re shocked at the sincerity, the earnestness in his eyes. His defense of you against the voice in your head, your boyfriend’s occasionally demeaning voice, makes you want to cry.

“Allow me to give you what you deserve,” he orders, but it sounds like a plea in his strained murmur.

You know that he’s only doing as you asked. That he’s saying nice things to you, because you said that’s what you wanted of him tonight. Even though you asked for him to mean them, it’s okay that he doesn’t. You’re just so grateful for the way he’s asking you at every step what you want, asking if he can continue, telling you what you think you’ve needed to hear for a long, long time now—so grateful that you can’t help but play along, to indulge in the fantasy that this powerful, gorgeous man really does think you’re beautiful and deserving of a feast when you’ve been living a life of famine for so long.

“Okay, Sylus,” you say, and when you say his name, you feel him jerk inside you, and he begins to pump harder, faster. His body pressed against yours, the angle of his hips hitting you just right—you begin to feel close to coming. He seals your fate when he leans down and bites your shoulder, hard, a low pitched whine coming from his throat as he comes, as his hips stutter, as you come yourself, so turned on by the peak of his pleasure derived from your body that his pleasure cascades into and amplifies your own.

Slowly, the movement of his big hips slows and he melts into you, pressing you into the mattress, licking where he bit you. He makes no move to pull out of you—he simply continues to gently roll his hips, the wet sound loud in your ears, the warmth of his cum squelching between your bodies, pooling in the sheets underneath you.

He lifts his head, smiles at you. Nudges his nose against yours. “Was that okay?”

You sigh, body pleasantly heavy yet weightless. He feels so good blanketing you, still filling you. “It was passable,” you tease, smiling at him lazily.

He laughs low, smug, clearly not believing your obvious lie. “Room for improvement? Challenge accepted,” he murmurs, kissing you again, and you can feel his smile against your mouth.

He thrusts into you again, once, hard. You gasp. “Already ready to go again?” you ask in wonder.

“I should be thanking your ex for the low bar, but I’m pissed that you sound so surprised. What kind of absolute wretch wouldn’t want to worship you over and over again, all night, every night?” he demands.

You laugh. “No need to exaggerate.” You wrap your arms around his neck, run your hands up into his hair. “You’ve already done more than enough to make me feel good for a long time after tonight.”

“Oh, I’m not even close to being done,” he says, pumping into you again. “The question is, do you want me to fuck you like this again, or do you want to ride me?” he looks thoughtful for a moment, and then asks eagerly, “Are you ready to sit on my face yet?”

You stare at him, wide-eyed. “You’d let me sit on your face while I’m still dripping with your cum?” You think of your own boyfriend, how he always seemed slightly disgusted by the wetness from your body on his face anytime he did bother to give you oral.

“Stop thinking about him,” he orders. “Think about me. Unlike weaker men, I don't have a problem with eating you out when you’re filled with the combination of me and you. What could be more delicious?”

You find your body rousing again at the obvious sincerity of his words, his irritation that this is even a question.

“I’ll lick you clean till you’re screaming, and then make a mess in you again,” he promises, rolling both of your bodies so that he’s on his back, pulling out of you, already lifting you by the hips, encouraging you to drip your way up his chest, settle over his mouth. He looks up at you, a smile crinkling the corners of his gorgeous, bright eyes.

You learn that night that if nothing else, Sylus Qin is a man of his word. He worships you, over and over again. While you're regaining your breath after one round, he brings food from the banquet he ordered and feeds you with his hands. He then fucks you again, and again, until you’re both too tired to move. After, he gently wipes the combination of you and him from your body, he brings a bottle of water to your lips and tells you to drink, he buries his head in your neck and you fall asleep, held tightly in his arms.

In the morning, you wake slowly, feeling pleasantly exhausted, your muscles tired and aching from last night’s efforts. Where Sylus bit you and sucked bruises into your skin, pain throbs dully, but you enjoy the reminder that you’ll have something of his on you for the next few days, maybe weeks. You turn your head, take in his lovely face, relaxed in sleep, the dark sweep of his eyelashes across his pale cheeks. He looks younger while asleep, without the frown line revealing his maturity as it does while he’s awake.

He made you feel so loved last night. He reminded you of the possibility of what love can be. That you don’t have to settle for anything less than how he treated you for one special moment in time. You’d rather be alone, than be with someone who doesn’t make you feel how Sylus Qin made you feel for one night. You’re so grateful to this beautiful man for reminding you that you don’t have to settle. For being the impetus in making the decision to never settle again.

You lean down and press a kiss, soft as a feather, to his temple. He doesn’t stir.

You don’t want to be here when he wakes up. You don’t want to watch as the illusion fades, now that he’s conquered the challenge your initial resistance to his charms presented. You don’t want the polite distance, the subtle urging to get you out of his bed and out of his life again. You’d rather carry his strange, unexpected kindness with you as an unspoiled memory, a ruler with which to measure all future potential lovers.

You quietly slip out of bed, collect your clothing and shoes from last night. You dress in the hallway, slip into your shoes. You walk to the private elevator that opens directly into a little foyer off the kitchen that you hadn’t noticed last night. You feel at peace on the long ride down to the ground floor, as you step into the cold, white winter morning.

You are certain now. You’ll never forget Sylus’s eyes, until the day you die.

Sylus wakes up all at once, jerked awake by a feeling of wrongness. He pats the bed next to him, finds only cold sheets, where he should be feeling your warm, soft skin. He cracks an eye open and scowls when he confirms what his hands have already informed him.

You’re gone. You didn’t believe him, when he said he wanted to give you everything, not just last night, but for all the rest of your nights. He huffs a little. Of course you didn’t. The finest things in life are never easy to obtain, let alone keep. Your fuck-up of an ex didn’t understand that until it was too late.

Sylus would rather have woken up to your warm body, to have pressed himself back into your wet, soft spaces, made love to you over and over again until you passed out again.

But this is okay too. He has finally found you. In one night, he got rid of your poor excuse for a boyfriend, tasted the pleasure of your mind and your body, and placed a tracking app in your phone.

You may think that last night was all there is. You couldn’t be more mistaken. Sylus always did enjoy a good hunt.

Over the weeks that follow, you hear news that your ex-boyfriend’s law firm has come under intense fire for financial mismanagement of client funds. That some of the partners will be going to trial for tax fraud and other white collar crimes. Some have been disbarred and forbidden from practicing law for the foreseeable future. In the end, the firm can’t survive the reputational and financial blows, and it goes under.

You don’t even have to go to your ex’s place to pick up your belongings. Before you muster the energy to call him, to arrange for a time for you to come get them, they are inexplicably delivered to your temporary place by two intensely handsome delivery men, obviously twins, although one has an intensely scarred face. They wear matching crow tattoos that peek out from under their tight black t-shirts, winding around their big biceps and the back of their necks. When you ask if it was your ex who hired them, they laugh, make cryptic comments about your ex not having the financial resources to do much at all these days, and then leave, their chatter regarding a bet about how long it will take their boss to confess to his crush echoing down the hallway of your friend’s apartment building.

More weeks pass and you hear rumors of a new resistance movement called Onychinus by its proponents and critics alike. They sabotage banking networks, hack credit card companies, expose predatory insurance practices. They publish the banking information of prominent politicians, following the money to highlight the corruption from lobbying efforts by the worst industries in the country, in the world.

Onychinus’s disruption of the system intensifies, until one day, the first insurance CEO is shot in broad daylight. And then it’s like the killer, or killers, go down the list, and executives of all sorts of multinational companies are ending up dead.

All the while, despite your firm belief that you’d never see him again, you start bumping into Sylus Qin at the strangest, most random places. The grocery store. Going for a jog in the park. Out at the club, dancing with friends. It’s almost as if he knows where you’ll be, and then arranges to bump into you.

The world is changing around you. A quiet revolution occurs, where ordinary people demand better of their leaders, of the businesses they support. You think about what you asked him the night you met him, Why wait to destroy them until the system comes crashing down? —and his strange response: Then you shall have both.

The next time you ‘happen’ to run into him, you’re alone, going for a night walk along the bank of the river winding through your city. The city lights glitter in the water, thousands of stars blinking in the velvet dark.

He’s wearing a thick winter coat, but his neck is bare. You want to thread your own scarf around his throat, protect him against the biting, late winter wind.

“Funny seeing you here,” you say, smiling up at him.

“Very funny,” he agrees serenely. “Have you figured it out yet?” he asks, wine-dark eyes fixed on your face.

You furrow your brow, pretend to think. “You weren’t lucky, were you?” you ask.

He smiles. “No. My kitten wasn’t there when I woke up. I knew then that it would take more than just my words to convince her that I fully intended to replace her boyfriend after she finally had the good sense to dump him.”

You still don’t understand why this man first approached you. Why he treated you with such sincere, loving passion during the only night you spent with him. But you remember your words to him, and his answer implying that he would give you what you wanted. You’ve watched the world change faster than you could have imagined on the night you found yourself abandoned, once again, in the shark tank of your ex’s colleagues and employers.

“It’s you,” you say, stepping forward, taking the lapels of his coat in your hands.

“What’s me, kitten?” he asks, sly, unbuttoning his coat, opening it for you.

“The demise of my ex’s law firm. Onychinus. The new legislation, the quiet revolution.” You accept his invitation, let him pull you into his chest, let him wrap his coat around you.

“No, beloved, it’s you,” he says on a contented sigh. “I told you, I don’t need you to help run my empire. You are simply the reason for its existence.”

“Why?” you ask, resting your head against his chest, listening to his strong heartbeat.

“Would you believe me if I said that I met you in another life, and you gave me my name, taught me how to love, and how to be loved in return?”

You shake your head. “Of course not. This is the real world. This life is the only one we’ve got. That’s why it’s so important that we do it right, and don’t be assholes, and try not to leave the world worse than we found it.”

“An idealist,” he says in mock disgust. “I guess you’ll want to teach me about how to be a better person,” he says glumly. “But I’m not selling my yachts. I’ll buy you as many canoes as you want, though.”

You snort, remembering the night you met him, his offers to take you on a midnight yacht cruise, the use of his black card.

“What’s the real reason, Sylus?” you ask, hugging him tightly, savoring the warmth of his big body against the cold breeze off the water.

He rests his cheek on the top of your head. “Kitten wants a bedtime story?”

“If that’s what you want to call it,” you whisper.

“It’ll cost you. Sure you want to hear it?”

You nod, and Sylus begins to speak.

“It all began the night I was checking in with the hotel’s security team, and saw the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in an elevator on one of the security feeds. She was telling a story, gesturing with her hands, her face so lively, eyes so bright. I had to listen in. I had to hear what she was saying. She was funny, sharp-tongued. Her voice was beautiful. Compelling. She was clearly intelligent, and deeply angry at the world.” As Sylus speaks, snow begins to fall, big fat flakes swirling in the night. “I knew, immediately, that we were kindred spirits.” His arms tighten around you, almost taking your breath away. “And then I heard the tepid response of her date. His subtly demeaning remarks. As if he needed to put her down to make himself feel better, and to keep her from realizing how much better she could do than him.” He shrugs. “I knew that he didn’t deserve her, and that I had to have her. That I needed to pull out all the stops in order to make her mine. But just my luck, she didn’t believe me when I told her that.”

You turn your head, rest your chin on his chest as you look up into his red, red eyes. “So quick? Just that, and it was enough for you to decide you wanted to keep me?” It’s so hard to believe. How could he tell so much about you, from just a short, accidental encounter?

“I have an appraiser’s eye, darling. I can recognize the priceless, the one-of-a-kind, when I see it.” His self-satisfaction is palpable. Who are you to argue with him? If he thinks you’re worth it, then you will choose to believe him. He reminded you that you deserve it, the night you met, after all.

“Do you still want the job? Boyfriend replacement?”

“No,” he says, but before your heart can sink, he continues. “The cost of this bedtime story is high, I’m afraid. I’m too greedy to settle for boyfriend. I like the sound of husband. Soulmate.”

He leans down, stops a breath away from your lips. Relief floods through you. You smile at him, echo his words. “Then you shall have both.”

Then you kiss him.

You kiss him, and you spend the rest of your life kissing him. You never do forget his eyes, through all the long years, as the world continues to change around you, as Sylus spends every day trying to give you what he insists that you deserve, and you try to do the same for him, until the day you die.

End note: I'm a lying liar and said I was taking a break, but apparently Sylus won't leave me alone.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #my fanfic #i hope it's enjoyable!

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danibeanie · 4 months ago

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solar return observations! 🙊

🙊-a lot of people talk about mars 2nd house being a placement where you spend carelessly on money, but no one talks about how your style improves drastically with this placement. Mars Is in a venusian house after all , so you might find yourself dressing more like the sign your mars is in.

ex- leo mars might dress with pieces that are more extravagant like bold colors.

ex-taurus mars might dress with the intention of comfort and more relaxed colors.

🙊-uranus in 11th house is a very clear indicator of your friend groups always changing/ hanging out with people you never expected too.

ex-I had this my senior year of highschool and I was jumping from friend group to friend group😭 (all fun tho since it was my last yr and I wanted to venture out)

🙊-moon conjunct saturn is going to be a year that’s slightly depressing. when I had this I had the tendency to be very hard on myself.

ex-6th house, with your routines, health/fitness, anything that involves you working

ex-7th house, partnerships with others/lessons

🙊-having a stellium in your 7th house for that year means that your NEVER going to be lonely. You tend to attract friendships with out even trying.

🙊juno conjunct descendent is meeting someone that could potentially be your partner , but still learning a lot from them since it’s the opposite to your ascendent.

🙊jupiter in 7th house is a sign of healing and realization when it comes to partnerships

🙊mars conjunct chiron is healing through your anger/ having more trouble with masculines that year.

ex- I went through a huge heartbreak and I was reluctant to dating anyone for the rest of the year, AND I was venting out my anger.

🙊moon in libra and people are DEFINITELY gonna find you more charming that year.

🙊any leo placement for the year will get you more attention genuinely 😭

ex- I had venus conjunct mars and I really felt like a star (BUT IM A STARRRR)

🙊saturn in 1st house is maturing.. literally growing up and having to do things YOURSELF if u want to see progress.

ex- I have this rn for my solar return and not even kidding you, I’ve had to make decisions when it comes to work,school,friendships. I would always depend on other people to help me out, but I’ve been taking action on my own and learning how to do things myself.

-also you just want to be alone this yr , not even in a bad way , your just a bit to yourself.

🙊sag rising is you feeling like a baddie and always down to do anything/ feeling more freedom

🙊virgo rising is a bit more serious and I felt studious yet very critical of what I was doing that yr.

🙊cancer rising is EVERYONE loving you and comments on “she’s so nice”

🙊pisces rising so FAR is feeling very empathic about everything and putting yourself into other peoples shoes. ALSO check where your rising falls into your natal chart.

ex-I have this on my 10th/11th house and I noticed that most of my friendships this year have been other people taking advantage of them etc. so I have to come and help them out.

#astro observations #astrology content #astro community #solar return

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harmoonix · 2 years ago

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Beauty Astro Observations 💄💋

• Beauty, Glamour, Seduction •

💄•💄•💄•💄•💄•💄•💄•💄•💄•💄•💄•💄•💄

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F A T A L E

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• Asteroid Bella (695) shows your kind of beauty and how the world can perceive your beauty

Bella in Water Signs [Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces] can have a very feminine, graciously beauty, something like fatale beauty, big focus on their lips and eyes because these parts tend to be the best

Bella in Earth Signs [Capricorn, Virgo, Taurus] can have a very natural, sensualist beauty something like a fairy like and still being enchanting, big focus on their hair and hands they tend to look pretty

Bella in Air Signs [Aquarius, Libra, Gemini] can have a very electrifying attractive beauty something that strikes people's attention like a thunder big focus on their the way dress and the way they talk might enchant you

Bella in Fire Signs [Aries, Leo, Sagittarius] can have a very fiery magnetic beauty something like the an eternal flame of seduction big focus on their face and hips these parts make them stunningly beautiful

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M E S M E R I Z I N G

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• Asteroid Nymphe (875) your seductive personality/aura,

Nymphe in Air Signs [Gemini, Libra, Aquarius] bring an air of temptation to the people, you have something unique in yourself that can drive other people crazy

Nymphe in Earth Signs [Taurus, Capricorn, Virgo] blessed with a flow of grace and romantism, your sensuality is at maximum level when you show your face in a crowd, leave them with the mouth open besties

Nymphe in Fire Signs [Sagittarius, Aries, Leo] glamour in their veins and seduction on their lips you look so beautiful when you wear bright colors and something that can suite your energy, you are sensual and confident and you love it like this

Nymphe in Water Signs [Cancer, Pisces, Scorpio] the mesmerizing beauty is in their eyes, you have this sparkle energy around that can make others to really question their love life

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T E M P T A I O N

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• Asteroid Sirene [1009] your fatale shadow

Sirene in Water Signs [Scorpio, Cancer, Pisces] Sirene is at home in these signs and she can manifest your energy either to be light and angelic either dark and seductive, your shadow is sensual and dangerous

Sirene in the Fire Signs [Leo, Sagittarius, Aries] are not ashamed to show the world how fatale they can be when they are in the mood, their expressions and gestures can make other people to fall for them instantly, the shadow shows them that they are the hottest in the room

Sirene in Earth Signs [Virgo, Capricorn, Taurus] brings a rain of sensual petals upon these natives, fulfilling them with the gift of being attractive and wanted

Sirene in Air Signs [Libra, Gemini, Aquarius] comes with the most seductively voices ever heard by the humans, they put you under their spell and enchanted with a misterious personality. Your voice is giving the vibe of a siren singing

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M A G N E T I C

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💄 Venus in the 1st/2nd/6th/10th houses, you know you are the star and you like it, you are giving $ Im expensive honey! $ vibes

💄 Venus - Pluto aspects makes people to be obsessed with them, there is a magnetic field around those with the planet of love and destruction together in alignment

💄 Venus - Mercury aspects make the native to have a very beautiful voice and most people find their voices being very sexy and sensual

💄 Capricorn in the big 3 [Sun, Moon or Rising] have such a perfect bone structure and their aesthetic fits every concept, they are the models of this world, they repsent the gracious fashion

💄 Fire Signs and Air Signs over the 7th house sign can give a spouse/partner with a beautiful charisma, their spouses can radiate sensual vibes

💄 Lilith in Water Signs express their sensuality based on the feelings they have, if they are angry the emotions can get pretty dangerous and in the same radiating "Beautiful but dangerous"

💋 Lilith in the 1st/6th/10th/11th houses can get very known because of the way their sensuality is showed to the world, and sometimes without even them knowing it, is like you are sensual without any effort

💋 Aquarius in big 3 [Sun, Moon or Rising] always bring the new trends with them because they are the trendsetters of the zodiac, they are looking good in everything and are not afraid the show it to the world

💋 Venus in the 11th house and 5th house/Aquarius or Leo have this world appeal that can steal everyone's hearts, they are very liked in the society because of their uniqueness and humanitarian nature

💋 Juno aspecting the ascendant makes the other people to fall in love easily with the native, is like they desire you because they know you are what they want

💋 Lilith - Asc aspects makes the native to be pretty misterious in the crowd, also to be appear as very sensual to the other people and they can often talk about you

💋 Neptune - Asc aspects tend to look very beautiful and magically, something about them reminds you about some fairytale when you look at their face

🌹 Libra in Big 3 or Venus prominent [Sun, Moon or Rising] can give the native a big or good looking 🍑 and usually a very good looking body

🌹 Sagittarius in Big 3 or Jupiter prominent (Sun, Moon, Rising,) makes the native to appear thick and appealing to the world

🌹 Cancer in big 3 (Sun, Moon or Rising) or Moon prominent in the chart have very beautiful eyes, doe eyes who are very attractive

🌹 Scorpio in big 3 (Sun, Moon or Rising) or Pluto prominent in the chart have a very mysterious aura around them and that makes them appealing

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I didn't post nothing in 5 days feels like an eternity, but today 😍 I'm coming with a new post for you queens and kings 🏆💅🏼, its a very lovely post, hope you like it 😍🏆💅🏼 3 beautiful asteroids 💅🏼 and the rest are observations🌸 i hope you guys are fine and good 🥰 enjoy the post 🏆💄💋 much love and warm for everyone who reads my notes 🌸🌟

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supermoongirl9 · 1 year ago

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Things that could make you feel better when you're in a bad mood (anxious, sad or worst) based on your 5H :

Aries/Mars 5H = finding something to let out your emotional frustration such as exercising, going for a run or masturbation; dancing and shaking your ass; going to a sauna or a hammam; taking a cold shower to feel less overwhelmed physically.

Taurus/Venus 5H = eating your fav comfort food and not feeling guilty even if that's something deemed as unhealthy/junk food; wearing comfy clothes and not caring about how you look (just enjoying and chilling); ordering some take-out just because.

Gemini/Mercury 5H = reading a part of one of your fav books; watching an old cartoon from your childhood; using your hands for something artistic (even if it's about a silly doodle); having a good laugh with friends, watching reality-tv and not feeling guilty hahaha.

Cancer/Moon 5H = taking a long bath; spending time around children (bonus point if they're from ur fam); talking to your loved ones (give them a call!!); swimming naked somewhere; calling your mom or your women friends and pour your heart out.

Leo/Sun 5H = listening to positive affirmations; complimenting yourself in front of a mirror; wearing your fav outfit and parading somewhere; acting like you're the star of your own movie (it's needed sometimes); wearing something shiny.

Virgo/Mercury 5H = cleaning and reorganizing your things - can be only about your desk/work space as it helps with feeling less anxious mentally speaking; criticizing people u don't like w friends; doing a full skin care routine (face mask, 10 steps shit) while watching a show.

Libra/Venus 5H = dressing up and wearing a beautiful makeup/beautiful jewelry even if you're staying at home because sometimes, feeling beautiful is important; creating a pretty atmosphere in your bedroom (scented candle, nice bed sheets...) before sleeping.

Scorpio/Pluto 5H = masturbation/having sex with someone; spending the day naked at your place and enjoying the privacy; buying a new sex-toy; writing a list of your enemies; burning some incense and watching your fav horror movie; reading about the occult.

Sagittarius/Jupiter 5H = going on an adventure somehow (can be only about going to that new place you always wanted to try in your neighborhood); scheduling a trip somewhere; watching a documentary about your fav topic (and educating urself in the process).

Capricorn/Saturn 5H = seeking advices and words of encouragement from older people; doing something that makes you feel more in control of your life and congratulating yourself right after; spending some alone time without telling anyone how to reach you out.

Aquarius/Uranus 5H = indulging in your niche hobby no one knows about; dressing without caring about others' judgement and actually enjoying it; watching an experimental movie; listening to music and daydreaming.

Pisces/Neptune 5H = listening to your fav playlist (you need one that exists only to uplift your mood); writing cheesy poems just because; telling your loved ones how much you actually love them; spending time near the ocean.

#the 5th house #astrology #random piece of astro knowledge #natal astrology

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hl-obsessed · 3 months ago

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WARNING! it's a long one - 54 fics listed! 🙈💕✨

•°•°•°•°•°•

✨💎 Lend Me Your Broken Parts by @dizzy-pixie17

(M, 2,4k)It's been five years, but when Lottie doesn't know what else to do to console a hysterical Louis, she calls Harry.

And despite everything, Harry comes.

Look How Well I Play the Bare Truth by Missbeautifullywritten17

(NR, 8,7k) When recently single (to the general public, of course) Harry Styles gets nominated to an Oscar for playing a gay policeman in the 1950s he thinks it is the most wonderful and, at the same time, painful thing it could have happened to him. How is he supposed to say how much Tom and Patrick's story means to him without revealing he is being closeted himself? How is he supposed to go on with his life after receiving the most important award there is for simply playing the bare truth? Well, maybe the rainbow dress he is wearing would be enough of an statement...

Or, the one where Holivia stunt ends, dwd flops and My Policeman gets lots of oscar nominations. Now, it is March 2023, Louis can't be there with him even though his bearding relationship with Eleanor and bbg are already done and he is in the process of coming out himself (apparently, coming out was one thing, but them being a couple... that was perjudicial for their careers and shall remain hidden). So what he does instead is a rbb photocall with the one and only Niall Horan while they watch Harry on the TV screen.

Meanwhile, Harry Styles remembers his past and finds himself on stage with an oscar in hand and, perhaps, his only chance to be free.

Cigarettes and Fuckin’ on the Windowsill by carmelstyle

(NR, 2,4k) Harry comes back from Italy after filming “My Policeman” and stunting. Louis isn’t happy about that last bit.

Or: Sex in front of a window.

Rest in Peace by @stfustucky

(M, 2k) Sometimes, when he looks back on things, there’s a small, angry part of Louis that wishes he’d never met Harry. If he’d just missed that audition, if he’d just stayed in bed, he never would have fallen in love with curly hair and bright green eyes and dimples he’s never gone a day without kissing since. Most times, when he looks back on things, Louis blames himself. The very solar system revolved around Harry and Louis had the closest orbit, flying close enough to feel that warmth in every atom of his body. He should have been paying closer attention, should have opened his eyes and stared into the sun and seen what was happening.

Harry has inoperable brain cancer at the age of 26. Louis watches the love of his life slip away.

guide you home by @nauticalleeds

(G, 0,8k) It’s been a while since Harry’s been able to appreciate the night sky, been a while since his life wasn’t full of hectic schedules and interviews and jet lag. He looks at the sky a little longer, watches the stars blink back at him and thinks about another bright presence he’s been missing.

Taking out his phone from his pocket, he thumbs at his screen to open a new message.

Full moon tonight, he types, and presses send. He keeps the app open, expecting the message to come instantly.

It does.

the peace ring is back in louis' ass? by @greeneyesfriedrice

(E, 1,2k) peace ring adventures with harry and louis! probably not what you expect!

Singing My Name Like Your National Anthem by @letthemusicmoveyou28

(T, 1k) “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Louis just scoffs at that, dismissing Harry quickly yet lovingly in a way that only he has ever seemed to manage. “Good luck getting me to be anywhere else love.”

Harry sighs. “Louis you can’t afford to get sick too. Your album release is next week, you’re booked solid.”

Louis just shrugs. “And if I get sick then we’ll rebook all of it. Or damn it all to Hell for all I care. As much as I want my fans to hear the album, there is nothing more important to me than you.”

✨ Second Time's A Charm by @dizzy-pixie17

(M, 4,7k) “Harry?” Oli Wright said nervously into the phone. “Um… How… how’re you doing?”

Harry’s heart was already picking up speed because there was only one reason Oli ever called him after midnight.

“I’m alright,” Harry answered. “What’s going on? Is it Louis?”

“Uh… yeah,” Oli admitted. “There’s been an accident.”

The one where Harry finds out Louis broke his arm. For the second time in one year.

A Boyfriend for Christmas

(G, 5,5k) Louis' co-worker, Gemma, asks Louis to be her date for Christmas dinner. She needs a fake boyfriend to keep her family from harassing her about her singlehood. Louis adores her, so he doesn't mind helping out--until he meets Gemma's handsome younger brother.

Feeling It Now by @ireallysawanangel

(E, 7k) When Louis hooked up with a hot guy in the bathroom at a music festival, the last thing he was expecting was for that guy to be one of the headlining acts at the festival.

✨ Seal The Deal by @itsnotreal

(NR, 2k) Harry’s been getting Louis Tomlinson’s mail for months, even though he told the mailman that he lived in apartment two and Louis lived in apartment eight.

✨ It's Thursday. Let's Get (un)Dressed by @bananaheathen

(E, 9k) When Louis is peer-pressured into downloading TikTok over the holidays, he fully expects to hate it. And he does hate it. All of it. Well... except for aspiring OOTD influencer, @ harrystyles.

Your Silhouette Over Me by orphan_account

“Alright don’t forget the mission, get Louis laid,” Louis shouted over the music.

“Don’t know who Louis is, but I support it.”

Louis turned towards the contributing voice and saw the bartender leaning in front of him, his elbows resting against the lip of the bar. He had brown hair that fell in loose curls just above his collar bones which were perfectly on show due to the fact that his shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his abdomen. The shirt’s sleeves were cuffed up along his inked bicep and the pattern was something that Louis would expect a dad on vacation to wear, not a young bartender.

“He’s Louis,” Zayn said, jutting his thumb in Louis’ direction.

The bartender nodded approvingly, “then I definitely support it.”

~~~~~~

Or the one where Louis went out one night after work, wanting to get laid, and then ended up meeting a bartender named Harry Styles.

you drive me wild (you know you do) by @missandrogyny

(E, 6,6k) Their management informs them that they have an interview right before the ARIAs, and it isn't until he's in a suit, seated on a couch between Liam and Zayn, that he gets the idea.

The interviewer, Angus, smiles at them, right before the cameras roll on, and a metaphorical light bulb goes off inside Louis' head. He's perfect. Well, not as perfect as Harry, but enough. He's attractive, attractive enough to drive Harry crazy, and he doesn't even think of the consequences of his actions, just decides right then. It's all Harry's fault anyway. Louis should be allowed to have a little fun.

(or: Louis flirts with the Australian interviewers and Harry gets possessive.)

Love In Conversation by @hellolovers13

(T, 4,9k) King Arthur Baking Hotline.

Your bread fell flat. Your cookies crumbled. Who do you turn to? The King Arthur Baker’s Hotline.

Louis has a severe baking breakdown.

Thankfully, he gets help from baking-hotline operator Harry.

✨💎 i've secretly always wanted to be yours (and for you to be mine) by @bottomhaztoplou

(M, 1,6k) Harry has just presented. Louis needs to know that he's okay.

Only you by @germericangirl

(E, 4k) Harry comes home from filming a particularly intimate scene for My Policeman. Louis is jealous, Harry doesn’t understand why. They talk it out, more or less…

✨ Whoever, However by @brooklyn-babylon / @twopoppies

(E, 8,9k) Louis could feel his heart rate pick up as he positioned the camera and Harry slowly stood up. They both knew what came next –– it had been clearly outlined in the advert Harry answered. The studio Louis worked for was filming a new series of camboy videos. Louis’ job was to make it look like amateur porn –– sweaty, sensual, dirty –– but well lit and edited. He was an artist, thank you very much.

—-

Or: Louis has a much better day at work than he’d expected.

home at last by @greeneyesfriedrice

(E, 1,9k) Harry turns, a wide smile on his face. Louis stands in the doorway to their shared bedroom, his right arm held close to his body and in a makeshift sling.

He makes sure not to fully ram into his husband, but it’s been almost one month, so sue him if he’s excited.

Everything by @tommokat

(E, 4,3k) He’s got a job he loves, fans he adores, friends to call on and family to claim. He’s traveled the world, broken records, set new ones. He’s 13 years into a relationship with the love of his life, the man he can’t wait to start a family with. He’s a three-time Grammy award winner getting railed by his husband in the back of a SUV in the middle of LA traffic. He’s got everything. What more could he want?

Post Grammy’s SUV Celebration Sex

Devil in my brain, whispering my name @lunarheslwt

(E, 9k) Or, Louis, a demon, shows Harry, an angel, just how good it can feel to give in to temptation and sin.

Only You, Always by @larryficwriter

(NR, 5,5k) “Hey Haz,” Louis says, tensing because he can tell that something is wrong. Out of the corner of his eye, Louis sees Liam hurriedly busying himself with the Xbox.

Harry walks over to Louis, eerily calm. Louis’ gulp is so loud he’s almost sure that Niall and Zayn could have heard it. He leans down, his breath tickling at Louis’ ear. Honestly, Louis can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine

“Bedroom.” Harry practically growls into Louis’ ear and then he walks away, just as calm.

For a second Louis is frozen. Just the tone of Harry’s voice has Louis twitching in his trousers. Louis knows what’s about to happen, he can just tell. And it is a far cry from the fight that he had been expecting. Louis gulps again, looking over to Liam. The tips of Liam’s ears are flaming and Louis’ about seventy-three percent sure that Liam had heard what Harry had whispered. Liam is specifically avoiding Louis’ gaze. And then it hits him that he should be up; he should be moving.

or how Harry reacted to the "Lilo Kiss" incident

Won't You Please Come Around by @allwaswell16

(M, 5,8k) Harry has lived in London for a month, and so far the only friend he's made is his sister's cat, Mr. Whiskers. When the lock on the window breaks, Mr. Whiskers begins exploring his new neighbourhood a bit too thoroughly and brings back mementos of his escapes.

Or a Valentine's Day story where Harry has a really fit neighbour, and his cat is a thief.

I Hope You Choke (on those words) by @imogenleewriter

(E, 3k) Harry Styles had been head of security for concert venues for over eight years.

Never in his career had he seen a musician as reckless when it came to personal safety as Louis Tomlinson.

After making his job a living nightmare, Harry decided he needs to talk some sense into Louis.

If only there were some way to shut him up.

You Could Give That Aspirin the Headache of Its Life by @letthemusicmoveyou28

(M, 3,6k) Louis had once heard that the chances of being struck by lightning are 1 in 700,000. He wonders now, how those odds compare to randomly being seated next to your ex boyfriend on a 10 hour flight.

Honestly, if the universe is going to insist on ruining his life, he really would have preferred the lightning thing.

(Or the one where Louis is a football player who gets stuck on a flight with his ex-boyfriend Harry. The universe might be conspiring against him, or is it?)

You Can See It with the Lights Out by @larryatendoftheday

(M, 8,6k) In a universe where you know as soon as you meet your soulmate, Harry's been shaking hands his whole career, waiting for the one.

Things Unsaid by @londonfoginacup

(G, 4,4k) Or, where you have a tattoo of the first thought your soulmate has when they see you.

✨ If the world was ending, you'd come over, right? by @enchantedlandcoffee

(T, 6,3k) "Is Harry with you?" Louis blurted out, his free hand tapping anxiously against his knee.

"Louis?"

"Yeah. Is Harry with you?"

On any other occasion, Louis knew Niall would have yelled at him for calling in the middle of the night. But Niall must've sensed the urgency in his tone, his voice immediately taking on a lighter touch.

"Yeah. Yeah, he's been staying in the spare room. Why? Do you want me to get him for you?"

"No!" Louis panicked. "Just- check on him please? Make sure he's breathing and everything?"

✨ My Arm Might Be Broken, But I Won't Be Broken Down by @boosbabycakes28

(T, 2,4k) Louis broke his arm for the second time and he is bored out of his mind. He has nothing better to do than mess with his husband.

✨ Together We're the Greatest by @hellolovers13

(E, 4,6k) “How the fuck does this always happen to you?” Louis huffed, pulling Harry's limp body into the half fallen apart car he'd borrowed for this. Well, he didn't intend to give it back, really, but insurance covered theft, did it not? And this thing was basically held together with duct tape and good faith, so really, the former owners should thank him for taking it off their hands.

It's not the first time Louis has to stitch Harry back together, but Louis will make sure it is the last

With the Bomb Lighting by @letthemusicmoveyou28

(E, 4k) “Hey mate, sorry for the delay. Pop divas I swear…”

Harry’s eyes jolt open with record speed and he notes in horror that the man that had been filling his fantasies mere seconds ago is now filling his laptop screen.

“Holy shit, is that your dick?”

(Or the one where Harry is doing Zoom interviews to promote his new album, but his time management skills are lacking. Louis is the writer interviewing Harry for Rolling Stone when he accidentally gets an eye full. They figure it out).

the sweetness of your words knows no bounds in making my heart leap by @bottomhaztoplou

(M, 1,4k) At the end of his heat, Harry writes a letter.

At the beginning of his rut, Louis writes one back.

Meant To Be (Arse First) by BayouSexual

(T, 4,8k) Zayn groans in response, and Louis can hear the slow rustle of his bed sheets in the background. “Is it another ‘you woke up in the back parking lot of a Tesco’s with no pants and I need to come get you before the cops do’ panic or more of a 'I can stay in my bed and lend you an ear’ kind of panic, because I drank a lot more than you did last night, Lou.”

“Uhh,” Louis replies eloquently, “more like an 'I have two giant, blood red handprints on my naked arse, and no, they aren't from a good shag’ kind of panic.”

------

Or the one where your soulmate mark appears on your body where they first touch you and stays there until they touch you for the first time.

Aka the one where Louis's soulmate must like bums.

Makes Me Feel Alive by @itsnotreal

(E, 8,3k) Louis hated when people came in to get tattooed and couldn’t sit still— bunch of fucking squares is what they were. If only that had been the issue for his newest client.

Completely Oblivious by @itsnotreal

(G, 1k) “Are we dating?” Harry looked very confused.

Louis huffed, “That’s what I’m asking you!”

Or an interaction with a stranger helps these two finally figure their shit out.

✨💎 Your secret's safe with me by @lightwoodsmagic

(M, 7,4k) He knew almost everything about Haz, considered him his best friend. He knew his favourite movies and books, how he liked his coffee, knew how many pets he had and what he was most afraid of. Louis knew how to calm him down when he was panicking, and that he’d lost his virginity to his ex-boyfriend when he was 17. He knew that Haz had curly hair, green eyes, that he was tall and considered himself slightly awkward. He knew his Instagram account that only had aesthetic pictures or ridiculous jokes, but in the all the time that Louis had known him, he’d never learnt, or been allowed to know, Haz’s full name, what he sounded like, or what he looked like.

Louis didn't care.

Or, when Louis' favourite singer comes back and announces he's performing again, him and the rest of his group chat decide to go. When Haz, the man Louis' fallen in love with without meeting him, says that he can't, Louis tries his best to convince him with a drunken phone call, hearing his voice for the first time. It's not until he's at Royal Variety that he swears he can hear it again.

✨ Let The Ocean Worry About Being Blue by @greenblueish

(E, 5,6k) In a society where young adults go through the so-called Colour Test which determines their affiliation to a Colour - Blue, Yellow, Red or Green - and thus where they'll live, work and socialise for the rest of their lives, Harry is finally about to take the Test. Born and raised in Yellow, he met his boyfriend when he was still a teenager - against the government's recommendation. Louis, however, changed from Yellow to Blue two years ago. The problem: Harry needs to receive a Blue Test result as well, because a relationship between two people who live in different Colours is forbidden.

The Touch of Your Hand by @larry-hiatus

(E, 8,2k) Louis has decided to bite the bullet and get himself a dick piercing. He knows it’s going to hurt, but what he doesn’t know is how to calm down when he finds himself on the brink of a panic attack in front of the incredibly attractive piercer, Harry. Luckily, Harry is really sweet and offers to help ease his nerves.

You Don’t Have to Be Lonely Tonight by @neondiamond

(G, 2k) Louis is stuck working the Christmas day shift at the coffee shop. Harry is the sad stranger who comes in to spend the day there.

✨ In Jest by @londonfoginacup

(T, 4,8k) Louis, who smiles at Harry as he reclines in his chair. Louis, whose soulmark is visible thanks to his low-cut top.

Louis, Harry’s soulmate, who seems to either be blissfully ignorant of that fact or maliciously ignoring it.

Harry would really like to know which.

✨ you give me feelings that i adore by @alwaysxlarrie

(T, 7,6k) Harry doesn’t mean to fall in love with Louis’ scent when they first meet after the Alpha joins Harry's study group, but after Harry leaves a sweater behind by accident and it comes back smelling like Louis, he can’t really help it. Nor can he really help continuing to leave his things behind in hopes that Louis will take them home and drench them in his wonderful, mouth-watering scent. He just has to hope Louis will play along.

Or, 5 times Louis scents Harry's things and the 1 time Harry returns the gesture.

We All Scream for Ice Cream by @wishingforloushair

(M, 3,1k) Harry snatched the flyer back off the noticeboard, waving it at Liam. “BJ in your PJs?” he repeated.

“What? I’m not giving you a blowjob, Harry,” Liam said, looking slightly affronted.

“See?” Harry rounded on Niall. “No one thinks of Ben and Jerry’s when they read BJ.”

“Well, they should,” Niall said, snatching the flyer back. “Not everyone is a disgusting heathen like you two.”

“It says BJ in your PJs?” Liam asked, sounding aghast. “On all the flyers?”

“You told me it was catchy!”

When Resident Advisor Liam left his boyfriend Niall, and Niall's roommate Harry in charge of advertising the end of semester ice cream celebration for their hall residents, he should've expected it to end in disaster. Niall created an entirely inappropriate flyer, offering a very different experience than what they were planning to offer. When distributing the flyers, Harry meets Louis, an older student studying Drama, who is far more interested in BJs that doesn't involve Ben and Jerry's.

AKA crack/fluff with a bit of smut, based off of that one viral poster 'BJs in your PJs'

✨💎 Odds Are That We Will Probably Be... by @lululawrence

(NR, 0,6k) From the moment Louis learned no one would survive past the evening, the only thing he knew was that he had to get to Harry.

✨ I Knew From the First Time by @lululawrence

(NR, 6,1k) Or the one where Harry definitely doesn't take a sneaky pic of Louis on the Tube. Absolutely not. (Except maybe he does.)

All You Want's Under Your Nose by @wishingforloushair

(E, 3,5k) Louis decides to treat himself to a new sex toy, but is perplexed when he sees a man in the shop placing each vibrator against the tip of his nose and sneezing. Curiosity gets the better of him, and it turns out the man, Harry, is a sex-god who knows far too much about sex toys and promises Louis that if a vibrator makes him sneeze it will definitely make him come. Of course there's only one way to find out for sure...

On Love's Doorstep by @hellolovers13

(T, 1,6k) Harry Styles: a day in the life

☑ Stuck in a dress

☑ Abandoned by his best friend

☑ Date with hot neighbour

All in all, not the worst day ever

If Life Is a Photograph by @allwaswell16

(T, 2k) Harry gets plucked out of the crowd to take Louis’ crew pic on stage in Guadalajara.

It Was Electric Touch by @allwaswell16

(E, 2,2k) Harry, assistant to The Snuts' manager, has been indulging in fantasies about the headliner and founder of the Away From Home Festival, Louis Tomlinson. He gets the chance to indulge in the real thing at the after party.

Just Two Stars Passing By by QuickedWeen

(E, 5,1k) Harry blew up on TikTok and became a fashion commentator during the pandemic. Now, all of a sudden, big channels are asking him to cover their red carpets and premieres. Somehow he ends up covering arrival fashion for the 2024 Euros, and somehow Louis Tomlinson already knows his name.

A Late Summer Day by @gettingaphdinmomo

(NR, 0,5k) Today

I realized

you are home.

I almost told you

I love you.

Figure This Out by @haztobegood

(E, 2,4k) Louis is everything Harry could have imagined when he’d typed “silver fox enthusiast” into his Grindr profile. Too bad he's probably scared Louis off by giving him too many expensive gifts.

✨ Booked and Busy by @insightfulinsomniac

(E, 9,2k) Booking the Away from Home Festival is the biggest opportunity of Harry’s up-and-coming career to date. It’s just an added bonus that the festival is hosted and headlined by his longtime celebrity crush, world-renowned rockstar Louis Tomlinson.

Despite his excitement, doesn’t expect Louis to watch his set. Or to visit his dressing room ahead of his show to wish him good luck.

Or to flirt with him.

But seeing as this is the most monumental night of Harry’s life to date, he might as well make the most of it.

***

A fluffy, smutty PWP where Harry performs at AFH 2024 and gets a lot more than he bargained for.

.🌸🌸🌸.

✨ you gave me a ring, lad! by @theeliampayne

(G, 0,2k, Liam & Louis) In which Liam visits Louis at a concert and "give me a ring, lad!" is taken more literally than Louis intended.

like air to me by @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

(M, 5,3k, Louis/Zayn) Five times Louis’ smoke break brings back memories of Zayn and one time it brings him back to Zayn’s doorstep.

.🌸🌸🌸.

🌿 part 1 (+50k) 🌿 part 2 (30-50k) 🌿 part 3 (10-30k) 🌿

#my fic recs #28th appreciation #larry fic #larry fics #hlficlibrary #larry stylinson fic #larry stylinson fanfic #larry fanfic #fic rec #HAPPY 28TH!!!

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obsessed-with-fake-men · 2 months ago

Text

looking at you

when your movie date with Jeremy doesn't go how he planned, he has you put on a private show...not that you know he's pulling the strings

Jeremy Frazier x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Content warnings: nsfw, mdni, dubcon, stalking/peeping, mutal(?) masturbation, he calls you a slut

Author's note: This fic can be read as a follow up to forever or as a standalone. Jeremy is still a pervy creep and will continue to be one.

Word count: ~3300

Jeremy loves looking at you. Honestly, it might be his favorite thing to do. He’s slyly watching you now, carrying yet another box of belongings up to your room. God you’re beautiful. He loves the way you puff out air to get a piece of hair out of your face when your hands are full. And the way you put your hands on your hips when you’re lost in thought. And not to mention how cute you are when you think no one is watching. How you dance around in your panties, singing into your hair brush. A little strip tease just for him.

He sees you pause and look down, then pick up a paper airplane.The note he sent your way moments ago, unfurling in your hand.

meet me at 7, bring popcorn - j

Your eyes dart to the window, searching. For him. But Jeremy is safe in the shadows, free from your gaze. He watches you shrug and draw the curtains. Not to worry, he’ll see you soon.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Jeremy is pacing next to his house. He’s waiting for you. It’s 6:58 and you’re not there.

Fuck what if you don’t show?

With your curtains blocking his view, Jeremy can’t be sure whether you’re coming or not. He glances at his watch: 6:59.

I’m such a delusional idiot of course y/n isn’t coming.

The chime of the bell tower begins, signaling the top of the hour. Jeremy runs a hand through his hair in exasperation.

What would you want with a pathetic, no good, murde-

The creak of a door startles him out of his thoughts. Head jerking toward the sound, he sees you.

The tightness in his chest evaporates instantly and he unclenches fists he hadn’t consciously made.

You look divine in the light of the setting sun. Jeremy’s eyes roam your figure, he notices you changed from what you were wearing earlier. The tight sundress hugs your upper body and is absolutely inappropriate for the October evening.

Jeremy feels a smug sort of satisfaction at the thought that you chose it just for him.

You clear your throat.

“Like what you see?” you tease with a giggle.

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and gesturing at your dress with the other.

“What can I say, you make me speechless.”

Warmth rises to your cheeks as you smile shyly.

“Ummmm anyway,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I brought the goods.”

You produce a bag of pre-popped popcorn from behind your back.

“Skinny Pop?” Jeremy asks dubiously, quirking an eyebrow.

You shove his arm playfully.

“My mom heard somewhere that the microwave stuff gives you cancer or something,” you shrug.

“We wouldn’t want that, now would we,” Jeremy jests.

You swear you see a dark gleam in his eyes, like a wolf staring down a doe before striking. But upon blinking you’re left looking into the warmth of his brown irises.

“Soooooo, are we heading inside?” you ask, moving to walk toward the house.

Abruptly, Jeremy grabs your hand and halts you in your tracks.

You feel like you’ve touched a live wire as an initial cool jolt of electricity runs through your hand and arm, quickly fading to a warm tingle.

“Actually, I have a surprise for you,” he says with a grin, pulling you toward the backyard.

Turning the corner, you see a rustic treehouse glowing from within.

“Woah, a treehouse!” you exclaim. “I didn’t know this was back here.”

Jeremy watches you look up in awe. The lights of the house reflecting like stars in your eyes.

“Yeah, I come here to get away from everything,” he sighs. “It’s the only place I feel like I can really think, you know?”

Glancing up at him, you see a melancholic expression you know well and you give his hand a squeeze. “Yeah, I definitely get that.”

Jeremy lifts your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, he gives them a light kiss.

“Ladies first,” he murmurs, nodding toward the rungs leading up the tree.

Reluctantly, you relinquish his hand and begin the climb. Leaning against the trunk, Jeremy looks up to enjoy the view. Your dress flicking up, tantalizes him with each rung you mount. Squinting, he can almost make out the color of your panties. Jeremy makes a silent vow that he’ll know the answer by the end of the night.

When you reach the top you pause to gaze around the tree house. Its simple, worn wood was made enchanting - illuminated by fairy lights and the soft glow of a television. There was a nest of comforters and pillows on one side and an old CRT TV with a built-in VCR on the other.

Arms snake around your waist, seeming to appear out of thin air. Jeremy pulls you into him, pressing your back to his body.

“What do you think?” he whispers into your ear. His cool breath feels like the autumn breeze, leaving a trail of goosebumps down your neck.

“It’s beautiful,” you sigh.

Jeremy spins you in his arms, hugging your waist tightly.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. Leaning down, he glances from your eyes to your lips and back.

You do the same, heart racing as you see his adam’s apple bob. Pushing up on your tiptoes, you almost close the gap between your mouths.

“Is this the part where we kiss?” you ask breathily, looking up at Jeremy through fluttering lashes.

He answers with action - a palm flat on your back, pulling you together. His lips are soft, but you feel the need, the urgency behind the kiss. You grip the front of his soft flannel in one hand, attempting to pull him even closer to you.

Jeremy groans into you, he loves knowing that you’re just as desperate as he is. Testing your limits, he nips lightly at your bottom lip. You let out a soft moan and Jeremy quickly swallows it, heart soaring at the sound. Threading your fingers through his messy brown hair, you feel a dizzying weightlessness.

Jeremy feels it too. Peeking his eyes open just a crack, he realizes the two of you are levitating.

Oh shit.

He pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours. Willing his rasping breath to come easier, he feels his feet settle back on the ground. In an attempt to keep your suspicions at bay, he pulls your body close in a tight hug before setting you down. You blink up at him, dazed. Leaning down, Jeremy kisses your forehead.

“At this rate we’ll never watch the movie,” he chuckles.

You settle into the blankets as Jeremy pops the VHS of Casablanca into the old television. As the tape slides into the machine, he sits next to you.

The title card appears in curly cursive script and the black and white film begins in earnest.

Leaning over you whisper, “I didn’t realize it was a classic!”

“I hope that’s alright,” he says, glancing over at you.

You nod vigorously and Jeremy chuckles, returning his attention to the screen.

“But the others wait in Casablanca,” the narrator’s mid atlantic voice bellows out. “And wait and wait and wait.”

Jeremy mouths along. He’s memorized all the movies in the house by now, and he’s always identified with that line. But now, he wonders if all this time he’s been waiting for you.

The two of you are sitting a respectable distance apart, as is you weren’t trying to swallow one another moments before. You both have one hand strategically placed in the space left unoccupied. Pretending to play with the blankets, a ruse to inch fingers closer and closer. Finally you touch, it’s a light, innocent brush. Over in a second. But the electricity is there again, sending a shiver down your spine.

Jeremy’s head snaps to you.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

Before you can reply, his flannel is off and he’s helping you into it. The worn fabric smells earthy, like fallen leaves and wet dirt. It’s an odd but comforting smell, and you pull it tightly around yourself.

“C’mere,” he says, opening his arms for you to snuggle into. And snuggle you do. Laying your head on his chest, you drape a leg across his hips. Jeremy wraps his strong arms around you, holding your body to his.

The two of you stay like this for a while, unmoving. Relaxing into the steady rise and fall of Jeremy’s breathing, you notice how cold he must be in only his t-shirt. Just as you start to feel guilty about taking his flannel, Jeremy begins to trace light circles onto the exposed flesh of your thigh. His touch is maddeningly gentle and leaves a trail of burning desire. Two can play this game.

You softly run your nails from his chest down across his stomach. Jeremy’s breath hitches as his muscles tense under your touch. He grips your soft flesh, squeezing your thigh tightly once before returning to those damn circles.

Biting back a moan, you turn your head to trail featherlight kisses along his collarbone, up his neck and to his adam’s apple. His cock twitches against your leg as Jeremy's wandering fingers trail up to cup your ass. You moan, playfully nipping at his jaw.

“You’re not paying attention,” Jeremy groans.

“I am paying attention, I promise,” you giggle. Shifting your weight to rub against his growing erection.

“I'll show you paying attention,” he growls.

Pushing back to sit up against the wall, Jeremy pulls you onto his lap.

You look so pretty perched there, with your hands resting on his chest, blinking those beautiful eyes at him. One hand finds its home on your hip, and he gently strokes your cheek with the other. He would do anything for you in that moment. If you said you wanted the moon, he’d spend eternity pulling it down from the heavens.

“Here’s looking at you, kid,” Jeremy whispers, in perfect time with the movie.

You giggle and your plush lips beckon his attention and grabbing the back of your neck, Jeremy pulls your mouth to his.

His aggression takes you by surprise, causing you to gasp. Jeremy wastes no time delving his tongue into your open mouth. You freeze at the sudden intrusion. Jeremy softly rubs his thumb along your waist, coaxing you to relax into the kiss. He nips and sucks at your tongue, swallowing the moans you spill as he grinds his hips up into you.

Jeremy snakes a hand up to your throat, squeezing gently and you practically melt for him. Arching your back, you break the kiss as you thrust your tits into his face. He releases your waist to take them gladly. Grabbing your soft flesh, he groans. You’re not wearing a bra.

My little slut.

Pulling at your nipples through the fabric, you gasp and squeeze your legs around his thighs. Claiming your lips once again, Jeremy decides it’s time to find out what color your panties really are. Grabbing a handful of your ass, he slowly pulls your dress up and up and…you pull away, panting.

You’re so beautiful with your face flushed and eyes dark, he thinks this must be a preview of what you look like when you orgasm and he can’t wait to find out. As he starts to pull your dress up even farther, you put a hand on his chest, halting his action. Turning, you look over your shoulder to see that the credits are rolling.

“Shit!” you laugh. “It’s over!”

Jeremy grabs the remote and dangles it from two fingers.

“It doesn’t have to be over if you don’t want it to…”

“Okay that’s true,” you giggle, “I'll actually watch it this time. I promise.”

You hold out a pinky to him and Jeremy links his long finger with yours.

“I won’t hold you to it,” he winks

Laughing, you roll off of his lap. He groans at the loss of contact.

“Is it okay if we don’t go any further tonight?” you ask, looking up at him with innocent eyes.

“Of course,” he sighs, cupping your face.

He gives you a light kiss on the forehead and you snuggle back up against him. Rewinding the movie, Jeremy finds the last part you remember.

What a fucking tease. He’s going to make you pay for this later.

You’re fully engrossed in the movie this time and Jeremy lightly plays with your hair. All the while he is dreaming up just what to do to get you back.

When the movie finishes you reluctantly sit up.

“I guess I should head home,” you yawn. “Unless you need help taking all this down?”

“Nah, I’ll take care of it later,” Jeremy replies. “Let’s get you home.”

Jeremy descends the treehouse steps first, something about being there to catch you if you slip. Hugging his flannel tight to your body, you carefully make your way down the rungs. When you near the ground, you feel Jeremy’s strong hands on your hips. He helps you hop down and you walk hand in hand back to the front of the house. When you near the edge of his yard, he pulls you into his body and presses his forehead to yours.

“See you tomorrow?” he murmurs hopefully.

“You know where I’ll be,” you laugh.

Leaning up, you press a soft kiss to his lips. Jeremy’s greedy hands want more. They want to drag you up to his room so he can touch every inch of your flesh. To give you pleasure you haven’t even dreamed of. Instead, he simply squeezes your hands before releasing you into the night.

He stands, unmoving as he watches you go. Once you’re safely inside, Jeremy slips up to his room.

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Turning on your lamp, you look out your window at Jeremy’s room. It’s still dark.

He must be picking up the tree house.

Taking off Jeremy's flannel, you breathe in the scent of him when a sudden strange feeling comes over you. It’s like you’re moving on autopilot or something. Slipping your dress over your head, you saunter toward your full length mirror. You adjust it a bit, tilting and turning the mirror until the reflection is just right. Then you take a step back and get a good look at yourself. Almost naked, except for your red panties.

I thought they were red, a smug thought echoes in your head.

Your hand reaches for the flannel and you shrug it back on, thankful for its warmth. You must have forgotten to close the window earlier. Instead of shutting out the night air, your legs take you to the edge of your bed. Before you sit down, you slide your panties over your ass and down your legs, flicking them across the room at the mirror with your foot.

You don’t even have time to question the action before you’re settling down on the edge of your bed, spreading your thighs wide. You take a moment to admire yourself in the mirror, naked except for Jeremy's open shirt.

Such a perfect little slut, the smug voice taunts.

You want to argue, but your hand begins to lightly trace up your body. From your knee, up your thigh, ghosting across your stomach and resting on your breast. You squeeze, and it feels eerily similar to how Jeremy touched you earlier. The thought evaporates when you roll your hard nipple between your fingers. You fall back onto the bed, as your other hand starts toying with your clit.

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He's done it. He never tried before, no one seemed worth the energy. But Jeremy has successfully possessed you. He isn’t sure the power really reaches that far, so maybe it’s more like influencing you. But that means you wouldn’t be doing the actions he’s implanting in your psyche if deep down you didn’t want to…right?

The first thing he did was make sure he could watch you. He had you adjust your mirror so he can perfectly see you spayed out on your bed from the comfort of his desk.

And splayed you are.

Here’s looking at you, kid.

Jeremy was teasing his cock before, lighting stroking it as you disrobed. But now that you have two fingers poised to enter your tight wet pussy, he can’t hold back any longer.

He grips the base of his cock hard and groans, your cue to sink those fingers into your core. Jeremy’s hips stutter up into his fist as he hears a faint moan float through the window. He can see your hand moving faster and faster, hurriedly he speeds up his strokes. Desperate to match your pace. Your other hand snakes to circle your clit, causing your back to arch off the bed. Jeremy is hunched over his desk, eyes glued to your mirror. If he had an ounce of self respect, he may feel ashamed. Fisting his cock like a pervert to the little show he’s making you put on. But fuck, seeing you like this. His will being done so perfectly. It has to be right.

“Another finger baby,” he whispers.

And instantly you respond. The resounding moan you release knocks the breath from his chest. So desperate. So hungry. A sound that says your fingers aren’t enough. His cock pulses in his fist. He’s dangerously close, but so are you.

“Cum for me,” he huffs, fucking up into his fist in earnest.

You whine, thighs trembling as your fingers pump in and out of your core.

Fuck you’re perfect.

As you orgasm, his name tumbles from those perfect lips. If it had just been once, Jeremy could’ve convinced himself he’ imagined it. But then you cry it over and over, chanting his name like a prayer. He can’t hold back any more. With one final buck of his hips, Jeremy cums with your name on his tongue.

It’s the most intense orgasm he can remember. Maybe it has something to do with the semi-possesion, maybe it’s just what you bring out in him, but Jeremy swears he’s seeing stars.

When he finally comes down, he realizes he can’t sense you any longer.

Fuck.

He must’ve lost the connection. His heart is beating so fast, he can’t hear a thing. But he stares intently at your mirror. At your frozen form, still spread perfectly for him to see.

Then you stir.

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You come to after what is maybe the hardest you’ve ever orgasmed. Definitely the best orgasm you’ve had with just your fingers. Why you didn’t grab your vibrator, you’re not sure. Groaning, you prop up on your elbow and look into the mirror. For a second you swear you see a pair of eyes shining back at you in the shadow of the reflection. Blinking, you sit up further. But the mirror is empty, reflecting only your open window.

A cool breeze dances across your exposed skin and you shiver, pulling Jeremy’s soft flannel tight across your body.

Jeremy…did I really just call his name when I…

You shake your head, dismissing the thought and get up to stretch out your tight muscles. Crossing the room, you go to close the window. Before you shut it, you lean out. The moonlight illuminates your form perfectly, naked save for that damn flannel. You can’t see him, but for some reason you think you can feel his gaze on you.

“Goodnight, Jeremy,” you giggle softly and you pull the window closed.

When the frame thuds shut, Jeremy finally breathes out a sigh. Shaking his head, he lets out a soft chuckle.

Playing with you is going to be so much fun.

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