emslittlelibrary

[emslittlelibrary]

me serenading y’all because you love biggest fan sylus as much as i do 😫🎧🫶🏽 thank you for the likes, reblogs, tags, and overall support on ALLL my fics so far! + hiii to everyone who has followed recently too! 😛💕💕 still thought no one would know my profile existed yet lol. you’re all so kind to lil ol’ me 😙😙 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

[emslittlelibrary]

⭑ sylus is your biggest fan. ⭑

⭑ your blind date with sylus is going well. it turns out even better when he admits to you that he’s a fan of your livestreams. ౨ৎ

💌 ⁀➴ content warnings: 18+! lowercase intended. non-evol au. blind date sylus. glasses + mullet sylus. nervous & awkward sylus. babbling sylus. video game streamer reader. pet names (kitten, sweetie, gorgeous). mutual masturbation. dirty talk. spitting. praise. oral sex (s. + r. receiving).

💌 ⁀➴ wc: 4.8k (i got way too excited. i’m only human 🧍🏽‍♀️ you’ll see, y’all). song mention: fantasy. bazzi.

⭑ a note from 乇m! ⭑ so idk what came over me w this one but be prepared because once i started just couldn’t stop. the feral energy is on 10(thousand). also expect more submissive nervous glasses + mullet sylus in the near future. i can’t resist this man EVER.

💌 ⁀➴ thank you for reading! ౨ৎ

so far, sylus was your best blind date yet.

definitely your most attractive date—that, you knew for sure. and immediately. it took only that first glimpse of him, at his long, silken sweeps of angel silver hair, the dark, treasure red shade of his eyes, those gold-framed glasses, the grind of his jaw as he chewed at a wad of red gum, his broad chest, his taut, crossed arms, his towering height—every last one of his features proved more convincing and heart-rattling than the last.

the tension was immediate, too. the type that drizzled in your chest, oozing in careful, trickling rivulets that were too sticky to sponge away, from the moment you heard the resonance of his honeyed voice and caught the faint scent of cinnamon on his tounge as he pulled you in for the initial hug. you had to question whether you were still on the same planet as this man.

it was a simple picnic in the park. you shared soft sandwiches and fruit and chocolate and sweet teas, lounging together on a quilt, daisy-blossom blanket. he was a little shy, perhaps nervous. he did say this was the first blind date he’s ever agreed to. you found it endearing that this marble sculpture of a man had an awkward side, particularly around you.

if you talked for long enough, he would get distracted by one of your features, sometimes the petaled brush of your lashes or the white satin ribbon at the heart of your pink checkered sundress. hm? he would say, before clearing his throat and stuttering on his next breath when he asked you to repeat yourself. he had a pattern of looking down at the nearby flowerbed or savoring a bite of a strawberry whenever you giggled at something he said. he also had a much more dangerous pattern of tilting his brow, always in tandem with his quiet, dark-red smirk, within stints of patient silence, most often spent exchanging lingering, longing glances.

you refused to end the date casually. at the very least, you had to kiss this man. which is why, you invited him over to your place, making up some excuse about wanting him to try the sea salt caramel ice cream sandwiches you had stored away in your freezer, so he could try them for the first time—when, in all honesty, you wanted him to try you instead.

you really thought you were being strategic about it, too. sure, the two of you could’ve stayed in the kitchen like you were supposed to—but you wanted to change first, since your dress sinched pretty tight on your waist, and you preferred to wear something cozier while you were at home.

you invited him to your bedroom, under the guise that your bed was more comfortable than the living room couch, and maybe he could help you choose which tank top to wear while he waited. the cheetah-print one with baby pink straps and accents? or the cherry-print one with the word lover girl bedazzled in silver rhinestones across the chest? he picked the cherries, which didn’t surprise you.

you returned from the bathroom, in your cherry-scented baby tee, gray sweats, and an extra layer of candy pie lip gloss glittering your lips—but sylus was standing by the doorway, cracking his knuckles with this evasive look in his eyes. he looked more nervous than ever.

“everything okay?” you asked.

he didn’t answer. “i should tell you something."

you shrugged with a pleasant smile, warm and inviting. he snuck the words in behind an efforted sigh.

“i know you. from—” he hoarsed out another hard breath, “from your streams. i-i—i watch your streams."

your smile wouldn’t budge, and in fact could’ve flowered out of control had you not nipped it with your teeth. you glanced briefly at your desk in the far corner of the room, fitted with your warm body of a pc, neon starlight lighting, and a plush, strawberry pink gaming chair. it was completely cluttered—you forgot to organize everything after your last live—with powder puff headphones, your prismatic keyboard, cloudy daydream controllers from a recent sponsor, and trinkets of cats, desserts, bubbles, and stuffed video game plushies. there was no way of hiding it, but luckily, you never cared to.

“oh,” you said simply, "that’s fun. so you saw the setup and realized, or did it get too real all of a sudden?"

“no, you don’t understand, i—i really like your streams. i watch them, a-a lot. and i should’ve told you sooner but i just—you look unreal in person, and . . . but i couldn’t let things go too far without you knowing."

a feverish thrill warmed your heart for a moment—at the thought of this man, someone like sylus, watching your livestreams. laughing alongside you, eating dinner or washing the dishes or folding laundry with your voice echoing in the background, maybe even sending out a message in chat, hoping you would read it aloud and respond. was he subbed? has he gifted bits or used one of your emotes—this was going too far. if you let your thoughts spiral any longer, you may ask for his username.

“thanks for telling me, but i really couldn’t care less. i’m actually flattered. it’s really nice when someone enjoys what i do, you know?"

he blinked. then said, “you really don’t care?"

you shook your head softly. “i mean, as long as it’s not weird for you. it’s not like you’re a stalker since you were set up on this date with me. and you’re not one of those pervs who, i don’t know, jerks off to my voice or something. so it’s nothing."

his stare faltered, dark red eyes flickering to the side before returning to yours. his mouth shifted ever so slightly, on the brink of betraying whatever intrusive thought just came to mind.

“wait—woah, what was that look?"

“what?"

you could tell he was feigning innocence. “you know what i’m talking about. i saw that. what is it?"

“nothing,” he insisted meekly, “nothing, nothing."

“you don’t really jerk off to my voice, do you? now that i wanna know."

“no! no, seriously, i don’t do that, i just—"

he clamped his teeth down on his red gum again, squeezing out the flavor like a stress ball. you leaned back against the doorframe with crossed arms and a daring grin, nudging your tongue into your inner cheek. to this, he had to surrender.

“i’ve . . . i’ve thought about it—a-about you—"

you lurched forward. “about me?"

“never while you were streaming, but—but sometimes right after, o-or—"

your heart threatened to flip inside-out with a heavy, aching thump. there was no way. forget chuckling at your jokes or watching you instead of the tv or resubbing to your channel—your blind date, sylus, liked your livestreams so much that he got off on it afterwards.

“wait, really?"

he shook his head with a light scoff. “i know. it’s weird, and if you want me to leave, then—"

“no, i actually . . . i think it’s hot."

his stare tensed, sharpened by slanted brows and the slight narrow of his eyes. you reached for his wrist, then led him to the foot of your bed, gesturing for him to sit. he settled into the edge of your mattress with stiff, even shoulders, meanwhile you curled up in your desk chair, seated across from him. you hugged your legs to your chest with this slow, honey-sweet smile on your lips and a mischevious glint in your eye. sylus had your full attention now. and you, in return, had every last drop of his.

“so you really think about me, when you . . ."

he chuckled, cold and a bit dry. “how many times would you like me to say it? hm? why would i willingly admit this to you if it wasn’t true?"

you stretched your bottom lip a bit. “you haven’t said it exactly."

“so that’s it? you need to hear it? you need me to tell you outright that after i watch your streams, i have to stroke my dick in the shower until i cum for you? does that make it clearer?"

a thin glaze of lust syruped your daydream eyes. his cheeks flushed on cue, and the very tips of his ears burned blush red. he cleared his throat again, that nervous tic of his, and pinched his glasses further up his nose as he shifted in his jeans. your gaze followed the motion of his hand, targeting the tight, firm bulge prodding his dark pants. it looked thick and heavy. your mouth practically watered at the sight of it.

“you can’t look at me like that,” he breathed out, “fuck, i’ve never seen this—this primal look in your eyes, i . . . i-i think i should go."

“what if i wanna see? do you still think you should go?"

his lips parted silently, as his eyes lingered on the twirl of a strand of hair around your finger and the clench of your thighs closer together. he said nothing, for a short while.

you whispered, “you can say yes, sylus. you can leave."

“why would i do that?” he whispered back.

you propped your chin on your knee with a coquettish grin. “then can i see what you look like? please, sylus?"

“oh god,” he gritted out, as he palmed the crotch of his jeans.

“do you need help?"

he cleared the dryness in his throat, nearly coughing into his fist, and responded with a timid shake of his head. the pace of his breaths unsteadied as he worked at his belt. you swallowed hard when he tossed it aside on your marshmallow pink bedspread, heavy leather contrasting with your innocent, cloudlike comforter.

“the fuck is this?” he sighed to himself, hooking his zipper, “the fuck am i doing?"

“you can sit back. get comfortable,” you directed him.

he was so obedient to you that giving him instructions felt like waving a magic wand. this huge, divined-by-heaven masterpiece of a man was sitting back in your bed, prepared to reenact how he jerked off to the thought of you. you squeezed your thighs tighter, seeking friction to extinguish the fever between your legs.

then, a flutter fanned your pulsing heat when he finally pushed his pants down. a sticky wet spot stained the center of his boxers, directly above where his hard hill of a boner poked against the fabric. he rutted a thumb over it, and your hips nearly bucked at the same time.

with a heaving breath, he pulled at the waistband of his boxers until his cock breached in its full form, bowing forward with a delicious curve in the dim bedroom lightning. the length of him could easily upset your gag reflex, and his tip was so red and thick that you immediately envisioned how heavy it would feel on your tongue. dear god—your hearbeats started shredding through you. this had to be the most carnal response your body has had to the sight of a dick in years—maybe ever.

“wow,” you panted out. you couldn’t help yourself.

he chuckled, another one of those short, dry ones, murmuring quietly. “did you mean to say that? i—th-there’s just no way you saw my dick for the first time and said wow."

you drummed your bottom lip with your fingers, fidgeting—antsy. another tough swallow. then, “you’re—i-it’s pretty. and really hard."

his chest caved in with a harsh grunt when he gripped the head of it tighter, continuing to tease his rosy tip with sloppy swirls of his thumb. he clenched his eyes shut, which indented deep furrows between his heavy brows. his beauty was as soft and cursed as that of a fallen angel. you were fully convinced he may glow like a white, waning star when he came. you had to see it—needed to at this point.

a stuttered scoff tripped over his bottom lip. “’s always this hard. when it comes to you."

he held his breath when he committed to the first full stroke, then released a hasty sigh all at once as he slowed into a slow and steady rhythm. you were hypnotized by him already.

“need to spit on it?” you mumbled.

he nodded, at the same pace as his hand. he released to spit into his large palm, cupping around his mouth and letting it drip softly.

you spoke again as soon as he grasped the tip again. “can you do it again?"

he didn’t hesitate, allowing the spit to settle on his tongue for a second before spitting with a much louder, nastier splat for his hand. he stroked a bit faster that time, clenching tighter at the head, siphoning the room in slippery slicks and squelches. you shifted in your seat with the gracious part of your lips, tucking your foot under the gap in your bent leg.

“you liked that?” he gritted out.

“yeah—yeah, a lot,” you said through a dazed whisper.

a low growl slipped past his lips as his hand slowed for a sticky moment, only to quicken all over again.

“this is a fucking dream,” he murmured, “i can’t believe you want me to do this for you."

the motion of his thrusts distracted you for the following second. you were fixated on him—the stretch of his large, tense fingers, the weight of his crucifying length corded in thick veins, the dribble of pre-cum glistening from his tip like wet stardust. and still, for another lingering second, you couldn’t stop staring at his parted, spiced red lips, heart-shaped, pouty, and full. by the end of this, you would have to share the taste of hot cinnamon on his tongue.

“so this is what you do after my streams? when you think of me?” you asked.

“yeah,” he sighed, “i’m—but i’m nervous right now so usually i’m . . . louder."

you fought back your next intrusive thought by chewing at your bottom lip. you would have to get to that later. for now, you had to ask.

“what do you think about?"

he stifled his shallow groan with another chuckle. “take a guess."

“i want to know, c’mon. we’ve made it this far, haven’t we?"

you swiveled in your chair until you faced your desk, landing your gaze on your pink kitten-ear headphones. you fit them on immediately, then swiveled back.

“do i have these on?” you teased, in a toothache-sweet tone.

he sealed his eyes shut as soon as he caught a glimpse of you, sitting pretty and soft as a bow settling back into your padded pink chair. he expected you to look prettier in person, but not perfect.

“fuck,” he panted out right away, then again, higher-pitched and softer, “fuck. the fuck are you doing to me? you—you know what you’re doing."

“that's a yes?” you teased again.

“yes, yes, yes—god, what is it with you? really need me to say what you already know? of course i picture you in those cute little headphones. in that chair, too. wearing one of those sexy tank tops you’re wearing now. or your favorite hoodie—w-with your hair back and those—those kitten knee socks."

he dipped his head back further against the headboard as he fucked his fist faster, never missing a beat, rubbing in the glossy-coat gleaming the fat shape of his cock. you stared, shamelessly, at the chisel of abs peeking beneath his ridden-up t-shirt, the flex of his jaw as he gritted his teeth, the lustful shade of dark red in his eyes whenever his eyelids fluttered apart to look at you—he was pure architecture.

“you keep—" he braved another groan, paired with a deep shudder of his hips, “you keep biting your lip like that. i-it’s driving me fucking crazy. my cock twitches every time you do that on stream. when you’re focusing on a level or reading messages to yourself. it’s so cute. so fucking sexy."

“thank you,” you whispered, “you like seeing it live and in person? you like knowing that i’m biting my lip for you?"

his next moan was the softest and whiniest yet—it was so sinful and pathetic that you nearly let out your own satisfied sigh.

“picture you doing that while i fuck you in that chair. l-looking back at me and biting your lip just like that. i would cum on the spot."

his confession winded you. you didn’t realize how breathless it left you until you spoke again.

“might have to touch myself too if you keep talking like that."

the momentum of his strokes hiccuped at the base, then stalled on his way up to the tip again. he glanced down at your sweats with a dangerous flicker of his eyes.

“do you want to?” he asked, dark and slow.

you hesitated, though you needed little time to fully consider it. your heart knew first and foremost, and thumped faster, desperately, the longer you thought about it.

you gestured to your pants. “is it okay if i take these off?”

"you’re serious?” he snickered.

you responded by sliding your waistband over your hips, revealing your baby doll yellow lace panties. his breath hitched, at the same time that you released an airy, meek sigh when your sweats crumpled to the floor. then, he had to stop touching himself entirely when you parted your legs for him, revealing the wet patch soaking through your delicate little underwear.

he winced through his teeth with his eyes screwed shut, bunching your covers in his fist to distract the urge of his hand to finish him off.

“you’re f-fucking with me. watching me couldn’t have made you that wet."

you couldn’t resist touching yourself as soon as the draft in the room brushed over your sensitive heat. you would usually taunt yourself a bit first instead of giving in right away, but you felt taunted this whole time, by restraining the urge to slip your hand down your pants, to spit on his cock for him, to kiss him with reckless abandon after and jerk his cock with him. you convulsed in your seat with a wrecked whine, circling your clit harder as visions of these thoughts blurred through your mind one after the other.

sylus’s eyes widened, fixated on the sloppy, slick noises sputtering from your core, from the mesh of your fingers smearing liquid glitter all over your hot clit. he grappled with his cock again, like it was a reflex, starting with long, deep strokes before resorting to rushed pumps of his swollen tip. you spread your legs wider, plucked the petals of your own rosebud faster, writhed and shivered with another gentle moan.

“look at you. listen to you,” he said through a rugged breath, “you want me to cum right now, don’t you? pushing me to the edge with those fucking sounds."

“have—" you hiccuped on another gasp, “have you thought about this, too?"

“yeah, yeah,” he choked out, “just like this. in that—right in your chair. i’m—you really have no idea how hard i’m trying not to cum right now, kitten. i . . . can i call you that?"

you nodded, frantically. “yes. fuck, that’s hot."

as if he couldn’t help himself, he rutted into his hand faster. the sounds of his dick pumping in and out of his fist were truly filthy—and you were lapping it up with wild, feverish swipes of your fingers, cutting corners and pressing hard and deep against the aching pulse beneath your underwear.

you watched closely as he tugged his length quicker by the second, knobbing his thumb over his leaking cockhead with a cruel, punishing grip. he was art to you.

another moan fluttered from your lips swollen with teeth marks.

“moan for me like that again. please, please—“ he gritted out, “you’re just—you’re unreal. you’re gorgeous. you’re a dream. you’re my dream girl and you’re letting me stroke my cock in your bed while i watch you touch yourself, fuck . . . "

you bucked your hips into your own hand. god, you wanted every part of this man. seeing and hearing him wasn’t enough anymore. you needed to touch him—to taste him. the thought of catching his load by the end of this overcame you, and suddenly, you had to squish your fingers into your tight, flexing hole and press and swish at the gooey bundle of fruit throbbing inside of you.

“yeah, fuck yourself with your fingers,” he coaxed you, with a shuddering groan that traced a shiver down your spine, “finger yourself just like that while i fuck up into my hand. can’t wait to cum for you, kitten."

“i really want you to cum for me,” you mewled back, “i want to cum for you too, sylus."

he submitted to a breathless whimper. “the way you moan my name. kitten, i’m too close. i need you to cum first, can—can i put my mouth on it?"

“please?” you sighed.

he refused to hesitate. he slid off the bed instantly, rushing toward you. you knew better than to move from the chair, and propped your feet on the arm rests when he kneeled in front of you. you let out a sharp breath when he hooked your panties to the side, arching back into the chair as his breath breezed over your naked clit.

“please, sylus—” you whined.

“it’s okay, sweetie. you don’t have to do it yourself anymore. let me do it for you."

he tensed his mouth to water his tongue with spit, then hocked it directly onto your hole with a heartless splatter. you were already so close to cumming from that alone, but especially when he took off his glasses and tossed them onto your desk before savoring the first taste of you, honing in dead-center on your glistening core.

you jolted when his nose nudged your clit, clawing your nails through his soft, angel-feather hair to pull him in deeper. his bristled groan reverberated through you as he slurped and suckled you like holy water, or cherry-flavored love potions, or the elixir of life dripped from your suctioning center. dear god—you knew he was heaven. and you already knew this was the fastest you would cum for anyone.

“this isn’t real,” he sighed against you, in between wags of his tongue over your clit and deep, longing sweeps of his tongue burrowing into your core, “this pussy isn’t real. the taste—the smell . . . so good. so needy."

“mm-hmm,” you drew out, crossing your eyes with the neediest little pout, “sylus—s-sylus, you’re . . . you’re so good to me."

the unmistakable squelch of his hand squeezing his cock all over again rippled through you. as soon as you heard it, you were right there.

“oh—that’s gonna make me cum. god, i’m gonna cum. ’m gonna cum for you."

he rotated his head in slow, fluid circles to ensure that his tongue could lather the entirety of your wet, cunning heat, darting over your clit and seeping into your gleaming hole in cruel, ruthless circles like a hurricane. you couldn’t remember the last time someone made you feel this good.

not to mention the way he babbled to you to the very end, especially since, up until this point, you knew sylus as your reserved, slightly awkward blind date who never had too much to say. you were a goner.

“yeah, shake on my tongue. shake and squirm and writhe on my tongue. let me taste it. let me have it. need it just as much as you, sweetie."

your lips parted into a soft o as your eyes crossed again, blinded by stars when your orgasm ruptured you to the core. you were a lovely little mess—of whiny moans and lightheaded breaths and the molten, wet heat glistening from your inner thighs as you clenched for sylus’s mouth.

you didn’t even know he was watching you until he starved out, “fuck, roll your eyes back like that. cum just like that for me, kitten."

none of your internal organs would sit still, fevered and running rampant as you unleashed everything hot and sweet and satisifed within you that melted and stickied his cinnamon lips. when he pulled back for a breath, a sheen of wet hot glitter soaked his mouth. he was a very ravenous, untidy eater, that’s for sure. he also, you just noticed, hadn’t stopped pumping his dick underneath your chair.

“can i cum for you now?” he groaned like a plea. “please? you’re everywhere, sweetie."

“here,” you insisted, tucking your legs to kneel in your seat, “here, in my mouth."

when he stood, he had to steady his hands over the top of your chair so he wouldn’t crumple back down to his knees.

“i still can’t believe this,” he panted, “you’re gonna put my dick in your mouth. i won’t be able to last, kitten. i’ve—i’ve thought about it too much."

“i’ll go slow,” you said, propping your hands on his hips, “is that what you want?"

“i just want you. any way you’ll have me, i promise."

a flutter brushstroked your clit. shit—you could cum for him all over again if he’d let you. but you had been far too patient all evening, denying yourself the pleasure of his cock weighing hard and heavy on your coated tongue.

you didn’t bother with teasing licks or pecks or strokes of your hand that mimiced his grappling thrusts. you took him in as far as you could, nearly choking around him if you didn’t slow down when he stretched the shape of your mouth just right. he was even thicker than you imagined, sliding salty-sweet down the length of your tongue, consuming the majority of its width, easily tipping into the back of your warm, clutching throat. both of you whined in unison. it should’ve been impossible for every part of him to feel this good.

he pushed out a winding breath, that swerved into a rutted groan when you started shucking your suctioned lips up and down, up and down his full shaft. your heart-shaped ass clapped down on your heels as you rocked forward and back, richocheting your tits held tight by your tiny cherry tank top, batting your mascara-wet lashes as you looked up at him.

“uhn—uhn,” he whimpered out, “mmph—look at those eyes. those—mmph—those fucking headphones, and—uhn, that mouth, you’re trying to kill me. what is this? you want me dead, gorgeous."

you took him in faster, purposely flexing your throat to pinch at his tip whenever he reached the back of your throat. he bowed over you as you twisted one fist, then two, on the same path and rhythm as your mouth, sacrificing your need to breathe just to suck his cock like you were seeking revenge of some sort.

“fuck—uhn, can’t take this. i know it’s only been a second, but-but i have to cum. i’m cumming, shit—"

with one last rasped whine, and the tilt of his head all the way back, he erupted in thick, gluey spurts on your tongue. you swallowed him down hungrily, greedily, chugging his load without stopping the fluid motion of your slippery mouth up and down.

he quivered out his last few moans as you sucked him dry. “taking it all—you’re taking it all—uhn—fuck, yeah. yeah, sweetie. cu—hmph—cumming down your throat while you sit in your desk chair. this is a fucking dream."

you sat back when he set his hand on your shoulder, signaling that he was too sensitive. playfully, you flashed your tongue at him, hoping to win him with a chuckle or, more particularly, a good kitten.

but you earned more than you anticipated when he bowed over you, cupped your chin, and drew you in for a longing, passionate kiss that activated all of your nerves at once. his mouth was insatiable, lips soft but firm as they pinched your top lip, then bottom lip, before parting to kiss you deeply, sledding his tongue over yours to elicit one of your sweetest breaths.

he pulled back, recovering with a breath. “sorry,” he said, “couldn’t stop thinking about it."

you returned a flustered grin. “me too."

the corners of his mouth ticked up into a smirk, and you knew one of his signature brow tilts would follow soon after. he huffed out another breath as he gazed down at you.

then, he spoke again. “when can i see you again? i’m still having a hard time believing what just happened."

you swayed in your chair, pivoting back once you found his glasses on the desk. you rose upright until you were tall enough to slip them over his eyes for him. when you smiled at him, his grin settled in, curving sharper at the edges. you would have to use whatever magic you had over him to do that much more often.

“you’ll see me on stream tomorrow, remember?"

ꪆৎ⭑ 乇m’s masterlist! in case you’re interested in my other works!

— © 2025. 乇m! all rights reserved. ꪆৎ

[emslittlelibrary]

OH SISTER — 秦彻

〔 𝒾 〕 Sylus can keep it together during anything—missions, interrogations, battles, even diaper changes. But today has been one like no other, and only you can pull him back from the precipice of his darkest thoughts.

𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐪𝐢𝐧 𝓍 𝐦𝐜!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 894 ⋮ general audiences ⋮ semi-angst with a happy ending, fluff, suggestive ending, dad!sylus, parenthood au, marriage au, sylus with twins of his own oh boy, anxiety-induced thoughts, pet names (darling, kitten)

To say that your husband was having an eventful morning was an understatement. This pillar of a man, intimidating to most who know him, including his closest confidants, is a wreck because of his two daughters' piercing screams.

Nothing is working—not warm bottles of milk that Sylus tested on the back of his hand, not the rocking of their little bodies against his chest, and not the classical music you played for nine months to stimulate peace and prosperity for your twins.

They’re not as difficult as Luke and Kieran on a good day, but right now, Sylus wishes he had some peace to harness for the difficulty that is facing such early hours of Monday morning without you. He can’t blame you for having duties away from home he can easily pick up on now that the twins have passed their three-month mark, but still. He wishes you were here to help with what he can’t manage today on his own.

“I know, Callie, I know,” Sylus murmurs as Calypso, the oldest, continues to muffle her cries into the fabric of her father’s shirt. Calliope has taken a reprieve from screaming herself, her tiny fingers tucked in her mouth, but Sylus knows that’ll change as soon as Calypso settles down.

The day is looking to be grim, and Sylus can’t shake the feeling he’s doing something wrong to make it so.

He’s never been one to dwell on the negative, despite everyone’s opinions that the man thrives in complete darkness. The Onychinus leader does anything but. He loves his life, especially the wedding band on his finger and the wife that is off on another mission with his heart in her back pocket. He adores his children, even during their agitated spells that make him wish he could erase their scrunched faces and balled fists tangled in emotions.

So, why is today not working out? Isn’t love supposed to be enough? Maybe his capacity for affection isn’t the issue, but he is. Maybe he’s undeserving of the peace he craves today because he never deserved it to begin with.

His composure slips as he holds his daughters tighter to him, afraid to let them go now that his worst thoughts are taking a hold of his rational brain. He falls back into his earlier emotions of yearning, wishing you were here to pick up the pieces.

Like a vision, you walk in, your hunter’s belt knocking into your hips as you saunter over. You don’t think twice as you take one girl from Sylus’s grasp, cooing and murmuring to your baby with the passion and patience of a skilled mother. You must’ve known, Sylus thinks as Calypso finally transitions from angry wails to gurgles in your arms. Somehow, you always do.

“I thought you were on a mission, darling,” Sylus finally says when you put Calypso down in her bassinet, her eyes closed and mouth agape from sleep.

“Something told me to pass it along to Tara. She can handle it,” you whisper with a smile. You run your hands over the small strands of Calypso’s hair. Calliope falls into her own slumber against Sylus, the faintest of snores passing through her mouth. Already, she’s gained a habit from you, and Sylus cherishes that.

He puts Calliope down in the matching crib next to Calypso, and he feels like his breath isn’t bated anymore. The tension in his body loosens, and the knots untangle from his head. All because of you.

He runs his arms around and across your middle, stroking your skin through the leather and binds of your work clothes. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he confesses with his lips in your hair.

You turn in his hold and quirk an eyebrow up. “You act as if I don’t ask myself the same question daily.”

“Really?”

The lost expression on Sylus’s face cracks you open, the tower of a man you call your husband broken down to his smallest parts. You know when he’s insecure like this that only the truest words in your heart can bring him back to his usual self, and you gladly give them.

“You’re an incredible husband, and an even greater father, Sy. The girls and I could not ask for better, and you still go the extra mile every day.” You squeeze him closer, burying your face in his neck. “I’m lucky to have you, to love you the way I do. Please don’t forget that.”

Sylus’s chest rumbles with quiet laughter, and his hand finds your cheek before he leans in. “Never.”

His lips coming into contact with yours are delicate, in stark contrast to the huskiness of his deep voice. The press of your mouths makes him think back to the first kiss you shared on your wedding day, and the millions more on your wedding night. How beautiful you were round and supple with the twins, and what life is like now for him because of the immensity of your love, and he couldn’t desire you more than right now.

You feel his body tighten against yours, and a smirk plays on your lips.

Sylus feels your reaction against his skin, and a matching cheshire cat grin forms on his face. “If you’re trying to make a third, kitten, I think it’s clear I’m amenable to the idea.”

── .✦ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 (𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗟𝗬 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘):

@xylatox @xomakara @frenchkisstheabyss

© 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗞𝗘𝗨; 𝖣𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒, 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍, 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗀𝗂𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗓𝖾, 𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝖽𝗂𝖿𝗒 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝗌!

[emslittlelibrary]

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !! — Sylus. inspired by this interaction & the internal crashout that Sylus probably had lol. no editing, wrote this tipsy. fluff and some angst. allusions / slight spoilers to the myth stories. longing + lovesick + yearning Sylus. female reader. ₊˚⊹♡ ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎

Sylus is all too happy to let you lead him around the event, eager to watch you ooh and ahh at the very decorations that you had set up. You had worked so hard on bringing this whole thing to life, and he knows it. Each scene you pass is the culmination of your efforts, and he couldn't be more proud.

He lifts you up to reach the flowers at the top of the everbloom archway and blows balloons with you at the balloon nook until your arms grow sore. You both go on a boat ride down the riverside retreat, and listen to the wind blow through the wind chimes, filling the air with soft, gentle music.

Wherever you go, Sylus follows behind you dutifully, an unusually soft smile on his face.

No one would ever believe that the feared head of Onychynus was having the time of his life being led around an event like this, of all things.

You seem particularly taken when you pull him over to the winged reverie scene, cooing at the delicate-looking wings that the event staff assist you with.

"Look!" you laugh when your pair of wings flap, sparkling as they do. There's utter delight on your face, smile so wide that Sylus tries his best to commit it to memory. "Aren't they pretty?"

Yes, is on the tip of his tongue immediately. Beautiful, he thinks, though his eyes are trained on your face, rather than the gossamer-like wings. You look magical like this, glitter on your skin and white dress illuminated by the sunshine. Like a princess or a fairy from a story book brought to life.

But before Sylus can voice any of that, your attention catches on him instead, and that smile flips into a frown. In particular, you seem to be eyeing the white wings on his back, looking at them like they were bothering you.

His brow raises, curious. “Something on your mind, sweetie?”

A hum leaves you, something unreadable in your eye. “These wings don’t really suit you…” you say, the words soft and under your breath, like you hadn't meant to say them.

You tap a finger on your chin, looking deep in thought. The spark in your eye is... unusual. Enough to have Sylus grow quiet, tensing slightly.

And then, like it hit you, your expression brightens and you snap your fingers.

“They should be black and red,” you say, like it's a grand realization. A smile curves at the corner of your lips, proud of yourself for putting a finger on this familiar deja-vu like feeling.

Sylus, on the other hand, feels his heart stop beating in his chest. His eyes widen, just a fraction, throat bobbing as he swallows. What did you say?

You circle around him, completely unaware of the way he's internally struggling to keep a lid on the bundle of emotions that suddenly squirm in his chest. Maybe it's a coincidence, a one-off. You're probably just saying that because his outfit today is black and red. There's no need to look to deep into it—

“You should have a long tail, too. Oh, and horns," you say with a giggle, ruffling his hair once you come to a halt in front of him, smiling like you hadn't just made his heart twist in his chest.

His hand feels cold, almost— perhaps from how hard he’s squeezing it in his pocket, trying to not let his composure slip.

He can only be grateful that you can't see the way he was keeping himself from fracturing into pieces at your feet.

“So I’m an evil dragon in your heart?” Sylus tries to tease, but his laugh is just the slightest bit strained. Shaky. He covers it with a clearing of his throat, giving you what he hopes is a convincingly nonchalant look. “And what are you then, sweetie? A fairy princess about to be stolen by the vile beast, hm?”

“I’m the sorceress sitting on your back, of course! I’ll hold your horns as we look down on the world.” You giggle, cute and sweet, and utterly unknowing of the way that his heart cracks in his chest.

It's a stroke of luck that the staff approaches you then, telling you that your time is up. He doesn't know how much more of that he could've taken. With a sigh, you're being helped out of the butterfly wings, just as another staff member comes to help him with his, too.

With your back turned to him, Sylus allows himself just a moment to let his expression crumble. Ruby red eyes filled with longing, and a jaw clenched tight. Honestly, he’s surprised that he hasn’t cracked a tooth.

It’s certainly not the first time something like this happened, memories of your past life subconsciously seeping through into your present-day memories. He's tried to leave you hints, too— in his words, in his actions It doesn't happen often, you showing hints of maybe remembering, but each time is both heartbreak and hope to him.

It never makes his heart hurt any less, but that's alright. Until the day that you remember — really remember, not just seeing brief glimpses in the form of deja vu— then he’s happy to carry the weight of your memories himself. 

His wings come off shortly after yours, and you're immediately rushing to him again, smaller hand weaving with his and holding tight. The smile on your face is radiant and bright, wide enough for him to forget the lingering ache in his chest. 

“Let’s check out the bell of vows next,” you say, already beginning to lead him down the grassy path to your next stop, hands swinging merrily.

Sylus chuckles, falling into step easily behind you, his long legs letting him catch up easily. The burden of remembering might still sting, but for this —for your smile, happy and carefree, as you pull him along into the sunshine and flowers— he doesn't mind. He'll carry the weight of these memories for as long as he should. Forever, if need be.

As long as he has you again, happy and safe and loved, then that's all he could ever want.

[emslittlelibrary]

in your fantasy ⏔♡⏔ zayne li + sylus qin (m)

summary: they know what you’re into, they know their baby has a type - or, part two of touch me tease me feel me up <3 info: zayne x afab!reader x sylus | smut | 2k words warnings: straight up smut don’t look at me too hard, dom!sylus, dom!zayne, they’re both pleasure doms and into each other and you idk how to describe it, zayne uses love + sylus uses sweetie and darling + they both use good girl, mention of safe systems, f!receiving!cunnilingus, f!receiving!fingering, full nelson, f!squirting, f!receiving!g-spot stimulation, f!receiving!nipple play, f!receiving!multiple orgasms, m!grinding, mc is drunk off of sylus and zayne and me too girl, m!receiving!blowjob, double penetration, kind of eiffel tower-ish, zayne and sylus kiss btw, unprotected sex, shared orgasms, cum play, i didn’t know how to end it so uh kind of abrupt ending??? NO ONE LOOK AT ME TOO HARD- author's note: the demons (ateez and in your fantasy mv) got to me and this was born in an hour ,,,,, idk what happened guys!! It just happened!! as a yunho bias i needed a creative outlet after whatever the fuck that mv was!! disclaimer: not beta read, will edit soon for any mistakes!! feel free to leave your thoughts here :-) if you are a minor and you're seeing this, i ask that you turn away and do not read. this is an 18+ story and minors are not welcome. if you are uncomfortable with any of the topics listed in the warning, please do not read this story! header made by me! ⏔♡⏔ songs include in your fantasy by ateez and juno by sabrina carpenter

“F-fuck, w-wait-”

“You know your signals, so use them like a big girl.”

It’s severe coming from Zayne’s throat, even when his hold on your knees loosens to see if you really need to take a minute. But with the way wanton moans escape your lips and how your head moves back and forth in drunk pleasure on his bare chest as Sylus works his tongue in between your thighs, he knows that you’re okay. Still, he waits with bated breath for a whisper of your safe word or a harsh pinch on the back of his neck, but he doesn’t feel anything amiss.

He only feels your slick coating his thighs and soaking his boxers to his straining cock, the telltale evidence of the endless pleasure he and Sylus bathe your body in.

Your breath stutters when you feel Sylus’s tongue work insistent circles on your clit, fingers thrusting in and out of your sopping cunt and hitting your g-spot with scary consistency. It’s insane to you how well they know your body and what makes you tick - juuuust the right angle from Sylus’s wrist to consistently bully that spongy spot inside of you paired with the delicious stretch of your legs being held open up to your shoulders by Zayne’s big palms making your head spin from the amorous fog they’ve thrown you into. The knot in your stomach grows tighter as you approach your end and you can’t stop the whimpers from growing into a scream when you feel yourself begin to near your end.

“Shh, baby,” Zayne’s voice is gentle in your ear, even when his hands tighten on the back of your knees. “You don’t want your neighbors to file a noise complaint, do you?”

“N-no-” You’re trying to keep it down, you really are, but you can’t help it when you feel Sylus’s smirk against your cunt as he doubles his efforts with renewed fervor to get you to fall off the edge for them again.

“You taste so good darling.” You feel Sylus's words rather than hear them, the tiny reverberations travelling across your soaking pussy and up your spine, making you shiver. His mouth moves from your engorged clit to your entrance, letting his tongue trace the stretched muscle around his three fingers reverently before pulling the thick digits from your weeping core. There’s no respite from the overwhelming pleasure, though - not when he presses his nose to your clit and shoves his tongue so deep in your core you feel yourself keen in Zayne’s hold.

“That’s right, my love.” One of Zayne’s arms wraps around the back of your legs to hold you in place while he frees his other hand to place your hip, encouraging you to ride Sylus’s tongue as you reach your impending end. “Ride Sylus’s face like the needy girl that you are.”

“S-shit-” you gasp. Your entire body is screaming at you - brain working overtime as you overcome the overstimulation from your past orgasms to reach that peak you desperately need. Your entire body is so sensitive - skin tingling with their electric touches and whispered words and mixing with the pleasure coursing through your veins until all you can think and feel are Sylus Zayne Sylus Zayne Sylus Zayne-

“‘m gonna cum-!” It’s a pitiful whine, your voice scratchy from the screams they previously elicited from your throat as you feel the knot in your stomach tighten impossibly tighter - about to snap. “Please please please let me cum please-”

From above your head, you miss the way Zayne’s eyes catch Sylus’s drunk gaze, the silent understanding shared between them making Zayne’s hold on you loosen so your trembling legs land on Sylus’s shoulders - allowing for Sylus’s broad frame to hold your legs apart so that Zayne’s hands can begin to pinch and pull on your aching nipples.

“Are you going to cum?” Zayne’s honeyed voice is the complete opposite of his actions and words, his hips beginning to grind up against the plush of your ass as his fingers speed up against your chest. All the while Sylus replaces his tongue with his fingers once more, brutally pressing against your g-spot with every stroke of his fingers inside of your cunt as he pulls your sensitive bud into his mouth to suck in time with his pistoning fingers.

“Please-” you gasp. “‘m c-close and I’ve been g-good-”

“Okay, love,” Zayne groans. With a pinch of your nipples from his dexterous fingers, your eyes cross and your nose scrunches - the beginning of your end. “Cum for us like the good girl you are, hm?”

“-!” You can’t even think or make any coherent noises, the only noises you’re capable of making being whines and guttural moans as you cum almost painfully in their hold. Their movements never slow or soften - in fact, they get faster and more insistent from their need to see you fall apart oh so prettily because of them.

Something in you unravels even further, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan as you squirt. Your hips grind up and down against Sylus’s face but he takes it all in a stride, groaning against your pussy lips as he drinks your nectar. Your legs threaten to snap against his neck but Zayne’s hands are quick to stop you - holding you open so that Sylus can feast on your trembling body freely.

“Please.” It’s a slurred whimper that nearly goes unnoticed, but it’s something they still catch because of how in tune they are to you and your needs - they know you need them.

Sylus stands up from his knees, and you gasp when you see the drunk gaze on his face and the way your slick shines on his chin and parts of his neck. He doesn’t bother wiping any of it away, though, he instead decides to grab your hips and flip you over almost carelessly so that you’re on your stomach, your aching breasts pressed against Zayne’s stomach as he leans down to brush your sweaty hair from your face. He brushes his lips against your forehead to let you know in your lust-addled mind that you’re safe and that they’ll care for you - even when Sylus’s hands press your back down into a mean arch, making your mouth brush against the bulge in Zayne’s underwear.

“Oh, ____,” he hisses, and you move on autopilot to push his boxers down his thick thighs, making his cock slap against his straining abs. Your mouth waters at the sight - Zayne’s cockhead weeping with precum while the prominent vein running along his shaft throbbing dangerously with need. Behind you, you can hear the rustle of Sylus pushing his own underwear down his legs before pulling your hips up and rubbing his dick against your soaking cunt.

“You feel so good, darling,” Sylus groans. Sylus is thicker than Zayne, and you feel it in the way his cock rests heavily against you - the prominent slit on his weeping tip catching your clit and making both of your breaths catch in your chests. You wiggle your hips impatiently but his hands tighten on your hips - a subtle warning that they’re still the ones in charge of the pace and your pleasure.

“Be patient, sweetie.” It’s a honeyed warning from Sylus, and one of his hands travels to the back of your neck to push your face against Zayne’s cock. “Why don’t you make our doctor feel good too? I’ve started getting my fill and you’ve already cum so many times - he’s been nothing but patient.”

“Yes yes yes-” you chant, and before you’re even thinking you’re wrapping your mouth around Zayne’s weeping tip, tongue running circles around his cockhead so that you can taste him. You barely hear the moan of your name from above you as you relax your jaw - beginning to bob your head up and down so that you can take Zayne deeper in your throat.

Your movements stutter, though, when you feel Sylus’s dick beginning to press into you. He’s big, you’ve known this, but it’s almost overwhelming after the previous pleasure they’ve given your body. He pinches your thigh softly, and you can hear the grit in his throat as he gets out, “Loosen up, sweetie.”

Zayne’s hand moves underneath your body, rubbing your nipples once more to get you to relax just a little bit. It works because your body relaxes just enough for Sylus is able to snap his hips against your ass, sheathing himself fully into your trembling heat as his hands press against the back of your head, forcing you to take Zayne all the way down your throat.

Your eyes water but you force yourself to breathe - sandwiched in between the men of your dreams. The air stills around you as they wait for your signal or your hesitation. Either way, you have all of the power in the room - able to dictate your shared ends.

With a steady three taps of your fingers against Zayne’s thigh, they begin to move.

It’s stilted at first, the two of them working out the best rhythm to maximize your pleasure while also chasing their own highs. Soon enough, though, they settle for Sylus pulling out as Zayne pushes in, their steady rhythm making your desperation increase once more.

“Our good girl,” Zayne groans from above you as his fingers flex against the back of your head. You tilt your head up slightly just in time to see the way his Adam’s apple swallows thickly at the debauched sight of you - eyes watery and hair a mess as your swollen lips work up and down his spit-slick length. “So pretty, so desperate, and just for us-”

A moan garbles his words when his cock hits the back of your throat in time with Sylus hitting your g-spot - making you tighten around the both of them impossibly as you whimper around Zayne’s length. His head tilts back at the pleasure, and his eyes sparkle with something unspoken as he reaches behind you to grip Sylus’s chin before pulling him down for a messy kiss.

The pleasure in your stomach ignites when you see them make out above you, still moving their hips in a stilted tempo as Sylus opens his mouth for Zayne. Zayne’s tongue flicks out to tangle against Sylus’s tongue before moving down, licking the remnants of your slick from previously off of Sylus’s chin and groaning from the taste. You swear you hear a whimper slip from Sylus’s lips as Zayne’s lips travel down his neck, leaving a mark against Sylus’s pulsepoint that matches the one he left on your own neck previously.

“Fuck Zayne-” Sylus moans, and you don’t know why but it triggers your end.

Your body shakes as you cum around them, no sounds escaping your body as you tremble from the overwhelming feeling. Your eyes roll back to the back of your head as you begin to squirt around Sylus’s cock, your body being bathed in endless waves of pleasure as your spit escapes the corner of your lips around Zayne’s pulsing cock.

“Our baby,” Zayne groans against Sylus’s lips, pumping his cock once, twice, three times in your heavenly throat before his hips still, cum pouring down your throat as he reaches his end. Sylus messily grinds his cock inside of your cunt before he finishes, too, a whine filling the air as he fills you with his creamy cum and leaving you full to the brim of the both of them.

They’re careful when they pull out, and you gasp heavily as you swallow as much as you can. Still, their cum spills from your mouth and your cunt as you sigh in sleepy contentment, arms collapsing and making you rest heaving against Zayne’s stomach. You barely tremble when Sylus’s fingers enter your mouth, taking some of Zayne’s release from your tongue before gently pressing his fingers against your quivering hole and mixing their release together.

“‘m sleepy,” you murmur softly. Your eyes slip shut, although a small smile graces your lips when you hear an amused huff from above you.

“Go to sleep, darling,” Sylus’s whisper is all you need, and you snuggle into Zayne’s chest as you drift off to sleep - the last thing you feel being Sylus’s lips against the back of your spine paired with Zayne’s mouth brushing against the crown of your head.

a/n #2: no one look at me too hard, okay?

[emslittlelibrary]

⋆˚ ✿ ˖ ࣪ rafayel loves teasing you during sex

“look at all your little friends watching us” rafayel smiles with a mischievous glint in his eye, referring to your stuffed animals as he snaps his hip against you and causes you to gasp out with the arch of your back when he kisses your sweet and sensitive spot with his mushroom tip, “do you like us having an audience?”, he continues with a sultry tone.

you cover your face with your hands, whining out when you feel it heat up at his teasing words, mumbling, “shut up..”

“nuh uh, don’t hide from me.” he tuts, taking you hands away from your face and pinning them above your head before gently nibbling on your ear lobe, “can’t you handle it?”, he whispers, and you can’t help but bite the bottom of your lip.

your walls flutter around his cock, your lips parted as you try to hold back your needy moans from his words and the way his cock abuses your gummy walls, but you can’t help the way you’re always falling apart at his teasing — the way his hands gently brush over your skin just enough for you to feel it, and his teasing words that have you shying away.

he can’t help but smirk at the sight of you like this, flustered and helpless beneath him. he can feel the intensity of your velvet walls fluttering around his cock, sucking his length and causing him to hiss out with a breathy laugh. he can tell you’re close, so with the snap of his hips when he’s just about to tip you over the edge, he says, “if you beg me hard enough, i’ll let you cum. c’mon, i wanna hear that pretty voice of yours.”

[emslittlelibrary]

Corrupt priest!Sylus punishes nun!reader…+18(mdni)

Your first mistake was speaking to the new kid in town who went by the name of Caleb.

Your second mistake was believing Father Sylus wouldn’t reprimand you for merely doing what the church asked of you. After the Lord’s Prayer was said, it was customary to shake hands with those sitting around you, otherwise known as the Sign of Peace. Unfortunately, Caleb took that as an opportunity to keep speaking to you.

Out of the corner of his eye while sharing the body of Christ with the others, Sylus watched as the boy leaned against the back of the pew you occupied. Your body angled comfortably to look over your shoulder at him. Whatever he was saying, made you giggle, your hand coming up to hide your smile.

That sparkling look in your eye was meant for Sylus alone. Your neatly pressed white gown and habit should have been taken as a sign that you belonged to him. No other man would gain access to the sweet little body cloaked underneath. Especially your heart and cunt.

As the white collar Sylus wore signified he was a pure man in the eyes of the lord, only he would be allowed into the sacred temple that was your body.

︶︶ ୨୧ ︶︶ ︶︶ ୨୧ ︶︶ ︶︶ ୨୧ ︶︶ ︶︶ ୨୧ ︶︶

You had been tucked safely under your powdered blue comforter, far away in dreamland, when you were roughly awoken. Your billowy sheets lay trampled on the floor as your bicep was secured in Father Sylus’ grip.

His pace through the dimmed hallways was fast, your bare feet slapping against the tiled flooring as you tried to keep up with him.

“Father Sylus-”

“Quiet.” He whispered through clenched teeth.

He’d get to say his part once you two were away from the others who were fast asleep. He’d take you to the very scene of the crime.

Shoving a wooden door open with his broad shoulder, he led you down the empty nave before dropping you unceremoniously onto the pew you had been occupying earlier. Where you had the gall to chit-chat with some filthy boy, right before his very eyes.

Your breathing was labored, the commotion of what had just occurred catching you off guard. With a hand clasping the collar of your white nightgown, you caught your breath, swallowing as you watched Father Sylus, who stood in front of you with his hands on his waist.

“You have disappointed me immensely, pretty bird.”

Your eyes tingled with unshed tears, bottom lip trembling.

“What have-I don’t understand.” Your brows furrowed as you recalled the day. “I…I made sure all the spare Bibles were put away and the leftover wine was properly disposed of. The chalice was cleaned and returned to the altar. I even…I stood behind you as you led the procession outside.”

His fingers twitched as the need to grab and shake you filled every inch of him. Unfortunately, you were too sweet and pure for your own good. Yet, it was what he loved about you. It allowed him to have you wrapped around his finger.

It was in your nature, the need for him to praise you. Ever since he had arrived at the church, you had been head over heels for him. How could you not when he was as charming as he was pretty. You were just a silly girl with a crush.

The weight of his gaze was agonizing. He said nothing, but the smoldering look in his eyes was enough to make you look away, tucking your face against your shoulder as if that would keep you safe from him.

“During the noon mass, you seemed to have forgotten your place.”

When you failed to look at him, his resolve snapped and his hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eye. You whined at his sudden harshness, your hand coming to hold onto his wrist.

“Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten about that boy from earlier? You seemed to enjoy his company during the communion. All smiles and warm cheeks, little bird.” He paused, hand trailing down from your jaw to the thin strap of your nightgown. He toyed with the material, deliberately brushing his long fingers against your warm skin. “You need to be set straight. Otherwise, the lord won’t forgive your offenses.”

He was unapologetic in the way he maneuvered you into position. Fingers gripping your skin in a way that symbolized not only his control, but his ownership. He'd be damned if anyone else treated you this way. It was his right.

With your chest facing the backrest of the pew, your knees dug into the polished wood, fingers curling over the top rail to keep yourself steady. You let out a squeal when the skirt of your gown was lifted, bare bottom exposed to the male’s greedy eyes.

He took in your unblemished skin, his slacks tightening around his cock. Such a shame he'd be soiling it.

“Father, please! What-”

“Perhaps, I've been too lenient with you as now you're speaking out of turn.”

A yelp echoed through the empty church as something heavy and cold met the warm skin of your ass. When you dared to look behind you, Sylus’ large hand slipped into your hair, the grip forcing you to bow your head.

“I expect a perfect recitation of Hail Mary.”

It took you a moment to straighten out your thoughts, allowing him to land multiple smacks on your poor skin. Though shaky, and interrupted by your cries, Sylus made sure every word was pronounced correctly.

“…and blessed is the fruit of the wo-”

Smack. Smack.

The hit on each cheek was precise and calculated, stinging more than the rest.

“Thy womb. Make another mistake and you're starting over.”

You don't know what it was, but your body responded in a way that confused you. There was a warmth spreading through your belly and a wetness between your thighs. This hadn't occurred in your life until meeting Sylus. Even through the stinging pain, you would never admit you liked it.

Finishing the prayer, you received one last spank, a breath leaving you before you started full-fledged wailing.

“Please, Father Sylus, forgive me! Have mercy!” You turned around, knees blazing with pain from the pressure against the pew.

Oh, how beautiful you looked in Sylus’ eyes. All tear-stained cheeks and glossy-eyed.

When you reached for him, he dropped the cross he had used to mark your skin and embraced you. You cried in his arms, sobs muffled by his neck.

He savored the feeling of your heat against his. Adjusting his grip, he lifted you into his embrace, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“Shh, there there, little bird. You did a wonderful job.”

He cooed as he caressed the burning skin of your bottom with his hand. He knew you would have a hard time sitting for the next few days, so he couldn't help but smirk. You would need him to soothe the pain, and he was more than willing to lather your skin with healing ointment.

When your cry eventually stopped and you settled in his embrace, Sylus’ attention zeroed in on the warm wetness between your thighs that was soaking through his black button-up and onto his abs.

You gasped when he trailed his hand from your ass to your soiled folds. A pleased hum rumbled deep from his chest, your arms tightening around him as he spread the wetness from your tight hole to the little bundle of nerves that had your hips bucking.

You must have pleased him as you were rewarded with a generous kiss on your temple.

“Who would have thought, my pretty little bird, would turn out to be so filthy.”

I skipped a scene where he f*cks her on the altar but that just means I might have to do a part 2 hehehe

Also, I don’t want to hear that he’s ooc(i already know that)

Tagging list:

@theplaid-wearingmoose @dilf-destroyer-04 @mcdepressed290

[emslittlelibrary]

wonderstruck

summary: To take the throne, you must also take a husband. When you meet the knight to have your hand, he is faceless, nameless. He hardly ever speaks, and never removes his armor. Every attempt to get to know him is to no avail. Frustration continues to take hold of you at your marriage to this stranger, until the tension reaches a breaking point on your wedding night.

★pairing: knight!xavier x queen!reader ★wc: 9.5k ★content: arranged marriage au. knight in armor xavier who doesn't take his helmet off. tension that comes with marrying a stranger. fluff & mild angst. smut, faceless sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, piv, loss of virginity. he guides you through it and frequently checks in. brief misunderstanding that's quickly cleared up. talk of marital duties and if you want an heir. slow romance. xavier has scars. ★a/n: I disappeared for a bit because writing this consumed me. also shoutout to @asiatic-apple for encouraging me to do this idea hehe ty ivy!! ★masterlist

You were barely past twenty two summers when your elder sister died, thus declaring you the next queen of your kingdom.

As the only other descendant of your family line, you had been prepared for the possibility of taking the throne since childhood. But while other prospective heirs across kingdoms longed for the day their own flesh and blood may meet an early end, you mourned for the loss of your kin.

Though you were not left to mourn for long. You wore the colors of it, but soon enough you were rushed through preemptive royal proceedings, readying you for a future that you had never quite believed could truly be yours.

Now that you were to be queen, there were things you must have. An overhaul of your entire wardrobe, for one. Gowns, jewels and perfumes must be custom tailored for your image alone, befitting your grace and power, and all the hope you embodied for a kingdom.

You must have ladies in court to accompany you and offer counsel, carefully interviewed and hand-selected to support you. You must have protection at all times, ready to die for you at any given moment.

And a queen must have a spouse, a stalwart partner to support her and all her decisions in a long, blessed life.

You had expected a prince, beloved by his people and low enough in the inheritance line of his own kingdom to allow him to wed you. Or perhaps a duke, well-liked with his handsome features and intellect. You would've even taken a general, an irreplaceable asset in talks of strategy.

What you had never anticipated was for your intended spouse to be a silent knight.

"He is to be my husband? Truly?" you ask your lead lady-in-waiting as she assists you in undressing your extravagant engagement gown. "Him?"

"The court has deemed him as such," Tara says as the velvety fabric the color of rich wine pools at your feet, moving to unlace the ties of your corset at your back. "Why? Is he truly so terrible?"

"I would not know," you say, laughing humorlessly as you think back to how still and stoic he had been. "He spoke naught for the entire engagement talks. He hardly moved, nor did he even remove his helmet."

Tara's fingers pause. "Truly? Even in the presence of his queen?"

"Not a soul made a comment on it," you huff, taking in a lungful of air when relief rushes into the release of your bosom from the corset's restraints. "And I am not queen until the ceremony which makes me his."

"It will make him yours, milady," Tara corrects gently, removing the undergarments from your weary form. "You will rule this kingdom. He is just a formality."

"He's a suit of armor," you scoff, irritation blooming into anger as you lower yourself into the steaming bath basin brought in after the long day. "I could not pick him out from any of the ones that line our halls."

"Then he is a decoration," Tara corrects as she rests her head on her elbows on the edge of the basin. "Hopefully a pretty one!"

She knows how you prefer to bathe yourself, and stays for conversation, even as you scrub at your own skin in jerky, annoyed movements.

"Only the gods know," you mutter, head tilting back as you sink further into the heated water. Your brows furrow as you stare up at the ceiling, tracing the intricate, swirling patterns there with your gaze. "Is he to always keep the armor on? Am I to marry him like that? What of our wedding night?!"

Tara coughs, cheeks an adorable pink at your blunt words, and you stifle an affectionate snort.

"Maybe he will draw the curtains?" she suggests, giggling at the thought, and you can't hold in your own laughter now at the ridiculous mental image. "And tell you not to look?"

You groan, holding your breath as you submerge yourself in the bath in favor of facing your daunting future of being married to a man hidden away from you in metal.

There is a very brief engagement period, more for show than anything else.

You suspect it also gives ample time for the court as they rush through preparations for the wedding itself. They were eager to put you on the throne as soon as possible, unwilling to leave the kingdom wanting of a ruler for much longer.

And being courted by your chosen fiancé is…well.

Courting is hardly a suitable term.

Sitting across from each other as you sipped at your tea, and he refused to lift his visor to partake in his own? Making idle comments on the weather, the color of your wedding dress, what flowers were being arranged, only to be met with stone cold silence from your husband to be?

Lovely.

You are all too well aware of the attention of your court chaperones in the parlor with you. As you are also aware of any tantrum you may want to throw not being tolerated.

You were no longer just a princess to be spoiled and entertained. You were to be queen, and to be married to a taciturn knight, who seemed to hold no possible interest or regard for you.

At one point, you swear you hear snoring coming from inside that helmet, but then his head is lifting the next.

"Am I to at least have your name?" you finally ask at one point, unable to keep all the bite out of your tone when you do.

There is an echoing hum of disapproval behind you, and your eyes slide away from the silvery helmet, gazing at the wavyleaf sea lavender dancing in the breeze through the window.

"It has been decided that it would not be for the best," one of your advisors says from behind you, and you lift your fingers to your lips, hardly muffling the bitter laugh that slips through.

"It has been decided," you repeat slowly, balling the fabric of your gown in your lap, frustration hidden underneath the tablecloth, "that it would not be best for me to know my own husband's name?"

Silence.

"That…is correct, Your Highness."

You turn your sharp gaze onto your fiancé, a smirk tilting up behind your hand when you hear the creak of his armor when he straightens a fraction under your attention.

"And does he agree to such conditions in our marriage?"

"He does," your advisor replies.

"So he will never speak?" you intone the statement, exasperated beyond measure.

"Ah…that is up to him, Your Highness," they say, and you glance off to the side again.

"And his face?"

"Again, it is not in your best interest—"

"Then I have heard enough."

You rise from your chair, delicately smoothing out the wrinkles you'd caused in your dress.

With tight-lipped smile, you nod towards the future companion of your life as he sits motionless, faceless, nameless. A complete stranger for all your days.

To hell with no tantrums. The least you could do before bearing the weight of the crown was show a little bit of how furious you were.

"Well then," you say, grinning with thinly contained malice. "I look forward to our matrimony and life together. I am sure we will be so very happy."

You ignore the sharp cries of your advisors behind you when you leave, and force yourself to keep going even when you hear the armor creak again, the chair pushed back.

You keep walking, and refuse to take any visitors for the rest of the day.

You have not looked back towards your ever present, stoic statue for your walk through the gardens.

You do not remember at what point he had slipped in behind you. It had been a lovely day, the scent of the lavender on the breeze calming enough to lure you out of your royal chambers. And with the wedding day fast approaching, you'd take any moment of solitude you could get.

It may have not even come to your attention that he had joined you if it wasn't for that telltale creak in the armor on your third bout around the garden.

You paused, and so did he.

For a long moment, you stood there, your dress the color of a slow approaching dawn fluttering in the floral breeze. The rose and lilac shades of the skirt tighten in your grip.

"Were you sent to follow me?" you ask finally.

Another moment passes, steeped in silence.

You sigh, ready to march back within the castle walls, desperate for as much time away from him as you could manage before you were bound to him forever.

Then, you hear a gentle voice carried to you on the wind.

"No, Your Highness," the knight says, and you freeze. "I was not."

His voice is…oh.

It is much softer than you had imagined. It carries with it a calm that almost washes over you, if you weren't so irritated by his existence in the first place.

You wait for him to say something, anything else.

He doesn't.

Slowly, you begin to walk through the gardens again.

You are acutely aware of his presence now as he follows behind you.

"May I have your name?" you ask finally, unable to curb the curiosity, the uncertainty of the unknown that gnaws at your insides when it comes to him.

"You may not."

You school your expression, head held high as ever, well-practiced at hiding your frustration when you truly wanted to.

You just liked to make it be known when you could afford it.

"Will you answer any of the questions I ask?"

He does not reply.

"Why do you hide your face?"

He is quiet. When you glance back, the knight is gazing off to the side.

You're certain he will not answer you now either, and you begin to move away.

"I was instructed not to offend Your Highness."

Your brow twitches, attention snapping back to him. "Offend me?"

He nods, finally turning back to you. The helmet still renders him unreadable as he states plainly, "I am well aware of the customs of court. Typically, a member of it with a face such as mine would quickly be expelled and hidden from your sight."

"I—"

You gulped, your anger at the situation ebbing in favor of a strange sensation by the tone he uses to speak. His voice is ever soft, nonconfrontational despite what he claims, and it gives you pause in confusion.

His face?

You glance over his armor, noting he did not don a ceremonial set that day. This one did not appear ostentatious, but practical, well-crafted for durability and protection. It appeared as if it had seen battle, bearing the dents and scratches that showed of a life paved with violence, steeped in blood and victory.

It greatly contrasted the gentle way in which he spoke, and the grace with which he carried himself, even as he was six feet in armor.

Your head tilts, wondering what battle-hardened visage may be hidden underneath that helmet.

"You are scarred, then," you say aloud with the realization.

He merely nods again.

You frown.

"So I am never to see you, my intended husband, due to scars."

"It was believed the best course of action would be to hide my face from you," the knight informs calmly, not showing a hint of discomfort or annoyance in his tone as you peer so closely at him. "So as not to offend your sensibilities."

You almost laugh, the bitter sound sticking in your throat.

"Ah, yes. My delicate sensibilities."

As if you were not the one would ensure the well being of an entire kingdom, overseeing all the good and ugly it had to offer.

"And when the queen orders you to show your face?" you counter, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

"You are not yet queen," he replies bluntly, his voice still soft, ever calm as he meets your challenge readily.

You laugh, loud and sharp, sending the birds nesting in a nearby tree fluttering away.

"What a unified front we will be, my beloved," you hiss through gritted teeth before marching past him.

He catches your wrist.

You whirl around, eyes blazing at the action.

"You dare to—"

But he's letting go in an instant, and you look to your hand that he had grabbed in confusion.

In your fingers is a single, small bunch of blue-petaled flowers.

"I am aware this is not your choice," the knight says softly, and the breeze picks up, brushing between you with the gentle scent of lavender once more. "And I am sorry. If I could…"

He trails off, and after a moment of holding your breath, he bows to you.

"Your Highness," he murmurs, and you watch as he departs, disappearing back within the castle walls.

If he could what? you think all day and into the night.

You wonder it in the days to come before the ceremony, gazing at the forget-me-nots you had pressed into a favorite book of poetry.

If he could not wed me? If he could show his face? Tell me his name?

Time before the crown would be yours passes by with your unanswered questions. The nights are restless, any moment alone spent pacing.

And each morning, you wake to a small, freshly picked bouquet of baby blue flowers sitting outside your doors.

The night before your wedding, it feels hard to breathe.

You toss and turn in your bed, sleep eluding you. The knowledge of sharing it at this same time tomorrow leaves you restless, and you sit up with a sharp groan, kicking the thick blankets off.

"I just need some air," you whisper to no one, pulling your dressing gown over your shoulders and tying it tight.

You evade the guards stationed through the corridors with practiced ease, feeling a familiar rush to when you would sneak through the halls as a child with your sister, out way past your bedtimes.

The thought of her makes your chest ache, like a corset pulled impossibly tight, cutting off your ability to breathe.

Your bare feet pad across the cold floors and into the grass when you exit the castle into the gardens. You suck in a lungful of the fresh night air, breathing out a sigh of relief when the scent of lavender surrounds you.

Pacing through the flowers, you let your fingers dance along the petals, reciting the names of each species and color in your mind to calm your nerves. Your heart begins to calm in its relentless pacing.

And then pain surges through your foot.

"Argh!" you yelp, hopping back on one foot as a dull thud rings in the air from whatever you had ran into.

"Mm?"

You jump, covering your mouth to smother a surprised screech at the unexpected, distinctly human sound.

Staring down at what your poor toes had collided with, you witness the sabatons of a polished set of armor shifting.

You follow the leg into the shrubbery, pulling aside leaves and baby blue flowers to see a familiar helmet facing up towards you.

"Oh," your fiancé's soft voice emits from inside of it, and you nearly throw your hands up into the air in exasperation. "It's you."

"What are you doing?" you hiss.

You glance around you, suddenly paranoid that you would be found with him like this, just one night before when you were actually supposed to be alone.

He's quiet, and you stare down at his large frame while he awkwardly perches himself up onto his elbows in the flowers.

"Napping."

You stare at him.

And stare.

"Do you not have a bed for that?" you whisper scream.

Gods, you were going to lose your mind married to this man.

"The lavender smells nice," he replies in the most tranquil, sleepy voice you have ever heard from a man of his size and caliber, helmet turning to gaze around at the gardens. "And the sky is clear."

Your mouth opens and closes, searching desperately for a witty, scathing response.

But they all fail you when he turns back to you and asks calmly, bluntly, "Are you eloping?"

You scoff. "With who?"

His pauldrons lift and drop, metal creaking in the silliest looking shrug you have ever seen.

"A lover."

You shake your head, turning away when you mutter, "Lucky for you, I have none."

The silence that falls between you feels like an ocean separating you from one another. Once again, you are reminded that you are no better than strangers, and tomorrow…

"There is nowhere I could run," you murmur, clutching across your chest to hold your shoulders, bracing against the night's cool breeze. "I wouldn't even know where to start." You laugh humorlessly. "As if they wouldn't find me within hours anyway."

"There's a nice seaside town at the northern edge of the kingdom," he says quietly, almost sounding wistful, and you turn back to him. His armor gleams in the moonlight, his helmet tilted up towards the stars. "The people are kind, and welcoming to strangers. I think it would take them about a week to find you there."

You blink, at a loss for words once again. It's a talent that your strange fiancé seemed to have just for you, on the rare occasions he did speak.

"I can lend you my horse," he keeps speaking, the tranquility in his soft tone slowly relaxing the tension in your shoulders. "She is a kind beast. It will give you a head start."

"Do you wish to be rid of me that much?" you whisper, choosing to believe anything other than the cruel hope that you may actually have a choice for yourself.

He shakes his head, moonlight catching off the steel of his helmet.

"I made no such claims," he says, his voice steady, resolute.

This, you actually do dare to believe, and to your own bewilderment, it softens you.

"Sit with me?" your future husband asks, offering an armored hand up to you. "The stars are beautiful tonight."

You hesitate, then slip your hand into the leather. His glove beneath the gauntlet is warm with his body heat, and he helps you sit, looking away for your decency as you adjust your dressing gown to cover yourself completely before lying back.

You hate to admit it, but the strange, stoic knight is right. There is hardly a cloud in the sky, and you can see the constellations clearly, shining brightly for you in this quiet, stolen moment.

When he says nothing for a while, you assume he has fallen asleep again.

"Why do you leave me flowers?" you whisper the question that has haunted you, relying on the certainty of him not hearing.

He shifts beside you, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

"Do I need a reason?" he asks, clear and awake.

"Well—" Words fail you, and you find yourself hating that he can manage to rob you of your gift of talk and charm, the one thing you had always relied on in your life of court politics. "I suppose not."

"Do you not like them?"

You turn your face away so he cannot see how he's flustering you.

"I made no such claims," you mutter his own words from earlier.

"So you do like them."

"Be silent," you snap, more bashful than as seriously annoyed as you have been, restlessly pulling your dressing gown tighter around yourself.

Your ears perk up when you hear the most quiet, melodic giggle.

Head snapping around, you stare at the knight, who quickly shuts his mouth.

"I said silence!" you repeat.

"My apologies, Your Highness," he replies smoothly, distinctly not following your order, and you swear you hear a smile in his voice.

You huff, throwing your head back into the flowers.

"You look ridiculous," you mutter, shifting restlessly, "by the way. Wearing your armor, lying in the garden. Napping."

"Thank you," he says serenely.

You snort, a genuine sound of amusement that slips past your lips, and you cover them with surprise.

His armor creaks when he turns to look at you.

You turn back, staring wide-eyed into the reflection of yourself in his shining helmet.

And for just a moment, you think you see a glimpse of wide eyes staring back through the visor.

You think they might look just like the starry sky above you.

Then he shifts again, and the image is gone.

You both lay your heads back once more. The atmosphere of the moment shifts, a tension different from the one haunting you for weeks making your heart flutter, your stomach lighter.

"Were you truly asleep just now?" you mumble, adjusting your dressing gown as a breeze slips past, the aroma of lavender washing over you and your faceless fiancé as you lay together in the bed of flowers.

"Mhm."

"And were you asleep when we had tea?"

"…Yes," he answers quietly, and you bite your lip to stifle a laugh at how bashful he sounds. "Just for a bit. I am sorry, truly."

A giggle escapes you, and you cover your mouth with both your hands. Still, it doesn't hide the way that you fall into a fit of laughter, all the nerves from the weeks of stress leading up to the wedding lifting from your muscles.

There's a soft, nervous chuckle echoing from inside the helmet beside you, and you turn back to your fiancé.

Who would become your husband come tomorrow.

You suck in an unsteady breath, pressing a hand to your face to hide it from him.

"Are you alright?" he whispers, shifting beside you, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze upon you even with his face completely hidden. "Are you feeling sick?"

"I am fine," you say quickly, smoothing out your dressing gown again. "Just…nervous."

Your voice gets quieter when you admit it, and you keep your face turned away. You couldn't help but feel helplessly vulnerable around him, when he could see you, and you could never read his face, could hardly ever hear emotion in his voice when he rarely spoke.

"I am too."

The whispered confession makes your heart clench, and you turn back to him.

"Truly?"

He nods, and you feel the anxiety in your chest ease, just a fraction.

"I am sorry that it's me," he murmurs, and it makes your eyes sting, something aching deep within you at how honestly apologetic he sounded.

This wasn't as fair to him as it was to you, you realize with sudden clarity. You are both the same.

You sniff, wiping at your burning eyes, and find yourself shaking your head.

"Well, you are better than some spoiled prince," you say in a choked voice, and he huffs a laughs under his breath. "I may not see your face, or even know your name, but…you have been kind to me tonight."

The warm leather of his gloves grazes across your fingers in the grass, and you hold your breath when his own fingers gently intertwine with yours.

"I only ever want to be kind to you," he whispers to you, sounding so brutally honest, the waver of his gentle words as vulnerable as you feel, and it nearly pulls a sob from your throat.

"Well," you sniff, years of training to gain control of your emotions triggering in a split second to suppress them. "If I never see you, I can pretend you look as handsome as I please."

He laughs, a gentle chuckle that has warmth rolling through your chest, and you smile.

"You should return to your rooms," he says kindly, and you see his shining armor in a new light when you let him help you sit back up, and then stand. "It will be a long day tomorrow, you need rest."

"Yes, of course," you mumble, brushing grass and stray flower petals off your dressing gown.

You gaze back up at the visor in his helmet, at the darkness within, wondering what color eyes were peering back at you.

The knight takes your hand in his once more, and you watch as he lifts it to his helmet, resting the back of it against the cool steel, where his lips would be beneath.

Your heart skips a beat, and you hold your hand close to your chest when he gently relinquishes it.

"Good night," he bids you, and you drop into a curtsy by habit.

"Good night," you whisper, "my knight."

Your wedding feels a solemn affair.

And, yes. Your groom dons armor for the event.

It is a ceremonial set, unmarred by battle. Unlike the one in the garden, when you had felt for the first time there was a human inside the armor.

His wedding armor is decorative, floral and star motifs engraved in the shining silver. There is a lovingly crafted depiction of the moon and its phases across the cuirass, and the helmet has golden wings coming out from the sides.

You must admit that it is beautiful, shimmering in the light of the chandeliers above you.

Even with the understanding you had felt the night before, you still would have preferred seeing the face of the man you were about to be bound to for the rest of your life and rule over your kingdom.

You commit to your vows, as he does his. To be wife and husband, queen and prince consort, until one of you may meet the end of your days.

The celebrations that follow are stifling. There is no parading through the streets, no addressing the masses just yet. Though the weight of the crown is now on your head, there will come another official ceremony for the people to witness. Tonight is purely for the union of the queen and her new beloved.

There are guests from other kingdoms as you wine and dine, though your husband eats nothing. He is still silent, and now present, unwavering from your side through the evening and into the night.

You only part when darkness falls, your ladies-in-waiting ushering you to your bedchambers to ready you for your wedding night. They bustle around you, speaking in hushed, excited tones, and only Tara runs over things with you directly.

"I know, my dear," you sigh, smiling at her as she tells you again where it goes, how it feels, how it may pinch or hurt but to not be afraid, it would be over quick. "I'll be fine."

You're undressed and freshened up in the tittering of excitement. The only request you dare to make is for your lavender bath oil, which you take time to rub into your skin as it thrums with a tingling, heated energy.

"I will be here first thing in the morning," Tara says as she hugs you tight, taking one last moment to fix the white lace of your delicate shift. "And remember, the candles—"

"Must be blown out, yes, I know."

You sit on the edge of your bed in the silence that follows, the first time you've caught your breath since the night before.

You think of the knight, how the glove of his hand had been warm in yours. How sweet he had sounded when he admitted to being nervous too.

Gazing at the last candlestick alight next to your bed, you lean forward to blow it out before you lose all your confidence.

Time seems to stretch on endlessly before you hear the tentative knock on your doors.

"Is it my husband?" you call out, willing your voice not to shake as much as your hands trembled where they gripped your blankets.

There is silence for a beat.

"It is," his soft voice replies, and you grip the sheets tighter.

"You may enter."

When he does, it is with no clanking of metal, no armor. Only the whispers of fabric and soft footsteps, and your heart races in your chest. You force yourself not to look towards where you feel him lingering at the door once he closes it.

It's not like it would matter. The room was dark, the curtains drawn, as you and Tara had once joked about.

Nothing seemed funny now, with the nerves nearly eating you alive.

"We don't have to do this," he whispers, and you shiver from hearing his voice so clearly without the helmet, in the intimate silence of your private rooms this late at night, knowing what was to come. "If you do not want to."

"It is my marital duty, as it is yours."

"But if you do not desire—"

"Do you not desire it?" you counter, finally pushing yourself up to sit.

The question left unspoken hangs in the still, tense air between you.

Do you not desire me?

He was kind the night before, but had always been detached before. Even if he was polite, it did not mean that he wanted this. That he wanted you.

Why do you so badly wish for his desire?

You gaze aimlessly towards your doors, where the shadow of him hovers on the precipice of confirming the last step of your marital bond, and you swear you can feel him hesitate.

"I do not want you to be uncomfortable."

"Then do not make me uncomfortable," you reply easily.

Tara's advice echoes through your mind, and you shift forward onto your hands and knees, emboldened as you crawl to the end of your large, plush bed.

"Men are supposed to enjoy it," you murmur, gripping onto one of the posts at the corner of your bed. "I see no reason why a woman cannot as well."

The knight lets out a heavy breath.

"A woman can enjoy it," he assures you, his gentle voice suddenly low. "A gentleman will ensure his wife enjoys it."

Something burns inside you with the sound of his voice, ringing so clear in the privacy of night, so dark with intent. The tension that has lingered between you goes to your head, and turns into a heat simmering low in your stomach, your thighs squeezing together.

You know now why you crave his desire.

"Then show me," you whisper.

You desire him.

And he finally moves with the sound of that desire in your voice when you call for him.

Your knightly husband approaches the bed slowly.

"Lay back," he commands you, gentle but firm, and you should be irritated by it. You were to be ruler, not him.

But something in the way this gentle knight waits patiently at the edge of your bed, stripped of the armor that protects him, has you heated with anticipation, shifting slowly to lay yourself out for him.

"You know what happens?" he breathes the question out, still hovering on the edge of something more. "In the marital act?"

"Yes."

One of your hands fists into the sheets by your head, the other in the soft fabric of your wedding shift.

"Do you know you should be readied first?" he breathes, the bed finally dipping beneath his weight.

You find it hard to breathe when you feel him climbing up the bed towards you. Your husband, faceless and nameless but yours, and gods that shouldn't excite you so much. But it has your core throbbing, thighs clenching together in search of some relief.

"Answer me, Your Majesty," he murmurs your new title, low voice dripping with sinful promise, and you jump with a gasp when his fingers graze lightly along your knee.

"No," you rush out, shaking your head even if he cannot see it in the darkness of the room. "I was not aware of that."

His hand curls around your knee, lifting your leg up slowly, easing your thighs open until they fall apart.

"Before I give you my cock," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the inner part of your knee, and you whimper quietly at the filthy words. "I use my fingers."

The knight brushes his lips a bit higher, then stops.

"Do you permit this, my queen?"

You blink rapidly, surprise melting way to a warm feeling of awe that he's asking for permission, and how he uses your title with reverence. It gives you a moment to think as he waits patiently for your honest answer, and the tension through your muscles begins to ease.

"Yes," you admit in a hushed whisper, the truth a breath from your lips. Then you confirm, louder, "Yes, I do. I…want it."

His hand is bare on you, large and warm, and you feel the slick on your thighs when you rub them together subconsciously.

You suck in a breath, and correct yourself quieter, a confession, "I want you."

He lets out a shaky exhale, grip tightening on you. Your knight nods against your thigh, and slowly kisses up it.

"Have you done any of this before, my queen?"

"No," you breathe out, gripping your shift for purchase when he slips the fabric up over your stomach so you are bare to him. "I—well, I have touched myself, out of curiosity."

Your voice trails off with the admission, and you cover your face with your arm.

"Have you felt a climax?" he asks, unashamed.

You bite your lip, flustered. "Once or twice, yes," you whisper, and he hums in approval against your inner thigh.

He kisses it softly, rubbing circles into your other thigh with his fingertips. You can feel the callouses on each one, and you wonder how he looks when he wields a sword.

Does he fight with a shield, or in a dueling stance? A longsword or a greatsword? Is he graceful and elegant, or aggressive and relentless?

When he kisses your skin again, he whispers against it, "Would you give me the honor of touching you now?"

You nod, then remember he can't see you either, and say, "Yes." In a quieter voice, you add in a whimper, "Please."

Seconds pass while you hold your breath, watching for his touch where you need it most.

Then, your breath escapes you in a long whine when his rough fingertips barely graze against your slit.

"Oh!" you gasp in surprise at the sensitivity from him touching you intimately in the darkness, even if just barely.

Your hips twitch and jerk up, and his palm finds your thigh, pressing it down by instinct.

The way he wields control is graceful, heady and addicting to be under, and you decide his fighting style must be elegant. Precise, measured.

Is he just an esteemed knight, or a general? Or perhaps of royal blood, a bastard of some far kingdom thrown into military service? How long has he trained? Where has he lived? Who has he fought?

"Do you want me to keep going, Your Majesty?"

Your lashes flutter, and you nod rapidly. "Yes, please."

His fingers press against you again, confident and gentle. They trace along your slit again, collecting your slick, all the way up to where you have found you are most sensitive.

"You are already wet," the knight murmurs, sounding surprised and…pleased?

It makes your sex clench, and you whine, wiggling your hips impatiently.

He presses down on your thigh more firmly, keeping you parted for him to collect more of the slick dripping from your entrance.

Then his touch trails up, pressing firm, slow, tight circles into that bundle of nerves and oh.

"There you are," he whispers, pressing kisses into your inner thigh as you moan quietly, hips rolling up into his touch. "How does it feel?"

"It feels like—" you break off with a choked gasp when his thumb flicks across it, then rubs it faster, making your mind go blank for a moment. "Hot. Tight. Good. Like pleasure."

He kisses your thigh again, and you swear you feel his lips tilting up against your skin.

Is he…smiling?

"I can use my mouth as well," he informs you, his voice calm, almost innocent, and your eyes widen at the thought. "Would you like me to try?"

You bite your lip as you try and imagine what he would look like with his face pressed to your sex, if only you could see it. What colors eyes would be peering up at you as he tasted you?

But somehow, the thought of him still being invisible to you as he kisses the most intimate part of you has excitement coursing through your veins.

"Do it," you murmur, the nature to command coming as easily to you as it does to him.

He needs no further instruction.

His hot tongue licks a long, flat stripe up your core, and you gasp, hips bucking up.

"Oh gods—"

His lips close around where his fingers were just driving you mad, and he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, tongue circling it as he plays you like a beloved instrument, like he was a talented musician as well as a soldier.

It has you whining, thighs closing around his head as the pleasure grows hotter, sharper. It builds up quickly in the pit of your stomach, and you try and get impossibly closer.

When he pulls back, you whine in disappointment, and his answering chuckle has you trembling.

"I need to prepare you," he whispers, the tips of his fingers prodding at your entrance, and you stiffen by reflex. His other hand strokes gently at your thigh, easing your legs back open. "Relax for me. I want you to feel that climax you've felt before. Do you want that too?"

You suck in a deep breath.

"Yes, I do."

The knight slowly dips the tip of one of his fingers inside you, and you bite your lip.

But he pulls back out, testing just his fingertip a few times, before sinking it in further.

You hiss in a breath at the unfamiliar sensation, and he pauses.

"Do you not like it?"

"It's—" you steady your breath, adjusting to the feeling of his thick finger a few inches deep in you. "It's different."

"Do you want me to continue?"

You roll your hips in a test, and you both gasp when your cunt sucks him in further, clenching around him by reflex.

The knight groans quietly into your thigh, and you answer, "Yes. Keep going."

He carefully thrusts his finger in until he's completely inside you and, gods, it's long. The calloused tip strokes at your tight walls, and you moan, parting your legs further for him.

"You're so warm," he breathes against your skin, brushing his lips down to your sex again to attach them back to that pleasure spot.

It has you gasping, thrashing gently when he circles his tongue around it, his finger slowly pumping into you.

"Oh gods that—"

He hums against your core, and your lips fall open in a soundless cry from the added pleasure of the vibration of his soft voice there.

"Pleasurable?"

"Very," you moan, bucking your hips into his face when he slowly prods another finger into your tight hole.

The longer he thrusts his fingers into you, the less tense you feel. Your body relaxes, accepting him, sucking him back in whenever he began to draw back for another thrust of his fingers.

And when he begins to curl them, and brushes those calluses against somewhere that makes pleasure spark hot down your spine, you cry out softly.

"There," he mumbles to himself, and strokes that spot again.

"Y-you—"

Words escape you for the first time in your life, and you reach down by reflex, your restless fingers tangling into his hair.

You gasp softly at the same time he moans, his fingers thrusting into you with fervor. Your eyes roll back as you stroke our own fingers through his hair, impossibly soft, longer than you had imagined.

Was it brown? Blond? Perhaps a more fantastical color that hid under his helmet?

The wet sounds of his hand smacking against your skin with each thrust of his fingers into your soaked cunt is obscene, and has your toes curling, grabbing onto his hair tighter. Hot pleasure keeps growing in your gut until you feel yourself about to burst with it.

He moans again when you subconsciously yank at his hair. He's still stroking that spot each time you suck him back in, his tongue rubbing against you, and you climax against your knight's face with a nameless moan for him.

It's a high pitched cry, loud, restless, and mellows out with quieter groans as he works you gently through each wave of pleasure.

His soft kiss against your overstimulated nerves makes you twitch, and he smiles against your stomach.

"You should be ready now," he murmurs, and your mind spins at the thought of more. "If you still…?"

"I still want to," you confirm breathlessly, tugging at his hair, and the answering grunt is delicious, sparking more desire in your soaked cunt, a longing to be filled by him completely.

He pulls himself up over you, and you hear the rustle of fabric, then him grunting quietly, wet slaps echoing, before you feel it.

You jump as the head of him slips through your slick. It's curved, bigger than his fingers, and you clench in anticipation of taking it all.

It catches on your entrance, and you whimper when he begins to slip in.

"Tell me if it's too much," he whispers, his voice suddenly shaky as he lowers himself onto his arms over you. "My queen?"

"Yes," you breathe, trembling as he begins to sink into you.

He does it in short thrusts, rolling his hips to almost slip out of you before slowly easing himself back in, giving you time to adjust.

And gods, he is big. Impossibly long and thick, throbbing deliciously as your body welcomes him in.

A part of you can't help but be glad that you can't see it, knowing you'd be overwhelmed by both seeing the size of him, and being under his sharp gaze as you squirm beneath him.

When he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours, you both sigh in unison.

Your knight gives you another moment to adjust. His hand finds your thigh, stroking gentle circles into it with his thumb, and you wonder if he even realizes he's doing it.

Then he thrusts into you once, filling you completely, and your eyes flutter shut.

When he does it again, a whimper escapes from your throat, and he promptly stops.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, hushed in the darkness.

You fingers flex and clench into the sheets above your head multiple times, trying to find the words he'd stolen from you along with the breath from your lungs.

"…No," you answer honestly after a tense moment. Even if you cannot see his eyes in the night, you still find yourself gazing off towards the side in shyness. "It…feels good."

Your knight—no, your husband—pauses above you.

Then, ever so slowly, he rolls his hips, grinding his pelvis into that spot above your folds that makes your toes curl.

"And this?" he whispers, dark and intense, and you bite your lip.

"G-good," you stutter out, breath hitching loudly when he bucks into you once with an obscene sucking sound, and then does it again.

"This?"

"Good," you gasp, grabbing at your pillows, head thrashing to the side when he keeps bucking into you.

Your skin slaps together with each deep thrust, loud and wet, the sound filling up your large chambers along with the scent of sweat and musk. He's impossibly deep, picking up speed, making it hard to think clearly.

"Very good," you breathe, voice shaky with mounting pleasure.

"Truly?" he breathes right next to your ear, his lips grazing it.

You whine loudly, your hand flying up to try and find purchase on his back.

But his skin is bare, no hinges of metal to hang onto. It's soft, smooth, only for your fingers to run across the occasional raised skin across his shoulders, down the span of his broad back.

Scars, you think, and wonder what each one looks like as you blindly trace them.

Your mind spins with the knowledge of him, this strong and silent man, being exposed to you at last, only for you not to see one bit of him.

But he's all around you, deep inside of you, utterly consuming you with every thrust and grind of his hips against yours. Your fingers curl against his back a few times, desperate to ground yourself.

When your nails scrape against him, and he lets out a quiet grunt, your scattered thoughts fizzle out.

Do it again, is all you can think when your mind comes back to you, even as you can't find the words to tell him. Make that sound again.

You eagerly dig your nails into his back, and he spasms above you, pulling out almost entirely only to thrust back into sopping cunt, bottoming out and bucking up into you rapidly.

"O-oh," you moan breathlessly, both hands coming up to grab at him.

You dig your grip into him at every spot you grab, leaving marks you'd never see. Your back arches off the bed each time he grunts and moans quietly into your ear from the sensation.

He feels good, you think distantly, more drunk off the knowledge than the finest of wines you'd consumed on your wedding night. All the opulence and celebration pales in comparison to this moment, when you and your husband were one—faceless and nameless as he is, he is yours. You're making him feel good.

His chest presses to yours as he leans his weight into you, his arms wrapping around your torso to hold you tight to him. He breathes against your ear, quick and shallow, as he makes soft, broken sounds.

Too distracted by the deep grind of his hips into yours, stimulating you right where you need it, you don't realize for a few moments that the broken sounds he makes are the syllables of your name.

You come apart for him with a sharp cry that breaks halfway, mouth open in soundless pleasure while your cunt spasms around his cock, drenching him in your sweet release.

"You—" he gasps, dull nails digging into your hips as they lazily thrust up to meet his own, riding out the waves of your climax. "Did you—"

He breaks off with a strangled moan, and gives a few last, deep thrusts before he's suddenly gone.

You whine at the loss of him when he slips out and away so easily. Your eyelashes flutter as you force your eyes open, transfixed by the dark shape of him over you as his hips jerk, hand moving quickly while grunting quietly, and your thighs are coated in something warm and wet.

"What…?" you breathe, your mind slowly playing catch-up, blinking rapidly. "Why did you…?"

Your thighs twitch when he runs his fingers across them, collecting his release with yours, and smearing them onto the sheets below you.

"Your maids will deliver it to your court advisors in the morning." How he still manages to sound so calm while catching his breath, you have no idea, and it makes something dark and ugly twist where pleasure just bloomed in your gut. "For proof of the marital duty being fulfilled."

"But you didn't—" you breathe heavily, pushing yourself up onto your arms as he shifts off the bed. "You were supposed to finish inside of me. There is no fulfillment unless you do so."

"It is close enough. They cannot tell the difference."

You watch his shadowy figure move, hearing the rustle of fabric.

"And now you are leaving?" you snap. "Just like that?"

"Not yet," he answers, his hushed, unbothered tone only infuriating you further.

He moves through the dark, towards the direction of your vanity, and you turn to stare at the wall. Anger stews in you, your body tense despite the lingering pleasure, knuckles tight in the sheets as you hear the pitcher of water being poured.

You don't want to look towards him.

You don't.

But you give into that inexplicable temptation anyway, that curiosity that lingers for any impossible glimpse of him, only for your breath to catch in your throat.

While you had been expecting the same tall figure drenched in shadows, you were graced with a sliver of moonlight peeking through your curtains to fall across his back, still turned to you.

His skin is pale and smooth, with a dusting of a pink flush across his broad shoulders. There is a long, faded scar across the back of the right one, nearly covered up by the hair that falls past them. The soft strands appear white, perhaps silver. Or maybe it's just the pale moonlight that makes it appear so.

When your husband begins to turn back towards you, you quickly look away, eyes readjusting to the darkness once more while he approaches.

I should have kept looking, you think when you feel the edge of the bed dip under his weight. What color are his eyes, I wonder? How sharp or soft is his brow? Are his lips full? Thin? Is his nose—

You jump at the cool cloth that presses between your thighs, a sharp hiss escaping through your teeth.

"Sorry," he whispers as he gently wipes away the evidence of your coupling from your sensitive flesh. "I tried to warm it between my hands."

You soften slowly, the tension held tightly throughout your body melting away as he cares for you. The act has something warm curling up inside your chest, your eyes suddenly hot and heavy.

"Why didn't you do it?" you whisper, still gazing off to the side, even when you feel his gaze upon you in the dark. "Why did you not fill me?"

His hand slows in wiping down your thigh. Instead, his thumb swipes across it, and you shiver at the light, calloused touch.

"Do you want children?"

"I am expected to have an heir," you answer quickly, automatically, the duty of it instilled in you.

"But do you want one?" he presses. His insistence is gentle, yet unwavering. "And do you want it now? Right as you have become queen of a kingdom that needs your guidance?"

You turn fully onto your back, gazing at where he hides from you in the shadows.

But even though his face is unknown, his name still a mystery, his voice is a comfort. It is a warm balm to your soul, when you didn't even know it was aching under the pressure of your new position.

"I was never given the choice," you whisper, unsure.

"I am giving you the choice now," he answers, strong and gentle at once.

You swallow thickly, allowing yourself the precious moment he had given to you. A wedding gift greater than any other, to be able to think and dream only for yourself.

"Not yet," you admit, quiet and intimate, for his ears alone.

"Then I will not fill you," he confirms, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles into the sore muscles of your thigh, and your eyes flutter shut with a sigh. "Not yet. Not until you ask me for it, if you ever do."

You push yourself up onto your arms.

"Then you will do what I ask of you?" you breathe, a hope inside of you suddenly blooming.

"You are my queen." It is a repetition of his oath, only for you to hear now. His soft voice is a caress to your senses, as much as his hands that find your waist, stroking lightly up your sides.

It's quieter still, intimate with devotion you hadn't dreamed of receiving from him when he adds, "And you are my wife. I will do as you command me."

You shake your head.

"What I ask of you," you insist in correction, feeling the need to give to him what he had given to you. The same grace, equal footing to stand on. "As your wife, I merely ask it of you."

He moves closer, leaning over you, the bed dipping further under your combined weight when you lay back again.

"Then what do you ask of me?" he whispers, blindly feeling for your hand in the sheets.

When he brings it to his mouth, he presses a lingering kiss to the heel of your palm, and your heart skips a beat.

His voice is unbelievably tender, the moment reminiscent of a stolen secret, just like the night before, when he adds softly, "My wife?"

You let out a shuddering breath, reaching for him. Your hands palm up his chest and down his stomach, feeling it's soft but toned, the muscles jumping under your touch.

"Let me see you?"

You feel him stiffen above you at your hushed request, and you reach blindly for his face.

"Please?" you ask, your fingers meeting his skin, gingerly tracing a few inches of his jaw before you pull them back.

You lose your breath when he catches your hand in his.

Slowly, he brings it back up to his face. His long fingers direct your palm open, and you let him guide it to his cheek. A soft, keening noise leaves your throat when you feel him sink into your touch.

"Do you truly wish to see me?" he asks, breathless and unsure. "You may not be pleased."

"Yes," you answer instantly. Swallowing thickly, you add, "I wish to see my husband on my wedding night."

He drops your hand, and you almost feel disappointment before he's leaning over and past you.

Then, a moment and a match flaring to life later, your room is suddenly awash in the warm, gentle glow of candlelight.

You blink rapidly, gazing across his chest once your vision adjusts.

Scars litter across otherwise unblemished skin, and your fingertips dance across each one, down to the soft roundness of his stomach that was hidden underneath that heavy armor.

Your heart is lodged somewhere in your throat when he slowly leans back, letting you see all of him.

And, gods above, he is beautiful.

You suck in an unsteady breath, glancing over his face. You're overwhelmed by all of him all at once, more so than when he had been inside of you in the dark, in awe of how ethereal he was in the lone flickering candlelight.

Your husband's eyes are blue, bright like a spring's sky, calm as the surface of a lazily running river. His brow is both soft and sharp, his nose handsome. His cheeks are soft and flushed when his gaze shies way from your scrutiny, and his lips so full, so pink.

And his hair was long, a color of which you'd never seen the likes of before. You had thought it was white, perhaps silver-toned in the moonlight, until the candlelight cast it golden, creating a glowing halo effect around his head.

"I know," he murmurs, and you blink out of your daze. "The scars are unsightly. I am sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"No," you say quickly, cupping his face eagerly, and his eyes widen, shooting back towards your own.

Glancing over them now, you can't imagine why anybody would call his scars such. The faded red of the raised skin did nothing to eradicate the ethereal beauty of his face. To keep such a handsome, angelic visage hidden away forever seemed more than a shame, it felt like a crime.

You trace the pattern of the first scar, how it splits into two through his eye. First, you graze your touch up into his light brow, where the light hair won't grow back from the healed skin. Then you follow the line down across his elegant cheekbone, to the edge of his jaw.

Moving gently, your thumb brushes up along the raised edge of the next scar jutting from his bottom lip, and you feel his breath stutter on a shaky exhale right against your skin.

"You are beautiful," you whisper, breathless with honesty, caressing the corner of his lips with your thumb.

You watch with held breath when you graze it along his bottom lip, dizzy with how he willingly parts it for you.

Your hands come up to cup his face, and you peer up into his eyes.

The blue is impossible to see now, swallowed up by his dilated pupils. Even so, there is an emotion that wavers in them, in how his eyes flicker across your face, the thinnest shred of restraint held in the tension of his arms resting on the bed around you.

"And you are my husband," you breathe against his lips.

You recognize the emotion when he looks down at your own lips, his calloused thumb brushing up under your chin, grazing along your jaw.

Longing.

"Will you give me your name?" you breathe, fingers trailing down his nose, tracing the shape of his lips, addicted to mapping out the sight of him, in case you never got the chance again. "My husband?"

He exhales, the sound shaky as you feel the warmth of it against your fingers. His eyes are so deep and blue just in the candlelight, and you find you cannot wait to see them in the light of day.

"Xavier," your knight without his armor whispers, and you feel warm with an indescribable hope when he leans in. "My name is Xavier."

taglist: comment here if you want to be added! blank blogs will be blocked ⭐️ Xavier fics: @santaluna @itsmysmut @onigiriinthecorner @inzayneforaj @biblioth-que @needvbunni @whimsicalcup @otome-house @wonys-won 💖all fics: @frostbitten-cherry @/asiatic-apple @heartyluv @floatinginaer @sweetcalebb @princessofenkanomiya @lazygelpen @deepspacebunnieblue @cherryartchaos @kireeen @stargirlygirl @draftbeerbibi @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @slovesyouuu @ineffabl-y @grlyeetswrld @toelady @asiaticapple @aenishas @sylusgworl @lamogliedizayne @plasticcardholder @colonelkaboom @plzdonutpercieveme @syncaleb @dailydoseofanimeawesome

[emslittlelibrary]

Vampire!Reader x Human-ish Sylus: Teaser Snippet!

~ full imagine coming soon (with smut of course)

A note from Soul: I haven’t been this giddy about writing something in a long time. So, naturally, I have to share the smallest little snippet just so I don’t rush myself into posting this before I’m fully satisfied. The official post will be linked here once I’ve finished writing it + it will have proper tags and warnings. Enjoy this teaser!

“My lady.” 

His voice was reverent, quiet in a way that you felt the urge to turn and look at him despite your stubborn resolve. “You cannot ignore me nor your hunger forever. You know that very well.” 

He was right, of course, there had rarely been a situation where he wasn’t. It was part of the reason you had let him in, and one of the things that aggravated you the most when your hunger spiked. 

“Sylus.” You start slowly, fingers curling around the cool metal of the windowsill, its temperature rather similar to your own. “I understand I must eat, but I am not feeding from you.” Your head turns sideways, not quite facing him but enough to shoot a glance his way over your shoulder. “End of discussion.” 

“It most certainly is not the end of this discussion.” He counters it, voice soft as silk as he takes a few strides towards you. Not quite closing the distance, but enough to make your head return to its gazing out the window. Enough to make your fingers tighten on the metal, his scent was overwhelming. 

You could feel your fangs then, piercing your bottom lip as you tried to rein yourself in. “Feed from me, do you not understand how much easier your life would be if you just gave in?” Your eyes shut, jaw clenching so tight you’d fear your teeth cracking if you weren’t otherworldly. “Sylus, I could kill you.” 

“My lady, it would take a lot more than that to kill me.” You could drain him of every ounce of blood in his body, he’d regenerate it all before he’d even lose an ounce of color. 

He was an odd creature, even odder than you. 

“You continue to underestimate me, my lady.” He was trying to poke every weak point at once, only intensifying the effect by stepping closer. Still, you couldn’t bear to look at him just yet, your composure fraying with every passing second. 

“You will not kill me if you drink my blood. You cannot deny that my scent is… tempting.” And it was, it was the sweetest, most intoxicating scent you had ever smelt. It brought you physical pain not to consume the essence of his life.

You knew you wouldn't kill him, you knew it would be a damn near impossible feat. That wasn't the reason you held yourself back. No, not even close. "You utter fool." The words dripped with a venom you had never directed towards him before. Even still, he did not flinch. He didn't so much as back away from you.

"I fear what will happen to me once I've tasted you."

[emslittlelibrary]

Off Limits ! ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

pairing: caleb x fem!reader

content: friends to lovers, brother's best friend trope (cliche, ik, but i'm a sucker for it) eventual smut, u guys want each other so bad it hurts, sexual tension, angsty tension, mentions of guns, caleb is recovering, no evol au, reader is in college, [♥︎] = you, [★] = your brother

a/n: okay, would u guys be interested in this? lemme know before i go crazy writing it. this is the first 2 parts

INTRO

Spring break.

It was long overdue.

Between homework and studying, you couldn't remember the last time you got to just sit down and relax. Not only that, but it'd been a while since you'd seen your parents.

You'd make the most of these weeks.

"Excited to see Mom and Dad?" your brother asks, an easy grin tugging at his lips as he pulls into the driveway.

You smile back, nodding. "Yup. Feels like forever since I saw them."

He hums, putting his car into park and turning the engine off. "I bet."

You both step out of the car and pad to the trunk where you stuffed all your bags.

"You know..." he clicks the trunk open and starts unloading things, "even when they call me to see how I'm doing, they always end up asking about you."

You laugh, the sound earning a playful glare

"Just goes to show how precious their little baby is," he teases, and you scoff, nudging his shoulder.

"Stop it."

He smiles, gesturing for you to head toward the door, bags in hand. You nod, shuffling over and smiling at the little adornments from Thanksgiving that your mom keeps forgetting to put away.

She always had a bad habit of forgetting things like that. Apparently, it ran in the family.

Because when you stop at the front door with your hand hovering over the door, your brother suddenly blurts out, "Oh, Caleb's here."

Your throat tightens.

Caleb.

The boy you forced into playing kitty cards with you when he was over? The boy whose likes and dislikes you memorized? The boy you had a crush on before you even knew what a crush was. That Caleb?

Not that you still like him. You're over it.

It was just a childish infatuation.

But still... You guys had history. And maybe it was all in your head, but it always felt like you guys were toeing on more—just teasing the idea.

"What?" you finally say. "Why didn't you say anything on the way here?"

Your brother shrugs. "Didn't think it was important. It's just Caleb."

Right.

It's just Caleb. You have no reason to get nervous. You take a small breath, bracing yourself. But the air leaves your lungs the second the door creaks open and reveals Caleb—hair messy, and eyes soft, looking a little too comfortable in your house.

He gives you a slow smile and cocks his head to the side slightly. "Hey, Pipsqueak."

PART 1

Caleb's here and it's completely fine. Why? Because you're over your crush. It would be pathetic if you liked the same guy for 12 years.

Right?

Right.

Your parents made a fuss when they saw you. Your mom, who was trying to secretly cook your favorite meal and was caught red-handed instantly jumped at the sound of your voice.

She'd spun around and rushed to crush you in a big hug. And your dad, who was outside watering his plants (?(a new hobby, you supposed) came in, the knees of his jeans stained an ugly green as he joined the hug.

And when it was Caleb's turn, he was slow. It almost felt like he was studying you before he finally wrapped you in a hug. "Welcome home," he'd said.

And you barely heard him because you were only now realizing how big he was. How absurdly... fit he was. But it wasn't a omg-he's-touching-me-now-i-can't-focus moment. It was a holy-shit-he's-been-working-out moment.

But you're over your crush.

Seriously.

Caleb is just your brother's best friend now.

You breathe out a sigh of relief as you finally unpack everything, sinking into your mattress.

Home.

You didn't realize how much you missed this until you actually got here. Now, you weren't sure you'd ever leave. Maybe you wouldn't.

"Hey."

You know that voice too well.

Slowly, you look up, and there's Caleb, giving you a that lopsided smile.

"Hi. Ever heard of knocking?"

Caleb scoffs. "Your door was wide open."

"Doesn't mean you can just peek in."

Despite your words, Caleb doesn't stop himself from stepping in, nor do you. You just watch as he walks in and glances around your room like it's his first time here.

It's not.

But you could count the number of times he'd been here on your fingers.

"Hasn't changed at all, huh?"

You take a moment to give your room a once-over and shake your head. "Nope. I'm a little surprised."

Caleb sits beside you. "Yeah?"

"Mhm. My dad said that when my brother and I left he'd rent out our room. Thought he'd finally get the balls to do it this year."

He laughs at that. "Ouch." He waits a beat, then speaks up again. "He could never do that."

You smile. "I know."

There's an awkward silence where you two just look at each other. It makes your stomach turn and your chest tighten, but neither of you looks away. You can't place it, but something feels different.

He feels different.

You do too.

Softly, you ask, "Why are you here?"

"What? Can't be here to celebrate your homecoming?"

You give him a knowing look. "Caleb."

He sighs. "Okay... So I guess [★] hasn't told you?"

You narrow your eyes and suddenly you have a bad feeling. You never even asked him why Caleb was here. And yes, maybe he's here to celebrate your homecoming, but there's something else.

You felt it the minute Caleb opened the door looking way too at home.

"Hasn't told me what?"

"I—"

"Hey!"

You both sit up straighter when your brother appears in the doorway. "Food's ready! Hurry before it gets cold."

Then he's gone, leaving you and Caleb again.

You turn to him, brows furrowed with more questions. "Caleb—"

"I'll tell you after dinner, yeah?"

You huff, standing up. "Fine."

Dinner was nice at first. Really, it was. It'd been way too long since you ate with your parents, but they were... weird.

They babied Caleb. Saying things like "Oh honey, do you want this?" and "You've got to try some of this, son." They were just so comfortable with him.

Too comfortable.

"So, is Caleb your guys' new baby?" you tease, curiously glancing up at Caleb who sat next to you.

He shoots you a sideways look. "I guess I am." He nudges you with his knee, smiling. "Why? You jealous?"

You scoff. "No, not at all. They're all yours."

He laughs. He could pull his leg away, but he doesn't. He keeps it there, pressed right against yours. When you look at him again, he's eating again, but there's something there.

You could pull away too.

You don't.

"I guess we've just gotten too used to him," your mom says, lips curling upwards when her eyes land on Caleb.

You laugh quietly, but you're not sure at what. "Oh, really? Thought you would've forgotten about him since he's been in the Air Force."

Silence.

Dreadful, uncomfortable silence.

Your fork scrapes against your plate as you slowly look up. Your mom's smile has slipped from her face. Your dad's brows are knit together almost like a scolding. And even your brother looks like he wants to disappear right now.

What the hell is going on?

You glance up at Caleb. His jaw is tight and his smile looks strained.

"...What?" you ask quietly.

Another beat, then finally, your mom speaks up. "Caleb isn't in the Air Force anymore.. He's been living here with us while he gets everything settled."

Your mind completely glazes over the fact that he's living here. It goes straight to the whole, Caleb-isn't-doing-what-he-planned-his-whole-life-for for thing.

When you were a kid and you found out he'd be going to a military branch, you lost it. You wouldn't speak to him for weeks, insisting that he was going because he hated you.

He only got back in your good graces after spending a whole week with you and buying you a month's worth of ice cream.

He promised he'd come back. That as much as he cared about you, he couldn't give up on his dream.

Now this?

He wouldn't just quit. No, it was something else.

You look at Caleb again. "What? Why aren't you in the Air Force anymore?"

"Uhm. He had an ac—"

"That's not important right now," Caleb quickly cuts in, that feigned cheerfulness he'd mastered when you were kids creeping in again. "What's important is that you're finally home."

He turns to you, patting your head. "Right?"

"Wait, wait, you can't just drop that on me and not expect me to—Caleb, why aren't you—"

"[♥︎]."

Your brother gives you a look that says "shut up" and shakes his head at you. You do. But not without shooting Caleb one last pointed stare.

After that, the rest of the night is tense.

You feel like an outsider.

Because apparently, everyone in this house is a part of some big, important secret and you're not.

Nope.

Not you.

Everyone but you.

You groan, pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes.

Stupid jet lag. You can't sleep.

You've been trying for hours and all you do is end up in some new position that isn't any more helpful than the last.

You kick your legs over your bed and quietly pad to the kitchen. You need a glass of water, or maybe some warm chocolate milk.

You pull the fridge door open and just stare. Milk or water? Milk or water? Milk or water? It's a very important choice.

"You know you're gonna give your parents a higher electricity bill, right?"

You jump at the sound of Caleb's voice. For a second, you melt, then, your irritation comes bubbling back up.

"So you take care of their bills too?" you quip, turning back toward the fridge. "What else is new?"

Caleb sighs.

You've always been so headstrong.

But he doesn't feel like being witty right now. "Can't sleep?"

You shake your head in confirmation. "Jet lag."

He hums. Then it's silence. You hate the silences with Caleb. There's not supposed to be any.

Without looking, you ask, "What about you?"

You hear a soft sound, like maybe Caleb tried to say something then decided against it. "Yeah. Can't sleep," he finally answers.

Water, you decide. You leave the fridge to grab a plastic cup, but you stop. They're not in the cabinet where you last remembered.

"Other one, to your left."

You clench your jaw. Of course, he knows.

You wordlessly open that cabinet instead and grab a cup. You give him a pointed look before holding the plastic up to the water dispenser in the fridge.

"So why can't you sleep?"

Caleb thinks too long before shrugging. "Don't know."

"I hate when you lie to me," you mutter, finally closing the fridge.

Caleb stares at you, his eyes softening as he watches you lean up against the kitchen island and just glare at him.

"I'm not," he sighs.

"Mom was saying something at dinner. About why you're not in the Air Force." You take a small sip, still looking at him over the rim of your glass. "What was it?"

Caleb lets out another breath, his throat bobbing nervously.

It's like you can see him playing out every scenario in his head right now. Like he's trying to figure out whether he can talk himself out of this one or not. He's done that ever since you were young.

You hated it.

"It—" He immediately stops, shaking his head. "You don't need to worry about it."

Your chest suddenly feels too tight.

"Tell me."

Caleb takes a minute, then finally, "I was in an accident. That's all."

You narrow your eyes. That's all? That's all? That's everything. If he's not in the Air Force right now it's because the accident was serious enough to force him out, or scare him away.

And he wants to brush it off with a that's all?

You inhale deeply before speaking. "How bad was it?"

"Not bad."

You look away, scared that if you don't you might say something you don't mean. "I'm getting sick of you downplaying everything."

"It was a bad landing. I was fine."

You swallow back the lump in your throat.

Fine.

He doesn't have to tell you anything. But you're done pretending his vague answers don't bother you.

"Goodnight, Caleb."

You try to walk past him but his hand quickly shoots out to grab your wrist. You freeze, your skin prickling underneath his touch. When you look at him, he seems just as surprised as you.

"Sorry," he mutters, gently drawing his hand back. "I—It was a bad landing. I had a concussion and a few broken ribs. Nothing I couldn't handle."

You try to stop it from coming out. But you can't. "Why didn't I know?"

Caleb sighs. "C'mon. We didn't want to worry you."

He says we like it wasn't his choice not to tell you. Like he didn't make this accident everyone else's secret too.

"I want to know if you almost died."

"I didn't almost die, I was fine—"

"But you could've!" you cut in, voice rising. "What if something worse happened? Like you lost your limb or something? Were you just not going to tell me because you didn't die?"

His lips twitch with a frown. "[♥︎]..."

"What about me?"

He shakes his head slightly. "What about you?"

"What if I almost died at college, huh? Some shooter came and just—"

"Don't say shit like that—"

"What if I came home with a scar on my shoulder where I was shot and told you, oh, I didn't die, so it's fine?"

The kitchen is tense. Every word feels like a live wire ready to snap. You hate arguing with Caleb—or whatever it is that you're doing right now. Even as a kid, you both avoided fights.

You wanted the last bag of chips? It was yours.

You wanted him to push you on the swings for another 10 minutes even though it was his turn? Just say the word.

There weren't any fights between you.

Now? All you want to do is fight. You want to scream and slap and punch until he understands why he can't just not tell you things.

"That's not the same."

"Why not?"

"Because it's you!" Caleb huffs, shrinking back the minute he notices he's raising his voice. "It's my job to—"

He bites his tongue before the rest can leave his mouth, but you know what he meant to say.

You want to scoff.

"I don't want your protection. I want you to tell me when things happen, Caleb."

"[♥︎]—"

"Goodnight."

Then you're gone, turning on your heel and rushing back to your room before your heart threatens to burst out of your chest.

You can't believe him.

Who does he think he is? Keeping secrets from you?

You want to be mad at the fact that he's hidden something so big. But you can't help but go back to his "it's my job to—" slip.

He still sees you as his best friend's little sister and that pisses you off more than anything else.

—

tags: @exe-toby @seungkwansflower @floatinginaer @halfawakeblobbu @heartyluv @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @walrusbreath @sylvieisoffline @awquaz @purpleamethyst25 @pinksaiyans @beaconsxd @haleaf @politefawn @colonelpantysniffer @villainessobsessed @lioria @inlovewithsylus @tired7o7 @justwinginglife @itsmysmut @bitewiththis @littleboomerang @aenishas @inzayneforaj @opalesquegirl @sudenuryg @lamogliedizayne @rurushow @viviiswrr-d @rina-lidou @puppytruther @animegamerfox @00haru00 @thelittlebutton @lilacsandhysteria @syncaleb @meulilac @horanghaeegr @astheskycries @perfect4taehyung @rychltruly @sylusqt @suffyrn @emowitchwithatwist @didudjjd @suguru-getos @joopg00p @honeymoonfleur @stargirlygirl @peachlycheetea @calebsbabyapple @goochfiddler99 @lewdcifer778 @minivia @bidisasterforevermore @c-l-stinnett @thesevro @mindnumbed @alysaria @astr4lbedo @love-and-deepstrays @cleostufff

[emslittlelibrary]

CRANKY BUT LOVED ft. love and deepspace

sylus + zayne + caleb + rafayel + xavier × fem!reader (separate)

content: fluff, fem!reader, all-LIs, period cramps, crankiness, reader snaps at LIs for subtle things.

a/n: i become the crankiest person when my period starts, so this piece felt like describing myself. thank you to the person who requested this <3. wc: 1.3k . rbs are very appreciated <3 - requested!

m.list - read here to request

“... are you listening to me, kitten?” Sylus looks at you through his lashes, but you’ve long since stopped listening to his words.

The pain in your lower abdomen increased, even though you’d taken Ibuprofen, making you feel snappy at every little thing.

“Can you be quiet for a minute?”

Sylus freezes, and you do the same, the words coming out before you could think.

“I apologize for being inconsiderate,” you turn and face him, his ruby eyes tinted with worry. You can see he was pretty hurt by your harsh words.

Slowly, you slide next to him, sitting on the couch, an arm draped around his neck.

“I’m sorry, Sy. I didn’t mean that,” you tug at his shirt, and he wrapped you in his arms, pulling you closer.

Resting his chin on your shoulder, he peppers your neck with kisses, his hand hovering over your abdomen before settling right there. You feel warmth pooling there, the pain slowly fading—not completely, but still an improvement.

“You don’t have to worry about that, sweetie. I’m sad when you’re in pain, so when you talk to me so fiercely, it makes my worry disappear,” he nuzzles against your neck.

You lean into the touch, sighing, as his hand starts rubbing your skin in slow and steady circles.

“My little fierce kitten,” he mumbles, and it causes you to giggle, as you pinch his arm teasingly.

“I’m not that fierce, though,” you complain, shivering as his hot breath clashes against your skin, yet again. He places a kiss right there, then chuckles.

“Yes kitten, you are right.”

“Please Zayne, when was the last time you made dinner? Why hasn't the washing machine started? There’s a cup left on the table. It’s been there since morning, I-” Zayne leans in and kisses you. You stop talking, but then furrow your brows, confused, and push him away.

“Are you trying to shut me up?”

Zayne chuckles, “dear, how about we go out for dinner? I’m sure it’ll lift your mood, since now, as a combination of hormonal fluctuations, prostaglandin release and systemic inflammation, your mood is being severely influenced,” he kisses your cheek, clasping your hand gently.

You sigh, nodding slowly, as he motions for you to sit down.

“How are you feeling?” His hand travels down your back, then grazing your hips, it rests on your abdominal area.

“Does it hurt? How about this?” He starts rubbing, gently, the friction against your body heating the area. You sigh with relief, nodding while slowly closing your eyes.

Zayne studies you, his jade irises gleaming with understanding.

“For a woman, during her menstrual cycle, it’s important to avoid unnecessary stress. Let me take care of the rest, alright?”

You nod, leaning in to peck his lips.

“I’ll make you some chamomile tea. It’s heavily recommended for its anxiolytic, antispasmodic and anti-inflammatory properties. Then, we can head out.”

He props himself up, but your hand stops him from going further.

“Thank you for putting up with me.”

He frowns, crouching back down, looking at you from below.

“I’m not putting up with you. I’m doing something for the woman I love, it’s the least I can do.”

Caleb has noticed you were not laughing at his jokes. Plus, for the whole morning you’d been complaining of pain in your lower stomach, and that makes him sure that your period has come.

Slowly, he approaches you, a hot waterbag in his hand, and warm honey water in the other.

You are curled up on your sofa, a throw blanket covering your legs, while you disinterestedly watch a boring documentary about sea life.

“Pipsqueak, I have something for you,” he settles beside you, giving you the hot water bag—which you gladly take, and then the steaming cup.

“Took you long enough, the cramps are so awful, I thought I’d delete my existence.”

Caleb widens his eyes, but doesn’t take it to heart.

After taking a sip, your body warms up on the spot.

You sigh, and Caleb involuntarily mimics you, which makes your gaze shot up, your eyes tightened in small fissures.

“You’re copying me.”

He shakes his head, defensively, “I’m not, Pips, I-”

“Hmph,” you turn around, the steaming cup still clutched between your hands, and continue your boring vision of the documentary.

“Please, don’t ‘hmph’ me, Pips. I’m sorry, okay?” Caleb kisses your forehead, pulling your head down until it rests on his shoulder, while an arm curls around your back.

“It’s okay, the pain will soon go away,” and you melt against him, at the sound of those comforting words.

“... I’m sorry,” you whisper, so low, it doesn’t reach his ears.

“What?” he teases you, lowering his head even closer.

“I won’t repeat it, you heard me,” and he chuckles, tightening his hold as your lips grin against the ceramic vessel.

“Rafayel Qi.”

Time stops and Rafayel freezes, the brush hovering above the canvas, an incomplete portrait staring at him.

He gulps and sets down the paint plate.

“Yes, cutie?” he giggles nervously, walking out of the studio to find you with arms crossed, a foot tapping on the floor.

“You didn’t get the chocolate bar I asked ,” your tone is harsh, and Rafayel scratches the back of his head.

“I’m sorry. Please don't be mad?” he walks over to you and spreads his arms, engulfing you in a tight hug.

“I’ll make it up to you alright?”

And he whips you up, settling you on the sofa, and covering your body with a light blanket.

“Do you want me to order take-out?”

His actions leave you baffled, the previous anger slowly fuming away, as you wonder why you’d gotten angry in the first place.

“I know you started your period today, do you need me to get you something else? Pads? Hot water?”

You motion for him to get closer, locking him between your arms as you pull his face closer.

“I’m sorry for snapping like that. I don’t need anything else… Just stay next to me, please?” He kisses the tip of your nose and plops beside you, an arm draped around your body.

“You look absolutely beautiful today, can I paint you?” His question is out of the blue. You blink.

“My eyebags are about to reach the floor and my hair is so sweaty I need five business days to wash it.”

He chuckles and kisses your cheek, "you're still beautiful to me.”

Xavier studies you from across the table, breakfast laid in front of you, but your non-existent appetite causes you to push the food on your plate.

He clears his voice. “Starlight?”

You hum in response, not bothering to lift your head up, the cramps making you hiss in pain.

“Do you want me to make you something else? Waffles? Eggs?”

Your eyes shoot up, “please stop talking. Also, I’m the one who does the cooking, Xavier. It’s a blessing you haven't burned down the whole kitchen already.”

Xavier widens his eyes, his blue irises traveling from your face to your abdomen, where your hand is clutching steadily.

“Oh.”

He gets up, the chair sliding behind him with a rattling sound and walks over to you.

“I’ll get you some Ibuprofen, but please try to eat a little beforehand,” he caresses your cheek before heading to a nearby cabinet.

When you're done eating, and the medicine starts slowly taking effect, you move to the living room and Xavier follows suit, bunny ears appear on the top of his head—or maybe, it’s the pain playing tricks on you. It has to.

You lie comfortably, and Xavier guides your head to his lap, while his hand stretches towards you and proceeds to massage the pained zone, lightly.

“I can’t cook, but I can help this way,” he mumbles and your eyes almost water, hearing the words.

“I’m sorry, Xav. I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” your hands cover your face in shame, but he chuckles and uncovers it.

“It’s okay star, it’s not your fault,” and leans down to press a peck against your forehead.

© sylusgworl - 2025, all rights reserved / i don't allow anyone to copy, repost on other platforms or sell my works.

taglist:

@lamogliedizayne @marinenox @silver--47 @its-tuff-out-here @kpop-athena @digitalotu5

[emslittlelibrary]

how would the lads boys react if mc woke them up after a looong night ( wink wink ) and asked them if they still love her! i really want to see this scenario happen with xavier

Y’all want me to write smut so bad omg *jk*

Do You Still Love Me?

Sylus was out of there, one arm under his head and the other around you. Three rounds and he was exhausted however, here you were wide awake staring at the high ceiling. Your mind wandered, why? Who knows. Something was bugging you and you didn’t want to wake him up but you were so bothered.

So you shook him interrupting his snoring.

“Sylus? Do you still love me?” You asked him as he looked at you a bit discombobulated at that.

“Do I? Wait…” He closes his eyes trying to adjust. He breathes through his nose before opening his eyes again.

“Why did you ask me that?” He questioned his voice deep and raspy as you look at him sadly.

“Because I’ve been up thinking about it.” He chuckled tiredly as his thumb caressed your arm.

“That mind of yours runs wild even at the dead of night.” He sucks in air before sighing, “I love you in every life I’m given. That won’t change.” He reassured you making your worried features soften.

You snuggle into him before he immediately falls back to sleep. Snoring like the dragon he is.

Caleb was laid out, understand? He was hard to wake up unless you left the bed. His grip on you was deadly. You were thinking did he actually love you? You guys were on different levels of life so why should he?

“Caleb? Do you love me?” You mumbled quietly but if it’s your voice he has the ears of a hound. He perks up looking at you with slightly cocked eyes.

“Of course I do. I’ve loved you all my life.” He muttered softly his voice filled with exhaustion. He holds you close kissing your temple.

“Really?” You mumbled quietly making him nod. “Yes. Always.” He trailed off before going back to bed.

His answer was good enough for you to get a good nights rest.

Poor Zayne was put into a comatose state. On top of having a long stressful day and having you he was done for the night. He was sound asleep before you woke him with your late night thoughts.

“Zayne do you still love me?” This made him blink awake slowly. He still found time to reassure you no matter how tired he was.

“Feelings like mine don’t change over night.” He says closing his eyes once more.

“Really? Not even if I’m annoying?” He side eyes you tiredly.

“You’re never annoying to me. Now rest it’s good to get at least 8 hours of sleep. In our case 6 is just as good.” He kisses you softly and slowly nearly moaning in your mouth before breaking away.

He would show you how much he loved you more if he didn’t have work in the morning.

Xavier was laid out flat damn near taking up the whole bed. You were stuck in thought. What if he only wanted to sleep with you? What if he secretly hated you and just didn’t show it? You were pulling at straws for at least 20 minutes.

“Xay. Xavier? Do you love me.” His head wobbles as he tries to lift it from your shoulder. He looks around like he doesn’t know where he is before his slightly red eyes fall onto you.

“Of course I do where did this come from?” He questioned you as he pulls you into his chest.

“I don’t know…” You trail off making him hum as he kisses your temple.

“I’ve loved you for a very long time and I’ll continue to do so.” He answers before immediately falling back to sleep on top of your head.

You smiled softly before snuggling into him.

Rafayel looked like a peanuts character with the way he was sleeping. He was insatiable tonight and even though he told you he loved you throughout the night it still didn’t satiate the voices telling you he didn’t.

“Raf? Do you still love me?” You pouted as your forearms were crossed on his chest.

“Duh! What made you ask me that?” He asked as groggy as ever almost making you laugh.

“I dunno…just thinking.” You shrug making him pluck your forehead.

“Well stop doing that. If I didn’t I’d treat you how I treat those old people at the art expos.” He explained his voice casually trailing off into sleep. You shake your head before kissing his clammy cheek.

You snuggle in, to which he involuntarily squeezes you into him, and fall asleep.

I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t add reaction pics

[emslittlelibrary]

Prince Xavier was without a doubt magnificent—hair cut short and silver, reflecting the light in a way that seemed to almost create a halo around his head. His face handsome and regal, eyes blue and shining with purpose, resembling the aquamarine that rested against your chest, that now rose and fell quickly with the way your heart was beating aggressively against it.

His voice was nothing short of angelic too, yet the soft timbre that made you laugh and blush during your first encounter, when you had yet to know who he really was, and what he was about to do, was now making the hair at your nape stand straight.

Because angels usually wish for peace, not urge to start chaos and bloodshed.

“…If they do not agree to our terms, there is no point in waiting. Our men are ready. We will take what rightfully belongs to us before the Earth orbits the Sun again.” His voice although gentle, cut through the tension in the air as if it was a deadly weapon. You gasped and touched your father’s arm, urging him to say something, anything to disapprove. To cut the prince’s plan short. “The support of your army is not needed, Your Highness, but would surely be appreciated. Our kingdoms are to become united, thus I feel the need to inform you about, and include you in our future actions.” Xavier’s eyes met yours and you gulped nervously, not recognizing the man before you. Your gaze fixed on your father, hand squeezing his formal wear, urging him to speak.

But the words that left his mouth were not what you expected them to be.

“You have our permission and full support, Your Highness. We will wait for further instructions.” Your father said and your mouth opened in shock, your whole body trembling.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Your marriage, the one that had been arranged a while ago, was supposed to bring peace. It was supposed to be a happy union, and it surely seemed like it with the way prince Xavier looked at you, with the way he spoke to you, and touched you as if you were the most precious of gems, the woman he would build kingdoms for, not destroy—

“No!” You exclaimed, making the eyes of the whole room turn your way. The eyes of the most important officials of your lands, as well as the eyes of the one that you were arranged to marry.

For peace. For freedom and peaceful future, not for the war and mayhem.

“Our land will not start another useless war. I will not allow it.” You took a step towards the prince, his eyes never leaving yours even for a second. Your father wanted to grab your hand and pull you to his side, but you quickly dodged his attempts. “As long as I live, I will not let you bring this upon us. Upon our people.”

Xavier was quiet for a moment, his blue eyes studied your face with intention, gaze that before was filled with quiet adoration and a promise of utmost devotion, now filled with something akin to pity. You hated that look—it made you feel like a child, like someone who would not be taken seriously. And you still find it hard to believe that he even proposed an armed conflict. From your brief but meaningful exchanges throughout these months you believed that he was someone gentle and kind, not striving for violence.

It turns out you must’ve been mistaken this whole time. And it broke your heart in two.

“I mean no harm, my princess. I simply want what’s best for the kingdom of Philos, I want to do it for us, for our people—” He took a step toward you and you flinched, his brows furrowing in response. You shook your head and although the tears wanted to fill your eyes, you refused to show the people around you your fragility.

“No.” You answered and held your head up high, looking at the man who was supposed to be your future husband as if you saw him for the first time. “The war is never for the people. The war is what people fear, the reason they lose sleep. The war is for you, for all of you, selfish, greedy people who don’t even attempt to find another way to ease the conflict.” Your whole body was shaking and the prince noticed, his hands going straight to take off his huge cape. Yet when he wanted to offer you to wear it, you dismissed him with a shake of your hand.

“Forgive my daughter, Your Highness, she doesn’t know what—”

“I know what I am talking about, father! I always knew and you never took me seriously, and now you want to marry me off to someone who will put our people in despair—”

“My dear, you have to understand me. The war is the only way, I am doing this for us, I am doing this for you—” Xavier started, his hands coming over to grab yours but you were quick to shake him off, making the officers around you gasp. His touch seemed to burn you, the shock and disgust you felt upon hearing his plans was irreversible, shaking the ground beneath your feet and changing the way you thought of him before.

You knew you shouldn’t act this way. You shouldn’t show such disrespect for the crowned prince, and you shouldn’t even be a part of this conversation. But you refused to stay silent and let the people of your land fight wars for the things they had no control over.

You couldn’t let them die for the battles that weren’t theirs. And fortunately, you still had a way to save them.

“You are not doing this for me, Your Highness. For us. And you will not have to anymore.” You said with certainty, your shaking hands gripping the fabric of your dress, one of your favorite ones, worn today specifically for him to admire. Now, his thoughts and affections became meaningless to you, your heart suddenly turned to stone, the loyalty to your people a balm to your breaking heart.

“What do you mean, my princess? What are you—” Through your blurred vision you saw his panicked gaze, and you took a deep breath and let one of your tears finally fall. He moved as if he wanted to catch it. But it was already too late.

“I can’t marry you. I refuse to marry you and let our kingdom fall alongside yours.” His face fell and mouth snapped shut, spine straightening and hands clenching at the sides. His jaw tensed and he looked as if he was struck by lightning. And although the heartbreak on his face hurt you, you couldn’t look away. “Because no matter the outcome, the war will take away the lives of many, and I refuse to be the one who made that happen. Our union was supposed to unite and protect, not bring violence and madness.” He stayed silent and you didn’t even hear him breathe. Your father stirred behind you and grabbed your arm, and you stopped fighting him. Nothing he would do or say now will change your decision.

“My princess, please calm down, I—” Xavier started speaking quietly but you shook your head, everyone was waiting for your answer with a held breath.

“I am calm, Your Highness. And I am breaking off our engagement right here, right now.” The room was completely quiet and you hated how devastated he looked, even though he wanted to hide it from the others. “By agreeing to this union I thought I would be marrying a gentle man, not a ruthless warrior. I cannot let my people suffer because of our fathers’ choices and my own heart’s desire. I refuse to be so selfish.” More tears fell and his frown deepened, the grip of your father’s hand on your arm bruising. But before anyone could say anything, you turned to your parent, your king, and looked straight into his eyes.

“I know this isn’t what we agreed upon, my king. But I cannot do this. I will never marry this man. And my words are final.” Your voice strong despite the tremble of your shoulders, and you heard the prince grunt few steps beside you. “And if he wants me—”

“I do.” Xavier said so loudly and surely his voice bounced off of the walls and rang in your ears.

“He will have to take me by force.” Voice full of venom, you turned one last time to see the man you started to get accustomed to through all these months. Your heart throbbed painfully, knowing well that you weren’t near him just out of obligation, but adoration that formed and settled deep into your very being.

You bowed to him, the movement slow and much more formal that you were used to by now. And when you saw his hand reaching for you, you did what all the damsels in distress were best at.

You run away. Quickly and surely, tears streaming down your face, the wind swiping them straight into your ears.

And that was the day the chaos ensued, and among it all stood prince Xavier, heart full of ache and desperation not to lose you—the one he longed for, and the one he loved, terribly so, for as long as he remembered.

dividers by @strangergraphics

pics by @/coffeekittycatt on tt

[emslittlelibrary]

- - 𖥻 [ STRATEGY ! ]

— ABOUT ? : strategy, one thing you’re good at. Atleast—you think you are. So when you make a plan to reel your co-worker in, you think you’ve got it until he manages to prove you wrong in the break room. He knows.

— pairings ? : intern!clark x fem intern!reader

‘ got ya on my radar ! ’ ★ 18+. smut. cunnilingus squirting. fingering. & semi-public. | not proofread - sorry for any mistakes !

STRATEGY ♡ TWICE !

you had a plan, a real plan or— well, a strategy. like a full on, color coded, multi-step master plan. The kind that would make everyone roll their eyes because it was so ridiculous but did you care? Definitely not.

only because the subject of your strategy is none other than Clark kent. — tall, ridiculously tall, makes-coffee-for-everyone Clark kent. Your fellow intern, he had that wholesome small-town charm. The kind of presence that made everyone feel seen.

holds the elevator door for total strangers, offer his umbrella to those who needed, just overall a good man and yet you wondered why you had such a big crush on his man like you were still in highschool so yes, you had a strategy.

step one?: eye contact. “Hold it for five seconds.” you quietly murmur to yourself as you stood by the water cooler. Looking up from his desk, his eyes met yours.

you gave a shy smile, his eyebrow raising a bit in clear confusion but he wasn’t one to not smile back. He flashed you a sweet but awkward smile but you panicked and looked away.

“too long.” You grumbled, nearly spilling your own water.

step two!: coffee gambit, you made him coffee. Three sugars, a dash of milk. Just the way he likes it! you definitely weren’t eavesdropping on him and another co-worker speaking about it. “Wow thanks.” He smiled, accepting the cup which made your stomach flip. “You didn’t have to.” He finished.

“I wanted to.” You replied quickly, making him give you a small glance. He took a sip and made that sweet little hum he often did. Adorable, but then—

“Mm. Good coffee, maybe you should be a barista if this office job doesn’t work out for you.” …seriously? you knew he had no bad intention with that but— it hurt.

step 2? Basically failed, sort of. He didn’t seem to get it.

step three ! : ‘accidental’ proximity. “Oh Clark! You here again?” you chirped, stepping into the break room like you just hadn’t been peeking around the corner for him to finally enter

he turned from the coffee machine with a soft smile, “you too, huh? Looks like we’re just..here at the same time.” He chuckled awkwardly. You quickly chuckled after him, brushing off imaginary dust on the counter next to him.

“almost like..the universe is trying to tell us something?” you spoke quickly before clearing your throat. God— this was so ridiculous. He looked at you like you were a bit crazy, quiet for a while. Then he just laughed like you’d just told a joke and rubbed the back of his neck. “Right— right, yeah. I guess it might be.” He murmured awkwardly.

you left the break room glowing.

step 4: compliments. Causal but with impact! “You always have the best button ups!” You said one morning, pretending to be busy as he took off his coat. “Oh yeah?— uh, thanks.” He smiled. This frustrated you, terribly.

step 5: very odd..flirt maneuver. you lingered by his desk, bending to tie your shoe even though— you were wearing flats and giggled way too hard when he told you the story about him tripping over his own feet. In hindsight, wasn’t a great move.

He thought you were laughing at him.

Two weeks, two weeks of smiling, compliments, and just overall your whole plan— two weeks of laying it on thick just enough to not seem desperate and still..nothing.

You seemed to try everything but nothing. No number exchange. No “want to grab lunch?”— no spark. You wondered if your strategy even worked, didn’t seem like it did. All you had was a sticky note and a dream.

the break room was quiet, just the hum of the fridge and the clink of your mug. You stared into your tea like it could offer you advice.

“hey.” a word that just suddenly appeared, wasn’t expect. You turned and of course— clark. A nervous aura surrounding him that you’ve seen before but not very often. He cleared his throat— “I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

you raised an eyebrow, “were you ever gonna actually ask me out?” He chuckled, his hand scratching the back of his neck— you froze. Huh? “Wait. What?” You murmured, a laugh erupting from him.

“you really think I didn’t notice? The coffee? The..accidental run-ins? It wasn’t..subtle.” He grinned, your mouth opened before closing again. “I—wha? you..— you knew?” You stared at him dumbfounded.

“I’ve been letting you have your fun,” he spoke, his eyes sparkling behind those glasses. “Well— you looked like you were having fun.” He murmured, stepping closer— a bit too close “You absolute— Clark! Why didn’t you say anything?” You scowled, he slightly chuckled.

“I mean.. like I said, it looked like you were having fun and I wasn’t sure if you were joking with me or not.” He shrugged.

“I wasn’t messing with you.” You murmured, before he stepped right in your bubble. “I know.” The mug in your hands suddenly warmer than before.

“so..can I kiss you or is that— tomorrows strategy?” He chuckled, you didn’t answer. Just reached up and kissed him, he quickly replicated it. His hands sliding down to your waist, eventually trailing to your ass.

“not my usual place to do this.” He softly laughed against your lips. He picked you up, his big hands still on your ass before placing you to sit on the one of the counters. You both quickly glanced over at the door— “I guess we better hurry this up, huh?” He chuckled.

“I—yeah. I guess so.” You murmured breathlessly, his hands reaching up your skirt to your thighs. His calloused fingers gently touching the laced edges of your panties, the feeling was ticklish but made shivers run throughout your body.

“can I take those off?” He softly asked, your head immediately moved to nod before you could even think about it. He was too polite and with one slide, they were off— the breeze hitting your pussy.

goosebumps rise on your skin and that’s it for you, watching him gently lower down. His beautiful eyes looking right up at up at you as if he wasn’t just about to devour you. As if someone couldn’t walk in at any minute.

he gently pushes your skirt up your thighs, giving him better access to your pussy. His big hands fall on your thighs— he leans in and places small kisses within your inner thighs. “Can’t believe you made a whole plan.” He chuckles against your skin— you shivered when his hot breath hit you.

he gently places a kiss on your clit, just from that— you whimper. “already making noise and I haven’t even started yet.” He crooned before running the tip of his tongue along the outside of your folds.

Your hand immediately went to his hair, your grip not tight yet. His tongue gently runs within your folds, making you moan. It was miracle no one had walked in.

his tongue and mouth worked on you intensely. The sensation of the warmth of his tongue and it moving in and out of hole was too much— too good.

you arch, pushing your pussy into his face. he groans against it, sending more vibrations throughout your body. Your grip on his hair? Tighter than ever. he’s gone through worse pain— trust him. His tongue continued and as if that wasn’t enough…

you felt two fingers press against your sweet hole. You softly whimpered when they finally entered as he gently sucked on your clit.— you moaned a bit louder though you covered your mouth.

your whines as his mouth worked on your clit and his fingers pumped in and out of you. “Clark!— Clark..I’m cumming.” You huff. He quickly nods. “I know baby, I know you are. Come on.”

and so you do— your juices spreading everywhere. All over his face and the counter. Okay, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to do it in the break room. You pant as he pulls his fingers out, lifting them to your lips. You quickly suck, tasting yourself.

his free hand rubbing your shaking thigh and after that? it was time for a real date.— which he took you on. You didn’t have to plan for this to happen.

your strategy didn’t work as well as you wanted it to but you got the guy, you definitely didn’t enjoy cleaning after yourselves but—

worth it.

[emslittlelibrary]

shohei physically forcing yoshi to sit in the one available chair yesterday

[emslittlelibrary]

my POOKIES!!!!

[emslittlelibrary]

binged so many fics this morning 😩🍿 and i still have HELLA lined up after lunch 😋🍽️ i’m eating GOOOD today so be prepared because my queue is in for it 🤕

everyone has just been cooking this week DON’T MIND IF I DO 😍