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saetiate · 2 months ago

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okay i ran out of space in the tags when i was almost finished sorry for the additional short comments here :') please read the tags first and then this comment ahaha i have been commenting as i go through!!! tldr this is a beautiful fic i have been so excited to read it and your writing is brilliant!!!

OHMYGOD THE WAY THAT MYDEI WAS CAPTURED??? omg this plot twist... waugasf;jds i cannot believe this i am jaw dropped fr

WAHH IM SO EXCITED TO READ THE NEXT PART!!! i love that at the end he allows reader to feed him :') I WANNA KNOWW what the conditions are and how he gets out and i wanna see him and reader's relationship progress!!! im so excited ahaha this has been so fun!!! thank you for sharing your writing w the world!!!

Series Synopsis: When the husband you’ve never met returns from the war you’ve never understood, he comes bearing a strange and inexplicable gift — a prince in chains who he refuses to kill.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mydei x F!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 10.2k

Content Warnings: pls check the masterlist there is. a lot. and i’m not retyping all of that LOL

A/N: I AM SOO SCARED TO POST THIS NGL LMAOAO like i said in the warnings i literally. have not played amphoreus yet. idek anything about mydei SDKJH i am so worried i will disappoint everyone who's expressed interest in reading this HAHA i was also. not expecting anyone to do that tbh. BUT thank you all for your kind words on the masterlist and i hope this lives up to expectations at least a bit!!

You spent the day of your wedding with a man made of marble — a stand-in for your new husband, who was off fighting in a war of the kind which had neither cause nor, seemingly, end. The statue was carved in his image and sneered down at you as you whispered to it, swearing vows of duty and obedience and docility, but, in spite or maybe because of its detached lifelessness, you found its presence to be a kindness. What did it say of your husband, that you preferred the company of that dead stone to him? Perhaps very much, or perhaps very little.

He is a generous man, the servants assured you, giggling amongst themselves, exchanging knowing looks as they dragged you into the foreign palace where you would spend the rest of your days. You will want for nothing.

It was draftier than your home, the wind bouncing off of the white walls and nipping at you skin. You spent your time buried under seven-and-twenty layers of furs and fabrics, lying in an unfamiliar bed and flinching away from the shadows upon the ceiling. This was an idle and dull way to waste away your existence, and yet you could not bring yourself to do anything else, trapped in the mire of waiting and waiting for your husband’s return.

He came back in the third month, which was as auspicious as anything. They loved that number here, you had come to find: three, the symbol of fortune and fate, of magic and mischief, of power and punishment. Three vows sworn; three blessings granted; three months passed before you finally met the man you had married.

There was much fanfare about his arrival. When you peered out of the window, you saw that the streets were stuffed to the bursting with throngs of people shoving one another around, hissing and biting as they craned their necks. At first it surprised you — was he truly so loved here, even when he was elsewhere despised? — but then you realized that it was not your husband upon his charger that they were all lined up to meet. Rather, it was the procession following him which captured their interests, the spoils of war which he displayed with a juvenile, worthless pride.

A triad of elephants covered in finely wrought armor, their heads hung low and resigned, their plodding walks spiritless and lame. A herd of sheep with silver wool, dotting the dark cobblestones like a cluster of stars, stumbling along at the prodding of a soldier-turned-shepherd. A wagon filled with spears and swords, ostensibly once neatly stacked, now a matted mess of steel and bronze. Vases carried in the arms of the younger men, overflowing with coins that trailed after them like breadcrumbs, snatched up by the most daring of the onlookers, who did not fear rebuke. And, finally, in a place so honorable it could only have been mocking—

“Lady,” a soft voice said. You drew your coat tighter around you, although today was, by all accounts, warm for the season, and pretended like you did not hear the girl. She sighed and then tugged on your arm insistently; perhaps it was improper, but there wasn’t anyone who would chide her for it. “You have been summoned by his majesty.”

Hadn’t you known this would happen eventually? Hadn’t you expected it? You had had your time to come to terms with it, which was more than most got, and so there was no excuse for the reluctance which choked your throat and stilled your footsteps. This was your duty, this was what you had sworn, and so — and so you could not hesitate.

“Lady…” the girl said with another sigh. You pretended to be all-consumed with the action of closing the curtains, your back to her as you struggled to force a smile onto your face. When you deemed your expression acceptable, you spun around and nodded at her.

“It will not do to keep him waiting,” you said, motioning for her to lead the way. She did so without complaint, perhaps relieved that you were not giving her further trouble; even now, the servants did not know what to think of you, could not quite fathom what category of being you were. Some were fond of you, but most treated you with a careful distrust that you could not blame them for, even though you sometimes wanted to.

The grand entrance hall of the palace opened to the mouth of the road, which swelled out into a sprawling courtyard. Its centerpiece was an enormous fountain which sprayed a fine, cool mist into the air no matter the time of year, and it was by this fountain that you waited, wringing your hands as your husband drew nearer and nearer. Belatedly, you thought that you should try to conceal your distress, but there was nothing to be done about it now. The best you could do was say, if you were asked, that it was simply the joy of a bride faced with the prospect of a reunion with her beloved. Nobody would question that, although then again, nobody questioned you very much in general, so it was doubtful that you’d even have to use the quick excuse.

Your husband’s warhorse was a sprightly, slender beast, its coat the dappled grey of royalty, its face pretty and dished in the way of the Eastern breeds. When it paused in front of you, it shoved its black muzzle into your shoulder, nearly knocking you down, and then it stomped its hoof when your husband tightened the reins, pulling it back before dismounting and handing it off to a waiting stableboy.

“My apologies, dear lady,” he said, bowing before you with as much gallantry as you had been told he possessed. His voice was gentle and amused, his face even more handsome in flesh than it had been in stone; you should’ve, by all rights, felt pleased. You were married to this man. You belonged to him. How many women wished to be in your place? Yet all you could muster was fear, throttling and all-consuming. He was beautiful in the way of a snake, and you knew without knowing that he was poised, in some way, to strike.

“It is alright,” you said, disguising the tremble of your voice with a broad, false grin. “I am glad to finally make your acquaintance…my lord.”

The address was unfamiliar on your tongue. What would your younger self, that girl who had never known subservience nor strife, say if she saw you ducking your head in defeated compliance? How she would laugh! How she would pity you! My lord. But he was exactly that.

“The sentiment is returned in full,” he said, and then he extended his arms in a grand, sweeping motion. “Indeed, to celebrate this momentous occasion, I have arranged for you a gift!”

“A gift?” you repeated. Certainly, you had asked for no such thing, and you did not have the time to school your face into neutrality, naked surprise flashing across it. Your husband chuckled at the sight, nodding at you.

“I have brought the finest of plunders for you, dear lady,” he said, and your stomach twisted into knots at the familiarity with which he spoke to you, as if you were affable lovers instead of strangers. “Even your father’s treasures, vast and bountiful as they may be, cannot compare to this!”

The mention of your father stabbed at your heart, and hidden in the folds of your coat, you clenched your fists. Your father, the richest man in the world…and yet your husband dared compare his meager gift to that? You wanted to spit in his face that for your third birthday, your father had gifted you a villa made of gold, the walls inlaid with gemstones and painted with flowers. Indeed, you might’ve goaded him in such a way if you had the capabilities, but then you noticed what the army-men were bringing forth and your mouth suddenly refused to move.

It was the prisoner, the one kept in a place of honor by your husband and his soldiers, the one who the entire empire had ridiculed as he had been paraded through it like a champion hound. He was tall, towering over the army-men flanking him, and although his eyes drooped nearly shut, there was a heat to his demeanor, a severe, ferocious anger which shone through his exhaustion. He seemed like more of a half-tamed jungle cat than a man, and indeed when he halted before you, you half-expected him to snarl, to bare bloody fangs and lunge at your throat with fingers like claws, like swords, tearing through your neck as if it were paper.

“When he’s like this, you almost forget what a monster he can be,” your husband mused, reaching out and flicking the man on the forehead with a snicker. “Isn’t he all but lovely? Oh, don’t worry, dear lady, he can’t do anything to you. He’s under the influence of a sleeping draught at the moment, and anyways, those chains are thrice-blessed. It’s perfectly safe.”

The chains he spoke of were as gold as the man’s hair, looping around his wrists and forearms, curling over the red marks emblazoned on his shimmering skin, weaving in between his legs and around his torso. They were sturdy and gleamed with the power of their three blessings, and although you still understood little about this strange place with its strange power, you could tell that it would take a great force, greater than was possessed by any mere man or deity, to break them.

“He’s the prince of Kremnos,” your husband said when your shock stretched on. “A right beast, I’ll say. We almost fell to his efforts, but in the end, we bested him — as you can see. What do you think? Do you like him?”

“He’s — it’s — horrible,” you said, your skin crawling the longer and longer you stared at the prince, your words a jumble, your head spinning. You wanted to be anywhere but in this courtyard, in front of this fallen man, who was kept alive for — for what? For amusement? For play? As a gift?

“Isn’t he?” your husband said, patting you on the shoulder with a grim smile. “And now he is yours.”

The thrice-blessed chains flashed in the sun, and you shook your head, both in refusal and to clear your vision of the blinding, searing spots they left in it.

“I have no need of a prisoner,” you said, and although your tone remained ever-muted, you spoke as cuttingly as you could manage to. “What will I do with him? Why do you torture him so? You bested him; if he was as fierce an opponent as you claim, then the least you owe him is a death with dignity. Kill him and be done with the matter. Why have you brought him all this way? I don’t want him.”

“He will die, eventually,” my husband said. “I shall execute him myself when it comes to it, but the time is not yet right. I don’t expect you to understand such matters, and neither should you trouble yourself with doing so…but know this, dear lady: you cannot give back a gift once it has been freely given. You can do what you’d like with him now that he is yours, but you cannot refuse him. Perhaps that is how affairs were conducted in your backwards land, but here it is not so.”

You wanted my land, you longed to say. You took me from my father and wed me to a statue in search of it. And still you call it backward? But you could not, so instead, you turned away — away from the prince, who was close to crumpling and only remained standing out of sheer will, and away from your husband, who beamed as if he had done something great or wonderful.

“I will retire now,” you said. Do not follow me. This remained implied, unsaid, but a fool your husband was not, and so he only hummed in agreement.

“Be well, dear lady,” he said. “My messengers have told me that you are having difficulties adjusting to the climate here. I shall be sure to pray for your feeble constitution.”

“Thank you, my lord,” you said, stiffly, primly. It scratched like bile and you hated every minute of it, but you had no recourse for the matter, so you swallowed it down, as you always did and always would.

“And what of the prisoner?” he said. “Shall I send him to a jail? Do you think he is better suited for deprivation or pain?”

They meant to make him shatter, to methodically yank him apart until he faced death with the dull eyes and swayed back of an over-aged broodmare. You supposed to them it was meaningless — why should they show consideration or kindness to a man who would never show them the same? — but you were no warmonger, and that apathy did not cling to you yet. The prince was a beast born of sun, a wild, vicious creature, and if he really was slated to die, then you wanted him to meet his end as just that, nothing less.

“Leave him be,” you said. “Treat him as well as you are able.”

“He would’ve killed me,” your husband said, a low note of warning in his voice. You shrank into the safety of your clothes, as if they were a shield against his vexation.

“But instead you will kill him,” you said. “So how does it matter? You said I could do as I like; well, this is what pleases me. Don’t prolong this anymore than necessary.”

You darted back into the palace without waiting to hear his answer, your jaw burning and your footsteps heavy against the mosaic floor as you ran all of the way to your chambers and slammed the door shut behind you.

For three days and three nights you did not leave your room, taking all your meals in seclusion, refusing any visitors that might attempt entry. You could not help it; the thought of seeing your husband or any of the soldiers made you want to weep — you! Who never wept, even as a baby! So you claimed that you were terribly unwell, that you could not stand for fear of collapse, and that managed to ward away your husband without incurring his wrath, even though it was only a temporary solution.

As the sun set on the fourth day, there was a knock on your door, and you were about to call out that you had no interest in conversation when someone hissed through the crack in the entrance: “Lady, I come not on your husband’s behalf but another’s. There is trouble, and you must attend to it.”

“What?” you said, scrambling to your feet, crouching by the entrance, pressing your ear to the wooden door without opening it. “Who is this? Who are you? Speak plainly, so that we may understand one another!”

There was a shuffling sound, and then an exhale. You worried with the collar of your shirt as you waited for them to continue, your arms pulled tightly around yourself, your brows furrowing together as you chewed on your lower lip.

“The prince of Kremnos,” they whispered. “He calls for you.”

“Are they mistreating him?” you said, straightening and flinging the door open. “The prince, are they — hello?”

The hallway was devoid of life. You peered down it, craning your neck this way and that, but it was placid, showing no signs of having been disturbed. Shutting the door slowly, you leaned against it, holding your head in your hands. Was this place driving you to insanity, then? And if it was, then why could you not have thought of something more pleasant than summons from a prisoner — prisoner!

Wasn’t it your duty to make sure your husband had held good on his word? The prisoner was yours, though the notion of ownership sent unpleasant shivers down your spine and didn’t feel quite right — perhaps a better way to think of it, then, was responsibility. He was your responsibility, and maybe the strange vision had been nothing more than a reminder of what you owed the man.

You waited until it was midnight, when you could be certain that your husband would not rise from his slumber at the sound of your activity, and then you donned a pair of slippers and a cloak, throwing the hood on and retreating into the billowing depths of the fabric, so that your face was obscured from prying eyes. Of course, there would not be very many of those, not at such a late hour, but you did not want to risk even one person recognizing you and reporting back to your husband, whose reaction to this escapade you could not foretell.

Although you were not so familiar with the palace’s layout, as you had never spent much time exploring it, most constructions of this nature followed a similar plan, and you had grown up in exactly such a grand, sweeping home, so you found the doorway to the cellar in record time. As the palace had no towers, the cellar was the only logical option for the keeping of such a dangerous prisoner, and you had no doubt in your mind that this was where you would find the prince, if he was still somewhere that you could find him.

The half-moon was your only witness as you fumbled with the lock, trying every key in your possession until one finally slotted into place and turned. Wincing as the door heaved open with a profound creak, you yanked it shut behind you quickly, without ceremony, lighting a small candle and using it to guide your way down the dark stairs, rushing so that you were out of sight in case someone came to investigate.

You did not know how long you walked for, but eventually the stairway ended, giving way to cool, damp earth. The must of uncut stone permeated the thick, heavy air, and the adjustment of your eyes to the surrounding blackness was slow, the pain of it only alleviated somewhat by the little candle’s valiant flame.

“Come to toss scraps at me?” The voice was rumbling and low; in spite of its weakness, you could hear a sneer in it, a disdain in the rough baritone. “You needn’t try again. Like I told you, I won’t eat your trash.”

“No,” you said. “I’ve brought nothing with me.”

There was a brief pause, and then: “You sound different than the others.”

“This tongue is foreign to me, as it is to you,” you said. “I cannot speak it in the same way as those who were born here. Verily I have been instructed in the art since I was but a child, for my father must have known in that manner of his what would eventually become of me, but I will never lay claim to it the way that a native of this empire would.”

“You’re his wife.” Chains clanked, the harsh drag of metal against stone reverberating in the cellar, and then you felt more than saw his looming countenance, filling what you had mistakenly believed upon arrival to be an empty room. Swinging your candle before you so that it was close to your heart, you gasped when it reflected in a pair of eyes glaring at you from mere paces away, the irises possessing a hollow and impossible brilliance in the way a pair of fading embers might.

The chains now only encircled his left leg, binding him to the wall but leaving him otherwise free to move as he liked within the length of his confines. He had been stripped of armament and adornment alike, his mane of hair tangled and falling lank about his broad shoulders, yet for all of these injustices, you had no doubt in your mind that he was anything but a prince. He had a dignity to him, a hard-won pride to the straightness of his back and the firmness of his gaze; before you could chase it away, the thought came to you that there was far more intrinsic nobility to this man than there was even your husband.

“I suppose that I am,” you said.

“Have you come to gloat about your craven lord’s cowardly victory, then?” he said. The chains were pulled taut, so he could come no closer to you than he already was — you were sure of this, but you were still a slave to your instincts, which urged you farther and farther from him with every second. He watched you go with some measure of delight, like he was relishing in this power which you had inadvertently gifted him, and when you skittered to a stop, he huffed. “There is nothing to be proud of, and you look a fool for suggesting there might be.”

“I was just…” you trailed off, because it suddenly felt entirely absurd to suggest that you were inquiring after his wellbeing. What did it mean, the wellbeing of a doomed man? What reason would he have to believe your intentions? “What is your name?”

“My name?” he said with a brittle, incredulous laugh that rapidly descended into a cough. “Why? Do you wish to curse your husband with it? Does your language not have gods you can swear on?”

“You’re sickly,” you said, frowning and ignoring his jabs.

“You have torn me from the sun and chained me in this dingy room, and yet you have the gall to be surprised by that?” he said, scoffing. “You’re more of an idiot than that husband of yours.”

“I did no such thing!” you said. The defiance took you by surprise. You had forgotten what it felt like to defy someone, to disagree and resist their words, to feel alive with resentment and bad-temper. “I didn’t wish for this. I didn’t wish to keep you here anymore than you wished to be kept!”

“Is that so?” he said, and then he grinned at you, but it was less of a smile and more of a threat. “Then free me.”

“What?” you said.

“If you don’t want me, then free me,” he said.

“You’ll kill me if I do,” you said uneasily, shifting from foot to foot.

“I give you my word that I will spare you,” he said, placing a solemn hand over his heart.

“Not the others?” you said.

He did not respond, which in and of itself was a response. It was one you shouldn’t have liked as much as you did, but in truth the prospect of such a slaughter made your fingers twitch towards him. Only for a moment, and immediately, you shoved your hands behind your back, but it was too late — he had seen, and he raised his eyebrows at you in return.

“Well, anyways, it doesn’t matter,” you said hastily, hoping to distract him before he could comment on the treason. “I couldn’t free you even if I wanted to. Your chains are thrice-blessed. I didn’t know what that meant until recently, but now that I do, I understand why you have been kept without even a permanent guard.”

“Blessings,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t tell me you put genuine stock into that drivel.”

“Perhaps the gods of other lands have forsaken their subjects, but this empire is known as the birthplace of every divine act, and so deities still sometimes glance upon its people and offer up their favor. Thrice-blessed chains are one such offering, for they are in fact more like contracts than they truly are chains,” you said. When he did not interrupt you with any snide remarks, you were emboldened to continue. “They can restrain anything, even a god, but this strength comes at a cost: they are conditional. If their captive can understand this condition and meet it, they will crumble into dust, but until then, the chains remain unbreakable.”

“What is it?” he said insistently, reaching out his hands like he was going to grab you and shake the answer out. He fell short, grasping at empty air, his muscles straining against the chains which, true to legend, did not falter. “This condition. Whatever it is, I will do it. You only need to tell me and I will do it!”

“I don’t know,” you said. His lip curled, and you shook your head frantically. “No, no, I’m telling you the truth, I really don’t know! Only the wielder and the gods he prayed to can know for certain. The conditions are decided arbitrarily, without trend or reason. It could be anything from singing a song to moving a mountain! At least, that’s what I’ve gathered from the little I’ve read on the topic.”

“The wielder — your husband, then? That’s easy enough. Bid him to tell you, and then relay to me his answer,” he said.

“Easy enough? Not in the slightest. He would just as soon do your bidding as he would mine,” you said. The prince squinted at you, and evidently he must’ve determined that you were serious, for he broke into that awful laugh again, the one that must’ve once been handsome and full-bodied but now was little more than a rattling plea for air.

“You are pitiful,” he said. “I thought that you must be some great, fearsome empress, as wicked as your husband, but you are just a frightened mouse of a girl. You would not survive a day in Kremnos, you know. It would crush you.”

Duty. Obedience. Docility. They were branded onto you, swirling letters that you had unwittingly carved into yourself with every wedding vow you spoke, and you could not escape them any more than the prince could escape his chains. If only you could argue with him, tell him that once upon a time, you had been someone unrecognizable from who you were now…but already, you had tested their limits. Your tongue was frozen in your mouth, refusing to move in anything but accordance with your oaths, and so you only clasped your hands together.

“If you say it is so, then it really must be the case,” you said. “Farewell, prince of Kremnos.”

“Farewell,” he said, but it was clear he did not mean it. “Dear lady.”

“Don’t call me that,” you said, recognizing the provocation for what it was. “You are not my husband, nor do I wish for you to be.”

“Then what should I refer to you as?” he said. “Your excellency? Your grace? Your most exalted highness? Your holiness, the saint of the realm?”

“Here, I am only known as lady,” you said quietly. “But I bore a different name before. I cannot…I cannot say it anymore, but if you ever come to know of it by other means, then please call me as such.”

Morning brought with it a freezing palm pressed to your brow. It startled you to consciousness both because of its temperature and its temerity, for you could not fathom who had dared to enter your room without your permission, and while you were asleep, at that! In the haze of your sleep-addled mind, a rebuke rose to your lips, but then someone clicked their tongue and you fell silent even as you clambered to a more alert state.

“Your fever has finally broken, dear lady! You do not know how overjoyed I am to hear it,” your husband said, helping you into a sitting position, one hand cradling the back of your neck and the other holding up a glass. You blinked, trying to clear the fog from your vision, swallowing down the water he poured down your throat without objection.

“Fever?” you said.

“The ailment you have been suffering from,” he said. “I was told it was a fever of some sorts. I bore it quietly, the prospect of your malaise, but today I could not stop myself from checking on you. I had some dreams of playing the nurse, but here you are, entirely well! Such a miraculous recovery.”

His grandiose words masked suspicion with affection, but he did not make any further accusations, for just as you had sworn to heed him, so too had he promised to trust you. His vows had been made to a portrait of yours, as well as written in pig’s-blood and sent to you in a sealed envelope. You could recall them with perfect clarity, the way the stench of iron clung to the parchment as you unfolded it and rang your fingers over the lines, which were grouped in stanzas of three.

Trust. Favor. Companionship.

You spent the entire day with your husband, although you had neither the desire nor the will for it. You hardly ever had the desire or the will to do anything, of course, not nowadays, but this was the worst of all, because your husband was not just a reminder but the very reason for everything which had happened to you. Still, you could not refuse, so you trotted along at his side, motionless as he showed you off to his officers, his advisors, and even, at one point, his cousin, who could not be less interested in you if he tried.

“Brother,” he said boredly, for indeed he and your husband were the only children of their respective fathers, and so were more like siblings than anything, “you have better things to be doing than showing off a woman who doesn’t bear showing off in the first place.”

“Are you saying that she is somehow deficient?” your husband said, swelling up with righteous indignation. Anyone else might’ve lost their head for the statement, especially given how blandly he had said it, but his cousin was above reproach, being the only person he really loved.

“I’m saying that she looks ill with misery,” his cousin said, and then he sighed, returning to his book. “I’m not so sure the lady has recovered from her illness. You ought to be more cautious with her, that’s all.”

His cousin was younger and handsomer than he, and as the two of you walked away, you thought that you would not have minded marrying him as much. Though perhaps this was a paradox — after all, if he had taken you in the manner that your husband had, then you would have hated him, too. It was your lot in life, then; always you would detest whoever you wed, whoever stole your freedom in that way and bound you to them with the cruel ropes of matrimony.

The hall where you took your dinner was like an enormous cavern, so large that you felt like your voice might echo if you spoke. You and your husband were the only ones in it, which heightened the effect, and every clank of his silverware against his porcelain dishes resounded in your ears like discordant bells.

“My prisoner,” you said after a long time had passed wherein the two of you discussed nothing. Your voice was dry with disuse, and you pushed the food on your plate around without attempting to eat, although it was all appetizing and you were certainly hungry.

“What?” your husband said, covering his mouth with his hand as he chewed.

“My prisoner,” you said, clearing your throat but keeping your gaze trained firmly on your food. “The prince of Kremnos. Is he well?”

“You’re asking after his health?” your husband said with a chuckle. When you did not laugh or otherwise indicate that you were joking, he frowned at you. “You needn’t fret. As you requested, I am treating him as well as I am able. Far better than he deserves.”

The image of the prince, chained and kept in darkness, the only sound his persistent cough and unsteady breathing, given scraps for sustenance and mice for company, flashed across your mind.

“I wish to see him,” you said. There was a warning in the back of your head — duty, obedience, docility — but you ignored it as best as you could, stabbing oversharp fingernails into your thighs, hard enough to draw blood and distract you from the dangerous line you tread. “My lord, I wish to see the prince and ensure that he is alright with my own eyes.”

At this your husband did not even pretend to humor you. He burst into a raucous fit of cackles, his fork and knife clattering to the table, his eyes watering at the corners. You waited for him to stop, picking your own cutlery up in vain before setting it down and folding your hands in your lap.

“No,” he said. “I am afraid that I cannot allow that, dear lady.”

“You cannot—” you began, but it was too much, you had stepped over that precarious boundary, and now you were frozen. Gulping, you counted to five before continuing. “He is mine. He is mine, you said it yourself, so why — can’t — I — see — him?”

Each word dug into you like gravel, and you knew that you had lost this argument before you could even attempt to have it. How could you ever win? When you had sworn thrice over that you would be tractable, how could you ever try to be anything else? Your intentions did not matter as much as the execution, not to the number three and the power it lent this empire.

“How obstinate,” your husband said, appraising you with a new eye. “I am sorry, dear lady, but as my cousin said, you are still weak. It will do you no good to be faced with such a base creature. You can see him again on the day of his execution.”

“Yes,” you said through gritted teeth, which was not as much as you wanted to do but was as much as you could, at present, manage. “Might I be excused?”

“Excused? You haven’t eaten anything,” he said, pointing at your plate. True to his word, it was untouched, and you picked it up, holding it close to your chest as you stood.

“My stomach is protesting,” you said. “I will take it to my room and eat it later. If it pleases you.”

“Very well,” he said, waving at you. “I shall pray for your health, dear lady. Sleep as late as you’d like tomorrow, but once you are awake, I implore you to join me in my preparations. There is a grand celebration in the afternoon, as a marker of our victory against Kremnos, and I have been summoned to speak; if you could muster some words as well, it might hearten the people and warm them to you.”

“Yes, my lord,” you said. “I shall think of something.”

“See to it that you do,” he said, watching you with an unreadable expression on his face as you left, your footsteps growing faster and faster until you were all but racing to your room, your head spinning and palms clammy like you had gotten away with some great crime.

Tonight, there were no strange voices beckoning you, but that did not stop you from staying awake far past the moon’s rise, waiting until it hung over the clocktower before picking your way back to the cellar, your heart pounding as you crept back down those dark, endless stairs, an actual lantern in one hand and your plate in the other.

The prince was still there. You had half-expected him to have disappeared, to have turned out to be some figment of your imagination, but he was leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest and his lips pursed as he watched the light of your lantern approach. When he realized it was you, his eyes narrowed, and he tucked his chin to his chest in what you could only assume was a stubborn display of the meager strength he had left.

“I brought food for you,” you said, setting the lantern on the last stair and presenting the plate before you. “Please eat it.”

“What do you think I am?” he said. “Some kind of a dog, such that I am eager for you to foist your refuse on me? Hardly. Take it and leave me at once.”

“You’ll waste away,” you said. “You are only doing yourself a disservice! This is my own dinner, which I have gone without so that I could bring it to you. Does that make it easier to stomach?”

“Shall I sit on the floor, then, and eat it with my hands?” he said with a disparaging smile. “Will that amuse you? Is that why you’ve come? I heard your husband, you know. ‘Do what you’d like with him now that he is yours.’ How joyless your life must be, to think that this is what you entertain yourself with!”

“It is joyless,” you bit back, and your eyes widened at the freedom of the declaration. “It is! But you are not my — you are not some kind of amusement, I resent that you — I even spoke against my husband for you, and you say that! Fine, then. Starve, you thoughtless simpleton! Starve and die for all the good it’ll do me!”

You turned on your heel and stomped towards the stairs with the graceless irascibility of a child, not even sparing a glance over your shoulder at the prince. He was quiet, but you knew from the heavy weight of his stare on your back that there was something like turmoil brewing in his mind, a turmoil which weakened your resolve with every step you took away from him.

It was to your credit that you made it all of the way to where the lantern was sitting before you wavered, your stride shortening until you halted in place. Scrunching up your face, wondering when you had developed this love for punishment, for strife and conflict, you allowed your shoulders to sag in acceptance.

“Dispose of this before anyone comes to see you,” you said, shoving the plate into his hands before he could protest. “I suppose it matters little how you do it, but you must, or else I will be convicted of treason, and where will that leave us? Imprisoned side by side and left to rot together.”

He did not respond until you were almost out of earshot entirely, and then he coughed. You could not tell whether it was to capture your attention or to clear his voice of any residual hesitance; regardless, he accomplished both objectives, as you lingered for a moment longer than you would’ve.

“Ten,” he said. “That’s how many times I could’ve killed you in the time you’ve been here. But I—”

You continued walking before you could hear the rest of it.

You woke up the next day in better spirits than you had in some time, and in fact when a servant announced that you had a visitor, you opened the door with a new vigor. Upon realizing that the man in front of you was not your husband but rather his cousin, you thought that you might die from the glee of it all. Taking his arm, you allowed him to escort you to where the imperial contingent was setting up for the festival, at a grand stage which took up most of the square and was already laden with visitors at its base.

“It is a relief to see you recovering so well,” your husband’s cousin said. “The rumors in the palace are that you’ve contracted some illness of the chronic variety; in truth I believed them, especially after our meeting yesterday, but today I see that you have been revitalized. Did you rest well last night, then? I heard that you did not eat your dinner, but you must’ve taken it in your room, yes?”

You had done neither of those things, and his questioning did make you pause. What was the cause of your good mood? You had gone to sleep for only a short time, without much of anything in your stomach, and your situation had not improved any, so why did you feel, even if only marginally, as if you were something like yourself again?

“I suppose it must be something like love,” he mused, without waiting for your answer.

“Ah, pardon?” you said, startled from the winding turns and byways of your thoughts at the strange declaration.

“To think that even a day in your husband’s presence has cured you to such an extent,” he explained. “Surely it is love? I cannot think of any other name for it…but I apologize! It is not my place to inquire, nor to speculate. I trust you will not tell my cousin about this?”

He had, in the taken-aback blink of your eyes and the pinch of your brow, found what he was seeking: a demure shyness which he could only comprehend as a lack of affection. You knew, then, that you had passed the test of the man, who had not believed any more than your husband that you were truly ill.

“I will take your leave,” he said, and then his palm clamped down on your shoulder. “But I trust you know this: however much you may love your husband, he is a difficult man to be loved by in return. If ever you are in search of solace…there are places you may turn to, dear lady.”

“What did he say to you?” your husband said, appearing at your side with his expression arranged into something like a frown. “I could not hear. Was he bothering you? I am sorry if he was. He has always been headstrong.”

“He was not bothering me,” you said, incapable of lying to your husband with any great skill but remaining certain that it was absolutely imperative you did not divulge his cousin’s secrets to him. “We spoke as family members might.”

If he recognized your evasive language, he did not comment on it. Instead, he stroked his chin in thought, and then he directed his attention towards the stage, where one of his generals was beckoning him — and, by extension, you.

The sun hung high in the sky as you ascended to the podium, though its rays did not dare touch you, disguised in your husband’s shadow as you were. Your vows tied more than your tongue, after all; your entire being, everything but your heart and your mind, were trained and twisted into the picture of submission, and soon those, too, would fall, leaving you a husk which could do nothing but nod and follow along.

Your husband did not need to start with any address. His mere presence was enough to silence the gathered empire, every single onlooker leaning towards the stage in eager anticipation of his words. From your vantage point, it was like the swell of a tide, crushing and suffocating, inescapable in its overwhelming intensity, but where you withdrew, your husband brightened at the weight, lifting his head and squaring his shoulders.

“Mydeimos,” he said, over-enunciating every syllable. The word, unfamiliar and foreign to your ears, had a rhythmic, marching cadence, more suited to a battle-cry than a formal declaration, and it seemed you were not alone in your thinking, for it had all the effect of one on the crowd.

A heckling clamor burst from them, the individual words indecipherable but for brief snippets. Demon. Monster. Warmonger. Kill. Curse. Blood. Kill. Kill. Kill! Your husband waited for them to quiet of their own volition, and only then did he venture to continue, this time with a wide, beaming grin.

“Mydeimos has fallen. The prince of terrors is no more!” he shouted, raising his fist in the air to thunderous applause. “Without him to lead the army, Kremnos will surely follow suit. Their lands will be ours within the year, of this much I assure you! Our empire will soon be the most prosperous in all the world. Even the great lands of the Southern Sea will pale in comparison!”

Your heart twinged at the mention of the Southern Sea. You could envision it even now, the streaks of salt left on the cliffs where the water lapped at them, the ripples in the placid blue where the balmy winds skimmed along the surface, the moon-white sand as it clung to the crevices of your feet and hands.

When you were younger, your father would take you on his boat and dip his fingers into it, urging you to do the same. You would ask him why and he would answer, always with a laugh or a smile: of all the jewels in my treasury, my darling, the Southern Sea is the second-loveliest. Then you would ask him which could be the first, if even the sea was not its equal, and he’d press his damp hands to your cheeks and kiss your hair and say you, my darling, you and only you.

“What a horrible thing he was,” your husband said. “Mydeimos. That wretched excuse of a man…the world is all the better now that he is locked away. I watched him — watched him, good citizens, with my own eyes — tear out a man’s heart with naught but his nails and teeth! Even now I can imagine it…the tips of his canines dark with pierced flesh…bits of entrails coating his fingers…the heart still beating in his palms…he looked the proper part of a devil, and I was certain that I had died and found damnation!

“But as I said, he is no more. Our army prevailed, as we always have, and as we always will; I made Mydeimos beg for mercy with my sword at his throat and my foot upon his inhuman heart, and then I dragged him back so that all of you could see what he has been relegated to — a chained puppy, given to my dear lady as a pet and kept as a servant until the day of his execution.

“For the surest way to kill a Kremnoan is to destroy their pride, and the prince of terrors has more pride than most, so we must endeavor to strip him of it, systematically and fastidiously, until even a child can cut him down!”

Your husband concluded his speech and pulled you forward simultaneously, with a great flourish which invited praise and drew attention to you both. You swallowed, your mind racing at breakneck speed, far too quickly for you to make any sense of the things you were saying until you were saying them.

“I have not seen the prince of Kremnos — Mydeimos — since the day that he was brought to me,” you said. The applause that had begun faded as soon as the soft words sparkled into existence, and the many eyes of the audience blurred together until you could pretend like you were alone, like you were speaking to nothing but small, bright stones reflecting your own sentiments. “But as my lord husband said, he was proud. I feel as though I have never seen a man prouder. Even after his loss, he remained proud. Even with nothing else left, he clung to that pride, that assurance…I remember thinking to myself that it was, in its own way, admirable. That he was admirable.”

Your husband’s arm around your waist grew tighter with unspoken warning, though it needn’t have. You had said all that you wanted, all that you could, and now there was nothing left but the judgement of the collective.

“Lady!” someone shouted, the singular soul brave enough to speak. She was a woman — you wondered if this was what bolstered her confidence, a perceived kinship between the two of you for that fact alone. “Do you fear the prince?”

“No,” you said, and although you had meant it only as a vague and empty placation, you were surprised to find that it rang true. You were not afraid of him, and it wasn’t his chains or his infirmity which caused this emotion to surge in you; rather, it was what he had told you last night, that declaration he had made with the utmost of seriousness, which you had not even allowed him to complete. “I am not. He cannot harm me.”

You knew your words would be interpreted as faith in your husband and the empire, and furthermore that this misinterpretation would curry favor with your subjects and your lord alike, so you did nothing to correct it. Yet you would know, and would hold close to your heart the knowing, that it was not your husband who you held faith in: it was Mydeimos, the prince of Kremnos, who might’ve killed you ten times over but had instead let you live.

“You have much to improve in terms of your orating,” your husband said coldly as the three of you — him, his cousin, and yourself — returned to the palace.

“I thought her speech was excellent,” his cousin said, shooting you a sly smile behind his back. “Very concise, and of a good style. It’s a gift to be able to convey meaning so succinctly. You ought to nurture it.”

“She certainly conveyed a meaning,” your husband said. “It remains to be said what value that meaning truly holds.”

“Is that for you to decide? Ah, brother, don’t be a curmudgeon, I am only teasing you! You spent so much of our childhood poking fun at me, so how can you fault me for paying you back in kind?” his cousin said.

“You need some lessons in respect,” your husband said, but without any real bite behind it. His cousin snickered before sobering, shifting his weight toward you.

“Will you take your dinner in your chambers again, lady?” he said. You nodded.

“If it does not offend,” you said.

“Do as you please,” your husband said. “Though I expect you’ll do that anyways, sworn to me or not. Isn’t that right, dear lady?”

You couldn’t think of any response which would be satisfactory, so you said nothing, allowing the two of them to escort you to your room, where you waited with bated breath until the night fell and you could return to the cellar.

The entire way down the stairs, you turned the name over in your mind, polishing it in the way waves polished driftwood, battering it with incessant worry until it shone, uncanny and unrecognizable. Mydeimos. Mydeimos. Mydeimos. The prince of terrors. The man who had torn a heart out with his teeth. What did it say of you, that you were making your way to exactly such a knave? With trepidation, of course, but what did it say that you were still doing it anyways? Perhaps very much, or perhaps very little.

“There is an odd pattern to your footsteps,” he said before you could even greet him. He stood as he always did, prepared for a battle that he would never again see. “Or perhaps it is your breathing, or something else entirely.”

“What do you mean?” you said, putting your lantern and the dinner down in the space between you both. “I walk and breathe as I always have, as others do.”

“I know you,” he said, disgust mingling with the barest traces of awe in his tone. “The door to this cellar opens frequently. All manner of men come to visit me, to mock me from their places at the bottom of the stairs, lambasting me from the safety of their distance. I recognize few, and I remember fewer — nor do I have any great desire to — but when it is you, I know. From your very step, from the very creak of the door, I know. I cannot understand how or why, but I know.”

“My husband told me your name,” you said after a pause, when it became clear he was not expecting a reaction from you. Motioning towards the food in a gesture you hoped he took to kindly, you continued: “I did not ask him, but he mentioned it in passing, so naturally now I know it.”

“I see,” he said, and although his gaze flicked towards the ground, he did not move. You remembered, then, what else your husband had said in that speech of his, the vainglorious words echoing in your ears: for the surest way to kill a Kremnoan is to destroy their pride, and the prince of terrors has more pride than most, so we must endeavor to strip him of it, systematically and fastidiously, until even a child can cut him down!

“Mydeimos,” you said, and then you sat on the floor, which was made of a cold stone that shot chills down the backs of your legs. Resting your elbows atop your thighs and your chin in your hands, you blinked up at him. “That is what he called you. ‘The prince of terrors.’”

“How unimaginative,” he said, and you suppressed a shudder at his glare, which was baleful and acute as it settled upon you. “My-deimos. Many-terrors. Yes, that is my name, though that ridiculous nickname is of his own invention. The Kremnoans would laugh if they heard it.”

“He said that he watched you tear out a man’s heart with your nails,” you said, and then you glanced at his lips, simultaneously and unconsciously wetting your own with the tip of your tongue. “And your teeth.”

He bared those very teeth, white and glinting, in a barking laugh — as much an expression of warning as it was humor. “My teeth! Your husband is one for fiction.”

“And — and he spoke of how he defeated you,” you said. At this, anything resembling mirth vanished from Mydeimos, and he grew curiously immobile — you almost thought that you had frightened him into the grips of memory, but then you realized that he was not frozen as much as he was waiting.

“Did he?” he said. “And what did your husband say of my defeat, dear lady?”

“He made you beg for mercy with his sword at your throat and his foot upon your inhuman — upon your heart,” you said, correcting yourself for the slip of the tongue, finding no merit in telling him about that particular detail. “And then he dragged you back here.”

The longer Mydeimos remained silent, the shallower your breaths became, a cold fist forming around your heart and squeezing, the muscles in your arms and legs contracting, protesting their inactivity. You needed to run. If you were wiser, if you had anything resembling self-preservation, you would run, would flee and hope that you were fast enough to make it to the stairs before he pounced.

You supposed you lacked both wisdom and self-preservation in spades, for you remained on the floor, peering up at him and praying that he could not read your mind, could not comprehend the depths of your thoughts.

“So that is his story,” he said. “I should’ve known he wouldn’t tell his people the truth.”

“He made it up,” you said rhetorically.

“You don’t sound surprised,” he noted.

“It is not — it is not —” You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, trying to come up with some way to circumvent your wedding vows, some way you could impress upon him what you were trying to say. “When we were wed, it was said that I loved him madly and completely, that I bawled to my father until he allowed me to come here.”

“Then it is not his first time dabbling in such falsehoods,” Mydeimos completed. When you nodded, he snorted. “You cannot speak ill of him, can you? Is it magic?”

“In the way of this land,” you said with a shrug.

“What an emperor,” he said. “So he can neither bed his wife nor win his battles without the use of tricks and obfuscation? Where I come from, they have a word for those like that, but as it is foul, I will not trouble you with hearing it.”

“What do you mean?” you said. “Ah, not by the foul word…that is, what tricks do you refer to? If the story he told is inaccurate, then how did he really defeat you? For surely he must have, or else you would not be here.”

“He did not defeat me,” he said. “Believe it or not, but that is the truth.”

“How?” you pressed, for you had already eschewed wisdom once and did not mind doing so again.

For a moment, it was as if the sun shone down upon him again. You saw him as he was on the day he met you, or perhaps even before — the prince of Kremnos, sleek and powerful and indomitable, red marks blooming in place of the scars he would never receive, eyes ablaze in his hollow face, hair as wild and untamed as his spirit.

“He surrendered,” Mydeimos said, scowling. “Our numbers were smaller, but Kremnoans have never cared for things like odds. We were winning, indubitably we were winning, and your husband knew it as well as we did. They attacked us in our own territory, fought us with our own weapons…how could we have lost? We would’ve wiped them out, but your husband and his men raised their white flags, and so we ceased to attack them.

“I went to parley with them, to negotiate the terms of their surrender. In a show of goodwill, I agreed to your husband’s request to come unaccompanied. His men were exhausted, and I found it honorable that he was putting their wellbeing first, so I ignored my instincts and the warnings of my advisors, going forth alone, leaving my armor and weapons as I was instructed to.

“That was my mistake. I should never have expected honor from a serpent, whose nature it is to bite. The surrender was a ploy; I was met by hordes of guards, each with a spear pointed at my heart. Even then, I fought. Do not think I met my end willingly, dear lady — I fought and killed as many men as he threw at me. I could’ve killed them all, I would’ve killed them all, but right as I was about to, he threw these chains at me from the corner where he hid. It should not have worked, his aim and the strength behind it were both lacking, but it was as if the metal had a mind of its own, and before I knew it I was bound.”

“As I told you, they are thrice-blessed,” you said. “Divine. They long to fulfill their purpose, and will do anything to that end. If it defies the laws of nature, well, what are those laws compared to the ones who wrote them? Those men were only a distraction. Once my husband received these chains, there was nothing which could’ve changed your fate.”

“What sort of a god favors a man who feigns surrender?” Mydeimos said. “What kind of deity loves perfidy?”

“I have often asked myself the same questions,” you admitted, half-expecting yourself to be unable and closing your eyes in relief when you weren't. “Why is it that he is the one they champion? What justice is there in that? He must have been a saint in his past life, to be treated as he is. A saint, or a martyr, or something like that. Something wonderful to the point of deserving so many miracles in this next iteration of his.”

You chose your speech carefully, injecting as much resentment into it as was needed to convey to the prince what you really meant, but not enough that you seized up into inaction. Not enough that you strained against the hold that your vows held over you.

You heard him exhale, and at this, you allowed your eyes to flutter open once more, peeking up at him and immediately wishing you hadn’t.

Whatever had briefly rallied in him, whatever fervor and fire he had briefly regained…it was gone. It was gone, leaving him fractured and bereft, forlorn instead of fearsome, prisoner instead of prince. Your husband had done that to him. Your husband had destroyed him, as he had destroyed you, and it was this reflection of your own fate which tore at you the most.

Breaking off a piece of bread, you dipped it in the long-cooled sauce pooled in the corner of the plate, and, without a word, held it out to him. He eyed it suspiciously, and for a moment you thought he might refuse it. The beginnings of an argument bubbled to the surface, but it never had the chance to take shape — before your lips could so much as part, he knelt across from you and took your proffered hand by the wrist.

Holding it in place, his thumb digging into your pulse like a reminder that he didn’t want this, didn’t want to accept your help, he used his free hand to swipe the bread from your palm. Then, his brows heavy, low over his eyes with mistrust and reluctance, he shoved it into his mouth and ate it.

taglist (comment/send an ask to be added): @mikashisus @ivana013-blog @mizukiqr @shehrazadekey @simp-simp-no-mi @reapersan @casualgalaxystrawberry @secretive3amramenmaker [if your tag does not show up in grey, that means tumblr had an issue with it, sorry! sometimes it does that sadly]

#been waiting to have a moment just to read this :> excited hehe #cora rb: hsr #you 🤝 me ; not knowing much about amphoreus ahaha i have not played it yet either outside of seeing phainon’s entrance #i am immediately intrigued omg the statue and reader lowkey not even liking her husband???#calling his pride worthless and juvenile omg i love seeing through reader’s perspective #‘dotting the dark cobblestones like a cluster of stars’ absolutely beautiful line your writing is incredible #i love the way you write it truly feels like a novel or a fairytale written long ago ; like i’m reading the old folklore of another land #the comparison to a snake is absolutely stunning too ; actually lowk reminds me of oliver HAHAHA sorry that’s my wandering mind #yo what kinda gift is this (playful) (i’m aware it’s a development of the story dw HAHA i love how this is going and how you introduce plot #points)#thinking about mydei tied up did smth to me SORRY sorry irrelevant and inappropriate LAHDK he is so hot tho #YOUR BACKWARDS LAND HELLO I WILL MURDER HIM (playful and lighthearted but also a testament to the emotions in me your writing evokes)#‘scratched like bile’ same reader ohmygod u and i can start a murder this man alliance #‘a beast born of sun’ wow this is so beautiful. love the way you weave words together #reader having the foresight to put a hood on ; i love her intelligence and forethought. idk i just really love reader in this ahaha she #feels like a real character which i love a lot personally!!! i love her depth ; OKAY HELLO I got called away i hath come back to finish #reading!! sorry for the delay!! ; 'I will never lay claim to it the way that a native of this empire would' again so beautifully written #also mood as someone who has like never lived in the country they're from :')) waugh #'a hollow and impossible brilliance in the way a pair of fading embers' this is absolutely stunning too ; the dignity and hard-won pride #u describe i really really love this about him too and i love your characterization of him in this sense #'Does your language not have gods you can swear on?' WHEWWW WHAT A LINE (compliment)#'n truth the prospect of such a slaughter made your fingers twitch towards him' YEAHHH GIRL LET HIM KILL YOUR HUSBAND WOOO (playful) HAHA #I'M ON TEAM MYDEI BABEY ; i love the lore building with the thrice blessed chains very very cool #'the one that must’ve once been handsome and full-bodied but now was little more than a rattling plea for air' another absolutely beautiful #line ; 'swirling letters that you had unwittingly carved into yourself with every wedding vow you spoke' I LOVEEE this #'Ten. That’s how many times I could’ve killed you in the time you’ve been here' AND THEN SHE WALKED AWAY HAHA I WAS LAUGHING #PLEASE the cousin thinking it's HIS LOVE ohmygod. ; awee reader's father loved her :'))) i love that for her ; OHMYGODDD MYDEI KNOWING #READER?? i LOVE a i have known you trope ohmygodd i love this #'So he can neither bed his wife nor win his battles without the use of tricks and obfuscation?' HAHA YEAHH GET HIMM

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aeyumicore · 11 months ago

Text

please & thank you

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: sylus x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with very little/no plot, porn with feelings

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 7.5k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, SLIGHT spoilers to the lore (with some of my own interpretations and theories), oral m!receiving, fingering f!receiving, face/throat fucking, finger sucking, kinda rough, size difference, cuffing/tied up (m!receiving), sylus kindaaaa/degrading mean but in a tasteful way, he’s also very soft for reader, sylus has a FILTHY mouth, orgasm denial (f! and m!receiving), mirror sex, improper use of Evol, use of Y/N, cute petnames hehe (little dove, little bird, sweetheart, doll, etc), slight predator and prey, choking (kinda breath play??? not really), some references to lore (main storyline + midnight stealth), kinda sub!reader, dom!sylus, THIS IS FILTHY YALL IDK WHAT ELSE TO SAY

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: ao3

━ ✧.˖ A/N: hi guyssss she is here <3 MY FIRST ever sylus fic, first of many me thinks bc i am so utterly infatuated w him im sorry zayne LOL

i did NOT end up making this connected to ‘midnight stealth’ OR ‘no defense zone’ (although some midnight stealth plot is referenced a tiny bit in the beginning). any resemblances to these two memories are purely coincidental, mostly similar because there’s use of cuffs/restraints in all three. this is purely a standalone filthy fic

this has veryyyy little plot, i decided to keep it that way so im sorry to those who wanted to see plot in this ;_; i didn’t want to burn out, which i likely would’ve because pivoting from what i had (5.6k words) to a more plot based fic would have taken me a few more days and probably double the words and i just couldn’t do that to myself.

i appreciate you guys for supporting me and i really respect each and every opinion so i hope i didn’t let anyone down by not doing the plot version. there will be plenty of opportunities for that i promise <3

pls enjoy :) any comments or reblogs r greatly appreciated (and loved) by me <3 they help me keep motivated to keep writing and truly make my whole week.

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ .

You were playing with fire.

Actually, what you were doing was definitely more dangerous and infinitely more idiotic than playing with fire.

It was downright deranged.

It appeared the silver haired man beneath you agreed, his jaw ticking dangerously as his deep crimson eyes crinkled in warning, “Are you sure this is a game you want to play?”

You knew the answer was definitely no. But the mere glimpse of the Onychinus leader beneath you, at your mercy, was enough to make you push through the thrilling fear coursing through your veins.

With Sylus’s chiseled body unwillingly sprawled out before you, you situated yourself in between his thighs. Though his words and expression were laced with a cautionary edge, his legs spread open for you.

His wrists were bound with the two silver cuffs you’d purchased at a novelty store on girls day out with Tara, each hand simultaneously locked to the steel beams of your bed’s headboard. With his arms bound above his head, his button up shirt rode up to expose his pale and scarred skin and the defined outlines of the chiseled pelvic muscles that lead to his manhood.

It wasn’t a stretch to say you’d planned this, after all you did buy the cuffs with Sylus in mind. And you’d never forget what Luke and Kieran had told you, in what felt like a lifetime ago.

“Boss is most vulnerable when he’s sleeping.”

Except now you weren’t binding him for the purpose of incapacitating him to find that damned brooch he’d taunted you with. Now, when he’d dozed off after you’d forced him to marathon the Harry Potter series with you, you tied him up with only one goal in mind.

Well maybe two. To tease and to punish.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you watch the way Sylus’s naval rises and falls irregularly, a subtle sign of his boiling anticipation. His exposed pelvis is dusted in a faint path of hair, trailing to where his pants hang dangerously low on his hips, after you’d taken his belt off.

Sylus watches you with a careful eye as your hands find his waistband, tugging his bottoms and his boxers down in one motion. He tuts disapprovingly, even as his body lifts every so slightly to assist you in undressing him, “I’ve already warned you once. I won’t warn you again.”

And yet, there’s an undeniable amusement in his voice that lets you know it’s safe to keep going. Your eye contact never breaks as you tug his clothing all the way down, until they rest at his ankles. His hardening cock springs free as you do so, the thick mushroom head already leaking a shiny streak of precum. As it slaps against his abdomen, Sylus’s carmine irises darken, but he refuses to make any sounds. The screech of steel rattling against steel is loud in the tense air, the formidable man’s fists clenched so tightly his nails threaten to break his skin.

You bend down slowly, torturously languid, until his masculine scent invades your senses. You shiver in pleasure, positively addicted to every part of him. Sylus’s stomach heaves as he curses you inwardly; you were the only devilish minx that could even fathom rendering him into this vulnerable state. The only person he’d ever allow to see him like this.

“You’ve become quite bold, little bird. Perhaps I’ve been too lenient with you.”

His cocky attitude makes you want to shiver, but you find the strength to retort back, “Perhaps you have.”

Not wanting to give him a chance to respond, and a chance for you to lose your courage, you let your tongue run over the thick tip of his erection, collecting his arousal on your tongue. You make a show of savoring his taste, letting your eyes bat at him while you lick him clean.

Sylus is hypnotized, crunching up to watch you. His wrists pull against the metal restraints, growing irritated with being held back. Of course, if he’d wanted to, he could snap the cuffs with a mere tick of his fingers, but he found it amusing to watch his mischievous little bird believe she had control.

When you take his head fully into your lips, Sylus’s hips involuntarily buck up into the heaven that is your mouth. Though surprised, you do your best to accommodate the extra inches, tongue twirling around his leaking slit as your jaw unhinges to take in his fat girth.

“Fuck.”

Sylus’s dark eyebrows are scrunched as he fights the urge to destroy the cuffs to get to you, wanting nothing more than to sink his fingers into your hair and push you down until you couldn’t breathe. But he prided himself as a man of patience, even if he despised being tested.

And you were absolutely testing him. Your puffy lips caressed his sensitive veins, tongue assaulting every flaming nerve of his massive length, delicate and soft fingers leaving no inch of him untouched. Yet you moved so languidly. Deliberately testing how far you could push him, testing his resolve. Not that he would ever beg, but he desperately wished you’d move faster, take him deeper.

“My love,” he purrs, deceptively calm even as your filthy tongue lathered his most sensitive parts, “I implore you to release me. While I’m still feeling generous.”

Doing your best to shut him up, you take him into the back of your throat, fingers shifting from the base of his manhood to his heavyset balls. You’re only half successful in your antics, as you do cut off Sylus’s demands, only to be replaced by an inexplicable string of curses. The daunting leader of the Onychinus, whose name evoked fear itself to most, unraveled at your whims. A man who had no weaknesses, save for one.

You.

With his head thrown back, hair tousled and matted with a thin layer of sweat, he began to pant heavily. His neck bobbed deeply to the rhythm of his gasps, hands pulling against the restraints you’d locked him into. The sound of metal clashing against metal is almost deafening, your head snapping up to his arms bound above his head.

For a second you’d feared he’d snapped the steel cuffs, his biceps rippling and forearm veins bulging with the sheer strength of his arms. But fortunately for you, his wrists were still firmly bound, a red angry circle forming where the metal met the pale skin of his hands.

“Do you really think – hah – this will end well for you, dove?” Sylus considers this your very last warning, crunching up once again to watch you, your mouth full of his cock, saliva dribbling down your chin as you try to accommodate his thickness. He swears under his breath at the sight of you, his woman, the only person he’d ever even consider letting his guard down around, pleasuring him so sweetly and enthusiastically. Even if you were so foolish that you thought you could get away with typing him up.

You look up innocently at him, fluttering your eyelashes as you fuck him with your mouth. Though you let him hit the back of your throat every time, your rhythm is intentionally and torturously slow, edging him without making it obvious enough for punishment. And although each intentional motion elicits the most mind numbing grip from your gag reflex on his throbbing erection, he’s losing his mind from how much more he wants. How much more he needs.

“Faster.”

You nearly choke as you giggle at his demands, releasing his cock with a resounding pop. Of course, even tied up, Sylus didn't use the word ‘please.’ The man of unthinkable power was absolutely used to getting what he wanted without even batting an eye. It was a habit that he rarely relented on, and when he did it was only for you.

“What’s the magic word?”

Sylus glowered at you, jaw twitching dangerously as he did his best to hold himself back, “Watch it.”

It was truly taking every ounce of willpower he had to not rip the cuffs off the steel beams of your bed, taking your headboard apart with it. All so he could have more.

“Sylus,” you pout, still using your hands to gingerly stroke him with a featherlike touch. Nothing intense enough to get him off. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to say ‘please’ when asking for something?” You give him a pointed squeeze, thumb stroking the underside of his swollen head.

He curses, pelvis thrusting up into your fist to try and chase the pleasure you’re withholding from him, “Fuck, if you’re going to act like a brat, I’m going to treat you like one.”

“I just want to hear the words ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ Please. See how easy that is?”

“Y/N, my heart,” Sylus purrs lowly, eyes glinting dangerously, “I won’t tolerate any more disobedience.”

“Well then you don’t get what you want.” As soon as the words left your mouth you knew you’d regret them.

Before you can even blink, you find yourself pressed firmly into the mattress, your head hanging off the side, hair dangling freely. The air feels strangely brisk, and you can vaguely feel your nipples hardening. It’s then you realize you’re naked. But you hadn’t felt Sylus lay a single finger on you.

His Evol.

You’d become so accustomed to Sylus’s Evol that you no longer felt its slightly suffocating invisible web when it touched you, unlike when you’d first met him in the N109 zone. The countless times he’d use his Evol to guide your lips to his, your hand into his larger ones, or to undress you, had actually made you quite fond of the touch of his Evol.

Little did you know that Sylus had actually been practicing lightening up the intensity of it, for you. He’d always detested seeing the uncomfortable scrunch of your eyebrows, the hostile goosebumps that would raise where his Evol touched you. So he’d absolved himself to train the claws of his Evol to soften, instead becoming that of a gentle caress. Only for you, of course. For everyone else, they got the skin-shredding talons that parents warned about in cautionary tales to their children.

Hanging upside down, the glint of the ceiling light against the silver cuffs hanging off your headboard catches your eye, snapping you from your thoughts. The metal loops were still completely intact, but unlocked. Of course you knew he’d use his Evol to escape eventually, but it still surprised you how he managed to do it so effortlessly. Graceful in everything he did.

You try to sit up, but Sylus’s hand wraps itself softly around your throat and holds you back down. He tsks scornfully, a playful warning in the swirling glowing cerise of his eyes. His grip is gentle enough where you can still speak normally. Rough enough where you want more.

So you pout childishly, “It’s just like you to use your Evol for such cheap tricks.”

From beneath his towering frame, you can just barely see him raise his perfectly arched eyebrow. Most of him is obstructed by his massive erection pressed at your nose, menacingly imposing before you. “Cheap? Doll, there’s nothing cheap about me. And nothing cheap about the things I’m going to do to you.”

You shiver involuntarily at his threats, your thighs clenching together in anticipation. Sylus’s words were always harsh, but when it came to you there was always such a profound sincerity and gentleness behind his actions, even when he was brutally devouring your body. So the danger edged into his words only served to excite you, fueling the dampness that had formed between your legs.

And of course, his perfect cock dangling in front of your lips, still glistening with a sheen of his arousal and your saliva. Hanging so closely to your waiting tongue, but never touching. That definitely did not help the throbbing ache in between your thighs.

“I think you’ve had enough fun, don’t you agree?”

Feeling daringly bold, you playfully curse him, “Screw y–” But before you can finish getting the words out, Sylus grips your jaw, shoving himself into your waiting mouth. The force he uses is enough to make your eyes roll back, the feeling of being full of him making you forget what you’d wanted to say to begin with. You’re careful to pull back your teeth as he finds his way to one of his favorite places, the back of your throat.

“Let’s give that mouth something to do, other than run itself, hmm?”

You groan in response, letting the vibrations of your throat speak for you. Sylus grunts, removing his hand from your throat and weaving it into your hair like he’d wanted to earlier. His grip is strong, just hard enough that you feel an immense pleasure from the stinging pull. With a firm hand on your scalp, he fucks into your face, his meticulously groomed hair brushing against your nose at every thrust.

His speed and vigor is relentless, not that you’d complain even if you could. The feeling of Sylus driving in and out of your throat, like you were a fleshlight, had your body vibrating with need, clit throbbing in ecstasy. How you could feel this good just sucking his cock was beyond you. Your unrestrained moans were an absolute orchestra to his ears, the vibrations running through every nerve ending in his erection, causing him to release a string of his own sounds

“You’re so – hah – exquisite like this, dove. Choking on my cock instead of your words.”

You whine at him, so unbelievably turned on by the filthy way he speaks to you. His skin slaps against your wet mouth, and an obscene amount of drool mixed with precum drips off your cheeks and onto the carpeted floor beneath you. You loll your tongue out to try and catch his copious dribbles of precum, not wanting to waste any part of him.

“I can see my cock in your throat, sweetheart,” he cooed, using a hand to brush against your throat, where his erection bulges against your neck each time he fucks into you.

Tears streamed from your eyes as Sylus’s pace increased, gripping onto your hair for even more leverage against your beautiful face.

“Crying already? Not feeling so bold anymore, my love?”

You ignore his patronizing words, trying to focus instead on your own pleasure. With one hand still gripping the hard muscles of his bubbly rear, your other hand wanders to the quivering area between your thighs, fiddling with the bundle of nerves that was slick with your arousal. You desperately seek to relieve some of the tension building up in your gut, all from just Sylus’s cock in your mouth.

But before you can give yourself any inkling of pleasure, you feel a familiar force of energy pulling your hand away.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to touch yourself.”

You nearly sob at his words. You want to speak, plead with him to touch you, or at least let you touch yourself, pride be damned. But his unbelievable girth makes it impossible to do anything but devour him repeatedly.

The white haired man above you watches you carefully, swearing at how your tear soaked face makes his resolve to punish you crumble ever so slightly. Taking pity on you, he brings your hand to his, weaving his long fingers into yours. You hold his hand tightly, enjoying the way his much larger hand clasps into yours, fingers digging into your sensitive flesh.

“Good girl,” he coos in praise, voice tinged with a condescension that makes your skin crawl in excitement, “You don’t touch what’s mine, unless I say, hm?”

You look up at him with wide wet eyes, nodding obediently as he continues to ravage your face. He pressed your hand deeper into the mattress, his thrusts becoming so intense that you knew you’d have a hard time speaking tomorrow, your throat battered and bruised.

From your position, you don’t see the glowing light that emanates from your joined fingers. But Sylus does, and he watches in a concealed wonder at the way you can so easily resonate with him now. You didn’t even need to try, a single touch was all it took. It was a testament to how much you’d grown to trust him.

No, it was a testament to the deep love and respect you’d both come to hold for each other. You’d both definitely come a long way from when he’d captured, or when you let him capture, you at the N109 zone all that time ago. The thought of that threatens to make Sylus shiver as he continues to ram himself deep into your warm wet throat. He watched the way you took him so eagerly, hand gripping his for dear life, your other hand coming up to stroke his heavyset balls as they slapped against your face. The way your poor little throat bulged every time he thrusted into it, the bump so visible to his hungry crimson eyes.

Oh, how you ruined him. He’d fucking marry you.

Your jaw ached, having been open as widely as possible for far too long now, but you did your best to continue to take him. The feeling of him using your mouth was more than enough to keep you growing wetter, needing more. Your thighs squeezed together, as you rocked into nothing, wanting nothing more than to feel any friction between your legs.

Sylus watched as you pathetically tried to find pleasure in the empty air, nearly growling at how arousing the sight was. He was fueled with such an intense desire and love for you, nothing like he’d ever felt before. And that love and desire was enough for him to concede, if even just a little bit, for you.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling…charitable today, my dove,” he murmurs, releasing your hair and bending over your body. His erection never leaves your mouth, but he hovers so that your sight is filled with the view of his solid abdominal muscles. You cry out against his member when the familiar feel of his fingers finds your clit. You gasp out, choking on him, your hips jolting up eagerly to meet his torrid touch.

Sylus chuckles, a satisfied smirk making its way onto his unfairly gorgeous face, “Look at how eager you are…all this just from the taste of cock?”

Not able to respond, you hump up into his hand, squeezing your eyes shut in embarrassment of how desperate you were for him. Sylus only gives you a pointed thrust into your throat, making you gag deliciously around him again.

“Such an insatiable little bird,” he murmured, fingers expertly toying with you.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” his skilled ministrations never stopping, “I wish you could see how lovely you look with your mouth full.”

Your eyes rolled back when he entered you, one finger at a time. He cursed at how tightly you gripped just one of his fingers. He had half a mind to just bury himself into your perfect cunt right then and there. And that’s just what he’d do. He was never used to not indulging in what he wanted, why stop now?

You felt the familiar shift in energy, a gentle hold on your body, until you found yourself laying on the middle of your bed, Sylus situated between your knees, fingers still toying with you. Your neck screaming in relief at the plush surface, mind reeling from the sudden shift.

The white haired man bends to hover over you, free hand caressing your jaw, his frighteningly beautiful face before yours, “Hello, my love.”

Your voice is hoarse, sounding unfamiliar, “Hi.” It’s nothing more than a pitiful squeak.

Sylus chuckles, his chest rumbling warmly at your adorably vulnerable state, “How’s your throat?”

You glare at him, trying to steady your raspy voice, “Don’t patronize me.”

He smirks, not the least bit apologetic, but says, “Forgive me, love.” He doesn’t give you a chance to sass him further, instead bringing your chin up to his. His lips slot onto yours, deceptively slow at first and quickly progressing to a vigor that matched the way he’d rammed himself into your throat.

The bruising intensity of the kiss made your mind muddle, your hands coming up to grasp his neck to ground you. You gasped at the feeling of his heartbeat pounding so forcefully in his neck. The familiar feeling of an earth shattering orgasm edges into your numbed mind, every heightened sense filled with Sylus and only Sylus.

You finally break away, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him scissoring in and out of you, enough to have you on the brink of climaxing, “Sy-Sylus, I’m–”

Sylus reads you like the back of his hand, withdrawing his fingers and roughly grabbing your face to look up at him. You sob at the loss of friction, looking up at him with teary questioning eyes.

The ceiling lights illuminate behind Sylus, forming a halo like ring atop his head. He was so hauntingly and terrifyingly beautiful. Not unlike that of a fallen angel, whose sole purpose was to ruin you.

And just as you’re admiring him, Sylus looks down at you. Unbeknownst to you, he also considers you to be his very own angel sent from the heavens. Bringing light and salvation to the shadowed crevices of his soul.

But even then, he can’t help but tease you, the urge to see you ruined at his hand. An angel with tattered wings, so utterly spent with lust. “You don’t cum until I say, hm?” As if to punctuate his point, he puts his fingers, wet with your slick, in between your parted lips. The taste of you is strong on him, enough to distract you from Sylus, who’s lining up his more massive than ever erection with your weeping slit.

“Come on, sweetheart. Suck. I know you can do better than that.”

He presses his fingers harder onto your tongue, relishing in how warm you feel around him. At your adorable pouty glare, he pushes his leaking tip into you.

You yelp in surprise, biting down on his fingers in your mouth. Sylus hisses, but the pain only further arouses him, making him shove into you suddenly. Your hands come up to grasp his forearm, the veins bulging under your touch.

The feeling of him entering you is so overwhelming, the only thing grounding you to the present was the way his fingers felt and tasted against your tongue. And so you devoured him in earnest, much to his satisfaction.

It’s not long before he bottoms out, his head kisses your cervix, just enough to have your eyes rolling back, sparks of hot white pleasure clouding your vision.

Sylus removes his fingers from your mouth, bringing his thumb to his own lips and brushing it across his parted mouth, his other fingers outstretched as he licks across his thick thumb. You whimper at the sight, so unbelievably seductive he has to be doing it on purpose.

“You always taste divine.” His movements have all but halted completely, his thick girth just sitting inside of you, brushing against your womb. And even though the stretch is enough to practically compress your lungs, you want more.

“D-Don’t tease Sylus,” you whine pathetically, “Fuck me.”

The smile on his face is as cocky as ever, the corner of his lips curving up, as sharp as his edged jaw.

“So bold. Do you really think you’re in any position to make demands?”

He gives you just one pointed thrust, cockhead nestling so deliciously into your sweetest spots, but stopping just at that. You cry out, fingers gripping the comforter so tightly your knuckles turn white.

“If I recall correctly…someone once told me something about saying…what was it? ‘Please’ and ‘thank you’?”

He grins down at you, bending forward so that he hovers right over your face. He would never let you know but the pouty grimace on your lust glowing face was nearly enough to have him caving into your every whim, punishment forgotten in the wind.

“Hm? So what do we say, sweetheart?”

With his cock situated so perfectly in you, it’s impossible for you to do anything but follow his every command, no matter how much it bruises your ego.

“P-Please?”

His smirk deepens, fingers cupping your chin up to face him, “You can do better than that, Y/N.”

You groan as he shifts, giving you just the tiniest bit of friction where it mattered. You do your best to find the confidence, “Please Sylus.”

There’s the faintest flicker of darkness in his eyes, a twitch of unraveling at the way you effortlessly purr his name. If you had any idea the things you did to him, the mighty and fearless leader of the Onychinus, it would be his absolute undoing.

“Please what, my dove? Come on, use that beautiful voice of yours.”

Before you can let out your snarky response, his fingers travel to your neck, stroking your sensitive pulse gently before pressing down to compress your airway.

“Or is this throat only good for taking my cock?”

You whine at his words, patience absolutely gone. You wrap your legs around his waist and force him closer. A pathetic attempt to get him to thrust into you. Your hands come up to the back of his neck, and your tear glistening eyes search his pleadingly. He’s taken aback by the sudden shift, a small gasp escaping his parted lips. In his surprise, he lets himself be guided to you, his forehead falling to lay atop yours, his breath fanning against your own.

“Please Sylus, please fuck me. I’m sorry, I’ll be a good girl. Please.”

The curse that leaves Sylus’s voice is barely perceptible as he drinks you in. Your cheeks were still streaked with tears, your eyes wide and glassy. Your lips were puffy from his bruising kisses, and cheeks heated with desire. There was absolutely nothing in the universe that could match how utterly gorgeous you were. His gorgeous woman. His to ruin.

His voice low with longing and hunger, “Fuck, okay love. I’ll give you what you want.”

He manipulates the energy around you, raising your arm above your hand. His slender fingers dance up your exposed skin, until they find your fingers. His nails graze your inflamed skin, fingers toying with yours. For a brief moment, he enjoys how much smaller your hand feels in his. His delicate little bird.

“Hold on tight.”

Your fingers grip his, your nails digging in when he finally pulls his cock out, leaving only his head still snuggly inside. Without giving you a second to breathe, he’s plummeting himself back into your sopping cunt. Your combined slick ensures there’s zero resistance, only the sounds of wet slaps filling the space between you.

Sylus’s forehead still rests against yours, his free arm bent above your head, helping support him as he fucks you with a painfully delicious intensity. Your cunt milks him perfectly, the warmth far too inviting and the tightness much too constricting. His fingers grip yours forcefully, trying to offset the way your pussy tries to suck the living soul out of him.

“Sy-Sylus,” you cry out, nails digging crescents into his skin, your other hand coming up to rake red scratches into his back, “Slow – ngh – slow down!” Your brain is a jumbled mess, confused at the words your tongue lets out when your body only wants more.

Sylus’s chuckle is low and almost sinister, his pace never relenting, “That’s funny. I recall you saying you’d be a good girl.” He shifts his weight to his knees, moving his palm to your naval, pressing down. You squeal at the feeling of his palm pressing into your stomach, your sensitive walls being compressed into his cock spearing in and out of you.

“And good girls take what they’re given, hm?”

Moans and whimpers are the only thing you’re capable of producing, his pace brutal, like he was trying to find his way into your throat from your cunt. You don’t notice his hand traveling further south until his thumb presses into your swollen clit, flicking hard. You screech, your back arching off the bed, giving him further access to your dripping cunt.

“Answer me when I speak to you, sweetheart.”

“Yes! Yes, I’m a good girl, I can take it!” you all but screamed, spine so arched you felt like you were levitating.

The erotic cries that leave your lips make it difficult for Sylus to think straight, so he doesn’t. He fucks you with a ferocity that was nothing short of animalistic, the only thing he can think of is how many different ways he can and will make you cum.

He presses your joined palms deeper into the mattress, eyes searching yours desperately. For what, you were unsure. But as his scarlet irises bore into yours, you felt an overwhelming sense of emotion catch in your throat.

Propping yourself slightly on your elbows, you pressed your forehead to Sylus’s, his sweat dampened bangs fluttering against your eyelashes.You reach up to cup the back of his head, pulling him towards you. His right hand never leaves your clit, his left staying tightly clasped with yours.

He takes the opportunity to press his lips to yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth. You moan into him as he claims you fully, thrusts moving in tandem with his tongue. It’s a torrid clash of tongue and teeth, enough passion to have the Aether core in your heart throbbing dangerously erratically.

“Syluuus,” you slur as you pull away to breathe, “I-I’m..I’m gon–” You can’t get the words out, the tip of his cock against your cervix and fingers on your clit bringing you into another dimension, one filled with him. The scent, the sound, the feel, the sight of him.

“I know. Getting so goddamn tight,” he grits out, jaw locking as he tries to steady himself against your vice grip. Sylus was a man of boundless stamina and restraint, but when it came to you… When it came to the absolute heaven that was your body, he could hold nothing back.

Just as you neared your orgasm, Sylus stops again. You find your body being moved again, but this time Sylus’s hands are lifting you, and not his Evol. His strong arms lift you so that you’re sitting on his lap, your back pressed against his muscled chest, and his back leaned up against the bed.

He does however use his Evol to drag over the gold arched full-length mirror you had propped up against the corner of your bedroom, so that it sits right in front of the bed. Your vision is filled with the gleaming reflection of you, naked on Sylus’s lap, his arrogant smirk right by the top of your head. His muscular arms are draped over your thighs, spreading open your glistening folds, fully exposing you before the mirror.

“Sylus s-stop. It’s embarrassing,” you whine, averting your gaze at the lewd sight, and the even filthier sounds of his fingers against your copious slick. But he grips your jaw firmly, turning you back to the mirror.

“Look how beautiful you are,” he murmurs, lips pressed against your ear, “Look.”

You puff your cheeks, fighting against his fingers.

“Look, love. Or you don’t get to cum,” he purrs in your ear.

You mutter sulkily, knowing full well his threats are anything but empty, “You’re evil.”

But you obey diligently, letting his fingers guide your face forward. The sight before you is so unbelievably filthy, Sylus’s long fingers digging into your thighs to keep them spread open, his other fingers playing with your swollen lips. Even on his lap, he was a head taller than you, His soft white hair is matted with sweat, his cheeks dusted a peachy red with how vigorously he’d just been fucking you.

As your eyes meet in the mirror, Sylus lifts you from underneath your thighs, and spears you onto his cock. You cry out at the feeling of being stretched open again, Sylus’s own ecstasy fueled grunts in your ear.

With you atop him, his cock reaches so unbelievably deep inside you that you feel the tears returning. Your eyes screw shut as his tip repeatedly brushes against your cervix, the familiar pain quickly dulling into an intense pleasure.

Suddenly you feel Sylus’s teeth at the crook of your neck, and arm coming across your chest to enclose over your entire throat. His sharp canines dig into the area where your neck meets your shoulder, biting just hard enough to make your eyes fly open to face his in the mirror. His eyebrows are quirked at you, amusement evident in his sharp ruby eyes.

He doesn’t speak, instead keeping his mouth attached to your pulse point. But the dark sultry heat swirling in his eyes that you can see reflected in the mirror is a clear and wordless command.

Watch.

And who were you to disobey him, when his body brought this much pleasure to your own.

So with your eyes locked on his in the mirror, Sylus begins to bounce you in earnest on his lap. And while you moan and whimper as he springs you so effortlessly on his cock, like you weighed nothing more than a mere toy, his own noises are muffled by his teeth that are sunk into your fluttering neck.

His eyes never leave yours in the mirror, darkened underneath his eyebrows, glowing with red hot lust. The way he watches you is so intimately primal, like a predator toying with its prey before the kill.

With his hungry gaze locking yours in place and the lewd wet sounds of slick skin pounding against one another, you feel the alarmingly rapid tightening of your abdomen that signals your orgasm. Sylus feels it too, your walls tightening so intensely that the outline of his veins might imprint into you. Your grip coaxes his own cock toward release, his jaw tightening as to keep himself in check.

He releases your bruised skin, admiring how breathtaking you look with his marks on you. His hand leaves your clit to rest on your tummy, stroking the skin there. You can feel him use his Evol to keep you in place, only the raw strength of his thighs and abs keeping you in steady motion on his length.

“Look,” he croons in your ear, teeth grazing against your sensitive earlobes, “Can you see where I am, dove? I’m allll the way here ” His husky voice drawls, hand on your abdomen pressing down. You can definitely see the distinct outline of something large thrusting in and out of you. Your eyes widen at the mirror, mesmerized at how your bodies connect, almost resonating on their own. Sylus’s eyes are also glued to the way the base of his cock, shiny with a ring of arousal, forces your tiny fluttering cunt to take him in all his glory.

“Tell me how it feels, hm? Tell me how I make you feel.” When you don’t respond, too lost in the sight in the mirror, his fingers come back down to squeeze your clit,

“Sylus! – ngh – feels ssoo so good,” you simper, panting through the hold he still has on your throat, the pressure quickly becoming far too addicting, “I-I…”

“Hah,” he groans into your ear, “You what baby? Tell me.”

“M’gunna cuuum,” you wail as his angle shifts just slightly, cock driving into your g spot. Sylus knows just how to play with you, his fingers sending you to heaven and back repeatedly. He was so thick that you felt like he'd split you in two, your cunt and thighs being stretched to their limits against the sloppy friction.

“Hmmm, is my beautiful girl going to make a mess on me? Does she deserve to?”

The mere thought that he might deny your climax again has you sobbing, tears of anguished ecstasy rolling down your face as his pace picks up even further.

“P-Pleaaase – unghh – please let me. I’m a g-good girl, I’ll be so – hnngh – good, I promise.”

Sylus had no intention of denying you again, but now he physically couldn’t. Because now, watching the fat tears roll down your cheek and hearing your beautiful pleas, he too could feel himself pulse with the ache to fill you up. As he watched your breathtaking form in the mirror, he cursed the Gods for sending the only thing that could ruin him.

You.

And yet, being ruined by you felt so damn good.

“Good for who, my love?”

Your vision has become clouded by your tears and the black spots that blot your eyesight. But the possessive purr in Sylus’s voice reaches you, through all the blinding pleasure, and makes butterflies flutter in your chest.

Your hands come up behind you to grasp behind his neck, and you strain yourself so that you turn just slightly to face him. For a second Sylus looks taken aback, but he quickly composes himself, the confident smile returning to his lips.

“Nggghh – for you, Sylus.” The sincerity of your shaking voice wipes the cocky smirk off his face, his thrusts faltering ever so slightly. For a brief second, Sylus can’t feel anything. He can’t feel the way your cunt, on the precipice of release, squeezes so forcefully that it threatens to break him in half, the way your soaking thighs ripple against his lap as he pounds into you, the way your fingers play with the hair at the back of his head.

Fate had played a cruel trick on the two of you. Two tragically entwined Aether cores. Two birds of a feather, trapped in the cage destiny had built.

But now, there is only you and him. Fate and destiny be damned.

“I’m yours Sylus. Always yours.”

Your words, delicate and simpering, pull him back to reality. All the sensations he’d briefly been numbed to came crashing back. The torturously delicious way you felt around him, atop him, and against him swarmed back all at once. And to top it all off, the sight of your fluttery wide wet eyes, hazed over with a fog of lust, staring at him with such wonder and adoration. Your eyes alone were practically making love to him.

It made him absolutely feral.

You squeal, thighs doing their best to grip against Sylus’s lap as he bounces you with an unprecedented vigor, his hand holding your throat to keep you somewhat steady. You watch his muscles bulge, his much larger frame very much on display behind you. Powerful and imposing – a true god-like glory.

“That’s fucking right, you’re mine,” he hisses in your ear, jaws clenched to hold back the moans your pussy threaten to pull from his body.

“Gonna cum in you, yeah? Would my slutty girl like that?"

“Y-Yes!” you squeal, so close to coming undone, “Pleeease Sylus! I-I’m s’close, I’ll do anything please!” You were quickly losing your voice amidst all the screaming and vigorous activities.

You can see Sylus devilish smile, releasing your throat to tilt your chin towards him.

“Anything? You’re making a deal with the devil, little dove.”

With your face so dangerously close to his, he can’t resist. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, his lips crashing onto yours, locked in the sweltering passion of your bodies. The feel of his tongue claiming every inch of your mouth is just enough to send you headfirst into the orgasm you’d been on the brink of for so long.

And because of that, your body couldn’t hold back the gush of excitement that squirted from where Sylus was connected to you. It’s so messy you can’t help the way your cheeks burn in embarrassment, even amidst the short circuiting of your pleasure-numbed brain.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Sylus bites out, the tautening of your orgasm stricken cunt nearly squeezing him into unconsciousness. He fucks you through your blissed out state, and it isn’t long before he follows your lead.

Like everything Sylus does, the way he cums is frighteningly powerful. Your body involuntarily shivers at how hot he is, but more so just how much there is. You can both clearly see the thick milky white seed seeping down Sylus’s cock, even as he continues to fuck into you. His thrusts are slower now, but more intentional. Conveying every ounce of passion into the way he rocks into you. Overstimulation quickly grips you, and you weakly tap at his thighs.

“Sylus, no-no more. S’too much.”

“M’not done,” he groans into your ear as he continues to thrust into you, and it’s then you feel his cock still shooting ropes of his hot spend inside you. He does, however, release your clit, shoving his fingers in your mouth, knowing it'll give you something to ground yourself amidst the sensitivity while he rides out the waves of his climax.

You gladly accept his fingers, grasping his forearm and sucking like his arm was a dessert. The taste of your mixed slick helps distract you from the intense aftershocks that wrack your body. It’s all enough to have Sylus spurting out everything he has, drained completely empty, milked utterly dry.

When you feel him finally still, you crack your eyes open, almost scared to see the aftermath.

The waning sun bounced beams of golden sunlight off your sweat, tears, and cum slicked bodies. Your own body was also littered in pretty little bruises, in the shape of Sylus’s teeth and fingers. Bruises in places you hadn’t even felt Sylus sink his teeth into. They quite literally looked like swirls of paint against a blank canvas.

Your hair was a mess, and your tear stained face was no better. The area between your thighs was red and puffy, leaking an obscene amount of white cream, all the while still stuffed to the brim with Sylus’s softening member. Even half hard, he stretched you absolutely full.

On the other hand, the man in question looked absolutely ethereal as he loomed above you in the mirror. His hair sat lusciously soft, gently blowing with the breeze entering through the cracked window. His muscles still flexed gently as they recovered from the vigorous activities, strong chest rising and falling rhythmically with his steadying heartbeat.

And finally his eyes that watch you back so carefully, the carmine orbs half lidded with satisfied bliss. His lips stretch into that signature Sylus smirk when he catches you staring, nothing short of heart stoppingly arrogant.

He’s so unbelievably handsome, your cunt quivering again just at the sight of him. Wincing at the feeling of his cock inside you stirring back to life at your involuntary throbbing, you panic and tap furiously on his thigh.

“Sylus, put me down.”

Sylus chuckles, mischief coloring his scarlet eyes, “What, no ‘please’?”

You whine, not able to withstand the feeling of him stirring back to life in your absolutely spent core. Yet you can feel yourself fluttering in anticipation. And you know he can feel it too.

You silently curse your traitorous body.

“Please.”

He laughs warmly and obliges. His strong hands grip the underside of your thighs, lifting you off of him. You cry out at the feeling, your cunt clenching at nothing, seeking him once more. Sylus inhales sharply, craving your tight warmth again. But he holds you gently against his chest, shifting so that his erection rests between his abdomen and your thigh, with you sitting sideways on his lap.

You nuzzle your head into his chest, and Sylus’s lips come down to the top of your head, breathing in your scent and ghosting kisses into your hair. Your hands reach up to weave into his silver tresses, playing with his soft locks and delicately massaging his scalp.

“Thank you,” you murmur, voice muffled against his skin.

When Sylus doesn’t respond, you pull away from him and look up at him expectantly. He appears to be lost in the feeling of your fingers.

“You never said please, you could at least say thank you,” you tease, poking his soft cheek with your finger.

Sylus looks down at you, amused danger flickering in the deep orbs of crimson. His hand leaves your thigh, slowly and tortuously crawling up your skin until he cups your face. You shiver, suddenly feel like you’re staring into the face of danger.

“Hmm, isn’t it customary to say thank you after eating?”

You crinkle your brows in confusion at his cryptic words, waiting for him to elaborate further. Sylus’s smug grin widens, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, basking in the excited fear brimming in your bleary eyes.

“I’ve yet to finish my meal, little dove.”

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

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reidrum · 1 year ago

Text

hit me baby one more time | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

a/n: i have no explanation for this i just really want spencer to fuck me in a mini skirt. this was also fueled by me listening to baby one more time on repeat for the last week so enjoy my horny thoughts hehe

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, p in v sex, munch!spencer, blowjobs, soft!dom!spence the loml, praise kink, spanking, suggestive dancing, kissing, afab reader, reader wears the outfit from the baby one more time mv (skirt and bra), i picture s11 spence so don’t mind the inconsistencies, idk if kirk actually wears a tie i am a star wars girlie not star trek, lowkey perv spence at the end but i would do the same tbh

summary: halloween brings spencer joy in many ways, this year he finds a new, and super fucking hot, reason to love the holiday more

wc: 3.3k

___________

spencer loved halloween. this was a known fact by many, he loved the lore behind the holiday, loved dressing up as his favorite characters, and loved playing tricks on morgan and jj around the office.

spencer also loved halloween because he gets to see you. not that he didn’t see you on a daily basis in the office or on the field catching killers, but in a state where you were carefree and didn’t have to worry about the behavior patterns of a psychopath.

in past years spencer has dressed up as different versions of the doctor (still claiming his tenth doctor costume was the best, because it was your favorite), the hobbit from lord of the rings, and nosferatu (to the dismay of morgan’s very scared reaction). you would go a more pop culture route, dressing up as characters from recent movies and shows including barbie, the scarlet witch, and wednesday adams.

he loved being able to tell you the lore of the different characters he was and he loved listening to you explaining the cultural significance and impact that barbie had on society. he could listen to you talk about literal garbage, actually, and still be hanging onto your every word.

what he loved the most, however, was your choice of costume tonight at the karaoke bar the team was out at.

for halloween this year you decided to go with a more nostalgic costume. clad in a black mini skirt, tied up white button up showing your tummy and just the right amount of cleavage to have your hot pink bra pop out, gray cardigan, knee high socks and mary janes, you were the spitting image of britney spears in the baby one more time music video. complete with the ribbon entwined pigtails.

the moment you walked in the bar, spencer knew he was utterly and absolutely fucked.

morgan knew about spencer’s infatuation with you, because, he’s morgan and spencer’s not subtle. so when he watched spencer’s mouth hang open like a beckoning for flies to land in, all he could do was pat him firmly on the back and say, “good luck, kid.”

he watched you walk over to the table the team had claimed, making your rounds at saying hi and hugging everyone. he was last, and when you reached up on your toes to wrap your arms around his neck he had no choice (lie) but to rest his hands at your hips while his thumbs brushed the bare skin of your stomach. he also had no choice (still, a lie) but to be deathly intoxicated by the smell of your shampoo and perfume as you placed your head in the crook of his neck.

“hi spence! your costume looks so cool, i love how it turned out. were you able to find what you needed at that store i told you about?” you bubbled happily.

it took spencer about ten whole seconds of staring at you (and definitely not at your chest) to realize that you were asking him something and tried to quickly (embarrassingly) recover, “um, yeah no i was! she knew so much about star trek and was super helpful, she told me how much she loves seeing you in the store.”

you giggle, “i’m glad admiral kirk, she’s a sweet old thing.”

he should be ashamed at how you calling him that went straight to his crotch.

“y- you also look great, who are you supposed to be?”

“i’m britney spears! in the baby one more time music video?”, you’re met with a blank stare, “spence, we have to educate you better on the true icons of our time.” you playfully grab his forearm.

he laughs nervously at your joke and the contact and proceeds to down half his beer in one gulp. thank god garcia comes out of nowhere to gush over your outfit, “oh my god girl, you look so hot. you have to get up there and sing it, it’s only right!”

“let me get a few shots in first and then i’ll see, penny” you chuckle back.

after about two shots you were already feeling loose, whatever anxiety you had about tonight dissipated as the alcohol overtook your bloodstream. truth be told, you had a super secret mission up your sleeve.

you would be a terrible profiler if you didn’t notice the way spencer changed whenever he was in your company, and it never made you feel uncomfortable. you only craved his attention even more, and it made your crush on him run even deeper. he was kind and smart and caring. and undeniably sexy. you knew for a fact he wanted you too, and you were determined to make him do something about it tonight.

knowing spencer hasn’t seen the music video therefore not knowing why the schoolgirl outfit, it turned you on even more knowing he was going to lose his goddamn mind after you were done. the plan was already rolling in your brain as you sauntered up to the karaoke stage and got ready to put on a show.

the beginning beats of the song play and you get a couple of cheers and “let’s go, baby!” from the crowd and your team— sans spencer, who was hanging on your every move as you started swaying your hips.

“my loneliness, is killing me. and i-i-i. i must confess, i still believe, still believe.” you sing and dance the choreography to the song you know so well.

“when i’m not with you, i lose my mind.” you make direct eye contact with spencer, and are more than excited to see him locked in on you too.

you decide to kick your plan up a notch, and walk off the stage mic in hand towards the bau’s table, earning many cheers and phones capturing the moment. you play up the theatrics a little by getting emily and jj to sing along with you, morgan and rossi leaning into you as you wrapped your arms around their shoulders.

“give me a si-i-i-ign,” you’ve reached spencer, and the last step in your plan.

your finger leaves featherlight touches around his shoulders and across his collarbone as you stand behind his chair. a flat hand trails down his chest closer to the bulge in his pants, spencer’s eyes widening at the gesture. your hand reaches the final destination at the base of tie, and you pull it so he’s looking up at you directly.

“hit me baby one more time.” you finish with the biggest smirk, never breaking eye contact with spencer. the cheers and claps became louder but all you could focus on were the deep breaths he was taking to compose himself. you give him a wink as you hand the mic back to the stage guy and walk back to him to sit on his lap.

“you don’t mind, do you? all the seats are taken,” you smirk as you feel his hard on through your lace panties, “plus i really want to hear what you thought about my performance.” you finish whispering in his ear. he shudders in your hold, but the feeling of your ass weighing on the place he needs you the most, his primal instincts take over and suddenly he has a boost of confidence.

he lifts your head so his mouth is right on the crest of your ear, “how about i show you what your performance did to me?” he shifts a little and lightly thrusts up into your clothed core and you let out a small gasp. luckily the team had all but dispersed throughout the bar, getting drinks or dancing, so no one has to be privy to your conversation.

the glint in your eyes was all the confirmation he needed. you stood up slowly with his tie still wrapped around your fingers, and you pull it over your shoulder so he would trail behind you as you walked. spencer followed you like a dog getting tugged by a leash, literally, and stumbles at first when you pull him but he quickly regains his composure as you navigate through the crowds, placing his hands on your waist protectively.

you end up in front of the women’s bathroom and spencer doesn’t hesitate to push the doors open and lead you inside. it was one of those single person bathroom with no other stalls, but it was definitely one of the more nicer bathrooms you’d been in. the maroon pattern of the wall adding to the sultry vibe you’re setting, not to mention a spacious countertop for the sink and amenities.

the possibilities of what was going to happen run wild in your brain, only being pulled out of it by the sharp lock of the door and the feeling of strong hands snaking around your waist again.

you look up to meet his eyes in the mirror and watch spencer fiddle with the edge of your button up, “i don’t think i told you how much i really like your costume.”

“yeah?” you lean back in his touch, “what do you like about it?”

he moves his hands to the middle of your chest, “well, i like how soft the blouse is,” he deftly undoes the knot, “and i really like the color you got on underneath.” he lets the ends of the shirt fall to your side and slides his hands up to cup your breasts through your lace bra, massaging them gently.

you let out a half gasp-moan, “what else?”

“this skirt is really cute, fits you well.” he hums while he smooths over the front close to your core, leaning down to press love bites into your neck.

you turn around in his embrace to face him, lay your hands flat on his chest, and look up at him with the biggest doe eyes you could muster, “want to see what’s underneath it?”

the ghost of a smirk lies on his face and he leans down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. his hand cups your cheek closer to him while his other one grips your ass and lower back.

his tongue slots between yours as he deepens the kiss, and he reaches down to the backs of your thighs to lift you up onto the counter. your legs open up instinctively and he steps in between them letting his hand run up the plush of your thigh to the band of your panties. he toys with the lace pattern of it before he detaches his lips and pulls the skirt all the way up.

he slowly sinks to his knees, never breaking eye contact with you as he whispers, “this is definitely my favorite costume on you.” he’s face to face with your pink panty covered pussy and he lets out a groan when he notices the wet spot in the center. he tentatively traces a finger up and down your slit, gauging your reactions.

soft whimpers fall from your mouth as you let out a whiny, “spencer…”

“don’t worry baby, i’m gonna take care of you.” he coos, “lift your hips.” you oblige as he gently pulls your panties down and stuffs them in his back pocket. his large hands push your legs apart, giving him better access as he tugs you closer to the edge and leans in to draw a long stripe up your core with his tongue.

you let out a high pitched moan at the contact, bracing yourself on the counter with your palms flat down. his tongue draws shapes on you and you feel his finger prodding around your hole before plunging in, driving you straight to delirium.

the sensations begin to overwhelm you and you feel the peak rising in your gut. you tangle your hands in his curls, “pl- please don’t stop.” you whimper.

he groans into your pussy and you feel the vibration sent throughout your entire body, enough to push you over the edge and let the white hot overtake you. he doesn’t stop pumping his fingers or his tongue as he drags out your orgasm for as long as you’ll take it, before you’re yanking him by his hair off of your core and up to your face to kiss him dumb.

the salty taste of you lingers on his lips as you grab his face with both hands and keep him close to you. he lets out a whimper when you tug his hair again, and you smirk as you break the kiss to slide off the counter and drop to your knees. you quickly undo the clasp of his belt, the sound of his zipper going down making spencer’s heartbeat go faster.

the size of his bulge through his boxers was intimidating but it only spurred your desire to please him more. you look up at him and offer an innocent smile as you lean forward to pull back the fabric of his boxers with your teeth and let it fall back into place with a snap.

the impact caused spencer to moan out loud, and he watched with bated breath while you slowly tugged his boxers down to let his cock spring free. you let out a tiny gasp, “spencer…i never knew you were so pretty.”

his preening turns into a sharp moan as you take in the head of his length into your mouth. swirling your tongue around like a lollipop. you lay your tongue flat on the underside of his cock and slowly let it enter your throat until your nose is flush with his tummy and you’re gagging to keep him inside.

“ho-o-ly shit, fuck.” spencer groans when he looks down to see his whole length down your throat and your eyes bulging with tears at the fullness in your mouth. he wishes he had a photographic memory so he could engrave the vision of you on your knees for him in his brain forever.

you retract back and start bobbing your head on his cock, using your hand to pump whatever you couldn’t easily fit in your mouth. expletives and moans fall from him every millisecond, the feeling being so irrepressible that after a minute spencer had to pry you off him so he didn’t finish in your mouth.

“what, too much?” you grin mischievously, dragging your thumb across your bottom lip to wipe the spit.

his heavy breathing is the only answer you got as he turns your body around to face the mirror, and bends you down at the waist to lean your upper body on the counter. he flips your skirt up so your ass is on display for him and draws his hand back to give your right ass cheek a big smack.

you moan out languishly and he lets out a small chuckle, “kinky, are we?”

“you’re the one who spanked me.”

he bends down to whisper in your ear, “yeah, but you liked it. i can feel you getting wetter.” his fingers return to your core to spread the new wetness onto his cock before aligning it at your entrance. he slowly pushes in, stretching you out bewitchingly. he breaks his gaze from where you connect to look back into the mirror, and god, is he so fucking glad he did.

your face is beautifully fucked out, eyes glistening with tears about to fall over, cheeks flushed, eyebrows furrowed, your arms pressed so perfectly against the sides of your chest your breasts are threatening to spill out of your bra.

“god, you look like a dream,” spencer whispers from behind as he begins thrusting into you. you moan back in response and push back on his cock to meet his thrusts. the noise of your hips meeting and him sliding in and out of you filled the bathroom.

“i’m so close, fuck, oh my god.” you whine pathetically. spencer can’t help but smugly grin in response, “already? it can’t be over that fast, hold it.”

you gasp out, “i can’t, please, i need to come.”

he wraps one arm around the front of stomach to hoist you up and uses the other hand to tug on your pigtails to lean your head back towards him, “you’ll come when i say you can. you’re my good girl, right? gonna show me how good you can be for me?” he whispers hotly in your ear.

a loud moan escapes your throat as you try to keep your composure and hold your orgasm at bay. his precise and timed thrusts doing nothing to help you, you feel yourself starting to float away, becoming so cockdrunk off of spencer you can barely keep yourself conscious.

“almost there, pretty girl. you’re doing so well, ‘m so proud of you.”

you make the mistake of looking back up at the mirror, becoming grossly entrapped by the image of spencer pounding into you from behind and his equally fucked out face tucked into your neck, “spence…baby, please.”

he whines at the pet name and finally gives in, “okay princess, you can come now.” your second orgasm of the night ravages through you, leaving nothing behind but thoughts of spencer. he continues fucking you through your peak, chasing his own release to come shortly after.

“fuck, i’m close. where d- do you want me to..?” he stutters.

“in my mouth.” you breath out.

he groans out loud, “on your knees.”

he pulls out of you and you immediately drop to your knees, not hesitating to take his length into your mouth and using both hands to pump the remaining. spencer puts a hand on the back of your head and guides you to thrust onto his cock until he lets out another stuttered groan, spurts of his release coating the inside of your mouth.

you make sure to get every last drop of him down your throat, seductively sliding your mouth off his cock with a resounding pop. you’re breathing heavily and you remain on your knees as you try to remember what fucking world you’re even in. spencer grabs you by the forearms to pull you back up to him, and gently perches you back on the counter noting you probably wouldn’t be able to stand on your own anyway.

spencer breathes hotly into your face, his hand coming up to caress your cheek and brush a few loose strands of hair behind your ear. his other hand remains on your waist, drawing soothing circles. you grin widely, and spencer notices and matches your smile without hesitation.

“what?” he laughs lightly.

“nothing, it’s just it looks like my plan worked.” you replied.

“and what was this plan of yours?” he grins.

“well, i just wanted you hot and bothered. i did not expect you to fuck me in a bar bathroom,” he blushes at your admission, “plus, you don’t even shake people’s hands. i definitely thought having sex in a public place, let alone the bathroom of a bar, would be so not your style.”

“i think if you keep wearing outfits like this around me,” he gestures to your disarrayed button up and bra, “you’ll be surprised at what i’d be willing to do.”

“so, is this a good time to tell you that britney has other music video outfits that are just as iconic as this one?” you gleam up at him.

his eyebrows raise in curiosity, “it certainly would be. on a totally unrelated note, i’m parked right out front.” he half jokes as he pulls you off the counter towards the door. you giggle and follow blindly behind him, when your eyes draw to the back pocket of his trousers and you notice a flash of hot pink.

“spencer! my panties, oh my god. give them back.”

he looks over his shoulder at you, “i have no idea what you’re talking about.” he feigns. you roll your eyes and let him have it, totally ignoring the way he shoves the panties further down his pocket out of sight.

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