sweetstrawberrysky

[sweetstrawberrysky]

Ranking the LADS from who is most to least likely to playfully smack your ass while walking past you.

Sylus - No explanation needed, the man is shameless, especially if your relationship has long since been established. Yes, he full expects and accepts your revenge of smacking his own butt in return, even if you put more force into your smack than he did for you.

Caleb - It’s more of a “your butt was calling for me in those shorts, it’s not my fault please don’t be mad at me, pipsqueak” type of slap. He is simply unable to refrain if you’re wearing shorts around him. The man just wants to feel your ass and chuckle at your reaction, all the while his ears are turning beet red because he never thought he would get the chance to be this bold with you.

Rafayel - His would be a playful tap. Walking past you, quickly giving you a once over because he wants to remember every inch of you at every chance, then spontaneously deciding to give you a little love tap. Only to immediately regret it when you turn around and start attacking his own butt.

Zayne - It would mainly center around you being a little cheeky or saying something he wasn’t expecting you to say, and he lightly pinches your butt/hip area in retaliation. His is definitely more of a playful scolding, and he loves the slight jolt that wracks your body because of it.

Xavier - Let’s be real, you’re the one smacking his butt in this relationship. If anything, he’s more likely to full on grab your butt just because he wants to. Let’s say you’re simply cuddling and his hands venture just a little bit, enough to simply hold your rear/the top of your thighs. It’s up to you if want to keep cuddling or let things get heated, he’s not complaining either way.

[sweetstrawberrysky]

Caleb likes all boobs. Large, small, a handful, saggy, perky. Doesn’t matter, that man will worship the fuck out of you while being a little silly and fondling you, telling you how pretty you are, how perfect your body is and paying special attention to your chest because.... boob guy. That’s it that’s the post send tweet

[sweetstrawberrysky]

I want to collar and leash Caleb just for him to turn the tables once he gets riled up enough

[sweetstrawberrysky]

I’ll be honest, I wasn’t seeing the Jax hype at first. He just seemed like a typical jerk (don’t get me wrong, I was patiently waiting for his development), but after ep 5….. I understand y’all now. I have joined the fan club ( u_u )

[sweetstrawberrysky]

Do you think every time Caleb bites into an apple he’s just thinking about mc and how much better and juicer it would be to be between her legs instead?

[sweetstrawberrysky]

Make out session with Sylus that slowly turns into passionate sex. He kisses you and worships your body as if there was no tomorrow. His hands are gentle and warm and they feel so so good. Somehow you feel overwhelmed and out of breath but the second he is a bit too far away from you, you can’t help but cling to him, which he slightly and lowly laughs at "What is it kitten?". And you wish you could say something back, but he knows you’re too deep into pleasure that moans and sweet whispers of his name is the best you can do. So he coos at you and teases you but he never stops. Bringing you closer and closer to the edge until you come undone.

And Sylus is so so gentle afterwards, helps you clean up and brings you water. Cuddles you and massages your body. Until he has to leave for work. But tonight you don’t feel like letting him go. So you press yourself further against him, nuzzling into his neck. "Can’t you stay a bit more?". And you feel Sylus’s hands slightly halt. Until he moves again and holds you closer. "Just five more minutes".

And minutes becomes hours because he couldn’t bring himself to leave you.

[sweetstrawberrysky]

Sylus never properly drying off after a shower because he wants to be sexy and wet, and mc getting mad because it’s working, but at the same time yelling at him because he’s tracking water everywhere and getting the furniture damp.

[sweetstrawberrysky]

A plane fact to remember.

Summary: It started when he gave you a random plane fact, and ended with you a shivering mess in his arms as he bullied your cunt. Calebs random facts had always been a part of your life, but now, it was different.

Pairing: Plane Nerd Caleb x Reader

WC: 1.2k

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ ONLY, Mean caleb, a little dumbification, Improper use of evol, orgasm control, edging, cockwarming, light sub/dom vibes, writer doesn't know fuck all about planes so google is my co-writer, fem nicknames, use of pipsqueak

Calebs' Adjutant: @hiqhkey, @mikasaredscarf1 (tag list signup is at the end <3)

N/A: I just discovered this made it onto twitter so hello everyone from there!! Welcome to my small corner of the internet 🥹🩷

It had started innocently enough, leaning on the counter of Caleb's home in Skyhaven. He was making lemonade, chatting easily about your recent missions and his flights – you’d mentioned in passing that he never seemed to complain about turbulence, something that recently had made you nauseous on your long-haul flight. He’d raised an eyebrow at that

“Well, yeah, pips, it's easier to avoid it in a military or private jet. We don’t gotta follow the flight paths and can fly higher to avoid it. It ain’t much of an issue at 40,000ft.”

He laughed, but your eyes widened. It had been years since Caleb had spoken of his interests, his love for planes, and the weird facts he would spurt out. You still remember the first time he had told you planes could easily run on one engine – how that fact made your tiny mind explode. How could something as big as a plane still fly safely with only one engine?!

You missed it, and so, you told him that.

What you didn’t expect was to end up in his lap, his cock pushed between your pussys lips as he made you sit there. You weren’t allowed to move; you knew better than that  - no matter how much friction you craved, you just had to take it. His cock felt amazing, it pushed against every nerve in the perfect way, as if just like its owner it knew all the best ways to pleasure you. His nails ran up and down your sides, head tilting with a teasing smirk.

“So plane facts then, let's make this fun, sweetheart. Your gonna sit here, all pretty on my cock and memorise everything I tell you.. if you get my questions right at the end.. ill let you cum. Okay?”

You nodded eagerly, not really thinking about what he was saying – it didn’t matter when he was inside you and not moving. Your mind was already fraying at the edges with pure need, a pure desire to feel him move, and if nodding would make that happen quicker than so be it. You only realised you may have fucked up when he leant back against the couch cushions, hands on your hips.

“Let's see.. Oh, I know. A commercial jet cruises at around 575  miles per hour – that's 75% the speed of light, pips!-“

He spoke quickly, hands slipping off your hips and flying around in the air as he spoke, making movements like a plane moving quickly. The way his eyes lit up and the smile that tugged on his lips were enough to distract you from your need for a moment.

“- it could cross the Atlantic Ocean in about 7 hours! That’s why I can get to Linkon and back so quickly.”

Always the tease, he knew what to say to fluster you and make you smile. He had made a habit of visiting you randomly, and now you knew why; it’s just because he could quickly. Lost in thought, you didn’t notice his hands moving again until they cupped your breasts, tugging on a nipple gently and making you gasp.

“Earth to pipsqueak, I haven’t finished yet. Keep listening.”

A quick nod and he was off again, yet this time, the glint in his eyes seemed more evil than playful.

“Let me tell you about the cockpit then.. You know, we don’t start planes with key fobs like you do cars. We gotta use the ignition control – basically a series of switches. They have 5 positions on them..”

His hands landed on your hips as he smirked

“First is off, like this, yeah?”

You felt him tug you left, dick finally moving – a sharp moan breaking free from your throat at the feeling.

“Then we have left.. and let's not forget right”

You were tugged right before you could recover, mouth falling open in another moan as he laughed cruelly.

“Both..”

He shifted you left and right quickly, pressing against every nerve perfectly. Your clit rubbed against him, leaving a sticky mess in its wake. Neither of you cared enough to stop, he kept shifting you until he spoke again

“and finally start.”

You felt the familiar tingling of his Evol, eyes widening as he lifted you up and down against his length. Sat back against the pillows with his arms crossed and a knowing smirk on his face – you looked blissed out, too far gone from finally getting the stimulation you craved to hear him finish his facts. You whined when his Evol pulled you down sharply again – holding you in place.

“Okay then.. time for Caleb's quiz, sweet girl.”

Your eyes widened as he asked his questions, the first few you got right and he rewarded you. A finger on your clit, stimulating you in a way that felt so good but, just wasn’t enough, he was playing your body like a fiddle. Make you desperate for him and only him.

It was only when you started to mess up that things became.. mean.

“Nuhu, naughty pipsqueak. The temperature drops to negative fifty degrees Celsius not 30.  Remember, it’s because the engine compresses air more effectively, burning less fuel.”

His fingers stopped moving as he spoke, eyes hardening. You felt tears threaten to spill as he stopped, the friction you so desperately needed gone – you had been so close. Your orgasm was just a little push away, and now it was torn from your grasp.

“Aww, sweet girl, no, don’t cry. I should have known Pipsqueak can’t answer my questions... always disappointing me.. What should I do about that?”

He changed positions, so you were against the couch, hips moving slowly as he pretended to think. The friction was nice, but not nearly enough, and he knew that. Knew you weren’t getting what you desperately needed, he kept this up for what felt like hours-

“I’ve got it, your gonna take my cock like a good girl and not cum until I say. That’s your punishment, now be good, don’t disappoint me again.”

You heard that warning in his voice, his colonel's tone slipping through as his hips sped up. You had bratted him up once and came without permission. It wasn’t worth it, the punishment that followed, where he denied you his cock for 6 weeks was near on agony. You couldn’t do that again, refused to go through it, so you bit your lip and held your need off.

Your cult clenched and unclenched as he moved, moans spilling from your mouth that was now permanently open. He was impressed, really. Your control had improved so much from the first time you had slept together. He kept thrusting until he was close, until his stomach clenched with need, leaning into your ear, he whispered one command.

“Cum”

You fell apart, crying out his name, tears falling down your cheeks as your release finally spilled from you. He wasn’t far apart, pulling you against his chest as he spilled inside. Neither of you said anything for a long while, his fingers just ran up and down your back, smiling.

“So proud of you.. so proud of you.. That’s my good girl. That’s Caleb’s good girl.”

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[sweetstrawberrysky]

shoutout to my fellow girlies who also somewhat resemble canon mc, both body wise and personality wise y’all are special to me (人 •͈ᴗ•͈)

if you are ever self conscious about lacking curves, being lanky, and having a bold/strong personality then don’t worry because the lads guys were designed for our insufferable asses bbygirl, we’re in this together (߹𖥦߹ )

[sweetstrawberrysky]

This one is for the girlies who are like me. But imagine Sylus with an mc who is a little insecure with her eating habits, like not necessarily tracking what she eats, but still going out of her way to dodge certain foods and maybe eat less on some days. And Sylus finds out and taps his temple and is like, “Now why would a Deepspace Hunter not be fuelling her body for missions?”

And she gets huffy and defensive so Sylus tries stabilizing the situation by telling her, “I like when you eat. You make cute faces when trying something for the first time. When it’s sweet you smile, when it’s spicy your face pinches, and when it’s savoury…”

And mc is like, “What?” Then Sylus chuckles and goes, “Well, if you want to know, maybe you should try eating something savoury. My chef can make it. Then have something sweet, so I can see you smile.”

[sweetstrawberrysky]

imagine trying to roleplay doctor with Zayne but he sucks at it because he’s taking it more seriously than sexily (¬_ ´¬ ) “If you are truly feeling unwell between your legs it could be symptoms of this or this, I would recommend trying this out and seeing if blah blah blah.” ZAYNE!!!!

[sweetstrawberrysky]

smut//;

Do you think Rafayel can breathe between mc’s thighs the same way he can breathe underwater? You know…. because he would drowning in mc’s pussy AYOOOO!!!!

[sweetstrawberrysky]

Just thinking about fiancé/husband Sylus and how obsessed he would be with taking mc’s left hand and just….. staring at the ring, proud of himself. Because now, no matter how stubborn mc is with him or much she banters with him to hide her true affections, Sylus knows she loves him just as much as he loves her otherwise she wouldn’t have said ‘yes’/‘I do’.

[sweetstrawberrysky]

The Space Between Then and Now

Last year, you brought flowers to the cemetery. This year, you're bringing yourself to him. (Or, you're determined to make up for lost time with Caleb on his birthday)

read on ao3

➻➻ ABOUT | 6000 words. caleb x fem!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | MDNI. friends to lovers. banter. love confessions. angst with a happy ending. unresolved romantic tension. smut. porn with feelings.

NOTE: I Happy birthday to our dearest, most devoted and pathetic simp of a man, Caleb! Please enjoy my take on the first time with MC that he desereves xx

You arrived just after the sky had softened into a warm, muted glow, the sunshine filtering through clouds thick with showers that would likely fall in the afternoon.

It was quiet in the way only midday during a Linkon summer could be. The rustle of trees, distant traffic, and the soft whirr of cicadas rising from somewhere nearby.

The walkway curved gently as you made your way inside, taking notice of the details that had changed since you were last here.

On the surface, your surroundings hadn’t changed much. In fact, you were certain that anyone who passed through wouldn’t look twice at the subtle shifts that stood out to you like night and day.

Like death and life.

Or, maybe it was because the change came from you rather than the world around you. Either way, you slowed as you reached the end, hesitating when the light started to shift and wash rays of sunshine over the view ahead.

You kept your gaze steady. Familiar lines, angles, and planes meeting your eye, sharp edges worn smooth in the places your fingers always landed first.

Your breath caught in your throat, just for a second. Then you exhaled.

“Hi, Caleb,” you said quietly.

All that he was in your mind came to a halt as you read his name carved in stone.

You were pulling the door of your storage unit open when your phone buzzed.

You fumbled for your phone, eyes flicking over the bins and boxes around you, all washed in the harsh white glow of the automatic ceiling lights. The melancholy in your chest lifted the moment you saw the name flash across the screen. 

“Calling me before dinner time?” You started checking the top of each box to scan the labels. “Did you get fired or something?”

“That’s the first thing you say to me?” His voice was warm and light and not nearly as bothered as his words. “Not ‘I’m so happy you called, Caleb.’ ‘I’m so glad to hear your beautiful voice, Caleb.’”

You snorted as you took stock of the most important pieces of your young adulthood, tucked away and labeled with faded marker — Art projects. Boyband phase. School binders. “If you ever heard me say something like that you’d be concerned and you know it.”

“Okay, yeah. I would.” A conceding hum as you wound through a few more boxes and headed to your destination. “Still, the first thing you assume when I call is that I'm in trouble?”

“You’re the one who trained me to be suspicious.”

“Not of me.” His indignant chuckle crackled through the receiver. “I’m the only one you shouldn’t have to be suspicious of in the-“

His voice cut off when an echoing thump reverberated through the unit.

Your elbow had accidentally knocked over one of the boxes. All you could do was wince when his concerned voice asked, “What was that?”

You hesitated for half a second, trying to ignore the throb of pain in your arm as you tucked the phone between your shoulder and ear and did your best to cover. “Nothing I’m just… I’m cooking.”

He sucked in a dramatic hiss. “Yikes. Well how about you quit ‘cooking’ while your kitchen is still intact? I'll order you some take out.”

“Ass,” you laughed, both relieved he fell for your cover and offended he was so averse to your cooking. “Joke’s on you, I’ll make you pay for your favorite and eat it in front of you when we video chat later.”

“That’s just cruel.” His pouting tone crackled through the receiver as you crouched in front of a seperate group of boxes taped with care — no names, no labels. These boxes were too important to ever need identifiers. Too important for you to forget their contents.

“Besides,” he continued. “It’s June first now. You should be cuttin' me some slack.”

Opening the first box to reveal a year’s worth of aviation subscription magazines and an old-style compass, you feigned a confused hum. “What’s so important about June?”

The second box contained a few textbooks, a stack of notebooks, paper airplanes in various states of folding, sketches of aircrafts, and a basketball jersey worn thin at the collar.

“Don’t tease, pip-squeak. You know what June is.”

The third box contained the scattered pieces of an FY-26 model aircraft, a graduation cap, an Aerospace Academy Diploma, and sitting right at the top: a DAA acceptance letter.

“Um, summer?”

Something behind your ribcage squeezed when you took in the pile of frames in the last box. They were carefully stacked, edges cushioned with folded T-shirts you’d probably meant to donate. You peeled one back and picked up the top frame, fingertip ghosting over the glass that protected Caleb’s 19-year-old, wind-tousled face. 

“Um, no. How about-“ his voice shifted to a squeaky, child-like pitch, “June is my favorite month of the year because that’s when Caleb was born.”

“That’s it, no cake for you,” you conceded with a groan.

“So there will be cake?”

Your mouth curled into a reluctant grin at the boyish question as you turned over another frame: your arms wrapped around Caleb, who was decked out in a flight uniform in front the hangar of his first life-sized aircraft. “I’m afraid that’s classified information, Caleb.”

“Uh, that's Colonel Caleb. And nothing is classified when it comes to me," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm not above pullin' rank."

"That's really cute, but I outrank you in ways your little Fleet title could never touch."

A pause as he considered his options, and then, wisely, "Fine, you win. Bossy."

He was quiet for a moment after that, and just as you opened your mouth to ask when he’d be leaving work for the day, his voice cut in, lower now, careful. “I just wanted to see if-“ Another pause. And then, quieter, “You know you don't have to plan anything big for me, right? It’s impossible for me not to love anything we do together.”

You picked up another frame, tracing the bridge of his 17-year-old nose, the ghost of his freckles, the slope of his cheek pressed against yours. Every frame was a timestamp of who he used to be, and who you were with him. Each year a heartbeat, stitched to your chest in a pattern only the two of you could ever decode.

Sometimes it was almost jarring, hearing his voice now. Older, sharper, shaped by years that had carved more out of him than you think you'd ever know. But there was something soft buried beneath it, some fragile remnant of the young man in these photos. That hesitation, his unspoken question that lingered in the air, it bridged the gap between the past in your hands and the present on the other end of the line. It made you hopeful that he wanted this birthday to be different, too. To mean something different.

“Yeah, I know,” you said softly, gently tucking the frames back into place and closing the box. “It’s actually going to be just the two of us.”

The roughened sound of his next words traced over you like velvet. "You're all mine, then?"

“Just you and me.”

"Can't wait." 

By the time you'd both finished growing up, you and Caleb could fill entire notebooks with the number of unspoken rules between you.

Some were born out of necessity, others out of pure accident. But by the time you were both well into being teenagers, it seemed that every year a new rule needed to be scribbled in. 

Age 15: Don’t comment on how deep his voice has gotten or how big his muscles are.

Age 16: Don’t barge into each other’s rooms without knocking first, just in case he's changing or...

Age 17: Don’t press your backside into Caleb in the early morning when you sleep over in his bed.

Age 18: Don’t tell him about any confession notes you receive from guys at school.

Age 19: Don’t break out in goosebumps when he touches you, fixes your hair, adjusts your collar, ties your shoes...

You'd both done so well at playing years of mental chess, it wasn't until he was gone, until every part of your soul had crumbled, that the chessboard tipped over, and you started to put the pieces together. Realized what it all meant. That you'd wanted to bend those rules so many times. That every don't you never dared to break could've so easily been rewritten as a do. 

Ever since your work trip to Skyhaven and your subsequent dealings with the Fleet all those months ago, you and Caleb had reached a new sort of limbo. Both settling back into your old rhythm and... not.

Because when he takes you out to lunch while he has business in Linkon, he doesn't sit across from you at the table anymore, he sits next to you with an arm draped across the back of your chair or booth, the softness of his bicep brushing the nape of your neck. 

Because when you take him out with you and your friends, he doesn't order your drink and stand nearby, he's pressed up against your back and holding your drink for you, chin brushing your temple when he holds a conversation.

Because when he sleeps over on a weekend, he doesn't wake you with the smell of cooking breakfast, he sits on your bed, filling it with the scent of juniper and apple and him, brushes your hair aside, and coos a soft, 'Mornin' pip' until you're awake."

It had been taking you back to all the times he visited from the Aerospace Academy when you were in high school. Those long weekends when no one could pry you away from each other's company. 

It was comforting, it was intimate, and just like back then...

You're all mine, then?

It was getting to you.

Every touch, inside joke, every show of affection made your mind spin further and further until you were left with a tangled web. Wondering if these past months were him picking back up where you left off or...

You're all mine, then?

Trying to break the stalemate between you. 

You hated the Farspace Fleet. What they were up to, how they treated people, everything they stood for. And yet you'd reunited with Caleb because of what they did. You'd discovered that while you'd always known Caleb was there for you, you didn't think he understood that you were there for him too. That the thing suspended between you had always been a window, not a mirror.

And honestly? Caleb had held up that one-way mirror so securely, so expertly, that you never even knew it was there until his rain-drenched body collapsed into your arms on a park bench and the glass finally shattered around you.

It made you realize he needed you, even if he didn't want to. Even if he'd convinced himself he couldn't. 

It made you realize that you wanted to be the one to stand beside him, to support and protect him too.

You're all mine, then?

It made you realize you wanted to be all his. 

The thing about Caleb was that he'd always taken the lead when it came to your safety, your well-being. But with almost every other aspect of your relationship, he took your lead. His own happiness, well-being, and feelings a closed book unless you pried it open when he least expected it.

Which meant you were going to need to think up a strategy. A distraction. A temptation so thorough Caleb would grab the book and help you crack it open himself.

Caleb had long ago appointed himself as your knight.

It was time to show him you'd forged yourself into his sword. 

The sky outside had softened into a warm, muted glow, the moon backlighting the clouds thick with showers that never fell that afternoon.

It was quiet in the way only an evening during a Skyhaven summer could be. The sound of rain hitting glass. The soft whirr of planes flying by.

The walkway curved gently as you made your way inside, taking notice of the details that had changed since you were last here.

On the surface, your surroundings hadn’t changed much. In fact, you were certain that anyone who passed through wouldn’t look twice at the subtle shifts that stood out to you like day and night.

Like life and death.

Or, maybe it was because the change came from you rather than the world around you. Either way, you slowed as you reached the end, hesitating when the light started to shift. Moonlight glimmering over the view ahead.

You kept your gaze steady. Familiar lines, angles, and planes meeting your eye, sharp edges worn smooth in the places your fingers always landed first.

Your breath caught in your throat, just for a second. Then you exhaled.

“Hi, Caleb,” you said quietly.

All that he was in your mind came to a halt as he turned to face you with a smile that your lips instinctively mimicked.

Lopsided, unhurried, the kind that deepened the freckles across his cheeks and lit faint creases at the corners of his eyes. You’d seen him only a dozen minutes ago, but you already missed the way he looked at you. Steady, open, like you were still the only thing in the room worth seeing.

“About time you showed up. Any longer and I would've eaten...."

You'd never say that your birthday plans for Caleb had unfolded the way you'd intended them to — you hadn't anticipated a downpour on the way here, for one; had hoped to be the one waiting for him in the kitchen rather than the other way around, for another — but you'd happily admit that you'd donned this iridescent periwinkle slip of satin and ribbons with the exact goal of leaving Caleb staring at you like this. Eyes huge and hungry. Knuckles tightening by his sides. Like you were a gift he was desperate to unwrap. 

"Would've eaten..."

It was the hour where evening surrendered to night and the world quieted. Dinner had been long eaten. Cake frosting had been swiped along cheeks and noses with laughter. You’d taken Caleb on a tour of an apartment that you'd turned into his apartment: his living room and bedroom scattered with every frame from your box, a stack of aviation magazines he needed to catch up on by his coffee table, paper cranes peeking out from nooks and crannies, the worn navy throw you'd always stolen in high school draped across the couch, and, carefully reassembled from fractured pieces and painted to match its memory, the FY-26 model, his first and his favorite.

You'd caught a sort of lost and dazed look in his eyes every once in a while. As if he wasn't sure he could trust what he was seeing. In fact, it was quite similar to his expression now.

"You..."

Your heart high-jumped to your throat and you almost backed out. Almost ran back to the safety of the bathroom down the hall.

But if there was one thing you could count on, it was how well you knew Caleb. So instead, you squared your shoulders, lifted your chin, and held his gaze.

“I, what?” You tried for something nonchalant, something coquettish and casual, but the blood flooding up to your cheeks was a dead giveaway that you were completely out of your element.

His eyes descended upon your dress. “You… Look blue.” His brows pinched in a wince almost instantly, and he raised a hand to run through his hair. “Your dress, I mean.”

“It reminded me of the summer sky. Of June," you replied smoothly, fingers brushing the hem of the satin where it clung to your thigh. “Someone recently informed me it’s my favorite month.”

A spark of something illuminated his eyes as the initial shock wore off. Amusement? Interest? He scanned you again, slower this time and a greedy sort of lust flickered across across his face

“Pip-squeak,” he rasps, as if his voice is caught on something in the back of his throat. “Are you saying this is for me?”

You parted your lips to respond, but this time, you were the one who couldn’t make a sound. All you could do was nod, slow and shaky, your breath catching as your chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven pulls.

A sound escaped him then, a low and guttural, half-whimper, half-groan as he tilted his head back to face the ceiling, as if the sight of you was something he had to physically wrestle himself against. And for a moment, he looked wrecked. Unsteady in a way you rarely got to see. And it was next to impossible to keep your expression from turning satisfied or smug.

But when his gaze dropped back down to you, there was a tightness in his jaw and his features schooled again into the mask he always wore when things felt too close. When he felt too much.

You weren’t going to let him retreat behind it.

So you took a step forward, close enough to feel the heat between you buzz in the air. And slowly, deliberately, you lowered your left shoulder, letting the satin ribbon of your strap slide over the slope of your shoulder until it fell off.

“It’s just you and me,” you reminded, all but erasing the line you were inviting him to cross.

“Is this...?” he trailed off, the disbelief all over his face. And then he moved, so fast you could've mistaken it for teleportation. In the kitchen one breath, and standing in front of you the next, like gravity had dragged him forward before thought could stop him. His jaw was twitching again. “You alright, pip-squeak?”

The words were an excuse. A reassurance. A lifeline he was giving you the option to grab onto. Begging you to say 'no' so he could slither back into his armor and hide behind the mask of the protector again. 

You nodded. “And… I'm all yours." You watched the way his violet-gold eyes turned molten as he remembered his words from a few weeks ago. "If you want?"

Slowly, his fingertip reached out to graze yours before it traced down the slip's hem, down the sensitive skin of your thigh. The first overtly sexual advance he'd ever made. 

It was your turn for a half-whimper as that thought and sensation swirled together and pooled hotly between your legs.

But that little breath was never finished, never fully exhaled. Instead, it was captured, consumed by Caleb when his arm shot out, cupped the back of your neck, and drew you into a deep, bone-crushing kiss. 

Fueled by his urgency you sealed your arms around his neck, molding your body to the shape of his from top to toe as you kissed him back.

Without breaking contact, he hooked a trembling forearm beneath your leg, the other banding around your back, and lifted you. Wrapping you around him. You barely registered the motion until he lowered you both to the couch, Caleb's thighs appearing beneath you and your legs bracketing his sides.

Not once did he stop taking hard, deep pulls of your upper lip, your tongue, your lower lip into his mouth. 

The sensation was everything. He was everything. His palm guiding the angle of your head, his heart thumping against yours, his belt buckle digging into your stomach, his hardness brushing your- 

“Wait," he gasped, gently prying your faces apart for a split second only sigh and find his way back like a magnet.

"Wait." he stamped another kiss onto your lips. Another. "Hold on.”

He tried again, this time tilting his head so his heavy pants and puffy lips were pressed into your forehead instead. A jagged exhale. “Take it easy on a man,” he mumbled weakly.

You tilted your head up as well, looking at him hungrily. Caleb shook his head in wonder, swiped his thumbs over your jaw and kissed you again. 

“I need to... Let me come once, Pip-squeak,” he rasped against your lips. “And I’ll last longer. Will you- is that alright? I’ll make it good. I promise.”

You were sliding off him and onto your knees before he finished asking the question.

You undid his belt buckle in two sharp jerks. Caleb groaned as you pulled at the buttons of his trousers and dragged his underwear down at the same time. His cock popped out, red and swollen, gleaming at the tip.

He pulled your hair from your eyes, watched your mouth stretch around him, start working him back and forth. The silky length of him bumped the back of your throat and the muscle tightened, forcing you to retreat. 

A deep wrinkle slashed across his forehead as you took him again, ready this time. Exhaling to push deeper when he nudged your throat. His eyes shut, and his mouth parted. You’ve never seen him like this, and you struggled to keep your eyes open, your head tilted back, to watch how his body responded to you. 

“‘If I want’,” he stuttered your words back to you, the guttural quality of his voice curling heat around the throbbing center of you. “Can’t believe you would even ask me that.” 

Caleb caressed your hair, drawing back the flyaway strands clinging to your face. "This isn't real. This has to be a dream..." His eyes closed a sliver, and he studied you with that dazed look again.

You twisted your fingers around the base of him, working the head with your mouth to give yourself a break. Flicking the tip with your tongue, you fucked it gently between your lips, lapping at it almost shyly as you felt the other strap of your dress flick down your shoulder.

With no straps to support it, the thin top of your slip folded right over and your breasts were uncovered.

It took you a little too long to realize both his hands were still tangled in your hair and that only his Evol could've done that, but by then the intensity of his gaze on your puckered nipples had arrested your attention. As well as his Adam's apple, which bobbed on a swallow when his hand slid down to cup your chin and scan your face.

"You've always been in my dreams. It didn't matter if I was awake or asleep," he murmured. "Gorgeous, brilliant, clever. My cunning little bird, always ten steps ahead of me." The sentence ended on a breathy chuckle as he looked at the room you'd made into your own little world, acknowledging the fact that you'd maneuvered him right into your own version of paradise. 

"Everything I do always leads back to you." His hips rocked forward, gaining momentum as he started fucking your mouth again, spelling every word of affection and praise you've ever wanted to hear across your cheek, your chest, your inner thighs. He caught his breath between talking. His face flushed. You could see how it was affecting him. "The only constant in my life. The only thing that never fades."

"No one else exists for me but you. This, pip-squeak?” He forced himself down your throat until you gagged. "It's the center of the damn universe, it's... It's you and me."

You moaned around his cock, heat building between your legs, listening to his unhinged monologue. What else could you get him to admit with just the slow glide of your throat?

His eyes squeezed shut as he came with a rough jerk, his hips lurching as his release spilled down your throat, a drop trickling down to your chin. 

You barely had time to react before the hum of his Evol surrounded you, and you were yanked back onto his lap. It was quick and jerky, the master of gravity, untethered and unsteady.

He looked at you with that wonder in his eyes again, and this time, when he kissed you, it was all sex. His tongue licked from your chin into your mouth, tasting every drop of himself. He squeezed your right breast, pinching your nipple before he let go. You cried out, and he repeated it until you were so sensitive that when his lips and teeth replaced his hand, you arched up and gasped a strangled, “Caleb.”

He smiled, unguarded, all teeth. An real smile. You melted. His thumb traced your lower lip tenderly. “I've always been obsessed with you.”

Your laughter turned to breath at the admission, the most oversimplified definition of the bone-deep, soul-deep strands that connected you. 

“I've always loved you." You weren't sure if it was a correction or an addendum as you felt him trace the curve of your neck, shoulder, down your arm, with a possessive palm. Dragging the slip down further so it pooled at the top of your hips.

Caleb’s eyes flicked down immediately. 

You breathed deeper, putting on a bit of a show as your chest sank and swelled upon each inhale. You’d never felt more beautiful. More connected. More seen. 

His fingers stroked your right nipple and he lowered his head, taking the left between his lips. His tongue swirled around the globe, and he teased you with a drag of his teeth. Only letting go when your breath caught on a whimper. 

"But you already knew that, didn't you?” He said, dragging his fingers down your collarbone, between your breasts, to the bottom, most intimate part of your abdomen. "That I was made for you."

“There's no one else for me," you agreed, orbiting closer and closer to desperation with every word that tumbled from his lips. "You're the only one who- I only know what love is because of you.” You pressed down, seeking friction against his thigh. “I need- Touch me. Do something.”

He bunched up your slip, and air rushed out of his lungs. You widened your legs across his lap, inviting him closer, heart racing. 

His violet-gold eyes locked onto yours. “If I wake up to find this is all a dream, I’m going to be furious."

Your laugh morphed into a moan as his middle finger grazed your wetness, sliding straight down your middle. He leaned forward to guide your back onto the couch, then rose back up to watch your naked, dripping center writhe against his half-clothed thighs.

“Please,” you begged, shivering just from his touch.

“Like this?” he asked, sliding himself back to devour the space between your legs with his mouth. 

You moaned, bracing one foot between his shoulder blades and the other on the rug below, lifting yourself up as Caleb pressed his mouth down.

You built a rhythm, tilting your hips until his tongue touched that point on your clit that made your eyes roll back. You gyrated your hips so he kept teasing it, harder and faster, back and forth, up and down. The perfect point of pressure, over and over, until you were trembling between his hands while he held you.

A pillow dug into your squirming shoulders, your left foot hung awkwardly over the couch, your toes grappled for stability. But you barely registered any of that as the pressure gathering behind your belly intensified.

“Yes, yes,” You pleaded. “I need- I’m so—"

You went silent as your entire body tensed up. 

Caleb sucked harder as you rode your orgasm. And when you started shaking from the sensitivity, he lifted your hips higher, your whole body levitating from the couch as he positioned you mid-air with his Evol, a more comfortable angle for him to spread your ass cheeks apart and drag his tongue between them. 

“Oh,” your gasp pitched into a breathy sort of squeal at the sensation.

“Perfect,” Caleb’s voice had become a permanent, deep rasp as your mind and body continued to fly, free to focus on all your senses without any tethers. Safe to lose all abandon in the space he carved for you between the earth and the heavens. “Every part of you.” 

As your blurred gaze tried to focus on the ceiling above you, you heard movement and the rustle of fabric before you felt a hot, toned chest press into yours, shaky breaths and puffy lips against the side of your neck, and two strong arms band around your back and thigh. One hand curled around the nape of your neck, the other possessively cupping your sex.

He sank with you until the backs of your thighs and elbows rested on the pilled carpet. His knees and forearms bracketing yours in a warm embrace, anchoring you beneath him as the support of his Evol dissipated and he continued to torture you with the rub of his calloused palm concentrated in small, quick movements against your clit.

Your thighs quaked so hard you could barely feel them, legs closing together on instinct.

"What do you think you're doing?" He cooed, prying them apart forcefully. Caleb's lips hovered, bumping against yours with every spoken word. "Let me enjoy this. Let me savor you."

You could only gasp as he drove his fingers into you, stretching you open for him a fraction more with each stroke. He worked your harder, faster, flicking your clit with his thumb every time he penetrated you. 

"Sweet," he whispered, capturing your tongue with his lips and slowly releasing it on a suck.

Your teeth sank into his bottom lip before he could pull away, dragging him back to you.

"Sour," he growled as you threw your head back, the sensation between your legs starting to close in on you again.

"Delicious." He fused his lips to yours once more. Kissing you once, twice, three times. You squeezed your eyes shut so hard, spots of light splashed behind your eyelids as he continued to torture you with the steady glide of his fingers.

You were so wet, Caleb’s fingers moved with unfettered access as you approached your peak. You cried out for mercy as he held his fingers inside of you, hooked and pressing on that point that made you see stars.

“Look at you,” he awed, his voice a distant murmur, locked beyond the gates of your internal pleasure. "I've always been able to hold myself back. Every time you looked at me... with those eyes…”

You clenched around him so tightly, your entire body coiled up, as if struck by lightning. 

And then you imploded. 

A rush of liquid released from between your legs as your body trembled through its release. You panted, floating up in the clouds, your mind filled with fog, drifting somewhere above your body. The only semblance of focus you could muster was on the sound of your name and the self-condemning words that tumbled like confessed sins from lips that scattered trails of kisses from your throat to your ribcage.

"I've always been strong enough..."

“Make it too easy to forget who I’m supposed to be... what I’m supposed to do…”

"... don't know if I can protect you anymore...”

His body seemed to be separated from his mind as he continued to stroke and hold you through it, murmuring vulnerable words against your damp skin. Your hands caressed over every part of him you could reach, his hair, the nape of his neck, his biceps, his chest, his lower back, his backside and back up again.

You wondered how long he'd been holding this in, how long it had been since he'd last been able to truly confide in someone, as you waited for your quaking body to calm and your senses to sharpen again. 

"Caleb," you said, quiet but firm. Your palms found their way to his cheeks and brought his eyes to meet your open gaze. "You've never needed to be anything to deserve my love for you."

His nostrils flared and his jaw tightened, like he was shielding himself from your words. Like he couldn't allow himself to believe you.

You decided to give him no other choice. Pressing his hips down with one of your palms, you lined him up against you and guided his cock into you with the other.

"Gods," Caleb groaned in surrender, his face filling with pleasure, forehead falling against yours.

"You don't need to earn a place in my life. You deserve to tell me what you want and how you feel. You deserve to have friends." Tilting your hips up and down as you moved yourself on him, you kept your words steady. As raw and honest as the feeling of him inside you. "You deserve to be home."

"Can't resist you, Pips." His hand hooked beneath your thigh, wrapping it around him and taking over from a different angle. Chanting more confessions with every thrust. "All I ever wanted... was to give you everything. For your life to be safe… and happy."

His eyes were pools of melted gold and amethyst, each jewel an offering to you as he studied you in unwavering worship. He moved back and forth, gliding faster and faster, and when you thought he couldn’t possibly get any closer, he dragged his hips backwards and thrust again.

"Only if you're in it," you whimpered, realizing he was going to make you come again. 

"Tell me you don't want me." Caleb kissed your cheekbone, your eyelid. Pressed his nose to your temple and whispered in your ear, “Tell me to stop.”

When you remained silent, he fucked you harder. Your back arched up into the air and Caleb circled his arms behind you to sit you up, still fully intertwined. He sat back on his knees and dropped you onto his lap, the force of gravity deepening your connection. 

Your thighs landed on either side of Caleb’s, stretched wide to accommodate his muscled thighs. His face was red, his hair stuck up in every direction, beads of sweat gleaming on his arms and chest. 

“Need you... need you..." He sped up, pulsing up into you.

"It's okay," you whispered, basking in the admission.

You held him, your mouths brushing when he finally broke apart, penetrating deeper than you’d ever experienced before. Like all that had held him back was you accepting that dark, desperate thing within him.

You braced yourself on his shoulders, sinking your nails deep so you didn’t fall as you shuddered through one last small release, insides pulsing as Caleb's release trickled down your thigh. 

You both collapsed onto the floor, breathless. 

"I don't know if I can let you go now," he muttered, like a realization. Like an apology. 

Your pulse stuttered in your ears, loud as thunder, and still not louder than the hush between you, the silence of something you'd finally broken open.

You turned your face to him, cheek resting against the carpet where the cool helped anchor the fire still licking under your skin. “Then don’t, dummy,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes with an amused grin.

The shock of the insult did exactly what you'd intended, snapping him right back to that life-long tether between you. 

"Excuse me?" Caleb let out a breathless chuckle, the sound low and disbelieving. "Would a dummy know how to make you come three times?"

"Two and a half," you corrected, shifting to lay your head on his chest. Caleb’s arm immediately curled tightly around you.

“If you're coherent enough to round down, I definitely owe you another,” he muttered, giving your side a playful pinch.

A quiet silence settled between you, comfortable, intimate. Nothing but the soothing sound of the summer's endless rain pattering against the windows. 

“Don’t let me go,” you said again, this time in a soft, sleepy voice as you nestled into his neck. “I don’t want you to.”

[sweetstrawberrysky]

UAWWAWAWA I just finished this vid and omgggg!!! I wish I could have a warm positive experience like this in the fandom, like Emi’s journey sounds and looks so funnnn!!!!😭

[sweetstrawberrysky]

welded by water

— you take the time to explore the base he offers you as your home, wandering through countless doors. but your favorite will always be the one that leads to him.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: OR SYLUS SWIMMING IN A POOL 😩 sylus’s birthday is in 3 days & i’m unwell ヽ(°〇°)ﾉ he’s gonna be celebrated for the first time and my heart bleeds i love him sm. anyway! this idea was born out of that one ingredient story where he pulls u in the pool I SCREAMED its so romantic & thinking abt sylus in a private pool changed my life 😵‍💫 i hope you enjoy!! ❀-urs

sylus x reader | fluff, romantic tension, smoochie kisses, sylus in a swimming pool hehehe

tw: suggestive touches, very brief description of drowning

You knew the base was big. You barely found your way around to the training room, feeling as if the halls shift and shuffle like an enchanted maze. Usually, Sylus would show you around— lead you by the elbow pushing forward, clasp your hands together to pull you to a secret garden, hike you up his hips and carry you to his bedroom. 

But today you decided exploring would be a good thing. Equipped with Mephisto on your shoulder (a ceasefire between you two today), you walk down the dim crossroads and forks of the building with confidence. 

You’d asked permission before, to walk around and open doors. Sylus merely hummed, lips pressed to your shoulder, saying, “Everything I own is yours.”

You didn’t take that lightly. You refused— tried to— but you knew he was certain. Every word uttered from his lips weighs like a stone in water. You knew, in your heart, he would claim the world and say that all he has conquered is yours to take and use according to your will. 

So here you are, assuming responsibility. Knowing the kingdom where you lay claim. With your phone on the notes app open, you tap tap tap away at directions and take stock of the rooms there are in his— your home.

It’s fun to discover to an extent. Although, when all Mephisto can give you is a head nuzzle and a squawk, you quickly lose interest by the fourth armory. Light fingers trace a line down from the bird’s head to his beak, “Where’s Sylus?” 

Mephisto shakes, his metallic feathers fluttering like real ones except they sound like windchimes— extremely thin iron tendrils clinking against each other like rain. One of your many favorite things about him.

The bird takes off to fulfill your request. This time, he waits for you to keep up. He leads you past an artificial greenhouse, another showcase room displaying his many gem collections, the boxing gym and then…

Mephisto perches himself on the top of the doorway of two double doors. If you’re correct, you should be west of the house. Maybe a wall of the whole structure. Beyond the threshold could be taller windows and maybe the sky. Maybe a telescope. With all the things you’ve seen, an observatory wouldn’t be surprising.

“Bet you three nut-bolts it’s an observatory.” you say and lean your weight into your shoulder against the door. “Though, I never thought him to be interested in astrono…” 

The words fizzle and die on your lips as you’re kissed by a faint blast of moisture and the sound of splashing echoing loud through the hall. Your gaze is drawn upwards at the high ceiling reverberating the sound, and then across the molded crowns of the walls. You follow the pattern, bewildered gaze racing down the curves of the large french windows. The stars— no, the galaxies, splattered like paint onto glass. The moon shines through the glass, and reflects unto the rippling water of the swimming pool. 

The pool where Sylus swam with refined grace. Running through laps with no signs of tiring. Breaking the surface of the water for breath, and then going back under to pop up again on the other end.

You’re too engrossed by the look of it all— how a room with a pool can rival the size of a library, can also feel like an observatory. You file your initial guess as a win at that.

Carefully, you step inside. Almost as if afraid to disrupt the sanctity of it all. But you push forward, into the candle-like glow of the lamps around the pool.

You make your way to the edge, sit cross legged and watch him swim. Up and down. Fast, faster. Silently and then with more force. A faint beeping signals his stop, and he emerges from the water like a god that commands the seas. The moonlight shines on his hair and transforms it into liquid silver melting over his eyes. 

Warm and cool reflect of the wet planes of his body, creating an ethereal illusion glimmering an otherworldly glow. 

And his eyes, so dark and yet brighter than a dying sun, find you. Hold you captive in their focus. Your stomach caves and your chest burns at his perception. 

The little jolt he gets in his chest whenever he finds you staring at him like that never fails to fluster him. What a gift to see you in general, but he cannot deny that he loves when you seek him out. When you emerge from your world and join him in his. When he finds you sitting there, staring, waiting for him. 

He swims from the other edge of the pool towards you. A swan through the water with practiced grace. And when he reaches your dry little island, he pulls himself up by his forearms to greet you. “Done exploring, sweetie?” 

You swallow. Happy he is here, but you often tend to forget how he looks beneath all his designer refinery and comfy, steal-able clothes. Strangled, an “mhm” manages to wriggle its way out your throat. 

“Cat got your tongue?” he smirks, catching the way your pupils scramble down so quickly and clumsily over his body. Beneath his cool exterior, his heart spasms with endearment. “Kitten?” 

And he’s back— love of your life, most annoying man on the planet. Stupid, cocky look dripping along with the droplets of his face as he challenges you. You dig through your pocket and find a coin. 

Swift and easy, you toss it into the pool. It plops and leaves ripples right by his hip. A beat, and then he tilts his head at you in confusion. “Made a wish?” 

“Enriching this pool.” you explain. “It lacks gold, and I’ve always seen you as someone who should be swimming in it.” 

“Is that a compliment?”

“Don’t take it then.” you huff.

He chuckles, turning your upturned nose back towards him with wet fingers, making you scowl. He grins wider, “No, no. it’s just… not enough.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh. I’m sorry, would you like me to throw in a hundred in there?” 

He snorts. “Sweetheart, you can do better than that.”

“Your black card drowns then.”

He laughs, whole and soulful. And it echoes through the hall as this beautiful symphony. “None of that is enough to enrich the pool.” 

“Calling yourself broke isn’t as humbling as you think.”

“Darling.”

“What?”

“Hold your nose.” splash! In a single movement, he’s grasped your hand and pulled you into the water. Your arms flail, but his touch never leaves you as he hauls his soaked little dragon li up to the surface.

“Sylus!” you screech, finding his shoulders and pulling yourself flush against him for leverage. You didn’t expect it to be that deep. His arms wrap around you tightly as he chuckles. 

Truly, how delightful is your misery.

“Now it’s enriched.” he says slowly. Glancing down at your downturned lips and your angry brow. A request you recognize and melts you right away.

Your distance makes it easier to curl your fingers on the nape of his neck and tug his lips to yours in a slow, languid kiss. 

You breathe, “How’d you know my wish?”

He grins, pressing one, two, three kisses to your lips in rapid successions. He has no answer, but he lets you know that he wished for it too. 

You’re pulled further into the pool, his movements smooth and unhurried as he kisses you again. A man starved. The first drop of water in the desert. 

You cling tighter, worried when your feet can’t find the ground. But he guides your thigh up and taps the back of your knee so you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Sweetie.” he murmurs, motions taking pause. He delights in the way you push more, chasing his halted kisses with your soft lips. “Mm, beloved.”

“Yes?” you almost whine, irked by the interruption. Every fiber of his soul frays and blows into the wind at the sound anyway.

“Look.” he says, only because he knows you’ll love it. Gentle fingers wrap around your chin, turning your head towards the length of the pool. With your stillness, the water follows suit, and reveals an endless mirror for the endless sky. 

“Oh,” your lips part, your eyes widen, and you get the urge to cling onto Sylus’s strong shoulders a little more. You press your cheek to his to marvel at the beauty he beholds you.

The flecks of lights dance on the warbling glass you swim in, the lunar touch transmutes the water into silk. The sky is on your body and both are doused in starlight. 

“Beautiful.” you breathe, touching the silver surface carefully, watching the tiniest waves disturb the image. 

“Yes.” he says, but his fingers find your cheek. And his eyes have never left your face, waiting and watching for this reaction exactly. Delighting in the cosmos as well— on your skin, in your eyes. He thinks: Gorgeous. Ethereal. Divine.

All mine. 

You turn to see his drunken gaze at you and smile at the implication of his words. Noses brush and kisses resume. 

“I think this is my favorite room.” you say, but your head is filled with him who holds you in his space.  

His amusement takes form in a laugh, low and suave. “Yeah?” 

You hum. Brush his hair back— bundles of moonlight slipping through your fingers— plant your palms on his chest, and lean your forehead on his. 

His warm hands travel up your back, pushing you impossibly closer to his warmth. Until you’re welded by the sparks of light in the sky. Until you meld together in a warm loving tangle of limbs and breath. He says, “It’s all yours.”

But amongst all the wealth, the treasures and the rooms he chooses to share with you, he is the only one you truly desire. Him, and your soul asks nothing more. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

thank you for reading!

[sweetstrawberrysky]

Touch, touch, touch

—every time you and sylus touch is out of necessity, until it isn’t just.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: baby’s first drabble! hello! soft, yearning, aching, hand-flexing sylus has been eating away at my brain like a maggot (affectionate). here’s the first of hopefully more of whatever this is ♡ i havent written in a hot MINUTE, so feedback is super appreciated. i hope you enjoy! ❀ -urs

sylus x reader | fluff, longing, dressing wounds, dates, and touches

The hunter’s attempts at sneaking up on him amuse him and make his chest ache at the same time. It was an all-too-familiar sight— her face and her eyes watching him like a hawk’s, her motions like a wild cat’s. A knife in hand isn’t favorable, sure, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He’s barely looking when he catches your wrist with his sturdy fingers, head gracefully turning to look at you with no trace of urgency. 

“Kitten.” glowing rubies scrutinize your failed attempt at causing harm. Or a good startle. He couldn’t read if that was murder or mischief in your eyes. Either way, he liked it. “Nice try.” 

𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Always so lost when it comes to the base, Mephisto is your only friend. The halls were made to be a labyrinth to anyone who dared trespass. Only Sylus and the twins truly know the way. Sylus spent hours programming the bird to know the ins and outs of the base, so he is your beacon. But he flies quick, and after shaking him like a tambourine that one time, he doesn’t really care if he loses you. 

“Shit.” you mutter, turning in a circle. A comical fork in the hall before you. You just wanted to find the library Sylus has been so proud of. You wonder how you’ll ever get there. You wonder how you’ll ever get out… 

Warmth on your shoulder and a sturdy grip on your arm maneuver you towards the rightmost hallway. Sylus towers over you, unimpressed. “He went that way.” 

Cheeks growing warm, you wanted to punch him— for sneaking up on you in a most idiotic state. But you thank him instead, shaking him off and stalking after the stupid bird. Maybe you’ll give him another shake for good measure. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Amongst all your injuries, the broken nail on your thumb irks you the most. At least the lock is broken, and you’re safe and warm inside the safe house. The uncharacteristically charismatic safe house with leather couches, plush rugs, and a fancy fireplace. It smelled of white ginger incense and cinnamon. If you weren’t so dizzy and cold from the blood loss, you’d be living it up in this gold brick bungalow. 

Slumping against the door, respectfully getting only the wood floors wet and not the carpet, you assess the situation: bruises and scrapes (no big deal), gunshot to your shoulder, bullet still lodged and bleeding slowly (not so bad), and possible concussion (maybe a little concerning), broken thumbnail (big issue). 

You know exactly what you need to do. Where the first-aid kit may be, how to dig the bullet out, and what to bite on when you do it. Simple, easy, quick— as you were trained to do. A few winces and groans, and you’ll be fine. You lose a slow and steady breath. You’ll be fine…

 A few minutes to rest wouldn’t be so bad. Just a few breaths, a moment to rest your eyes, to calm your heartbeat and slow the bleeding. Just a minute. Just a minute. 

The click of the broken lock disengaging wakes you, sends you into a panic. How long have you been out? Instinct makes you reach, point, and cock your gun to the door— where it meets a dragon’s rock-molten glare. He scowls at you, incredulous— maybe at the blood on the polished mahogany floor, seeping between its crevices. Or at the shattered, high-end biotech door lock. Or the fact that you broke in. You have no energy to ask.

“You welcome this house’s owner by pointing a gun to his head?” he asks, but his voice carries no venom, nor does it any humor. He’s kneeling the next time you blink, hands hovering over your left shoulder. There’s something in the scrunch of his brows, the crease beneath his eyes, the short breaths he tries to hide— as if he’d been running, panicking. 

“How…?”

“A safe with a broken lock tends to make itself known, sweetie.” he murmurs, too focused on all the blood. Too much to be coming from you. “Although the treasure usually doesn’t walk right in.” 

He applies pressure. You groan. “What?” 

“Can you stand?” he asks. You try, but at the first sign of strain on your face, he stops you and moves you himself. 

He lays you by the fireplace, leaves the room to retrieve a first aid kit, and then works carefully in the dim light. He doesn’t speak a word, and you wonder if it’s because he’s mad. It is pretty shameless of you to break into his property. And you suppose pointing a gun to his head is even worse. 

He shouldn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t be dirtying his hands with your mistakes, dealing with the consequences of your poor and ill-tempered decisions. Shouldn’t have to be dealing with a bloody floor and a broken lock— and it’s all your fault. Guilt, cold and sickening, bubbles up in the pit of your stomach.

But his hands are gentle and soothing. His presence, the sound of his breathing is lulling you into calm-surfaced waters with a current that runs rapidly, dangerously beneath. You hate that you want to drown. 

“Sylus…” you start as he wipes his hands on his thighs, finished with stitching up your wound. 

He holds out a pill. “Take this.” 

You blink at him. 

“Painkiller.” he nudges your hand open, and you wince as he hits your thumb. The broken nail making its presence known once more. He freezes, wondering if he’d done that. If he’d missed a broken bone. He didn’t check for sprains. He opens his mouth to say something.

But you cut him off, bringing your finger to your lips and sucking. “I broke it when I picked your lock.” 

“Your finger?” he sounds mad.

“My nail.” you clarify, voice quieter now. A response at his own tone.

The cord that pulled his shoulders taut and froze his spine breaks its tension. He exhales. The rest of him follows, and with softness, he whispers. “Let me see.” 

You lift your hand to him carefully, and his strong fingers wrap around the base of your thumb and your palm. He inspects it with such care you’d think it was a protocore worth his time. “Looks bad.” 

“Feels bad.” You confirm, tugging at your hand. But with no real force. Maybe just to see if he would let go. 

He doesn’t. In fact, he looks pained. Maybe he had been looking pained this whole time— when he cleaned your cuts, when he pulled the bullet out of your shoulder and stitched up the gaping hole. Too engrossed in your guilt, you hadn’t noticed that what you thought was anger on his face was something else entirely. Anguish. Worry. The last fraying thread of composure his sanity clings to tonight. His grasp tightens around your hand, and he cleans it with the same tenderness he gave your worse injuries.

Then he pulls your hand up to his lips. His breath ghosts over your skin, heat lacing through your veins, down your arm and pooling in the crevices of your chest. “Call me, next time. When you need help.” 

He gauges your expression. He looks different here. His usual blood-cursed irises now looking like sweet, warm honey in the glow of the firelight. 

“Please.” He insists, voice low and imploring. It snaps you out of your reverie, and you nod. That’s enough for him. 

You spend the rest of the night talking, or at least he tries to keep you talking. You still did have a concussion after all. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

You shouldn’t be surprised, and yet. In the mirror, you scrutinized yourself in the dress he bought you. The shifting hues of black and red at the movement, how the gloves looked like starlight and felt like butter on your arms. How the heavy diamonds adorning your ears and your neck glimmer in the ambient light of his guest room.

There is a knock on the door and at your command, it swings open to reveal an equally stunning leader of Onychinus.

The strap of his watch catches his skin as he pushes the door open. He’s scowling at his wrist when you see him. And as he looks up, he meets your wide-eyed gaze in the mirror. There is a rupturing, caving so grand in your chest at his heated gaze. A smile he cannot help graces his dangerously, beautiful lips. “You look…” 

“My dress,” you say at the same time. Desperate, quick to fill the silence that stuffed the room now that there are two people in it. Now that he— handsome and alluring— is in it. You need to get a grip. “Can—“ you pause when you realize he was speaking too. But he simply gestures for you to go on. “Can you help me?” 

Sylus takes in the ask and nods. Willing the thrumming in his chest to cease and his breathing to steady as he comes up behind you. Closer and closer until you feel the heat of his fingers on your skin. 

“I’m going to—“

“Go ahead.” you feel his knuckle glide up the skin of your back as he zips you up snugly in the dress. So perfectly fit, you tried to find a flaw— but there was none. The glitter didn’t scratch under your arms, the fabric didn’t itch around your waist and it draped just below your ankles. it was soft and flexible enough should you have to move more than needed during tonight’s operation, you could. 

Something stirs in you that Sylus, under the guise of wanting to handle things himself, still took to account specific, necessary modifications for your comfort without you having to say a word. 

“Thanks.” you say, catching the reflection of his eyes again. His own lingers on the zipper for a moment before he pulls his hands away like he’d touched fire. He grunts in reply. Whatever he came in to say was lost to him, and frankly, he had no interest in getting it back.

“Take your time.” he says instead, voice tight. Then, unable to say another word, he turns on his heel and marches out with a rigid spine and stiff shoulders. Unbeknownst to you, his ears had gone as crimson as his irises. Meanwhile, you curl in on yourself, nails digging into your arms as you drop to your ankles, willing yourself into a ball to distract from the inferno in your chest. 

Good thing the dress was stretchy.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“Sylus?” turning, you wonder how it was possible to lose such a tall, formidable man. 

The crowd is an ocean that pulls you within its current however-much you push against. He asked you, very kindly, actually, to stay by his side— or so you recall. And yet the pastries, the trinkets, the lanterns and the small stall with the adoptable pets have charmed you like the lilt of a flute’s tune. 

The Linkon plaza is never this crowded, if it weren’t for the new year festival. From his cave, you thought you’d lure him out and show him how bright and happy a celebration should be beyond the confines of the base. Sure, the lanterns are up, the gold coins are scattered, the streamers and confetti have littered the floors of the mansion (thanks to the eagerness of the twins), but being out with the people celebrating the arrival of a new year is still, you argued, different. 

“I don’t need anyone else.” He’d said when you coined the idea. With his gentle look, and the hint of a challenge beneath a raised brow. You turn away before he spots the visual evidence of the prickles you feel under the flesh of your cheeks. He still does, anyway. It makes him grin. 

Never truly one to deny you, he agrees on one condition: stay close. And here you are… not. 

“Excuse me— sorry.” You weave through people as gently as you could, straining your neck trying to look over countless heads to find familiar moon-touched hair. A part of you itches in frustration— with his height, he should find you easily. Why wasn’t he looking for you?

The crowd spits you out by a sidewalk where children have gathered nearby to watch a puppet show. He’s impossible to miss in his red coat and bright white hair. There he stood in the back of the short crowd, watching intently as the paper dragon dances with the princess. 

You wander next to him quietly, not wanting to disrupt his intrigue. There was a far-away look in his eyes that made you wonder if he was watching at all. When he flinches ever so slightly as the dragon is slain, you’re sure he is. 

He feels your hand slip into his palm, and his fingers instinctively find their place between the spaces of your own. And something like freshly cooked rice or a hearty soup travels down into your chest at the feeling that this— this was right. You should have been doing this from the moment you arrived; then you wouldn’t have wandered, then you wouldn’t have strayed. You make a mental note: don’t let go. 

He thinks of how well you’ve gotten at sneaking up on him. 

Your grasp tightens. “There you are.” 

“You left me.” he says, his voice a little raspy from underuse. Unlike yours, that has been yelling his name the moment you realized he was gone. 

“No, I didn’t.” you insist, nudging him. “I just lost you for a second.” 

“Felt like ages, sweetie.” he says, looking at you. He means to tease, but his words carry the weight of a lifetime.

“Sylus.” you frown. You don’t like the way his features look haunted by a specter you cannot slay. Your free hand comes to touch his face, fingers brushing just below his eye, easing lightness back beneath his skin. “I found you.” 

And as if by your touch, his soul snaps into place. This one, now. Not any other life before. His brows unfurl and his distance from sea to shore recedes. A tenderness. A gratefulness. A prideful, present sort of affection. “You did.” 

“Wasn’t easy.” you huff, shoulders sinking in frustration. Spreading out the tension as the air between you has gotten too thin. But your hand stays in place, curling around his jaw to stabilize itself. Your thumb has a mind of its own, rubbing the back of his hand. To ground him, you say. For him. For… you, too. “There are too many things, I got a little overwhelmed.” 

He smirks, reaching up to your face and swiping his thumb over the corner of your lip. It comes away stained with blue icing. From the very cupcake that lured you away. He brings it to his lips and tastes it. “Show me.” 

“Hm?” you blink, distracted at the act. The sound of your pulse muffling your ears, drowning out the droning of the crowd. 

“Show me the many things.” he says again, a chuckle sanding his tone. His voice is clear as day, the only true thing you hear in the cheerful chaos of the festival. He shakes your joined hands. “I’ve got you.” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

thank you for reading!