aetherscore - Tumblr blog

aetherscore · 8 days ago

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POV Missing Your LaDs Guy

I was inspired by another creator’s writing about scents and wearing items of clothing that belong to your LI. I will tag the creator when I find the original post!

I’m gonna try and do a multi-fic post but my fics tend to be on the longer side about these men (^_^; I can’t stop myself from wanting to say more!

TW: Smut light, scent based triggers

Pairings: Rafayel X Reader and Sylus X Reader

If you guys like them I’ll definitely try and write ones for Caleb, Zayne, and Xavier

Reblogs appreciated ❤️

Rafayel 🐟🔥🎨🛁

Rafayel was never too busy for his favorite cutie—but every now and then, even you couldn’t pull him away from his work. This time, Thomas had made it crystal clear: Rafayel had to be at his next gallery showing, no excuses. It was outside of Linkon, and unfortunately, you couldn’t take the time off to go with him. So, in classic dramatic fashion, the two of you parted ways with Rafayel pouting like a child, insisting he should just kidnap you for the next two weeks. And honestly? The idea was tempting. But after the last gala—where you both got a little too drunk and made a bit too much of a scene—you couldn’t risk him getting on Thomas’s bad side again.

Still, that didn’t stop him from sulking all the way to the airport, one hand in yours, the other gripping his sketchpad like it was an emotional support canvas.

“I should just cancel the whole thing,” he muttered as you reached his terminal. “Tell Thomas I had a spiritual awakening and need to stay home for artistic reasons. Maybe something involving paint fumes and divine visions.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And how would that explain the flight and hotel already booked in your name?”

“I’ll tell him I was possessed. By a muse. You.” He shot you a grin, though it was soft around the edges.

The first boarding call echoed, and his fingers curled a little tighter around yours before he pressed something into your palm.

You looked down. His keys.

“The studio’s yours while I’m gone,” he said. “Sleep in the bed, paint on the walls, eat the cookies I definitely didn’t burn. Just don’t fall in love with anyone else while I’m away.”

You stared at the keys, your throat catching a little. “You said your studio was sacred.”

He smiled, cupping your cheek. “Exactly.”

A final boarding call cut through the moment, and you rose up to kiss him—slow and steady, like it might be the last quiet moment for a while.

“Go,” you whispered. “Before I let you kidnap me.”

He groaned, dramatic as ever, but he turned and walked away—backward for the first few steps just to keep you in sight. One last blown kiss. One last wink. And then he disappeared into the crowd.

The next day, you let yourself into his studio by the sea.

The place was exactly as he’d left it, warm with sunlight and bursting with Rafayel’s strange, vibrant energy. The smell hit you first—not just the ocean, which lived in the air like a heartbeat, but him. Salt and fire. Burnt matches and shells ground into paint. Every pigment he mixed carried something of the beach outside—chalky whites from crushed sand dollars, deep blues born from tide-worn glass, and the faint tang of salt in everything he touched.

You slipped off your shoes and padded across the cool floorboards, letting the space wrap around you. The walls were cluttered with art—some chaotic and bold, some so intimate it almost felt wrong to look. His easel stood in the center of the room like an altar, canvas still wet with whatever he’d been working on last.

The cookies were there too. On the counter. Slightly overbaked and left beneath a note that read: If they taste weird, blame love. Or the fact I was thinking about your thighs again.

You laughed quietly, then wandered toward the stack of canvases leaning against the far wall, drawn by some invisible thread. One by one, you sifted through them. Landscapes. Abstract bursts of emotion. A few commissions.

And then—you.

Moments you hadn’t even realized he’d been capturing. You curled up in his favorite cardigan, the soft wool bunched around your wrists. You leaning on the balcony rail, lost in thought. You, laughing, hair a mess, eyes squinted from too much sun.

And one… unfinished. Just your face. Quiet. Real. No dramatics. No posing.

You traced the edge of the frame with your fingertips, heart full and aching all at once.

Rafayel may have been halfway across the country—but somehow, he’d left a thousand pieces of himself behind.

You moved through the studio like a quiet tide, your fingers brushing over tabletops, paint jars, the curve of an empty teacup beside a half-sketched landscape. The silence wasn’t lonely—it was heavy with him, as if Rafayel had only just stepped out to grab something from the beach and would be back any second, cardigan flaring behind him, curls tousled by the wind.

You wandered deeper into the space, passing his neatly folded scarves on a chair, the faint scent of sandalwood and sea lingering in the air. Then you stepped into the bathroom—and stopped.

His bathtub.

If the studio was sacred, the bathtub was its hidden chapel. You’d teased him about how seriously he treated it—how he called it “a portal to another plane” after long painting sessions. But standing there now, you understood.

The soft light through the frosted windows. The mosaic tile around the edges, each tiny piece hand-placed, many painted by Rafayel himself. And nestled all along the side of the tub—your favorite bath bombs, oils, and soaps. Sea-salt lavender. Rose quartz shimmer. The one that smelled like warm citrus and driftwood. He’d remembered them all.

A note sat propped against a jar of soaking salts, written in his looping, dramatic script:

“In case you miss me too much—these all smell like me. Or at least, like the version of me who wants you to relax, feel adored, and remember that even if I’m away, I’m still absolutely obsessed with you. Use them. Soak. Pretend I’m sitting beside the tub reading you weird poetry. (I probably am, spiritually speaking.)”

You laughed softly, brushing a thumb over the edge of the paper. Trust Rafayel to turn a simple bath into something holy. You could already imagine it—his voice echoing off the tiles, reciting Lemurian poems or something ridiculous he made up on the spot, one hand swirling the water lazily as he watched you with those knowing, stormy eyes.

Maybe tonight, you’d light the candles.

Maybe tonight, you’d let yourself miss him just a little more.

You sank into the bath with a sigh, the water turning silky as your favorite bath bomb fizzed and dissolved, releasing soft floral notes and a shimmer of warmth that clung to your skin. The scent reminded you of him—salt and citrus, something wild and thoughtful all at once. You closed your eyes and leaned back, letting the water hold you the way his arms used to.

For a while, you just breathed. Let the quiet hum of the sea outside wrap around you like a lullaby. You could almost hear him reading beside you, voice low, words floating somewhere between poetry and seduction.

Time blurred.

Eventually, the water cooled, and you stepped out, skin flushed and wrapped in the oversized towel he always called your “personal cloud.” You padded barefoot through the studio, glowing from warmth and the kind of peace only Rafayel could conjure—even from miles away.

You made your way to his bed—round, queen-sized, draped in soft linen sheets that always smelled faintly of cedar and the sea. The windows stretched around it in a half-moon curve, offering a perfect view of the ocean below. The sun had begun its slow descent, casting streaks of gold and blush across the waves. You curled onto the bed, damp hair trailing across his pillow, watching the tide shimmer under the setting sun.

It was impossible not to think of him here.

He’d said it once, half-asleep with your legs tangled in his and his hand resting over your heartbeat: “You were always meant for the ocean. The way you move, the way you feel. That saltwater kind of beauty. Untamed, but gentle. Just like the tide.”

At the time, you’d rolled your eyes, teased him for being dramatic. But now, with the sea glowing outside and his scent still on the sheets—you finally understood what he meant.

Maybe you were meant for the ocean.

And maybe, in some strange, beautiful way… you’d been meant for him too.

The sky outside melted into shades of lavender and honey, the waves rolling in a steady rhythm like the breath of the world itself. You sank deeper into the bed, letting the ocean soothe the ache in your chest—but it wasn’t quite enough. Not without him.

The sheets were still warm from the sun, but you missed his warmth. His weight. His presence. You sat up slowly, eyes drifting toward the worn armchair near the window where he always draped his cardigans.

One was still there.

You rose and crossed the room, fingers brushing over the soft knit fabric before pulling it into your arms. It was his favorite—cream with a blue and red argile pattern woven through it, smelling faintly of his cologne and sea salt. You slipped it on, sleeves too long, shoulders wide and comforting, like being wrapped in him.

As you settled back into bed, something crinkled beneath the pillow.

Frowning, you reached underneath and pulled out a small audio recorder. Simple. Classic Rafayel.

There was a little sticker on the front. A doodle of a seashell and a tiny note scrawled beneath it in his loopy, artistic handwriting:

“Play when the sea isn’t enough.”

Your heart jumped.

You clicked it on.

There was a moment of static, then his voice—low, warm, a little teasing, like he was speaking from just over your shoulder.

"Hey, my cutie. If you're hearing this, it means I’m not beside you—which, frankly, is a crime against romance and art and probably international law, but we’ll let that slide for now."

You smiled, heart clenching.

"I know you’re probably curled up in my bed right now, wearing one of my cardigans, looking like some soft ocean spirit that wandered in from the tide. I hope you took a bath. If not—pause this and go. Seriously. I left you the good stuff."

A pause. A soft breath.

"I just… I didn’t want you to feel alone in the silence. Not here. Not in a space that knows you almost as well as I do."

"Every brushstroke, every color I mix—there’s you in all of it. You’re not just my muse. You’re the whole damn palette."

Another pause. Softer now.

"So rest. Watch the sea. Wear my cardigan till it smells like you. And when I get back, I’ll paint the sunset exactly how you looked tonight."

Static again. Then silence.

You held the recorder to your chest, eyes burning, Rafayel’s voice echoing in your mind like a lullaby pulled from the tide.

He wasn’t here—but he was everywhere. In the scent on your skin, in the rhythm of the waves, in the cardigan curled around your frame.

And in that moment, wrapped in him, you didn’t feel alone at all.

The room had gone dusky, shadows stretching long across the bed as the last light of day dipped below the horizon. You were still curled beneath his blankets, his cardigan wrapped around you like a second skin. The audio recorder sat beside you on the pillow, still warm from your grip, Rafayel’s voice lingering in your ears like an echo.

You reached for your phone on the nightstand, thumb hovering for a moment before switching to the front camera. The soft golden light of the setting sun kissed your features. His cardigan hung off your frame, oversized and familiar, the sleeves bunched at your wrists. You looked like you belonged here—like you’d been painted into the moment.

You snapped the photo. No filter. No caption.

Then you opened your messages and typed slowly:

me:

goodnight, my fishie prince. the sea isn’t enough. come home soon.

You added the photo and hit send before you could overthink it.

Almost immediately, the little “typing…” bubble popped up.

Then:

rafayel:

cutie.

you’re lucky i didn’t see this before boarding or i would’ve turned around and let thomas sue me.

i’ll paint that look the second i’m back.

sleep in my spot tonight. dream of me. i’ll dream of you.

Your heart fluttered.

You tucked the phone to your chest, smiling as the waves outside rolled softly against the shore, steady and endless.

Maybe the sea wasn’t enough.

But the love he left behind in every corner of this place?

That was more than enough to hold you through the night.

The room had grown quiet, the hush of the sea outside the only sound as the last of the sun slipped beneath the horizon. You nestled deeper into his bed, tugging the cardigan tighter around your body. Your phone rested beside your pillow, his message still glowing faintly on the screen.

You turned it face-down.

Then let your eyes close.

Sleep didn’t come all at once—it arrived in slow waves, gentle and warm, like fingers combing through your hair.

And then, you were there again.

Back in the park, that first chilly autumn morning when he showed up with two cups of coffee and paint on his cheek, his hair wind swept in the breeze like some romantic mess of a man. He’d handed you the coffee with both hands and said, “I didn’t know what you liked, so I brought six sugar packets. I can be trained, though. Like a well-kept dog. Or a mildly feral raccoon.”

You laughed in your sleep.

Another memory bloomed—his studio, months later, when he let you smear paint across a fresh canvas just because you said you were curious. You’d made a mess. He’d kissed you anyway, paint in your hair, his hands on your waist, whispering, “There’s nothing more beautiful than watching you become part of my chaos.”

And then the beach.

The night you watched the stars together, wrapped in a blanket, his voice low and dreamy beside your ear as he told you stories about gods made of salt and women who controlled tides with their laughter. He said you were one of them—obviously.

Memory folded into memory like watercolor seeping into wet paper.

All of them vivid.

All of them soft.

And in every single one—Rafayel, smiling at you like you were the masterpiece he’d never be able to finish.

A week passed.

The studio had started to feel like a second skin. You knew where Rafayel kept his half-finished sketches, which mugs he favored for tea, which corner of the windowsill he always left cracked open for the salt breeze. You’d fallen asleep each night wrapped in his cardigan, surrounded by his scent and voice, lulled to sleep by waves and the low hum of his love lingering in every room.

But today—the silence buzzed with something new.

Anticipation.

The airport buzzed with the usual chaos—luggage wheels clattering, voices echoing off high glass ceilings, the dull murmur of announcements overhead. But none of it mattered. Your heartbeat had claimed your focus, drumming fast in your ears as you stood near the arrivals gate, scanning every passing figure with a quiet desperation you tried not to show.

Your phone buzzed.

rafayel:

Landing in 20. I expect dramatic eye contact across the arrivals gate. Maybe even a slow-motion run. Optional kiss. Mandatory swoon.

You laughed out loud, biting your bottom lip to keep from smiling too hard as you texted back:

you:

I’ll bring the swoon if you bring that paint-smudged artist look. Deal?

rafayel:

I’ve missed you so badly I’m considering doing the whole proposal-in-the-airport thing. But I’ll settle for holding your face and not letting go for ten full minutes.

The sun was just starting to dip by the time you reached the terminal, casting the glass walls in amber light. People bustled in every direction, voices echoing across tiled floors. But your eyes were only searching for one thing.

Then you saw him.

Moving through the crowd like he belonged on another plane of existence entirely.

The top buttons of his white shirt were undone, collar loose in that casually undone way that only he could pull off. His violet hair was tousled from the flight, a few strands falling into his blue-pink eyes—eyes that found you instantly, lighting up like a canvas catching first light.

You didn’t run.

But you moved.

And so did he.

He dropped his bag before he even reached you, closing the distance in a few quick strides. His hands found your face the second you were close enough, thumbs brushing over your cheeks, and he let out the breath he’d clearly been holding for days.

"Hi, cutie," he said, voice a little rough from travel, but still so unmistakably him. "God, I missed this face. No painting, no dream, no color came close."

You leaned into his touch, smiling so hard it almost hurt.

"You’re real," you whispered, and that was all it took—he pulled you in, wrapping his arms around you with that same warmth you'd been craving every night in his bed.

His cheek pressed against your hair, and you felt him smile.

"You kept my cardigan warm, didn’t you?"

"Every night."

"Good. Because now I need it to smell like you."

The arrivals gate faded away. The noise. The movement. Everything. It was just him, you, and the warmth between your bodies—finally closing the distance.

You didn’t head straight home.

Rafayel slipped his fingers between yours the second you stepped out of the airport, tugging you gently toward the coastal road. His bag was slung over one shoulder, shirt half-untucked, violet hair catching the fading light like brushstrokes in motion.

The car ride was quiet, peaceful.

He didn’t let go of your hand.

And when the beach came into view—the same stretch of sand you could see from his studio window—you pulled off onto the side, kicking off your shoes as he did the same.

The tide was low, the breeze soft and cool. Sunset spilled across the ocean in melted gold and dusky pinks, casting a glow over everything. Rafayel breathed in deep and closed his eyes for a moment, like he was letting the sea wash away the weight of time spent apart.

Then he looked at you.

Really looked.

“You’re glowing,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Did the sea take care of you while I was gone?”

You laughed softly. “It tried. But it wasn’t the same without you.”

He grinned, blue-pink eyes reflecting the sky. “You know,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a tiny, spiral shell, “I saw this and thought of you. Kept it with me the whole trip. It’s not much. But it was the only thing that reminded me of home.”

You took it gently, fingers brushing his. “I am home,” you whispered.

That made him pause—just long enough for emotion to flicker in his expression. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close, resting his forehead to yours.

“You know you were always a part of the ocean” he said softly. “But I think… I was meant for you.”

You stood there like that, the waves lapping at your feet, your bodies pressed together, hearts syncing in the salt-kissed silence. And as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, you let the moment settle between you—unspoken but understood.

Love didn’t always need grand gestures or fireworks.

Sometimes, it was as simple as a quiet return.

A cardigan left behind.

A beach at sunset.

And two people who chose each other, again and again.

—————————————————————————

Sylus

It was rare that Sylus ever made you wait, especially on a date night. He’d hurriedly finish his business deals so he could relax into your embrace, but tonight this deal was different and unfortunately was bleeding into date night.

“I promise, kitten, I’ll make it up to you.”

You read the text, you knew he would but it still sucked waiting for him. You hadn’t seen each other in several weeks. The Association kept you busy with overseas missions, and Sylus was dealing with more unrest in the N109 zone as one of the crime heads had been taken into custody. Now, there were turf wars and shady dealings to see who would take over. Sylus naturally was targeted, being the leader of Onichynus, was anything but peaceful.

You missed him, his warmth, the smell of his cologne with a hint of gunpowder, your thoughts drifted as you wandered your shared bedroom. Before you realized it, you were standing in front of the walk-in closet. You opened the double doors and instantly gravitated to his jackets. You tenderly ran your fingers against the sleeves, the material soft and silky. He always had impeccable fashion sense, everything was either designer or professionally tailored, one of a kind for him. You grabbed your favorite jacket he would wear lazily over his broad shoulders. The black fabric embroidered with crimson feathers smelled of his cologne, gunpowder, and rain. You couldn’t help yourself and slipped your arms through the sleeves. The jacket wore you rather than you wearing it, but it didn’t matter. It felt like being held by him, the weight of the material mimicking his gentle embrace. You pressed the sleeves to your cheeks, taking in the warmth like he was cradling you with his hands. You were tearing up, trembling, and slowly lowered yourself to the plush carpet of the closet.

You missed him. The way he made you feel safe, the look in his ruby eyes saying, “As long as you’re with him, any place is home.” You catch yourself looking at all the clothes, each sparking a memory of your time together: his riding jacket, the freedom of speeding down the N109 zone, the leather trench coat, and tussling his silver hair pretending to get the snow out.

You grabbed some of his clothes, donning them like makeshift armor. You know it’s only a temporary fix, but for now, you feel a bit more at ease waiting for him to come home. The business deals normally ended messily these days, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

A soft chime pulled you from your thoughts—a message, but not from Sylus this time.

Unknown Sender: “Your man’s making moves. Might not walk away clean tonight.”

Your stomach twisted. It was vague, unsigned, and all-too-familiar with the kind of cryptic language used in the underworld. You stared at the message, your fingers tightening on the cuffs of his jacket.

You shouldn’t worry. You knew Sylus. No one navigated the criminal underbelly of the N109 Zone better than he did. But still, this deal was different. Bigger. Riskier.

You rose from the floor slowly, the heavy fabric of his jacket still wrapped around you like a shield. You crossed the room and tapped into the secure comm line he’d given you, not for check-ins or sweet nothings, but emergencies. You hesitated, thumb hovering over the button. Was this one?

Just as your finger grazed it, your screen blinked to life. A video call. From him.

You answered immediately, breath catching when Sylus’s face came into view. He looked exhausted—silver hair mussed, the collar of his shirt undone, crimson eyes shadowed and sharp. But he was alive. Whole.

And when he saw you wearing his jacket, something in his expression shifted. Softened.

“You waiting for me like that, Sweetie?” he said, voice low and warm despite the tension you could sense in him. “You’re gonna make me speed through this meeting and blow someone’s car up just to get back faster.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, a watery laugh escaping you. “You’re late.”

He sighed, leaning back against the wall of wherever he was—dim lights, a flicker of movement behind him. “I know. Things got complicated. I’ll be home in one hour. Two, max. I swear it.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you murmured, trying to smile.

His eyes held yours through the screen. “Kitten. I always keep my promises to you.”

The call ended before you could say anything else—likely someone had pulled him back into the fray. You were left with the echo of his voice and the lingering tension in your chest.

Still… something about his face had told you he meant it. That he’d crawl through hell to keep it.

You stood there for a long moment, wrapped in the comfort of his scent, his presence lingering in every thread. And even though the night stretched long and uncertain, you felt a little steadier, knowing that somewhere out there, Sylus was fighting his way back to you.

The rain had started not long after the call ended—fat droplets smacking against the windows in chaotic rhythm. Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by the low, slow rumble of thunder that seemed to crawl across the sky. You stayed curled on the couch, still in his jacket, eyes flicking to the door with every creak and shadow.

Then came the sound you’d been waiting for: the lock sliding open.

You were on your feet before the door had even finished opening.

Sylus stepped inside, head bowed, silver hair soaked and plastered to his forehead. Water dripped from the hem of his coat, running in rivulets down his neck and into the dark fabric clinging to his frame. He kicked the door closed with the back of his boot and looked up at you.

That tired smirk pulled at his lips, even as the storm clung to him. “Told you I’d make it back, didn’t I?”

You didn’t respond right away. You just crossed the room in a few quick strides and threw your arms around him. His jacket soaked yours instantly, but you didn’t care. You buried your face in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of rain and gunpowder and him, now fresh and raw.

His arms came around you slowly, as if taking a moment to process that he was really home, that you were really there waiting for him. He leaned his cheek against the top of your head, exhaling deeply.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

“I know,” he murmured back. “I missed you too, Sweetie. Every damn second.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes, though rimmed with exhaustion, held that flicker of warmth that only ever appeared for you. You brushed wet strands of hair from his forehead.

“You’re soaked,” you said.

“Storm caught me on the way out. Didn’t want to stop.” He looked you over, registering the jacket still draped over your shoulders. “That mine?”

You nodded. “My armor.”

A real smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Then let me trade you for something warmer. I’ll get cleaned up—won’t take long.”

But you held onto him a second longer, not quite ready to let go yet.

“You’re here now,” you said softly. “That’s all I needed.”

Sylus pressed a kiss to your temple, then your cheek. Gentle. Reassuring. “And I’m not going anywhere tonight. That’s a promise I can keep.”

The storm had softened to a steady drizzle by the time Sylus emerged from the shower, dressed in a dark fitted shirt with the sleeves casually rolled to his elbows and a pair of soft lounge pants that were definitely not designer. His damp silver hair curled slightly at the ends, the clean scent of his soap replacing the smoke and rain.

You had set the table in the meantime—nothing extravagant, just a warm meal for two and the comfort of being in the same room again.

He padded barefoot into the dining area, eyes locking onto you immediately. That quiet look passed between you again—the one that said we made it through another night—and then his gaze dropped slightly as he walked closer.

You noticed the cuts when he sat down. Small, angry red lines along his knuckles and a shallow graze at the sharp edge of his jaw. Faint, but fresh. Evidence of how “complicated” the meeting had really gotten.

“Sylus,” you murmured, reaching over before he could deflect.

“It looks worse than it is,” he said, not pulling away when your fingers brushed over the skin near his jaw. He winced slightly. “Okay, maybe just a little worse.”

You turned his hand over gently in yours, examining the bruised knuckles. “And this?”

He shrugged, almost sheepish. “Some people don’t like losing leverage.”

You didn’t press. You knew how these deals went—how easily a dinner table could turn into a battlefield.

Instead, you got up quietly, grabbed the small medkit from the drawer, and returned to your seat beside him. He let you clean the cuts in silence, his gaze soft and steady on you the entire time.

“I can’t stop you from getting hurt,” you said quietly, wrapping a thin bandage around his hand. “But I still hate seeing it.”

“I know.” His voice was low. “But I’d rather come home to you a little bloodied than not at all.”

You blinked, your hands stilling. His honesty always caught you off guard when it came unannounced like that—raw and real, without the silk of his usual charm.

Dinner was quieter than usual, but not uncomfortable. He watched you between bites, eyes lingering not with possessiveness but with something steadier. Devotion. As if reminding himself that no matter what storms he walked through out there, this—you—was what he came back for.

“Thanks for waiting for me,” he said softly, near the end of the meal.

You smiled faintly, leaning your chin on your hand. “I always will.”

You’d just finished clearing the dishes when Sylus leaned back in his chair, watching you with that unmistakable gleam in his eye—the kind that usually came right before he got exactly what he wanted.

“You know,” he said, his voice dropping a note lower, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since I walked in.”

You turned, curious. “What?”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes roaming over you, still wrapped in his tailored black jacket, the sleeves rolled to fit, the hem hanging loose just past your thighs. “That. Seeing you in my clothes.”

A slow smirk curved his lips as he stood, crossing the room in a few unhurried strides. He stopped in front of you, one hand lifting to brush a thumb over your collarbone, just beneath the open lapel. His touch was light, but his gaze was anything but.

“It’s dangerous,” he murmured, “how good you look in this.”

You arched a brow, trying to stay coy. “Dangerous how?”

Sylus leaned in, his nose brushing the side of your jaw as he whispered, “Makes me want to keep you like this. Just mine. Wearing only what I give you.”

Your breath caught as his fingers traced down your side, slow and deliberate, stopping just at your waist. His lips hovered near your skin, not quite touching, sending goosebumps across your chest and arms.

“You walk around like this,” he said against your throat, “and I forget how tired I am. I forget how messy the world gets. All I can think about… is how soft you’d feel underneath me.”

His hand slid behind you, resting on the small of your back as he pulled you flush against him. His heat bled through the layers, even through the jacket you’d borrowed. “You wore this like armor earlier,” he murmured. “But now it feels like a gift you left waiting for me.”

You leaned into him, lips brushing his ear. “Maybe I did.”

He exhaled, a low sound deep in his chest, as if your words untied something inside him.

“Bedroom. Now.” His voice was husky but restrained, barely leashed hunger laced with reverence.

And when he kissed you—slow, deep, possessive in the way only a man in love can be—it felt like all the waiting, the longing, the storm, had led to this one inevitable moment.

He didn’t need to say it twice.

The moment you reached the bedroom, Sylus was already behind you, one hand at your waist, the other slipping under the hem of his jacket as he pressed you up against the wall. His mouth found yours again—hungrier now, no longer restrained. He kissed like a man who had been starving for weeks, and finally had his first taste of warmth.

You gasped against his lips when his hand slipped beneath the fabric, tracing along your bare thigh. “Still wearing this for me?” he murmured, dragging his mouth down your neck.

“Wasn’t planning to take it off,” you whispered.

“Good,” he growled. “Because I want to unwrap you slowly.”

He turned you around with a fluid motion, letting your back press against his chest as he tugged the jacket open, exposing the softness beneath. His fingers skimmed over your stomach, trailing up under the thin shirt you wore beneath—his shirt.

“You even wore this,” he said, almost reverently, as his hands slipped beneath the fabric. “You really missed me, didn’t you, Kitten?”

You nodded, already breathless, hips arching back into him instinctively.

He guided you to the bed, laying you down as if you were something precious and breakable—though the hunger in his eyes promised anything but gentleness. The room was quiet except for the sound of rain against the window, and your shared breaths as he peeled his shirt off you, inch by inch.

His mouth followed, kissing every new patch of skin he uncovered. “You wear me so well,” he whispered. “But I want to feel all of you.”

When you reached for his shirt in return, he let you strip it away, revealing the fresh cuts you’d tended to earlier—his battle scars, earned and endured just to make it back here, to you.

You sat up enough to press your lips to the bandage on his jaw, then his collarbone, then lower—until Sylus gave a low, shaky laugh and gently pushed you back down.

“Sweetheart, if you keep that up, I’m not going to last.”

“Then don’t,” you murmured, pulling him back to you. “Just take me.”

And he did.

He was slow as he worked his way inside you, watching your expression for any signs of pain, but you looked in pure bliss, and he continued.

When down to the hilt, he started to move the fullness inside of you, making you gasp and cry out. “Keep up with those sounds, kitten, and I won’t be able to hold back,” he growled. You wanted him to ravage you as a way to make up for the time lost.

With every breathless moan, every tangled sheet, and whispered promise, Sylus made good on his word. He worshipped every inch of you like he’d been waiting years. The world outside, the chaos of his empire, the dangers that clung to his name—none of it mattered in this room.

Here, it was just you and Sylus.

And by the time your name was falling from his lips in a hoarse whisper, bodies slick with sweat and hearts pounding in sync.

The storm outside had softened to a gentle hum, raindrops tapping rhythmically against the windowpane. The kind of sound that made you want to stay wrapped in blankets for hours, limbs tangled and hearts steady.

Sylus didn’t move right away. He lay beside you, breathing hard, one arm draped over your waist, the other buried beneath you, holding you close as if letting go wasn’t an option. His skin was still warm from the heat you’d both shared, his silver hair damp with sweat.

You turned your face into the crook of his neck, pressing a soft kiss just beneath his jaw. He exhaled slowly, his hand brushing lazy circles across your spine.

"You okay?" he murmured against your temple.

You nodded, your voice still a little hoarse. “Better than okay.”

His hand paused for a second—just long enough for you to feel the weight behind it. “I didn’t hurt you?” he asked, quieter now.

You looked up, touched by the concern in his ruby eyes. “No, Sylus. You were perfect.”

That seemed to ease something in him. He pressed his lips to your forehead and lingered there, breathing you in. “You scare the hell out of me, sometimes,” he whispered. “The way I feel about you…”

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “I know. Same here.”

For a while, you lay there in silence, your breath syncing with his, the only sounds in the room the storm’s fading echo and the occasional thrum of city life far below the Onychinus base. Sylus eventually shifted, gently rolling you into his chest before grabbing a soft towel from the nightstand drawer.

“Stay still, sweetie,” he murmured, carefully wiping at the slickness on your thighs, taking his time like he was tending to something sacred.

You flushed from the tenderness of it all—how this man, feared across the N109 zone, now handled you with such reverence. When he finished, he tossed the towel aside and helped you pull on one of his oversized shirts.

He threw on a pair of loose black pants, then padded barefoot into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with a glass of water and a warm cloth to clean your face. You drank, not realizing how parched you were, and he pressed a kiss to your cheek when you finished.

“You always take care of me,” you said softly, watching him as he climbed back into bed and pulled the blanket over both of you.

“Of course I do,” he said, brushing your hair back from your face. “Because you’re the one thing in this whole damn world I can’t afford to lose.”

You snuggled closer, letting your hand rest over the steady beat of his heart. “Then you better keep making it back to me.”

His laugh was low and tired. “Always, Kitten.”

And in the warmth of his arms, with the storm now nothing but a lullaby, you finally let yourself drift to sleep—safe, loved, and held like a treasure in the arms of the most dangerous man in the zone.

_________________________________________

I really enjoy writing these and I hope you all enjoy it too! I love Sylus so much he stole my heart and has really been a comfort character as a lot of his mannerisms match my irl partners. Rafayel is so sassy and fun to write for! Truly my favorite fishie

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aetherscore · 8 days ago

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thinking ifa hates you bc he doesn't call you 'bro' meanwhile he's actively censoring himself bc he's got a crush on you and doesn't want to accidentally friendzone you

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aetherscore · 9 days ago

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vulnerable

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aetherscore · 13 days ago

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⋆.˚✮ thunderstruck 🤍 xavier 星回 ✮˚.⋆

⋆.˚✮pairing: bad boy/punk xavier x reader

⋆.˚✮word count:

⋆.˚✮summary: popular among girls, distant and intimidating troublemaker—that’s how others saw him. gentle, charming and intelligent boy, who had no idea what personal space was—that’s how you knew him. and although the truth lied somewhere in between, one thing was certain: xavier would do anything to finally make you his. starting with asking you out, of course.

⋆.˚✮tags: bad boy xavier, punk xavier, college setting, kinda meet cute, but more like talking to each other for the first time cute, self-confident xavier, but also shy xavier, the duality of this man is insane, he has TATTOOS, and PIERCING, and he’s so djbdgdsb yess yess, i did it for myself i’m sorry, smoker xavier, but not for long hehehihi, he’s a gentleman, and totally whipped, like, absolutely whipped for the reader, sfw, yet!! if i continue it it would turn mdni for sure.

please let me know if u liked it and if u would be interested in reading more <33

“Aaaand he’s looking at you again.” Simone snapped you out of your thoughts, making your fingers stop their frantic movements over the keyboard. The two of you were sitting at the campus café, desperate to finish your assignments as quickly as you possibly could, thinking that each other’s company and your favorite sweet drinks might make the work at least a little bit more enjoyable.

And it actually worked—you were almost done with your essay, and judging by your friend’s relaxed posture and the fact that she had time to observe her surroundings, she must’ve finished hers too.

“Hmm? Who?” You asked with a small smile, noticing how the cream from her coffee sat above her upper lip, creating the illusion of a thin mustache and making her look like a cute little detective. You pulled out a napkin from the holder and brought it to her lips, muffling her next words in the process.

“Xavier, that punk guy who—oh, thank you, baby, it always makes me look like Freddie Mercury—who studies some kind of engineering.” You laughed softly at her added comment and placed the dirty napkin on your small, empty plate. “Girl, you heard what I said? Xavier. That Xavier has literally been drilling a hole in your head for the past hour or so, with those sexy—like, dangerously sexy—eyes of his. And that—that piercing—and, and, you know what? You don’t seem concerned in the slightest, what if he’s like, mad at you or something? He always looks kinda scary. Sexy-scary, but still.” The last sentence said in a whisper, and you snorted, picking up your iced drink and taking a slow sip.

“Oookay, I think I’ve heard enough.” You laughed and shook your head, one hand returning to the keyboard to save your file. “He’s not mad at me. I know him. If he’s looking our way, he probably recognized me, but is too shy to say hi.” You finished your drink with not-so-quiet slurp, your lips immediately letting go of the straw as you looked around bashfully, hoping no one had noticed.

“Too shy? Have you lost your mind? Or are there more scary-looking Xaviers around campus that I don’t know about?” She leaned forward, lowering her voice, and you closed your laptop with a sigh. You didn’t like that she called him scary, you always thought his usual pout, scowl or mask of indifference made him look kinda cute.

You checked the time on your phone and noticed that one of your electives was starting in 20 minutes—if you wanted to be there on time, you’d have to leave in a second.

“Besides, you know him? Since when?”

“Remember that one poetry elective I had to take last semester? We had a group project as the final assignment, and he was part of my group.” You watched with amusement as her mouth opened in shock, her brows furrowing. “And he’s actually really sweet. And smart, too, just not that much of a talker.” You shrugged, your eyes dropping as you remembered how the other group members had acted toward him back then.

How they talked behind his back, assuming he wouldn’t do his part of the project. How they doubted his abilities and overall academic competence as a conversation starter when he was sometimes late to meetings—and how quiet and reserved they became when he finally joined you.

You quickly got angry on his behalf, knowing that he had never been rude or disrespectful to any of you, and every single task he was assigned was sent to the group chat just a couple hours later. The fact that they treated him that way because of some rumor about him being a troublemaker, and his eye-catching, rough appearance, was what made you finally speak up.

“—He’s kind of a lost cause. He wouldn’t finish it anyway. What a guy like him can know about poetry? I’m surprised he can read at all.” One of the guys from the group commented again, taking advantage of Xavier’s absence. The meeting had just started, and you were sure he would come—just a tad bit later. You always assumed he had a class beforehand, but he never said anything when he realized that this particular hour suited the rest of you best.

He was always like this, you’d noticed it some time ago. He never wanted to cause any issues, always silently accepting and diligently working on whatever task was assigned to him. And yet, at nearly every meeting, he was dragged under the bus before he even had a chance to show up.

Their reactions surprised you a lot. You didn’t know Xavier personally before, but you knew of him, it was hard not to. He had a reputation as a reserved troublemaker and was extremely popular among girls, who seemed to try asking him out— or at least getting a good make-out session—probably every day, always without success. Ironically, that only made him a more intriguing target. He had the face of an angel, a body decorated like a fallen one, and the physique of an athlete, all on top of being seemingly unobtainable. Girls were totally head over heels for him, which actually made you pity him, knowing how much unwanted attention it probably brought.

And although he was pretty introverted and a little rough around the edges, people generally seemed to like him. He was intimidating, and he spoke his mind surely, but he didn’t seem like someone who went around looking for a fight. Within your project group, he was usually quiet and cooperative, which is why you couldn’t understand why they were suddenly being so harsh toward him.

That’s why on that day, you finally snapped.

“Oh, shut up, Matt. What do you know about poetry anyway? Most of us are here just because it fit our schedules.” You stood up from the table in the park, your designated meeting place, your hands pressing firmly against the polished wood. You couldn’t listen to Xavier being dragged anymore, judged solely on his appearance, when you knew he was actually quite engaged in the project. “And yes, maybe he’s a little late sometimes but he always shows up, and does the work perfectly. Besides, he’s never been rude to any of you, so I don’t understand why you’re always so awful to him.” Your face, and the slightly harsher edge to your voice, betrayed your annoyance, but you had finally lost the patience to care about their opinion of you.

Some of the girls who had been too afraid to speak up smiled at you encouragingly, while the main bully just shrugged, looking up at you nonchalantly with one arm draped over the back of the chair beside him.

“He looks like bad news. And gets on my nerves.” He answered simply, and if you weren’t red from anger before, you sure were now. “And he probably sells drugs or some—”

“And you look like a complete asshole right now.” You snapped, already frantically stuffing your notes into your bag. You refused to hear any more of this, not about a boy who had literally done nothing wrong to deserve such harsh words every time you met. “And you shouldn’t fucking care what he looks like. From what we know, he’s hard-working and smart, and he definitely has feelings, too. He deserves basic human respect, don’t you think?” You slung your bag over your shoulder and shot the guy another glare, completely ignoring their stares—which were definitely no longer aimed at you—and the quiet shadow that had appeared behind you some time ago. “I’ll send you the file by the end of the week. I won’t sit around, wasting time with someone who’d rather talk shit than do actual work. Now, if you’ll excuse m—”

Bump.

Your body bounced off a hard chest clad in a leather jacked, and by the time strong, tattooed hands gently grabbed your shoulders to steady you, you were already blushing.

Because Xavier was right there behind you. For God knows how long.

You snapped your head up, your panicked eyes meeting his deep blues—calm, gentle and understanding— as he continued to hold your shoulders, even though he must’ve know you had already gained your balance. You studied him for a moment: his longish hair, a mullet peeking out from the leather collar of his jacket, and ears adorned with various piercings. Your gaze drifted to his lips, drawn absentmindedly to the small silver ring on the side of his bottom lip, which he was now biting slightly.

Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, oh, God—

“S—Sorry, I was just—leaving—” You said quickly, your eyes suddenly finding the grass fascinating. You could still feel the warmth of his hands lingering on your shoulders, along with the fresh, calming scent of a fabric softener mixed with something so uniquely comforting—

“I’ll walk you home, then.” His hands traveled slowly down your arms before he let go, your cheeks burning as you avoided his gaze at all costs. It was probably the first time he had spoken to you directly, spoken to any of you directly, really. His soft voice was usually directed at no one in particular, offering sparse but meaningful comments during your brainstorming sessions.

How much had he heard? Was he angry? He didn’t look angry. Why did he want to walk you home? He never walked any of you home.

“No! I mean, no—no, thank you, that’s so nice of you, Xavier, really, but I live pretty close by. You shouldn’t bother.” He adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and you noticed him turning his head toward the others.

“I could never be bothered by—Did you just fucking roll your eyes at her?” His calm voice suddenly turned cold, the tone not raised, but much sharper. Your head turned to the person he was now staring at, and you saw Matt’s eyes widen. “I asked you a fucking question. Did you roll your eyes at her?”

“And if I did then what are you going to do? Beat me up?”

“Wow, really Matt? You’re such a child.” You turned to him fully, but an arm blocked your way, an intricate tattoo depicting the moon cycle peeking from one rolled up sleeve.

“Apologize to her and you won’t have to find out.” You looked up at Xavier and almost smiled, noticing how the role of protector had flipped. But the intense stare he used to size up the annoying colleague made the hairs on the back of your nape stand on end. He sure looked intimidating when he wanted to. “I said, apologize.”

And when the silence began to stretch, and Xavier took a deliberate step forward, you grabbed his bicep, surprisingly firm and muscular, oh wow, and started to lead him away, afraid the conversation would turn sour in a matter of seconds.

Letting him walk you home wasn’t such a bad idea after all, you decided, feeling the sweat nearly drip from your temple.

“Wait, he didn’t apologize to you yet, and I won’t let him get away until he does.” You heard Xavier’s voice a step behind you but decided to continue your path, until you reached a safer distance.

“It’s okay. I’m not accepting apologies from ignorant jerks, anyway.” You heard a soft huff of laughter from him, and your lips curved into a small smile. Your steps slowed a moment later, and you took a deep breath, watching the clouds drift slowly across the sky while the gentle wind eased the burn of your cheeks. “Were you really planning to fight him?”

He was walking beside you now, your hand no longer holding his arm, and when you finally looked his way, you were startled to find him already watching you.

You could understand why people were wary of him—when he was right there beside you, his overall size was pretty intimidating. He towered over you an impressive amount of inches, and his body type, which you used to think was rather lanky, turned out to be more on the athletic side. With his lip and ear piercings, and now, clearly, an eyebrow piercing too, two small dots on either side of his eyebrow, paired with several tattoos on his hands and his rather muted wardrobe choice, he could raise some concerns.

Could, but didn’t have to. Not when his eyes were so gentle and kind, looking at you as if you had hung all the stars in the sky. To you, he looked like a prince: gentle features, silky-soft hair and a graceful stance that made him, ironically, the least intimidating person you’d met. It actually struck you how handsome he was, too. Much more handsome up close than from the distance, your heart fluttered nervously.

“Hmm. He disrespected you so, yes. Probably. It’s better to let him think I would. I usually don’t start fights.” Was his answer, his steps matching your pace, heavy, black combat boots stepping silently beside your white sneakers. You felt a tug at your arm, and before you could protest, he started carrying your handbag along his. All your protests died in your throat the moment he looked at you and shook his head. Message received. “I only end them.” Xavier added like an afterthought, and it didn’t sound like bragging but more like stating a fact. You laughed quietly and nodded, unsure what to say as your mind drifted back to the events from moments ago.

“I’m sorry for—”

“Thank you—”

You both started to speak at the same time and quickly stopped, a nervous laugh escaping from you. You looked at him again and noticed that his eyes were crinkled at the corners too. He adjusted his handbag on his shoulder and cleared his throat.

“Forgive me, but I’ll start. Because you have nothing to apologize for.” A sigh left your lips, and you started playing with your fingers, his answer easing your worries. He looked straight ahead when he spoke again. “I heard what you said to them. How you protected me. You didn’t have to do that.”

“No, I did. It wasn’t the first time they said such things and I should’ve spoken my mind much, much sooner.” You started speaking, annoyed again, the nearly forgotten rage rising inside you once more. “You were nothing short of helpful and kind to us and it was a pleasure to work with you! I just couldn’t listen to him spouting nonsense anymore.”

And when you tried to meet his eyes again, you noticed the tips of his ears were red.

“It was a pleasure to work with you, too.” His voice like a balm to your irritation, every single second spent in his presence confirming your beliefs about him being a secret sweetheart. “But I’m used to people taking shit about me, actually. And I really don’t care what they think.”

“Well, it’s good. You shouldn’t.” His lip piercing caught your eye again, and you decided it suit him very well. You also noticed that you had slowed down, but this time you were matching the pace he set. “But it doesn’t make it fine. So next time, stand up for yourself too, okay? You were quick to do that for me, so it shouldn’t be much of a problem to treat yourself with the same kindness, right?”

Xavier’s eyes suddenly met yours, his mouth opening and closing slightly as if he couldn’t find the right words to say. The tips of his ears were red, and he put a hand behind his back, stroking at the skin lightly, nervously.

“Mhm. Right.” His eyes drifted to your face, studying it intently. You found his gaze extremely intense, peeking from behind his silver strands, but you didn’t mind. His presence was actually very calming, both his voice and body language relaxed and almost dreamy-like.

Xavier stopped suddenly, making you wonder if he had forgotten something, or if your conversation was over, and he was about to return your bag and head his own way. Instead, he leaned toward you, took your hand in his—his touch feather-light, your fingers cradled gently in his—and he brought it up to his lips.

A kiss. Gentle one, but lingering, pressed just below your knuckles. You felt the warmth of his lips and the cool touch of the metal ring against your skin, and you swallowed hard the moment he opened his eyes and looked straight at you.

And it was a look you would reminisce about for weeks to come, because of how seen you felt right in that very moment. The clouds continued their never-ending journey across the sky, and the birds chirped a melody to which you were usually unaware. A look resembling a full conversation. A look holding meaning, one that you weren’t sure you were able to grasp yet.

“Thank you, my sweet little knight.” He whispered against your skin, and you gulped, your heart racing, mind blanking for a short while. “It seems I gained my own guardian angel today.” And when you saw how genuine he was, your body melted into his touch completely, your chest swelling with the quiet pride of knowing you did something good today.

“Anytime, princess.”

And when your ears caught his sudden, bubbly laugh, short canines on full display, that seemed to surprise even him, you didn’t let it become forgotten for the months to come, keeping the sound close to your heart.

You remembered the first day you actually talked to each other other and smiled softly; the walk home filled with interesting stories and shared laughter, the intimidating bubble he’d once seemed trapped in popped the moment you spent real time with him, leaving only the image of a sweet gentleman behind.

It wasn’t the only time you talked either, although after the elective course had ended your ways parted completely: your interactions scarce and happening usually when you were in a rush, or already late, to your classes.

A smile on your lips, followed by a happy wave of your hand met with the surprised, gentle spark in his eyes, and you were already gone.

There were only a handful of times you’d managed to exchange a word or two—usually while waiting in line at the coffee machine, with him asking about your major and interests, or when you were passing by him in the library, where you’d quickly complimented his new tattoo: a constellation on his forearm, still covered by a piece of second skin.

Quick, fleeting interactions; nothing more.

However, you found yourself thinking about him sometimes. About his melodic voice, a gentleness serving a sharp contrast to how rough he could’ve seemed to others. His soft hair, how you wondered what it would feel like to bury your fingers in it and stroke the strands gently. His lean but muscular build, his strong arms adorned with ink—art so majestic you found it hard to look away sometimes, your mind wandering, wondering if he had more tattoos on other parts of his body, and if so, where would they be hidden? And what would they depict?

His lips, soft pink hue, decorated with a silver ring, the coolness of which you already felt when he kissed your hand that day. And on the most desperate of nights, you let your mind imagine how it would feel pressed against your lips.

You shook your head, the thoughts unwanted and totally unnecessary, knowing that it was just a fleeting acquaintance. You couldn’t like him that way, because you knew that you surely weren’t his type at all. You weren’t even sure why your mind started thinking about him in such a way, your type being usually the complete opposite. But you guessed that it was just because of how charming he was, how clever and funny, how awkward at times. How kind to you. And how absolutely gorgeous his eyes were—always looking at you with patience and an interesting kind of wonder.

It didn’t matter. You were only colleagues, and he was too popular and too different from you to actually be interested. So, you stopped thinking about it some time ago.

“‘Not that much of a talker,’ she says. I never—never!—heard him talk. And I had few electives with him, mind you.” The voice of your friend brought you back from wonderland. You decided not to answer anything to that, thinking that if you told her that he was the one who usually initiated conversations with you, she would probably have a stroke. “You are one lucky girl. You have your own guard dog now.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” You answered absentmindedly, not liking that label. “Or the other way around. I can be feisty.” You imitated shooting from your finger guns, and she laughed, raising her almost empty cup.

“Cheers to that!” You raised your empty cup too while throwing your laptop into your bag. “He’s still staring by the way. Hasn’t really stopped since I noticed. It would be really creepy if he wasn’t that handsome.” You snorted, zipping up your bag and looking down at your phone.

“I told you, he probably just wants to say—Oh, shit! Gotta go! The classes start in 10 and I mixed up the buildings again!”

“Oh, shoot, is that the one at the end of—?” You nodded frantically and she waved her hand dismissively. “Go! I’ll take care of your cup, see you later!” You quickly went to her and hugged her, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before practically flying out of the café, completely forgetting to send Xavier a small wave on your way out, if he really was sitting somewhere behind you.

That’s why you also missed how abruptly he stood the moment you bolted for the door—wanting to chase after you, but stoping himself when he realized you didn’t even have time for a small talk. He should’ve approached you sooner, should’ve spoken to you the moment he saw you, instead of just sitting there, desperately trying to catch a climpse of your angelic smile.

He wondered when did he loose his balls, when even the simple idea of talking to you made his heart flutter nervously, his hands automatically reaching to scratch at the ink submerged in his skin. He was pathetic, and it was really starting to get on his nerves.

And at that moment his eyes locked with those of your friend, her lips slowly curling into a knowing smile as she caught him almost running after you. She wiggled her eyebrows at him, and in that instant he finally decided to stop being a coward.

He couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing you everyday anymore.

He grabbed his bag and started walking purposely to the place which you occupied only moments before. He needed information and he would get it, even if he would have to beg for it.

“Oho. I knew it.” Your friend said, seconds before he even managed to introduce himself.

And he realized that he’d known it too. Almost from the moment he first saw you.

You were exhausted to say the least.

Your classes dragged on, making your head hurt from staring at the constantly changing slides. Your whole body felt sore, and you stretched the moment you reached the lockers—arms raised, back arched, a moan almost escaping your lips.

Your poor legs practically begged for the short trip back to your apartment, if the slight numbness in them wasn’t already enough of a sign of stagnation.

You opened your eyes lazily and turned the key in your locker, wanting to gather your things as quickly as possible and finally see the light of day.

“Hey.” A low greeting from right behind you made you spin around too quickly, your back bumping against the locker. It startled you when you noticed how close he was standing, towering over you.

Xavier.

In all his tattooed glory, hair unruly as always, and his pretty eyes boring straight into yours. He hissed when you made contact with the locker, his large hand immediately coming to rest on the back of your head, gently caressing it, afraid you had taken the hit. You blushed, the contact sudden and unexpected, his body possibly closer to yours than ever before.

“Are you okay?” The hand on the back of your head slid down slightly, now resting on the nape of your neck. The hold was gentle, intimate. You wondered if he realized it. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m sorry.” His thumb stroked the skin on your neck, and your cheeks caught fire.

You gulped and shook your head, sighing as the tension in your shoulders eased when you saw his familiar face.

“It’s okay. I’m not hurt, and I didn’t hit my head, so don’t worry.” His expression visibly shifted, relief written all over his face. But his hand didn’t leave your neck. “Sorry, hi. Hi. I just didn’t expect you here.” You didn’t expect anyone really, it was already late for classes and if any were to take place, everyone would already be inside classrooms.

His presence was especially puzzling, it wasn’t even his faculty, did he had another elective here?

“I wanted to see you.” Straightforward answer, as usual. You send him a small smile, thinking back to earlier when you almost met at the café; if it hadn’t been for you being in such a hurry. He must’ve felt bad for not coming up to you, especially since he probably waited for you to finish your classes. But why did he care so much? “And I was actually thinking… Hoping that…” His hand slid away from the back of your neck and began playing absentmindedly with a strand of your hair, while you struggled to keep the blush from darkening your cheeks even further.

He was so close. Too close. You could almost feel his breath warming up your face and see your reflection staring back from the little silver dots in his eyebrow. An inch or two more, and you were sure his hair would brush your forehead, given how much he was leaning into your space.

But he was always like this whenever you two crossed paths—his body leaning in too close to be just friendly, paying no mind to your personal space. His hands were also always reaching out for you as if he couldn’t help it: fixing the hair that fell into your face, stroking your arm, or even occasionally brushing your nose with his knuckle when you said something that made him chuckle.

You thought this was his way of being friendly and you enjoyed it, ignoring the fact that it only seemed to fuel your silly little crush. Besides, you found it very endearing that he was so distant and cold with others, yet so touchy-feely with the ones he liked. It made you feel special, if not a little hopeful.

And that’s when the sharp smell hit you, a cigarette smoke mixed with his pleasant, soft cologne. You scrunched up your nose and pressed a hand against his chest to create some more distance between you.

“Oof, you smoked again.” You couldn’t help but comment, seeing his brows furrowing in confusion upon your slight push of his chest.

“You can still smell it? I even got some gum.” To prove his point, he blew a small bubble from his lips, a minty scent reaching your nose when he popped it a second later, the corners of his lips lifting in a small, proud smirk.

“It’s all over your clothes, Xavier. The smoke seeped right into them. You need a bath, not a gum.” Quiet, unserious little “ouch” left his lips, and you tugged at his black sweatshirt, only now noticing a small cat plushie hanging from one of his sleeves.

So cute. You loved that accent, your finger going to poke at the accessory with an exaggerated sigh. “How could you do it to this adorable little thing?”

“It’ll live. Always does.” His eyes followed your finger still gently touching the plushie, “He’s a tough guy, can handle a bit of smoke. He’d take a drag too if he could, probably.” You sent him a half-serious glare and pulled your hand away from his arm, signaling defeat. You noticed he was still standing right where you had pushed him back to, more mindful of your space.

You turned your back to him to open your locker again, and pulled out your bag, along with your light jacket. However, before you could even sling the bag over your shoulder, he already grabbed hold of it, his fingers brushing against yours in the process.

“Does it bother you?” Xavier asked, his voice unsure, your bag already on his arm. The pastel-colored plushies hanging from it were a sharp contrast to his appearance. You looked at him again after making sure you had closed the locker. “The smell of smoke, I mean.” His beautiful blues bore into your eyes, his teeth biting at the lip ring nervously.

“Well, I can’t say I like it. I don’t think anyone really does.” He looked at you like a scolded puppy, his hair falling into his eyes when he turned his head to the side. “But it’s your choice, really, I can’t tell you how you should live. It’s just… really sad to know that you’re destroying your lungs daily.”

“Hmm, yeah. It is pretty sad.” Although a pout marked Xavier’s face now, you noticed a slight playfulness in his voice. Then, a sudden spark appeared in his eyes, as if an idea had just formed in his mind. “I could die. You wouldn’t want that to happen, am I right?” He leaned toward you again, one hand placed beside your head, his body almost trapping you against the lockers, your back pressed to the cool metal again. His fingers stroked your wrist, then trailed up to your forearm, his stormy blue eyes following the movement attentively.

“Y—You’re acting weird.” You commented weakly, your heart increasing its beating against your chest. He was so close, too close, his body towering over yours, making you see only him. You nervously looked around, hoping no one saw you, but you already knew you were alone. “Of course I wouldn’t, but—” You wanted to comment on his unusual boldness, ask a question to why was he suddenly acting like this, but he cut you off before you could say another word.

“I’ll quit, then.” His face so close you could smell the mint of the gum and feel the coldness of his breath on your cheek. You trembled unconsciously. “I don’t want you to be worried. But, I think I would like to ask for something in exchange.”

“Ah, so that’s what it’s all about, you’re cozying up to me because you want someth—”

“A date.” Your mouth closed instantly, eyes meeting his in shock. “There’s this gig that I would love to take you to, this weekend. Open-air, starts at midnight. We could—we could grab a bite too right before it starts? If you’d want to, of course.” You watched as his confidence slowly melted as he was speaking, voice trembling nervously at times, the tips of his ears turning red.

It was probably the longest reply he ever gave you, his sentences usually short and precise. And as you stared at him in disbelief, at his red ears and lip that he was now nervously biting despite acting so tough moments before, your chest filled with a warm, fuzzy feeling of your affections being reciprocated.

He was asking you out on a date.

Xavier, that Xavier: hot, intimidating, unbothered, extremely popular and seemingly unapproachable in the eyes of others.

Xavier, an intelligent, soft, socially awkward and extremely sweet little crush of yours was asking you out on a date.

You had to force yourself not to squeal, the idea that he found you attractive too making you nearly melt right into his chest, that seemed to be getting closer and closer with every second. You were both so different from each other, how could you predict that you actually had a chance with him? You thought that your quick, daily encounters was only him being nice, maybe excited to have a new friend.

Your lips curled into a smile, eyes sparkling with excitement you couldn’t contain.

“Is it that band you were talking about last week?” The memory of catching him staring excitedly at his phone right before you approached him during one of your short class breaks was still fresh in your mind. His fingers had been fidgeting with the cap he wore that day, turning it around as he leaned in to show you the newly added dates—one of which was very close to Linkon.

“Yeah. My favorite one.” He was getting more and more nervous, his hand was touching the nape of his neck now. “And I know these things can be loud and stuffy but I would protect you. You’d be safe with me, I swear, I wouldn’t let anyone else—”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” His head lowered even closer, the tips of your noses nearly touching. His eyes half-lidded, gazing down at you, his heart skipping a beat.

“Mhm. I would love to go with you.” Afraid to stumble over your words, your answer a gentle whisper. “Even without you quitting smoking. Buuut, it’s a really nice bonus.” Xavier chuckled, his head dropping to bring his lips closer to your ear.

“That so?” You had no idea, but he hid his head from your gaze for the widest of smiles to appear on his face. He closed his eyes and let himself bask in your closeness and sweet scent, mentally thankful for his burst of confidence earlier. “Then maybe the whole quitting thing isn’t really necessary?”

“Ah-ah. No takesies backsies—”

“No wha—”

“A promise is a promise.” You stated surely, your finger pressing on his chest as a warning. If he said he’ll quit, he better have to quit. Especially since now the possibility of him being closer to you daily has increased immensely. “If you want to reach for a cigarette now, you better pop in some gum. Or some candy, or ask for a—”

“Kiss?”

Your head turned his way just as his forehead rested on your shoulder. One eye opened, staring at you, a smirk lingering on his lips, the piercing there once again catching your attention.

Would you feel it when his mouth finally pressed to yours? Would it be forceful and bruising, or would he take his time, easing you into it with soft patience? He was a walking enigma, shy and gentle one moment, confident and quick the next. What side of him would you uncover if you let yourself get closer?

“Don’t overthink it or I might actually take your silence as a yes.” You breath hitched the moment he turned his head and you felt his lips touching the skin below your ear. Not a kiss, just a fleeting warmth of his mouth, the coolness of the ring causing goosebumps to appear on your skin. He took a step back, taking all the warmth away and you nearly chased after him to bring it back.

What was he doing to you?

His knuckles brushed your flushed cheek, and your eyelashes fluttered, the touch once again unexpected.

“First, you have to keep your end of the deal. Then we’ll see.” You learned that you were a literal, freaking master at feigning confidence, given how weak your legs felt and how much you wanted to pass out while meeting his affectionate gaze.

His face was slightly flushed too. Clearly affected, despite his confident demeanor. Maybe you weren’t that different from each other, after all.

“We will.” Xavier wet his lips, the tip of his pink tongue barely peeking out before his teeth sank into the plush skin— like he was already imagining how it would feel like. Maybe holding himself back from satisfying his curiosity right then and there. “I’ll make sure we will. Wouldn’t dare to miss the chance, angel.”

And when he walked you home that day, your bag swinging from his broad shoulder and your fingers brushing from time to time, sending pleasant sparks between you—you realized that, despite your differences, you’d never felt such a connection with anyone before. Talking with him was so easy, the way the walk home felt too short not to miss the comforting presence of his for hours after. And you were sure he felt the same, from the way he joked about not giving your bag back, to the goodbye hug you initiated, but he prolonged, his strong arms wrapping gently around your waist, reluctant to let go. And then there was the longing glance he gave you, just seconds before you closed the door.

A sharp ping of a new message cut through the air not long after, a string of new numbers followed by a simple sentences, ones that made your heart beat faster again.

keep thinking that I shouldve made up some lame excuse just to spend more time with U. The cat plushie said he misses U. I didn’t know he could read my mind — Xavier

And with a chuckle and a blush, you already knew that you were slowly falling in love—and you just hoped that when it fully bloomed, he would be there to help you care for it.

As for the kiss—the weekend couldn’t come soon enough.

🤍 if you liked it, you can support me here! https://ko-fi.com/kitimeq <3

every single one counts, it helps me grow and makes me feel that writing is not a waste of time!! <3

please like, reblog and COMMENT if u liked it!! i would love to know if i should continue it—i wrote it as a quick, cute bad boy xavier story. i would love to make it mdni ofc skdhshdg <33

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aetherscore · 15 days ago

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[Translated Comic] Kiss

Original artist: 这回是真的了

Source ll Permission

❀ Please do not repost ❀

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aetherscore · 16 days ago

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giving more info on cowboy!caleb au..

caleb used to do bullriding, but a pretty gnarly injury to his right arm caused him to stop. he recovered after a long while but has stopped bullriding — he still participates in rodeos (roping competitions mainly) every once in a while tho! he's always amongst the winners and often spotted tending to the horses after the rodeo. his favorite sport is barrel racing, and ambrosia is a local champion.

other than that, he chooses to stay and help out at the ranch — even though he does have a college degree in aerospace engineering, mind you. it feels like home, and although he isn't exactly an introvert, there's a lot of comfort in being surrounded by the animals (plus he couldn't possibly leave ambrosia to another cowboy's hands — that's his darling horse).

speaking of his horse, ambrosia is a black thoroughbred mare. his father told him to be careful with picking a name since he couldn't change it afterward (cowboy superstition), and young caleb decided to name her ambrosia because of the star marking on her face that looked a bit like an apple shape. honeycrisp was too common of a name, but ambrosia flowed nicely — he could also call her rosie. she's an insanely smart mare, and caleb's had her since he was 14. she's a bit wary of strangers and has a hard time letting anyone but caleb ride her.

caleb's also pretty popular within the community! i mean, who wouldn't fall for that smile.. but he genuinely is a breath of fresh air, and the elders adore him. lots of the older gentlemen say that he reminds them of real cowboys, their own grandfathers. he's an honest and hard-working man who gets along with kids and adults alike and a gorgeous face — those who dislike him are few and far between.

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aetherscore · 16 days ago

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𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 | LADS + when you leave a hickey on them

warnings: suggestive (not smut), fluff, biting, allusions to sex, some of them can be hinted at the LI being more submissive in bed (try and guess who lol), raf's myth is vaguely mentioned

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── xavier

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── zayne

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── rafayel

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── sylus

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── caleb

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aetherscore · 18 days ago

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Happy Juneleb <3

Ig: @starryeyeddraws

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aetherscore · 20 days ago

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Sylus loves feeding you.

Whether you're out at an expensive restaurant, curled up on the couch eating takeout, or sitting at the table and sharing a meal you prepared together.

Well, together is a strong word, he did most of the work while you sat on the counter swinging your legs and smiling at him.

Not like he's complaining, not in the slightest.

He loves the way your eyes light up when you take the first bite, the little happy dance you do when you chew, the sigh of content when you're done with your food, stuffed and happy.

He learns all your favorites too, if you're having a bad day, suddenly he's right beside you with your favorite snack or dessert, you think a good day couldn't get any better? He surprises you by taking you to your favorite sandwich place.

He definitely hoards all your favorites snacks, has a designated nest room for what you so eloquently call "sleepy snack time" which includes the comfiest bean bag chair, multiple pillows and blankets, a projector, a record player, and, of course, a snack cart. Filled with all of your favorite treats and even equipped with a mini fridge for ice cream and drinks.

When he surprised you with it after a long, grueling day, you damn near burst into tears as you hugged him tight, quietly thanking him over and over.

That night, you two spent the hours until dawn curled up together, your comfort show gently playing on the projector as you lounged in his arms, hand still halfway inside a family pack of peanut butter m&ms as you snoozed, and in his mind, he swears that one day soon, that hand is going to bear his ring.

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aetherscore · 20 days ago

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🎏lantern lights~ 🧧✨️

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aetherscore · 22 days ago

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My Space | LaDS Sylus x Reader Fic

Summary: Sylus is accustomed to a lavish lifestyle. When he comes over to your apartment for the first time you are plagued with feelings of insecurity. He comforts you and shows you that you have nothing to be insecure about. (I hate summaries).

Pairing: SylusxReader (Non-mc? MC? Could be either)

Content: Mostly fluff, a bit suggestive, mentions of arousal, Sylus really enjoys spending his money on you.

Word Count: 2.9K

Author’s Note: This is the first thing I have written in soooooo long. Like years. So if it’s total shit, I apologize. If you read this, I hope you somewhat enjoy it. The more I write the better it will get. I just need to get stuff out of my head, start sharing, and not overthink it. Enjoy or don’t, just don’t tell me if you don’t :)

You couldn’t help but pace around the living room of your apartment. Every spot had been cleaned and checked twice over but there was no calming down the antsy feeling in your stomach. Anxious thoughts filled your mind, ‘What if I missed something? Is my decor too plain? He’s used to luxury; my space is so small compared to his. I hope he’s not uncomfortable.” Sylus was on his way to your apartment for the first time. Until this point, all of your time with him had been spent either out in the city or in Sylus’ extravagant mansion. As your relationship slowly progressed into what it is now, ambiguously intimate and occasionally romantic, he had made multiple requests to come over to your apartment. At first you took it as unserious flirting but after the fourth mention of it, you realized he was being sincere. You had put it off as long as you could. It was hard not to feel a bit self-conscious about how much less you had. Even though you did well for yourself, Sylus’ wealth was untouchable and he constantly used it to spoil you. Not being able to do anything like that for him upset you sometimes. Deep down you knew Sylus didn’t care about that but that knowledge was really deep down and you didn’t currently have the will to dig that far.

Three loud knocks sounded at your door and your heart began to race. Whether it was more from your nervousness of Sylus seeing your place for the first time or the excitement of seeing him, you weren’t sure. You quickly made your way to the door and looked through the peephole. There he was, tall, broad, and gorgeous as ever. He fiddled with his hair a bit and there was a look of something unfamiliar in his eyes. Was it anticipation, eagerness, uncertainty? Surely he wasn’t nervous like you. Sylus was consistently composed and confident, moving through life as if nothing in the world could throw him off balance. Something in your heart squeezed to get this rare glimpse of a moment where his composure was even the tiniest bit wavered.

He moved to knock again and you quickly opened the door before his knuckles could reach it. As soon as his gaze met yours affection filled his eyes, “Hello, kitten. Are you going to invite me in?”

You smiled, “Mmm, I’m not sure. I don’t make a habit of having shady individuals over to my apartment.”

Sylus chuckled and slipped passed you through the front door, “You’re the one who called this shady individual over.” He stopped in the entryway, looking around the space in front of him where your living room and kitchen were. “Cute,” he turned back and smirked at you, “It’s very you, sweetie.”

Unsure of what he meant by that, you bent down to the shoe rack next to your door and grabbed a pair of slippers, “It’s not much but I love it.” You dropped the slippers in front of Sylus for him and moved into the living room, “I would give you a tour but you can pretty much see everything from here.”

“What about your bedroom?” You caught Sylus’ eyes and they sparkled with mischief and desire. He was teasing you but there seemed to be a quiet promise underlying his words.

There was no helping the light blush that rose in your cheeks, “Let’s come back to that later.”

A short laugh escaped Sylus and he walked through your living room, slippers now snug on his feet. His attention was turned to the bookshelves that lined the wall around your television. The shelves were full of books, some you had read but most unopened, as well as plushies, pictures, and plastic plants. He perused the contents of the shelves with a soft smile on his face. It was clear he was enjoying this glimpse into your interests. As he moved across the shelves he came to a sudden stop, something particular grabbing his attention. His hand reached out to grab a small picture frame. An expression of surprise took over his features and his head shook softly, “Well look here,” He turned to you and lifted the frame in your direction, “I guess I have been here before.”

In the frame was a picture of you and Sylus. You were at an arcade, a line of claw machines sat behind you. In your arms was a plush penguin that Sylus had won you after countless attempts. Both of you were unsure of how much money he had actually ended up spending but you were sure he could have bought you a least five of the plushies online for the amount he spent on the one in the claw machine. It was the first time you and Sylus had done something that felt remotely like a date and you wanted to commemorate it with a picture. Of course, he had acted disinterested in taking it, letting you know that he was saying yes because you wanted to. However when you looked back at the photo your heart burst when you saw Sylus. While you smiled brightly at the camera his eyes were set on you, soft and adoring. It was the most gentle expression you had ever seen on his face. It was the look of a man in love. For this reason you had printed the photo as soon as you got home that evening. Something in you knew that it marked a beginning for you two.

Perhaps you should be embarrassed that you had a framed picture of the two of you displayed in your home but you knew Sylus was silently reveling in his discovery. Not so he could hold it over you but because it revealed something about your feelings towards him. With no words to say, you simply shrugged at him.

Sylus put the picture back and moved to the kitchen. He took his time as he opened your refrigerator and scanned it’s contents then began opening all of your cabinets and drawers. You raised an eyebrow watching him, “Are you looking for something specific or do you just enjoy snooping?”

He continued his search of your kitchen space, “I just want to get an idea of where everything is.” His tone indicated this is a space he planned to spend more time in. After he closed the last cabinet he came to stand in front of you, “There wasn’t much food in there.” He nodded towards the refrigerator, “Do you need me to order you some groceries?”

You rolled your eyes, “No, I’m perfectly capable of getting my own groceries. It’s just the end of the week. I was planning on going to the store tomorrow. Tonight is takeout night.”

Sylus came closer to you, “Next time I’ll cook us dinner.”

“You’re the guest here. Next time I’ll cook us dinner.”

“Kitten,” his hand came to rest on the top of your head, “You and I both know in the kitchen you are a lethal weapon.” Memories of your first dinner at Sylus’ drifted through your mind. He had insisted you just sit and watch as he prepared steak and salad. You wanted to be helpful though and you knew if you pressed hard enough, gave him your best kitten eyes, and cuddled close to him he would have no chance at resisting. He decided that chopping cucumbers for the salad was the best way you could be helpful. It felt like a child’s task but at least it was something. However, you managed to slice your finger and Sylus spent five minutes tending to your wound before putting you on steak watch duty. You were supposed to flip the steak after three minutes and then let him know you had done so. It sounded simple enough but you got distracted watching Sylus cut vegetables and wash the lettuce. After a while, he felt your eyes on him. He looked up and grinned at you, then his eyes shifted to the steak on the stove next to you, “You haven’t flipped it yet?” That snapped you out of your Sylus induced trance. When you flipped it over it was clear this cut was ruined. Neither of you were too interested in medium-well done steak and that was being generous. After that, you were ordered to sit on the sofa until dinner was ready

You shook your head, forcing the memory to dissipate, “Alright, I get it. You can cook for us next time.”

Sylus smiled at you and put his arm around your shoulder. He led you to the couch where you sat nestled in his side. The two of you put on a movie while you decided on what to eat. The decision went the way it always did between the two of you; you said you didn’t have any preference and then rejected every restaurant Sylus suggested. After five tries he sighed, pulled out his phone, and put an order in somewhere. He wouldn’t tell you where just that you should trust him and you wouldn’t be disappointed. He pulled you closer and you sank deep into the couch, putting your feet up on the coffee table in front of you. There was no doubt in your mind that whatever food Sylus had ordered would be exactly what you were in the mood for.

The two of you sat quietly on the couch, watching the movie and waiting for your food to arrive. Every so often Sylus would shift next to you. It didn’t register at first but as it continued you realized how small your couch was and how large Sylus was. It certainly wasn’t the large, plush, luxury sofa that sat in his living room. Suddenly a wave of thoughts hit you, ‘He’s not comfortable here. Why would he want to spend time somewhere he isn’t comfortable? He’s probably desperately waiting for the food to arrive so he can get up.’

You looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of the discomfort you were so sure he was experiencing. His eyes shifted from the movie to you with a quirked eyebrow, “Am I more interesting than the movie?”

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, “No, that’s not it.” You sat up and turned towards Sylus, “Are you comfortable?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “I was more comfortable when you had your head on my shoulder.” It was a light and teasing response.

You shook your head, “I’m being serious.” There was a severity in your tone that raised a flag in Sylus’ mind.

“Okay,” he shifted his body to fully face you, “of course I’m comfortable. Why are you worried about that?”

You glanced down at your lap, “You seem cramped here. It’s a smaller couch than you’re used to and not nearly as soft.” The moment the words left your mouth you flushed with embarrassment. While the insecurity was overwhelming your thoughts it sounded trivial when said out loud.

Sylus reached a hand out to tuck your hair behind your ear and cup your cheek, “Have I done something to make you think I care about the size of your couch, kitten?”

“It’s just-“ your eyes squeeze shut for a moment. You can’t believe you’re actually about to admit to your inferiority complex. “It’s just, you live a pretty extravagant lifestyle and you’re always spending money on me. I can’t give you anything like the things you give me.”

Suddenly Sylus was leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips. It was gentle and light, barely there, but his mouth lingered on yours. A few moments passed and he pulled back, his thumb rubbing across your cheek, “I don’t need you to give me anything, sweetie.”

“I know you don’t need me to. I don’t need you to do any of the things you do for me either, but that doesn’t stop you.”

He hummed, “I suppose it doesn’t.” Silence sat between the two of you as you looked at each other. Sylus seemed to be searching for something in your eyes. It didn’t take him long to find it as he sighed and dropped his head, “I’m sorry.”

Panic shot through your body, “Sorry? What could you possibly have to be sorry for?”

“I didn’t consider how my frivolous spending on you might make you feel.” He scooted closer to you and pulled towards him, pressing your head to his chest, “It makes me feel so good, I just assumed it was the same for you.”

You wrapped your arms around his torso, “It makes you feel good to spend money on me?”

“Of course, kitten.” A laugh rumbled in his chest, “Why on earth would I do it otherwise?”

Behind him, you pulled your arms tighter, bringing your torso flush to his, “Out of habit, I guess? Or because you felt bad for me that I don’t have the things you have.”

“You thought I wanted to elevate your lifestyle to what you believe my standards are?”

“Yea,” you nodded your face against his chest, “I guess you could put it like that.”

Sylus leaned back and put his fingers under your chin to lift your gaze to him, “I don’t believe having money makes me better than you, sweetie. Maybe other people, but not you.” He leans down to press a soft kiss on your right cheek, your forehead, then your left cheek. “I’m not spending money on you because I need you to have expensive things. I do it because I want to give you everything.” Sylus takes your hand in his and presses it to his heart, “Do you feel that?” Beneath your hand his heartbeat drummed rapidly. For some reason it made you blush. “This is what it does to me, spending my money on you.”

His confession felt overwhelmingly intimate. There was something sensual in his voice that made your brain fuzzy. “I don’t understand.”

Sylus dropped his head as he laughed, “Okay, kitten. Let me be more direct.” His hands made their way down your back, sliding under your ass. In one swift motion he lifted you up and placed you on his lap. His voice was quiet when he leaned in to your ear, “It turns me on to use my money to buy you whatever you want.”

There was no hiding the shiver that ran over your body. The two of you often teased each other and as your relationship progressed the teasing slowly became more suggestive. This was the first time Sylus had made such a blatant declaration though. His flirtation flustered you and you weren’t sure how to respond. Thankfully you were saved by the ring of the doorbell. “The food.” Your voice barely a whisper as you quickly scrambled off Sylus and made your way to the front door. Behind you he huffed out a laugh and rose off the couch. You grabbed the food from in front of your entryway and brought it into the kitchen, all the while avoiding eye contact with Sylus. Even without looking at him directly you could feel his gaze burning into you. As you began taking the food out of the bags, you took deep breaths to try and steady your racing heart. It was futile, of course, and only made worse by the strong arms that placed themselves on either side of you, leaning on the kitchen table.

“Why won’t you look at me, sweetie?” Sylus brought his mouth close to your ear, his breath warm and tickling. The shiver returned and you knew he was grinning.

“I’m just trying to get the food out.”

Sylus’ strong hands gripped your shoulders and he gently turned you to face him. The look in his eyes was searing and he dragged his hands down your arms tortuously slow. Desire was thick in the air between you. This wasn’t the first time you had a moment like this but it was still overwhelming for you. No one had ever wanted you the way Sylus did, desperately and unyielding. You were still figuring out how to match his confidence.

“Leave the food for a bit.” He leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek, your neck, your collarbone.

You let your head fall back a bit, eyes fluttering shut, “Sylus, it will get cold.”

“I’ll order us more.” Suddenly you were hoisted up with a yelp, legs wrapping around Sylus’ waist. “I think it’s time you gave me a tour of your bedroom, kitten.” His lips claimed yours in a hungry kiss, his true intention never more clear. After a few moments Sylus pulled back, breath heavy and hot, lips already turning a deeper red. “Where?” He whispered.

Your brain was foggy with need making it difficult to form words. You pointed in the direction of a door across the living room. This made him smirk, clearly enjoying your sudden loss for words. As he carried you towards the door he dove back in for your lips. It was impossibly gentle and intense at the same time. One thought crossed your mind as you savored the taste of him and heard the door open, ‘Sylus is about to become very acquainted with my bedroom.’

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