#Imagine me being on a creative high

[voiddrawss]

I vibed a little too hard on this….

[devildorms]

/ One thing I would like to add that applies to all the demons here (taken from my own l.ucifer outside of the series) is that all the brothers feed off of the sins they represent the most; in the context of interactions, this means that they'll gravitate more towards characters who possess traits that allign the most with them, kind of like a magnet finding its other end; example if your muse's main 'sin' is of envy, L.eviathan will be drawn more towards them, if it is pride, L.ucifer will feel more drawn to them, so on so forth. This is because you basically become a fountain of energy to them by default by often giving in to these temptations; demons are to me, all about temptation rather than the act itself, so although they tend to indulge a lot on the sins they represent, it doesn't really fully 'fill' them entirely if they do it themselves,, in the sense that they could keep doing these things over and over and its hard for them to feel 'full' example; b.eelzebub's seemingly unending appetite no matter how much he eats, b.elphegor sleeping most of the time yet still feeling tired and sleepy afterwards, m.ammon keeping on gambling despite loosing a bunch of money, asmo drowning in love and praise yet still keeps chasing after it, etc etc. In other words, they gain more 'nutrients' from tempting humans, or from being in places where these sins are concentrated than by doing them themselves.

[iamthemaestro]

I need to stop romanticizing careers I am not mentally stable enough to maintain

[13thpythagoras]

So apparently Brian Cocks

ahem Brian Cox

was saying usually large gas giants fall inward and end up closest to the star, very odd of our solar system to not have that; and that would have erased Earth and basically meant Jupiter would exist where the orbits of the inner planets are and the inner planets would be simply dust within a slightly larger Jupiter- in most solar systems this is what happens, according to Cox

but it's the pull of Saturn, the unlikely other gas giant, that pulls Jupiter back into the outer solar system early on- saving Earth's chance for later existence as a warm rocky planet.

Jupiter also deserves credit for acting as a giant gravity shield against asteroids and other stuff that might be hazardous, often times Jupiter just eats it like candy so the dangerous flying "candy" won't hit us and vaporize our continents...so big thanks Jupiter for like, vacuuming up that wild ass drunk comet in 1994

Is this a narrative that parallels the Babylonian creation myth of Enki and Enlil?

The two Gods who created our world, as best friends?...keeping each other in check so they don't go too crazy?

Sounds so familiar to how, while Jupiter protects our world, Saturn reined in Jupiter and stopped Jupiter from destroying us himself too.

Highly plausible that ETs were advanced and spacefaring before our solarsystem was born; we are in a region of space that has factors of a thousand more gold than surrounding regions of our galaxy. There's no natural way to explain this. It's exceedingly, basically airtight likelihood we are living in a solar system that *was* terraformed from the beginning to basically mine gold. That's why we're here, gold is apparently a necessary ingredient in space/time travel equipment, so aside from being pretty, gold is also just very useful, moreso than other elements. Not implausible to consider "sci fi" hypotheses about ET societies tweaking and tinkering with proto-stellar discs, making it more likely rocky inner warm planets will form; thus making it cheaper and easier to later mine gold; that kind of thing actually makes total sense to me.

Sci fi concepts to explore include space elevators, asteroid mining, the perils, the piracy (human and/or ET), the legal challenges after arrival back home with golden asteroids.

Wild to consider taking a $50 trillion gold brick 99% of the way back to earth's orbit only to get held up and mugged at laserpoint by a squad of UFOs

[nanamisgirly]

Up for the challenge, Kitten ?

summary ⭐︎ Lying to yourself about the undeniable chemistry with the mischievous white-haired guy from finance was probably—already—a bad move. But getting too drunk on that team-building trip…? And thirsting over him? In front of him?? After losing a challenge??? Yeahhh, definitely the baddest move ever.

pairing ⭐︎ marketing!worker!AFAB reader x finance!engineery!Sylus content ⭐︎ multiple scene (surfing, interview, with friends,…), new characters, avoidance, one scene where reader is doing anxiety (very slight), provocative reader, expressing ‘flushing cheeks’ as to express her timidity/shyness nothing to do with skin color!!!, their dynamic change throughout the story, mutual pining that evolves, reader qualifies herself as brat, drÿ hūmpįng, consensual king sylus!, p€ssy drunk, dümbificãtion (both), big d sylus, fįngērįng, ōrál sëx (f. receiving), drunk confession, sylus is blushing almost the whole story, he moans!, big stretch, making it fit, cüm play, praising, domsub, breaking glasses (surprise surprise), ōrgásm denial, bēggìng, brat taming, sqūrtíng, emotional sēx, unprotected sēx (asked), êdgìng, sūcking on fingers, ōvërstímulātiön. and some more surprise !! 

wc ⭐︎ 24.8k notes ⭐︎ hihihiiii i’m sooooo happy to show you this work!! i enjoyed writing this a lot lot lot. i practically giggled each time i wrote frfr. and honorable mention to Meliaa my pretty lovely financial girl the only icon of this show in my opinion. I imagined her as a tall honeyed skin girl with green eyes and curly hair… ‘s all she’s just my baby🙂‍↕️🤞 also (if u read this) please know that i’d very much appreciate your comments i do not eat i promise! i tried to be creative with some formulations so any feed back is welcomed. don’t be shy to comment (or send ask anonymously) if you enjoyed something/ a scene/ a phrasing,… I WOULD DIIIIIE TO KNOW❤️❤️❤️ and ofc reblogs (with silly tags) are appreciated very very much. here that’s all ENJOYYY!! 💋

⊹ — read on AO3

arts cred adeline_ns (on x)

“Well, it’s not that bad.” Rafayel, your best friend, shrugs mockingly as usual.

“What do you mean not that bad?” you snap back, irritation running your bold hot as you pour yourself a cup of coffee.

As if pairing with Sylus, that insufferable, numbers-worshipping financial engineer, for the goddamn new product launch wasn’t already punishment enough, now there’s a team-building retreat. Together. 

Okay, fine. Not just the two of you. His precious finance department and your marketing team were all being herded off to some idyllic escape in the name of bonding. 

Your directors had insisted: “it’s primordial for interdepartmental alchemy,” they’d said, probably while high on some synergy charts and LinkedIn buzzwords.

Right. For work.

Your ass.

“You both made a good job, y��know,” Rafayel goes on, completely unbothered by your sour mood. “The new product’s a carton-breaker. It’s probably the best we’ve ever had. Sold out in three hours.” 

“And it cost me my peace,” You mutter, rolling your eyes. “That man is the most irritating human to ever walk this planet. He’s smug, pretentious, and always, always, with his ‘it’s better like that’ crap.”

You scowl, your eyebrows tightening at the memory of all those late nights stuck in the office with Sylus. Him and his spreadsheets. His precision. His baritone voice calmly suggesting you redo your entire pitch deck because his model showed ‘opportunity loss.’ As if your creative campaign had been a PowerPoint napkin sketch.

You’ve convinced you lost at least three brain cells—and maybe a fragment of your soul—in the process.

“Still.” Rafayel sips his coffee, side-eyeing you. “Didn’t hear you complaining when he brought you that almond croissant every morning.”

You shoot him a death glare. “That was strategic manipulation.”

“Sure,” he hums, not even trying to hide his grin. “Definitely not a tiny act of affection.”

You pretend to gag. “Please. I’d rather date my inbox spam folder.”

Rafayel leans against the counter, smug as ever as you put some sugar on your drink. “You keep talking about him, though.”

“I keep talking about my trauma, Rafayel. That’s called processing.”

He raises both hands in surrender. “Hey, hey. Just saying. For someone you hate, you sure remember the way he says things. Like, word for word.”

You go silent, blinking at him. 

Then you chuck your spoon at his head. 

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You drag your carry-on behind you, already regretting every life choice that led to this team-building retreat. The airport smells like burnt espresso, it’s hushed with pressed people and kids crying there and here. Businesswomen and men walking rapidly as you approach the gate.

You scan the group—matching lanyards, branded hoodies, excessive happy smiles—and then you spot him. 

Sylus.

Easy to spot on with his over-six-feet-tall plus broad shoulders, mullet white hair and glasses on. Moreover, it would have been easy to spot him anyway, with all those people orbiting him. From finance girls to marketing execs, even the barista from the airport café did a double take.

You roll your eyes so hard you see your own frontal lobe.

Sylus’s eyes flick over the crowd like he just smelled you. He smiles as he makes his way toward you, escaping the boring conversations he was having. “Didn’t think I’d see you voluntarily show up before boarding.” He starts.

“I’m not here voluntarily,” you reply flatly. “This is corporate coercion. I was promised a beach and wi-fi. Not you.”

He grins slowly. “Still dreaming about me, I see.”

“Only in nightmares. You’re the sleep paralysis demon of my professional life.”

“Well, well,” he says, that smug, infuriating slow-blooming smile already placarded on his face. “They let you through the airport security with all that hostility?”

You don’t break stride. “Only because I promised not to stab anyone until we land.”

He chuckles, falling into step beside you. “Still the ray of sunshine I remember. It’s comforting.”

You glance at him sideways. “Lose the smirk, Sylus. This isn’t runway. It’s gate 23B.” you say as you take a look to the tailored half-coat he wears. 

“And yet you’re still checking me out,” he says, completely unbothered. “You know, I do have that effect on women.”

“You have an effect, of course,” you mutter. “Like a rash.”

The white-haired man grins wider, clearly enjoying this too much to your liking. “You wound me. But don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time to work through your unresolved feelings. I hear there’s a group trust exercise. Maybe we can unpack that deep, smoldering resentment of yours.”

You curse everyone and everything in this moment—but especially Rafayel, for not being here because he’s from the accounting team.

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The heat hits you first. It’s thick, golden, the air smells like slat and the delicate arums of flowers. It wraps around you like a much-needed hug as you step off the plane and onto the tarmac.

You blink against the absurd beauty of it all. Mountains in the distance, ocean so blue it feels fake. The kind of place people Photoshop themselves into for dating apps. Someone even hands you a flower necklace. Yes, really. 

The company’s rented local vans wait at the edge of the small airport, sleek and air conditioned. Everyone piles in, sunglasses on, trying not to look like children on a school trip. Bu, well, it’s hard not to have your eyes glim in front of the sweetest candies ever.

The ride is really short, you stare out—amazed by the long palm trees adoring the side of the road, all the signs in French written all over. Even the van is extremely pretty, beautiful colors, the inside with parkette—nonetheless.

Everything feels like postcard, too much sky, too much blue, too much sand.

It can only light your mood up, excited to discover and try all the new places, this island has to offer. And as you arrive to the hotel your jaw drops even more on the floor. 

It’s everything but a hotel.

It’s an overwater fantasy—individual thatched-roof bungalows stretching out in neat little rows over the turquoise lagoon, each one with its own steps straight into the sea. There are kayaks tied to docks. Hammocks. Glass floors. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

“Careful,” a voice says beside you. “That almost sounded like joy.”

You jolt.

You turn to see Sylus standing far too close to you, sunglasses perched like a movie villain, watching your expression, analyzing you the same way he’d do to collect data on your ability to feel wonder. 

“Don’t ruin this for me.” You scowl.

“Just want to make sure you’re still the same bitter, overworked gremlin I flew in with,” He says, almost too casually, as he shrugs.

“What if I push you off the dock? That’d be bitter enough for you?” you smile sweetly, with venom. You don’t wait for a response. You’re already walking away, basket hitting the wooden pier that stretches out into the clearest water you’ve ever landed your eyes on. Below, fish dart through the turquoise shallows.

Only joy seems like to exist—laughter, waves, sunlight dancing on water, and the distant clink of someone’s luggage wheel catching on a board. You step into the reception area — a wide, open-air pavilion with carved wooden beams and the kind of aesthetic minimalism that screams wealth. A breeze drifts through, carrying the scent of salt, flowers, and something vaguely eucalyptus. There’s a giant bowl of chilled towels near the desk. You briefly consider burying your entire face in one.

You’re hit with a weird, floating sensation. Like you’re not entirely convinced this isn’t a jetlag-induced hallucination.

“Alright, team!” calls a voice. 

You turn to see the HR rep—bright polo shirt, clipboard, and the perky energy of someone who does trust fallsvoluntarily. She claps her hands once, sharply. “you’ll now be assigned your little island homes” she announces with a thick French accent. “they’re arranged in alternating order,” she continues. “One marketing, one finance, and so on—so we can organically mingle across departments while still having your own space to rest, reflect, and practice emotional regulation.” She adds the last part like it’s a joke. 

It's not.

She holds up a color-coded keycard. “Each one has a king-size bed, private sun deck, direct access to the lagoon, and a bathroom bigger than your last apartment. No roommates, don’t worry—just the occasional curious stingray.”

You exhale, half-relieved, half-annoyed you even felt relief.

“But do feel free to visit your neighbors,” she adds, with a bright smile that feels like a trap. “They’re just a plank or two away.”

You glance around. And right on cue, Sylus is behind you again, keycard in hand, eyebrows raised. 

“What number are you?” he asks, already knowing.

You hold yours up slowly. “Bungalow Seven,” you say, flat.

He grins. “Six.” He leans in just enough for you to be hallowed by his overpriced cologne. “Well, lucky for you—close quarters build intimacy. Or at least…proximity-induced confusion.”

You narrow your eyes, still not looking at him as he’s behind you. “Confusion?”

“You know. You hear something at night—soft moan, splash, name screamed into the lagoon…and you can’t quite tell if it’s passion or someone getting attacked by a mantra ray.” He raises his brows, leaning even closer to you. “Either way, I’m flattered you’d be listening.”

Your lips twitch. Then you process to turn slowly at him, giving him a practiced smile. “If I hear screaming, I’ll assume a shark got into HR’s bonding activities. Hopefully starting with you, my dear.”

He steps back, hand on his heart. “God, you flirt like a weapon.”

“Good thing, I’m not flirting then.”

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You wake up to a sunset bleeding gold across your bungalow’s ceiling, your suitcase half-unpacked and your soul still somewhere over the Pacific. You’d meant to take a short nap, only to recover from the long flight—but your body had other plans. Plans involving horizontal collapse and borderline hibernation, apparently.

You groan as your hand fumble on the crumpled itinerary beside your bed instead of your phone and you’re meet with a beautiful ‘dinner: 7:30p.m. Main pavilion, Buffet style. Casual dress.’

You consider not going for long long minutes. 

But eventually, you rinse the plane out of your skin, throw on something linen-adjacent, and follow the distant sound of laughter and clinking silverware toward the glow of the main dining pavilion.

It’s stunning. String lights twisted through palm trees, low tables on sand, candles in hurricane glass. The buffet is obnoxiously good—long tables of grilled fish, tropical salads, fruit that looks airbrushed, and at least three kinds of rice that you know you’ll mess up mixing.

You make a beeline for a plate, eyes still adjusting to all the beauty when a sudden voice takes you by surprise. “Hi, is this your third attack on the buffet too?” 

You glance up.

A beautiful lady—maybe your age—with sharp cheekbones, beach-curled hair and a quiet sort of chaos energy in her green eyes looks at you with the warmest smile. 

“Actually, it’s my first. I’ve just come out of my hibernation.” You speak. “I might eat an entire papaya and feel nothing in my stomach.”

“Perfect,” she grins. “I need someone morally flexible to split the grilled pineapple with.”

You raise and eyebrow. “Is this a recruitment tactic?”

“Yes. I’m building a breakaway cult. Our only rule is ‘never speak during HR icebreakers.’”

You let out a small laugh at her playfulness. “Meliaa,” she sticks out her hand. “Finance team. But the cool side.”

You take it. “Marketing. Emotionally retired.”

She clinks your plate with hers. “Welcome to paradise, emotionally retired marketing. May your bungalow be crab-free, and your neighbor be bearable.”

“Too late on that one.” You snort.

Meliaa doesn’t pry, but the glance she throws you says story time later. She leads you toward the beach seating where everyone’s half-tipsy, pretending not to be networking. You sit together under one of the big lanterns—the ocean playing a slow, welcoming melody.

Her company is surprisingly easy—funny and calm, absolutely nothing near those grumpy financial creaturesyou’ve met. Hours pass by a blue and your connection is well-welcoming, light. And somewhere across the pavilion, you catch a glimpse of Sylus’s raspy voice—low and amused, probably a bit tipsy.

Meliaa nudges your elbow with her own. “Now that I think about it. You’re the one who headed the carton-pleinlaunch a few weeks back with Sylus, right? The product that basically triggered a LinkedIn civil war?” You blink, mid-bite as she adds, “With Sylus. Unless I completely imagined the dozens of Slack messages and corporate gossip about you two…”

You follow her nod toward the far table, where Sylus is comfortable sprawled in a way that should be illegal in dress pants. He’s mid-sentence, surrounded by a few persons of the finance-team, one hand curled around a glass that is probably too overpriced for what it is, whine. His white mullet hair is slightly windswept, glasses pushed high on his straight nose, skin doing that just-warm-enough-to-look-unbothered glow.

You hum noncommittally.

“Oh, come on,” Meliaa says, stabbing a piece of pineapple. “you two set the whole building on fire—metaphorically and tragically. I’m sure people are still talking about it like it was a royal wedding.”

You hum again. Higher pitch, not biting.

“Everyone’s obsessed,” she adds. “Even the legal team has a weird theory that you two are, like, creative soulmates.”

You resist the urge to flip your fork.

Truth is, yes—the campaign was brilliant. Seamless. Unhinged. A little too synergized, if you’re honest. But working with Sylus felt like surviving a beautiful car crash: effective, chaotic, and guaranteed to give you a twitch in your right eye.

Meliaa tilts her head, watching you. Then, with surgical timing: “So…did you fuck?”

You fork pauses mid-air.

“What??” 

She shrugs, unbothered, popping the pineapple into her mouth like she didn’t just detonate a small social bomb. “Just asking. The tension in those launch photos was giving me very two-slide-too-close-to-each-other-in-a-PowerPoint energy.”

You blink. “We co-authored a product deck, not a sex tape.”

Meliaa cackles. “Same thing if you zoom in enough.”

You glare, but it’s all smoke. She’s laughing, and you’re…not really as mad as you probably should be. In fact, a small smile twitches your lips. “Anyway,” you soon to be friend says with a blink, “if you ever do, just give me a sign. Like, blink three times at the salad bar.”

You sigh and shove a chunk of mango in your mouth before replying, “Don’t wait too long. you’re more likely to see a robot cry on live television than catch me fucking that person.”

And as if summoned by sin, Sylus turns. His gaze slides across the crowd and lands directly on you, locking eyes—with his usual playfulness in his ruby eyes, a cocky smirk well put on his stupidly handsome face, he lifts his wine glass.

You don’t move. Just raise your slice of mango with your fork in silent salute, smile sugar-sweet but, unfortunately, the mango you put in your mouth is nothing sweet—it lost all his delicious taste. 

Meliaa lets out a low whistle. “Oh yeah,” she murmurs, hiding her smile. “This is definitely going in the Slack thread.”

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The next morning arrives in a slow, golden blur.

You spend the first half of it shuffling through the company’s very earnest attempts at “bonding.” There’s a trust exercise involving coconuts, a brainstorming session under a frangipani tree, and a mindfulness circle where someone from accounting got a bit too real during the 'one thing you’re grateful for' round.

Corporate bliss. With flip-flops.

Turns out, Meliaa’s in Bungalow Five. Just two wooden planks down from yours. She’d greeted you at breakfast like an old war comrade, slid a way-too-sweet coffee into your hand, and muttered, “Let’s survive this day like it’s a team-building hostage crisis.” You’d instantly felt grateful for her existence.

By the time the afternoon rolls around, most of the group is half-sunburned and sticky with coconut-scented resolve.

And God thanks, you’ve got quartier-libre for the late afternoon. Which mean :

“Meliaa!” you scream between breaths, as her surfboard shoots up like it’s trying to reach heaven. “You good?!” you laugh so hard your ribs ache, your friend getting absolutely bodied by waves was, apparently, your new favorite pastime.

She resurfaces, choking on saltwater and pride, hair slicked back like a shipwrecked mermaid. “That wave had audacity,” she gasps. “Tell my manager I died in the line of duty.”

You smirk, “already did. Also told tem you left your company laptop to me in your will.”

She flips you off dramatically with her water-wrinkled fingers.

“I also told you how to do this—like, a thousand times,” you say, wading over to grab her leash. “What was that? You flopped like a cursed baguette.”

“Okay, French Kelly Slater, I didn’t grow up inside a GoPro ad like you,” she huffs, still clinging to her board like it personally betrayed her.

You shrug your shoulder in false desinvolture, “what can I say, you missed all the fun then.” You help her get back on. “Bend your knees. center of gravity. Don’t throw yourself forward like you’re trying to hug a wave.”

“that’s rude. I’m an empath. The wave seemed lonely.”

You groan, push her board around to face the next set of baby swells. “Okay, empath. Paddle, paddle, up, not a crucifixion poses this time—” 

She tries again and almost makes it this time, popping halfway up before immediately slipping off and flailing into the water. You clap slowly, “10/10 for drama. 3 for form.”

Meliaa bursts out laughing, face barely above water. “You know what, I’ll just float. Floating is my destiny.” You paddle over, letting your board drift beside hers, both of you bobbing gently in the turquoise, the sun warm on your shoulders.

And just as a smartass remark starts making its way out of your mouth—

“Ladies.” A raspy, low voice crackles right into your eardrums. 

Meliaa shields her eyes, squinting at the sky as she floats on her board. “I think that’s your fuckboy.” She murmurs for only you to hear as Sylus paddles toward you.

You don’t even need to look to know she’s right. The syllables already reek of well-dressed arrogance and ego-drenched cologne, splashing straight onto your last nerve.

“I thought I heard two struggling seals and figured I should investigate.” Sylus drawls lazily as his board bumps against yours—utterly unbothered by concepts like personal space.

You shoot him a glance.

And immediately have to discipline your eyeballs. Because no, you’re not going to acknowledge how the wetsuit clings to him like it was vacuum sealed by the gods. 

You’re definitely not acknowledging the stretch of his strong thighs on either side of his board, solid and extremely salivating. And you’re certainly not acknowledging the way his ridiculous mid-length hair is slicked back making him irresistible, droplets catching on his lashes, making him look like he’s been hand-painted for thirst traps.

He raises an eyebrow, smirking but before he could even open his mouth, you’re quicker to beat him, “Sorry, we don’t speak corporate dolphin. Can you translate?”

Meliaa snorts, sinking halfway off her board from laughing.

Sylus only chuckles under his breath and leans in closer—so close you can actually count the droplets on his chiseled jaw—planting both of his annoyingly large hands between his thighs as his head stops centimetersaway from yours. 

“Y’know,” his voice drops enough to touch something hot in your stomach—your eyes drifting from his board nudging yours to his sharp eyes. “you’re quite funny to talk to,” he murmurs, head tilting as his eyes sweeps over you. “Always some bratty answers coming out of your mouth.” Before you can shoot back, his ruby eyes drop—flicking to your plushy lips and pausing there just long enough to spark heat in the salt-thick air. “Wonder what else you could do with that pretty mouth.” And then his eyes crawl their way back to yours, dragging your pulse up with them.

Meliaa slaps a hand against the surface of the water. “Yeahhh,” she says, pushing herself upright on her board with dramatic flair. “I’m letting you two flirts in peace before the ocean turns into a sex scene. I’m too hot and too single to witness this tension up close.”

“Go choke on a seashell.”

She cackles, already drifting off. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t film!”

You steal a glance at Sylus but he still as his eyes fixed on you—lips curled into that smug smirk, again. He leans in a fraction closer, water lapping gently between the boards. “Why are you always so bite-bite with me?”

“Bite-bite?”

He nods, lips twitching. “Yeah. All teeth. Little nips every time I open my mouth.”

You tilt your head back, putting some distance with him. “Maybe I just enjoy chewing through bullshit.”

He hums. “You’re so full of heat. I wonder what you’d do if you weren’t busy pretending you hate this.”

“Hate what, exactly.”

“This,” he says, motioning between you. “Me. The banter. The fact that when I get close,” his board nudges yours again, “You don’t move fully.”

You inhale slowly, refusing to blink first. “Careful. You sound like you want something.”

“I do.”

You wait for him to continue as you can clearly see mischief playing behind his pupils. “First one to ride that wave all the wain in—” he jerks his chin toward the break rolling in the near distance “—wins.”

You squint. “Wins what?”

He smiles, a real smile this time. “Don’t know. Anything the person wants.” You look at the wave, then at him.

“You’re on, Sylus.”

The wave rises, it’s a monster—one of those waves’ surfers dream about and lifeguards whisper warnings over. You both paddle hard, muscles burning, adrenaline surging like the tide behind you. You catch it at the same time, boards slicing the face of the wave with a smooth hiss. 

You two pop up in perfect sync, knees bent, bodies low—rooster tail of spray spreading behind your boards. Sylus is good—too good even. His form is fluid, confident. So confident he glances at you mid-ride and winks.

He can’t help but grin as you push forward, carving hard and spraying him with a mist of seawater. He lets out a small chuckle, swallowed by the roar of the wave, and retaliates by riding dangerously close to you as if he wants to bump you off—except he knows exactly how not to. “Friendly reminder,” he calls out, voice teasing over the crash of the surf, “if you fall, I’m totally carrying you back like a tragic romance heroine.”

“Dream on, Sylus.”

You pump down the face of the wave, gathering speed, muscles burning as you pull ahead. He chases right on your tail, throwing in a flashy spin. You’re nearing the shore now. Sand is visible. And so is the crowd gathered on the beach.

The wave’s energy is starting to fade, so you crouch lower—your board starts to shake slightly beneath you, but you hold. There’re only few meters left from the shore and Sylus is still standing upright when you hear his raspy voice again, “Ready to call it a draw?”

You laugh. “Only if you’re afraid of losing.”

His eyes gleam. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He suddenly crouches, touches the water with his fingers, and then—leans back dramatically like he’s sinking onto a bed. And, somehow, he’s still balancing perfectly, defying gravity itself. You jaw drops. “Show-off,” you mutter, brows furrowed in slight annoyance. The wave fizzles out, both boards glide into the shallows…

And Sylus hits the sand a second before you.

The water settles as silence makes its room between you. And as you try—hallucinate—to ingurgitate your defeat, the insufferable-financial-man-who’s-surprisingly-good-at-surf jumps off his board with his arms stretched wide and yells, “Victory tastes like salt and glory!” 

So uncharacteristically him. 

“By half a fin.” You roll your eyes, but you’re honestly too amused by the rare, boyish joy lighting up his face—the usual seriousness replaced with something softer, freer.

“A win’s a win. But hey—” He walks toward you, water sliding up his thighs, offering you a hand. His voice dips, low, “you were amazing. Like, scarily good. I didn’t know you could ride like that.”

You take his hand, letting him pull you up—but you don’t miss how your hand looks small in his, how he holds it a beat longer than necessary. “Yeah? I didn’t know you had physics-defying arrogance.”

“Only when you’re watching.” He squeezes your hand. “Now I get to ask you what I want, right?” He adds, voice laced in teasing heat.

“I guess so,” you murmur, pulse ticking in your throat. “Choose well. This ain’t happening again anytime soon.”

His full lips twitch upward. “Then I’ll make it count.”

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The next two days pass in a blur of sun and carefully scheduled corporate bonding. Paddleboard relays, beachside obstacle courses, something called ‘synergy sprint’ that involved trust falls and colored ropes—and a surprise group meditation session where Meliaa muttered ‘If I achieve inner peace, I’m quitting finance.’ Just loud enough for half the team to hear.

As for you, you play your part. Smile for the group photos, nod during the workshops, give your best fake-enthusiastic thumbs up when the manager says something like “let’s circle back to those pain points in a blue-sky brainstorm.” It’s all fine.

Functional. Entertaining in a mildly corporate-absurdist way.

But one thing keeps triggering you: Sylus.

He’s sharp, composed and maddeningly unreadable. Nothing out of the ordinaire. He leads his mini team through challenged with smooth authority, gives concise answers, asks the right questions. He’s polite and focused.

What is out of the ordinary though, is his lack of… teasing.

And that’s the part that makes you feel stupid for noticing. You shouldn’t notice. Especially when you both aren’t in cold—not when you laughed your way out of the water after the surf challenge.

And even if you were in cold, it shouldn’t annoy you. You shouldn’t feel strange when he doesn’t find a way to sit next to you during lunch time. You shouldn’t expect him to land an offhanded remark or throw a lazy smirk with a playful one-liner with that serious face of his.

“You two fought, when I left you in the water the other day?” asks, voice low as she ducks behind you during a ridiculous team-building dodgeball game, clutching your shoulders—using you as a riot shield.

“What?” you blink. “no.”

She lifts a brow. “So, he’s just suddenly forgotten how to flirt with you?”

“He was not flirting.” You scoff.

She gives you a slow, dramatic side-eye. “ ‘Wonder what else you could do with that pretty mouth’ ring any bells?” She copies him by dropping her voice octaves lower. “If that’s not flirting, I’m throwing out every lace set I own.”

You catch the ball midair before answering. “Maybe he’s just… dialed back.”

Meliaa leans in close, palms gripping your shoulders harder, and murmurs, “Oh, he’s dialed something, alright. Question is if it’s his mouth or his self-restraint. Either way, he’s one look away from unzipping that repressed little soul of his with his teeth.”

You choke on your own saliva, coughing once—just in time to get nailed in the shoulder by a foam dodgeball from one of the interns.

Your friend cackles behind you. “And that’s for ignoring sexual tension, babe.”

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The sun dips lower, staining the sky in warm amber as the salty breeze drifts lazily through the open windows of Meliaa’s bungalow. She’s sprawled on her bed in a silk robe, long legs elegantly crossed as a skin-care mask repose on her angelic face. 

Meanwhile, you’ve totally made a chaos of her room. A freaking mess—robes, pants, tops all upside down, flung with total disregard for gravity or dignity. You’re moments away from burning the entire place to the ground in pure aesthetic defeat. 

It wasn’t supposed to be this dramatic. You moved your stuff in earlier, hours before, when you both decided getting ready chez Meliaa would be ‘more fun.’ 

Lies. Meliaa’s fun. You are spiraling.

You only needed to find a pretty outfit for your last day in this idyllic place to be finally ready. But it seems like you’d be more likely to dig up a dinosaur bone than a fit deserving the view of the sun kissing the sea at the horizon.

You stand in front of her, two outfit options dangling in each hand, your energy somewhere between fashion breakdown and ritual sacrifice. “Okay,” you groan, as if you’ve just been through war. “Honest opinion. No diplomacy, no fake corporate optimism. Rip me to shreds if needed.”

Meliaa, still unmoved, peeks through her mask with the kind of look that should be illegal in five countries. “Rip away, darling.”

“Sooo, option one: these low-rise white pants—you know the ones; the wind would flirt with them. And bonus point for comfiness. Paired with this top,” you say, holding up a barely-there lace halter. The lace slides down the back in elegant X, letting your arms sleeveless and the front is as much laced on your tummy to spiral on your chest where white tissue is covering the strict necessary. 

Meliaa hums, already intrigued.

“Orrrr,” you say, brandishing the second outfit like a weapon, “this simple dress.” And by simple dress you mean a lavender open-back gown with thigh-high slit, a plunging neckline, and hidden sorcery in the lining that keeps it clinging exactly where it should.

“I’m emotionally attached to both and also convinced neither is good enough to stand in front of the sun as it kisses the sea goodbye.” You continue, longing both of your fits.

Your friend lets out a deep sigh as she removes her mask. She sits up, eyes sharpening. “First of all,” she starts, “the white pants set is dangerous. That top should come with a warning label. I know a certain man that’ll short-circuit and probably miscalculate someone’s quarterly forecast.”

“But—” she raises a finger, “the dress is art. That slit says, ‘I have emotional depth and possibly a dagger’. That neckline? That’s a tax write-off for heartbreak.”

You blink, waiting for her final decision.

“The pants and the top are a better match for tonight.” You glance at the dress, a little heartbroken that she didn’t make it. “It’s just too beautiful to be wasted here.” The woman adds like she read your thoughts.

You nod, a slight pout tugging at your mouth as you lay the lavender dream gently on the floor. “’Kay. Let’s get ready then.”

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Dinner drifts by in waves of laughter, glinting glasses, and too many toasts. Someone near the bonfire sings just off-key enough to be charming. The vibe loosens. Barefoot colleagues dance in the shallows; others collapse into the sand, dizzy with wine and sun-warmed skin, their cheeks pink from both.

The night starts soft—genuinely good. Even the air feels kind when you arrive with Meliaa, the breeze teasing the hem of your white pants and tugging at the red lace thong she begged you to wear, claiming it ‘spiced up the whole vibe.’ The slender strands rise high on your hips, slipping above your waistband.

But speaking of Meliaa… she’s nowhere to be seen. 

Not since she made the ravishing acquaintance of some tall tanned brunette named… Caleb? Colby? Somehitng with a C and abs and the prettiest violet eyes. You lost track after your third glass of wine, the alcohol coating everything in a warm blur.

“S’uch a traitor.” you mutter, hiccuping softly as you slump back on your elbows in the sand. You’re not far from the sea—close enough to hear the lull of it kissing the shore. The candles flicker in the wind. Your hair’s undone, skin flushed and glowing.

You reach lazily for the bottle at your side, your body half-curled to grab it—fingers barely brushing the glass neck—

A hand beats you to it. 

“I think you’ve had enough.” A voice says—low, dry and extremely familiar. You blink up, trying to focus but disoriented by the angle. You know if your neurons work a little more you could probably put a name on this very attractive tone…

Your head tip up from where you were hunched over—

Red eyes.

Vivid. Vivid and locked on you like you’re a storm he sees coming from miles away and still chooses to walk into. It zaps through you, sharp and electric.

Your breath hitches when Sylus drops beside you, the bottle landing with a soft clink on his other side. He doesn’t say a word as he stretches his long legs in the sand, back slouched with that casual arrogance he wears like sin.

“Heyyy..” you mumble, lips already turned in a pout as you lean fully into him. “wznted t’ po-pour s’m… s’mrthing…” Your arm reaches lazily across his lap, moving at a snail’s pace, coordination drunk and dying. Your breast presses firmly against the inside of his thigh, warm through the fabric of his pants, and your ass lifts to reach farther… letting your low-slung linen pants slip lower—giving Sylus a perfect, lingerie-ad-campaign flash of your laced triangle thong.

His breath shifts but that doesn’t mean he looks away.

His glasses are still perched high on that too-sharp, too-wide nose, the metal frames catching the soft glow of the lanterns. His white mullet is loose tonight, a little windswept, a little fallen out of place—soft-looking in a way that makes your fingers twitch with the urge to tangle in it. 

And his ears—oh, his ears—have more silver than usual. Tiny earrings crawl up the curve of his left one like constellations. There’s even a thin piercing at the top, barely visible, but now seared into your memory forever—you want to follow all those with your tongue.

Just as your fingers graze the bottle, Sylus lifts it and shifts it out of reach—effortless, like swatting a bug. A splash of the drink hits his designer pants.

“Oopsie,” you murmur, blinking down at the dark stain, faking compassion. “S’ your faulty. Your thighs’re too…” You wave vaguely, struggling to find the word. “... too like that. All big and muscly and in the way of my needs.”

His jaw tics once.

“Gimme,” you whine, reaching again—more determined now, zero coordination though. You shift onto your knees and—predictably—overshoot.

Thump.

“Shit,”

“Goddamn it” you both murmur at the same time.

Your body crashes into his left shoulder, throwing both of you sideways into the sand. His head hits with a muffled grunt, yours landing hard on his chest, knocking the breath out of both of you. One of his arms snaps up by pure instinct, hand cupping the back of your head to keep you from full-on faceplanting into his sternum. 

“Y’counldn’t—” you start, voice muffled against his chest. You try to push yourself up but only succeed in straddling one of his thighs, palms flat on his chest, which is annoyingly firm. “You… y’couldn’t j-juh—juss gime ze btwolle, huh?” If you weren’t swimming in fog and expensive rum, you might’ve noticed the sharp pink blooming across Sylus’s cheekbones. The crimson climbing up his neck. The way the tips of his ears are glowing red.

“You drank too much,” he grits, shifting like he might sit up—like he might do something responsible. But you clamp your thighs tighter around his lap, grounding him in place.

“Nooooo,” you drawl dramatically, leaning in until your breath warms the shell of his ear. Your hair drapes over your shoulder like a curtain, catching light like a halo—if halos were horny. “Y’know… I’ve been vrrrrryyyyyygwoood,” you giggle into his neck. “didn’t even ask why you didn’t use your prize…”

Sylus goes very still.

He tries not to react to the way your hips are seated on him—warm and wholly dangerous. Or to how your lashes flutter against your flushed cheeks as you blink up at him, dilated and infuriatingly cute.

“What prize?” he murmurs, already knowing, already regretting it.

You jab a finger into his chest, miss, and land somewhere on his clavicle. “The one you won. Szurffff thingy… I did—I h-had lowzse…” your words fall apart on your tongue, melting into giggles. “You said, um… what was it… vic’tory like… c-con’quest? Trophyyyy? K-kiss-your-brat?” you squint, nose scrunching. “Ugh. You always gotta use aklll— I meant allll those compzlicazted words…”

Sylus chuckles low under his breath as he looks at you. Really looks at you. The curve of your flushed cheeks. The glitter of alcohol and something wanting in your eyes. Your mouth parts, soft and pink, talking too much. But so plushy and squishable and… kissable.

“Don’t tempt me,” he mutters, and it slips out too raw.

Your brows lift in genuine surprise. “Whass’ that?” you slur, cocking your head like a sleepy cat, lashes fluttering slow. “You… scared?” His hand holds your hip without meaning to. “No. I’m trying to be decent.”

You drop your forehead to his, smiling lopsidedly. “I dowan d’cent…” you say, gaze dropping blatantly to his mouth, your fingers come up naturally, brushing over his bottom lip, a thick press with your index. “I want t-to…” The rest of the sentence melts, heavy and hung in your throat. Your index finger stays right there, curved against the soft dip of his mouth.

And Sylus—Sylus who’s kept his distance half of this trip, who hasn’t teased or toyed with you since that wave-slick day—looks like he’s one deep breath (heavy breath for him) away from saying fuck it all.

But, unlike you, he sees the people watching you. You’re sunk so deep in this little world made of sand and him that you don’t care about the curious eyes of your team glancing your way.

Sylus doesn’t say a word, he simply moves. Once second, you’re straddling his thighs, lips brushing his chin—next second, you feel gentle fingers flipping you off his lap and into the sand beside him. You yelp, legs kicking slightly, your hair messier. “H-hey!” you whine.

But he has turned away, he needs to physically disconnect to breathe again. He tries to reset his pulse, forearms braces on his knees. His cock is pressing brutal and hard against the inside of his pants—impossiblyhard because of your bold moves. 

“Are you into moons?” you mumble as if nothing happened.

“… What?” his head tips toward you, the confusion etched in the small crease between his brows. His voice a little hoarse.

“Moon Girls,” you explain, “saw ‘em… hoverin’. Gr-gravitating. L-like horny moonz.” your face twists with annoyance. “You didn’t tease me those past days. Why? What gives? Did I stop being… what’s the word…” you trail off, spinning your hand in a drunk spiral. “…quite funny to talk t-to?”

You scoot closer to him until your thigh is pressed fully against his. “Y’know... I’m not olly funny” you add, hiccupping into the sentence. “I’m alose charming,” you counter with your chin raised, teetering on dramatic. 

His voice sounds wrecked with restraint when he finally speaks. “You’re something.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’m a brat.”

He stiffens instantly.

“I mean—y’said I give bratty answers.” You nuzzle in closer, your forehead now bumping against his bicep. “You like that, huh? You like when I act like a brat?”

His eyes drop to your lips. The air is boiling.

 “D’you wanna see wh-what else my pr-pretty mouth can do?” Your sounds like a velvet trap as you lift your head to look at him with big utterly honest doe eyes.

His face turns. His lips part just slightly. He leans in until your noses are touching, breath tangled. “If I say yes?” he asks, voice barely a thread.

You freeze. Then hiccup. Then smile. A lazy, proud, drunken grin that melts every edge off your words. “Well… th-that’s a wuh-win-win situayshun.”

He huffs the quietest laugh, head shaking just once. His glasses slip down his nose. And without missing a beat, you reach up and nudge them back into place, your fingertips brushing his hot skin. You smile ear to ear as his obvious happy self, almost found of him.

“You’re going to regret all of this tomorrow, kitten,” he whispers, voice deep and tight with tension.

“Y’gonna kiss me or-or just call me pet names ‘til I pass out?”

He stays frozen for what seems like eternity before he lets his palm rest on the sand behind him and lets his weight drop on them. “You’re drunk,” his voice as loud as the sounds of the waves. “So drunk.”

You nod with exaggerated solemnity, your forehead bonking lightly against his shoulder. “Mmhmmmm, but like… like sexy drunk.”

He huffs, dropping his head back to look at the dark sky—asking the stars to give him patience tonight. Especially since more people are staring now. A couple of them whispering. Sylus’s jaw flexes once, then twice. He stands and pulls you up with him.

 When he finally looks at you again, his mouth is twisted into something between a smirk and a prayer. “Come on,” he says, hauling you up in the same motion. “You can’t stay out here giggling in the sand.”

You make a noise of protest. “I c-can!”

“Oh yeah? You wanna giggle while face-planting into the resort lawn?”

“’S not the worst place I’ve had my face,” you mumble into his chest as he stops and effortlessly scoops you into his arms without much warning. 

“Jesus,” Sylus mutters with his deep raspy voice. “You would say none of those stuff sobber.”

Your arms hook loosely around his neck as he starts walking, his steps long and steady. “Why not?” you ask, batting your lashes. “You said I was bratty. Brats say stuff. Brats say filthy lil things…”

He swallows audibly, jaw tight and serious. “You’re really testing me.”

You hum, cheek pressed to the side of his neck. He smells maddening—a bit of salt and his cologne, not something strong but more something inebriate. “But y’like me,” you whisper, words a bit thick to come out. “You like me even when I’m… mez-meessy.”

“You’re a disaster,” He wants to sound reproaching, but it’s awfully close to fond.

You lift your head, still clinging to his shoulders tightly—as tight as your drunk limbs allow you. “Y’ didn’y answer…”

“Answer what?”

“Why you didn't use your prize,” you pout. “You won. I was… generous loser. Coulda kissed me. Made me beg. Made me cry, maybe. That’s what they do in those brat stories, right?”

Sylus nearly stumbles. “God,” he says again. “Do you hear yourself?”

You grin, eyes glassy. “I’m adorable.”

He adjusts your weight, one arm under your thighs, one wrapped around your back. “You were more than adorable tonight,” he says, quieter now. “Everyone saw it.”

You blink slowly, putting more effort than necessary to understand this conversation. “saw w’the?”

“You. That dangerously beautiful, laced top and panties. Everyone was looking at you.”

“They were?”

Sylus hums. “…You jealous?” you mumble, your voice so small, so teasing.

“Not jealous,” Sylus replies, voice like flint. “Just… hyper-aware.”

You use your arms around his neck to push you up—or push him down—so you could nuzzle the base of his neck. “You didn’t tease me…” you murmur, bringing this topic again. “You were all noble and hot…was g’ing cra-zyyyy.”

He doesn’t reply. But his grip tightens.

“Y’know,” you go on, soft and dreamy, “I saw one of those girls. The Moon Girls. From earlier. She touched your arm. I would’ve clawed her if I wasn’t so busy bein’ tragic an’ pretty.”

“Kitten,” he warns, voice so low it rumbles through his chest. “Shut up.”

You giggle, your lips pink from too much wine and not enough water. “Y’called me kitten again. That’s not very decent of you.”

When he arrives at your bungalow, he doesn’t let you down. Instead, he keeps carrying you, one arm strong under your thighs, the other rifling through your tiny purse with calm precision while you’re draped all over him as a horny scarf. He hooks the key into the lock, muttering something about how you’ve filled your bag with “thirty lip glosses and zero dignity.”

You wiggle slightly in his arms, your lips pressing just below his jaw—leaving a perfect, wicked lipstick stain behind. “One bisouuuu,” you whisper, smirking widly as he goes rigid all over again. “Juz one. Not even for me,” you hold up your hand in a shaky promise, palm raised like a scout. “F’r you! You earned it…”

When he sets you down—tries to—his grip locks tight around you as your knees keep buckling and buckling under you. “You’re gonna wake up tomorrow and want to bury yourself,” he says gently as you sag against him.

“Then you can bury me,” you breathe, lips ghosting over his neck. “Deep. Real deep…”

“Don’t say stuff like that…” he groans under his breath, murmuring your name like it pains him.

“Your dick is pressed against me,” you add without flinching a tiny bit.

But Sylus? He freezes. 

Your hands come up to fist his shirt near his collar. “You’re so—warm. Hard,” you move your arms, looping them lazily around his neck, hips tipping forward, chasing the heat. “You seem big… ‘s nwot fzair.” 

His brows knit, the muscle in his jaw keeps flexing as he fights the urge to do anything. To move. To breathe. Your drunk gravity has him—hooked, hot and dying slow.

You rise on tiptoe, trying to close the distance, your elbows resting on his shoulders as you press your lips on his chin—Sylus dodging your kiss right in time and leave another pink stain here. He has his brows furrowed in concern, eyes begging for you to stop. 

“Y’zeem like…” your voice falters, but your heavy-lidded eyes are dead serious. “Like a man who givespleasure…” 

Sylus shuts his eyes for one breath. Two.

“Y’have long fingers,” you continue quietly, one of your hands dragging slowly up his chest, then to his mouth—pressing lightly to his bottom lip for the second time tonight. “So much lips—I mean, soooo full. And your nooseee…”

The other hand is tracing his nose now, fingers lazy and soft. He should stop you. He should move. But he’s frozen—shaking with restraint.

“You’re wasted,” he says, finally. Barely above a whisper. “And I’m not that guy.”

Your faces are the closest to each other that they’ve ever been. Your breaths intertwining with the other—he smells like menthe, yours a faint sent of strawberries alcohol, the one you had drunk earlier. “You could be…”

“Yeah,” he mutters, hand slipping lower on your waist, guiding you gently toward the bed, his strong legs finding their places in between yours as his guides you. “But then I’d have to spend the rest of my life hating myself.”

He tucks you in, brushing the hair off your face with fingers that could—God—do so much more, you blink up at him.

“Bet you’d still fuck good with the guilt,” you mumble.

He lets out something between a laugh and a strangled sob. “You’re gonna be insufferable in the morning.”

“I’m always insufferable,” you whisper, already drifting. “But cute. Real cute.”

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

“I don’t get it.” You complain quietly at the table, staring at the foam like it might offer answers. Rafayel and Meliaa exchange a look over their mugs, some weird mic of concern and confusion that makes your chest tighten. 

“He’s been avoiding me—“

“Wasn’t that what you wanted though?” Rafayel cuts in, raising an eyebrow. You kept talking in loop, repeating the same things over and over again since this afternoon: 

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I just—he’s weird lately. Since we came back from the retreat.”

To be fair, everyone’s been acting off. People from marketing and finance keep eyeing you like you grew a second head—whispering things you can’t quite catch, falling silent just as you pass. Everything would’ve been fine if he’d just acted normal. Or if, at least, you had a clue what the hell was going on.

Across the table, Meliaa and Rafayel are finishing their pastries, casually sharing a plate as if they’ve been besties for years. 

You squint at them, coffee in hand. “The two of you got close,” you mumble.

Meliaa shrugs, sipping her oat latte. “The vibes vibed.”

You nod vaguely and look back into your mug like it holds answers. You try to kick your brain into gear—comb through anything that might explain all this weirdness—when something clicks.

“Hey, um…” you start, not sure where you’re going, but you’re already talking so may you just end your thought. “You’re kind of always up to date with what’s going on around the company, right? You could maybe… ask Sylus something? I mean you both work in finance.” You try to make it sounds as casual as possible. And not desperate.

Meliaa pauses mid-sip, eyes already gleaming. “Sure” she says slowly, her tone light. “I’ll just go up to him and be like, ‘Hey Sylus, you know that girl from marketing who always looks like you’re personally offending her when you open your mouth? Actually, she’s super offended when you don’t flirt with her. Thought you should know.’”

“That’s not—” you start, flustered. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Rafayel nearly choking on his drink, very much not hiding his laugh. “No.” you say with a voice that tries to sound convincing—but fail experimentally.

Meliaa grins into her cup, unfazed. “I’m just saying… if someone is being weird, it wouldn’t kill you to ask him. Directly.” She says it casually, but there’s something under it—something that lands a little too squarely.

“So, you do know something, don’t you?”

“Moi ? I was far too busy being cornered by that tall, sexy brunette from legal—” Rafayel stiffens beside her—enough for you to notice. His fingers pause around his glass. His eyes narrow, darting to her, unreadable. “While someone, was getting very cozy with a certain white-haired finance boy. Very cozily and very drunk, if I recall.”

Your stomach flips. 

You were indeed very drunk. And what you recall, is waking up with a pouding headache, the violent urge to vomit, and barely enough time to catch yoru flight—remembering nothing from the previous night, except someblurry moments with Sylus on the sand. And a shiver on your skin that had nothing to do with the cold.

Meliaa hums, all fake innocent as she drops the next bomb. “Sure. Just drunk enough to be all over him, and spend half the night looking at him like he was dessert.” She draws the words out and taps her spoon against her mug. “Not judging. I fucked that pretty violet eyed boy. I’m just… observing, y’know?”

You open your mouth to respond—defend or deny something—but Rafayel suddenly gets up, too quickly. His chair scrapes back loud against the floor.

“Well,” he says tightly, “I’ll leave you two to your girl talk—” 

“But Rafa—” you start, a bit throwed off by his reaction as he’s always up for some gossip.

“I’m going.” He avoids your eyes as he adjusts the sleeves of his jacket, already halfway turned away. “And I already paid for our drinks. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, ladies.”

Not a single glance to you. But to Meliaa? One long, unreadable look.

And then he’s gone—out the coffee shop door with a jingle of the bell overhead.  

You sit there, incrédule, and if you were in some cartoon, you’d be drawn with your eyes out of your orbits. The silence stretches and you stare at her, blinking over and over again.

You probably feel like your eyes are falling out when Meliaa chokes—literally spits half her oat latte back into her cup.

“What,” you ask slowly as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand like nothing happened, “was that??”

“Nothing,” she says faster than her brain can catch up, avoiding your lasers eyes. “It went down the wrong pipe.”

“Oh, don’t play dumb on me now. Why was Rafayel bolting like he owed you child support?”

“She busy-busies herself stirring foam that doesn’t need stirring. She’s smart.

“Oh my God. YOU BROKE HIM!!” you exclaim a bit too loudly.

“I didn’t break anyone.”

“You broke that man, Meliaa. He fled like you unlocked a trauma.”

She mutters something under her breath. You immediately lean forward.

“No, no, no. No mumbling. Speak clearly for the people in the back like you always do. Did something happen between you two?”

“Nothing major.” She shrugs

“What does that even mean?!” you drop your voice to a whisper this time. “Did you kiss? Sleep together? Is this a situationship? Friends with benefits—”

“Gosh,” she sighs.

“Did you emotionally destroy him and eat a croissant over his corpse?” you press.

“I will leave you here,” she says flatly, but her ears are bright pink and you know you’re onto something.

“Meliaaaa, be honest with me. Am I in soap opera? For your information, I’d love to! Are you secretly dating my other best friend ?!!”

“I think you are in a soap opera. And without my help.” She says calmly.

“Don’t know what you mean,” you reply, taking a biiiiig drink of your coffee—completely ignoring her veryobvious jab at a certain tall engineer.

“You don’t know what I mean?” Meliaa repeats, unimpressed. “Babe, you walked into that team retreat acting like a marketing angel, and left looking like a guilty little sinner. I don’t even know if Sylus has recovered.”

You scowl. “That’s bold coming from someone who may or may not have left emotional debris all over Rafayel’s soul.”

“Better than leaving literal drool on Sylus’s shirt—”

“I did not—wait, did I?” you blink in horror.

She sips smugly. “I’m not saying yes. But I’m also not saying no.”

You gape. “What happeneeeed that night? Tell meeeee,” Your head drops onto your shoulders in fake defeat. “I remember the lights, the sand, the pretty sounds of the waves and just… a fucking bottle of wine next to me and white hair with his insufferable smirk. I possibly haven’t done something stupid right? Did we kiss?? Did I try to kiss him??? Did I—”

Your phone buzzes violently on the table. You glance down and nearly knowk ober your drink when you see the name lighting up your screen :

Claire—Supervisor Marketing.

You grimace. “Ugh, it’s Claire. She wants me in her office.”

Meliaa whistles. “Someone’s in trouble.”

“I don’t think so.  She probably wants to talk about the campaign I’m working on.” You grab your bag. “Or maybe she found out I asked IT to unblock Tumblr on the office Wi-Fi.”

Meliaa snorts. “Please keep me updated if you get fired.”

You rise from your chair dramatically. “I will. But we’re not done talking. I will circle back to your tragic friends-to-whatever arc with Rafayel.”

She waves you off, already unlocking her phone. “I’ll be here. Being innocent.”

You squint. “Liar.”

She blows you a kiss as you leave the coffee shop in whirlwind of caffeine, gossip and rising dread about facing your very no-nonsense supervisor.

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You knock lightly on your supervisor’s office door, already catching the scent of the expensive perfume and power-tripping. You slap on your most professional smile—the one that stops just short of your eyes.

And when you hear a clipped, singular ‘yes’ your heart races up.

She doesn’t bother looking up when you enter, her attention glued to her screen—fingers tapping slowly and loudly across her keyboard like she’s solving nuclear codes and not just… most likely responding to an email. 

Finally, she gestures the chair in front of her desk with a lazy motion of her chin. You sit, back straight and composed.

“I called you in to inform you,” she says, smooth and clipped, “that your campaign from last quarter—the one with Mr. Sylus—has been selected for an internal spotlight interview.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, heart fluttering and racing up once again but this time not from apprehension, no—from joy. 

Spotlight interview.

That’s big. So big that you almost obscure how she said Sylus’s name—too friendly with a we-are-close tone.

Claire’s smile is tight, practiced. “Both of you will be featured. A joint interview. A short panel and a video segment.”

You school your face, play it cool. “Oh. That’s… unexpected. I thought the focus was on the new rollout—”

“It was,” She interrupts smoothly, leaning back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “But apparently, someone in executive comms thought the pairing was…”  Her stilettos gleam. “Impactful enough to highlight.”

You nod politely. “Well, that’s flattering.”

Her smile doesn’t budge, but her fingers tighten slightly around the pen she’s holding. “Yes, well, some people get very lucky with their assignments.”

Your jaw clenches faintly. “It wasn’t luck.” You immediately soften your tone to stay within the HR-approved border. “That campaign broke regional KPIs by—”

“121%, I’m aware,” her voice’s still cool as pressed linen. “You’re thorough. Ambitious. That much is clear.” You get the sense she wants that to sound like a compliment, but unfortunately it drips with something else—something like a slap dressed as praise. You wonder how long she’s been waiting to remind you she technically still outranks you.

Claire stands abruptly, walking to her window as if the skyline will soothe her clear irritation. “Just be sure to keep things professional during the interview,” she says, her tone skating dangerously close to condescension. “I know you and Mr. Sylus had… a certain rapport.”

Your ears heat despite yourself. “We worked well together.”

“I’m sure you did.” She turns, scanning you—eyes going up and down, that same fake-firm smile frozen on her face. “Comms will reach out this week. You’ll have to coordinate schedules with finance.” A slight pause. “Shouldn’t be too hard. He always seemed… very available for your timelines.”

Goddamn, that’s beyond jealousy… that’s professional envy garnished with personal salt.

“Of course,” you reply, sweet as syrup. “we’re both very committed to making things work.”

Claire’s eyes twitches almost imperceptibly. “Dismissed.”

You rise with practiced grace, shoulders squared, chin high as you pass her office’s door already calculating outfits, lighting angles, and exactly how smug-not-smug you’ll look on camera next to Sylus when he inevitable flirts during the interview—with the interviewer!! Not you, of course.

You’re practically jumping on your feet—probably too much. So much that you don’t notice the fucking wall directly in your path.

Full force. Full face.

A loud BAM that eco throughout the whole floor. You groan as heads turn your way in concern, someone even audibly winces. You ignore them all, ignore even that inconvenient event and square your shoulders again as you keep walking toward the elevator.

But unfortunately, and because humiliation likes company, you bump into someone. You start to grumble an apologize—as you’re literally struggling to find stability—but you feel strong arm holding you in place—

“Hey, be careful next time, kitten.”

Kitten. That surname awakens something—moments to be precise. Blurry moments. Soft sand, salty wind, white hair contrasting with the dark ocean... and arms.

The man looking down at you, catching you in the same strong arms and keeping you from falling.

Sylus’s face is serious. Serious lips pulling into a straight line, serious ruby-red eyes, serious brow pinched in the slightest crease (as his usual), serious nose—serious everything.

You take a step back, barely recovering, barely holding your heart into your ribcage, barely breathing—as you see him for the first time since the work trip. And while you’re busy reeling, he’s already throwing a line. “Well,” he says, eyes flicking down to where your shoulder just collided with his chest, “didn’t know you missed me that much.”

You roll your eyes, pulse sprinting. “It’s your fault for standing in front of structural hazards,” you mutter, brushing imaginary dust off your sleeve—and your pride. 

He lets out a low chuckle, something that shoots your body, like drugs. 

But just as you open your mouth—maybe to say something flippant, maybe just to breathe properly again—the elevator dings. Doors glide open.

He steps in wordlessly.

You hesitate for half-second, too long, before following him inside. And when you do, you realize the elevator is completely empty. Leaving alllll the space for you both.

Too much space, actually.

So much space that Sylus stands on one side and you take the opposite. As far away as the metal box allows you.

And it’s dead silent. You glance sideways—his arms are crossed on his firm chest, his jaw sharp in profile, eyes fixed on the ascending floor numbers. His mullet hair perfectly netted with gel, some rebellious hair falling on his forehead. His ears are empty—for your displeasure… all his earrings and piercing earrings are gone.

Your throat tightens. The silence is anxious. 

The elevator hums softly, and you fumble for something to say. Anything to break the tension that’s crawling under your skin like static. But your brain pulls a blank. No witty comeback, no sarcastic jab.

You don’t know what to do. What to say. This Sylus is foreign to you.

It’s just you and him, and this unbreathable silence… and the suffocating awareness of your lack of knowledge on what you did the last night of your trip. The maddening echo of ‘what did I say?’ eating you alive. 

You fidget with the hem of your sleeve. A growing feeling you’re not used to fills your body, and you’re novice to this—novice to control nervousness.

You keep throwing glances at him and his unreadable face does nothing to calm your state.

But unfortunately, your mouth beats your mind and speaks on its own, “Did I…” you pause, tongue dry, heart hammering. “Did I do something that night?” something that made you want to stay away from me?”

The words hang in the air, heavy and exposed. Sylus’s jaw ticks as he turns slowly to look at you—straight in the eyes. Digging holes on your skin through his rectangular glasses.

Ding.

The elevator doors slide open to an incoming flood—people, noise, coworkers stepping in and chatting about deadlines and lunch—leaving your question between you two like a live grenade.

You get bumped forward in the small wave, forced to shift closer toward the center—and that’s when his hand catches you.

A strong hand, wrapping around your forearm with casual force, yanking you gently but firmly toward him. You stumble slightly and end up right in front of him—his body now behind yours, one hand still resting just above your elbow.

He shifts to the corner, shielding you from the crowd without a word. His chest barely brushes your back. His breath grazes your temple when he leans down the slightest bit to murmur, voice low for only you:

“Not here.” And his voice is so deep, so raw, so—

You shake your head—there’re so many people in the elevator and you having bed thoughts wasn’t quite the right moment.

You swallow, trying to force some air into your lungs. You could stay quiet like he asked. You could just wait. But feeling the heat of him behind you, the faint shift of his chest when he breathes, his perfume wrapping around your lungs…

Maddening.

“Fine,” you whisper so only he hears, arms crossed now. A hip cocking so your ass could shift backward and be at his crotch level so your ass could… graze. “If you’re trying to punish me with the silent treatment, it would work better if I remembered what I actually did.” 

No response. But your little brat move definitely had an effect on him—his tailored trousers suddenly not sitting quite so comfortably anymore. You tip your head slightly, voice whisper-thin and soaked in fake innocence. “Unless I confessed a dark secret? Or maybe I tried to…” You drop your voice impossibly lower as your eyes meet his and the top of your head hit his chest from the back. “…Kiss you?” 

And you probably don’t remember a single thing. But pretending you know exactly what happened—what you did, what you didn’t—is your only weapon right now. The performance is the whole game, isn’t it?

And that drives Sylus like a mad man.

But he still hasn’t say a word. He keeps staring straight ahead like you’re not burning holes into the back of his sanity—you press further, shifting again against his obvious bulge, “You’re cruel, you—”

“You didn’t kiss me.”

His voice slices through the tiny space between you, too close to a growl.

Ding.

He doesn’t move and wait patiently for the people to leave—until the noise dies. Before guiding you to the side with measured calm—firm and steady hands wrapping around your hips. He shifts you aside, clearing his path.

You suck in the most needed breath of your life—air, finally—but it doesn’t soothe anything. Not your heart, not your nerves, and certainly not the heat crawling up your throat.

You don’t know if you’re more breathless or furious.

So just as the doors start to close, you shout, “Don’t be cold for the interview.” Your voice is loud and sharp.

The doors are nearly shut when he stops—turning slowly toward you—his eyes find yours through the narrowing gap.

Smoldering.

And you feel it. It’s consuming you. 

The electric thing pulsing between you both like a drawn wire waiting to snap. 

Stronger than ever.

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Conference Room C. 30 minutes.

The robotic chime from the room’s speaker system is barely done when his voice follows, just as grating:

“Did you hear that? Don’t make us late.”

You glare at the cracked ceiling like it personally betrayed you. Your eyes twitch at the insufferable sound of hishorrible voice hitting your eardrums. You glance at him through the mirror you’re putting make-up in front of.

“I don’t even understand why they put us in the same room.” You mutter, feeling your nerves reaching the maximum of their capacity.

Sylus throws an arm over the back of the couch, smugly comfortable as one leg is crossed over the other—his head dropping to the resting head. “Small budget,” he says. “Big dreams.”

You scoff. “The company makes millions. They could at least give us two rooms.”

“They could,” he agrees. “But they didn’t. Because they know people like us can make it work.”

“You’re a man. I’m a woman.” You say as you eye the choice of lipsticks lying on the table. It’s the last touch for you to be ready.

He finally looks at you, eyes dragging from your naked thighs to your hands fidgeting between the multiple choice of lipstick to your face. 

“And?” his voice sounds dangerously calm. 

Conference Room C. 20 minutes.

“And a lot of things could happen.”

A beat.

“Like?”

You meet his eyes through the mirror. Your mouth quirks—seeing an opening to push his boutons, to annoy him just as much as you’re annoyed. 

Annoyed by the situation. Annoyed by his permanent bak-and-forth. Even though you deserved it. Annoyed byhis sexy form. Annoyed by the white shirt and the two buttons udone from the start. Annoyed by that damn chain holding the collar together and dropping into the opening of his shirt—between his defined pectorals. Annoyed by his long white hair brushes the tops of his shoulders. Annoyed by the silver earrings that made an apparition. Annoyed by his sexy glasses—fitting him way too well.

 “Like you’re a man. And we know what men are capa—”

“What are you assuming?” he cuts you off, sharp. His voice like a blade cutting through the electric air starting to form. 

You hear the leather couch squeaking as he rises—watching him approach in the reflection, long legs taking slow step toward your chair. 

“I’m not that kind of man.” He’s angry. Obviously angry. But not loudly angry. A kind of hurt, angry…

And you turn your chair around to face him—but as you’re meet with strong thighs dressed in a thighs skinny jeans molding his structured muscles, right on your eyes levels, inches away from you… it’s intimidating. And Sylus sees you longing here, so he brings his fingers to lift your chin.

“If I were,” he leans in, letting his other hand drop on the back of your chair, his face bringing closer to yours. “If I were that kind of man, I would’ve taken advantage of you the last night of the trip.” Your breath catches, finding struggle to breathe—to smell anything else than his perfume. 

“Instead…” his voice softens, but it coils around you, tighter than before. “I dodged your kisses. Even though I wanted it more than anything else in this world.”

A silence follows, heavy and hot. 

“I let you talk, Ramble about how you thought I was hot. Sexy. How you wanted me to take you apart and put you back together in ways no other men would have done before..”

Conference Room C. 10 minutes.

His magnificent red eyes gleam, pupils slightly dilated as his fingers tighten on your chin.  “I would want to make love to you. Perhaps, you sounded like you wanted to be fucked, like an animal.”

He tilts his head, gaze dropping to your parted lips—voice dropping lower.

“Who would have thought…” he almost whispers against your lips. “A pretty little thing like you wanted to get fucked raw? Thought about my dick, hands, and lips in this way?”

You swallow hard, unable to come with a smart answer.

“But maybe it was my mistake,” he muses, the chair tilting further back as he leans in harder. “Because you said it yourself…” his thigh slips between yours—your knees spread by the pressure alone. “…You’re a brat.” 

Another long pause.

“And brats?” he smirks now, his veiny hand once holding your chin trace down, until it wraps around your throat—thumb resting on your pulse point, pressing, making you gasp. “Brats need to be punished. That’s what they do in your stories, right?”

Your chest rises, falls. Something between fear and craving coils low in your stomach. And just as you think he might kiss you—

He steps back, jaw so tight you hear it click.

“But I’d never touch you like that.” His voice barely there, the ghost of it brushing your skin. “Not unless you are stone-cold sober. Not unless you beg me for it.” His voice is barely above a murmur, and you swear your probably imagined this sentence from how hard your heart is pounding—muffling everything.

Conference C. 5 minutes.

He circles your chair like a storm pulling itself together. Picks up one of the lipsticks you’d been staring at before. “Wear this one,” he turns it in his fingers with something unreadable in his expression.

“That’s the same shade of the kisses you left on my jaw and chin that night.”

- - - 

The overhead light is clinical everything is too quiet—except for the clock.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

You’re sitting naturally… or pretending to at least. Legs crossed, palms resting flat against your thighs, your body rigid under the illusion of poise.

Lipstick : perfectly applied.

“Glad to see you listened to me,” Sylus voice comes low and heat-wrapped. He’s sitting next to you in another single couch—close to yours but far enough for your heart to have a normal beat.

You hum—noncommittal. 

Your throat too tight to come up with anything clever. Your head’s still not here. Still in the lounge room. Still caught on that single sentence, the one he left you with like a match to gasoline : ‘brats need to be punished. That’s what they do in your stories, right?’

And it’s like this meticulous sentence detonated something in your head, flashes of your night coming slowly to your mind. Your knees buckling as he kept you pressed against his chest, your words—words that would never come out sobber, the kind of filth you let slip between giggles… and hiccups… and need…

Your mouth had said everything. And he’d done… nothing.

Heat crawls up your chest now, wrapping around your neck, pinking your cheeks. From the corner of your eye, you see Sylus watching. Smirking like he knows exactly what memory just came rushing back—head resting in his hand, elbow propped on the armrest. 

Red eyes fixed on you, lazy and unbothered while you silently unravel next to him. And it’s so hard to act natural. With all those lighting and cameras trained on you like prey… it wasn’t the moment for the memories to come back.

“Well, we’re getting started in about five minutes.” A lady with a smile too bright to be real says, “I’ll ask questions about your collaboration, the launch, the success. Nothing personal, nothing crazy.” She continues, adjusting her notepad. “Just act normal, and everything’s gonna be fine.”

Easy for her to say.

You shoot her a polite nod, but your spine won’t relax.

Someone behind the camera gives a hand signal—letting you know that the camera hit recording. You adjust slightly in your seat, smile easy but measured. Sylus sits back with that usual unreadable seriousness.

The interviewer begins her intro—bright voice, polished tone—giving a quick overview of your roles in the company, your departments, and the product campaign that’s made your names unavoidable in the internal news cycle.

“Alright,” she says, flipping her page. “The New Horizons campaign took off faster than expected, with 200% increase in engagement in the first three weeks. Everyone’s calling it the blueprint for cross-departmental collaboration. What made you two clicks?”

Your answer flows like liquid. “We never tried to click.” You smile enough to take the edge off the honesty. “We were brutally honest about our differences from the start. But I think that’s what made us sharp. We weren’t afraid to challenge each other.”

The interviewer nods. “And that didn’t slow anything down?”

You shake your head once. “It pushed us forward. I focus on market behavior, storytelling, user emotion. Sylus…” you glance sideways at him, briefly. “Breaks things down to the finest equation. We worked in parallel, but we also pulled each other out of our usual lanes.”

He exhales a short huff—more amused than dismissive. “She doesn’t like rules.” His gaze flicks toward the woman in front of him, then back to you, lingering. “I like results.” He makes a small pause before adding—just to tease you. “She delivers.”

You bite back a smile, the edge of your mouth tugging upward anyway. “If you were about to say something bad,” you murmur to him, light and playful, “I’d have ripped your head off on camera.” You almost forget your encounter with him earlier—feeling your body relax at the sight of the missed Sylus.

“You seem close to each other.” The interviewer chuckles, scribbling down something. “And it seems like… there’s no ego between you.”

“Oh, but here’s ego,” you admit easily. “But it doesn’t get in the way. We both want the same thing : the best outcome. The rest in just noise.”

Sylus leans forward a little, forearms resting on his knees, voice just a touch lower. “It’s rare to find someone who know how to make the noise useful.”

Your chest rises, calm. Steady. Steady.

“You two sound like a dream team.” And the way the woman says it, the way her face lights up. You know that shift—when an interviewer finds their entry point, and starts aiming lower, under the surface.

“Some days,” you say lightly.

Sylus nods in agreement, completely unfazed.

“Talking about dream and certain days.” She flips her page, a little too casual. “You both went to the team-building retreat weeks after the campaign took off. It was mentioned a few times in your department note—apparently, that was a needed pause.”

Your pulse kicks. You nod, lips already shaping your answer before your thoughts fully form. “Yes,” you reply, voice calm. “There was a creative gridlock in the weeks leading up to the launch. Making both our team works harder, day and night, without interruption. Everyone was operating on different bandwidths. The retreat… was really great to reset things. It felt like a bowl of fresh air.”

She laughs slightly. “Sounds intense.”

“It was,” you reply, gaze unwavering. “We had to drop a lot of personal pride to get anywhere.”

Then she turns to Sylus. “Do you agree?”

He pauses—and that silence says everything. He knows exactly what she’s poking at. Still, his voice is even when he replies. “I think we underestimated how fast things can change when people stop performing.”

She smiles sweetly and asks, “Is it ok to answer some anonymous questions?”

The woman’s smile grows just a little too sweet, pen poised when she sees the glances you and Sylus are exchanging before nodding. “Alright, then.. First anonymous question.” She reads from her page, “be honest : who’s more competitive between the two of you?”

You tilt your head, gaze sliding to Sylus with faux consideration. “I’m strategic,” you say slowly, fingers folding neatly in your lap. “He’s obsessive. So, define competitive.”

He doesn’t even look at you—speaking like he already predicted your answer. “She cheats.” You let out a short, incredulous laugh. “I optimize. Don’t be mad because your precious equations can’t calculate charm.” That earns a small upward twitch of his mouth. “They can. Charm just isn’t scaleable.”

“Tell that to our numbers,” you shoot back. “Or to the CEO who called my presentation ‘a case study in persuasion.’”

The interviewer grins. “So… both of you?”

“Exactly.” You and Sylus say at the same time—not even trying to coordinate it.

The woman hums as she flips to the next card. “Second one’s fun. What’s one habit the other has that drive you crazy?”

You bite your lower lip in thought. And the man beside you can’t help but let his eyes drag over them—you’re oblivious. “He pauses before answering like he’s running an internal lie detector test.” Sylus lifts an eyebrow, his full attention on you, almost mock-offended. “I think before I speak.”

“You brood before you speak.”

The interviewer chuckles again. “And Sylus?”

He lets a beat pass—his eyes still on you, something sharp and fond behind his gaze… the intensity of it, almost makes you squirm on your couch. “She has zero patience. For meetings. For protocol. For… silence.”

You smile, but your heart pounds hard against your ribcage—knowing exactly what he meant. “Because silence means you’re about to say something cryptic and inconvenient.” You try with a wrecked voice.

“You don’t need silence to say something inconvenient.” He murmurs it so low the woman on the other side misses it—much to her displeasure.

“Alright, alright… let’s try something a little deeper, shall we?”

There’s a small silence—that kind of pause that feels too prepared. Like she’s testing waters. 

The stillness in your spine tightens like a reflex. You clear your throat gently, keeping your tone smooth. “He…” your eyes stay forward, though you feel the subtle shift of Sylus leaning back beside you, “...knows how to surf. Pretty well, actually.”

It’s true. It’s harmless. And absolutely not what the interviewer was fishing for—judging by the way her brows twitch up, like she’d bitten into something too bland.

You fight the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Sylus doesn’t smile, of course. He rarely does. His voice is flat, unreadable. “She talks too much when she’s nervous.”

You side-eye him immediately, lips parting as more flashes of this night come back to you. “That didn’t surprise me though,” he adds, glancing at the interviewer before locking eyes with you. “But she listens when it matters.”

The woman goes still for a beat, caught off guard by the sincerity buried in his otherwise clinical tone. “Well, that’s… good to know.”

She looks between you. Then reads the final one, “Last question. What’s something you haven’t said to each other yet?”

There it is. 

Your pulse kicks, and you can feel Sylus shift next to you—just a subtle change in the air around his body. Not something anyone else would catch.

One second pass.

Two.

Three. 

“If there’s anything worth saying,” he says finally, his voice calm but edged with something harder, “it’ll be said off camera.”

She laughs softly, almost like she’s impressed—or disappointed. “Well. That’s fair.”

The red light above the camera dies out. The room relaxes with it. Crew members begin to stir, chairs scraping gently, quiet voices picking up around you. You exhale deeply, tension releasing from your shoulders. The session’s over—but the real conversation, the one left dangling in the silence between you and Sylus?

That one hasn’t even started yet.

Still, you try not to think too deeply about it as the last mic clicks off your blouse. You murmur a quick thanks to the sound tech before rising to your feet, smoothing your skirt. Sylus is already up, straightening his sleeves with quiet precision. Like he didn’t just dodge the most important question, for the interviewer. Like he didn’t just put your world upside down in the lodge. Like his fingers aren’t still burning your chin.

You walk past him—ready to put all this comedy behind you but suddenly he calls your name, and you halt mid-step. 

“You hungry?” his voice breaks the static in your head.

“What’s the offer?” your eyes narrow. Almost defensive.

He slips his hands in his pocket, walking beside you as you head toward the exit. “Dinner. Meliaa’s already on her way.”

“Meliaa?”

“I called her,” he says simply. “She was close by. I thought you would like her presence.” Well the real reasonis : with Meliaa around, the odds of you saying yes were higher.

“I called Rafayel too. And Caleb,” Sylus adds, glancing down at you. (With Rafayel into the equation now, the odds were even more higher.)

You dig through your mind, trying to recall who’s Caleb. And—

“Caleb is the tall brunette with the purple eyes. He hooked up with Meliaa during the retreat.”

“Yeah...” you say, nonchalant. Like you knew exactly who he was the whole time.

Sylus only nods, offering nothing else, as he holds the door open for you.

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The restaurant is warm and low-lit. it’s tucked away behind a wine bar, too nice for a work dinner, too casual for anything official. The kind of place where the shadows lean in and the drinks hit too smooth.

Your comrades are sitting near a floor-to window glasses, you spot them first. Meliaa is pinned between Rafayel and Caleb at a round booth. Her expression is bright, animated, her cheeks slightly pink on her honeyed skin… but you don’t miss the restless tension in the way her fingers toy with her glass stem. Rafayel is a little too close, one arm resting behind her on the booth’s back and Caleb, on her other side, has his thigh pressing firmly against her—not budging.

You don’t miss the way Meliaa shifts her shoulders back when she sees you. Relief flickering in her eyes. 

“Oh, thank God,” she grins. “I was starting to consider stabbing one of them with a breadstick.”

Rafayel turns his head lazily toward her, the pad of his finger brushing the small hair on the back of her neck. 

“You’re late,” the brunette man suddenly speaks.

“5 minutes,” Sylus replies before you do, voice cool. He’s already assessing the table, his eyes flicking from seat to seat. But as expected—and rather quickly—he takes the open space beside Caleb. They’re probably friend… you assume.

That leaves you with one seat. Next to Rafayel.

Not that you complain about that.

You’re complaining about sitting directly across the hot-sexy-long-white-haired man. 

Meliaa shifts to make room—which only forces the two tall men to move in closer—giving you a smile that’s part apology, part plea. You slide in beside Rafayel, feeling the heat of his arm radiating next to you. Like he’s burning hot.

Another thing that is burning hot : Sylus gaze already on you. Sharp and unreadable beneath the low amber light.

Tension coils on the table. From all sides.

You clear your throat. “So, what did we miss?”

Caleb chuckles, low and amused, swirling his drink. “Just Meliaa dodging questions.”

“Dodging?” Rafayel cuts in with a slow tilt of his head. “I’d say she’s being very generous with her silence.”

Meliaa doesn’t answer. She just lifts her glass, sips, and stares down the center of the table like it might save her.

Well, it won’t.

But you will.

You hum and probably wait for few seconds—let the silence stretch until the static in the air buzzing between the glances feels heavy.

“I want a little drink,” you say abruptly. That earns you a flash of narrowed eyes from Sylus and a very enthusiast, far-too-fast, “Coming!” from your girl.

You reach the bar like it’s finish line—and you’re both relieved, it’s a small, expensive restaurant. Which means fewer people tonight. Fewer eyes. 

Meliaa slides onto the stool beside you, fixing her curls with one hand while the other flags the bartender like her life depends on it… and it just might. The only real question is : whose life is spiraling faster?

The moment the bartender turns his back to mix the drinks, you lean in.

“Okay,” you murmur low, “what the hell is going on?”

She blinks at you, innocent. “What do you mean?”

You give her a look—a look that means, I Know, You know, We know. 

She exhales sharply, bringing two fingers to pinch the bridge of her nose. “You remember Caleb. My little paradisiac escape?”

You nod.

“Well…” she winces. “Our one nightstand… kind of became a five-night stand. Plus, texting. And maybebrunch. And, um, sex on the roof of the lodge and… sex everywhere, actually.”

You tilt your head, amused by her unraveling. “And Rafayel?”

She picks up a lim wedge from the bar and pops it in her mouth like a criminal about to testify. “I didn’t plan that either. You just introduced us and we… clicked.”

You swear you only bite back your laugh because she she looks two seconds from yanking her own hair out. “When I said ‘you’d like him’ I didn’t mean like him naked in your bed.”

“I didn’t mean that too! They just kept showing up.”

“They’re both into you.”

She mutters something under her breath, before adding, “They both fuck extremely well, too.”

The bartender returns with your drinks. 

“I told them both I’m not looking for anything serious,” she insists. “I was clear. And they agreed. Verbally. Out loud.”

“And yet, back there,” you nod toward the table, “they were both glued to your sides like emotionally unstable shoulders pads.”

Meliaa groans. “Y’know what’s crazy?” she slides her stool closer to yours and lowers her voice. “They both know I slept with the other…” you raise a brow as she drops her voice even lower and bring a hand to your ear like she’s whispering the world’s most scandalous secret. “…And they both told me they want to prove they fuck better than the other.”

And here, you totally snap. You laugh so hard you nearly fall off the stool—actual tears leaking down your face. Meliaa just stares, green eyes wide like she’s been betrayed.

“You’re laughing to my hexagon of bad decisions?” she accuses.

“Giiiiirl,” you wheeze, wiping at your cheek. “You have two sexy, emotionally deranged men down bad for you and you call it a problem?” you shake your head, trying to calm down. “Just go for it and fuck them both.”

“I already did!!!”

“At the same damn time, sweetie.”

“You did lose all your last brain cells on that interview...” she takes her drink and finish it in one go.

She clinks her empty glass down with too much force than necessary. And you’re still puffing next to her when she sighs dramatically and speaks. 

“Yeah. You’re right.” She twists in her stool to look at you, a wicked glint flickering in her eyes now. “I will do it. Will fuck them. Senseless.”

You snort. “They’re more likely to fuck you senseless.”

She waves a dismissive hand in your face like you’re speaking nonsense, then grabs your shoulders with both hands. “Thank you for your advice, soldier.” She says sweetly, pressing her hands on your shoulder to get up.

You look at her going back to the table like the chaotic soldier that she is before calling after her, “Please stretch first!” and go back to your chair still laughing under your breath. You exhale, trying to cool the remnants of amusement off your face, only to feel someone move into the space she just vacated.

You don’t even have to look—you know that presence too well by now. It drapes over you like a shadow.

Sylus slips onto the high stool beside you, turning it slightly so his body angles toward yours. His long legs stretch out, planted on either side of your own—silently claiming territory. One arm drape lazily along the counter, the other resting loose over his knee.

There’s no rush, no sound, just the heavy calm he wears like cologne.

But it’s like the air shifts to accommodate him... and so does your pulse. He’s still dressed in the white shirt—made of sin and for sluts men.

You inhale without thinking.

“I’m a slut?” Sylus voice is… confused.

Ahhhh, your damn mouth. You didn’t even realize you said your last thoughts out loud.

“Well…” you trail off, letting your eyes drop on his open collar and the chain diving in, “dressed up like this, yes.”

His brows lift slightly, a smirk twisting his lips. 

Oh. A smirk.

It’s been a while.

“Calling me a slut then?”

You shift slightly on your stool, annoyed at the way your thighs press tighter together to the sound of his hoarse voice. “I mean,” you mutter, eyes refusing to meet his, “if the shirt fits.”

He leans a little closer—letting you feel the gravity of him. “Maybe I wore it for someone specific?”

Your head jerks toward him, “And that someone was… a reflective surface?”

His mouth twitches. He definitely missed your little games. “Are you jealous of my mirror now?”

You glare. “I’ve seen the way you look at it.”

“That mirror’s been there for me when no one else was.”

“Ew… now you sound pathetic.”

“Do you like pathetic men?”

The question caught you off guard. “What?” The heat is rising up your throat simmering just beneath the surface, and you feel yourself unraveling under the weight of his gaze.

“Pathetic men,” he repeats, approaching his stool to yours until your round sit is trapped between his thighs. “Do you like them?”

 “I like everything and everyone but you, Sylus.” You say under your breath toying with your glass—unwilling to drink it. Unwilling to let the alcohol dull this. You want to feel every second of it. Every pulse of heat. Every flick of his voice against your skin.

“You’re not that special,” you lie.

He tilts his head—giving you an unfair view of his bronzed neck, the muscle there taut, kissed by the dim bar light. “I’m literally trapping you against the bar right now,” he murmurs, voice rough silk, “and you haven’t moved.” 

You straighten, bristling— mostly from the burn pooling in your lower stomach. “I could move.”

“Of course, do so.” A simple challenge.

As you don’t move, he leans in until his lips are brushing delicately your ear “Exactly.” He dissociates every syllable. And you swear how he says it… it feels like a kiss. A taunting kiss.

Your entire body flares hot. From the tips of your ears to somewhere shameful deep. 

You grip the edge of the bar for support and stand. 

Fast.

Too fast.

Because of your original position and Sylus one, your legs tangle in the small space he created. The movement throws you off your balance and you tumble forward between your stools. 

You gasp—a surprised, inelegant sound—as your hands shoot up, grabbing at the nearest anchor: the back of his neck, his hair, thick and soft between your fingers. Your body crashes against his chest, knocking the glasses on his face askew. 

His arms snap around you with effortless speed—one bracing your lower back, the other slapping flat against the bar to keep you both upright.

His grip doesn’t loosen. You don’t move.

“Well,” he says, voice a little breathless, but laced with that same maddening smirk. “Aren’t you a professional at falling into me?”

You open your mouth—but nothing comes out. Your brain can’t think—too busy thinking about his hand splayed wide against your back. Technically it’s your waist, but the way his forearm is low, hot and firm just above the swell of your ass—

“That’s three time now, kitten.” he adds, adjusting his glasses with a slow slide of his fingers. “I’m gonna start thinking you’re doing it on purpose.”

“Maybe,” You whisper face burning hot, body burning hot… pussy burning hot.

Your thighs press together for any kind of relief, but you’re trapped. His are bracketing yours—caging you in a tight hold. Your chest is flush against his collarbone, your shirt stretched over the shape of your breasts as they rise and fall, pressed to the open cut of his shirt, that damned chain cold between your hot bodies.

He exhales, a slow, shaking thing, and his breath fans your lips when he speaks again. “You mess up my glasses again…” his voice dips lower, gravel catching at the edge, “and I might actually lose my patience.”

You blink hard, struggling to hold your ground—but your fingers are still in his hair, fisted tight. And something in you wants to push further. Wants to abandon everything, let it all go, and just sink into the heat of this.

So, you tug.

Not hard, but with intention—your nails scraping gently at the base of his scalp as you guide his face up to yours. His head tips back, lips parting slightly, the faintest flush of pink climbing his high cheekbones. His lashes flutter low. And you swear, swear he’s just as close to breaking as you are.

The way he looks like this. Held in your hands? Seeming vulnerable?

You can’t help but push your thighs a bit higher, grinding against his cock. Well, more like a damn monsterfrom the tent straining against his jeans.

His hand presses harder into your lower back, pulling you the rest of the way down until you’re practically straddling his lap—so you could have the perfect friction against your pulsing clit.

“You drunk?” he rasps, eyes glassy already.

You shake your head, almost dizzy from how close you are. From how hot it is in here. “No,” you breathe.

“Good,” he says, almost to himself. “When you said you wanted a little drink I…” he cuts off, biting his cheek.

You trace your fingers up through his hair again, soft strands curling between your knuckles. “What?”

He doesn’t look away. He can’t. Not when he’s drowning in the liquid, he wanted oh so badly. “I got scared,” he whispers, his voice barely a small stain on the lipstick he asked you to put. 

It feels like you’re drinking his words, drinking him. “Scared?”

His hand slides higher, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, brushing your bare skin and making you jolt. “Yeah, because… I don’t know if I can wait past tonight.” His voice fractures. “With all my respect.”

Oh god.

“I don’t think I want to wait,” he confesses, lips ghosting the corner of your jaw. “And if you get even a littletipsy, if you told me something sweet, if you looked at me the same way you did the last time you were drunk…” his tongue darts across his bottom lip, and your eyes track it like prey. “If you even whispered all the unholy things, you want me to do you again, and I couldn’t do anything—”

Your breath is ragged waiting for his next words. “—I think I’d lose my mind. Completely and utterly.”

And he’s not even really touching you but the wet ache between your legs grows as if he was just buried deep and dragging you wide open. 

“I’m sober,” your voice comes rougher than you expected. “100% sober.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours. Those eyes looking at you like he wants to make you, his meal. 

“I want to use my prize.” He says with an unsteady voice. Referring to the challenge he won during the retreat—and it feels like it’s been centuries since this moment in the clear water.

You lean in, almost forgetting you’re in a public space. “Yes, tell me.”

Both his hands grip your waist tighter, pressing you harder on his length.

“Please, spend the night with me.”

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The cool night air hits your flushed skin like a slap—you’re practically dragging Sylus across the small, dim parking lot by his collar, heart slamming so hard it’s a miracle your heels stay under you and your shirt isn’t ripped by the hard boum boum boum of your organ.

You see his car parked on the corner right after you turn. It’s a sleek, lack, and vicious-looking engine. Clean line, matte finish, purring low and luxurious under the streetlamps. It’s the kind of car that screams I have more money than your entire bloodline reunited. 

Sylus fumbles quickly into his pocket to pull out the key. 

But in no time, you shove him right against the side of his stupid expensive car, the impact solid, the look on his face wild. And then you’re on him. Palms pressed flat to his chest, mouth nearly on his, breathing him in like oxygen you’ve been starved for.

He smirks. “Impatient?”

“You asked politely,” you growl, voice rough with something molten and raw. 

Your hands slide down—over that infuriating shirt, feeling his abs twitching under the fabric. You trail down to the waistband of his jeans that have done nothing to hide what he’s packing.

He’s rock hard. And when you drag your body flush to his, grinding against him shamelessly, he groans. Deep and low, eyes fluttering closed.

“I waited,” you whisper against his jaw—leaving a hint of your lipstick. “I was nice, reallyyyy nice… But Sylus, if I don’t have you inside me soon—”

His hand comes up, palm cupping your jaw—firm, putting some distance between your filthy mouth and his skin. “You think—” he’s breathless, fighting to put some air into his lungs. “—I haven’t been waiting?” You open your mouth to snap back something, but his look on his eyes makes you stop.

What is happening between you is beyond lust. It’s something consuming, aching and needy.

“I want this to slow,” he says softly, thumb stroking your cheek. “Not some rushed thing in a car. Not—”

And you’re probably on the verge of psychiatric.

He’s making you insane. His self-control is insane. His mouth is insane. His hands are insane. His needs to do good is insane.

Everything is too insane.

You crush your lips onto his. And it’s only just a peck. A hard peck. Just to soothe your need you think. But when your mouth pulls away by only inches, his hand comes to your throat—drawing you back flush to his body. And in one fluid motion he switches places—pinning you between the car and the long, sharp line of him.

And this is kiss is nothing nice.

It’s all pent-up frustration erupting between your mouths. His lips force their way between yours—nothing delicate like he suggested moments ago.

Your lower lip is effectively trapped between his generous one—sucking on it, nipping them. And slowly he pushes your lips apart—a moan leaves your mouth and he’s muffling it directly as his tongue slides between your welcoming warm. 

He’s dominating this kiss. Tilting your head with his hand on your throat where he needs it—to drink you like hewants to. 

It’s maddening, the way he kisses is maddening. 

Because even though he’s obviously the one in control, he stills chase your pleasure—chasing every whimper, every moan every gasp. His glasses are skewed by now, your kiss having knocked them off their straight line, completely fogged by your breaths.

Your lipstick is smeared across his mouth and jaw, staining him in smudged proof of your hunger. There’s even a faint line beneath his nose, a bold mark left from where he dragged up his face.

Sylus is high.

High on you. High on the way your skirt rode up your thighs. High on the feeling of your ruined panties clinging to your cunt—leaving surely a dark, obscene patch of slick on his pants.

The kiss was so nasty, there’s drool on the corner of your lips once he drags his mouth away from yours—well, not really. His lips are still pressed against yours a thin string of spit is connecting you both. 

“You’re wet,” his breath is ragged, like he’s just run a marathon.

And it’s not mocking, not teasing, it simply hurts him.

His hand shifts from your jaw to your thigh, curling under the hem of your skirt—slow at first but when he meets the hot mess between your legs with the tip of his fingers… he’s losing all last strands of sanity.

A sound punched right from his gut comes out of him and straight into your mouth—forehead falling to rest against yours.

You smile, your cheeks rosy as you struggle to breathe. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve got myself wet back in the bar.”

“Of course you did,” he hisses, dragging your soaked panties aside with a rough swipe of his fingers. And the cold hair hitting raw your swollen pearl makes you throw your head back and hips jolt forward. 

“You love teasing me, don’t you?” his voice feels distant, a small siren voice through the fog overtaking your brain.

You nod and find a smart-ass answer he lives for, “Love watching you pretend you’re composed.”

“Kitten—” he warns, voice not even sounding human.

He presses two fingers to your entrance. Not pushing in. Just sliding between your folds, gliding through the wetness like he needs to punish himself with restraint. His eyes drop to watch—if he can, through the blur of actual tears swelling at his lashes. His self-control is fighting for its life—but it’s cracked, shattered by the warm of your pussy dripping down his hand.

Every breath he takes against your neck is a prayer not to fuck you right there, right now, with no mercy. 

“Don’t you dare be soft with me,” you fist his shirt, hiccupping. “You’ve had months to be gentle.”

He crushes your body to the car door, hand diving beneath your thigh and lifting—hoisting your leg up around his hips so you’re perched, pinned, spread open for him to rut into with that thick, unrelenting hardness pressing through his jeans. The dry friction alone make you cry out—the damp heat of your cunt grinding against his cock through layers, but it’s still too much. 

“I’m going to fuck you stupid,” he says against your mouth, so low, so close, voice a whisper and a threat. “But not here. Not like this.”

You shake your head, dazed. “Why not?”

His hand grips your thigh tighter, almost bruising. “Because if I do it here, I’ll ruin you for real. You won’t walk. I’ll make a mess of this pretty car, and I won’t stop. I won’t fucking stop, kitten.”

You whimper, forehead resting against his shoulder now, breath fogging on his skin. “Sylus…”

“Get in the car.”

He breaks away long enough to hit the key fob. The sleek lights flash, the door clicks open with a quiet hum—and before you can think or process, he’s pulling you down, dragging your panties back to its place, letting the elastic snap back against your sensitive clit with a loud slawck—that almost make you cum on the spot.

He’s pulling the handle and forcing you in. You stumble into the leather seat, still gasping, body trembling. He leans into the frame, one hand on the top of the door, the other on your thigh—sliding up again. 

“Buckle in,” he rasps, eyes dragging down your wrecked body, lips still shiny with spit and your smeared lipstick. 

He shuts the door and stalks around the car to the driver seat in long stroke.

- - -

When the elevator dings, he pulls you down the hall—fast and controlled. The click of your heels echo against the pristine floor. His apartment door opens with a quiet beep. A smooth slide. 

Rich-boy security system.

Once you enter, you’re directly overwhelmed by his scent. A light perfume of spice and… lavender, maybe, or something even more ruinous. 

His place is clean, minimal everything nettling put at their places. The skyline behind the floor-to-ceiling windows glows like fire, golden-orange spilling across glossy floors. Somewhere to the left, a low fire crackles in a stone-lined hearth near the couches, throwing dancing shadows over leather and glass.

You stay where you are, just inside the doorway. The door clicks shut behind you, and you press your back against it, heart hammering. He moves ahead, smooth and silent, dropping the key fob onto a table like it’s the last thing tethering him to restraint.

Then he turns. And the look he gives you—slow, raking, searing—melts everything inside you.

Your lipstick is a mess. You know it. It’s all over his face too, smeared beneath the sharp line of his cheekbones, staining the edge of his mouth. His white hair glows silver in the firelight, casting flickers over the chain resting against the open collar of his shirt. His glasses have slid low on his nose, and he makes no move to fix them.

The tension between you is unbearable. Electric. You feel it coil in your stomach, in your thighs, your throat. One spark away from burning everything to ash.

You can’t take it.

“Sylus…” your voice is breathless, cracked. “Do something. I’m going crazy.”

His head tilts—barely. A shift in the firelight. But his eyes are pure heat. He walks toward the living room with precise steps. And each one he takes is just worse than the other. Torturing you until your bones disintegrate.

“You remember what I told you earlier?” he says without looking back.

“Huh?”

“Before the interview.”

“You said a lot of things.”

“I did.” He drops onto the couch, sprawling back with a quiet sigh—legs spreading wide, arms draping along the back. He adjusts his glasses with a single lazy finger, and his haze finds your again. “And one of them was that I want you to beg.”

Your breath catches. He pats his thigh, palm open. “Come here.”

Your pride should say no—should anchor you at the door, fighting for some last scrap of dignity. But unfortunately, the heat pooling between your legs has already ruined your panties—and far more, your thighs are sticky with your substance. 

You’re stepping forward before your brain can catch up, led purely by instinct.

“Come sit,” he murmurs. “Right here.”

It’s humiliating.

His eyes never leave you, locked on your skirt, watching the way it hugs your hips, how it sways with each slow, hesitant step.

The tension in the room deepens, thickens until it suffocates.

“And you know what else I said?” His voice is smooth as silk and twice as dangerous, still undressing you with his eyes. You reach him, heart thudding so hard it rocks your ribs.

You shake your head, pulse roaring in your ears.

He smirks the kind of smirk that knows exactly how it splits you open inside. “I told you brats get punished.” He runs his middle finger around his thigh—slow, little circle… and your eyes open wider by millimeters. “You qualify as one, don’t you?”

“That’s what you said,” he adds when you don’t answer. “Last time… you hinted you liked being put in your place.” His voice is slick with memory.

You instantly go hot all over. And even hotter as you stop in between his thighs, and he looks at you through half-lidded eyes—his cheeks flushed of that soft, delicious pink.

“That’s quiet mean of you…” your reach for his chain, looping it between your fingers like a leash. “Considering you already kissed me—”

Your sentence dies—gasped away in surprise when two firm hands come to your ass and pulls you onto him. 

You collapse into his lap, one hand shooting to brace yourself against the couch behind his head, the other gripping his shoulder as your hair spills around your face—falling to make a perfect halo around you. 

Your breath quickens as you’re hit with another memory: a flustered Sylus, flat on his back in the sand, eyes glazed, mouth parted.

Just like now. Unless now he’s more… dangerous, sure.

“And so?” he whispers, his mouth one breathe away from ravishing yours entirely.

“What are you gonna do to make me beg?” you ask.

“Strip.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I won’t repeat myself.”

You gulp audibly. Because the way he looks at you are giving everything but soft.

So slowly, extremely slowly it’s borderline painful, you remove your top—dropped without care onto his pristine floor. Leaving you only with a laced bra and your strained nipples like they’re offering themselves to theirmaster.

“What I will do to make you beg, mh?” His gaze burns as one of his knuckles brushes your clavicle. A single featherlight touch going straight between your thighs. 

“That’s easy.” his index finger trails down the center of yoru chest. It glides to the dip of your bra—right between your breasts where a tiny single red bow is. His thumb presses into the delicate bone at your sternum.

“I will just toy with you.” And he bites his lip because you’re already semi-shaking his thighs—the strain on his control his palpable. He absolutely wants to devour you, make a mess out of you. 

Claim you in all the way a man has never possibly done before. He continues his way with you. A single finger along the edge of the cup, grazing the curve of your breasts without ever touching the peak.

Your hips twitch.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he murmurs, almost curious. His lips ghost the air near your throat but doesn’t land—he lets you feels his warm breath when he speaks again. “What happened to all that attitude, kitten?”

His hands move—and you fight not to growl… or scream… or cry… you don’t know which reaction is more appropriate.

His long digits palm your ribs, sliding up up and just when you think he’s going to take the full weight of your aching breasts and give you some relief—he trails down. Leaving your skin flaming where he touched it.

“Your skirt’s on the way.” He mutters, the corner of his mouth twitching in evil delight as your brows knit together in full, tortured frustration. “Can’t feel you soaking your panties correctly.” His white hair glints in the firelight like moonlight on snow. “Make it easy for us both and get rid of this.”

You groan—a bratty, breathless sound—but obey. You push up on shaky feet and toss the skirt so fast it’s nearly offensive… if you weren’t so eager.

“That’s right.” His voice’s smug velvet sliding under your skin.

One hand slides up to your shoulder. A single finger dips beneath the strap of your bra and, without a hint of hurry, drags it down your arm. It falls loose. He repeats the process on the other side, watching the lace shift lower—watching your nipples grow tight under the exposure, making his mouth salivate.

Your skin prickles are you unconsciously start to rock yourself on his pants. You whisper nearly delirious. “Touch me.”

“But I am touching you,” his voice’s syrup-thick, his lips ghost along your cheek, then your jaw, then the slope of your neck—never landing long enough to satisfy. “Maybe you just need to learn patience.”

“Don’t—” you start, voice breaking on the word.

He clicks his tongue. “The rules are the rules, kitten.”

His rough palms splay wide across your thighs, fingers curling until his blunt nails catch the edges of your lacy thong. He tsks. “You nasty little thing,” he hums. “You wore this under your skirt… to the interview.”

You press down harder into his lap, rutting now, your body no longer interested in playing coy. One of your hands snakes down to guide his fingers.

He grabs your wrist instantly—gently, but with firm finality. His eyes darken. “I could have taken you long ago…” the heat of his breath brushing your collarbone. “If you hadn’t made it so hard for us to—”

“I made hard nothing.” You cut in.

His brow arches. “You interrupted me?” he drawls, leaning back suddenly and dragging his warmth away.

You bite your inner cheek, heat pulsing between your legs for so long it’s unbearable now. “Fine…” you start slowly. “Maybe I made something hard,” your lips twitch slightly in amusement. “Your dick, maybe.”

The second the word leaves your lips, you know it’s the wrong move. So wrong. Especially with how tight you’re clenching around nothing.

Because in one blink—one heartbeat—he moves.

You yelp as he manhandles you. In less than a second, he’s flipped you over. Your chest crashes to the cushions, your ass perched high on his lap. One strong arm pins you there, his palm flat between your shoulder blades, keeping you down like a misbehaving pet.

“You are a brat,” he murmurs above you, voice dangerously fond. “Guess I’ll have to remind you what happens to smart mouths.” Then his hand slides down your back. Pauses just above your ass. You shiver, bracing yourself for slap….

That never comes.

A spank would be too merciful. 

Instead, he drags his index under the curves of your ass, across the damp strip of lace stretched tight over your soaked cunt. He traces your swollen slit with the lightest touch—barely grazing the obvious outline of your folds through the ruined fabric. So soft it hurts.

And suddenly he takes the twin straps of your ridiculous thong and pull.

So harsh that your squirm uncontrollably, your eyes nearly rolling back in shock. A ridiculous high-pitched moan escapes you as your panties catch itself between your fat lips—a hard pressure on your swollen clit.

“Sylus—” you gasp.

He chuckles darkly behind you, sounding maddeningly pleased. “That’s better,” he murmurs. “Fits nicer like this.”

Your whole body is trembling. You’re humiliated and throbbing and nothing is enough. Or is it? Is it enough when he doesn’t let go of the straps and rocks them?

Then side to side and gentle little tug. Each motion saws the lace tighter, sliding it exactly where it hurts the most—barely over your clit, dancing just on the edge of pleasure and pain. You sob into the couch.

Because no, it is not enough.

Sylus knows how to tease you with cruel finesse. His thumbs drag circles into your asscheeks. His knuckles skim the backs of your thighs. His mouth brushes behind your ear like smoke and never offering you the deliverance you need.

You make helpless little noises in the back of your throat, and it only fuels his precision. He lets one fingertip ghost over your inner thigh, dragging closer, closer until it’s nearly brushing the ruined lace clinging to your cunt.

Your hips jerk back, chasing the phantom touch when he backwards. 

“Please,” you gasp, not even realizing the word came out of your mouth. 

“Hm?” his voice is silk. Mocking.

You clench around nothing. Practically crying. 

“Touch me,” your voice muffled by the cushion, you say louder your next word. “Please.”

He tugs the panties again, this time even tighter. Your muscles tense on his lap. “What was that?” he breathes against your temple.

“I—fuck, Sylus—please, I need it. I need you to—” but the words never quiet reach your tongue. 

“Say it.” He’s so close behind you that you feel his voice vibrate in your spine.

You twist your head over your shoulder to look at him—his jaw is clenched, lips red and stained with your lipstick, his eyes black with hunger. He’s wrecked but won’t move until you break.

“Say what you need, kitten. Not some vague whining. Not ‘touch me’.” He leans in, breathing heat into your ear. “Use your words. You’ve never had a problem with that mouth.”

“I—fuck,” Your face burns. “Your fingers..”

His hand stills against the top of your thigh. “But they are touching you.”

“Inside me,” You almost scream. “Inside my pussy. Please, Sylus, please—”

One hand comes to the meat of your ass, spreading you. The other, those long cruel fingers, trails from the soaked strap of your thong down between your folds, and this time doesn’t stop. 

Two fingers press into your entrance with no pretense, no mercy. He sinks them deep and slow to hit your spots fast and precisely.

“Oh God—”

“Fuck.” He groans behind you, forehead dropping to your shoulder as your cunt clenches around him violently, gripping down on the length of his fingers. “You’re so wet,” he pumps, once. You choke out a sound that’s not a moan, not a cry, just something wrecked from your chest. 

“That’s it,” his lips brushing your neck. “You wanted my fingers?” and he give you three more hard thrusts making you arch off the cushion and lift your ass higher.

“You’ve got them.” He scissors them open inside you, and you swear you’re seeing the goddamn constellations in front of your eyes.

“Shit, do you even feel them?” he grits, voice barely human. “You’re dripping everywhere, you’re so wet my fingers easily slide in.” He growls when your pussy answers—wet sounds and droplets of arousal dripping on his expensive pants.

“Look at the mess you’re making,” he whispers, almost reverent. “You’re soaking down my wrist.” When he pulls back, it paints his skin—slick, shining, messy.

“Sylus!” you choke on a sob when he adds another finger, your walls fluttering violently around the stretch. You’re so close—teetering, body tight like a drawn bowstring. Probably two or three more thrusts and—

He stops. Withdrawing completely.

The emptiness is a sucker punch. A broken sound rips from your throat, half-sob, half-curse—too raw to be dignified, too honest to hold back.

Before you can twist around and claw at him, he’s already moving—flipping you with a suddenness that makes your heart stutter. You land on your back with a soft thud against the couch, hair fanned wild, and legs still spread from desperation.

His figure looms over you… a shadow made of fire.

“Open,” he orders, holding those soaked fingers just inches from your mouth. And you do, because what else could you possibly do?

But before he slips them past your lips, he drags the mess of your arousal across them—painting your mouth with yourself.

When his digits land on your taste buds, your tongue curls immediately around them, helplessly obedient. He watches closely through his rectangular glasses, his collar’s chain hitting your chin as he hovers over your figure. 

RIP.

A swift, shocking sound of lace tearing. Your gasp nearly causes you to bite down on his fingers, but his eyes catch yours with a silent warning: don’t even think about it.

He tosses the ruined panties aside like they were in his way all night, like they never stood a chance. His lips hover beside your ear as you still suck greedily on his fingers.

“Keep going, since you’re already so good with your mouth…” A smirk ghosts across his lips, wicked and warm. “I’ll enjoy mine too.”

You blink up at him, dazed.

“Keep sucking on my fingers while I taste my favorite lollipop,” he growls.

Sylus disappears between your volcano. And at the mere feeling of the tip of his tongue on your cunt—he feels himself levitating. You taste knocks the air from his lungs. His free hand tightens around one of your thighs, forcing it wide open. The couch creaks under the pressure of how hard he holds you down.

His tongue swirls around clit like you’re the sweetest candy ever. Flicking the delicate nerve side to side before closing his lips around it. He sucks so hard you jolt forward, moaning around his fingers.

A dark, animalistic sound reverberates from deep in his chest, straight into your bones, as he closes his eyes and feasts you. He licks up all the juices that came down your folds and the junction with your thighs like it’s some divine nectar he must drink to keep living.

“What kind of taste is this?” he rasps, totally delirious, so delirious he removes his fingers from your mouth, bringing his two thumbs to spread your lips open wide so he can bury his nose deeper into you.

He pulls back only to blow a slow, teasing breath on your throbbing clit. Then dives back in, slurping all the way from back to front. A helpless moan vibrates from his throat against your core. He ruts his cock against the couch like he can’t help it, seeking relief from the ache you’ve caused.

Your hands fly to his fluffy hair, gripping the base of his neck and his silken strands to push him deeper, as your thighs fall open wider—giving him full access to your desperate pussy.

And Sylus, so lost, gives in his need. Sharp teeth gently napping your clit, not to hurt you—applying the right pressure to send you plunging into the abyss of pleasure.

“Need you to soak my face, kitten,” He murmurs, voice all smug and drunk.

And honestly? he feels like he’s the one to cum first, into his boxer, nonetheless. And without a single touch coming from you. 

His hands grip your thighs with such desperation you’re sure you’ll bruise tomorrow. The friction against your clit, the slick and drools pouring from his tongue… it all sends you spiraling. So fast, so full, you’re sure you’re seeing your orgasm breaking open like fireworks behind your eyes.

But it doesn’t.

Your head snaps up looking at him and he’s already looking at you. His ears are flushed pink glasses crooked and fogged, hair a fucking mess like he’s been through war. 

A war he’s winning. 

“The fuck are you doing?” you snap, heavy breathing as he denied your orgasm once again.

“You didn’t beg.” He tsks, his voice maddeningly calm, lips brushing tender kisses up your pubic bone like an apology. 

You try to move—try to rut your hips against his mouth, anything, anything—but he’s stronger. He barely even needs to hold you down. His grip stays lazy and firm and so damn effortless it makes you scream inside.

You sob, a real cracked sound, torn raw from your throat. Because it’s torture. Because you were right there. Twice.

Because your body doesn’t know how to deal with the pleasure that keeps burning and burning with no outlet.

So, you eat your pride and beg.

“Sylus,” you whisper, a trembling whimper hanging from your lips, eyes glassy and rimmed with the shimmer of real tears from overstimulation. “Let me cum, please. Please,” you say, as if repeating it might break whatever sick restraint, he’s shackled you with. “I can’t take it anymore, I—”

He goes back in without warning. His tongue flicks your clit fast, precise, lips locking around it in a tight, desperate seal. And before your brain can register, he pushes two fingers deep inside you, curling them right into that spot that makes your vision blurs. Fucking you open on his tongue and digits with ruthless precision.

You’re brought to the edge really quickly like he has memorized the exact rhythm of your undoing. 

Your spongy walls clench so tightly around his knuckles you think you might break them. You gasp helplessly squirming under the sheer intensity of it all.

“My good girl, asking all nicely and cutely.” He chuckles on your glistening folds, another hand going up, up, up—finding your bras and pushing it down with slow force until your tits spill free.

He toys with your hardened nipple, rolling it between his fingertips, pinching them until your much smaller hand come to cup his.

Your body draws tight like a scream with no sound, all nerve endings snapping taut as violin string, and then—

He hums. The vibration of it sends a shudder up your spine, that’s what does it. That’s what tears you open.

You squirt.

So hard and so unexpected your vision whites out at the edge, hips bucking hitting his teeth, thighs closing around his head and he lets them. Let’s you suffocate him in your divine warmth.

You soak him for what seems hours, your slick is everywhere—on his wrist, his palm, his nose… even your ass sticks to the soft couch.

“Fuck—fuck, exactly,” he grows, eyes fluttering shut as he devours your orgasm that followed right after. Your limbs go slack, twitching as wave after wave crashing through your core.

And it doesn’t help that Sylus keeps going, mouth still latched to your cunt like it’s his only salvation, fingers pistoning in and out with greedy, relentless strokes, chasing every last drop of your high like he wants to taste your very soul.

You sob his name through grit teeth, clamping your plush thighs tighter around his face and—

BREAK.

“Huh?” he withdraws, fingers dragging out so slow it makes your back arch with the aftershocks—barely registering the breaking sound of something.

“You broke my glasses.” He chuckles out, almost cheerfully and licks his fingers clean, discharging his glasses with no more attention to them—moaning deep in his throat when your remained liquid hits his tongue.

“I—I didn’t… what?” your chest is rising and falling rapidly, one breast out, your lower body naked and messy, your eyes half-lidded blinking up at him through wet lashes.

His gaze is molten, locked to your pussy as it flutters mindlessly when he speaks with a rough voice. “My glasses,” he says, panting. “You broke them with yoru thighs.” He kisses your jaw, “hot.” And he kisses your mouth, letting you smell and taste your essence on him. Tongue gently slipping between your parting lips—contrasting with the feverish need he ate you out minutes ago. Your breath catches in your throat at the sudden intimacy.

When he breaks the kiss, one hand snakes behind your back, expert fingers unclasping your bra, stripping you in one fluid motion. Then he prosses to remove his shirt, impatient. The next victim’s his belt, fast and jerky. And that’s when you notice the wet spots that your core left where you grinded on him earlier but also the wet wide spot on his crotch and the freaking bulge straining his pants—bigger than before.

“Did you—did you cum?” you ask, surprised. “And get hard again?” 

“He laughs softly. “I didn’t, it’s just…” he exhales through a crooked smile, discarding his pants until only his boxer remain­—a perfect view of his cock sitting monstrously against his lap. “Guess I got a little excited. And the pre-cum kinda… never stopped.”

His lips trail soft kisses across your cheeks, your temple, the bridge of your nose. His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing right under your eyes as he kisses your pouty lips. “I should say,” he murmurs, voice lower. “As much as overstimulating you was… unreal—” he chuckles once, quietly, like it’s secret between you. “—I want to make love to you.”

And there’s no more teasing in his voice. He almost looks at you with puppy eyes, almost pleading you through his long lashes. But most importantly, he’s checking for the smallest flicker of discomfort.

When you nod, small but certain, he scoops you up as if you weigh nothing. One arm beneath your thighs, the other curled around your back—holding you close to his bare chest like you’re breakable. And you kind of are. Because your legs are trembling. Your heart’s wild. And your body? Your body doesn’t know what to do with the echoes of the orgasm he just ripped out of you.

“Use your words, big girl,” he says softly.

You inhale a deep breath as new feelings start to grow on you. “Yes, Sylus. I’m okay with that.” Your arms wrap tightly around his neck, your legs wrapping as tight as they can around his waist when he gets up the couch and walks.

“We’re going to my bedroom, still okay?” You only hum, nuzzling your head on his shoulder. And the more you walk his house, the more his scent—dark cologne, the clean warmth of expensive wood and luxury soap—settles into your skin in the most delicious way.

Once he steps into his room, you can only be amazed. Because like the rest of his house, it’s minimal with subtle gold accents, matte black fixtures. But it’s in a warm way. The bed is massive, low to the ground and made with silky charcoal sheets. On the far wall, huge windows give way to skyline view, but the curtains are drawn halfway, letting in just enough city light to paint shadows over the sharp angles of the room. A sleek black shelf houses a series of rare books and vinyls, but not a speck of dust dares exists.

He places you delicately on the bed, kneeling between your thighs, looking at you like your body is some lost divine scripture that needs to be studied. 

Remembered. Painted. 

His gaze lingers. His hands trail slowly up your legs, tracing patterns on your skin.

“Sylus… remove your boxer for the sake of God. I’m going insane.”

“My kitten’s getting impatient.”

“Yes! How are you supposed to make love to me with your boxer still on—”

“There’s a lot of ways,” he whispers hot against your skin. 

He leans down, lips brushing softly over the swell of your chest before wrapping around one of your nipples—sucking gently, tongue dragging greedy circles. There’s nothing hurried, he only wants to enjoy himself. Taking all his time to commit your skin to memory as he’s been waiting a looong time. 

His free hand slides up to cup the weight of your other breast—palm wide, fingers splaying to massage every inch. His thumb brushes your nipple, again and again, coaxing little whines from you while his tongue torments the other. 

You arch into it, fingers lacing through his hair. “I could whisper sweet nothing into your ear, until you come.”

“That’s torture—” you gasp, your back arching as he nips lightly and soothes it with another swirl of his tongue.

“It’s not.”

“It is!” you snap, tugging at his hair and forcing him to lift his head. His mouth leaves your breast with a wet sound, lips kiss-bitten and glistening. “Even for you. God, Sylus, you’re painfully hard.”

“That’s not a problem.”

“That so?” you mutter, and you sneak a hand between your bodies. Palming him through the fabric causing him to hiss through clenched teeth. 

And if you weren’t sure he was huge, the weight pressing against your palm is all the confirmation you need. A fucking thick dick is straining against the soaked cotton of his boxer briefs, throbbing against your touch.

You push his boxer down, eyes locked to the place where skin is revealed inch by inch.

And you swear that’s some joke.

Not only is he thick… but his length is delirious.

Two veins trace the sides of his shaft, pulsing with heat, visibly twitching. The tip is fat and flushed red, the redder red you’ve ever seen. His shaft is slightly lighter than the rest. Rivulets of pre-cum keep forming at the tip and slip down the vein like they’re drawn to the base of him and hitting right under his bellybutton. It’s even slightly curved, and you can’t see your face but you’re sure drool is pooling at the corner of your lips. 

“I promise I’ll be gentle,” his voice takes you out of your trance. And his voice is not cocky, or smug or arrogant like most men.

No, he’s genuine and real.

“I—that’s not, I mean—huh..” the words tumble out awkward and fragmented. 

Your body feels caught between panic and desire, staring at the reality of what’s about to stretch you open. Because how the hell you’re going to take all that?

“I’ll go slow. We’ll take our time,” answering your silent question with a soft kiss on your lips, soft lips against soft lips—a whisper of affection rather than hunger.

His nose nudges yours as he props himself up on his forearm beside your head.

And the world seems to still. All that heat and chaos burns into something deeper. Vulnerable.

The weight of his cock nestles between your folds. It presses against your slit with aching patience, the kind of pressure that makes your body clench in anticipation.

But he doesn’t push in, he lets his tip circles over your clit, drinking on each breathy twitch, each flutter of your lashes. He slides through your wetness, letting your bodies get reacquainted, soaking himself in all the arousal he pulled from you earlier, until his shaft is completely coating of you. 

He drags his whole length over your puffy folds again, watching the way they wrap around his girth. He makes a different type of mess between your thighs.

This time with intent. This time with… love.

His forehead presses against yours, and there’s something twisted in his expression—an ache. A soft panic. “I forgot a condom,”

But your response is immediate.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, skin to skin, until not even air exists between you. Until every inch of his length is trapped perfectly between your soaked folds, your pussy pulsing around nothing yet, craving.

“That’s ok. I—” a whimper. “Just… just pull out in time. I’m clean. And—I take the pills.”

His eyes flutter shut. “I’m clean too,” his breath is slightly shaky, as if disappointed of himself. “I’m sorry..”

“That’s okay,” you say quickly afraid he won’t finish what he started. “I promise. That’s more than okay, Sylus.”

And finally, not without a sharp exhale from him, he shifts his hips. The thick head of his cock kisses your entrance.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

As you only nods, he insists. “I mean it,” he says, voice raspy. “Even if it’s one second in. I’ll stop.”

“I know,” you whisper, heart loud in your chest. “I trust you.”

And Sylus just might as well feel his heart shatters in devotion. You’re so open beneath him, vulnerable and trembling… he’s about to show you just how much you can trust him. 

His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers tight, grounding you to him. The tip pushes past your entrance, and your lips part on a trembling gasp—a sound caught between pleasure and ache. Your cunt flutters, clamping down on just the head like it’s enough

“Fuck,” he groans into your neck, shaking. He tries so hard to hold back and be careful. “You’re so tight. I thought I prepped you enough, I—”

You cling to him, fingernails digging into the back of his hand as the other come to claw against his back. His hips move forward once again, another inch in. Your eyes accumulate tears as you arch off the bed, legs wrapping tighter around him.

“You’re pulling me in, kitten,” his voice cracks, and full of awe. He feels as overstimulated as you, his veins pulsing against your warm walls, the raw feeling of your soaked cunt making his eyes water too.

His brows draw together in a pained sort of bliss as he presses his forehead to yours. Your walls are fluttering widely, the resistance to tight to let him slide in. So his hand slips down your belly. “Gotta soaks you more, yeah?” 

His thumb begins circling, slow and sloppy, dragging maddening shapes into your swollen clit. Enough pressure to make you writhe, make your hips jerk under him. And your body answers in the only way it can—with more slick, more heat, more unrelenting need. “Gotta make this pretty cunt weep for me.” 

And greedily, your pussy loosens around him by millimeters—just enough for his length to dive deeper onto your warm. “That’s it,” he groans. “There you go. She’s opening up for me now. Such a good kitten we have here.”

His breath hitches when he slides another inch deeper, your walls hugging him tighter, soaked and pulsing.  “You’re doing really good, my girl,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion. “Let me love you like this.”

You can feel the tears slipping past your temples. From the stretch, from the emotion, from how filthy and tender it all is. Every word makes your heart tremble, every roll of his hips makes your soul splinter a little more.

And once he bottoms out—hips flush against yours—Sylus’s jaw clenches, entire body trembling with restraint as he fights every primal instinct screaming at him to thrust. 

As for you? You’re whimpering beneath him, nails dragging down his back in a desperate scramble, his cock stretching you to the brim borderline with discomfort but never crossing this line. It’s just overwhelming pressure and the need for him to move.

Your pussy is still trying to accommodate when your hips roll on instinct, chasing friction—anything—but it nearly undoes him.

“W-wait—wait,” Sylus gasps, and his hand squeezes yours so tightly it makes your fingers ache. His other arm wraps around your back, trying to hold you still, trying to hold himself together.

His cock throbs violently against your velvety warm, the curve of his dick hitting a spot that makes your vision blur. Your whole body is begging for deliverance, for movement. While his, is begging for stillness. He physically can’t move, not when his length is wrapped from base to tip by your dripping pussy.

“Kitten,” he groans into your neck, something wrecked that send a shiver through your spine. “I can’t—I can’t… move yet. You’re—mghn—too good.”

“Sylus,” your hips move again, desperate this time. “Please…”

“I need… a second,” he pants, biting down on your shoulder. “You feel like… like fire.”

The words hit you deeper than it should. It’s not some dirty talk. It sounds like confession. And even more has his long digits find your face. Gently cupping your jaw as he pulls back the strict necessary to look at you. 

Eyes red-rimmed, sweat curling on his forehead and neck—sticking his hair on his skin. His lips part in a quiet awe as he makes eye-contact with you.

He pulls out an inch.

An inch. Nothing more.

And he slides back in.

You moan loud—no control, no shale. The stretch is heaven, the friction molten. Your hands claw at his back again as he repeats the motion, dragging his cock out in torturously slow inches… and pressing back in deeper.

Your breath stutters. “Sylus—”

“Shh, I know,” he whispers, kissing your jaw, your mouth, your tears. “You’re taking me so well, baby. So fucking well.”

And then he starts moving.

Not fast. But with intent. Deep, full thrusts that make your body arch off the sheets. His hips grind against yours at the end of each stroke, making you feel every press, every glide, every drag of his cockhead against that spot that makes your soul flicker.

Your pussy clutches him harder with every thrust. Your legs shake around his waist.

And his voice turns into something darker, deeper, even filthier now that he’s buried deep and claiming you one thrust at a time.

“Listen to that,” he pants, eyes flicking down between your bodies, where you’re joined. “You hear how wet you are for me? How sloppy this perfect cunt sounds every time I slide in?”

And how could you not hear them? It’s the only sound in his room. The wet slap of him inside you is filthy, echoing through the sleek, expensive room like a symphony of ruin. Your slick coats his cock, his thighs, your inner legs. You’re dripping from being so full, so thoroughly claimed. Every thrust feels wetter, dirtier—needier.

“That messy little pussy talkin’ back to me.” He’s rutting into you so deep your vision sparks. “Keep making those sounds, kitten,” and as if it’s on command, your puffy folds let out a louuud squelch, a boble of slick dripping down his balls. And your mouth moaning out loud his name.

“Well, both of you talkin’ to me is also great,” he chukles, a hint of the smug Sylus coming back.

His thumb finds your clit again—rubbing it in tight, practiced circles. He uses the pressure of his thrusts to roll your body up into his until your back’s arching and your throat’s spilling out shameless, broken noises.

His voice is distinct sound in your ear when he speaks again. “Want me to feel that sweet cunt chokes my when you let go?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out—just this high-pitched whine as your entire body coils tight. Pleasure so bright it borders on pain.

“Say it. Say who you belong to,” he growls into your ear, hips pounding you now, hard and deep, not rough—just desperate. “I wanna feel you milk me like you need it.”

Tears are sliding down your mouth, your cheeks red. “You—” your voice breaks. “Sylus. To you, Sylus.” His thrusts get ragged, frantic. His mouth finds yours and he licks your wet lips before kissing you feverishly. “Come with me. Come on my cock, now.”

Your orgasm rips through you like a wave detonating from the inside out. Your pussy clamps down around him with a violent, soaking pulse. You scream—actually scream—as your body shudders and seizes, limbs locking, spine arching, eyes fluttering shut.

He groans a sound punched from his soul. His cock throbs inside you once, then again, then again. Your feet press down his ass when he tries to pull out. And his eyes blown wide, panic fodling his features. “Kitten I’m gonna—”

“I know, come in me..”

“But—”

“Come. In. Me.” You say firmer, feet and thighs locking him in place.

Hot, thick ropes of cum spill as your order. Filling deep into your fluttering heat. He jerks against you, his hand still holding yours presses harder on the mattress, sweaty.

Your cunt’s still twitching, sucking at him greedily, as if trying to keep every drop. He stays buried inside, breathing hard, nose in your neck, arm curled tightly around your waist like if he lets go, he’ll lose part of himself.

The room’s full of panting and the sound of your soaked bodies pressed together, skin clinging with sweat and arousal. Eventually, he pulls back and your walls clamp slightly around him making him whimper.

Sylus is intoxicated by the mess down your thighs and how his cum lakes out of you in white bullet. He can’t help himself but bring two fingers and push it all back in making your thighs twitch with overstimulation.

“You’re insufferable,” you laugh as you feel your body goes limbs.

“As if,” he narrows his eyes, a playful grin tugging his lips. “You enjoyed all of this.” He smiles, kissing you for the nth time tonight.

-

BONUS

“Did you saw that?” Claire’s voice is slow, dripping with distaint. Your marketing supervisor seems to have found a new gossip to talk with the woman interviewer that had the courtesy to receive you and Sylus on her panel months ago. “Sylus?” she whispers just as lower. Poor things. Unfortunately for them, you’re sitting front row to their little whisper-fest, legs crossed casually at your desk, Meliaa lounging across from you, sipping her absurdly large iced coffee. She flashes you a devilish grin. This is her doing. She’d planted tiny mics days ago Claire’s desk when she started to be more irritable. ‘Just to catch the juice,’ she had said sweetly when you tried to scold her. “Yes!!” Claire exclaims, trying to keep her voice quiet. “It’s been months since he’s come to work without a lipstick stain on his collar.” You bite back your laugh. Meliaa claps a hand over her mouth. “You think he’s seeing someone?” the interviewer murmurs, the subtle pinch in her voice betraying her clear disappointment. Claire hums knowingly. “Seems like it. He’s even less grumpy. And I swear, he was texting someone. I saw it on his phone when he left it at the cafeteria table… he saved the contact as Kitten.” Your face heats instantly, but you fight to keep your expression neutral. But Meliaa’s eyes are already screaming: you little minx. Claire continues, adding that the girl might be you. “Could be,” the other woman says wistfully. “She did seem… close with him.” Claire scoffs. “Close? She looked like she was two seconds away from sitting in his lap.” Meliaa snorts. “She did, though.” You give her a playful kick under the desk. She grins unapologetically. “So unfair,” Claire murmurs. “I’ve been trying to get Sylus to crack a smile for years. Suddenly this twenty-something comes in and he’s all happy and glowing and—moaning at his phone screen.” Your head jerks up. “Moaning?” Claire nods solemnly. “I walked into the break room last Friday. He was alone. I swear he looked at his phone and whispered ‘fuck’ like it physically hurt him.” You and Meliaa exchange a look. She wiggles her brows. You look back at your laptop, your cheeks heating more now—not from embarrassment, but from memory. Last Friday. That was the day you sent him that picture under your desk. The one with the lace. The one captioned, “Guess what I’m not wearing at this meeting?” “She’s got magic,” the interviewer mutters, jealousy obvious on her voice. And right on cue, your phone buzzes on your desk.  Sylus💋: Boardroom’s free. Five minutes.  You barely success to suppress your grin when another message pops up. Sylus💋: And bring your lipstick. I want it all over me. Including my dick. You tuck your phone into your blazer, smiling ears to ears. The absolute audacity of the man. You lean toward Meliaa with a sly little smirk and whisper, “Looks like I’m about to go work my magic.” She exhales, bringing her fingers to her nose like she’s been through it for the thousands time now.  “Well, I’ll guess I’ll call my entertaining men.” You both high five each other before you strut out almost jumping to the ceiling.

 •͈ ₃ •͈ 

(can't add a divider whaaaaat • ︡ᯅ·︠  ..... if you made it here, know you're some special creature! hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. and plslslslslslsssss comments what you thought about it pslslslslssssssssss)

🏷️ : @tinyweebsstuff @min-the-monster @ellenoreridgewood @ikesimpleton @kpop-athena @thiccthed @lovelyletterssentatnight @sh3sa1dwhat @marliisastarfrfr @fullofdelightt @grlyeetswrld @fantastucbaby @jadeloverxd @sylustabbykitty @sleepisfortheweakpooh @dummiebunny @imindmemind @yourownstars @mdxilyyy @jupkoe @fancypeacepersona @mothmansockpuppet @sennie-xx @bakubae000 @sylusaethercore @velainey @lostpsycho13 @meg1oss @libraryyyyyyyy @calebs-apple @jaisisnsnsh @pina-chan @mothmothmothmothmothmoth

[writing-with-sophia]

Poison list

While it's important to approach writing with creativity and imagination, it's crucial to prioritize responsible and ethical storytelling. That being said, if you're looking for information on poisons for the purpose of writing fiction, it's essential to handle the subject matter with care and accuracy. Here is a list of some common poisons that you can use in your stories:

Hemlock: Hemlock is a highly poisonous plant that has been used as a poison in various works of literature. It can cause paralysis and respiratory failure.

Arsenic: Arsenic is a toxic element that has been historically used as a poison. It can be lethal in high doses and can cause symptoms such as vomiting, abdominal pain, and organ failure.

Cyanide: Cyanide is a fast-acting poison that affects the body's ability to use oxygen. It can cause rapid loss of consciousness and cardiac arrest.

Nightshade: Nightshade plants, such as Belladonna or Deadly Nightshade, contain toxic compounds that can cause hallucinations, respiratory distress, blurred vision, dizziness, an increased heart rate, and even death when ingested.

Ricin: Ricin is a potent poison derived from the castor bean plant. It can cause organ failure and has been used as a plot device in various fictional works.

Strychnine: Strychnine is a highly toxic alkaloid that affects the nervous system, leading to muscle spasms, convulsions, and respiratory failure.

Snake Venom: Various snake venoms can be used in fiction as deadly poisons. Different snake species have different types of venom, each with its own effects on the body.

Digitalis: Digitalis, derived from the foxglove plant, contains cardiac glycosides. It has been historically used to treat heart conditions, but in high doses, it can be toxic. Overdosing on digitalis can cause irregular heart rhythms, nausea, vomiting, and visual disturbances.

Lead: Lead poisoning, often resulting from the ingestion or inhalation of lead-based substances, has been a concern throughout history. Lead is a heavy metal that can affect the nervous system, leading to symptoms such as abdominal pain, cognitive impairment, anemia, and developmental issues, particularly in children.

Mercury: Mercury is a toxic heavy metal that has been used in various forms throughout history. Ingesting or inhaling mercury vapors can lead to mercury poisoning, causing symptoms like neurological impairment, kidney damage, respiratory issues, and gastrointestinal problems.

Aconite: Also known as Wolfsbane or Monkshood, aconite is a highly toxic plant. Its roots and leaves contain aconitine alkaloids, which can affect the heart and nervous system. Ingesting aconite can lead to symptoms like numbness, tingling, paralysis, cardiac arrhythmias, and respiratory failure.

Thallium: Thallium is a toxic heavy metal that can cause severe poisoning. It has been used as a poison due to its tastelessness and ability to mimic other substances. Thallium poisoning can lead to symptoms like hair loss, neurological issues, gastrointestinal disturbances, and damage to the kidneys and liver.

When incorporating poisons into your writing, it is essential to research and accurately portray the effects and symptoms associated with them. Additionally, be mindful of the potential impact your writing may have on readers and the importance of providing appropriate context and warnings if necessary.

If you want to read more posts about writing, please click here and give me a follow!

[pinkmoonastro]

Every planet in the 12th: Observations

The 12th house shows you in which ways you can leave the biggest impact on the world in the purest most intentional way if you so choose.

*I didn't feel like proof reading spare me*

sun in the 12th often misperceived or seen as having underlining motives even when that is furthest from the truth. Actually quite often upfront with their intentions regardless if they know more than they've led you to believe. The projection others put on them is veryyy high, sun person unconsciously triggering deep seated wounds in others while they just assume they’re having a normal conversation. They either love gossip or are always being brought up in gossip. Attracting secret admirers bc of the taboo aspect of their personality. They teach others how to be themselves through example and that gives them the popular loner vibe, everyone wants to know whats going on in their life. Though Its often not as interesting as the stories that are being created about them (probably at home chilling). Unintentionally very funny their light hearted nature makes others feel comfortable. They know how to create warm welcomes. They can read animals minds. They dress how they feel. Escape artist. Probably through music, film or imagination. Gift for photography.

moon in 12th romantic relationships have a big influence on these people. They'll change their whole life around to fit into their lovers life for better or worse. Naturally harmonious these people are seemingly unsuspecting until you piss them off then you realize they just choose to keep peace. Prone to escapism usually through some sort of creative pursuit turned business. Obviously not forward with their feelings ppl tend to label them as having their head in the clouds when in reality they have plans its just nobody else's business. There's a love/resentful relationship with the mother. The mother could've been a physical provider but not emotional. These ppl had to nurture and comfort themselves and it made them very good at being those things for others. Children and animals loveeeee them. They are givers and don't mind sharing for the greater good. Dependable and persistent they can stick out something they feel is important. But if they don't care... Oh its very obvious. That job they don't like? Oh don't even worry about it they'll quit. They don't like feeling stressed or unharmonious and don't mind removing anything thats trying to hinder that. In the lower natures this creates a person that ignores anything that would make them have to readjust their behavior. Extremely delusional and misreads the room quite often. Very emotional changing how they feel about you frequently. It can become hard to give and receive trust.

Mars in the 12th manifest things/experiences so easy especially through their connections. They know how to put themselves in the right rooms with the right people. They date people that improve their social standing and they do the same in return. When its comes to career they could've seemed like the runt in the group but they grew themselves to be well respected in their field. Often hearing ''you only got this because''. They attract a lot of haters jealous of their success or the way they got their success. these people are attractive and naturally have a body others envy, they always have options and good ones at that.

Venus in 12th boy oh boy the hopeless romantics, but whats so hopeless about it? Others may often wonder why you picked the person you did viewing you as opposites. There may be an age gap or cultural difference. The women often choose partners that have a different social standing or perception than their own. The Men do the same though their more willing to be in relationships with unrequited love. Have had their fair share of infidelity issues until they found the person that would ride or die for them and vise versa. Privacy and trust are high priority for these people. Very good at socializing they know how to read what is needed to improve the energy of a space. Their parties/hostings are always so inviting and rememberable. They work very well with children and animals. Especially those in need. Fostering is something they wouldn't mind doing, along with nursing things back to health. Examples hair, nails. Plants etc. Very crafty they'd create beautiful jewelry and clothing. Their style is unique and acquired taste even. Controlling an image or narrative comes natural these Pol could do damage control for celebrities. When Ppl are in a frantic state they know how to calm assist.

Mercury in 12th are good at controlling the narratives around themselves. People hand on to every word that's said. These are the types that prefer to talk when necessary and not give out to much information. Just enough to keep you hooked. They have a unique sound and are musically inclined it helps that they think outside of the box. Usually the leader of the group because of their ability to see the broader picture and keep everyones best interest at heart. They attract haters bc they set high goals for themselves they get viewed as outlandish or unpractical when actually they just believe in themselves and remain optimistic. They know alot about very specific niche things.

Jupiter in the 12th don't get the credit they deserve for being so iconic. They really are trendsetters that break molds and stereotypes and tend receive backlash for the things they say & do simply because they were the first to do it. Opening up the pathway for others to show up more authentically and protected. They have big expression and are passionate about the things they choose to do. Their not afraid to speak their truth and having a forgiving nature. Creative pursuits are well received by the public attracting sponsors easily. Its also easy for them to find/create a community ppl reall gravitate to them. Their kryptonite lies in their self esteem. If they can't face rejection they'll hide the best parts of themselves. Only seeing the beauty in others and not what they offer the world.

Saturn in the 12th need to know when to stop while their ahead. They get into unnecessary battles bc of a fragile or inflated ego. When the ego is healthy this makes for a very powerful person that commands rooms with ease. They make Pol want to sit up in their chair when they walk in. These Pol are stubborn but more often than not it works out in their favor. Very hard workers and the same energy they apply is expected from those around them. If they put in 80 hrs a week they expect the same from you, if I can do it why can't you mentality. They achieve alot and Ppl notice it but its like no one ever sees them working they just see the finished product and know a lot had to be done behind the scenes. For example let's say someone is very popular you know they would've had to built those relationships you just didn't see it happen. They could have a guilt complex about their achievements and feel like theirs still more they should be doing for other ppl. Growing up as the star, the golden child, the one thats going to help the family put a lot of pressure and responsibility on them. This could've also affected the relationship between the others siblings. Lastly these Ppl are either very serious about punctuality or show up whenever they want to. Maybe even both they could've started out one way and over time became another way. When saturn is damaged they run from responsibility and are viewed as childish and never learning from their lessons.

Neptune in the 12th know how to win over the audience. I chose the word audience bc they love an audience. Ppl will make excuses for their behavior like ''you know they had a rough childhood'' as if that excuses hurting others. Professional sympathy grabbers even when their not even trying and great ass kissers when they want to be. That is in neptunes lower natures ofc. These ppl speak their mind without a fuck given. This is like the only pile im cursing in and that kind of explains them. Their going to say what they want and don't mind shaking the room up. Image is important to them. They'll study their own footage to see what they looked like, sounded like, acted like, and change anything they deem as not fitting. They could be great actors or social media personalities. Also would be good at managing social media accounts. These ppl may be easily persuaded especially by those they view as having a higher social ranking than themselves. Knowing how to adapt to any environment is their strong suit. They act as a mirror in their environment and reflect back whatever energy you give them. To a T at that. They know when to play it up or be more lowkey. This is type of person to always leave lasting impressions on ppl. They could be the first in a taboo field to achieve something. Like being the first pornstar to get 100 million views. Its like when you think you have them figured out they do something else that shows there's many other sides to them. Often hearing ''i didnt think I would like you at first''. With a great sense of humor they know how to laugh at themselves and lighten the mood they don't take life to seriously. They attract a lot of unique ppl their friend group is very expansive. They could be friends with a stripper and an attorney. Hell they might've been a stripper and an attorney.

Uranus in the 12th they just pop up and ppl are surprised like ''omg what are doing here'' these ppl are held in high regard mostly bc their very selective with their energy, your viewed as a busy person so when you come around it makes ppl feel lucky. You treat others fairly and want everyone around you to feel accepted. You value keeping the peace. The fact that I'm even using you instead of they is a reflection of how inclusion is important for you. Having an eccentric vibe is more obvious here but alot of ppl go the opposite way and don't want to appear uniquely at all they actually want to be as plain Jane as possible. This can actually rub ppl the wrong way and make them feel something is being hidden from them like your pretending. Feeling criticized in childhood is why accepting others is something they prioritize. They end up in rooms with many different types of ppl. This placement has a lot of experience in a lot of different areas. With a free spirited nature they are open to trying new things pushing themselves outside of their comfort zone quite often.

Pluto in the 12th, a quiet energy standing in the back of the room scoping out the scenery. They notice more than ppl realize and are smarter than they let on. Often having their power tested bc of their calm observing demeanor. Ppl try to make them feel they don't belong in certain environments or that their not really qualified but they don't mind showing you why that perception isn't accurate. They know how to push back. The type to pretend they don't care about popularity but they work very hard at obtaining it. But maybe they don't care about the popularity just the power that it brings. Knowing the value of relationships they put alot into maintaining them. They are very giving to those around them. Self sacrificing even, its like they believe thats how you show someone you really care. These are some of the most passionate people you'll meet. They just know how to make you feel understood and seen. They make everyone feel special. This is one of the most intense placements for the 12th house. The transformations are deep, murky, confusing but it breeds and very self sufficient determined person. They question everything and are always growing and adapting. When they find something they like they become obsessive about it. They will work for extended amounts at a time. Like binging behavior. In Pluto's lower natures they develop a chip or their shoulder and use their influence to hurt others. If they are operating from that place they become very good at it. If they are never brought into awareness they continue generational curses but their children will have it worse than they did. These are the type of Pol that will tell you a traumatic experience in such a casual way and your just left like wtf you said that like it was normal. They also could've grew up experiencing their traumas being brushed off like they were normal. They were familiar with death from a young age and may have felt like they never really were a child. They build the trust of others easily and its bc their honest. It is what it is to them. They are natural born leaders it doesn't take much convincing & they don't mind leading the way as long as you give them their accolades for it. Mind you they could have a god complex but to be fair if you've experienced or achieved the things they have you might too.

[drewswife]

summary: drew brings you flowers during your miss dior photoshoot

pairings: actress!Reader x Actress!drew

warnings: fluff, paparazzi, kissing, drew being in love.

The studio hummed with the controlled chaos of a high-fashion shoot. Lights glared, reflectors shimmered, and the air crackled with the hushed energy of professionals at work. You, a rising star and the face of the new Miss Dior campaign, posed with practiced ease. The vintage-inspired gown, a cascade of soft pink and ivory, flowed around you like a dream. The photographer, a master of capturing fleeting moments, barked instructions in a clipped French accent, their eyes alight with creative fervor.

"Magnifique! Just a touch more… vulnerability," they commanded, their voice a melodic blend of French and English. You shifted your gaze, imagining a lost love, a poignant memory, and let the emotion seep into your expression. The camera clicked, freezing the moment in time.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket, a gentle reminder of the world outside the studio. You ignored it, focusing on the task at hand. Another pose, another click, another carefully crafted emotion captured on film.

As the photographer called for a brief break, you finally retrieved your phone. A text from Drew: "Thinking of you. Can I bring you something?"

A soft smile touched your lips. Drew, your co-star, your confidant, and, if you were being honest with yourself, the man who held your heart captive. You typed back a quick "Surprise me," and slipped the phone back into your pocket.

The break was short, just enough for a quick touch-up and a sip of water. As you stepped back onto the set, the photographer’s assistant whispered, "You have a visitor."

Your heart skipped a beat. You knew it was Drew.

He stood at the edge of the set, a bouquet of bright yellow dandelions clutched in his hands. Not roses, not lilies, but dandelions – the simple, unassuming flowers that often went unnoticed, much like the way he’d quietly become an indispensable part of your life.

A ripple of amused laughter spread through the crew. Dandelions? For a Miss Dior photoshoot? It was hilariously out of place, yet somehow, perfectly Drew.

He walked towards you, his smile warm and genuine, a stark contrast to the carefully crafted emotions you’d been portraying for the camera.

"These reminded me of you," he said, handing you the bouquet. "Bright, cheerful, and a little bit… resilient."

You took the dandelions, their delicate heads brushing against your fingertips. "They're perfect," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

The photographer, initially amused, now seemed intrigued. "Perhaps we can incorporate them into the shoot," they suggested, their eyes sparkling with inspiration.

And so, the dandelions became a part of the Miss Dior narrative. They were woven into your hair, tucked into the folds of your gown, and scattered around the set, adding a touch of unexpected whimsy to the otherwise polished scene.

The shoot continued, but the atmosphere had shifted. It was no longer just about capturing an image; it was about capturing a moment, a connection, a feeling.

During a break, Drew pulled you aside, his eyes searching yours. "I know this is a big deal for you," he said, his voice low. "And I didn't want to disrupt anything. But I couldn't stay away."

"You didn't disrupt anything," you assured him, your fingers tracing the delicate petals of a dandelion. "You made it… real."

He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "Can I kiss you?"

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest.

His lips met yours, a soft, tender kiss that spoke volumes. It was a kiss that held the promise of something more, something real.

The sound of a camera shutter broke the spell. You pulled back, your cheeks flushed, to see a swarm of paparazzi photographers snapping pictures from outside the studio windows.

"Oh, no," you groaned, the reality of the situation crashing down on you.

Drew, however, seemed unfazed. He took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. "Let them," he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

And so, the photos of you, the face of Miss Dior, kissing Drew, the man who brought you dandelions, were splashed across every magazine and website. The headlines screamed of a blossoming romance, a love story.

The reaction was mixed. Some fans were thrilled, others were heartbroken, and some were simply confused. But one thing was certain: the photos captured a moment of pure, unadulterated joy.

taglist:@chrislilcumslvt @chrepsi @drewstarkeyzwhore

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDs Men in Book Tropes

AN: for fun because I love AUs

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn reader

Genre: fluff and crack

Ingredients: 100% fluff

My Fav: hmmm all ig (but Rafayel and Zayne were fun to imagine.

Xavier (mafia boss x student):

You look threatening.

Elegant. Composed. A dagger in one hand, the other resting lightly against your hip. But your slacks are tailored within an inch of their life, and your thighs?

Xavier refuses to blink. Partly out of defiance. Partly because pins and needles are currently climbing up his leg from where he’s been zip-tied to a steel chair for the last hour.

And that’s when your left-hand man mutters something low.

You still. Your gaze narrows. “What do you mean he’s not the right student?” you snap.

Xavier turns his head slowly. Trying very hard not to wince at the sudden cramp behind his knee.

“Tell me,” you say, your voice like a blade slipping under skin, “you did not just kidnap a random man off the street?” The silence answers for him.

Xavier blinks once. Deadpan. “I was literally eating ramen.”

Your henchman tries to defend himself. “He ran, boss. He ran when I asked for his name—”

“Yeah,” Xavier cuts in, shrugging as much as his bindings allow. “Because a man with a neck tattoo and three guns asked if I owed money.”

You sigh. Fold your arms. Lean against the table. “Joke’s on us, then.”

It gets worse.

Because not only is Xavier not the debt-ridden student you were trying to scare straight. He’s a detective. A bored, off-duty, highly observant one. And your organization just gifted him a front row seat to all your illegal operations.

He doesn’t look worried. At all. In fact, he smirks. “So,” he says, tilting his head at you, dark eyes gleaming, “this where you tell me I’m your fiancé now?”

You arch a brow. “Do you want it to be?”

Rafayel (Office Romance):

You’re the creative director. His boss.

And he’s your trusted, anxiety-inducing, dangerously talented graphic designer.

Every time he disappears from Slack for more than five minutes, you feel the phantom grays sprouting at your temples.

So when Rafayel lands in this world, his heart’s a mess.

Because why the hell are you in a three-piece suit on a Thursday? Why are you speaking in PowerPoint? (He doesn’t realize there’s a conference.)

He goes through the full rom-com shbang...blushing at close proximity, nearly yeeting his stylus when you lean down to adjust his brush settings. He would be outraged by your bossy interference... if this version of you didn’t look so competent doing it.

You bet he becomes the undisputed champion of in-office work. Remote who? He's commuting through a hurricane if it means lunch breaks with you.

He silently laments not being your assistant. The daily chaos? The tension? The dramatics? That’s the kind of messy office romance he lives for.

Zayne (Jock x Nerd):

Zayne has approximately 25 breakdowns the second he realizes he’s been transmigrated into a high school AU.

Why him? Why now? What ancient evil has he offended? This is worse than open surgery without gloves.

And then he sees you, leaning casually against his locker in a lacrosse jersey, with a dopey grin and the faint scent of Axe trailing after you like bad decisions. You’re radiating school spirit and main character energy. The golden retriever jock.

He looks down at himself: books clutched like a shield, glasses sliding down his nose, striped polo tucked into khakis.

Oh no. He’s the nerd.

He goes completely still when you reach out and push his glasses up with two fingers, like you've done it multiple times. He hasn't hit the growth spurt yet so you lean down while doing it. Dammit.

“Tutoring in period five?” you grin.

He blinks. Swallows. Soul exits body.

This is it. This is his villain origin story. Or worse, his slow-burn romance arc.

Sylus (match maker):

“You are my worst client,” you snap, slamming your planner shut so hard your pen jumps. “You’re going to die alone, General Sylus. Your sword might be your only lifelong companion.”

You’re trying so hard not to throw your teacup at him. But unfortunately, treason is still illegal.

Match #23. Another perfectly elegant, emotionally stable, high-ranking woman. Gone. Sent running by him.

You’re down to your last lead, your last shred of credibility, and you swear if one more noble family calls to "check in on your progress with the charming general,” you’re going to fake your own death.

This was supposed to be easy. He was supposed to be easy.

A war hero. Stoic. Loyal. Families should have lined up to offer their finest daughters and strongest family swords.

But no. Sylus defies every known law of socialization.

“Making her dig for a brooch?” you bark. “In the rain, Sylus?”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. Just raises his teacup, and smirks. That slow, infuriating, battlefield-smirk that somehow makes you want to both kiss him and knock him out.

“If she can’t find a brooch,” he shrugs, “how will she find a way to my heart?”

You scream internally. Outwardly, you smile. Professionally. Barely.

One more match. And then you’re done. Or in prison. Possibly both.

Caleb (Idol x Bodyguard):

This is his dreamland.

You. All the time. Every damn second.

He’s not even ashamed of it.

Because this you. the idol version of you. is free. Untouched by the mess of the other lifetime. And Caleb? Caleb is thriving.

Your bodyguard. Your shadow. Your guard dog. The reincarnation of Cerberus himself.

He stands next to you on red carpets. He scans every crowd before you hit the stage. He has a black folder of “threatening letters” and a second one for “bad fanfiction.” He has read all of it. He will not talk about it.

And backstage? Oh. The jealousy he inspires.

He gets to see it all, barefaced you in pajamas, you blowing raspberries at the vocal coach, you dancing with one sock and a protein bar.

The fandom eats it up. They ship you both. Hard. They make memes. Fan cams. Slow motion edits of him holding an umbrella over your head.

Is he labeled a fandom traitor? Absolutely. Is he proud of it? Yes.

He zips up your jacket when you forget. Keeps track of your vitamins. Carries four backup chargers, three types of gum, and a taser.

And when you fall asleep on the van ride home, head resting on his shoulder, he doesn’t move. He barely breathes.

[deadghosy]

Since your stuck I decided to help you out with the power of creativity!

How would characters of Hazbin Hotel react to Swan/Duck reader it's branching from penguin reader with how she got stuck in hell for a while

The power mainly focuses on them flying and wind magic ect!

REMINDER: REQUESTS ARE CLOSED‼️

HAZBIN HOTEL X DUCK! READER

Warning: yandere themes.

prompt: a common mistake made your life eventual as people started to fawn over you

You were supposed to be in heaven…BUT NOOOO, they sent you to hell because they mistook you for someone else. They could’ve just said they were full like a night club…

So now you are in a pond swimming around peacefully. But there’s always a man with a hat and an apple cane that comes to see you literally everyday. You don’t know who he is, but he got attached badly. He would bring bread and show you rubber ducks with an awkward smile.

You just go over to him and eat the bread. You never learned how to talk since birth since your mother abused you. Being jealous of your pure soul and natural beauty. She always told you to shush. Making the sour taste in your mouth sting to never talk.

Eventually the man introduced himself as Lucifer, that’s when it hit you that this man was the first fallen angel, and king of hell. He must have seen your eyes widen in shock. “You can understand me?” He asked you as he scratched under your beak making you lean in his touch. You nodded as he smiles showing his sharp teeth.

“That’s even bettter.” He said

Two days after that, you were literally sleeping when you woke up to feel two hands pick you up, it was Lucifer who cooed at your drowsy face as he takes you to a hotel. Were you finally getting a place to stay instead of outside?

“Listen, my daughter has a dream…to redeem sinners…I wanna believe in her, but our people chose to make hell this way.” He says with a somber look. He took you inside to see basically a female version of Lucifer but more cheery looking as she gasped at you. “Dad? Is that the duck you’ve been talking about?! Aww they’re soooo cute!” She says as she holds you.

And that’s your story of how now you are basically part of the hotel’s family.

I imagine you just getting prince/princess treatment everyday from the hotel and Lucifer himself as he literally trims your duck fur as you just sit there on a fancy ass pillow.

I headcannon that angel dust buys you shades a lot because your yellow/white feathers is so majestic, he just had to make you even more bad ass.

Angel dust loves how high headed you are, not letting anyone tear you down even with a word. He admires you, so he wants you to admire him as well.

I headcannon for you to deadass have an attitude when bothered. Literally Alastor wanted to see what was so special about you. And so he woke you up from your beauty sleep making you go haywire on him.

You pecked him as he tried to hit you, possibly trying to injure you only to injure himself as he came out pissed off with a smile. He definitely spit out a feather as you quacked out a laugh as if this shit was looney tunes.

Charlie always rants to you about her days and how her and vaggie’s relationship is going. Charlie was notified by her father that you can understand her. She doubted it at first, but when you actually nodded she gasped shocked with stars in her eyes.

You and Charlie grew close…to the point she was almost like her father. Constantly checking up on you, feeding you. Watching you. You tried to push it off…but it was kinda unsettling.

You could obviously fly, which you do around the hotel to spread your wings. But when you fly you have a glowing yellow light around you.

I can see you just chilling at the bar as residents come in and out as you just get petted as husk grumbles a little and also pets you. Husk was immediately enchanted by your soft duck feathers

You love to make small tornados at sinners who cause trouble in the hotel. You are the hotel’s duck, so you must at least protect the guests at least.

Vaggie is the one to always make sure to research what ducks eat before making sure you can eat them. She likes how you make everyone feel fuzzy and warm inside. Even her.

You damn well hated that you died into a duck body..but it felt nice knowing that you couldn’t just live the possible human or at least whatever you are. Demon or angel. You could possibly be in a pond sleeping and eating bread all damn day.

I imagine Sir Pentious had put a top hat on you that’s similar like the ones his egg boiz wear. So he loves to have you around when he builds things.

You doze off like this and it’s so cute to the point they will record and take a picture of you. (If you don’t wanna click link, it’s a duck nodding its head off until it goes limp since the duck is tired)

I headcannon Alastor to hate you at first and want to cook you for duck stew, but then he falls in love with how entertaining and smart you are. You technically aren’t just a mere duck.

I can see you just making small hurricanes in your bath tub when niffty has to wash you. You once accidentally splashed her. But she chuckled splashing you.

A sinner once tried to take you from the hotel’s pond that Lucifer made for you only be found 30 secs later taking you.

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TOUCHING MY DUCKLING?!” Lucifer yells angrily at the sinner who got knocked flat on their ass. His demon form was coming out as fire spits out his mouth when he huffed.

You did a comedic side eye at Lucifer who was acting possessive as hell itself. You didn’t even know what to do as this man kept holding you like a pet duck you seen fat white men do in the streets.

The sinner didn’t live after that.

I can see husk just petting you softly and then eventually just falling asleep on your body. Like his head is on your body as you just watch hell tv as he snores. Oddly comfortable in your soft feathers.

You literally waddle around the hotel wearing a cute scarf with your favorite color. Alastor oddly knitted it for you like a old grandma to their grandchild 😭

I imagine you just side eyeing Lucifer as he suddenly had the urge to read more information about ducks and how their eggs look. So imagine how Lucifer would act if you pregnant. But the thing is, you rather die then be in pain in birth.

Lucifer makes you a lot of blue things to remind you of a pond since that was the place you chill in a lot. It was to the poke Charlie and Lucifer nodded to make you a pond in the backside of the hotel. It’s your little chill haven.

You felt pissy one day because your feathers were molting..so the wind outside was heavy cause your feathers were just falling and you hated it. You felt insecure but the crew felt your feelings and started to cheer you up. Soon or later, your new feathers came back quickly.

The Vee’s had definitely notice your presence since you first came here. I mean who the hell looks like a damn duck down here with pure beautiful feathers that remind them of so called heaven.

I can see the Vee’s and you having the relationship where it’s basically like team rocket and pikachu type troupe. 😭 they always fail trying to kidnap you because you literally put out ducks that look like you and they fall for it, EVERY SINGLE TIME-

I headcannon you have a ribbon your favorite color wrapped around your neck like a bow or collar with your name on it❤️

Vox had literally set his drone to spy on you as he watches with a sick grin at how adorable and elegant you looked just swimming in your sweet pond and how you just outsmart Alastor. 

Imagine how badass you are to suddenly turn big in size because the hotel was being threatened. So you literally grew in a size of the hotel building and flapped your wings to fly them bitches to who knows nowhere.

If you were on the same branch, you would definitely be the older sister of penguin! Reader if it was lore type shit 😭 you don’t play no games about your emotions as you are always observing

LOL IMAGINE YOU WADDLING TO GO TO THE BATHROOM LIKE A HUMAN AND THE EGG BOIZ JUST FOLLOW AFTER YOU AS IF YOU WERE THEIR MOTHER-

The Vee’s definitely sneak on you by Vox’s drone that swarms around your pond without your knowledge.

Velvette literally sends you nice outfits your size. Literally cute outfits where the holes are for your wings so you can fly and look drippy as hell.

See I could definitely imagine you sneaking out the hotel to just get hooked up with your new outfit stylist which is Velvette now.

Vox

Imagine how cold the state duck! Reader has (hear me out, edit audio type shit starts playing-)

I can see you just swimming and Lucifer takes a picture of you, admiring your beauty in place as you just flock around your damn pond. “That’s my baby….” He says wiping a dramatic tear from his eyes.

Valentino. Now I won’t say he would be obsessed romantically but more platonically as he would love for you to be part of his life as his pet only. Like an actual pet he would take care of.

I headcannon Alastor actually tried to feed you some bread…and you accepted it making Alastor smile wildly at how you trusted him getting close to you for one.

Lmao you literally did some Wingardium Leviosa ass shit on someone because you didn’t like how they looked at you 😭

You literally are so coddled and spoiled…it was to the point you would be walking or more like waddling down the damn streets alone and people would aw at your beauty and gracious. It’s overwhelming, but at least you know people won’t fuck with you.

But people just never learnt to keep their hands off of a beautiful creature.

Once Adam got sent down to find an angel that was suppose to be in heaven. He didn’t except for you to be a fuckin duck. So he laughed and took you up with ease as you quacked furiously, trying to get at least someone’s attention.

It was too late as Lucifer sees you get flown up into the heaven portal. Lucifer dropped the tray of lemonade in shock to see his beloved flying into the portal. Lucifer felt his heart squeeze knowing that the bastard knew he couldn’t get into heaven.

Lucifer quickly spout out his wings and fly sharply towards adam’s fading figure. Adam snickers seeing Lucifer’s anger in his glowing red eyes. He turned around and waved you around to taunt Lucifer as you had a “I don’t have time for this…” face. Literally you pecked Adam’s face and hands making Adam spazz out and throw you at Lucifer’s face.

“FINE! TAKE YOUR DUMB ASS DUCK!” Adam yells as he flies off grumbling about making you into duck stew

So Lucifer was happy with a derpy expression and calmed down holding you. He got even more protective as he makes sure you are watched 24/7. He wanted to give you freedom…but after that stunt Adam did. He’s not letting anyone touch you without his permission. Of course his daughter can though!

But what if Adam had succeeded in his capture of you, things would be most likely how it was in hell….just more clean and healthy.

St. Peter definitely greeted you with a warm smile as you didn’t….you didn’t like how he just sassed you and let you fall to hell. So of course it was rocky, but soon or later you two got along since he brides you with bread. He soon gets obsessed with how you get so trusting over things. He uses that to his advantages.

Sera greets you with open arms, literally as she picks you up. Cooing at your pure yellow/white feathers that matches the aesthetic of heaven. You match perfectly here as your angel form is two pair of wings. Your normal duck wings and angel wings. You are the most beautiful angel she ever met and laid eyes on as she shows you around heaven. Every part and area of it. This shall be your new home.

Emily won’t be a crazyyy person over you. As I can see her being a light hearted person who doesn’t love bomb you in a manipulative manner but only wants to be your friend in a loving way. She finds you amazing at how smart and caring you are towards her as you visit her and she visits you back. She brings you every bread know to man and heaven as she noticed you like bread. You and her are clearly amazing friends to each other.

The Angels adore your every movement as if you were also a god/godesss. You were confused at this attention. It was way more overwhelming when you were in hell with the others. Just like how the penguin! Reader was, you made a social media account and half of heaven followed you. It was an insane amount of followers that you didn’t mean to have. But the angels love to greet you as you fly/walk by. With you being so graceful here, who wouldn’t say you belonged here.

Adam most definitely is possessive and always manipulates you into thinking he is superior. He forces himself to be your caretaker, he literally makes you stay in his place all day and all time watched over. He feels the need to control your very bidding and movement as this dickhead degrades you to make you feel useless. It sometimes works, but sometimes doesn’t. 

Lute is a controlling person who sees your intelligence as a threat as she wants to break you into her clasp. She���s the second most controlling than Adam. But she’s an overwhelming controlling as she wants you you to see her as your protector and person you can be dependent on at all times. She wants you to be able to tell her everything you know so she can just please you.

Adam finds it amusing at how you got use it heaven so quick despite this new attention. You literally sit on his lap napping as he lounges on the couch. Basically watching sports or whatever.

You can’t help but think, “why am I even surprised.”

[meganwritesfanfics]

The Way You Look Tonight (Jack Abbot x reader)

This is a submission for @letsgobarbs @ananonymousaffair and @clubsoft A Doctor a Day creative event.

At this years hospital gala, Y/N has gotten herself roped into a charity auction at Gloria’s insistence. But at least she has Dr Abbot, Dr Robby, and Dana by her side.

Word Count: 1805

Y/N sighed as they ran her fingers through her freshly styled hair. She couldn’t believe she had gotten herself roped into this situation. She stood in front of her floor length mirror taking in the entire outfit. She didn’t think she had ever worn something as fancy as the silver floor length dress she currently wore.  Not even for prom in high school. But it was her first hospital gala and she needed to impress. Not to mention Gloria had suckered her in for the Date with a Doctor fundraiser. The dress had a sweetheart neck with small straps, the silver glittered in the light, and there was a thigh high slit on her right side. 

Her door bell rang and she quickly made her way down, somewhat uncomfortable in the heels she had bought to go with the outfit. 

“Holy shit! You clean up nice.” Dana smiled as Y/N answered the door. 

“So do you!” Y/N gasped taking in the deep navy blue gown Dana was wearing. “Is it normal to feel nauseous before these things?” Y/N said as she followed Dana out to her vehicle. 

“It is when you know that a certain broody nightshift attending will be there.” Dana teased. 

“Stop.” Y/N laughed. “You know there is nothing going on with me and Dr. Abbott. He is just my friend and colleague.” 

“The flirting I have seen between the two of you at work would suggest otherwise.” Dana smiled as they started to drive them to the Wintergarden. 

“It’s not flirting Dana, it’s friendly conversation.” Y/N insisted. 

“Very friendly. Did you tell him about the Date with a Doctor thing?”

“It didn’t come up.” 

“Oh Jack is going to lose his shit.” 

“He will be fine, plus Gloria said most residents end up volunteering for it at least once.” 

“Gloria lied honey. I promise you neither Robby or Abbott did the Date with a Doctor.” 

Y/N groaned. “This is going to be miserable.” 

“It’s just one date, and who knows you may find your Mr. Right, and hell if he wins it means he is probably rich.” 

Y/N didn’t reply instead looking out the window. She would never say it outloud, but she had already felt like she had met Mr. Right, but she was convinced he didn’t see her as anything more than a friend. 

Jack stood impatiently tapping his foot at the back of the room with Robby. He felt ridiculously standing in his black suit. It was the only suit he owned, and the only time he ever actually wore it was to these ridiculous events. And the only reason he owned it was because Robby had convinced him that he was far too old to keep renting a suit. The floor to ceiling windows always made him nervous, felt like there were far too many entry points or where things could go bad. 

“Will you stop that, you are acting like a child.” Robby laughed. 

“You know I hate being here, I just want to get it over with.” Jack sighed. 

“We all hate being here brother, but at least we get fed. And hey, it’s Y/N’s first shindig, we can’t turn her off of them from the start.” 

At the mention of her name, Jack felt his heart leap. He could feel the blood rush to his face as he tried to suppress his smile. He couldn’t wait to see her. Jack had caught her talking with Dana at work about the dress she bought and he had only begun to imagine how stunning she would look in it. 

“Will you stop daydreaming about our girl? You are acting like a love sick teenager.” Robby teased. 

Jack cleared his throat, straightening up his tie. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” 

“Oh don’t give me that shit. I know you have feelings for Y/N. And you aren’t super subtle about it.” 

“We are friends Robby, I know that is a foreign concept to you, but that’s when two people just enjoy one another’s company.” Jack teased back. 

“Except friends don’t make goo goo eyes at one another from across the Pitt.” Robby laughed. “And before you try to deny it. I was there that day and I watched Ellis almost have to wave her hand in front of her face to get your attention.” 

“Fuck,” Jack said under his breath. 

“What I don’t understand is why you haven’t asked her out yet. Everyone knows that she has feelings for you too.” 

“What?” Jack asked. “Everyone knows?” 

“Good God you both are so oblivious.” 

“Who’s oblivious?” A voice asked and both of the men turned to see Y/N and Dana had walked in. 

Jack had to fight the urge to let his jaw drop as he saw Y/N. She looked absolutely stunning. 

“I… you…” He stumbled over his words. 

“You both look amazing.” Robby quickly swooped in, saving Jack from his embarrassment. 

“Thank you.” Y/N blushed, her eyes still locked on Jack’s. 

“You two don’t look too shabby yourselves. It always is so strange seeing you both out of your scrubs.” 

“I would much rather be in scrubs than in this penguin suit.” Jack complained but he still couldn’t take his eyes off of Y/N. “You do look beautiful.” He finally said and Y/N beamed. 

Dana and Robby exchanged a look as Jack reached out and kissed Y/N hand. 

“Well she better look damn good, Gloria roped her into the Date with a Doctor auction.” Dana said.

“What?” Jack snapped and Y/N glared at Dana, who just smiled mischievously. 

“How the fuck did she convince you to join that” Robby barked with laughter. 

“She told me both you and Jack had participated.” Y/N said her face red. 

“Like fuck we did. I laughed in her face and said I would rather die before participating.” Jack said. 

“This is going to be awful.” Y/N groaned. 

“There she is.” A voice called and they all turned to see Gloria heading their way. 

“Speak of the devil.” Robby said under his breath. 

“I have some donors who are very interested in talking with you.” She said as she grabbed Y/N arm and led her away. Y/N looked back at the group, eyes wide with fear. 

Jack had started to take a step towards her when Robby threw his hand up and stopped him. 

“You do not want to get between Gloria and her money, trust me.” He smiled.

“She parading Y/N like she’s some kind of prized horse.” Jack grumbled. 

“You didn’t bat an eye when Gloria did that to me two years in a row.” Dana laughed. 

“That’s… I…” Jack stumbled.

“God you have got it so bad for Y/N.” Dana smiled playfully, hitting his arm. 

“I do not.” He grumbled again acting almost like a toddler. 

“Well let’s get to our seats before we are also roped into doing the donor rounds.” Robby said as he ushered them all towards the table. They were relegated to the back as they had been every year they had come. But Y/N was stuck up at the table with Glori doing her best to keep from looking around for Jack.

She was so uncomfortable trying her best to schmooze with the donors but all she wanted was to be with her people, Robby and Dana who made her feel safe, and Jack, Jack could make her feel like the only girl in the room. 

“And now it comes to everyone's favorite program of the evening, the date with a doctor. Let’s get all of our lovely participants up to the stage.” The MC announced. 

Y/N quickly looked back in one desperate attempt to find her friends, as she stood up, she finally saw them. Both Robby and Dana were giving her a thumbs up. Jack looked at her his eyes full of rage. 

Everything felt like a blur as she stood up on the stage. She tried her best not to look as scared shitless as she felt. 

“Dr. Y/N Y/L/N.” The voice called as she walked across the stage. Her eyes quickly looked out at the crowd as she plastered a fake smile on her face. 

“Let’s start the bidding out at $500.” 

A hand instantly shot up and Jack glared at him. 

“Do I hear $750.” 

Another hand shot up and again Jack’s attention turned to that person much to the amusement of both Dana and Robby.

“Do I hear $1000.” 

“$2500” A voice called and Y/N’s eye went wide as she realized the voice was one she recognized and her eyes locked on Jack who had his hand held up. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Robby hissed the smile gone from his face. 

“Winning a date with Y/N.” He said. 

“Do I hear 3500?” 

“5,000” another voice called and Jack turned to see an older man probably in his 60’s with his hand up. 

Jack could see Gloria glaring at him but he didn’t care as he bid for $7500. 

“Do I hear 8500?” 

“8500” The other guy raised his hand. 

“No,” Jack growled as he quickly raised his hand. “$10,000.” 

“Do I hear $11,000?” The room was silent. “Going once, going twice, sold to the gentleman the back.” 

The room erupted in applause but Y/N just stood dumbstruck on stage her eyes locked with Jack who just smiled at her. 

Hon, you can get off the stage now.” A voice whispered to Y/N and she just nodded as she mindlessly started walking towards Jack still fully dazed at what just happened. Gloria was on her feet in an instant as she rushed to Jack. 

“What the hell was that?” She snapped. 

“Don’t worry about it Gloria, you can just take it out of my paycheck.” He said and Robby laughed behind him. But Jack’s focus was elsewhere. He was trying to find Y/N in the crowd having lost her when she left the stage. 

“Are you insane?” A voice said and he turned to see Y/N coming towards him. 

“Hey I think I just saved you from a horrible date with that old geezer and I…” 

Y/N immediately pulled him in for a kiss. 

“I was hoping it’d be you.” She smiled as they broke away. “I was standing up there and all I could think of was how much I wished you would win. But I didn’t expect you to spend $10,000 dollars on a date with me you could have gotten for free.” She teased. 

“Darling, you are worth so much more than that.” He smiled as he pulled her in for another long kiss.  

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

Gifts Your Ancestors Blessed You With Based On Your Rising Sign:

Disclaimer: 💘🫶🏾I extend my heartfelt gratitude for reaching 500 followers. I value each individual who has chosen to engage with my content. I remain committed to providing you with fresh, enjoyable, creative, and thought-provoking material, and I hope you will continue to join me on this journey. As always, if something does not resonate with you, feel free to disregard it. Some influences are more subtle, while others are more pronounced within us. My upcoming posts will delve into the topic of Mercury in the Houses. Wishing you a wonderfully blessed day.🫶🏾💘

Aries Rising:

* Your ancestors blessed you with emotional intelligence.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a strong intuition.

* Your ancestors blessed you with emotional resilience.

* Your ancestors blessed you with the ability to give your family lineage the stability it needs.

* Your ancestors blessed you with fine tuned senses.

* Your ancestors blessed you with the ability to bring more compassion to your lineage.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a vivid imagination.

* Your ancestors blessed you with the ability to become wealthy and have a lot of money.

* Your ancestors blessed you with strong persuasion abilities

Taurus Rising:

* Your ancestors blessed you with an amazing sense of style.

* Your ancestors blessed you with the courage to believe in yourself.

* Your ancestors blessed you with high achievement and success in this lifetime.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a well of creativity to bring to the world.

* Your ancestors blessed you with the ability to create a luxurious life for your lineage.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a warm and kind spirit.

* Your ancestors blessed you with individuality. No one can shake you from your oath.

* Your ancestors blessed you class and decorum.

* Your ancestors blessed you with beauty.

* Your ancestors blessed you with popularity and likability.

Gemini Rising:

* Your ancestors blessed you with access to a good education/higher education.

* Your ancestors blessed you with an amazing ability to articulate your thoughts.

* Your ancestors blessed you great writing skills.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a fine tuned observation. You can see things others can’t, your eyes don’t miss any detail.

* Your ancestors blessed you with multiple talents.

* Your ancestors blessed you with the ability to get to the “bottom of things”.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a great singing voice, asmr voice, and talking voice.

* Your ancestors blessed you with the skill to expand on your career and get along with your co-workers.

* Your ancestors blessed you with. Great social skills.

Cancer Rising:

* Your ancestors blessed you with a peaceful nature.

* Your ancestors blessed you with the ability to understand others well.

* Your ancestors blessed you with strong intuition.

* Your ancestors blessed you with strong emotional connections to those in your lives.

* Your ancestors blessed you with refined taste.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a lot of relationships in this lifetime. You will experience a lot of love.

* Your ancestors blessed you with interior design skills.

* Your ancestors blessed you with likability and a rich social life.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a lot of creativity ( artists, stylists, performers, creators).

* Your ancestors blessed you with bringing your family together. Being the glue to those in life.

Leo Rising:

* Your ancestors blessed you with being able to see beyond appearances.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a strong intuition.

* Your ancestors blessed you with being able to understand both the light and dark aspects of life.

* Your ancestors blessed you with immense power.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a lot of financial blessings and breakthroughs.

* Your ancestors blessed you with charm.

* Your ancestors blessed you with social power.

* Your ancestors blessed you with determination.

* Your ancestors blessed you with popularity.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a long-life and good health.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a lot of passion.

* Your ancestors blessed you with persuasion.

Virgo Rising:

* Your ancestors blessed you with a widened perspective ( able to see the bigger picture and smaller details).

* Your ancestors blessed you with navigation skills ( you are your own GPS).

* Your ancestors blessed you with humor.

* Your ancestors blessed you with culture.

* Your ancestors blessed you with seeing through facades.

* Your ancestors blessed you with an abundance of growth and self-evolution.

* Your ancestors blessed you with wisdom.

* Your ancestors blessed you with luck.

* Your ancestors blessed you with the ability to learn fast.

* Your ancestors blessed you with intelligence.

* Your ancestors blessed you with honesty.

* Your ancestors blessed you with so many different and interesting experiences.

Libra Rising:

* Your ancestors blessed you with a good public image.

* Your ancestors blessed you with the skill to network.

* Your ancestors blessed you with serious and lengthy relationships.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a stable home life.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a lot of great job opportunities.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a deep connection to your mother or a maternal figure.

* Your ancestors blessed you with loyalty.

* Your ancestors blessed you financial blessings or random gifts/blessings.

* Your ancestors blessed you with respect for all humans.

* Your ancestors blessed you with critical thinking skills.

Scorpio Rising:

* Your ancestors blessed you with a distinct and unique beauty.

* Your ancestors blessed you with the ability to detach when you see fit.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a lot of passions and creative hobbies.

* Your ancestors blessed you with strong intuition.

* Your ancestors blessed with a unique perspective on life.

* Your ancestors blessed you with the ability to remain cool in chaos.

* Your ancestors blessed you an idealistic mind ( your imagination is fertile and vivid).

* Your ancestors blessed you with the ability to see patterns and predict the future.

* Your ancestors blessed you with very big dreams that you chase.

* Your ancestors blessed you with deep transformative powers.

* Your ancestors blessed you with high intelligence.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a strong link to spirituality.

* Your ancestors blessed you with believing in the unseen.

* Your ancestors blessed you with many breakthroughs and resilience in this life time.

Sagittarius Rising:

* Your ancestors blessed you with a strong link to spirituality.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a lot of creative interests and inspiration.

* Your ancestors blessed you with the ability to escape into your imagination anytime.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a strong intuition.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a lot of luck.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a sharp and keen perspective.

* Your ancestors blessed you with many blessings throughout your life.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a big heart.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a lot of fun and other-worldly experiences.

* Your ancestors blessed you with wisdom.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a connection to the spiritual world and telepathy.

Capricorn Rising:

* Your ancestors blessed you with a direct and forthright personality.

* Your ancestors blessed you with assertiveness.

* Your ancestors blessed you with high ambitions.

* Your ancestors blessed you with independence.

* Your ancestors blessed you with opportunities to be in powerful positions.

* Your ancestors blessed you with high morals.

* Your ancestors blessed you with financial blessings and abundance in this lifetime.

* Your ancestors blessed you with strong mental powers.

* Your ancestors blessed you with individuality and leadership.

* Your ancestors blessed you with wisdom.

* Your ancestors blessed you deep relationships with the ones you love and loyalty.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a strong spiritual link.

* Your ancestors blessed you with resilience.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a creative talent.

Aquarius Rising:

* Your ancestors blessed you with a strong mentality.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a distinct and unique beauty.

* Your ancestors blessed you with style and aesthetic.

* Your ancestors blessed you with stability but the ability to change the course of your life at anytime.

* Your ancestors blessed you with very interesting and unique bonds and relationships.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a level of seriousness when it comes to your ideas. You are willing to do the work.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a unique perspective on how life should be lived.

* Your ancestors blessed you with high intelligence.

* Your ancestors blessed you with the ability to connect to people from all walks of life.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a traveling soul.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a strong link to spirituality.

* Your ancestors blessed you with achieving your dreams.

Pisces Rising:

* Your ancestors blessed you with a fountain of creativity.

* Your ancestors blessed you with artistic talents.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a great voice for singing, asmr, and poetry.

* Your ancestors blessed you with the ability to see a multitude of perspectives.

* Your ancestors blessed you with great friends, a community of people, and a lot of people invested in you.

* Your ancestors blessed you a strong intuition and telepathy skills.

* Your ancestors blessed you with channeling abilities.

* Your ancestors blessed you with wisdom and the ability to shape-shift.

* Your ancestors blessed you with the ability to adapt to any circumstances.

* Your ancestors blessed you with multiple purposes you can fulfill.

* Your ancestors blessed you with a strong impact on the collective.

* Your ancestors blessed you with creating a beautiful family here on earth.

* Your ancestors blessed you with aesthetic and the ability to grow whatever you touch.

[matchatarot]

Bunny, I hope you know you’re destined for greatness. Your higher self is here to guide you through your path of awakening, listen to them. To pick a pile don’t overthink it; choose the one that draws you in the most while thinking about the reading’s intent. Only take what resonates! Love, Matcha ♡

☆ masterlist

✿ message from your higher self part two

Pile 1 ₊˚.༄

You don’t have those big dreams for nothing, Bunny. Yes, you are destined for a glamorous, comfortable and abundant lifestyle. You are destined to be seen as someone of high status, someone respectable. So you’re gonna stop dreaming about this lifestyle and actually put the action to reach this reality. There’s a discipline, a skill, an art form you’ve been meaning to pursue deeper knowledge in. Follow your intuition, you’ll feel creatively fulfilled and it’ll bring you to a more authentic self. You are protected by your spiritual team and you can confidently be yourself. Do not let your fears control your path. Remember, your thoughts don’t define you, your action does. You’re not meant to be like the others, your higher self stands out. You’re meant to go against the status quo. You’ll discover that by being your true unique authentic self, you’ll reach an emotional fulfillment you’ve never had before. If you have depression, it’s because you’re forcing yourself to fit into the mould of someone you’re not. You have one life, how will you choose to spend it? Go out, have fun, create, and be yourself! It’s the only way forward. And never forget that as long as you’re following your higher purpose, you’ll be protected. Oh and go get that tattoo! You know you want to! Embrace that alternative style to the fullest, it’s meant for you. If you’re pursuing a career that will put you in the eye of the public, like music or acting, your higher self wants to tell you receiving an award for outstanding work you did is part of your destiny.

diet_ by denzel curry, tattoos, graffitis, books, 215

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Divine revelations about your path

Message from your spirit guides

Pile 2 ⊹˚˖ ☆

You are destined for a life where you don’t yearn for what could’ve been. You’ll be free of anxieties, you’ll feel light, free like a bird. You need to let of your limiting beliefs. If you’re dreaming it, Bunny, it’s meant for you. Especially if you’ve had that same dream since childhood. Remember that time is not linear, that life you’re destined for, you’re already living it. There might be some obligations dissuading you from taking action, maybe you have kids, a business or anything that requires your constant attention. Your higher self is coming through to tell you that this part of your life is protected, your family is protected. You’re a creator, Bunny. You’ll be shocked at what you can do when you actually let yourself follow your creative pursuits, the potential of what you can create is greater than anything you can imagine. Your destined to create miracles so impactful that it will switch the faith of your lineage. If that stuff about kids didn’t resonate with you, see it as your inner child. So, either your kids will flourish in this reality you created for them and/or your inner child's wishes will finally be fulfilled. To fulfill your dreams you’re gonna need some rock solid faith and confidence. Step up your manifestation game, you don’t realize how much of a lucky person you are. Yes, I know you’ve been through so many hardships and you’re still healing from childhood wounds but I’m telling you, you have the potential to alchemize all that and become a powerful manifester. If you’ve been meaning to be an influencer, a teacher or any path where you transmit knowledge and influence people here’s the confirmation that it’s for you. Go for it, you’re destined to be someone very influential in your community.

firefly, feathers, 1, 333, 4, 7

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Divine revelations about your path

Message from your spirit guides

Pile 3 ‧₊˚ ♡

The first thing your higher self wants to tell you is that it is not an act of weakness to ask for help. In the past, you might have been made to feel ashamed to ask for guidance but let go of that trauma. You have heart chakra healing to do, you should listen to some heart chakra frequencies when you need to reset. In your heart, you know you’re an original, abundant, sensual, wild and passionate being. Your higher self embodies this energy without shame. Self-love and self-respect would be to let that part of you shine. The more you get to know the deeper parts of your being, the more you’ll love yourself. See yourself as a source of inspiration, be your own idol. The people you admire, you admire them because they have a part of you in them. Define what those things are. Don’t be scared to contradict yourself, we are all paradoxical beings. Your higher self is nothing like you imagined in the past but they’re totally aligned with the self discoveries you’re gonna make. Start this path right now, the yearning is over. Even if you don’t take the lead, it’s gonna happen soon due to unforeseen circumstances. Be open to a sudden change of direction. Things are unfolding in the spirit world for you, you’re already manifesting this reality. Your higher self is seen as someone extremely smart, and respected for their deep knowledge in their field. Be open to suddenly changing career paths, your next prospect will end up being something you master and get recognized for. Be devoted to your heart, practice self-love, and self-respect, and be curious. As long as your heart remains open, your manifestations will flow in.

I follow rivers by Lykke Li, mercury, 1, 313, 2, maenads, unicorns

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Divine revelations about your path

Message from your spirit guides

decks used: mystical wisdom by Gaye Guthrie, les vampires oracle by Lucy Cavendish

[puppybei]

Unsaid Dreams

Chapter 3 (Series Masterlist)

Pairing: Modernau!Sukuna x Mother!Reader

Genre: Hidden Baby Trope

Summary: Reader opens up a bakery after running away from her three year relationship with Sukuna, effectively ghosting him and hiding away in the middle of the countryside. Unknown to Sukuna, reader also had a baby, and now is living peacefully until an unfateful meeting starts to pull her back into the life she so desperately escaped from.

Tw: none for now except that Reader is a mother, called mumma/momma, Hana is six years old, Toji being a warning of his own, small mention of pregnancy, Tojis past being discussed, Sukuna pov!!! Finally, assasination mentions, pregnancy cravings mentions, Uraume pronouns being they/them, Sukuna curses,

Word count: 1.7k

Sukuna swirls the ice around in his glass, beer sloshing against the edges. The first two buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing the smooth planes of his muscled chest. He would rather be anywhere but stuck in the bars of one of his definitely-not-legal businesses.

The dim lights flickered around him, casting shadows on his cheekbones. Sukuna leans back in the booth, manspreading with a smirk when he sees Toji come over,

“Y’know Uraume heard something real interesting yesterday,”

Sukuna took a swig of his drink as Toji sat down, glaring at him above the rim of the glass. Toji opened his mouth to explain but Sukuna started again,

“They said on a collection that was supposed to take you just three hours, took you five, and then some more,”

Toji poured cheap whiskey into his own glas, setting his arm on the back of the booth seats and taking a long sip,

“The kid wanted something, it’s none of your business Ryomen.”

The taller male’s jaw clenched and he bit his cheek in order not to say something snarky in return,

“Whatever I don’t care about that,”

The pink haired man set the glass down, leaning his forearms on the cheap table that rattled against his weight ,

“I need you to talk to your old boss for me- what’s his name again? That Korean guy,”

Toji raised an eyebrow, setting down his glass after taking a small sip, after all he had to drive back and no way he was getting pulled over for a dui.

“Shiu Kong? Why you got someone you needa kill? I can always do that”

Sukuna scoffed, calling a waiter over for a new bottle of whiskey a pointed glare shot at Toji who finished the previous bottle.

“No more blood on your hands Fushiguro, you swore to your wife, remember? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten her already,”

The fact that Sukuna was his employer and the only one willing to take him after Toji broke down was the only thing stopping him from getting into a bar fight with the man across the table.

“Shut it Sukuna. I’ll send over Shiu’s contact to you.”

Toji glanced off to the side, entertaining himself with how wild Sukuna would go if he were to drop the information about the kid and you, chuckling to himself at the creativity of his own imagination.

A vein throbbed in Sukuna’s forehead at the sound of Tojis breathy laugh, barking at him to get out and to stop wasting his money and time. The raven haired man leaves without a second thought, thanking Sukuna sarcastically for the drinks and swiping the rest of the whiskey off the table before leaving Sukuna alone again.

The men had been friends since high school, meeting each other in an alleyway fight where the Sukuna family’s rivals had picked up a fight with the cursed man. Toji had his back when he stumbled upon the scene after running away from his own household and they had formed a kind of camaraderie.

Though when Toji started his assassin days, Sukuna lost touch with him, calling him only for the every odd job here and there for his more illegal ventures in business. After all, as the heir to the KOC corporation, anything but a clean record would have ruined his chances at inheritance.

And after Toji lost his wife, the CEO immediately offered him a job in the company, helping him pick back the pieces of his life and take care of Megumi. Well Sukuna couldn’t really help it, not with his annoying nephew Yuji who took an immediate liking to the depressing brat Megumi.

The dual haired secretary that Sukuna hired when you both had first started officially dating was always your favourite among all of Sukuna’s employees.

But now standing in front of you with a carefully crafted expression as they failed to hide the shock at seeing the mini-Sukuna, you weren’t so sure if your notions still held true.

They held their hands infront of them, the long sleeves of their clothing covering their hands, you always wondered why Sukuna made an exception for Uraume when everyone else was help to strict standards,

“I take that is Sukuna-sama…I came here when I received report of Fushiguro… to think I’d witness this…”

Uraume’s voice shook slightly, the suprise evident in their voice. Your mind wandered for a second, they were always a good cook and you fought your toughest pregnancy cravings against their cooking.

You let Hana down from your arms, the bakery had been closed today, you wanted to take a break and go to the amusement park which Hana had been whining about.

“Are you going to tell him? Can it wait till later then? I have to go out now.”

You sigh watching Hana hug your knee with a pouty face, pestering you to just leave already. You took a glance at the clock, you had decided going a bit earlier in the morning would mean you would be able to come back before lunch rush where Fumiko would handle the rest but with Uraume’s unexpected visit those plans had been derailed.

Speaking of the devil, they were just standing there’s and observing the pair of you, squinting at Hana.

“I will wait until the end of today.”

With that Uraume left a card, Sukuna’s new number. You froze for a second, pocketing the card trying not to show how much it affected you.

“I’ll see you around Uraume..”

Hana was picked up back into your arms where she rested her head on your shoulder, her small bag straps digging into your arms. You patted Uraume’s shoulder with your free hand, watching them leave and get into the company issued car with a tight set mouth.

Hana patted your back when you finally let out a sigh of relief, smiling at you when you reassured her in return.

“Let’s go okay?”

Making the decision to visit the amusement park in the morning had to be one of the best ones you made. They were barely any people around, just the few parents with their younger children here and there. Hana held your hand as she dragged you around, arrogance seeping from her whenever she beat you at a game, just like her father even though she never even met the man.

Infact you think you were more scared than the five year old in the all ages horror house. She was daring and courageous, you were grateful that those were the traits she inherited from her father and not his foul mouth.

Throughout the day you fiddled with the card in your pocket, Fumiko called and said that she would take care of the rush on her own and that you need not supervise her. You caved in when Hana also gave you her biggest puppy eyes, dragging you to an ice cream stand.

You both sat down on a nearby bench with the ice creams, one hand holding the cone and the other fiddling with the change as you tried to shove it back into your pocket. Unfortunately this was the exact moment when Sukuna’s card fell down, you bit your lip, pondering for a second before picking it back up.

It was a smooth black paper card, ridged at the ends. Sukuna’s name stood out in bold red letters, CEO of KOC put underneath strategically, followed by his business email and phone number. You flipped the card around to find nothing, chuckling to yourself and the you held the card between your fingers.

Sukuna would never design something like this, you knew him far too well to know he wouldn’t spend his precious time on something as useless as a paper card with his information. Your heart still swelled up with pride though, seems like the boy you met in high school had finally been polished into the man he wanted himself to be.

“Do you really want to become CEO Ryo? Or is it something you’re doing because your parents want you to?,”

The question is whispered into the quiet of the night, Sukuna’s arm wrapped snugly around your waist as you rested your head on his chest, playing with the chain on his neck. Sukuna’s breathing was heavy- heavy but comforting in the best possible way. It made you want to curl up into a ball and hide into his chest forever.

“When have I ever done something because someone else wanted me to? Heh. I’m going to fucking rule the stupid corporation.”

A rare crazed grin crossed Sukuna’s face and you poked the ends of his smile with your index, smiling back at him as he chuckled, grabbing your wrist in his palm,

“Don’t test your luck brat,”

You giggled in response, Sukuna would never truly hurt you. Never has since you were kids and he never will, you know that his threats are just empty promises said to protect himself from vulnerability.

“Whatever Ryo, go back to sleep”

Sukuna grumbled, turning to his side and pulling you closer to his chest, one arm propped to rest your head against,

“G’nite to you too,”

He mumbled against your forehead, pressing almost the softest kisses onto your hairline.

Hana had finished her icecream by the time you finished taking a jog down memory lane and you gave up your own to satisfy her insatiable hunger with a smile on your face.

Whatever it takes for your baby girl to be happy. That’s what matters, not Sukuna’s money or fame or whatever fucked up part of the world he was still partaking in.

Sukuna watched people flit in and out of his bar, drinking to himself as women tried to approach him and he shrugged them off without a second though. Years later and you still haunt his life like some kind of cryptid ghost. Fuck Tojis wife had passed away and even that fucker could move on.

His attention was drawn to his phone not a second later, a photo Uraume sent of a woman’s back and a child in her arms that just looked too much like him. He slammed the cup down, almost choking on the cheap whiskey as his grip on the phone tightened.

He’d recognize you even if you were just a blurry figure in the background of someone’s image, oh and to hide this from him? Yeah. Good luck running away from him again.

<-Previous Current Next->

A/n: I really pushed this out last minute cuz I got a comment and that spurred me on heh, as always likes reblogs and comment appreciated!!!

Taglist: @lady-of-blossoms @shokosbunny @after-laughter-come-tears

[honeytonedhottie]

how to be more feminine⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🩰

this post is inspired by an inbox question i answered on wednesday so i wanted to elaborate on things that make me feel more feminine and how to BE more feminine…💬🎀

SURROUNDING MYSELF WITH WOMEN ;

surrounding myself with women and making more friendships with women then with men has helped my femininity so much i feel. because like, as a woman we can relate to each other more and often times female friendships are just so much more pure and beautiful.

i feel like when ur friends with a man 99.9% of the time they end up wanting to pursue something romantically. also i noticed that when im with my male friends they like to tease and kind of roast each other but with my female friendships we bring each other up instead.

and its not like one is better then the other, but female friendships are better for my confidence and femininity as a whole which is why im friends with a lot more women and only a few men. in general female friendships have just healed my soul 💗.

THE SELF CARE ASPECT OF FEMININITY ;

when u take care of urself like u should, not only is it addicting but it makes me feel 100% more feminine. because you should care for urself like you care for a goddess. give urself the best that u possibly can and take care of ur mind body and soul.

take care of ur hands and feet

dont be afraid to be high maintenance

the self care aspect is important! make sure that ur keeping up with ur hygiene and using sweet smelling perfumes and soaps. taking care of ur body through what u eat, what u do etc. remember that ur inner translates to ur outer so dont forget to do the self concept work which leads me to my next point

THE FEMININE SELF CONCEPT ;

shift ur mindset and start to think of urself as beautiful, precious and feminine. make a vaunt if u want but make sure to say ur affirmations because that builds confidence. self love + confidence are so good for the cultivation of ur feminine energy.

CREATIVITY ;

femininity is all about creation and being creative so its important to find some ways to cultivate ur creativity and ur natural gifts. a way to cultivate ur feminine creativity is through makeup. makeup is such a beautiful art form and a reminder that you are your own muse.

ACCESS DENIED ;

another thing, dont give just anyone access to ur mind, ur time and ur body! not only are you protecting urself but ur also protecting ur time, emotions etc. can you imagine how draining it must be to always be readily available to everyone at anytime? like no.

everyone has their own boundaries and rules based on the way that they see the world, but when ur thinking about things like who has access to ur mind, time and body make sure not to be accessible to everyone cuz you're sacred!

[writingroom21]

Imagine reader a shy sweet inexperienced girl who has never went to a party as a friend forces her to tag along as there is a glory hole somewhere as Rafe inserts his cock in the hole as he’s never done this before as it’s a dare, reader doesn’t know it’s Rafe her long time bully he even bullies her still even in college. Plz plz plz make this extra smutty

Glory

Pairing: Bully!Rafe x reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, deep throating, slapping, branding, (let me know if I missed any)

Wc:4.5K

A/N: Kinda got carried away with this one

“Could you stop looking like a kicked puppy. You’re acting like I made you come here at gun point.” You try not to roll your eyes as you follow your best friend into the house. People say hi to here and give you a once over before turning away. Great. “You practically did.” Melanie, your best friend, turns around to look at you. One of her manicured hands wraps around yours to pull you into an empty hallway. “If you want we can go back home.” The look on her face tells you she wants to stay.

Knowing her your whole life has its plus. You can see the sparkle in her eyes meaning she’s ready to party. You sigh and shake your head. “No you’re right. I need to put myself out there.” Her eyes get a bit brighter at your words. “Maybe getting out of the house is what I need.” She hugs you tightly. “Thank you.” Her happiness is enough to make you get through the rest of this night. You can get over yourself for one night.

Melanie drags you to the drinks table shoving a solo cup into your empty hands. Taking a sip, you cough at the taste, hating how it burns. The party seems to get louder with people yelling. That’s when you sense it. There’s a shift in the air and everything gets cold. “Actually I want to go back. I forgot I have a project I need to finish.” You don’t listen because you turn around and your eyes meet his. The same eyes that haunt all of your dreams. The same ones that broke you. Rafe Cameron stands there staring at you with a stupid smirk. Melanie pulls your hand drawing your attention to her. “Let’s just go.”

“I’m okay.”

She doesn’t really believe you. She dragged you out of the darkness he created. She knows how you truly feel. “I don’t want you near him.” Melanie maneuvers you out of the second kitchen door just as he came in. “It was a long time ago. Plus he’s left me alone since then.” Liar. You can’t tell you that he follows you in between classes just to mock you. That when he catches you talking to any guy he tells them how much of a ‘desperate bitch’ you are. Those words still haunt you to this day.

“Are you really that desperate to think I’d go for you? If me telling you how disgusting you are every day wasn’t clear enough – you are nothing. You’ll never be nothing.”

“We’ll leave whenever you want, okay?” Nodding along you try to ignore his presence. After a while you genuinely did. One drink turned into four and you finally felt free. It’s a feeling you haven’t felt since middle school. Because that’s when it started. Great, you’re thinking about him. The dress you wear rides up a bit as you sway along to the music. A body slides up behind you, hands finding your hips. Opening your eyes, you see Greg from your creative writing class. You smile up at him and turn around to throw your arms around his neck. 

Greg is the only guy that hasn’t run away from Rafe’s lies. The rest all fled at his horrendous stories of how you threw yourself at him. As if embarrassing you in front of the whole class in high school wasn’t enough. All of your humiliation seems to be the only thing that brings Rafe joy. It started in sixth grade when he realized you had a crush on him. You had grown up together so both of you knew everything about each other. Which means he knew exactly what could hurt you. And he did right in front of everyone in the hallway between classes. You had excused his rude words and mocking tone for so long. Hoping it was him still being hurt about what happened with his parents. But senior year sealed the deal.

Rafe Cameron just hates you.

Hatred is the only word that could describe it. The same hatred that stares at you as you dance with your friend. Tracking Greg’s hands as they guide up and down your sides. You watch him with a confused look not knowing why he’s even watching you. He made it clear you’re nothing to him, so why is he looking? The music around you picks up and strobe lights start to glow. Each flicker of the lights gives you a brief moment of him. Blackness envelopes you and then there he is staring. You keep dancing with Greg trying to ignore his presence. Then blackness envelopes you again but when you look back he’s closer. His eyes burn into yours every time the lights come back on.

Every drop of the lights draws him closer to you. Every muscle in your body is screaming for you to give Greg an excuse and just leave. But you don’t. Then just when you think he’s about to come for you there’s nothing. He was one step from you. The lights had gone out just to come back to show the crowded bodies. But no Rafe. You finally breathe, thankful that he didn’t ruin this.

Each song that plays cracks your resolve making you feel loose. It’s possible it’s all due to the alcohol but who cares. You lost Melanie a few songs ago. She went off with her newest fling to do god knows what. Leaving you with Greg who is rambling about the new story he’s writing for your class. “Looks like she had fun.” Your head snaps up, tuning back into the conversation. He tilted his head over to Melanie who was waltzing over to you. Her eyes are glowing and there’s a thin layer of sweat gleaming her skin. She’s fixing the hem of her dress right as she gets to you. “That good?” She looks over at Greg and nods. “That good.”

They share a look you really can’t decipher. “You know in the back hallway-” “Shut up Greg.” You stare at Melanie in disbelief at her tone. “I’m just saying I could show her.” She kicks him causing him to lift up his hands. “What am I missing?” Melanie rolls her eyes as she kicks Greg off of the couch. He grumbles something about grabbing another drink before leaving. “God I swear he’s annoying.” she steals your cup and takes a sip. “Just ignore him okay.” You look at her wanting to see what she’s hiding. “What’s in the back hallway?” A blush crosses her cheeks but she just shakes her head. “I don’t think it’s something you’re into.”

That’s the last thing she said about the cryptic hallway. Drunk people and drugs surround you. Greg and Melanie have their own conversation, not paying you mind. Giving you the perfect moment to slip away. Walking past a group of people you see a couple leaving a hallway giggling. With your interest peaked you head over not knowing what you were getting yourself into. Peaking your head around the corner you see Rafe and some of his friends. Kelce and Topper went to different colleges so it's his new dick head of friends. Not like the other two were better. “Just go already.” There’s a scoff. “No.”

“You lost and this was the price.” Murmurs fill the hallway before silence comes. Taking another look around the corner you see that they are all gone. Heading over to where they were standing you really don’t notice anything unusual.  There’s only two doors next to each other, while the rest of the walls are decorated. Testing one of the doors you realize it’s locked. Moving on to the next one you get success. The door opens showing a small room with a tv and some bean bags. There’s a coffee table in the middle of the room with what seems like porno magazines. Your face scrunches the thought of random people coming in here to get their rocks off.

A blinking light on the left side of the wall grabs your attention. The dim glow of a ready sign blinks slowly. Heading over to the wall you see a button. Curiosity wins as you press it, seeing another ready sign glow. Looking around the room you try to figure out what is happening. Turning back to the wall, taking a step closer you press your ear to the wall to hear something. Then something pokes your bare thigh. Looking down you see a hole in the wall and a dick sticking out through it. 

You take a step back out of instinct not knowing what to do. “I’m clean, don’t worry.” The voice from the other side is muffled but you swear you know it from somewhere. Schooling your breathing, you kneel down, nervous on where this is going. This certainly isn’t what you were expecting but you can’t help yourself. He has one of the biggest dicks you’ve ever seen. It’s girthy so you know it might be a struggle to fit him in your mouth. Or anywhere for that matter. It curves upwards a bit, making your mouth water from the thought of it hitting your g-spot.

Reaching forward, you take a hold of him and give him a squeeze. A moan comes from the other side of the wall as you start to pump him slowly. Spitting on the tip you lubricate your hand to help guide you. After a few strokes you bring yourself closer, licking the tip lightly. The taste of salt invades your mouth. His precum is salty and sweet at the same time making you want more of it. Should you really be doing this? Pushing the thought aside you wrap your mouth around his tip and deepthroat him.

A pounding sound startles you and the wall shakes. “Don’t stop.” Even though it’s muffled, you can hear the pleading pressure behind it. A shiver is sent down your spine at the thought of bringing some stranger pleasure. Increasing your pace, you take him as far as you can while using your other hand to stroke the rest. You keep gaging around him every time he reaches the back of your throat. Opening your eyes you see the flesh of his hip and upper thighs. His skin is so smooth. You want to reach through the opening but you stop when his hand comes into view. 

His hand holds the base of his cock as he starts to thrust forward. The combination of his thrusts and you bobbing your head has you reiling. You’re barely getting any air so your head is getting fuzzy. You pull back to catch some air and stare blankly at his hand. He’s stroking his base, waiting for you to return. But all you are looking at is his ring. The same one you’ve seen so many times before.

On his pointer finger sits a gold ring with the letters R.C. It’s the same family ring that Rafe always wears. “You okay, baby?” It’s still muffled but his voice is getting clearer now. You try to get back into the head space you were just in but you can’t. Thankfully when you don’t answer he retreats and you can finally breathe. There’s an ache between your thighs and when you try to stand up you can feel how wet you are. That shouldn’t have turned you on as much as it did. Being with him shouldn’t have turned you on.

You’re still trying to compose yourself when the door opens and clicks shut. You whip around to come face to face with an equally as shocked Rafe. “You.” There’s malice behind his words. As if he is disgusted at the thought of you being the one sucking the soul out of him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” You narrow your eyes at him. “Didn’t say that a few seconds ago when I had you shoved down my throat.” His jaw clenches as silence fills the room. He takes a step closer and you can see that he still has his pants unbuckled. 

“So you followed me here? Thought you could finally get your chance with me?” Your blood boils at his insinuation. Scoffing, you cross your arms over your chest. You want to add as much distance between you two so you step back. “Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t obsessed with you. I thought we were friends but to you I was just a punching bag.” His eyes darken and he actually laughs at you. His feet drag along the floor as he walks over to you. Each step he takes, you take one back. Eventually you hit the back of the wall meaning you have nowhere else to go. 

“You really think I’m so stupid that I didn’t see the way you looked at me?” He tilts his head to the right, staring down at you. “You're just a pathetic nobody that thought you were special. I only tolerated you because of our parents.” The way he stares down his nose at you, pisses you off. He’s always been so full of himself. You don’t know why you even liked him when you were younger. You really thought there was something different about him but he’s proved time and time again that he’s evil. “Cut me a fucking break Cameron. You’re still the same broken boy that came running crying to me after mommy left.”

Taking a step forward you decide to fight back for the first time in your life. “You’re so fucked up that she ran just to get away from you. I only stuck around because I pitied you. The little boy whose mommy left them. Not to mention how much daddy hates you.” There’s a snap in his expression. He’s always looked mad at the world but in this moment he looks murderous. In a flash a hand wraps around your throat constricting your airway. You claw at his wrist trying to get him off but it’s useless.

“Choose your next words wisely.” There’s a snarl in his voice. “If I remember correctly you kissed me saying how you always liked me. You can’t rewrite history.” His grip gets a little tighter, almost cutting off all air flow. “A mistake on my end. Not much to like anyway.” Your chest heaves up and down. With each breath your nipples brush against his chest making them harder. “A mistake.” He repeats back, trying to see if that’s really what you said. “Yeah, isn’t that what your dad said about you? Let me guess you decided to hurt me to make yourself feel better.” Rafe’s breathing picks and his grip tightens to the point that you feel it behind your eyes.

He lifts you slightly making you claw and kick at him to let you go. Blood rushes through your ears making everything sound funny. Your chest rises and falls at a fast pace before starting to slow. In a thud, you fall to the floor when he lets you go. It takes you a moment to catch your breath but it didn’t last long. Using the fact that he had his pants unbuttoned–he pulls them down to expose himself. He strokes his dick right in front of your face and uses his other hand to hold you by your hair. There’s a smirk on his face that makes you feel nervous.“Good to see you finally found a backbone.” He keeps stroking himself and you just feel frozen in this position.

“I like it when they fight.”

The tip of his cock pokes your lips, moving just as you part them to rub along your cheek. Pre-cum stains your skin as he keeps rubbing the head of his dick along your skin. His eyes follow the movement. He taps your lips letting you open them before shoving in. Your eyes close on instinct, moaning around his shaft as he thrusts into you. He pulls tightly at your hair making you open your eyes to look at him. There’s a spark in his eyes you haven’t seen in years. He’s hitting the back of your throat causing your gag reflex to be in overdrive. Which only made his thrust faster when you constricted around him. The hand that’s not holding your head travels to the straps of your dress. 

Rafe toys with the thin fabric while he keeps using your mouth. Your panties are becoming soaked with each thrust. If you asked yourself a few weeks ago if you’d like this, you would have said no. But being here right now is proving you wrong. All you want is for him to keep going and maybe go even further. As if he’s read your mind he drags the strap over your shoulder until your left breast is exposed. He does the same thing to the next strap so your top half is exposed to him. He slaps your cheek leaving a red mark from how hard it is. His hands go back to your hair to grip it.

Using the leverage he drags you along his dick. He holds your head down for a moment, making you deep throat him. He keeps you there restricting your air flow. When he drags you off, you gulp down any air you can get before he continues. His thrusts start to stutter then go back to their pace. “Shit.” It's a whisper but you heard it.

Rafe pulls out, gripping the base of his cock hardly to subside the impending orgasm. “Touch yourself.” The demand doesn’t help the throbbing you are feeling between your legs. When you don’t move quick enough for him, he pulls you up and moves you to the bean bags. Pushing you down into it, he pulls the other one to be right in front of you. “Pull up the dress and touch yourself. Or I’ll do it for you.” Tingles are sent down your spine as you just stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”

You don’t like the smirk he has as he strokes himself. It’s not his usually cocky one that he makes a show of wearing. No this is something more sultry. “As a heart attack. Now touch yourself.” Your heart flutters at the old dad joke you used to say. The same one he mocked until you refused to say it. He goes to make a move and you beat him to it. Pulling up the dress you present him with the black lace panties you are wearing. “Did you wear those for me?” You scoff at his audacity and just move on. “You wish.” Your panties glide down your leg exposing you to him. 

Every second that passes causes the fire in you to keep building. His stare isn’t letting up. You can feel a hole being burned into you as you tease yourself. Running a finger along your clit you moan. The leather like material of the bean bags squeaks with your movement. Lightly your fingers keep rubbing circles and sometimes dipping into your center to put on a show. Doing this in the comfort of your own room is so different from doing it in front of Rafe. Your head is everywhere with so many different thoughts. You really shouldn’t be doing this.

This is Rafe. The same boy who broke you in front of so many people just for his own pleasure. “Don’t stop.” He gets off the bean bag to kneel in front of you. His hands find your knees, slowly making their way up. Your breathing gets heavy as the smallest inkling of an orgasm builds. You squirm in his hold, increasing the pace of your fingers wanting to chase that feeling. The ceiling you were just staring at disappears as you close your eyes. Giving Rafe the perfect opportunity for Rafe to lean down and lick your pussy lips. Your eyes snap open to look just as he removes your hand so he can suck on your clit. 

Hooking his arms under your thighs, he pulls you closer to smother his face with you. His eyes are interlocked with yours, watching you fall apart. Your mouth drops open in a moan when he pushes a finger into you. Based on how wet you are he could probably just slide right in. A thought that made him even harder than he already is. The groan he lets out sends vibrations through your pussy making you cum on the spot. You clench around his fingers, spasming as he sucks harder onto your clit. The feeling prolongs, sending wave after waves. Just when you think you’re going to cum again he stops. 

He licks his lips clean and gives your thigh a kiss before biting it lightly. You wince at the feeling but it doesn’t last long. “Turn around.” He leans back and slaps the side of your thigh then helps you get on your knees. Your upper half is thrown over the top of the bean bag while your knees dig into the floor. Large hands rub against your ass cheeks giving them a squeeze. His thumb grazes over your folds spreading your slickness. Guiding his tip to your entrance, he lathers himself with your juices. “For all of that talk about hating me.” You look over your shoulder to look him in the eye. “You seem to be very impatient about fucking me.”

His grip on your ass cheek gets tighter just before he plows into you. Pausing for a moment he lets you adjust to his size. More like he takes a moment to compose himself because you’re right. “Just fulfilling your wildest dreams.”  He leans over your body to whisper in your ear. “I still remember what your diary said.” Heat floods your body but not in a good way. The same embarrassment you felt back then comes flooding back. Of course he still remembers what it says. He took time memorizing it just to recite it at the school talent show. “Fuck you.”

You try to push him off of you but he holds your head down and starts thrusting. “Wasn’t that the fantasy? To finally feel how it is for me to be inside you.” You try to push back again but it only makes you thrust back into him. He grabs your arms holding them out so you're practically suspended in the air. In this position he spears into you, hitting your g-spot over and over again. With each thrust your tits bounce . It’s harsh as he uses his grip to have you match his thrusts. His touch is making everything hazy. He moves one of your arms so he has two in one hand. The other hand reaches over to tug at your nipple.

You moan and arch your back, leaning away from his touch. “Couldn’t believe you could write such dirty shit.” His voice is right in your ear, bringing flashbacks to the forefront of your mind. “What was it that you said? ‘I wish he would just hold me down and just fuck me already. I want him to just mark me as his because I am.’ Gotta say almost had me.” He increases his thrusting and pushes you back into the bean bag. His right hand holds your head down. Pushing you into the material to the point you can barely breathe.

“Or my favorite. ‘I want him to sneak through my window and cover my mouth as he fucks me. Telling me that no one can hear us.’ Really kinky for you.” Tears sting your eyes as you try to fight a sob. You don’t know if it’s from the embarrassment or due to the pleasure he’s giving you. But it doesn’t matter because his next words stun you. “Should’ve done it.” His thrusts slow down a bit like his words stunned him too. “Shut up.”

He thrust in at a steady pace, removing his hands from you completely. “I would have done it if things were different.” A pang struck your heart at the words. “I would have snuck into your room every night. Fuck you every chance that I get because I can’t get enough of it.” His words are sending a fire through you in the best way possible. The emotional whiplash is getting to you, making your orgasm tetter on the edge.

Your ears start to buzz. Nothing really makes sense anymore but him. At this moment you really don’t care who he is. All that matters right now is the pleasure he’s giving you. You can hate yourself later but right now you are going to enjoy it. A hot sizzling pain shoots through you. Your right ass cheek burns and you let out a half scream that’s also a moan. His other hand rubs your clit, sending you over the edge. Your orgasm eases the pain from whatever happened to your ass. The tip of his cock keeps rubbing your g-spot prolonging the pleasure until it becomes too much. 

He pulls out and yanks you to kneel in front of him as he stands over you. Without being told anything you open your mouth and lick his tip. Rafe strokes his dick as he holds you in place to paint your face in cum. It covers most of your face, getting into your eyes covering your vision. A finger wipes it from your eyes and Rafe watches you as he licks him cum off of his finger. “What did you do?” You go to touch your ass to ache the pain you’re feeling. He grabs your wrist and hauls you up to him. Grabbing your face, he starts to lick off his cum before feeding it to you.

Your lips meet him, devouring the taste of him on your tongue. He’s holding you so tight that it hurts. You can feel some of your hairs pulling out from his grip on your hair. Rafe disconnects from the kiss and guides you over to a mirror on the wall. He turns you so you’re face to face and moves your head. You can see remnants of cum on your face making your cheeks heat. Roaming your eyes down your body, you land on a red mark on your ass check. Your eyes widen and your mouth drops open. 

Turning back around, you punch him repeatedly trying to express your frustration. “You fucking branded me?” All he did was smirk at you. It was like you weren’t pissed at him at all. Of course to him this would be funny. His hand lifts in the air to show off his stupid gold ring. The R.C looks less shiny as it once was. Probably from the heat he applied to it so he could mark you. “Now you know who you belong to.” His hand wraps around your throat bringing you in for another kiss. 

“I'm not done with you yet.”

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