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thalwri · 19 days ago

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A BITE THAT HEALS

STARRING: vampire physician!zayne x sick countess! reader

synopsis: you've fallen dangerously ill and now your position to be countess is threatened by your family that wants to sabotage your claim. with the outbreak of vampiric attackers going rampant, alongside the challenges that come with not being able to see the sun, you seek refuge in your physician's care. and eventually give in to your deepest desires at a a cost.

warnings: porn with plot. angst WITH COMFORT. mention of death, murder attempts, depictions of murder, death, you both want each other, eventual smut, dry humping, body worship, fingering, cunnilingus, hair pulling, vampire sex, multiple orgasms, creampies, you are NASTY FREAKS!

wc: 13,6k

an: Vampire Zayne. VAMPIRE ZAYNE!!!! I promise the angst won't make you cry. I think.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

The skies have lost their taste. Its colour is as mundane as the mushed texture of expired fruit. In any glimpse your eyes can catch, the clouds cast the sun aside as a salute to you — and your illness.

Your skin is pinched by a sliver of warmth before the curtains draw closed by the gloved hand of a handmaiden; one of many that relentlessly serve you. You gingerly scorn at the shadowed warmth emanating from the gaps between your sanctuary and the outer world.

As your eyes reluctantly draw away from the dull specs of light, your hands subconsciously reach for your arms, half covered by the gown being fitted onto your person. The day has barely begun, and yet your duties as regent countess come first and foremost above all.

Even when the world pities you. Even when you must enshroud yourself in the arms of darkness. Even your body betrays you, weakening faster than you can possibly grow old.

The days had blurred into months, dragging the old beauties of life to become mundane and distasteful. The only true source of exhilaration that remains is a particular practitioner who directly tends to your wellbeing.

“You must avoid attending the evening mass tonight, my lady.” One of your most trusted handmaidens says, wrapping the strings of your corset around her palms. “There have been rampant attacks reported over the last few nights.”

“The same ones as those from last week?”

“Indeed, my lady.”

“Ensure that funds are sent to support the injured and sickly— mostly to the church and infirmaries.” You mutter, feeling your throat become irritated, again. Another illness to add to your agitations. “If I cannot help those in need directly, send my regards through this service. Ensure the reverends respond by tomorrow.”

Your handmaidens nod and work effortlessly, ensuring your undergarments are secure before fitting you into your tea gown. It is the purest representation of elegance, your clothing. Designed to perfect and accentuate your figure, you have donned some of the best gowns and accessories the ton has seen yet. Your every appearance before society — both high and low born — have always left an influential mark.

Many suitors have bent the knee for your hand, many ladies have scorned your ‘theft of their gentlemen’ with your beauty, mystique, and charm. Mamas and patriarchs of the highest families have sent calling cards to request an audience— all of which went unanswered. You truly are the embodiment of divine beauty in mortal form.

And yet, you can barely muster looking at your reflection.

Despite the encouraging words of your handmaidens— granted to you as you grew in training to be secondary to your elder brother should he fail to inherit the title as Count— you struggle to see the person you used to be. Before the illness. Before the pain.

It had begun when your skin prickled and seared under the glare of the sun, an entity you once relished in dancing beneath.

It was a leisurely promenade on horseback with your brother in the peak heat of the summer months. You had come down with an intensive fever after spending barely an hour outside. It appeared your brother suffered the same illness but not as intensely. Only after months of close observation was it confirmed that you had caught a strain of an illness.

One that runs cold and deep within the blood of your ancestors. It rarely appears, which potentially was why your parents had neglected to inform you before their disappearance just months after you came of age and came out to society. That was eight years ago.

Your brother passed on two years after the discovery of your illness, leaving you as the sole heir of your family’s great fortune, and the title as Countess for the lack of a next of kin.

Or so you believed.

Once word had flooded into society that you would be the sole heir to the fortune in your family’s name, your aunt— sister of your father— returned after years of silence to retrieve what she claimed to be hers.

Your incentive, despite your weakened and vulnerable state as young as you were, was to protect what remained of your family’s legacy and to drive your cruel aunt as far away as possible. Unfortunately, your argument was considered weak, for you are an unmarried woman.

She has a son, despite the rest of her children being girls, almost of age and accredited amongst the ton as a well-esteemed man. That public favour only goaded your aunt in her attempts to swipe your inheritance and leave you to rot.

Years of holding back tears and biding your time wore you down. The endless quarrels and battles withered your confidence. Word eventually came to your attention that the bodies of your parents were finally found, and gruesome a discovery it was.

It tore you apart to the point of you being bedridden for months. Your breath had grown hollow for some solemn dark years, your hands tightly gripped by your handmaidens and trusted attorneys begging you to stay strong just long enough to win.

As stubborn as you are, even to this day, you cursed your aunt with every fighting beat of your slowing heart. When your health finally stabilised after years of confinement and grief, your heart locked tight and grew colder.

Your skin is almost as fragile as glass. Your eyes are still sharp regardless of the hollowed gaze you use to terrify that damned aunt of yours. Your fortitude hardened like steel over endless nights of gazing into the darkened night— the only time your eyes did not taunt you with pain just as sickeningly riveting as your grief and rancour.

“You must be careful in your steps, my lady.” Your handmaiden tuts as she pulls the strings, tightening your corset just enough not to harm you. “You’ll only harm your skin and deal great pain upon yourself should you overexert yourself.”

“Would it compare to what I have already suffered?” You ask, not tearing your eyes away from your reflection. Eventually you would have to face what remains of you in the mirror.

Your body took a great surplus of damage over those years of emotional and physical torment. Even the slightest pinch would feel like hundreds of blades piercing your flesh. The best physicians became useless in aiding you. Your hope had begun to diminish as quickly as your health did. Until a spark pushed you back to your graces.

He was the unconventional type, this physician. He held no discrimination between the classes that the hierarchy of your society stood upon— the physicians that failed to treat you often scorned at the alleged scars that cicatrised his flesh, or mocked his methods for his lack of “discernment” on the people he ought to treat.

That alone was more than enough for you to have him be the one to bring you back to greater health.

His attempts, while valiant, did little to bring you to be in a fit enough position to walk without an attendee by your side or a cane to support you in case your muscles give in to weakness. That being said, you praise him generously for trying. For believing that you are capable of healing, even if there are parts of your health that you’ll never see again.

The mere thought of him alone makes your lips curve up just a little.

Your handmaidens complete the rest of your gown in the midst of your reminiscence, and the bell from outside your chambers announces the arrival of your physician. He’s here.

The attendants have definitely noticed the rise in your mood ever since the arrival of your trusted doctor. Despite his unsocial tendencies and his especially dry sense of humour, they’ve taken note of how your body loses tension and relaxes so long as he is within close proximity.

Your hushed conversations mid-observation stretched on for prolonged hours— longer than any standard check up should be. Your smiles were always visible in his presence and only returned to being a rare treasure after he left.

They definitely saw you smiling just a little bit right now.

The doors to your chamber split open, gushing a scent of jasmine and lavender into the room. Your eyes flutter shut, letting the soft breeze greet you with a gentle kiss on your sensitive skin. By the time your eyes opened once more, you could see his gaze on you through the mirror.

“Good afternoon, Zayne.” You smiled. You had long forgone formalities over the stretching months of him treating you to better health. To be fair, you had developed quite a warm friendship.

“You seem to have more strength today,” He glances at your figure, nodding to himself. “You’ve managed to stand still for longer. That’s an improvement.”

“With your support, it is only fair to assume I’d regain my vigour quickly.” With a sharp look to the head of the maids at your stead, they scurry off with excited titters, likely on their way to report of your joy to the rest of the staff. They could all see the growing interest you had in Zayne, and they grew to enjoy his presence too.

Every trip made to your manor involved you pestering your butler to ask the chef to prepare sweet pastries, knowing he had a taste for them. Your handmaidens dressed you in some of your best gowns — which is technically all of them — giggling amongst each other for the little dates you would have with him, even if you wouldn’t refer to them as such.

And yet you go on promenade with parasols in the afternoon together to stretch your legs. Any yet you share meals together. And yet you have been caught resting beside him by one of your handmaidens which she eventually swore not to tell a soul.

It was the happiest you had been in years. Of course, your servants would do anything to see you smile. The housemaids had even prepared a chamber for him in the event where he’d be needed overnight.

“Is it not dangerous for you to roam to recklessly out there?” You ask, draping your shoulders with a shawl for more warmth. “There have been attacks all over the place.”

“It’s my duty to tend to the wounded and ill, my lady, even if I put myself at risk.” Despite your longstanding friendship, he still opts to be so formal. “What have you heard?”

“They call the attackers vampiric.” You sigh, taking Zayne’s extended hand to help you move to your bed. “Canines elongated and sharp, skin cold yet potent to deceive others with the illusion of warmth. Apparently some are still warm to the touch… I’ve heard they also have a great affinity for blood.”

Zayne only hums as his hands hover over your exposed neckline, awaiting your consent. You absentmindedly nod and glance to the covered window in longing. “Some say they hide in the shadows during the day, as the sun harms them.”

“Almost sounds like they are rather similar to you.” Zayne pokes your cheek with a subtle grin.

“Are you accusing me of consuming blood?” You gasp, holding your hand over your chest. Directly above his own. You swear to yourself that it was not intentional.

“Perhaps you are,” His grin only widens, glad to see you entertained by his jibe. He extracts one of his tools from his bag, placing the cool metal on your chest, moving it around until he hears the soft drumming of your heart. “You might just stalk your way around the streets of town in the dark of night, finding your next victim to extract their very essence.”

Your ears are burning at such close contact. It’s not the first time his hands have been so close to you but it always leaves a lasting affect, sending flutters to your stomach and burning heat to your ears and cheeks.

The way his hazel tinted eyes always flicker between your chest and your gaze shoots shivers down your spine. Sometimes you wonder if his gaze ever lowers to the cleavage of your bosom— but you ought not assume he would be so bold.

“I would only want yours.” You whisper. His hands roam over the expanse of your chest, gently poking and pressing on your skin. It brings your breath to catch deep in your lungs, your pulse slowly jumping.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I— I would…” You quickly blink yourself out of your trance, glancing around the room to gather your thoughts. “I would only want the purest blood! Blood seeped in alcohol must have a nasty taste, no?”

“Perhaps,” Zayne pouts and leans away to store his medical tools in his bag. It takes all your energy not to make a sound, mourning the absence of his touch. “Or maybe you have a taste for the best blood the world can provide.”

“If I did,” You slowly gather your words as you lean closer to him. The way he is seated on your bed prevents him from leaning back. “Would you get it for me?”

Was this dangerously inappropriate? Of course it was!

Did you care? Well…

It did take a lot of courage for you to move so subtly. His reaction only makes your efforts more fruitful. His ears have a slight red blush creeping closer to his face and his eyes— those ethereal eyes— have already glanced off in another direction to avoid your gaze.

“I ought to remind you that this is purely hypothetical.” Zayne gently pokes your forehead. “What occasion requires you to dress so formally?”

Your smile slowly fades. Your aunt had decided to grace you with her presence for luncheon with her eldest son and daughter. In her letter, she referred to it as a moment for you to all bond as a family. As 'true kin’ meaning to support one another.

You hadn’t heard from the woman in almost two years ever since she left you in such a damaged state. You laughed hysterically when your butler reported it to you. Letting bygones be bygones is beneath you.

The rejection letter was halfway through being written when you remembered that any sign of resistance, knowing your aunt and her devilish ways, would only be met with corrupted legal pushback— and you were not in the mental state to handle such strain again.

You had no choice. You have to protect what remains of your family, even if it kills you.

“Luncheon.” You stiffly respond, feeling the icy chill spread through your body. The warmth once shared between the two of you slowly becomes overpowered by pure resentment. “With my aunt.”

Zayne’s lips purse into a straight line. “I see.” He shares your sentiment against your aunt. After all, it was her consistent harassment over the years that drove you to your illness being dramatically exacerbated. It took him threatening her with summoning your attorneys to drive her away, but the damage had already been done.

“When is it?”

Like a sick joke, the bell rings overhead, indicating the arrival of a guest. But you don’t need your butler to tell you who it is.

“I suppose now.” You slowly push yourself to your feet, rejecting Zayne’s caring hands to support you. You return to the cold, resenting tone that held you before his arrival. “Am I to assume you shall remain in the manor until dinner?”

Zayne curtly nods. “I’ll right beside you during luncheon. I just need to clean up here.”

His heart tugs as he watches you leave your chambers, supported by a wooden cane. He has no need to pity you, for he has seen your strength. But he burns to help you in any way he can just to see that cold scowl disappear once and for all.

The luncheon goes as you expect it to.

The formalities pass through smoothly, your aunt pulls you into her embrace and squeezes her grip on you with her knowledge of your physical weakness. Fortunately, it was brief. She still reeks of strong floral perfume, only this time it’s far more potent.

Your cousins were more stiff with their greetings, giving you sneers and subtle jabs about your appearance.

“You still look so sickly,” The younger cousin snickered. The frills on her gown made her look like a peacock. “Perhaps I should send you my stylist to create a new wardrobe for you. One that won’t make you seem so… rude.”

The elder cousin, although younger than you, was silent and devoted more of his energy observing the interior of your manor. Almost as though he was planning what he wished to do with it.

The meals were delectable, as expected of your chefs. They are the best of the best, after all. When you began to host again, once your heath improved just enough to interact with others, your guests— mostly being close family friends— often commended the food provided and asked for recipes so that their chefs could make something similar.

You have always taken great pride in your staff, and always extended your gratitude for them being by your side in the most difficult time in your life. They stood by your side, fed you, bathed you, spoke stories of the current affairs in society to keep you up to speed, and treated you and each other like family to substitute for the one you lost.

Without them, there would barely be anything left of you. Without them, your fortitude to fight would have shattered.

“This is quite the mediocre meal you have provided, dearest.” Your aunt tuts as she waves for your butler. “Take this scrap away. Even a cow would eat better.”

Your jaw ticks but you keep your gaze on the plate beneath you. You finished your plate, and considered the main course rather divine. Perhaps your aunt’s palate was not yet accustomed to more exotic meat.

“I see you haven’t ventured out beyond our country’s bounds.” You comment, seething each word with long-brewing venom. “Your taste buds have likely dulled from all the pork you eat.” One of the things your aunt resents about you is your sharp tongue. It’s why she is so persistent on pinning you down hard enough to legally overwhelm you.

You could see her brows knit together from your peripheral. Just as you intended. The elder of your two cousins merely snickered while the younger scoffed.

“Who is to say this foreign meat is even good?” She sneers, despite having stuffed her mouth with the very meat she insults moments ago.

“You have too much confidence for one who barely interacts with society. Not to mention how dark it is in here, there’s barely any direct light here. I feel sorry for your staff, especially that practitioner.” Her eyes flicker to Zayne, who stands beside your staff.

He occasionally joins you while you eat just to keep close in case your agitations harm you. It isn’t uncommon for your illness to strike you at random, so he must have attended to keep an eye on you.

“Honestly, with the way you brood, I doubt anyone would want to be in your presence.” That would have struck a nerve if it was the first time she had mentioned it.

Your eyes grew painfully delicate in the presence of the sun— constantly burning or drowning in tears or drying up completely if you were outside for too long. The same applied to your skin. It began to physically ache to feel its rays on you. The only solution was to reduce the light exposed to you as much as possible.

“Such a shame, indeed. I truly am not like you, dearest cousin.” You taunt as your gaze strikes her with contempt. “I believe it is only fair you dance around the public grounds under the sun while you cozy up with all the lords of the land. You ought to give them a visit on a promenade. I am sure one will be mad enough to raise your skirts.”

Just as your butler coughs back a chuckle from your callousness, she slams her hand on the table with faux tears brimming in her eyes. “You foul—“

“Now, dearest,” Your aunt cuts in, tilting her head in that same condescending way as she did all those years ago. “You ought not be so cruel to your cousin. After all, she is the closest you’ll ever have to a sister.”

“She is not my sister.” You are quick to interject her, silently cursing yourself for reacting so quickly. That only seems to fuel your aunt more.

“She is your kin.” Those eyes of hers twinkle, making it known that she’s seen you break just enough to poke at your pride even more. “You are the last of your father’s legacy, and yet you are barely fit to claim a dowry.”

From the corner of your eye, you see your butler, footmen, and maids twitch in agitation. You subtly raise your hand beneath the table, keeping them at bay.

“You are just moments from breaching the territory of a spinster, my dear.” Her false concern is slowly shifting into jeers of spite. Almost as if she waited those eight years to pin you down. “You have no match, no suitor. You cannot possibly think you can claim what remains of the fortune. You are a woman and your brother is gone.”

Your eye twitches at the mention of your brother, but you force yourself to maintain composure. “As a woman, your duty is to get a husband so that he may take over the title. So that you may pass down your forefathers’ legacy. Though that may not be a present option. Not when you can barely walk on your own without a cane and a maid by your hand.”

Through gritted teeth, you force yourself to speak. “You have no privilege to discriminate me for a hereditary illness. I had no involvement in living this way.”

“Oh yes, dearest.” Your aunt coos in that damned sneer. “We have all been praying for you all these years for your speedy recovery. But it does not seem that you have fared any better.”

You can feel yourself getting stiff with agitation. Your chest squeezes in tight, your breaths constrain and become shallow enough for the rise and fall of your torso to be visible and quick. You can hear the snickers from your cousins but they drown out into a buzz of noise.

You can see your aunt’s lips move but you hear no words. Her eyes narrow, her brows raise in pity as her smile widens just enough to see her gums so harshly pink that it feels unnatural to see. Her hands follow her words, flicking with each intonation of her voice, all so condescending, all so vile.

The pounding in your chest grows louder and louder, thumping into your head so harshly that you can feel it. Pulses of pain spread through your mind as hot flashes surge beneath your skin. It’s too much. Your corset feels tight around you, your shawl sets your skin ablaze in discomfort with every breath you take. But you can’t move your hands to take it off.

You’re trapped to only listen to your aunt break you down to pieces, just as she had all those years ago. To embarrass you, to harm you, to shatter you again and again and again until she is sure there is nothing left but a hollow shell that she can steal from.

“You are the blood of your father’s blood. But your father was strong. Like your cousins are.” Mentioning him so crassly brings your hand to tighten around the sharp knife beneath you. She has no right to even utter his name. None. “Our blood gives us the powers to wield such a privilege of the title Count. And you ought to have the same too… if it weren’t for those sickly genes from your mother—“

Before you can comprehend it, your body moves for you in spite of the inferno of agony driving you to crumble. Your hand tightly grips the knife as you charge to your aunt, vision blurred with tears and her neck being the only clear sight before you. One single cleave will silence her torment forever.

Your tea gown flows as you glide to her like a vengeful ghost, arm raised just high enough for the blade to glimmer in the air. “You shall speak no word of my mother, you wretch!”

Everything from that moment happens so quickly. The screams from your cousins, your aunt and the staff reign chaos in the dining hall. Clamouring footsteps and scraping chairs thunder on the floor as hands reach out to you, desperate to hold you back from committing an act you may well regret.

Tears fall from your eyes as you draw closer to your aunt, whose face is completely distorted with absolute fear and terror. Her hands shield her face and turns away, granting you full access to the veins surging beneath her skin.

One cleave.

Just one cleave and that crone is dead.

All of a sudden, air fills your chest and snaps you out of your homicidal daze. Your head is tucked securely into a broad chest, while strong arms wrap around you tightly engulfing you in his scent. Zayne’s hold on you does not hurt as much as your body does from the overexertion devoted to murdering that woman.

You can just barely hear her cursing you, panting and screaming for the staff to call for her carriage. You can hear your cousins, one wailing for her mother while the other curses you to damnation. You couldn’t care less.

Those gulps of air shiver into sobs as more tears flow from your eyes, from the pain of your muscles constraining and the grief of your beloved family.

You hear your name whispered to you in a hushed voice. “Breathe. Breathe, my lady.” Zayne’s voice brings back the warmth you shared just hours earlier. Just enough to soothe you, but not enough to silence your fury.

“I’ll kill you.” You pulled your head from his embrace to face your aunt once more. “You vicious dog, I will kill you if it is the last thing I do in this mortal body!”

You watch your aunt and cousins scurry towards the doors leading to the entrance and follow them with as much strength as your weakened body can allow. You watch them trip over each other, ignoring the guiding hands of your butler and physician in case you lose your balance. They don’t try to stop you.

“I will tear you limb from limb and end the bloodline by this very hand, I swear it! You will never claim the title of Count, and you will never claim this manor so long as I live!” As they enter the carriage, your aunt turns to you with a scornful smile on her face. The luncheon may not have ended as she desired but there is at least satisfaction from rousing you to anger.

You collapse into Zayne’s arms once the doors completely close, shielding you from the light and the eyes of your kin. Tears blind you in agony, the surging throbs of your body spread until you can barely feel him lift you into his arms.

Your sobs are the only thing you can hear until his voice calls out to you once more.

“I’m here, my lady.” Only then do you realise that you have been returned to your chambers, enveloped in his arms. His scarred hands, both rough in texture and gentle in touch, stroke your skin lightly just to soothe you.

“I need— I must—“

“You must do nothing.” Zayne hums, pressing his cheek on top of your head. Your handmaidens silently entered your chambers to leave a comfortable dress for you to wear instead of the tea gown constricting you and overstimulating you. Once they have settled your garments, they leave as quietly as they came.

“I acted out of turn—“ You turn to face him, only to be stricken with more agony from such a quick movement.

“You were provoked.” Zayne urges with an unusual strain to his voice. His attempt to suppress his anger somehow brought comfort to you. To see him care so immensely for you was heartwarming. “She had tapped into the most sensitive topics to harm you. Of course you responded that way. You were hurt.”

“The manor is bound to fall into her hands from that reckless act alone.” You shivered, almost seeing that smug look on her face should she stand victor in the battle that has lasted a decade. “I am only left to pray that those vampiric folk consume them, or worse.”

Zayne can only listen to you cry as he holds you. As much as it would satisfy him to handle them himself, you are his priority first and foremost.

“My lady—“

“My clothes,” You murmur, feeling the discomfort of your flesh being tied up so uncomfortably in your garments. You were just fine earlier, why do you feel so constricted now? You tug your shawl off your shoulders and reach for the silk strings at your waist to tug out the knot. “I need to take it off, it’s too much.”

“I’ll call for a handmaiden.”

“No!” You shriek, harshly tugging away but it just won’t budge. Your body still aches with the need to free yourself from the constraints, bringing tears to your eyes once more. “You have touched most every part of me from my bosom to my ankles, you have seen it all. I need you Zayne, pray, I need your help.”

It is truly difficult to resist you when your eyes brim with tears and pure desperation scorns you. He has to help you. He has to. Even if it is ungentlemanly. He is a gentleman, don’t get him wrong, but you come first.

His hands rest on your shoulders and push your gown slowly until he reaches your waist where the knot is securely tied. He tries as best as he can not to listen to your frustrated pants and instead concentrate on the task at hand.

He smoothly undoes the knot, eyes fluttering at the sound of your relief. He can only imagine how hard it was for you to sit through such a horrid luncheon like that. If it weren’t for his logic, he would have dealt with them before you lost your temper.

Zayne slides your gown further down your body until it reached your hips. “Stand for me, my lady.” You slide off your bed without question, allowing for your gown to slip off your form and pile on the floor.

Still too overstimulated to care, you turn around and gesture for Zayne to help you with your corset and the rest of your undergarments. Upon the glimpse of your back, he immediately feels a familiar rise of arousal burn within him. Damn it.

Something about how delicate yet strong your back looks just riles him up. Each muscle is so defined yet soft in the way you move, your posture is always so poised, even the way you’re turning to glare at him right now is attractive.

“If you cannot assist me further, please summon my hand—“ Nope, nope, nope, he won’t allow it.

“I can do it.” He clears his throat and adjusts his pants to conceal the tent.

Zayne scoots closer to you, ensuring his growing erection remains hidden enough for him to undo the strings of your corset outside of your sight. He works quick and smooth, gently pulling at the knots to ensure you aren’t hurt. Piece by piece, he helps you remove your garments until you stand nude above him. He can only pray that his precum doesn’t leak into his slacks.

He reaches for your looser gown and swiftly slides it over your head. He watches the smooth fabric slide down your collarbones, down your breasts, covering your waist and hips until it reaches the ground with a gentle tap.

Only then can he exhale the air caught in his throat. Only then can he swallow the urges surging within him from your scent alone. A scent so rich that he had to clamp his tongue with his teeth.

“That should do it,” He grits, smoothing out the fabric around your waist. He can’t help but keep his hands on you there. It just feels right.

“Thank you.” Silence stretches between the two of you before you sigh. “I shall have to summon my attorney to make a plan. That woman will surely use that event against me.”

“I am sure you will be able to find your way to victory.” He assures you. “You’ve fought battles worse than one to claim a title.”

“I am a woman, Zayne.” You scoff. “Unless I am able to outlive them all, there is little I can do without entering criminal territory. It seems I have already acclimatised myself to that path.”

He hums in agreement, swallowing the laugh that almost escaped his lips. His thumbs gently massage your waist, ignoring how dangerously intimate the gesture is. You seem to ignore it too, fully engulfed in need to feel secure. To engulfed in the desire you have fruitlessly tried to keep at bay.

You are attracted to Zayne. How could you not be?

For a man so handsome, so respectful, so empathetic and devoted to seeing you return to better health, it is only fair that you have begun to dream of him. That you have begun to feel your core ache and burn for him, to leave you soaked in desire so much so that you’ve spent nights moaning his name into your pillow.

It is an impulse you do your best to ignore, but with the way he holds you so gently, with so much reverence, it truly is hard to ignore the growing heat in your core. You can only pray he doesn’t notice.

“You ought to get some rest.” He advises, not as your companion but as your medical advisor. He glances out the covered windows to see the light filtering into your room. It’s much warmer. It must be dusk already. “I shall be leaving soon as well.”

You immediately step away from him touch, swiftly turning to show your shock and fear. But it’s always been that way.

In daylight, he is yours. Confined with you in the manor so that he can ensure you are well. The only reason why he only arrived at noon today was because he had other patients to attend to. Once the sun sets beneath the horizon, the night claims him. And you can never understand why.

You hated that.

You were able to handle your time beyond dusk well, you had your own tasks to attend to as the regent of your household— the title being temporary due to the special nature of your case. You had a society to attend to, people to care for and fund. You had a life ahead of you.

But it was at risk of being taken from you. Your life nearly slipped from your hands if it wasn’t for his skilled assistance. Your motivation and discipline was dwindling before he gave you a reason to keep going. He reminded you of your compassion. He reminded you of how strong your bond with your staff was, and how that devotion extended to the people you were raised to uplift.

His presence in the daylight’s torture was your solace and his absence in the night’s embrace was your silence. But you want no more of that exchange.

You want to be selfish. You want him. In both dawn and dusk.

“And if I suffer from any pain?” You spoke in a hushed tone, anointing your words with distaste. You understood his duties and his need for rest, but he could do it here. With you. “Where will I receive the help I need?”

Zayne merely gifted you a small smile as he took his bag. “The night is yours to claim, my lady. You can send for me.”

“The night is dangerous to roam these days.” You scowl at the growing distance between you. The shiver of ice hardens over your flesh once more. You hate how your comfort and warmth comes and goes with his presence. But without his service, his care, his companionship… what would you be then?

“Then I shall see you tomorrow morning.” He bows his head and turns to the hallway before him. Keeping his gaze ahead, Zayne’s voice drops an octave. “Don’t go outside tonight.”

Without another word, he stalks into the candlelit hallway leaving you alone once more.

The night is silent after he leaves. You’re antsy, brooding, on the verge of tears— not because he isn’t with you, no. Because the scandal of a luncheon you had is now plaguing your mind. You have been blaming yourself through tears, trying to find reason in your spur of madness.

Your butler and handmaidens struggled to calm you and soothe you, but the teas they brewed and the stories they told of similar situations they had seen somewhat put your nerves at ease. Just enough to keep you out of harm’s way.

Staring at the fire pit, you lounge in the sitting room. Your mind is racing with ways to cover up your sins. You know your aunt is losing grip on her finances and yet still splurges to satisfy the whims of your cousins. You could bribe her. But then she would blackmail you and demand more until she’s sucked your accounts dry.

You could actually kill her. But you cannot do it directly, you may not have the physical strength. To even out the hypothetical grounds, if you did, your persecution would drive your family name across the mud. And you’d be stripped of your assets regardless.

Each and every plan you concoct results in you ultimately losing or being forced to sacrifice something too vital to you. The only logical option would be to outlive at least the elder cousin. But since he is five years your junior you have your doubts, especially when you take your illness and physical weakness into account.

The painting of you, your parents and your brother hands high above you. Their gazes were so warm back then. You would often see them in your dreams in your weakest hours, urging you to keep going. To fight. You have to keep going. You just have to.

You can’t let them win. You have to honour your family and claim what is yours.

The clock loudly chimes, indicating it is now midnight. Your butler swiftly collects your empty cup and bows. “I shall be taking my leave, as will the rest of the staff, my lady. Need I assist you to your chambers?”

“No, thank you.” You smile at the family portrait, gesturing to the cane beside you. “I have more than enough help right here.”

Glancing at the portrait, your butler smiles. “Rest well, my lady.”

You listen to his footsteps fade into the manor, and once there is complete silence once more, you rise to your feet. Your grip on your cane is tight from your body still being in shock. Your conviction, however, is stronger.

Your plan is both reckless and dangerous, you know. But you have no other choice.

You pace to the main entrance of the manor, sharply glancing at the footman by the door.

“I trust that you will keep this to yourself?” You whisper and he nods affirmatively. He opens the large door, welcoming the nightly gust to kiss your skin in greeting. You can almost smell the eery musk in the air. The scent of danger. Regardless, you step out, tugging fiddling with the sleeve of your overcoat.

“Safe travels, my lady.” The footman mutters as the doors close once more. Your plan is unfolding perfectly.

What plan you ask?

Locating Zayne, of course.

Well, to be fair, it was not just that.

You intend to keep an eye on the process of your funds being sent off to infirmaries, churches, schools, and other places that require it. The transaction on your end has been successful from the report of your maids but there is something interfering with the receiving end in the town.

So you opted to investigate it yourself, outside of their knowledge. It puts you at a great and dangerous risk, but that is what you have Zayne for should you find him on time. You have also stored some of your medication in your purse as well, just in case things do end up going wrong but you plan to leave it in your carriage since the trip should be brief.

The carriage speeds into the town, illuminated by lanterns and candles radiating from the windows of the townhouses along the road. From what you recall during your occasional visits, it should be bustling with people, whether to attend festivals or for the more secretive ventures to the brothels.

The streets are empty and quiet. One thing you have never seen before in all your years.

Your carriage awaits your return outside the main church. You had letters sent to the reverend, informing him of your incoming presence so he would be expecting you.

You push the arcane wooden doors open to be greeted with an eery quiet. Familiar to the holy silence you would hear whenever you visited to donate funds to support those in need, but far more disorienting.

“Reverend.” You call out, only to hear your voice echo through the walls. Your shoes click on the wooden floor with each step as you get closer to the altar. You had seen many of the ladies around your age marry here. You now scoff at the idea of ever getting married. You’re too old and you’ve lost the taste for entertaining suitors.

“Reverend?” You call again to receive not silence, but a scream.

A loud shriek that could be mistaken for one that a debutante would make if her dress were soiled. To your surprise, the very reverend you were waiting for stumbles into the hall both petrified and disheveled, doing what appeared to be adjusting his pants.

“I condemn you, devil!” He cries before he notices you. He pauses to catch his breath and straightens his robes. “Ah, my lady, now is truly not the time—“

“What is going on here?” You ask, scrutinising his panicked state. “What are you running from?”

“Vampire, my lady!” He shouts, gripping your shoulders to push you away. “There is a vampire that has breached these holy grounds, it just cannot be—“

In a flash his hands fall with him to the floor, pinned by what looks like a sharpened crucifix. He screams of agony make your ears ring. “Damn you, you demon!”

You turn to see who he curses, with slight fear rising up your spine. Adorned in black with specks of blood staining the fabric with eyes as green as an ember and as brown as the soil, the vampire stops in his tracks fully gazing on you.

“Zayne,” You exhale, unable to recognise the feeling behind your heart punching your bones. Your palms are getting clammy, your breath is growing more ragged, and yet your core burns with unsanctioned desire.

“My lady.” He sounds breathless, as if he was looking at you for the first time. Just as he parts his lips, his gaze averts to the reverend behind you.

“So this is what’s gotten you so distracted.” You hear him chuckle before he clasps your wrist with his bloodied hands and drags you outside.

The cool winter wind sends shocks of ice cold shivers down your spine as snowflakes flutter onto your skin. You had almost forgotten it was the middle of winter. The harsh wind blows your overcoat open, exposing you loose gown to the freezing elements.

“Revered, unhand me!” You tug at his grip only to struggle as he pulls you down the stairs. A sharp jasmine scented gust rushes past you at the force dragging you away severs completely. You glance down to see his hand still on you but completely sliced from the rest of his body.

Utterly shocked, you shriek and fling your arm to force the hand off of you. A trail of blood drips into the snow, growing bigger and bigger until you see Zayne’s form hunched over the reverend, loud gnawing noises being the only thing you can hear.

“Zayne,” You whisper, only for your voice to fall upon deaf ears. “Zayne!”

His movements stiffen completely as he turns to face you. Blood is stricken across his face and dripping from his abnormally sharpened canines. His skin almost glistens in the cold dead of night, and those divine hazel eyes just look brighter.

Could it be?

Zayne always leaves the manor at night. He rarely eats when he’s with you and when he does, it is just barely enough to keep him satiated. He sometimes refers to himself as a vegetarian even though he consumes animal meat. He never sets foot outside without something to give him shade, almost like the sun harms him.

It could not possibly be. You’ve seen his ears turn red when he gets flustered. Although his hands are mostly cold, you’ve felt his warmth. But some vampires don’t become as cold as ice. It is rare but it’s possible.

The roads all lead to one answer. He is a vampire.

“My lady, it isn’t safe for you here.” Zayne wipes the blood off his lips onto his sleeve. He slowly reaches you, his steps crunching marks into the snow. You hadn’t realised how overpowering his height actually is until now. Until now, you didn’t realise how terrifying his gaze is, how almost obvious it was.

You can hear the reverend gurgling behind you, clearly still clawing at what remains of his liveliness. Zayne did that much in just seconds. He could have consumed you at any given moment. Whenever he checked your pulse. Whenever he nursed you. When he drew blood from your flesh. Whenever he saw you bare before him. Whenever you shared the most intimate looks and touches.

And yet he never did.

“I—“ Your chest squeezes harshly, like hundreds of pins stabbing at your heart continuously. You gasp, watching your gaze reach the black moonlight sky as you fall to the ground.

You can’t feel your body. You can barely hear Zayne calling your name. Your eyes dart around his face as he cradles you in his embrace, his blood stained canines glistening as his lips frantically move in a repetitive pattern.

Your vision slowly blurs and darkens, moment by moment. It’s almost peaceful. You can’t possibly allow it. You must fight on. But you feel so warm in his embrace. So safe.

With the waning remnants of strength left in you, your hand gently cups his cheek, staining your fingers with the blood that struck his face.

“You…” The whisper is hoarse and thick with gratitude for him, fear for the future of your home, and resentment for all that could be taken from you. “So, so beautiful.”

“My lady, please.” Zayne’s voice cracks as he begs, his eyes welling up with tears. “You must stay strong. Maintain your strength. Overcome this shock, I beg of you!”

The pain only engulfs you more. “If I cannot avenge my family… if I cannot outlive them…” You worry as your grip tightens on his cheek. It takes only seconds before a perilous idea strikes his mind.

It is risky, truly, it is. But he is running rather short for time. He knows of your ambitions and your deepest desires. He can give that to you. He can. But it would only give you something similar to the illness you already face. You may never be able to step into the graces of the sun again.

If your grit stays true and strong, Zayne may have no other choice.

“My lady, you can.” He whispers, canines revealing themselves with his deluded smile. So long as he restricts himself from taking too much, you will live. He just has to hold himself back just a bit longer. “You have to choice to live. Eternally. With me. We can outlive your relatives. Or kill them if it fancies you. You can keep your title. But only if you are willing. I don’t want to take your life from you.”

You slowly blink as his eyes become the only thing you can clearly see. Your heart drums against your chest as you weigh the options. You could live forever. But you’d never see the sun again. You may just outlive your staff too. But to protect your family name, to avenge yourself, and to have Zayne be yours eternally… to be like him would not be much different from how you are now.

You were never going to truly recover. You’d always be a fraction of who you once were. Your aunt was right. But this? This is an opportunity. A chance to truly heal, even if your only connection to your family will be the legacy you live through. You had a shot and setting things right once and for all.

With a weakened smile your eyes fluttered as you whispered your final words as a mortal. “Give me the tools to avenge my blood.”

The following seconds are pure agony. The last thing you see is Zayne apologetically smiling with you. The last thing you feel are his lips gently pressing on your forehead. The last thing you hear, that gives your heart the sharpest twinge, “I love you.”

Once his teeth sink deep into your neck, your vision darkens completely.

There is silence. And then there is pain.

Your body burns like it’s caught up in flames, white hot and striking your every nerve. Your lips tear open to scream but no voice or air comes out. Your nails claw at his flesh, to ground whatever sinking life is in you. It's endless, loud, and violent until it quiets down completely.

And then there is a new form of silence.

You can hear distant bells chime while they flow with the winter wind. You can see the smallest, most intricate details of a falling snowflake. You can smell the scent him. You can feel his grip on you tighten, gently shaking you to see if he didn’t go too far. You can hear his honeyed voice call your name in fear and worship.

You blink and see those hazel eyes, now more beautiful than before.

“My lady?” His voice is as clear as the morning serenade of the birds. He looks even more handsome now. It shoots pulses of need straight to your core. Along with that, comes a fresh sense of confidence like a coat of skin over your strengthened skin. You no longer feel pain with every movement.

Your hand squeezes his cheek to test your strength, pinching harder and harder until he yelps. “My lady, you must tell me if you’re alright—“

Ignoring your inhibitions, you pull Zayne down to your embrace, pressing your lips right onto his. His lips are soft like pillows and, if not for the taste of your blood, you’d assume he tastes sweet. It barely takes seconds for him to respond with equal fervour, wrapping his arms round your waist.

Your tongue pokes between his lips and he grants you access with a hushed moan, leaning forward to push you deeper into the snow. The cold is no longer as biting as it use to be. It doesn’t bother you at all now. The pain in your body has silenced. It’s been so long since you felt so at ease.

Is this what pleasure feels like? Is it the burning feeling in your chest? Is it the way that your hands rush to feel more of him like you won’t get the chance again? Is it the way you both move together in a lustful dance, sharing your hushed noises of pleasure and need together?

Perhaps it’s all of it. Perhaps there’s even more.

“Zayne.” You pant as you pull away, strings of saliva connect you to him.

“My lady.” He whispers with reverence laced in his tone. His hands caress you with care. He must be in heaven. That kiss… not only did it send signals straight to his cock to rise harder than it has ever been before, leaving him near shaking.

In the quiet cold, he can’t help but desire you now more than ever. To taste you, to feel you above him until you drive yourselves mad with pleasure. It’s an insatiable desire and yet he wants it. He needs you.

You can definitely feel his erection. And that only makes your arousal deepen for him. You were already grinding on him the moment your kiss had deepened. You press wet kisses all over his face, reaching for his jaw and neck as your hands explore the expanse of his clothed back.

“My lady,” Zayne whines, but tilts his head just enough to give you the access you need to torment him with your affections. It seems his neck is rather sensitive to your ministrations. “You must contain yourself. We are still outside.”

You can feel your canines, now sharper than before, prodding your lower lip. It feels so unfamiliar yet so beautifully natural. You would grow accustomed to this change eventually, you’d go accustomed to this new strength that makes you feel so alive. You could do anything, be anything. Have anything. You starved for it. And now you can get it.

“The only person close enough to spread word of our misbehaviour is already dead.” You whisper in a tone all too erotic for Zayne not to moan at the sound of. “I cannot hear his pulse.” You are correct, the reverend had long taken his final breath before Zayne had bitten you.

Before he had turned you into a stronger version of yourself. A vampire, if you will.

The scent of the reverend’s blood sets off a deep, voracious craving within you to hunt down any person you can find and consume them. You wanted to devour every damned member of society that wronged you. It cannot compare, however, to the ravenous desire for him.

“I must return you to the manor,” Zayne tuts, bringing your lips to his for another lascivious kiss. Your tongues dance frantically, hands slowly reaching lower to your chest before he pulls away. “Your bloodlust will drive you to attack innocents.”

“But what about the reverend, I can—“

“You won’t consume something as tainted as that.” He cuts in, pressing a peck on your nose. “He has been manipulating people, and embezzling the very funds you so graciously donated. You don’t deserve something as vile as that.”

He attacks your neck with kisses, pulling gentle sighs from you as his hands venture to your waist. “After all, I can only give you the purest blood. The most delectable, nourishing blood that world can provide. Come now, my lady, we must get you home.”

You’re surprised he remembered that little joke you shared earlier. You’re more surprised of how it unfolded to become your fate. Consuming the blood of others to satiate yourself. You can only hope that your staff will still keep you close and care for you and let you return the favour now that you’re stronger.

“The carriage is just nearby,” You eventually give in, pointing in the direction of where you should go. Zayne wastes no time in picking you up in his arms as if you are his bride and venturing to get you to safety.

The trip is not long. It does not take long to return to the manor. It does not take long to sneak past your staffs chambers, all of them still being asleep. It does not take long for you to reach your chambers. It does not take long for his lips to be on yours once more.

The coats and shoes had long been abandoned on the floor. Your fireplace had been vigorously been prepared by him to keep you as warm as possible, still treating you with care and affection as he always has.

Hushed moans fill the crackling silence of your bedchambers with rustling clothing and wandering hands reaching to all the places that would be deemed scandalous to touch. But your concerns for poise are long gone.

You pull away from his embrace, gliding your tongue down his neck to suckle your mark onto his flesh and lean back only to see the mark fade as quickly as it got there.

“We tend to heal rather quickly.” He sheepishly smiles. “For example,” He takes your wrist and suckles hard on your skin. You can feel his tongue glide over your skin as his eyes pierce yours, arousing you all the more. Once he pulls away, you can already see the bruise starting to fade.

“You strength has dramatically improved, along with your agility and endurance.” He explains as he presses hot kisses on your skin. “You can run faster, you can protect yourself in any situation of danger,” His hands squeeze your waist harder than before as he nuzzles his nose into your skin, inhaling your scent.

“You can last much longer in more intimate experiences too.”

Your eyes almost twinkle at the sound of that. You aren’t ignorant of what you’re about to do. You’re more than old enough to have invested in the tools necessary to give yourself pleasure in the absence of a person to do it for you. But now you wanted to get a taste of pleasure with him.

“I want to test that out.” Your voice comes out sultry and dripping with need. He can’t even resist you if he tried. You turn around, gesturing to the gentle knot tied at the back of your gown. “I may need your assistance.”

Zayne moans at the sight, his cock violently twitching and leaking in the confines of his pants. “Of course, my lady.” His patience draws painfully thin as his pulls the knot apart to allow your gown to flow, still accentuating your figure.

His hands gently pull at your neckline until your gown falls to the floor. He rushes to pull off his garments, piece by piece until you both stand nude together, warm and vibrating with need. His hands subconsciously reach to cover the scars running up both his arms, having forgotten they were there.

“Those scars,” You whisper, reaching for his hands. “May I?”

Zayne rarely allows anyone to look at his arms. But for you? He trusts you to be gentle.

Your fingers touch each and every one, grazing over the bumps and roughened skin and feeling the contrast between scar tissue and skin. There is no pity in your eyes, only wonder and care.

“You don’t think they’re unsightly?”

“No,” You shake your head, bringing his forearm to your lips. You press a gentle kiss onto one of his scars, ensuring his gaze holds yours. “I think they’re very beautiful. In fact, if we had met when we were younger, I would have drawn birds and leaves on them every single day just to show how pretty they are.”

That makes Zayne laugh, releasing the tension held tight in his shoulders. You always knew how to grace him with your charm when he least expected it. He would let you draw on his scars any moment you wanted to, kiss and admire them whenever you needed to.

“You can draw on them if you’d like.” He offers, guiding you to your bed before he gently lays you down.

“Please, I’ve outgrown that passion.” You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. You peck his lips. “I’d like to try other things with you.”

“Oh?” He teases, returning your peck with a longer kiss. “Like what, my lady?”

“Perhaps this.” You gently pull him to your lips, grinding your hips against his erection. His moans softly muffle in your mouth as he moves in tandem with you. His tongue glides over your lips as his hands gently knead at your breasts, pulling sweet moans from your lips.

Your bodies fit so close together like puzzle pieces, it would be a crime to let go. Drops of precum drips and spreads around your skin, making you very much aware of how needy he is for you. He’s just so big, so hard, he’s dripping and twitching just desperate to feel you in every way he can.

“My lady, please.” Zayne sigh on your lips, eyes squeezing shut. You just appear so much more lively, he has never seen you smile so much before. He has never seen such serenity in your eyes. He wants to give you more, and ensure you never suffer again.

“What’s wrong?” You grin, ghosting your fingers down his back. From the way his cock twitched again, more aggressively than the last time, he definitely enjoyed it. “You seem so flustered.”

“Don’t be a tease.” He rasps, averting his gaze from you. Perhaps he ought to give you the same sensation. He bares his fangs, sharp and glistening with drool from his hunger for you.

His lips explore your neck, tasting your skin, whining at your taste. He licks a stripe of hot saliva down your collarbones right to your breasts. He latches to your hardened nipple, swirling his tongue around the bud while his hand massages the other.

“I want to show you how much pleasure you can have,” He nips your breasts with his canines, burying his face deep in your cleavage. “I want to give you everything I have. May I?”

Open mouth kisses trail your skin in a pattern down from your breasts right to your hips. His hands reach down to your thighs, caressing you gently. He must know just how much it riles you up from that smirk plastered on his face.

Your face feels hot. Perhaps it’s because of the fire burning on the other side of the room, maybe it’s your arousal spreading so far around your body you can barely think. You’re practically dripping, you can feel it start to soak the bedding beneath you.

Your desire for him only intensifies the further down he goes until he rests his head between your legs. His nose dips close to your entrance, slowly inhaling deep as if the most heavenly scent was within you. A soft moan escapes his lips as his hands stroke your thighs with unconditional adoration.

“May I pleasure you, my lady?” He asks again, eyes glistening from the shine of the flames illuminating the room. How could you deny yourself such joy? You deserve to give yourself everything.

Your hands find purchase in his soft black locks and push his head closer and closer to your soaked cunt. “Of course you may,” You sigh, leaning back on the silk pillows behind you. Just for a better view. “Don’t hold back.”

My, oh my, does he take that seriously.

Zayne’s tongue slides up both sides of your folds just to get a light shiver out of you. His fingers knead your thighs to soothe your nerves while he teases you. Is it to get you trembling with need? Of course not, he would never torment you that way. Yet.

His tongue circles your entrance, gathering as much of your dripping slick as he can, relishing in his tastebuds awakening to savour you completely. “Goodness, my lady, you taste divine.” He groans from between your legs.

You can’t help but sink your teeth into your arm to withhold the noises threatening to come out. All that teasing is just so stimulating. He’s barely doing anything and yet it feels so good.

“Is that so?” You huff. He nods frantically, swiping his tongue up and down, sliding gingerly over your throbbing clit, spreading your arousal all over you. It’s utterly riveting, your legs instinctively twitch in his grip and close in on him only to be pushed back open.

Zayne tuts to your legs, pressing hot, wet kisses on you, mouthing and spreading your slick all over your skin. “Don’t move, my love.” He murmurs, licking long lines up to your knees. The sight is so erotic that you can feel more of your arousal gush from within you. Has he always been this lewd?

“Continue teasing me and I might writhe.” You struggle to bite back, shivering and whimpering from his ministrations. His fingers circle your entrance like his tongue did, occasionally pushing inside bit by bit before pulling away.

Those hazel eyes glance up to admire you, despite your disheveled state. So beautiful, so much more powerful now that you feel so much better. He’s most grateful that the made the call to turn you, consequences be damned.

His lips curl as he takes your clit in his mouth, gently flicking his tongue at your bud. His fingers tease and swirl over your entrance before pushing his fingers inside, slowly spreading them open to stretch you out.

“O-Oh, god,” Your eyes flutter shut as your fingers tug at his hair. That only fuels Zayne to do more. His fingers push in and out of you, moving faster in his pace. Your slick gushes out of you like a waterfall, overwhelmed by the pleasure being amplified by your newfound strength.

Zayne hums into your pussy, slurping away at your clit. As your thighs tremble, potentially indicating your climax, he pulls away with a soft kiss. He can feel your slick dripping down his chin. It’s all too good to be true. Devouring you, pleasing you, seeing you so healthy and well after years of bearing witness to your suffering.

To see you so joyful and pleased just gets him harder. He can’t help but grind his hips into the bedding, losing the last of his composure and discipline.

“Does it feel good?” He already knows it does. He just wants to hear it from you. You nod, panting out soft moans, but that isn’t enough.

You yelp from the pain of him nipping your inner thighs with his sharp fangs. “I need you to tell me, my lady. Does it feel good?”

He’s such a tease. You always knew he had a flirtatious streak but you never knew he’d be a tease like this. “Damn you, Zayne, it feels wonderful.”

“I’m glad.” He muses, pressing kisses onto your skin. He moves closer and closer to your weeping pussy, fingers still deep inside curling until he finds just what he’s looking for.

One push is all it takes to have your head thrown back with the loudest, most melodic moan he’s heard from you. You tug his hair hard, bringing his hips to buck right into the sheets. Electric currents shoot up his spine, just strong enough to make him so so close that he could cum on the spot.

But he can’t. He must get you to cum first. He has to bear witness to you unwinding to pure pleasure.

His fingers slip out of you to be replaced by his tongue. He just has to taste the source. His tongue curves just right, slurping up your juices as if it is holy water, licking up whatever falls down his chin and attacking your cunt like a man starved.

He would rather consume you like this on his knees for eternity. Your taste alone satiates him more than blood ever would.

His fangs gently prod your swollen folds, only adding on to the relentless stimulation from his tongue fucking your hole and his fingers rubbing calloused circles on your clit. The bed rocks from his body working to please his own desperate needs, his moans go straight into you relentless and desperate to give you more.

“Zayne!” Your cries bounce of the walls of your bedchambers as you tug and pull him closer, so much closer. It just feels so divine. Just as divine as all the stories you’d read if not better. A tight coil stretches within you, growing hotter and tighter by the second. “It feels so good, I’m about to—“

“Cum?” His honeyed voice is literally seeped in arousal in such a lustful rasp.”By all means, my lady, give in to your desires.”

He just keeps moving so fast and so intensely you can barely think. Switching between his tongue and fingers, the overwhelming pleasure pulls your back into a feline arch as your climax rushes over you like a storm.

Despite your cries, Zayne takes it as a signal to give you more. He does not stop his relentless ministrations, slurping all your juices, nuzzling his face as deeply as your body will allow him to.

It’s too much. Your clit just stings from the overabundance of pleasure and yet you keep pushing him closer to you to get more. You tug and pull at his hair, moaning his name like a prayer and it might as well be if it means this satisfaction is eternal.

Still, you want more.

You pull him away from you reluctantly, empathising with his whines to continue. “Come to me.” You don’t have to tel him twice.

Zayne crawls atop your form, dropping wet, cum-slick kisses along your skin. He stops at your neck, where the bite marks have almost healed completely, and licks his way up slowly, slowly, until he locks onto your lips once more.

You can taste your essence fall onto your tongue, exploring his taste and inhaling his scent like air. You’re still vibrating from the aftershocks of your climax, so warm and open to receive much more.

Your hand reaches for his cock, hard and throbbing from his neglect to satiate himself. It’s so hot to the touch, so large in your hands that you wonder if you’d ever be able to take him in your mouth, let alone your pussy despite how much it soaks for him.

“My lady, you don’t have to worry about my needs.” Zayne whimpers right into your ear as your grip on his shaft tightens. With the movement your position will allow, you stroke his length and memorise each detail you encounter with your fingers.

You count two veins running from his base and joining before they kiss his reddened tip. His thickness alone makes your mouth water and your cunt soak with even more arousal as if you hadn’t just cum moments ago. You press your lips on his cheek as you stroke him, grinding your hips against his cock, soaking him in your desire.

“I want to.” You whisper, licking his lower lip. “We ought to please each other, no?”

Your eyes, damn you, your eyes draw him in and hold him captive in your embrace. If not for your charm and luring voice, your eyes alone would bring him to his knees and have him willingly deliver the world to your hands.

Zayne is utterly spellbound and he would not want to be anywhere else.

“Are you sure, my lady?” He cautions, taking your hand in his to kiss. “If you say yes, I am not sure if I’ll be able to stop.”

That alone makes your walls clench. “Good. I’m very sure.” You find new comfort in his lips. The manner in which he moves in tandem with you seems as though you were made for each other, like two pieces fitting into one. It’s hot, it’s passionate, it’s perfection seeped in desire.

He aligns his tip with your pussy, gently tapping it to tease you once more. Your cunt almost sucks him in completely, grabbing at his length upon him pushing himself in just until you swallow his cockhead completely.

You both sharply inhale from how tight and warm you feel together. Zayne’s head falls into the junction between your neck and shoulder, mouthing your flesh with kisses and moans. Your arms wrap around his back, fingers digging into his muscles.

You spend seconds like that. Suspended, just barely beginning to experience such divine pleasure. Just absorbing how good it feels before it gets much better.

“So beautiful,” His muffled voice whines into your skin as if he’s inscribing his affirmations deep into your soul. “So intelligent. So generous, so kind, so divine, my lady.”

Before you can muster a response, his hips push deeper into your cunt with impatient speed until he’s completely bottomed out inside. The silence in your room is disturbed with your joint moans and the slick squelch of his hips beginning to move in a pattern, in and out and in and out, until your skin claps from his thrusts.

You grind your hips into his, following his growing speed as the pleasure between you builds like pressure boiling over. Still overstimulated from his tongue and fingers, your walls clench and squeeze on his girth, sucking him deeper and deeper inside with the sole intention to milk him of all he has.

Your moans sounds like a symphony to him. To hear you so profane and relishing in your own needs, clawing his back with your nails, digging your heels into his hips while your legs wrap tight around him… he’s so grateful to be the one to grant you this pleasure.

Loud clap clap claps echo and bounce off the walls, accompanied by the obscene squelches and plaps of his hips pounding into yours. Your lips travel around his neck, biting deep into his muscles to channel the orgasmic pleasure building up from the penetration and friction driving you up the wall.

“S-So good— harder, Zayne!” You whine in his ear, clawing his scalp as you tug his head back. His cock twitches inside you from the ravenous ache, which urges him to pound his hips harder and harder until his tip pokes your most sensitive spot, pulling pleasure cries from your kiss-swollen lips.

“So tight, my lady,” He moans into your ear, so graphic with his words. “It feels— fuck— I’m so close.”

His grip on your hip tightens as he coils his arms around you to keep you close, so tightly bound together that you become one in your pursuit to drown in this satisfaction. He has to get you to cum again. He must. To feel you squeeze and clamp down so tightly on his cock may just bring him to see stars. He must bring you to your climax more strongly than before.

You can feel your edge teetering by with even more intensity than the last. You can barely concentrate from how his relentless ruts drive your eyes right into your skull. You’re both slick with a coat of sweat making you move smooth and wet together.

You his face up in your hands, kissing him to taste him once more. You’re addicted. You are the way he feels inside, the way he tastes, how his devotion knows no bounds. It’s just too good. Tongues overlap, spilling and mixing your spit together while your teeth clash recklessly as your core screams for release, so tight that one more thrust will make it snap.

Zayne quickly pulls himself out, leaving your cunt pulsating and dripping from his unexpected absence. Before you can react, he sits on his knees and pulls you closer by the hips. Those muscular arms gently push your legs back just enough to hook them on his shoulders.

His hair lays drenched on his forehead as he pants on your skin, licking lines as far as your ankles while keeping his gaze on you. His cock gently rubs up and down along your folds, teasing his tip in just a bit only to pull out and rubs against you again.

The stimulation from his cockhead kissing your clit brings you to claw the sheets beneath you, tears brimming in your eyes from how good it all feels.

“What game are you playing?” You keen, both intrigued and irritated by his teasing.

“You must be so hasty, my love.” That grin of his is soaked with titillation, fangs glistening over your skin to graze and nip. “I want you to come undone from my cock as you did with my tongue. The only way to do that is to heighten your senses as best I can.”

His tongue slithers a trail of spit around every part of you he bites. His head nuzzles your legs, watching your gaze glaze over from how turned on he’s making you. He has no shame in sounding how good it feels to tease you like this, even if it drives him insane to withhold both your climaxes just a bit longer.

“Zayne,” You whine, thrashing your head into the pillow. “Zayne, I beg of you, cease your teasing!”

As much as he loves to tease, he cannot bear seeing you struggle so much. “Of course, my love,” He pushes your legs further back until they meet your chest. “I would never deny you of such a pleasure.”

He slides in smooth and fast, his cockhead instantly hitting your sensitive gummy spot in a better, more intensive angle. Your vision goes completely white for a fraction of a second, almost, almost enough to make you cum there and then.

You sink your teeth into his flesh from the intensive stimulation. It’s all so deliciously good. You can barely think. You can barely perceive anything outside of his face scrunching from the pleasure of you squeezing around his cock, of his eyes rolling back, of his moans and profane praises slipping through his lips right into your ever listening ears.

“So fucking divine,” He blabbers, completely losing all rational thought. There is only you. Only your desires. Only your pleasure. His mind is going completely numb and his only thought is you. You. You. “So tight. You feel absolutely perfect, my lady, I want to please you, make you feel so good.”

And that just does it.

Your eyes roll and cross completely, your toes curl and your nails claw at his scalp as that string finally snaps and tips you over the edge. Your throat goes hoarse from your cries as waves of your climax hit you like waves, pulsating and squeezing so tight that it brings Zayne to his climax as well.

Hot, thick ropes of cum shoot into you, coating your walls completely white as he fucks his seed deep inside. His voice cracks between each moan, singing your praises for the night to hear. His hips keep moving, pushing his cum in as deeply into you as possible, plugging it inside with his throbbing length regardless of the sting of overstimulation.

It takes just moments from you to cool down from the pleasure burning deep within you. Your moans fade to breathless gasps for air, your ministrations finally halt until you rest in each other’s arms with the crackles of the fire pit being your ambiance.

Zayne slowly presses soft pecks on your cheeks, your forehead, your temple, worshipping you in the afterglow of your unwinding, whispering words of affection to you as exhaustion starts to overcome you.

“Are you alright?” His voice is hoarse and raspy, yet as soft as a whisper. Barely able to move, considering you are both still very much snug in your mating press, you hum with a smile. He swiftly eases your legs, turning you both over so that you may rest more comfortably.

“Very much so.” You could be like this forever. Comfortable and safe in his arms. But when daybreak arrives, you will have to deal with your newfound fate.

Zayne can tell you’re deep in thought. He nuzzles his nose on your cheek to grab your attention. You rather enjoy his act of affection. “What is plaguing your mind, my love?”

“We have to find a way to disarm the tension.” You grumble. “I can outlive them all now, but that would dwindle my aunt’s persistence. And the staff… how will they respond to seeing me in this state?” Your recent act of devotion shared with him slowly dawns upon you. “What will my handmaidens think when they find us in the morning?”

A twinge of doubtful worry pokes Zayne. His lips curve into a pout as his eyes widen like small balls of light. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Absolutely not.” You cut him off. How preposterous of him to even think that way. “My concern is not their opinion. I would be more than happy to have you by my side for eternity. It’s the giggles and teasing looks they will give me that I worry about.”

“I think I can handle that,” He laughs, nuzzling you again to ease your tension. Let your servants tease you, he thinks. It’s an open signal that you have found joy again. He assumes there will be initial concern and shock considering he never informed them that he is a vampire, but they will soon grow accustomed to it.

If not for the sake of acceptance, then they would for the sake of their Countess. Which you will soon be, by all means necessary.

“Worry yourself with it when the sun rises.” Zayne pecks your lips once more. His cock slowly rises between you as you snake your arms around him.

“The night still has pleasures for us to indulge in.”

#✧.* thalwri #✧.* thalwri works #lads smut #zayne smut #lads zayne #zayne x reader #zayne angst #zayne love and deepspace #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #lnds smut #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace x reader #lads angst #lads fic #lnds angst #lads x reader #love and deepspace zayne #lads

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thalwri · 22 days ago

Text

Finger lickin good 😩

⋆˚࿔⊹PA1NT!NG LESS0NS!!⟡｡.ೃ࿔‧⋆

⋆˚࿔⊹SYNOPSIS For such a long time, you’ve always wanted to learn how to paint! Whoever, you’d always treated the paintbrush so badly, you need someone to give you painting lessons. Who is a better person than your boyfriend?(„• ֊ •„)

⋆˚࿔⊹GENRE smut, porn with little plot

⋆˚࿔⊹PAIRING Rafayel x reader (has chubby reader in mind, anyone can read tho!) ⋆˚࿔⊹CREDIT sakimenz on x

⋆˚࿔⊹WARNING fem!reader, explicit content, pwp, possible grammar errors, not proof read lol, NO spoilers, paint play IDK (not on the kitty thou), pet names, fingering, boob play, smidge of marking, squirting

「 ✦ A/N ✦ 」 I barely have requests for our sexy Raf, send more of him(╥﹏╥)Anywhores, I finally got the new Sylus memory, I WANT RAFAYEL’S ONE SO BAD(¬_¬")

The rather spacious room is illuminated by the dim, golden, soft lamp sitting on the nightstand. It casts a gentle highlight onto your naked skin, the soft glow enchants your exposed form. You’re enveloped in silky, soft, pleasant warm fabric of the bedsheets.

The unmistakable scent of paint lingers in the air, its smell is intense, pungent, and heavy, easily overpowering any subtle scent in the room. There is a comfortable feeling that lingers in the air, no tension or discomfort, no words that were spoken. Only soft sounds can be heard in the room like quiet moans, gasps for air, and breathless whimpers.

“Lesson one, cutie. . Be gentle with the paint brush, it’s delicate” Rafayel whispers in a soft tone, voice barely audible.

“Slow and soft. . like this” He murmurs under his breath, undeniably, there is a teasing tone in his voice.

Rafayel holds the paint brush, that’s stained with numerous different types of colors, in his hands expertly. Doing what he said earlier, he slowly glides the paint soaked brush against your naked skin, dragging the wet brush further up your back. With each deliberate stroke of the brush, there is a soft pinkish and purple smear of paint on your skin.

“I- I asked for paint lessons. . not this Raf” you huff against the pillow that’s pressed against your cheek, muffling your quiet gasps and moans.

“Oh shh. . you’ll distract the painter, cutie” Rafayel teases in a sultry voice, briefly lifting the brush off your skin, moving to another area to leave more streaks of paint behind.

He glides the paint brush delicately further up your exposed back until the brush is at your shoulder, humming in delightful when you shiver slightly.

“Lesson two, knowing how to use a paintbrush to create different shapes” he mumbles, one of his knees prying your closed thighs apart.

Using his paintbrush, he traces small shapes onto the skin of your shoulder, small circles, swirls, short lines, any shape that comes to his mind he’ll draw onto your skin. Rafayel sighs quietly as his free hand slowly drags down your body, down to your hips, to the curve of your ass, to your thighs, and between your thighs. You squeal out when you feel a calloused finger glide through your slick folds.

“Hnng. . R- raf!” You yelp out, quickly lifting your head off his pillow, which smells exactly like Rafayel, to glance over your shoulder to peer at the purple haired man.

His index finger delves between your sopping folds, leisurely sliding his finger up and down to feel your wetness. The soft squelching sound meets your ears, although you can barely hear the wet sound, that doesn’t mean that Rafayel can’t hear it all. He moans softly when you shiver against his touch, each glide of his finger, his fingertip presses against your puffy clit.

Using his paint brush, he smears small lines onto the skin of your ass. There is a brief strange feeling of wetness on your paint stained skin, the paint slowly drying on your flesh.

“Lesson three, understanding your canvas. You need to understand and remember what it orders, rough or gentle, its needs and desire, and its form” Rafayel murmurs, his fingertip rubbing small, delicate, and slow circles onto your engorged clit.

You let out a choked moan, jaw agape as you let out a silent scream. There is an unsure feeling bumbling in you, you’re starting to doubt he’s talking about painting anymore, Rafayel’s choice of words are rather. . provocative and lewd. His index finger glides down from your swollen clit, quickly finding your fluttering gummy entrance.

Teasingly, Rafayel traces his finger around the ring, shallowly dipping his index finger inside only to glide out of your pussy.

“Even with a blindfold on. . I could trace every curve and dip of your alluring form, cutie” he whispers in a barely audible voice, captivated by how you react when his fingers plunge deeper into your pussy only to slide out once again.

Perhaps, Rafayel got fairly distracted. It’s hard to focus on teaching you how to paint when you stare at him, not exactly at him since you were focused on his demonstration, with those pretty eyes that are clouded with awe and an intense eagerness to learn his techniques.

“Oooh. . R- rafayel” you stutter out his name in an angelic voice, your voice is enough to send a pleasant wave of heat through his body, the warmth pooling down to his already needy and eager cock.

That’s Rafayel’s breaking point, he can’t restrain himself from his own selfish desire anymore. The intense impulse to treat you as his own canvas, pamper you with the utmost adoration and tenderness. Except, you’re not just his average canvas, you deserve much more than a normal canvas.

Carelessly, he discards his paint brush to the side, freeing up his hands. The wooden tool lets out a small thunk as it clatters onto the ground, likely leaving a small smear of paint on the floor. You let out a whiney protest when Rafayel retracts his hand between your thighs, oblivious to the fact that your boyfriend was no longer interested in giving you a lesson about painting.

“Hey, cutie. . mind doing me a tiny favor? Turn around, let me see your gorgeous face” Rafayel asks softly, a grin of delight on his face when you lazily roll around to face him.

Curiously, you take a brief glance towards his hands, expecting the paintbrush to be in his hands. However, it’s nowhere to be seen. Unbeknownst to you, it’s been on the ground, long forgotten to Rafayel.

Rafayel’s mind, whatever is left of it, is too occupied at marveling at your body. Those blueish pink eyes slowly trail further down your body, from your plump lips, to your unmarked neck, to the squishy mounds on your chest, to your plush stomach, to your spread apart thighs, to your dripping pussy. You really are a work of art created by nature, untouched by any artist’s calloused hands, already created to be bewitching and beautiful.

Tenderly, he reaches both hands out towards your soft boobs, cupping them in warm yet rough hands. Rafayel leans towards your neck, lips finding your soft skin. Each kiss to your neck is deliberate and gentle, leaving trails of hot kisses behind on your neck.

He briefly pulls away, lifting his index fingers and lapping at them. There is a faint taste of your arousal, tangy yet sweet. Rafayel buries his back between your shoulders, lips quickly finding your skin with no hesitation.

With his spit soaked index fingers, Rafayel smears his salvia onto your nipples, toying with the poor bud until it’s stiff under his touch.

“R- rafayel. .” You moan softly, inhaling sharply when his teeth tease the skin of your neck.

His tongue laps at the addictive taste of your skin, moaning in pleasure just from tasting your body. A wet pop as Rafayel pulls away, leaving a spot covered in his salvia.

“Need more. .” You sigh, shivering slightly when his lips pepper kisses all the way up to your jaw.

“So needy, my muse” he teases you, ignoring the way his cock bobs and throbs in his pants.

“Remember what I said, you must be delicate with your-“ Rafayel reminds you, well, tries to before you interrupt him.

“F- fuck the lesson, Raf. . I need you now” you huff impatiently, your back arching off the bed slightly.

Now who is Rafayel to deny your desires? The lips on your jaw trail down your body, leaving hot kisses against your skin. His middle finger and index finger delves between your sticky folds, fingertips instantly finding your puffy clit.

Rafayel rolls slowly yet firm circles onto the bud, although he’s rather unhurried with tracing circles onto your clit, with the perfect amount of pressure it’s enough to draw moans from you. Lesson number three, understanding your canvas and its needs and desires.

“Hnng. . R- rafayel, you know it’s not ‘nough” you whine, peering down your body to see his finger roll your clit.

Rafayel hums at your words, pressing his fingers firmer onto your clit. The abrupt pressure is enough to silence you, toes curling up as you let out a shaky exhale. You nibble at your bottom lip, barker able to restrain that loud scream that attempts to escape you when his fingers plunge into your pussy.

Those creamy fingers plunge in and out of your velvety walls, somehow, they perfectly rub your g-spot. You’re creating such a mess, your juices smearing onto his fingers, palm, some even trickling down the curve of your ass onto his bedsheets. You are a perfect piece of art, Rafayel could never create such an immaculate work of art like you.

You buck your hips towards him, walls fluttering helplessly around his fingers. Rafayel leans down to your plush thigh, cooing onto your skin, warm breath fanning onto your thigh.

“You are exquisite, cutie. .” He says in astonishment, as if he was still shocked that you’re in his arms, his bed, his life.

“Even the songs of a siren couldn’t compare to your sounds of pleasure” Rafayel mutters, his fingers pushing a smidge deeper into your pussy.

You whine at the feeling of his finger pushing even deeper into your cunt, the delicious heat in your belly builds up stronger. Rafayel’s thumb fingers your clit, it’s enough to make you tense up, your body going numb suddenly.

“Oh, cutie. . are you close already?” He teases in that sassy tone of voice, chuckling when you let out a loud whimper.

Simultaneously, his finger pumps into your pussy while his thumb rubs at your clit with no struggle.

“Ooh-! G- gonna cum. . Hng!” You mewl, eyes rolled back so far.

Your body shivers and quakes uncontrollably, velvety walls getting unbearably tight as your pussy squirts onto Rafayel’s fingers. He shallowly thrust his fingers in and out of your gushing pussy, your juices spraying onto his arm, the bed, even onto the floor. Your orgasm was intense, you sob and wail softly as tears waters in your eyes.

“Haaah. . Rafayel!” You squeal his name out, slumping back onto the bed, exhausted body melting against the warm sheets.

“You truly are a work of art. .” Rafayel mumbles under his breath, his fingers gliding out of your pussy, covered in your slick.

“I think I was a wonderful art professor, therefore, I shall give you a test of everything I’ve taught you” he jokes, a warm hand gently rubbing small circles onto your hips.

“R- rafayel. . please, just be quiet” you mumble tiredly, eyes fluttering slowly shut.

“You love me. .” Rafayel coos, leaning over your body to press a kiss to your cheek, forehead, nose, then lips.

“Haah. . sure” you sigh softly, eyes closed as you take well needed breaths of air.

“Fuck. . we may have got paint on your bedsheets” you whispers in a ragged voice, one eyes peeking open.

“A work of art always has a messy progress” he reassures you, that comfortable grin on his face.

Next time you want to learn how to paint, prick a professional who won’t get distracted easily.

⋆˚࿔⊹All work belongs to only ME, jadestone2. Translating, plagiarism, copying, posting on another website, claiming as your work will NOT be tolerated, instant block⟡｡.ೃ࿔‧⋆

⋆˚࿔⊹TAG-LIST @blueberrisdove-sideblog @rinkomei @hon3yydew @Dummiebunny @inkwellscholar @madison777x @Simphony @goobiescooby @spookytyrantdeer @nyx2021 @bijuu-naginata @m00nchildwrites @sweetlittlebbgirl @crystalreads @sillyhahaha @alexander-arcturus-black-lupin-r @malleus-draconias-rose @priestessrosery @blcknebula @blogsforficslol @velourmobius @thequeenofcurses @rockyeatrock @voidofryomen

#YUMMYYYYYYYY #GIMME MORE RAFA!!!!

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thalwri · 25 days ago

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This ate too good, FUCK. Now I want to be a crown princess, let me collect my knight (in fact, my FIVE KNIGHTS) real quick.

hi queen hbd, may it be filled with joy 🩷 ur writing is amazing can i have one of sylus but innocent (reader is still a virgin) + size difference and sylus is just so soft and taking care of everything the entire time pretty please with a cherry on top 🍒

♕༉‧₊˚꧁ THE PURE, SWEET, MA1DEN PR1NCESS!! ꧂˚ ₊ ‧ ༉♕

⋆I mustn’t love you, for a princess and a knight are not meant to be together! Heavens above though, I truly do love you, my dear knight⋆

ཐི⋆♕₊˚ཋྀ — SYNOPSIS A true, pure, maiden princess should be loyal to her soon-to-be husband, she should be glad that her considerate father has arranged a marriage for her. Yet you, you refuse to grateful, instead, you stare lovingly at your knight ♕(๑'ᵕ'๑)⸝*

ཐི⋆♕₊˚ཋྀ — GENRE smut, smidge of angst, smidge of fluff, porn with plot, smidge of hurt/comfort

ཐི⋆♕₊˚ཋྀ — PAIRING Knight! Sylus x Princess! reader (has chubby reader in mind, anyone can read tho!) ཐི⋆♕₊˚ཋྀ — SONG love story - Indila ཐི⋆♕₊˚ཋྀ — WORD COUNT 13.7k (I promise, most of it is smut)

ཐི⋆♕₊˚ཋྀ — WARNING fem!reader, explicit content, pwp, possible grammar errors, not proof read lol, NO spoilers, mentions of death, arranged marriage, regency/royal au, forbidden relationship/love, mention of death, hints sexist remarks, fat shaming (not from character), slow burn, pet names, marking, a bit oc Sylus to fit the vibe, dry humping, breast play, oral (fem), cunnilingus, fingering, cum drinking, unprotected sex (wrap it for ya tap it), breeding, praise kink

「 ✦ A/N ✦ 」 THANK YOU SO MUCH, I’m happy you enjoy the fics٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ I hope you enjoyed this cause this took so long oml ew(╥﹏╥)Anywhores, I started fixating on fucking date everything, especially the hanks(ᵕ—ᴗ—)‘N ALSO, CAN SOMEONE TELL ME WHY SYLUS HASN'T CAME HOME YET??

Life was nothing but an endless nightmare, replaying over and over, driving you absolutely mad. Waking up at 7 o’clock sharp, never a minute later or before. The maids would bang and knock at your door, forcing you to finally leave the comfort of your bed. They’d drown you in makeup, style your hair with no worry if you were in pain, they’d put heavy jewelry on you, put a silly frilly dress onto your body.

Today is no different, the same routine continues. Royalty can seem as a blessing, but for others, it is a curse. Well, for you at least.

It’s quite hard to stay still and relaxed when you're surrounded by maids who tug, pluck, yank, and pull at your poor hair. You wouldn’t be astounded or shocked if you were missing a few strands here and here from how careless they are with your hair. Even with all the pained whines, grunts, and huffs you let out they still are indifferent and unsympathetic towards your pain.

With a honeyed voice, they swore they’ll change you into a refined woman, a woman who fits the role as a princess. They enchanted your natural beauty with layers and layers of makeup, until you were unrecognizable, stunning and gorgeous. Once they're finished with you, you’ll look like the perfect princess everyone imagines, sweet, innocent, kind, and pure, untouched by the filthy hands of sin like greed, pride, envy, or lust.

You will be perfect compared to the woman you are now: a woman who clearly hasn’t gotten enough sleep during the long nights, staying up countless nights, gazing at the star-filled sky in awe, wishing she’d be able to touch the shining stars, a woman who is constantly stressed with her upcoming arranged marriage. A woman who wants nothing more than to escape from the pure gold, and strong shackles of royalty. You wish to feel the sweet embrace of freedom, escape from your replaying nightmare.

Every night, you have the perfect chance to leave everything behind, however, you chose not to leave. Why is that? You have every right to leave, and yet you don’t!

It was all because of Sylus, your only true friend, a trustworthy knight who has stuck by your side no matter time, year, weather, or condition. How many nights has he been in your enclosed room?

How many nights have you spent wrapped in Sylus’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably, barely able to breath for your sniffles interrupts you, while he gently caresses your back with calloused and scarred hands? Your tears stain the cotton fabric of his shirt, his armor and sword discarded by the door. He was there for you during your most vulnerable moments, in a husky voice he would whisper that he would be there for you all of eternity, any hardships you faced he would be by your side.

It couldn’t possibly be your fault at all, you were doomed to fall in love with him. Your heart aches and throbs around Sylus, however, you mustn’t love him. You parents would never approve, scolding you for being so disloyal towards your soon-to-be husband.

A maiden princess and a battle-worn knight shall never experience the blessing of love, it wasn’t meant to be.

“Hhmp. .” You huff dramatically, silently judging how the maids made you look.

You soundlessly stare blankly at the large mirror in front of you, not a smidge on the mirror, there is a permanent nasty scowl on your face. An unamused expression makes its way onto your features, disappearing for a split second to glare at any of the maids who dare to make eye contact with you through the mirror.

“And how much longer will this take?” You ask impatiently.

“I don’t recall there being anything special today, well, not to my knowledge” you say boredly, blowing a strand of hair from your cheek, failing miserably as it falls back onto your skin, tickling you.

“Hmm? Has the king not informed you that your husband shall be sojourning here?” One of the maids asks curiously, brushing away the strand of hair from your cheeks.

“Ah, it seems you made a blunder. Surely you meant to say my soon-to-be husband? Must I remind you that we are not official yet?” You snap at her without hesitation, correctly her little error.

“And no, I wasn’t informed that. . he shall be visiting” you sigh in frustration, your brows knitting downwards in frustration.

“M’lady, please! See this more positively! Once you and your consort are wedded, you shall rule over this kingdom” she tries to reason, though it seemed as if she was trying to make a conversation with a metal wall.

A light shade of pigment of blush is dusted onto your squishy cheeks, soft pink lipstick coated on your plump lips, eyes adorn with mascara and eyeshadow, eyelashes curled up perfectly, you felt like a toy doll that the young screamed and begged for their mothers to purchase. You felt odd, you weren’t yourself. But in the eyes of another, you were the perfect princess.

“My, my, your highness!” another maid joins in, you can see that cheeky grin on her face through the mirror.

“You look absolutely captivating, alluring, and quite provocative!” She exclaims proudly, spewing out absolute nonsense.

Hearing her words makes you grimace, you try your best not to gag in disgust and hide your obvious sickened expression. What could possibly possess her to say such a word in front of you? You feel nauseous and repulsed, could she not have called you provocative to some else or, a better option, kept her words to herself?

“The. . compliment. . is much appreciated,” you grimace, an obvious fake forced smile on your face, taking a brief pause after each word.

“Why of course, m’lady! It is no surprise that such a princess as yourself shall be married soon!” She hums, surely she didn’t think you meant it, then again, she is oblivious to the nasty statements you spew towards her.

“Although, that scowl on your face is far from inviting. . I almost feel bad for your husband. .” She mumbles under her breath, earning a soft giggle from the woman beside her.

“He is quite the man, wealthy-“ another adds, her voice makes you want to claw off your ears.

“-and utterly handsome, has quite the charm!” another one perks up, you can hear the digesting lust and desire in her tone.

“I’m positive he knows how to use his body!” she practically drools at the thought, like an untamed mutt.

“It’s a wonder why he chose you instead of me. .” she murmurs under his breath, earning quiet agreement from the last 2 maids who were thirsting over your soon-to-be husband.

It’s not like you felt any attraction toward that spoiled, snobby prince, if they’d like to be his personal prostitute, then so be it. As long as you don't have to attend your arranged marriage in a hideous white dress. However, you’d love to snatch that cheeky smile from their face, maybe, you’d finally be able to sew their chattery mouths shut.

Although, you’d prefer not to endure another long monologue from your father, lecturing you about the way you behave, how un-ladylike it is. The thought of your father has you rolling your eyes, abruptly becoming quiet.

You think of your mother, kind and gentle to everyone around her, however, she’d watch silently with a sad face as your father berates you.

Unconsciously, you grow out their annoying, squeaky, and high pitched giggles and laughs.

“Your highness! Please, we were only making a joke!” The first maid says, some nodding their heads.

“In all seriousness, m’lady, you must learn to smile more! That scowl on your face will surely scare your husband away” she informs in a soft and gentle voice, she goes silent when she notices the sudden change in your aura.

From irritation and exhaustion to an intense and extreme feeling of furry and aggression from you. A brutal, rough, merciless yank of your hair has you loudly hissing out in pain. You bite down onto your bottom lip, too hard, the metallic flavor of your blood melting onto your tongue.

Your brows furrow in rage and anger, your nails sinking into your palm. This happens too often, the amount of times you’ve grunt in pain from how ridiculously abusive they can be with your hair. You click your tongue, glaring at the mirror, noticing the dribbles of blood trickling down from your scarred lip.

“Ugh-! Do you mind? There is no reason for you to tug so-!” You snap, your voice loud and defeating.

It can be heard, that obvious anger, lividness, and venom in your voice. It’s all the same routine over and over, you would snap, then the room would awkwardly silent. In fact, it’s so silent, you can hear the maids gulp nervously, another clearing her throat quietly.

You don’t utter another word, foreshadowing, you know your next words might be a gruesome threat towards their lives. Instead, you breathe in quietly, letting out a loud sigh of frustration. With your finger, you brush off the maroon colored blood off your lips, smearing it onto your finger.

“- so aggressively. If you please, my hair is quite sensitive” you grit out, putting on that sweet and gentle voice that you’ve rehearsed over and over.

You purse your lips together, creating a thin line. How many times must you tell them to be more gentle and careful with your hair? And yet, they always seem to brush your words away.

“I’m quite sure my father wouldn’t be too pleased to see his daughter missing a few strands of hair because the maids were yanking and tugging too hard. .” You say, putting a terrifying perspective of what your father would do to them if he did find out.

You father isn’t the kindest king out there, if it isn’t obvious enough from how he treats his own daughter, you. In fact, he doesn’t deserve the title as the king, or as a father. He treats everyone below him like they are nothing but a worthless creature, including your mother, his own wife.

Your voice is low and quiet, your words are only meant to be heard by just you and the maids. Whilst your words seem innocent and sincere for their wellbeing, the maids aren’t that stupid and oblivious to the tone in your voice. That almost hidden tone in your voice, threatening, hostile, it’s clear to them that you wouldn’t hesitate, not even for a second, to snitch to your father about their mannerism and snide remarks.

Their only job could be gone with just a snap of your fingers, or, a ring of a bell. One of the younger maids pathetically whines quietly, you could see her shiver through the mirror. You cherished her reactions, from the intimidated and nervous expression she held on her face to the way she shuddered and convulsed violently from fear, she was terrified of you.

Oh, how cruel of a princess you are! How could you treat such poor, famished, generous, innocent women so harshly? Why, you know that they need the money more than anything, so why do you threaten them by putting their job on the line?

You don’t deserve the grand title as a princess, nor the title as a future queen! You are much fitter as entertainment, have your head cut off in front of the deranged people of the kingdom. Thus, you must ask, why should you treat these maids with respect when they speak so illy of you behind your back?

What happened to proper etiquette that a maid must display? Respect? Or even loyalty.

They possess none of that, not even a hint of loyalty, proper etiquette, or respect lies in them. They don’t deserve your appreciation and recognition. You’ve learned that they weren’t your friends, they’ll keep this fake facade forever, it’s the only thing that will give them something they desire, money is what satisfies their greed.

Considering that you are the daughter of the king, you are wealthy yourself. Though, it’s your father who owns plenty of money compared to you, bright gold, sparkling, glistening in the sun. He is their target, the best way to get to your father’s heart is treating his prized possession, you, so well that he has no choice but to reward them.

“Your highness. .” one maid bravely speaks up, her voice is quiet, shaky, honeyed, and soft.

“We wouldn’t dare to inflict such harm towards you! We wouldn’t dare to sabotage the beauty you possess, the beauty we could only dream about having!” She tries to reassure you, the other women quickly nodding their heads in agreement.

“R- right! We are your friends after all” she giggles nervously, her voice is shaky and nervous, you astounded she even mustered up the courage to even say a word.

Friends? How peculiar, you don’t recall considering them as friends. Only Sylus, your knight.

Speaking of which, where is he? You glance at the ticking clock on the wall, at this time, he should be patrolling the door of your room by this time, yet you never heard a single sound from outside the room. Where is Sylus, you’re staring to-

“You must hold still, your highness. You must cease the undesirable squirming and jerking you do, it’s quite difficult to work on your hair when you do such wriggling” the brave maids points out, you can’t help the way you roll your eyes.

Your brow arches up, it’s quite entertaining to hear them stumble around for an excuse. How fascinating

and peculiar, truly! Instead of taking responsibility for pulling out your hair, they try to shift the blame on you.

“She must be daydreaming about that knight, though, I can’t blame her. .” another maid whispers to her friend.

You hum softly, anger and jealousy bubbling and brewing in you. You're not jealous, why would you be jealous of these maids thirsting over your knight? You could care less of them drooling over Sylus!

Such lies you think to yourself, trying to make yourself feel better, to no avail. You fucking envious, he’s your knight, not theirs, Sylus is all yours. You stay silent as ever, keeping your venomous words to yourself.

“Wriggling around like a worm is not lady-like, you mustn’t act so childish!” Another maid chirps.

“You must act like a proper woman, beautiful, confident, quiet, and submissive! The men love a woman with such traits. .” She informs, giggling to herself after her last sentence like a little child.

Her voice is annoying, squeaking, and loud. She reminds you of a dying mouse, high pitched squeaks even at its last moment. Luckily for her, she won’t be facing her demise, at least not by your hands.

“Thus, the ways you behave. .” She continues quietly.

“wouldn’t attract a high status man. . not with how-“ she murmurs.

“-feisty you are, your father wouldn’t approve of your attitude and manners” another maid finished for her, gulping loudly.

“Hmm. .” You breathe out, staring at yourself in the mirror, a bored yet bitter expression on your face.

The many hands in your hair finally retract, they have styled your hair in such a ridiculous way, it’s embarrassing.

“You’re quite right! This unnecessary act of mine is improper, I must do better” you say with fake enthusiasm, your voice is too cheerful and happy.

You don’t feel like yourself. Surely, this isn’t your voice. The maids exchange glances silently, adding brief touch-ups to your hair.

Two of the maids place expensive earrings on you, another wrapping a gorgeous necklace around your neck. This isn’t you, you're being forced into something you’d never pick reluctantly.

The maids back away from you, judging the sight of you. You're wearing a ridiculously large frilly dress that fits your figure almost too perfectly, you can practically trace each curve and dip of your body. The corset you're wearing pushes your breasts up, the swell of your boobs spilling from the top of your bra, your chest and collarbone exposed to the cool air.

“Your highness, you look absolutely elegant and beautiful!” One maid says eagerly, she seems a bit too excited, seemed like she was excited to finally depart from your side.

“However, with that amount of weight. . I beg to differ” one whispers not so quietly into another maid’s ears.

You frown, glancing over your shoulder to glare at the woman. Instead of glaring at them through the mirror, you turn around to face them.

“Care to utter that just a tad bit loud for me?” You ask in a loud voice, glaring at them.

“Allow me to remind you, with just a ring of a bell, you could lose your job and possibly your head. .” You hiss, a nasty glare plastered onto your face.

“Kindly remember to keep your- filthy mouth shut around me” you scowl, waving them off with your hand.

“Now, you are excused” you order in a commanding tone, leaving no room for questions.

The soft clicking and clunking of the maids shoes as they walk towards the door, you send a glare towards any of the maids who curiously glance back to you. It was almost comical how a brief regretful expression forms on their face, they quickly look back forwards. The room abruptly becomes oddly quiet without the maids whispering, it was peaceful.

You love it. However, your sweet, tranquil moment soon comes to an end. The clock rings loudly, another hour strikes. It’s almost time to meet your soon-to-be husband, nervous and anxious can’t even begin to describe how you feel.

You slam the door of your room without hesitation, a deafening bang following soon after. Without a doubt, the loud slam can be heard throughout the empty hallways, echoing through the endless corridor. You could care less if someone was to hear the noisy slam.

You press your body firmly against the door, you tremble and quiver, shakily sliding onto the ground. Your breath is heavy, labored, rapid, taking shallow breaths. The lack of air makes you feel sick, lightheaded, and dizzy.

A mixture of frustration and anger fills you, however, the intense feeling of betrayal was much stronger, it was overwhelming. Your eyes water slightly, eyes glossy from fat tears that form. A quiet sniffle can be heard in the almost silent room, following a shaky gasp for air.

You gulp, uselessly wiping at your eyes, the salty tears wet your hand. It’s futile, more tears prickle in your eyes. They fall from your glassy eyes, trickling down the curve of your cheek.

You exhale in frustration, a sob escaping you. You lift your hands to your face, roughing wiping away the tears from your eyes using the palm of your hand. You let out a broken gasp for air, you try to hurt your emotions back into the depth where they emerged, gulping.

You feel gross and disgusting, this night was the worst, absolutely the worst. The prince, he was quite worse than you initially thought. The looks he’d send you across the room, those lustful and sinful eyes, the uncomfortable erotic words he’d whisper into your ears, how close he was to you, the way his touch would linger on your hip, back, and shoulder.

You hate it. You hated him. Everything about him made you feel nauseous and sick.

Your father only watched from a distance, a proud smile on his face. He was too ignorant to comprehend how uncomfortable you were around the prince, all that he could think was that his daughter would finally be wedded. You tremble uncontrollably, eyes blurred from your thick tears.

Is this what it felt like to be lusted over? Is truly the love your father wanted for you? Your head hurts, it hurts to attempt to distinguish the difference between lust and love, the line is thin.

However, what you felt when Sylus was around did not feel like lust. Your feelings towards him weren’t just an attraction for his looks, it was stronger. This only made you sob harder, he couldn’t be yours, a princess should never love her knight.

You take a deep breath, remember, it’s not lady-like to cry over such pointless things. A man, possibly a husband, wouldn’t want such an emotional and immature woman to be his. You shakily lift yourself from the ground, almost silent pants and huffs leave you.

Once again, you use the palm of your hands to dab the tears away from your cheek. With a soft sigh, you glance towards the window, it was securely shut and locked, the same as always. You remember oh too well of your parent’s words, they forbidden you to step a foot outside the castle with permission and the surveillance of a guard.

They locked you away from the sinful gaze of the kingdom’s people, kept you safe away from corruption. You rarely were able to visit the breathtaking garden, any of the guards would instantly nod their head no when you’d beg and plead to sneakily swing by the garden. However, Sylus, he couldn’t refuse your sweet eyes, he would take you there every single time you asked.

And for some reason, opening the large window in your room falls into the category of disobeying their wishes, even if you wanted fresh air in your suffocating room. Despite that, you desperately needed to feel the cool breeze of the wind on your burning hot skin. The room felt more clammy, humid, and unbearably uncomfortable.

If you stay in this kind of horrible condition any longer, surely you’ll go mad! The thought of finally opening the window to feel the gentle breeze blow against your hot skin was already enticing enough, at the same time, getting to disobey your parent’s strict rules only brought out the rebellious and defiant side of you. Besides, you’ve grown quite tired of feeling like a cat trapped in a small cage that barely allows enough room to breathe in, a cat that desperately wants to use its claw to break the lock of its cage.

You feel excitement bubble inside you, the sound of your heels clanking against the floor as you approach the locked window. You leisurely push the curtains blocking the window to the side, the first that greets you is the moon, it’s bright, lighting up the sky with the help of far away stars. You silently glance towards the ground, just beside the castle was an endless, dark, and mysterious woods that nobody has ever dared to step foot inside.

So many mysteries lie in the woods, each stranger and stranger than the last. However, you know they’d make a great tale to listen to over and over until it was forgotten just like the rest. You lift your hand to touch the glass of the window, it’s cool to the touch, you slide your finger down the lock, stopping yourself from practically ripping it off.

Before you tear the lock off, you glance towards the door of your room. You can’t hear a single thing from outside the door, it’s strangely quiet. You haven’t seen Sylus all day, you can’t tell if he’s even outside your door.

At this hour, Sylus would be the one patrolling the doors of your bedroom for your father trusted him the most. He kept out unwanted “guests” from entering your chamber, there is an uncountable number of assassins who were successful with eliminating members of your family. It’s quite obvious it’s late, perhaps he went for a brief nap.

Regardless if he was exhausted or not, Sylus wouldn’t dare to leave your chamber doors unattended for too long. You tear your gaze from the door to your window, still locked, focusing on more important matters, opening the window and seeing if you can safely exit your room. You know you said you only wanted fresh air, obviously it was a lie!

Despite your obvious eagerness and enthusiasm to escape the confinements of your parent’s castle, you can’t just flee from your room and stroll through the hallway, surely you’ll run into a maid, another guard, or worse, your parents. You’re unsure you’ll be able to create a perfect excuse to weasel your way from your parent’s suspicions. You hadn’t bothered to change out of your ruffled, lacy, frilly, fancy dress yet, pure jewelry still on, and your hair still in it’s absurd style.

You turn to face forward at the window, taking a gander at the door, awaiting in anticipation for that familiar soft knock at the door, the muffled voice coming after the knock. Nothing, not a single sound from behind the door. A soft click, the rusted lock of the window being unlocked. Years of dust collected on the window rail flies into the air, eliciting soft sneezes and coughs from you.

“Ugh-! What a remarkable amount of dust!” You cough, waving your hand by your face, blowing the dust from your face.

You tug the lower sash of the window upwards, the abrupt rush of cool air that blows onto your skin makes goosebumps prickle all over your exposed collarbone and chest. The air felt incredible and blissful against your burning hot skin, fairly chilly, that was to be expected, nonetheless, it was pleasant. You sigh quietly, fluttering your eyes slowly, your eyes fluttering shut briefly.

Leaning dangerously close to the open window, your stomach resting on the ledge, only the tip of your heel was keeping you stabilized against the ground. The rest of your body hovers in the air, your upper body outside the window. All your senses scream and disagree with your actions, shouldn’t you be more cautious?

Of course you should, nevertheless, it was a spur of the moment decision, all your concern and caution was on the window, you displayed none of it. A foreign smile forms on your face, the fresh breath air makes that intense dizzy and lightheaded feeling disappear. You exhale in content, a rare expression of peace and ecstasy on your face.

“Oh my. . the sky. . she wears her finest hues tonight” you utter, hesitantly reaching a hand towards the sky, as if you were reaching towards the stars.

“It’s no wonder why they ogle at her. . one cannot help their eyes being directed upon her beauty” you breathe out, enthusiastically worshipping the sky and her colors.

You smile faintly, the delight on your smile swiftly melts into a panicked expression when you’re halted by a husky, familiar, teasing voice.

“Your highness, if you’ve finally managed to muster up enough courage to run away. . falling from this height onto a lovely face as yours isn’t an astute decision” the voice snorted, a soft click of their tongue.

The soft footsteps of the person making their way to your side, their voice is enough to make you visibly relax. It’s Sylus, whilst, you don’t hear the quiet clanking of his armor. You scramble to push your upper body from outside the window, turning to face your knight with a sheepish smile.

“Hmp, run away?” You nervously clear your throat, your brows furrowed as you avoid the intense gaze of Sylus’s scarlet eyes.

“What would compel you to such a preposterous idea? I would never-“ you huff out, your hands now rest on your plump hips.

The rest of the words you planned to utter die at the tip of your tongue, you can’t say it. You can not say it, you can’t lie, you can’t say you’d never run away. It’s quite obvious that you and Sylus knows the truth, given the chance, you’d run away without hesitation, not daring to peer back.

You open your mouth to spew more lies, only to close it after a second. You utter nothing, a bothersome and awkward silence falling between you both. You sneakily take a brief peek at Sylus, who’s gaze has yet to dart somewhere else but you.

Sylus looks ravishing without all the armor on his body: his brows are furrowed as he examines you silently, scarlet eyes squinted towards you, those same eyes you could get lost in, aquiline nose that can be easily noticeable on him, faded away scars on his cheek, and his pursed lips. You can hear your heartbeat bang against your chest, heat rush to your cheek and ears. Your lips parted slightly, dumbfounded, you slap your hand against your chest to stop the rapid consistent beat.

“Hah. . how could I not come up with such an accusation when one’s entire frame is dangling unsafely out of the window?” Sylus’s chest rumbled as he let out a deep chuckle, he strolls towards you.

He gingerly wraps his fingers around your wrist, carefully guiding you away from the still opened window. You mourn the rough, warm, calloused touch of Sylus. He shuts the window, clicking the lock back on.

“Princess, had I not arrived when I did. . heavens-“ he murmurs almost too quietly, a gentle hand resting on your back, his thumb running the soft fabric of your dress.

Sylus takes a brief pause, you can feel his hand tremble against your back.

“Who can say whether you would still be within the safety of your chamber?” Sylus whispers, the hand on your back leisurely gliding down to your waist.

You languidly turn your head to face him, his eyes are hooded as he peers down at you with a new glint in his eyes, intense distress and unease.

“I- I. . I’m sorry, I truly didn’t mean to worry you” you say in a shaky voice, directing your gaze towards the floor.

Sylus breathes out, a finger brushing a spare strand of hair from your cheek, his touch lingering against your cheek. Two fingers go under your chin, another resting on your cheek, sinking into the soft flesh, he lifts your gaze to his. He stares into your eyes, he’s so close to you, his breath fanning onto your face, you can feel the heat from his body radiating from his skin.

You lightly tremble, lips trembling slightly as your breath is ragged. You press your hands against his chest, gently pushing him away from you.

“Pray tell, where have you been all this time?” You nervously ask in a quiet voice, you desperately try to ignore that peculiar feeling in your chest when your mind wanders to that intimate moment that you and Sylus shared.

“Surely you weren’t lingering outside my chamber, I assure you I would be able to hear you” your brow arches, your cheeks are dusted soft pinkish red.

“Nor did you make a sound upon entering. Had you snuck into my chamber and awaited my arrival?” You finish, a finger poking at his muscular chest.

“M’lady. .” He murmurs, eyeing the same stubborn hair, he brushes it behind your ear, ensuring it stays there.

It’s only a brief touch, a straightforward action. Perhaps Sylus just didn’t like seeing you so non-noble, you know that’s not the reason why. He remembers that you're easily ticklish, even the small brush on your cheek can have you giggling.

That name, m’lady, you despise it. You hate seeing the relationship between you and Sylus to seem strictly professional, not just a knight protecting his princess. You want him and you to have a more personal, romantic, more intimate relationship.

“How many times must I correct you, Sy? I would rather not be called that. .” You grumble under your breath, brows knitted in frustration, crossing your arms.

He lazily smirks, eyeing you knowingly.

“Forgive me, kitten. I fancy you’re not displeased with me” Sylus corrects himself, earning himself a pure smile from you.

“You are quite the curious one, aren’t you, sweetie?” He teases in a guttural voice, that classical smirk on his face.

You stare at him expectantly, eyes glinted with wonder and curiosity. Sylus smiles softly at you, leaning down closer to you, his face close to yours, his warm breath fans onto your lip, a brief shiver runs through your body. Although he’s leaned down to your height, he still easily dwarfs over your form, hiding you from prying eyes.

“As greatly as I wish to indulge in your curiosity. . disclosing a knight’s secret would not benefit either parties” Sylus says playfully, chuckling when he sees your smile fade as you pout.

“Moreover, one can never be entirely certain if their private exchange is graced by an unseen audience” he whispers into your ears in a low, deep, raspy voice, his scarlet eyes glaring at the window.

You glance over your shoulder to peer at the window, only to be stopped by Sylus. He cups your chin, carefully guiding your gaze back to him.

“Keep your gaze on me, sweetie” he whispers smoothly, his free hand brushing your cheek, reaching further towards the curtains.

“Keep those alluring, captivating, and gorgeous eyes on me, only on me, kitten” Sylus breathes out, his hand still hooked under your chin.

You gaze silently at him, drinking up the stunning sight of him. Unconsciously, your lips part, a soft sigh leaving you. Sylus quickly pushes the curtains to hide the window, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“My, you're quite captivated by my appearance, aren’t you?” He teases with a smirk on his face, his rough thumb traces your jaw.

That glint in Sylus’s eyes, it sends an unfamiliar wave of heat washing through your body. Abruptly, goosebumps prickle all over your exposed skin, your cheeks are dusted pinkish red and it’s not from the blush that the maids applied earlier.

“Hmp! I- I am not! I was simply looking forward. .” You stutter, taking an inhale, getting an intense smell of his scent.

His scent is addictive. Sylus hums, brushing his thumb against your jaw. His touch lingers for a mere second before pulling away, if he kept his hand against your skin you would have nuzzled into his touch.

“Mmh, oh, come now, kitten. How utterly unconvincing. .” Sylus huffs out a chuckle, his eyes crinkling up as he smiles down at you.

Once again, you fold your arms around yourself, rolling your eyes. Your chambers are only lightened up from the half-melted, dim, flickering candles that’s scattered each crevice of your bedchamber. Each flicker of the dim flames casts a soft, bright, golden hue illuminated against your flawless figure.

You looked absolutely divine and stunning like this, the burning candle glows onto your exposed collarbone and chest. Sylus can’t help the way his gaze lingers a bit longer on your exposed skin, peering at your neck, then your collarbone, then your cleavage that peaks from your dress. That expensive necklace around your neck compliments your skin perfectly, the small gems on the necklace shimmers in the light.

Oh how Sylus would love to delicately peel your necklace from you, burying his head into the column of your neck. He wants to slot his lips against your soft neck, pepper tender and hot kisses onto your skin, suck his love bites onto-

“Sylus?” You call out to him in that angelic voice, waving a hand in front of his face.

He stares quietly into your eyes, his eyes are hooded and clouded with a peculiar emotion, love. Sylus hesitates, reaching towards you, resting a comforting hand onto your plump hip. His fingers sink into the warm fabric of your dress, his touch isn’t rough and commanding, just gentle and tender with you as if you were a special gem.

He holds you loosely, giving you the room to pull back away from his touch. You don’t squirm or writhe away from his touch, instead, you cautiously lean closer into his embrace. How long have you wanted this, how long have you wanted Sylus all for yourself?

No words are uttered, just the comfortable silence between you both, the almost silent sounds of you breathing. Sylus is so close, you can smell the intense scent of him, it plagues your senses. You take a deep inhale of him, visibly relaxing when his additive scent washes over you.

You nervously wrap your arms around him, pulling yourself closer to him. You hadn’t recognized how Sylus was already so close, hot breath fans onto your skin, goosebumps prickling onto your skin. A delightful shiver courses through your body, what is this feeling?

“May I, kitten?” He asks, the hand on your hips sliding to wrap around your waist while his other hand moves to press firmly against your back.

“Oh, please Sy. .” You whisper back.

The candles flickered vigorously, practically synchronized with the rapid beating of your chest, you're sure that Sylus can hear the pounding sound. Neither of you dare to speak, the air between you and him was thick and heavy as he inches closer and closer to your lips. He keeps his eyes on you, eyes darting between your lips and eyes, searching for uncertainty in your eyes.

You wait in anticipation, slightly tilting your head to the side. His lips graze against yours before he slots his lips against yours, finally closing the distance. Sylus’s lips are warm, soft, and comfortable to have yours pressed up against.

Sylus hums softly against your lips, he can feel you melt and bask into the kiss. It’s only a brief, tender, and loving kiss, however, you both felt all the intense emotions behind it. All good things must come to an end eventually, a kiss is no different.

Sylus pulls away from your lips, resting his forehead tenderly against yours. His eyes are clouded with an overwhelming amount of love, a calm yet soft expression on his face. You replicate it, although your expression melts into sadness.

“Oh heavens. . what have I done” you whisper softly, shakily backing away from Sylus, his hands pull away from your form.

His finger twitches by his side as he slowly lifts a hand towards you, his eyes flickered with uncertainty and hesitation. Sylus reaches towards your wrists, stopping himself before his fingertip grazes your skin. The same hand that tried to reach toward you, tried to reassure your abrupt doubt, surrendered and rested against his thigh.

“We shouldn’t. . you know as well as I do. .” You shakily say.

“Improper. . we aren’t free to what we selfishly desire” you mumble, slowly lifting your gaze back to him.

There was a flicker of hurt that crossed Sylus’s face, it makes a strong pain coarse through your body. He sighs, quickly composes himself.

“We. . were never meant to be together” it hurts to continue to spew these words out, both you and Sylus are obviously both affected by it.

It’s becoming awfully impossible to hold back the tears that brim in your eyes. Your vision becomes blurry, eyes watering with tears, it’s as if your very own body is urging you to let those overwhelmingly intense emotions out. A hot tear trickles down the curve of your cheek, you're quick to swipe it away with the back of your head, a quiet sniffle escapes you.

“Tell me then, sweetie. .” Sylus asks in a soft tone, steadily reaching towards your hand to not frighten you.

You hesitate to interlock hands with Sylus, when you do,

his thumb brushing against your skin.

“What’s truly standing in our way?” He asks you, watching your face twist into confusion.

His free hands gently brushes away any tears that spills down your cheek. You pause for seconds as you think of an answer.

“My parents” you answer slowly.

“My father. . he’ll have your h- head if he ever finds out about this. .” You stutter, the thought of seeing your beloved knight’s own demise would forever destroy you, mind and body.

“Peculiar, forgive me, kitten, but I cannot believe your words. You’ve had no hindrance when it comes to defiance towards your parent’s wishes” Sylus murmurs out, his thumb still reassuringly brushing against your skin.

“The truth, tell me” he commands.

“What truly stands in your way?” Sylus asks again.

The question he asked was no longer about you and him, instead, it was about you. It was now about everything you’ve buried and kept hidden: your hidden emotions, the thoughts you’ve shunned away. It was a question that peeled away layers and layers of composure you’ve worn, you felt vulnerable.

“Rejection. . my heart has been yours entirely since the first time my eyes laid on you. These shackles, crown, and duty of mine won’t let our love bloom. .” You mutter, eyes fluttering shut when Sylus gently caresses your tear soaked cheek.

“I can’t escape it. .” You finish, his thumb wiping away another tear.

“Then allow me to aid you. . you won’t be alone, not anymore” He sighs, once you are close enough, he wraps his arms around your body.

“Unburden your heart with all this unnecessary weight. Reveal to me what you’ve hidden, every secret, emotion, and thoughts. Do not shield me from your heart, sweet one” Sylus coos, his grip lightly tightening around your body.

Sylus is no longer leaning down to your height, he pulls you close. Your head rests on his chest, his heartbeat thrumming and pounding against his chest.

“For I am yours, I would want it no other way” He sighs lovingly, big hands stroking your hair, fingers running through your scalp.

“And I am yours, Sy” you chirp, lifting your head from his chest, a smile on your face.

“May I kiss you, sweetie?” Sylus asks, a teasing smirk on his face.

You don’t waste a second, eagerly slotting your lips back against his. Sylus’s groan is muffled by your plump lips, his hand wraps around your back, his other hand cradling your head gently. He tilts your body backwards, leaning over your body.

“Mmhp!” You moan against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He keeps you trapped and pinned against his body as he kisses your swelling lips. Sylus loves feeling your supple breasts pressed against his chest, once he’s ridden the tight corset and your dress off your body, he knows your boobs would feel even better against him. He pulls away from your pinkish red lips, pant and huffing as he catches his breath.

“Sy. .” You whisper breathless, moaning in approval once he’s closed the distance between you two.

One of your hands slides down to his back, feeling his muscles twitch at your gentle and tender touch. You gasp when he teasingly nibbles at your bottom lip, his flavor melting into your tongue. Your head feels fuzzy, heavy, and empty.

All you could think of is Sylus, his scent, the taste of his lips against yours, his touch, the quiet groans he lets out when you whimper, and his touch.

“You taste quite delicious. To have a taste of your sweet lips is a blessing from heaven” He purrs, pushing his lips against yours once again.

Sylus’s tongue swipes at your bottom lip, leaving a trail of saliva. To your disappointment, he pulls away. Only for a mere second for he takes your bottom lip between his teeth to nibble and bite teasingly.

He delves back, sealing his lips against your since more, he was hooked on your taste. Instead of a tender, brief, and sweet kiss like before, this kiss you shared was passionate, intimate, all the emotions you felt for each other pouring into the kiss. A traitorous gasp escaped you, giving Sylus enough time to slip his tongue inside your mouth to deepen the kiss.

“Mmmhp” you moan against his lips.

His tongue glides and collides with yours in a clash of need, love, and urgency. You can feel how much Sylus, and you're painfully aware how much you want this too. Each brush of his tongue is deliberate as if he’s longing to explore everything you have to offer.

The hand in your hair expertly plucks the clips in your hair out, the soft clanking as they drop to the floor. Your hair falls onto your shoulders, this is how Sylus wants you. He loves the genuine you, not as a princess, nor as the woman who is forced to play into a facade.

Sylus loves, adores, and worships in his hands now, the woman he has his lips molded against. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss. You whimper, tapping his back, your other hand clawing and scratching at his clothes back.

He immediately pulls away, a thin string of spit connected between your lips. Both of your lips are swollen, glistening in the dim light from spit, lips parted as you both gasp for air. Sylus huffs out, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip, brushing spit off your lips.

“S- sylus. . -hah, sorry” you pant, gasping when he buries his head into your neck.

He grumbles against your skin, lips connecting against your neck, peppering tender yet hot kisses onto your exposed skin. Sylus’s nose is pressed harshly against your skin, sending a pleasurable shiver through your body. Your neck is glistening from his kisses, spit on your skin from each kiss he leaves.

“Mmhp, don’t be sorry, sweetie” Sylus whispers against your hot skin, the hand in your hair carefully tilting your head to the side, exposing more of your neck to his hungry mouth.

He can’t keep his mouth unoccupied for too long, he needs his lips against your skin. Sylus needs to leave warm kisses, he needs to leave trails of spit behind, he needs to leave his mark on your skin. He needs everyone to know he’s yours and that you're his.

“If I ever threaten your comfort, tell me, kitten” he whispers into your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your earlobe.

He starts at your upper neck, firmly pressing his lips against your skin, a wet sound can be heard after he kisses your neck. His tongue darts out, licking against your skin as if he was marking an area. At the same spot where his tongue was licking and lapping at, Sylus takes your skin into his mouth, sucking gently.

“You taste exquisitely divine, I am hooked on you taste, kitten” Sylus purrs, earning himself a moan of surprise when he sucks harder onto your skin.

Your eyes shut lightly, lips trembling as strings of moans dare to escape. A wet pop as Sylus releases your neck, his hot breath fanning onto your spit-covered skin. He groans in approval, a pretty mark blooming onto your neck.

“Sweet, have you recognized the intense effect you have upon me? You’ve destroyed my composure, stripped me naked, leaving only my soul and emotions in front of you” He sighs against your neck, a hand unclasping the clap of your neck, discarding the jewelry to the side.

Before you can utter a word, his lips are back onto your neck. Sylus has drawn pretty gasps and moans from you only by pressing kisses and sucking makes into your neck. It’s evident that you’ve never been with someone, a maiden princess.

“O- oh heavens above. . it feels s- so good” you gulp, your nails digging into his clothed back, you can feel his muscles twitch.

“Is that so, sweetie? Do go one, permit me to hear more of your words and sounds of bliss and ecstasy” Sylus encourages, his words send a wave of heat through your body that makes you shiver helplessly in his arms.

Sylus bruises his head into the curve of your unmarked neck, eager to leave his mark all over your body. He kisses your pulse point, he hears your breath hitch, then melting into a soft moan. Electricity ripples through your body as his tongue laps at your skin, he flattens his tongue onto your neck, dragging the wet appendage slowly against your neck.

The repetition of wet pops can be heard in your chambers, his lips wrapping around your skin, sucking, releasing the flesh until there are multiple pretty bruises developing onto your neck.

“Hnng. . I- I need more” you mutter nervously.

Even as a wealthy and powerful princess, you were never permitted to be selfish. You were never hopeful for more, satisfied with what you were given. Despite that, you can’t be selfish, you crave more of this unfamiliar yet wonderful feeling of rapture and euphoria.

“M’lady, give me the privilege to attend to your wishes. You wish for more? I shall give you more” He smiles against your neck, his teeth grossing scratching against your skin.

His hot breath ghosts over your neck, fanning onto your glistening neck. Sylus hums in contentment when goosebumps prickle all over the curve of your neck. He unhurriedly drags his lips against your neck, puffing warm air onto the sensitive skin of your neck.

Once he is fully assured that you have bared his mark, he pulls away from your spit-covered and teeth-marked neck. Sylus pulls you for a brief kiss, guiding you backwards to the bed. He sits onto your comfy bed, tugging you onto his lap.

“S- sy!” You squeal in surprise, straddling him, soft thighs pressed beside his thigh.

“Do settle in, princess. Tonight, we shall consummate” Sylus teases, pressing a sticky, wet kiss to your cheek.

“Ughh! I beg of you, you mustn’t word it like that, Sy. .” You groan, eliciting a chuckle from Sylus.

Both of his hands land onto the swell of your hips, cradling the soft fat into his hands. You suddenly feel awfully aware that you have no clue what to do, your face flushing in embarrassment. Sylus quickly notices, smiling gently at you.

“Do not worry, sweetie, allow me. It would be my greatest pleasure to service you now” He soothes your abrupt, pressing a tender kiss to your lips.

His grip on your hips tightens only by a bit, he drags your body back and forth agonizingly slow. Sylus lazily grinds your clothed pussy against his swollen cock. You gasp at the sudden pleasure between your thighs, quickly placing your hands onto his chest, gripping at the cotton fabric to stabilize yourself.

“Hnng, oh heavens. .” You moan softly, pressing your lips against his to muffle your songs of pleasure.

There is a bulge in his pants that presses against your clit with every grind, sending zaps of intense pleasure through your trembling body. A particular grind, harsher than the rest, has your toes curling, eyes rolling back briefly, and a mewl escapes you.

“Mmnhp!” You drool against his lips, a thin trial of spit dribbling down your lips.

Your hands darted to grab onto Sylus’s shoulders for stability, the fabric of his shirt was soft to the touch. Hesitantly, you roll your hips against his crotch, grinding your pussy against his cock. His hold on your plush hips tightens by only a bit as he drags you lazily back and forth, your dress bunching up in his hands.

“Hm mh. .” Sylus groans against your lips, delighted by finally getting a taste of your lips and the sparks of pleasure running through his body.

Undeniably, there’s a small sense of heat in your belly that gradually builds up with every grind, push, and roll of your hips you do. You keep your lips sealed against Sylus’s, an evident desperation and carnal need pouring from your movements. You’re sloppy with the kiss, needily kissing him like it’s the only thing that could satisfy your desire.

Sylus grunts, a muffled one, when one of your hands sneakily reaches towards his hair, tugging the white strands between your fingers. A string of spit connects between the two of you, breaking as quickly as it appeared.

“S- sy. .” You breathlessly moan his name, licking your glistening lips.

“T- this feels. . quite good” You sigh, batting your eyelashes slowly.

“I want, no. . need more” you whimper quietly, an intense wave of heat washing through your body, goosebumps prickling onto your skin.

“More of you. . -haah” You moan, you can feel him pulse, twitch, and throb against your clit that pulses in need.

Raspily, Sylus groans lowly, compared to your moans of pleasure only from grinding, he’s rather hushed and quiet. Although, it’s not a secret, you’re a maiden. You’re unfamiliar with this addictive pleasure, you sound utterly ravishing.

“Shall I indulge you in more, sweetie? One ought to practice restraints to such greedy desires. . although, a smidge of sin can be forgiven” He grunts, a teasing, knowing smirk on his face.

“Have I not given you enough, m’lady? Are you unsatisfied with my performance, m’lady? Shall I give you more?” Sylus says, putting on that professional facade of his.

“One word, sweetie” he whispers, bucking his hips upwards to grind harder into you, giving more emphasis.

You feel like you’re burning up, your skin is burning hot, glistening with your sweat. Sylus gives you the freedom to grind yourself into him, his hands holding your hips tightly, however, he’s no longer aiding you.

“I- I. . “ you start, your throat feels dry from the moans you’ve been letting out.

Before you can finish your words, Sylus is quick to say something.

“Or is this enough for you, kitten?” Sylus asks, undeniably, there’s a tone in his voice.

Sylus knows how much you want this. How much you’re unsatisfied with only grinding, not that it didn’t feel good. You just need more, however, he wants to hear you beg with that angelic voice of yours.

“Hnng. . n- no” you stutter, the hand in his hair tightening just by a little, eliciting a delicious grunt from him.

“I need more. . -heavens, please Sy. .” you beg softly, peering up towards him with clouded eyes.

His grip on your hips falters for only a mere second before they tighten up, Sylus is grinding you back and forth on his lap. He starts off slow, easing you into the foreign pleasure, drawing moans and mewls from you. Steadily, he grinds you faster, his cock hiding against your poor pussy.

The friction on your clit has you mewling and gasping for air, fluttering around nothing, puffy clit throbbing and buzzing from the direct pleasure. It feels so good. Too good, it’s enough to make you cry.

Is this what pleasure is meant to feel like? Or, is Sylus too good at pleasing women? Why does it feel so addictive?

So many questions and thoughts, yet, all of them crumble before you can come up with an explanation. The heat in your belly has gotten unbearably hot, you can barely think straight.

“S- sy! Feels too good! I- I feel weird. . -hah” you mewl, each word you try to speak is interrupted by your own sounds of pleasure.

“Very good. . surrender yourself to me, sweetie. Let the pleasure flow and wash over your body” His voice is enough to soothe your breif worries.

“I assure you, you'll feel amazing. . you have my word” Sylus instructs, the firm hand on your hips was reassuring.

You nod your head slowly, moaning in delight when his lips press against yours. Your cautiousness and hesitance was barely noticeable anymore, you eagerly wrap and rub your tongue against his. Sylus groans in approval when he feels you tremble in his hold, he can hear your breath hitch as you unconsciously hold your breath.

Your lips part slightly, an unfamiliar, yet addictive, wave of pleasure and heat washes over you. That overpoweringly hot sensation in your stomach bursts, your pussy flutters around nothing. That loud moan that wanted to escape you is muffled by Sylus’s lips as you gush around nothing, without a doubt leaving your panties sticky and soaked with your own arousal and cum.

You whimper against Sylus as he continues to drag you back and forth, gentle and slow, guiding you through your orgasm. He pulls away from your swollen lips, a soft exhale of air leaves you. Abruptly, you are aware of that sticky feeling between your thighs.

“Can you handle more. . kitten?” He asks, taking soft inhales of air, pressing a wet kiss to your flushed cheek.

“Haah. . yes, I can take more” you pant, your thighs trembling slightly.

Sylus doesn’t utter a word, merely humming at your desperation. A firm hand on your hips slides up to your back, a finger tugging at the strings of your dress. The tightness around your upper body is abruptly gone, you can feel like you can breathe without being cut off halfway.

You let out a shaky moan of relief, Sylus wastes not a single second to slide the cotton fabric off your shoulders, exposing your corset. He gently lifts you off his thighs, still keeping a hand on your hip. You grimace slightly at feeling that wet, burning, a sticky sensation between your thighs.

“May I?” Sylus asks, toying with the strings of your royal dress while he awaits your consent.

You nod your head, watching as he pulls off your dress, the fabric dropping onto the ground. Although the room may be quiet, not a word being uttered from either you or Sylus, gazing at his eyes tell you everything he’s thinking. His eyes are clouded with an intense amount of devotion and adoration, unconditional love towards you.

Sylus reaches behind you again, undoing the claps of your tight corset without a hint of struggle. It comes off too quickly for your liking, joining the bunched fabric of your dress on the floor. Your face is flushed red in embarrassment, the feeling of utter vulnerability and barrenness is intense, it’s hard not to feel discomfort when he gazes at you with those eyes that burn holes into your body.

Specifically, he’s staring at your chest. Sylus is taking in every detail of your assets: your squishy boobs that droop to your chest from the weight, perking nipples, the color of your skin, the blue veins faded away, the pretty stretch marks. You wrap your arms around your chest, an endearing pout on your face that summons a chuckle from him.

“Must you stare so? Kindly avoid avert your eyes, Sy. .” You huff out, redirecting your gaze away from Sylus who’s got an eyebrow arched up as he stares at you with amusement.

“Why must I? May one not gaze at the beauty in front?” He teases, his voice alone has your grip around your chest slowly slipping.

What is there to be ashamed of? What is there to be humiliated by? Sylus’s gaze? He has only praised you, never gazed at you with disgust in his eyes.

“If I must add, you look quite ravishing and enchanting in the flickering candle’s light, sweetie” Sylus purrs, reaching a hand towards you.

You don’t hesitate to take his hands in yours, allowing him to guide you onto the bed. Sylus lays you down on the bed, hovering over your body.

“My, quite the breasts you have. .” He starts, that glint in his eyes is enough to know he’ll say something rather embarrassing to you.

“One must wonder if the princess is already with child” Sylus grins, tenderly pushing your boobs together.

You shiver at the touch of his hands that play with the play mounds on your chest. Sylus squeezes, squishies, and fondles at your chest.

“I- I am not with child, sy. .” You huff out, his lips pressing wet kisses onto your collarbone.

You wanted to say more, how you’d wish to bear his child. However, you stay utterly quiet except the quiet whines that escape you. You purse your lips, trembling lightly.

Sylus presses warm kisses onto your skin, his warm breath tickling your collarbone. His lips trail further down to your chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. His right hand finds your right breasts, squeezing and squishing the mound as he busies himself by licking at your left breast's nipple.

Pressing tender kisses onto the perky nipples, a soft mwah can be heard after. Sylus’s tongue darts out to lick at your nipple, his tongue tracing small circles onto the bud, leaving a trail of spit on your nipple. Each time his tongue flicks your clit it sends sparks of pleasure through your body, eliciting delicious moans and mewls from you.

Teasingly, Sylus’s teeth scrape at your nipple, sucking the bud into his mouth. He leans to kiss and nibble at your soft mound, leaving his own mark onto your flesh. Moving back to your nipple, he slots his lips against the bud, tracing patterns onto the stiff bud.

His other hand on your right boob flicks your stiff nipple, addictive sparks of pleasure coursing through your body. A loud, wet pop as Sylus pulls away from your poor nipple that’s glistening with his spit, stiff in the cool air of your bedroom. Grinning at his work, scarlet eyes darting between your stiff nipple and the blooming bruise on your breasts.

“Haah. . n- need more, Sy” you sigh, arching your back off the bed to push your chest closer to his mouth.

“In due time, you must be patient, kitten” He clicks his tongue, a large band of his holds your back, arching your back further to push your chest closer to his eager mouth and tongue.

Sylus gives your right boob the same amount of attention: experimental licks to the bud, tracing small shapes, harshly sucking your nipple until it is stiff under his tongue, leaving a mark on your chest. Although it’s muffled, you can still hear the wet kissing sound, mwah after each time he kisses your skin.

“Such pretty breasts, soft and warm to the touch” Sylus whispers against your chest, his warm breath trickling down your skin.

He cups your soft mounds, pushing them as close as your boobs can. Sylus sucks both of your nipples into his mouth to lap, suck, and flick at. Everything about you is addictive: the taste of your skin, the warmth of your body, your reactions, all of it.

“May these beautiful breasts be filled with milk” he whispers too quietly against your chest, peppering wet kisses against your skin, the valley between your boobs.

Sylus kisses down your plush belly, kiss after kiss onto your skin. One of his hands eagerly paws and grips the fat of your belly into his hands, squishing gently.

“Plush, plump, and soft belly. .” Soft words muttered against your skin, his warm breath fanning onto your skin.

“May this belly be filled with my heir. .”

“Please, bear my heir. .” Sylus whispers into your skin once again, he’s too quiet, you can’t hear a single word.

He pulls away from your soft stomach, gazing at your face, his scarlet eyes examining you so intensely. Your cheeks are flushed pinkish red, even more than before, lips parted as a soft whimper escapes you, eyes hooded and clouded with desperation and hunger for much more pleasure. Sylus grabs your plush thighs, squeezing firmly to snap you out of your daze, his fingers leaving a small dent into the fat.

“Before I proceed further, may I have your consent, sweetie?” He asks, still holding your thighs, not daring to move them inch.

With each and every slow year that passed, Sylus has denied the thought of leaving your side, even for a mere second. During this time, you’ve learned much about your knight, he prioritized your consent over everything else. You nod your head silently, glancing to the side to avoid his gaze that sends a wave of heat through your body.

“That’s not enough, sweetie, I’m sure you know that too” Sylus sighs, his grip on your thighs faltering.

“Indulge me, allow me to hear your voice, to hear your consent” He whispers, his grip getting even looser, he’s giving you the chance to pull away.

“You must be discomforted by this, I shall stop. .” Sylus murmurs under his breath, you can hear the disappointment and shame in his voice.

Sylus has always been extraordinarily good at understanding and examining the emotion of someone, it never mattered how. By their expressions, their almost unnoticeable actions, their broken voice, none of that managed to pass his observant eyes. Could it be that your keen and clever eyed knight was ashamed that he couldn’t recognize the discomfort you’ve shown?

Dejected didn’t begin to deceive how Sylus looked, the hand on your thigh fully retreated away. You tense up, restraining yourself from grabbing his hand.

“Sylus. . please, I need this, I need you. .” You gulp out, body relaxing the moment his warm hand touches your thigh.

“I beg of you. . please, take your time” you whisper quietly, parting your thighs apart only by a smidge.

With your thighs parted wide enough for Sylus, he could see your soaked, frilly, and cotton panties. There was an undeniably large white spot on your cotton panties, it’s quite obvious you’re just as needy as he is. He groans in approval and delightfulness at the sight of your arousal stained panties, his hands on your thighs peeling them a bit wider as he leans down to the soft fat.

Your thighs are quite big, enough space for him to leave all kinds of marks on. Who was he to pass on such a delightful opportunity? Sylus’s grip tightens on your thighs as he kisses, licks, sucks, laps, and bites at your flesh, leaving his mark on your thigh.

Sylus could spend hours after hours between your plush thighs, leaving pretty marks on your flesh, watching them bloom into a temporary bruise. However, you’re simply just too impatient, a needy thing who needs more.

“Heavens above Sy! P- please, I need more” you plead in that same voice that you’d use to get your way, he knows he can’t deny you.

“Whatever your heart desires, sweetie” He whispers against your thigh.

“Come now, there is no need to beg. . desire can be expressed with actions rather than words” Sylus teases, his fingers hooking around your drenched panties, pulling the cotton fabric off your hips.

However, he’s unhurried, agonizingly slow. Slowly, Sylus would pull down your panties inch by inch, more of your heated skin being exposed to the cool air. You hiss at the feeling for the cool air blowing on your sticky folds, goosebumps prickling all over your thighs.

He tugs your garments down your thighs, tossing it to the floor carelessly. One of Sylus’s hands grabs hold of your thighs, keeping your legs spread apart while the other pushes your folds to the side to marvel at the sight of your sopping pussy. You are absolutely drenched, glistening and drooling with your own arousal, puffy clit buzzing in the cool air, gummy entrance fluttering around nothing.

“Mmh. . sy” you sigh softly, moaning when you feel a finger glide through your pussy, from your gummy entrance to your clit.

“Shh. . I’ll go slow” he mutters, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your engorged clit, the bud jolting against his lips.

You relax against the bed, whimpering and moaning at the soft sparks of pleasure that courses through your body. Sylus slots his lips against your clit once again, a brief and gentle kiss to the hood. His grip on your thighs is still tight, calloused thumb rubbing against your skin reassuringly.

His tongue licks and flicks at the bud, lapping at your puffy clit slowly. Sylus is aware that you’re new to the pleasure, he’s easing you into the addictive feeling. He traces his tongue up and down, tearing out what you love the best, what makes you main the loudest.

“Haah. . -hng, s- sy” you pant, your hand darting to grab the pillow beside your head.

He hums when you call his name, flattening his tongue then dragging the wet appendage up and down your puffy clit. A wet pop as he pulls away, his warm breath fanning onto your clit, eliciting a whine from you. Sylus slots his lips back against you, sucking your clit gently, summing a loud moan from you as your back arches off the bed.

“Holy-! F- feels so good” you mewl, eyes rolling back when he sucks your clit harshly.

How could Sylus take his time enjoying your reactions when you moan like that? It’s hard to restrain himself when you unconsciously buck your hips toward his mouth. You feel so breathless and lightheaded, the pleasure is addicting.

A wet pop fills the room as he pulls away from your clit, using his tongue to lap through your folds. Seeing how sensitive you are, hips twitching and jolting, back arching off the bed only from him kissing and sucking at your clit made Sylus desire to make you feel even better. Your juices and arousal melts onto his tongue, tangy yet sweet, oh how he’d want your taste permanently in his mouth.

Addictive was the perfect way to describe how you tasted. You claw at the pillow, holding onto the soft fabric for dear life. Sylus traces a finger around your gummy entrance, slowly pushing his index finger into your velvety pussy, your walls clamping down at the intrusion.

He kisses your clit, licking at the bud to distract you from the subtle pain, the soft slurping sound muffled. You drool slightly when Sylus’s fingers slide deeper and deeper until his index finger is buried knuckle deep in your pussy, summoning a moan of approval from the man who licks and laps at your clit. That now familiar heat in your stomach steadily builds up with each push of his finger, summoning a whimper from you.

It’s like an instinct, you desperately want to squirm away from the pleasure, however, you're already drunk off the pleasure that Sylus has given you. Slowly, he slides his fingers in and out of your creamy pussy, the quiet sound of your wet cunt squelching around his finger.

“Hnng. . f- feels so good” you moan, gasping and tensing up when his middle finger presses at your poor stuffed hole.

It’s only just a finger, yet, it’s enough to make you tremble and moan. Sylus is much larger than you, the pleasure he gives you is much more intense and the stretch of your gooey walls are only a bit painful.

“One must relax their body in order to feel intense pleasure, sweetie” Sylus mutters against your clit, sucking the bud back into his eager and hungry mouth, the tip of his middle finger sliding into your cunt.

You take a deep breath for air, a choked moan escaping you, the stretch of having two fingers in your cunt was much more noticeable than the last. Tears prickle in your eyes, you want to squirm and sob away from the brief pain. However, Sylus is quick to even out the pain with an intense amount of pleasure, lapping and sucking harshly at your clit in order to distract you from the sting.

Your back arches off the bed when his fingers curl up, rubbing a soft that elicits a loud scream from you. Unconsciously, you buck your hips towards his fingers and mouth. Unknowingly, this small action only allows his finger to press against your g-spot.

“Oh heavens! S- sy. . haah” you moan out, tossing your head back.

Your jaw goes agape when he slowly slides his finger in and out of your dripping pussy, the wet squelching sound gets louder as your pussy tightens around his finger. Each thrust of Sylus’s fingers only adds more flame to the burning feeling in your stomach. He’s basking in your reaction, each breathless moan and whimper of his name or arch of your back, each and every time.

He’ll have his eyes closed in concentration as Sylus sucks your clit and works your tight pussy open, briefly opening them to peer up at you, seeing you writhe and squirm lightly from the pleasure.

“J- just like that. . please, don’t -nngh. . stop” you stutter, eyes rolled back so far.

He groans against your clit, his tongue vigorously flicking the puffy bud. The deafening slick sound of your pussy gushing around his fingers fills the room, he can feel you helplessly clamp around his fingers. You're close to cumming, your velvety walls clamp around his fingers, he’s barely able to push his fingers back into your pussy.

“Oooh. . Sylus!” You drool, the heat in your belly is strong, overpowering your ability to coherent words out.

Sylus pulls away from your clit, warm breath fanning onto your puffy clit. The grip on your thigh tightens slightly, he’s watching his fingers glide through your dripping folds.

“There you go. .” He whispers quietly, huffing and panting.

Abruptly, his fingers speed up, plunging back into your warm walls. Those thick fingers of his push deep into your pussy, knuckle deep in your cunt, curling them, then sliding out. Sylus presses a tender kiss to your clit, summoning a flinch from you.

“Mmmfh. . evidently, sucking on the clit -hmm. .” Sylus says between each wet suck and lap at your clit, groaning and moaning quietly against your poor buzzing clit.

“L- like a ripe fruit -heavens above. . feels the best” He whispers breathlessly, sucking the bud into his mouth, hungrily sucking harshly.

“Oooh- haah!” You drool, your back arching off the bed, eyes rolled back as tears prickle in them.

You can barely talk, loud moans and whimper are the only things you're able to manage to get out. You’re so tight around Sylus fingers, fluttering uncontrollably as he mercilessly plunges his thick fingers into you.

“T- tastes divine. .” Sylus murmurs to himself, groaning in approval when you tense up and buck your hips towards him.

An intense wave of heat washes over you, goosebumps prickling onto your skin, your senses faltering for only a mere second. Your velvety walls spasm around his fingers, tightening around his fingers as you gush around them. A sticky coat of cream forms around Sylus’s fingers, smearing onto his knuckles when he slowly pushes them back into your cunt.

“You did - hah. . perfect, sweetie” he says, watching you melt against the sheets blissfully.

“Shall I continue, kitten?” Sylus asks in that breathless voice, his chin glistening with your sticky juices, smirking when you nod your head.

“Heavens above. . you really are addictive” he whispers under his breath, backing away from your panting body.

He tugs off his shirt, revealing that astounding muscle on his body that flexes with his movement. Unlike you who was rather timid of being naked under hungry and devouring eyes, not a hint of embarrassment seemed to be in Sylus’s eyes. He quickly discarded his pants, a small white tail of hair leading further down to his hard cock.

Sylus slowly pulls down his boxers, grunting softly when his heavy cock slaps at his abdomen with a wet slap, beads of precum splattering on his skin. Heavens above, you’ve never seen anything that big before, well, actually you’ve never seen a cock before. You flush, gulping nervously as his cock twitches and throbs in the air.

He’s big, long, standing in the cool air of your bedroom. A small vein runs from the side of his shaft, his bulbous tip is angry red as beads of precum drips down,

A little vein runs from the side to his bulbous tip, his tip angry red and beads or precum dripping down, his cock is curved slightly to the side. Trails of hair on his abdomen, leading further down his body,

they are small and white. Sylus crawls back onto the bed, leaning down to gently kiss your cheeks as if he noticed your sudden nervousness.

“I’ll take good care of your sweetie. Let me worship this body. .” Sylus says to reassure you once he notices the hesitant expression written on his face.

Sylus slaps his cock onto your glistening folds, summing a flinch from you.

“Do you want this, hmm? Do you want more. . of me?” He asks, the tip of his cock nudging against your puffy clit.

“M- more than anything. .” You drool, nodding your head slowly.

He hums in approval, a hand pushing his cock against your folds as he rocks his hips back and forth against your pussy. Sylus’s cock glides through your folds, catching your clit with each grind of his hips. You’d juices smear onto his cock, creating enough lubrication.

“N- no more teasing. . I’ve waited long enough-“ you beg, lips parted as soft pants escape you.

Sylus’s tip kisses your gummy entrance, it’s so much bigger than you thought. You part your thighs wider, giving Sylus enough room to settle comfortably between them.

“Hold onto my hand, sweetie” Sylus mumbles, giving the chance to pull one of his big hands into yours.

You hold your breath as he slowly pushes into your pussy, it’s a bit easier with the amount of slick your cunt made. Sylus cock splits apart your walls, accommodating his bulbous tip.

“Haah. . s- so big. .” You whimper, brows furrowing from the dim pain, sweat trickling down your forehead.

Sylus groans, his grip on your hand tightly slightly. His tip glides into your pussy until it disappears into your velvety walls, the obscure squelch filling the room. Slowly and slowly, his cock plunges deeper into your warmth until he is buried into the hilt of your pussy.

He lets out a shaky groan, his hips flushed with yours, balls resting on the soft fat of your ass. There is a quite noticeable yet pleaser weight in your stomach from his cock, his shaft curving to press against your g-spot that sends sparks of pleasure through you. Your pussy has a nice grip around him, so tight it almost has Sylus’s eyes rolling back as a grunt leaves him.

Sylus’s tip kisses your cervix effortlessly, snug and pressed firmly against the barrier. You feel him twitch and then inside you, his tip smushing beads of precum against your cervix. He slowly retracts his hips back from yours, his cock slowly dragging from your tight walls.

It has you letting out a sob, drool seeping from your lips. You’ve already coated his cock in your juices, the slick sticking onto his abdomen. Sylus plunges his cock back to the hilt, the loud wet slapping sound of flesh hitting each other.

“Y- you feel divine -hnng. . tight” he groans, keeping his gaze only on you.

Those scarlet eyes of his are unable to linger in one area too long, darting to take in the sight of you and your body. From the sweat that clings onto your forehead, your jaw agape as a thin trail of drool trickles down your chin, breasts bouncing and jiggling with each thrust, belly jiggling slightly, to the sight of your pussy swallowing his hard cock eagerly. You whimper softly, using your hands to cover your red and sweaty face from Sylus’s eyes.

“Mmh hm. . don’t hide yourself from me, kitten” Sylus grunts out, lifting his thumb finger to his mouth.

His tongue laps at his skin, reaching down to your puffy, neglected clit. Sylus rubs soft yet firm circles onto the bud, it’s enough to have you squeal and toes curl up. You squirm when his tip bangs at your poor cervix, shakily removing your hands from your face.

Instead, your hands dart to grab at Sylus’s defined back, nails digging into his naked, scarred back, leaving red marks. Having you in a missionary gives him the perfect and divine view of your body, legs spread wide enough to see his dick going in and out of your pussy.

“S- so wet, sweetie” he stutters, grunting when you clamp down around him.

The wet slapping sound, fwop plap, can be heard when his thighs slap against yours, the already loud sound of skin mingles with the groan and moans you both let out. Through your fucked our haze, you glance down your sweaty body, watching Sylus’s cock strech your pussy, a thin string of your cum sticking agaisnt his thighs and yours.

“Doing so well, kitten” Sylus praises, his voice deep and raspy, sending a delicious shiver through your body.

Words can’t describe how you looked, body glistening from your own sweat, the soft glow of candles on your exposed skin made you look ethereal. Sylus snaps his hips against yours, knocking the breath from you. You feel so lightheaded, mush, the pleasure makes you feel drunk. He’ll retract his hips slowly then push back to the hilt, tip kisses your poor cervix.

You were seeing stars, who knew pleasure, a sin, would be so delightful. You’re shuddering like a leaf in the wind, pussy gushing around his cock with a loud moan.

“Sylus!” You scream, head tossed back as you coat his cock with your cum.

Feeling you clamp around him so tightly is enough to send him into a frenzy, fucking into your overstimulated pussy until he’s cumming. Sylus cum shoots deep in pussy, warm and tons, overflowing as he shallow thrust into your pussy. He rides through both of your high, thrust slowly back into your cunt, his tip smooshing globs of cum against your cervix.

“Heavens. .” You sigh out, body relaxing against the wake bedsheets.

“Haah. .” He groans, his cock slowly gliding through your pussy.

A wet pop as his cock slips from your hungry pussy, globs of his cum spilling from your stuffed cunt. The uncomfortable feeling of wetness trickling down your ass, his cum trickling out of your gummy entrance.

“S- surely my father has heard us. .” You whisper breathlessly, moaning softly when his lips slots against yours.

“Then he’ll know we’ve consummated, your mine. .” Sylus whispers back, his lips engulfing yours.

♕༉‧₊˚꧁All work belongs to only ME, jadestone2. Translating, plagiarism, copying, posting on another website, claiming as your work will NOT be tolerated, instant block꧂˚ ₊ ‧ ༉♕

ཐི⋆♕₊˚ཋྀ — TAG-LIST @lelilynn @lluvia1415 @beach-bunny @ohmysylus @tinyweebsstuff @september-2122 @samoankpoper21 @dailydiaru @lesbocow @reawakened-goddness @harmlesscouch @inara-lumina @blueberrisdove-sideblog @rinkomei @whimsiecat @akali @hon3yydew @kriscr0ss @Dummiebunny @staarflowerr @inkwellscholar @Simphony @goobiescooby @prettypeachhh @jjksslutt @boinkboinkkitten @nyx2021 @strawberrie-me @Jacaeryswifeyy @jelloanna @bijuu-naginata @sillyhahaha @jellyaceuww @Madoka-pink @dominiquebonard915 @for-hearthand-home @alexander-arcturus-black-lupin-r @Ame-chan-unofficial @McDepressed290 @malleus-draconias-rose @thxtmarvelchick @katiralovely @ninahorikoshifr @rowazuhime_15 @priestessrosery @blcknebula @blogsforficslol @velourmobius @thequeenofcurses @bimbohkitty @leiakitty @rockyeatrock @voidofryomen @heartyluv

#mhm yes.#lads smut #this was very much tasteful #I WANT MORE!#nothing beats good old chivalrous Sylus and you can’t tell me otherwise #yes give me knight Sylus gimme 100 of him now. RIGHT NOW—

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thalwri · 1 month ago

Note

Mhm, that’s what I’m talking about 🤭

H-hey alpha..heh….

Is it alr if you can write some Zayne + Caleb smut stuff or some LAD brat tamer ty 😼

Love your works

Xoxo,

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎBRAT TAMER VS BRAT ENABLER₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧

˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ — SYNOPSIS Do you like a man who enables a brat’s behavior or do you like a man who’ll punish a naughty brat?!( ๑ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و ♡

˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ — GENRE smut, porn with little plot ˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ — INCLUDING Caleb, Zayne (separate)

˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ — WARNING fem!reader, explicit content, pwnp, established relationship, possible grammar error, NO spoilers, not proof read lol, prone bone, light spanking, pet names, unprotected sex (wrap it for ya tap it), breeding, pussy spanks, fingering, orgasm control ig, edging, dirty talk, mean Zayne ngl

「 ✦ A/N ✦ 」 h- heh. . I could get used to you calling me alpha. . ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ TY SM, I’m happy ya’ll are still into my fics <3 also. . I need more ideas idc pass it over(ㅅ´ ˘ `)

CALEB — BRAT ENABLER

Your face is squished and pressed firmly against the tear and drool soaked pillow beneath your head, only muffled moans and breathless gasps can be heard from you. Your clawing, bitting, drooling, and sobbing into the sheets, each noise of pleasure is swallowed and muffled by the fluffy, yet soaked, pillow. It’s hard to squirm when a heavy, strong hand presses against your back, keeping you firmly trapped against the bed.

“Mmhp!” Your loud moan is muffled by the pillow taken between your teeth, a small dribble of droll trickling down your lips falls onto the sheets beneath your head.

“Hhng, ohgod, pips-! Y- you feel so fucking good ‘round me. . fuck” Caleb whines pathetically between each cruel and mean thrust into your sopping pussy, his hips snapping agaisnt yours.

With how hard Caleb’s fucking you, you’d think he’s livid and mad at you. He’s got you in the meanest, yet pleasurable, prone bone, firmly pressed against the bed, giving you the cruelest thrusts that knocks the little wind out of you. His hands are all over you, gently pushing your face deeper into the pillow, gliding down your sweaty back, firmly holding onto your hips while he rocks his hips into you, gingerly spanking your poor ass cheek.

It’s hard to stay conscious and awake when Caleb’s hips are slamming against yours, practically bruising your ass with each thrust. He’s getting the best view too, watching you attempt to squirm and writhe away from the overwhelming pleasure, and your ass, ripping and bouncing with every rough and mean thrust he does. Your skin is flushed, sticky from his cum on your back, and glistening from your own sweat.

Caleb gets to see his thick cock slamming in and out of your gush pussy, the perfect view of your cunt hungrily and greedily sucking him back inside your pussy. There is a creamy white ring around his base, his dick covered in your sticky cum. Oh how he’d love to taste your cum.

“Ugh. . Hah, s- so tight” he pants and moans, slamming impossibly faster into your poor pussy.

“Y-you feel sooo. . -ohshit. . divine ‘round me. .” Caleb stutters, his voice is whiny and loud, somehow he’s louder than the wet plaps and fwops of his hips meeting your ass.

Caleb’s just as sensitive as you are, however, he’s still able to fuck both of you through the overstimulation. You can feel him twitch, throb, and jolt inside your warm walls. Each push of his hips, his cock plunging to the hilt of your pussy, is harder than the last, your poor body can’t keep up with his cruel treatment.

“Cal- mmph” you try to moan his name out, but the pillow smushed against your face makes it hard to.

“Oh fuck-“ he gulps, his hips stuttering against yours.

“I- I love it. . love it when y- you -oooh fuck!” Caleb whimpers, the grip on your hips tightening till it elicits a whimper form you.

A hand lightly spanks your ass, making you flinch from the abrupt smack. You melt into the sheets, helpless, vulnerable, unable to squirm, only able to take Caleb’s fat cock.

“- love it when you. . get bratty with me -hng, baby!” He breathes out between his breathless moans and broken whimpers.

“S- so wet. . and. . ‘n tight” Caleb chants under his breath, choking moans escaping him when he feels you clamp down around him.

The feeling of your velvety walls fluttering around his cock is enough to send him into an orgasm, and with how your walls are so tight around him, it’s like you want him to cum! You can tell Caleb wants to cum, though you can’t see the desire etched onto his face. Although, you can feel his swollen cock throbbing and twitching in need, his whimper and whines more high pitched, you know he wants to cum.

“Y- you feel so good. . Haah. .” He murmurs, the bed letting out a creek with every relentless thrust he gives you.

“F- fuck, pips! ‘N. . y- you were teasing me so much” Caleb starts, a delicious moan escaping him, it sends a wave of heat through your body, going straight to your pussy.

“K- kissing my neck, lingering -ohgod. . touches, ‘n then p- pulling away. .” He whines loudly, his grip on your plump hips flattering when you clamp down tightly around him, eliciting a broken sob from him, his thrusts sloppy.

The room is filled with the obscure squelching sounds of you sloppy pussy meeting his cock, pussy gushing and creaming around his thick length that splits your walls apart. The wet sounds of your wet skin slapping against each other and your muffled moans mingling with Caleb’s loud ones fill the room, surely you’ll get another noise complaint.

“L- love you so much, baby! You’re taking me so w- well, perfect e- even! Haaah, s- such a good girl f’me!” Caleb praises, spanking your ass again, a pleasant stinging sensation on your ass cheek.

You feel mushy, dizzy, a bit lightheaded, and exhausted. With every thrust, his bulbous tip kisses and bangs on your poor cervix, it makes you moan loud. It’s like Caleb’s being controlled, he keeps rutting into you like a desperate man, the pleasure is just too fucking addictive.

“Nngh-! I- I can’t stop. . -hah, needa keep fucking you!” He spews out barely coherent babbles, each little sound he makes sends a wave of heat through your body, the familiar heat pooling to your cunt.

“So good, you f- feel so good ‘round my cock. . You’re so good f’me” Caleb whines, your pussy reflexively clamping around him at the praise.

You flutter around his cock, his dick massages your poor g-spot that has your toes curling up.

“Oooh god. . y- you’re taking me so well, it’s like we’re made for each other. .” He spews out, his thrusts are quick, frantic, relentless, and needy to finally cum deep in your pussy.

You’re so right around him, milking his cock for all his worth, Caleb is losing his mind. It’s like you want to breed full of his cum!

“Mmmh. . y- you’ve got me drunk off you, baby! c- can’t stop thinking of you. .” Caleb spews out, you shiver slightly.

“You’ve got me h- hooked -holy shit. . y’know that?” He whimpers between broken huffs, you’re too dumb to realize that he’s retracting his hand from your ass.

“I- is that why you keep. . shit, baby! Hhng- being so b- bratty ‘n teasing me?” Caleb miraculously asks through his moans and whines, once in a while his cock would jolt inside your pussy.

“You know you’ll get y- your way. . -so fucking right, b- baby!” He purrs out, a hand sneakily sliding underneath your body to find your puffy clit.

A muffled squeal can barely be heard when Caleb’s finger rubs firm circles onto your engorged clit, moaning in approval when you twitch and hold, fluttering around his cock.

“T- that’s right, pips. Haah. . f- feel good f’me, please-!” Caleb drools, the warm liquid dripping onto your burning hot back.

“Mmh hm!” You wail into the sheets, body uncontrollably shaking and shivering.

That heat in your belly is stronger, so close to exploding. It’s quite obvious you’re about cum, especially with how abruptly tight you are around his cock.

“Y- yes, yes, yes baby- cum f’me. .” He chants, his thumb still rubbing steadily circles onto your swollen clit.

“I k- know you wanna cum. . -ohgod” Caleb gulps, tossing his head back.

“I- I wanna make you cum. . -ngh, please” Caleb encourages, practically whining for you to cum around him.

“P- please cum around my cock -mmhp. . let m- me make you feel good” he slurs, eyes rolling back when you tighten around him.

Your body shivers as you gush and cream around his cock, the sticky juices coating the base of his shaft, a soft wail can be heard from you. A ring of cum forms around the base of Caleb’s dick, some catching on his abdomen. He doesn’t ease up, still delivering rough thrusts into your gushing and quivering pussy.

“S- so -Hng! T- tight, gonna milk me dry, baby-!” Caleb sobs between his gritted teeth, sloppily thrusting into you.

Caleb’s hips are flushed with yours, cock buried to the hilt of your pussy with his tip kissing your cervix. He twitches and jolts inside, spurts of thick, hot cum shoots deep into your already stuffed pussy. Some of his cum overflows, spilling from your poor pussy.

His creamy cum drips and pours onto the sheets below, even with his cock plunged deep inside you. Once Caleb notices his cum spilling from you he lets out a pathetic whine.

“Mmh. . n- no, no. Haah-. . don’t let my c- cum spill out, pips” He stutters out between his huffs and quiet moans when you clench around him.

“I- I have to start all ove- nngh! over again-“ Caleb whines, his hips slowly moving again.

Caleb’s cock plunges in and out of your velvety walls, snapping his hips back against yours. Each thrust back into your quivering pussy forces his cum to spill from your hole, creating an even larger mess below. The way his tip grazes against your g-spot over and over, his cock massaging your most sensitive, deepest parts that makes you let out a wail.

“G- gonna fuck m- my cum back into you. .” He whispers.

ZAYNE — BRAT TAMER

Your back is pressed firmly against Zayne’s back, through the thin fabric of his shirt you can feel his muscles against your skin. You can feel him breathing, steady and calm compared to your ragged and broken gasps for air. Your thighs are spreaded apart till you feel a tingle of pain, placed on top of Zayne’s beefy thighs.

Zayne is still fully dressed, you can feel his hard cock pressed against the fat of your ass. Unlike him, you’re naked and exposed to the cool air that kisses at your supple form.

“Haah. . Z- Zayne” you whine, eyes clouded and brimming with tears.

“Mmh. . Hush, now” Zayne shushes you, thick fingers gliding up and down through your sticky folds.

You whimper softly, gummy entrance fluttering around nothing, your arousal oozing out of your hole. You attempt to squirm, only for a gentle smack to be placed onto your puffy clit.

“Hnng! Z- Zayne!” You yelp, your hips bucking closer to his touch.

“P- please let me cum. .” You whine softly, letting out a strangled moan when he shoves two thick fingers into your needy pussy.

“You don’t deserve to cum” he tuts, your pussy loudly squelching as his fingers plunge in and out of your creaky pussy.

“Mmh. . but, Z- Zaynie. .” You mewl when his free hands pinched at your stiff nipples, flicking the bud.

Zayne curls his fingers, his fingertips curling at your most delicious spots. His thumb finds your puffy clit, rubbing cruel, firm, and mean circles into the engorged bud. You sob pathetically, fat tears trickling down the curve of your cheek.

Glancing down your sweaty body, you see Zayne’s fingers stuffed into your hungry pussy, sliding in and out of your cunt. They are coated in your sticky arousal, your juices trickling down your ass to the floor, creating such a mess. You watch his fingers disappear into your pussy, remerging drenched in your juices with a loud squelching sound.

“Hnng-! S- so good. .” You gasp, back arching off his chest.

Your sopping pussy glistens with your own arousal, the wetness between your thighs exposed to the cool air. He mercilessly finger fucks your pussy until the wet sound was loud till your shivering and jolting in his hold, whining for Zayne to finally let you cum.the familiar heat in your belly builds up once again, stronger and more intense compared to the last.

“P- please! Oooh god!” You drool, tossing your head back, onto his shoulder.

“Beg all you want, you won’t get to cum” Zayne huffs, curling his fingers against your g-spot, eliciting a wail from you.

A wet pop can be heard as his middle and index fingers slide from your greedy pussy, he smears your juices onto your clit with a wet squelch. Zayne taps your clit, earning himself a squeal and a jolt of surprise. He hums in satisfaction, stuffing his fingers back into your oozing cunt.

“Such a mess. . You’ve made such a big mess on my fingers, honey” He groans, ripping his fingers from your pussy to show you.

He’s right. Zayne’s fingers are absurdly drenched and covered in your slick, some trickling down his wrist to his arm. You flush in embarrassment, whining quietly.

“Such a sloppy pussy” Zayne whispers into your ear, pressing his lips against your earlobe.

His fingers find your engorged clit, rubbing firm and mean circles onto the bundle of nerves. Zayne leans down to your neck, his hot breath making onto your exposed skin. He presses a brief kiss to your skin, his fingers vigorously rubbing circles onto your clit until you tremble, gasp, and cry from the pleasure.

“Hm. .” He hums, lifting his digits close to his face to examine the mess you’ve made.

His kitten licks at his fingers, sucking up some of your juices. Zayne hums in approval at the tangy yet sweet flavor of you, spitting into the palm of his hand. He smears his spit onto your pussy, the wet feeling makes you shiver uncontrollably.

“Oh fuck. .” You gulp.

His fingers easily slide into your gummy entrance from a mixture of his spit and your juices, starting off gently fingering your walls open to ramming his fingers in and out of your gushing pussy. Zayne’s knuckle deep, your walls stretching around his thick fingers. He’s not slow, tender, and romantic as he normally is.

Driven by lust and anger, fucking into your pussy with his fingers until your body felt numb. Zayne’s not slow or merciful, far from it, he’s mean. The room is filled with the obscure squelching and gushing sound of your sopping pussy, the whines and wails you let out mingle with the already loud sounds.

“Z- zaynie-! ‘M s- sorry-!” You yelp, eyes rolled back so far.

The heat in you is stronger and overwhelming, daring to explode. However, you know Zayne won’t let you cum. Not with how. . distracting you were.

“Mmh hm. . you didn’t seem sorry when you were grinding your wet pussy against me during my meeting. .” Zayne reminds you, after each word a cruel thrust of his fingers follows behind.

“You don’t get to cum” he repeats, eliciting a sob from you at the thought of not being able to finally cum.

His fingers pop from your desperate cunt, you whine at the sudden loss of pleasure, fluttering around nothing. You let out a loud squeal, his hands spanking your puffy clit, not too hard yet not too gentle. Yet again, his fingers pushed back into your pussy, Zayne’s fingers sliding inhumanly fast out of your hole.

“Haah. . gonna cum!” You squeal, your breath ragged, chest rising and falling.

Just as you're about to cum, his fingers ropes from your tight pussy, leaving you aching, trembling, empty, and needy. Your eyes water again, fat tears threatening to fall, you mutter a quiet protest under your breath.

“Mmmh. . just a bit longer, honey. You’ll get it cum soon” Zayne reassures, tenderly rubbing sweet circles onto your clit, fingers sliding back into your creamy pussy.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎAll work belongs to only ME, jadestone2. Translating, plagiarism, copying, posting on another website, claiming as your work will NOT be tolerated, instant block₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧

˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ — TAG-LIST @rinkomei @whimsiecat @hon3yydew @kriscr0ss @Dummiebunny @staarflowerr @inkwellscholar @madison777x @Simphony @goobiescooby @Spookytyrantdeer @sunshimmery @prettypeachhh @nyx2021 @staying4straykids @bijuu-naginata @sillyhahaha @yanderecxre @for-hearthand-home @alexander-arcturus-black-lupin-r @Ame-chan-unofficial @McDepressed290 @malleus-draconias-rose @4k1to @thxtmarvelchick @KatiraLovely @ninahorikoshifr @rowazuhime_15 @rainbowsnowflake @priestessrosery @blcknebula @blogsforficslol @velourmobius @thequeenofcurses @bimbohkitty @rockyeatrock @voidofryomen

#lads smut #GIMME GIMME GIMME!!!#BRAT ENABLER SUPREMACY

1K notes · View notes

thalwri · 1 month ago

Text

LOOK AT HER B☆TT!

STARRING: xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus & caleb x reader

synopsis: you decide to be a bit of a tease to your boyfriend(s) and give them a good little peek. but you're freaks. of course it'll be more than just that. they'll always make sure you finish what you start. and if you can't, don't worry, they can take care of it for you!

warnings: porn no plot, backshots, inappropriate use of evol, super hard boners, masturbation, spanking, bathtub sex, public sex, cockwarming, dry humping, cunnilingus, panty fucking, choking, your men are just nasty freaks for you.

wc: 5.4k in total, roughly 1000 per li

an: happy belated birthday, @jadestone2!! here's one of the gifties i have for you <3. hope you all enjoy!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

XAVIER

There’s never a day where Xavier doesn’t believe the moments he wakes up from his naps aren’t blessings hidden as disruptions.

Last week, he woke up to see you watering his plants looking like a cute bunny in one of his many hoodies. Two days ago he woke up to you halfway through placing a pillow beneath his head because he somehow landed up sleeping on the floor.

Today, he woke up to you cooking lunch for both of you. In nothing but one of his old sweaters.

It’s a particularly short sweater, even for him. The way it rides up your curves each time you reach for the cabinet hypnotises him. It’s like he’s in a trance, the way he hops off the couch — bedhead and all — and stalks slowly behind you like a predator about to catch his prey.

Though, in this case, he is technically your prey.

The outfit was a deliberate move from you. You had planned it the moment you realised he was asleep on the couch. You decided that instead of waking him like you usually would to teach him how to cook without burning the apartment down, you’d instead give him a surprise to wake up to.

You blame ovulation, you just haven’t gotten to spend that much time with him since you’re both so so busy. Your fingers and vibrator definitely weren’t enough to substitute for the immense pleasure he gives you. Why not give him a little treat?

Xavier can feel himself throbbing in his pants by the time he reaches the kitchen. He doesn’t even have to glance down to know that his length is poking hard against his sweatpants forming a large tent. Judging from how the pulsation and heat down there is growing by the second, he’s definitely leaking precum from his slit.

His mouth waters at the sight of you simply humming to yourself while you chop away at the vegetables on the cutting board. Each and everything you do brings his cock to an almost painful throb.

The way your ass looks so soft and plush and barely hidden beneath his sweater— his sweater— boils deep in his core, so deep that all the blood rushing straight to his cock gets him lightheaded.

His hands start grabbing the air in state of being half-sleepy half-horny for you. If you could just bend over just a little bit—

And you do. Fuck yes, you do.

You drop the your knife to the floor, quickly hopping on the spot to avoid the blade. In your eyes, you dodged a very sharp bullet. In Xavier’s, you just drove him deeper into his insatiable abyss of hunger for you.

The jump alone pushed the sweater up as far as your waist, revealing that delicious curve of your ass, your hip dips that he loves to lick and grip on, and your spine— fuck, he loves staring at your back.

“Oh my fuck,” You cuss under your breath and bend over to pick it up. The remaining blood in his brain is about to shoot out of his nose. He could cum on the spot. Being blessed with such a sight of your cunt openly greeting him makes his knees buckle. Drool is dripping from the corners of his mouth. Fuck.

Xavier has to fight the urge to just moan out loud from the sight alone. The way his cock keeps bouncing inside his sweats rubbing his tip against the fabric doesn’t make the situation any easier for him. He’s glued to the spot, hypnotised, enamoured, pussy drunk before he even gets a taste of you.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” He mutters under his breath. Not even a blink later Xavier finds himself on his knees right behind you— he teleported because he was mentally stuck to the ground.

You obviously sense the change in the air, along with the new sense of warmth radiating right behind you.

“Xavier- oh.” You glance over your shoulder to find him nuzzling his head on your thighs, rambling incomprehensible words so fast you can barely catch on. A warm wet slither travels up your thighs and close to your core.

“Let me have a taste.” His whines. It would have been a command if it wasn’t for how high pitched his voice becomes each time he speaks. “Fuck, let me taste— please, let me taste."

Smiling to yourself, you sigh in relief that he finally woke up. “Of course, baby, take what you need.”

His mind snaps, shatters, splits into pieces—your affirmation is everything he needs to hear to plant his face between your cheeks and slither his tongue right into your cunt.

You both moan shamelessly from the contact, Xavier from tasting you and you from feeling you after so, so long. You hand immediately drops to his head to push him closer and closer, his hands fondling and squeezing your ass like a stress toy. It’s the only thing keeping him from stroking himself.

His hips jut up your leg in rhythm, bringing him to rut on you and spread his pre all over you through his soaked sweatpants.

“So good.” His muffled voice praises you. “You taste so good, fuck.”

Your grip tightens on the soft tufts of his hair, burning hot into his scalp from his fingers reaching your bud of nerves. He circles, pinches, and rubs at your clit like he’s desperately trying to make you cum as quickly as possible.

“Xavier,” You whine, practically grinding on his face making his head bob in tandem with your needy ruts. “Need you inside.”

Literally anything you say can be a buzzword in his ears. Xavier shoots up to his feet, ignoring the dizziness that strikes his body in a flash to push his sweatpants down low enough for his cock to audibly slap his abdomen.

His cock continuously bounces up and down, smacking his skin with his leaky tip to create a sticky string connecting his cock to his stomach. The lewd imagery is riveting, mind numbing, he can barely think straight. He doesn’t even notice you aligning his cock with your hand, stroking him while his brain goes dumb from desire.

“Snap out of it!” You hiss, practically losing balance from how much your pussy aches for him. “Xavier!”

A switch must have gone off to have him immediately slip inside until he bottomed out fully inside you. His arms wrap tight around your waist and he immediately ruts into you like he’s got a point to prove.

“‘M gonna make you feel real good, baby.” He groans, licking a wet stripe of spit up the length of your neck to your jaw. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

ZAYNE

Zayne can feel himself losing threads of his control. He can feel his cock beginning to strain against the confines of his slacks.

All because you’re bending over to pick up a fork he dropped.

It wasn’t on purpose, he swears. It was just that his hand slipped while he was talking to you. One long look at that beautiful face of yours, watching you laugh and his hand slips pushing the fork to the floor. He can’t help himself, he’s just so down bad when it comes to you.

What he hadn’t expected was for you to stand and reach to pick it up, despite him telling you it’s okay. What he really hadn’t seen coming was that you’d turn away from him and bend over, showing that you were barely wearing anything underneath your skirt.

And by barely, there was a very clear opening of the crotch area revealing your pussy to his eyes and his alone.

By the time you stand up straight, ice was creeping up his neck to cool his face down and reduce the blatant blush spreading across his face and ears.

“You okay?” You ask as you place the fork back down by his plate. You fight the muscles on your face to keep yourself from grinning. Zayne only nods as if the ice has stiffened his neck.

You chuckle to yourself, he’s so cute. If it isn’t the sugar he relishes in consuming whenever he gets the chance, it’s how flustered he gets. Cheeks reddened, struggling to maintain eye contact… it’s all so cute until he starts to get back at you for putting him in that state.

You begin to turn away until his hand catches your wrist, grip cold and needy. Before you can even ask, you find yourself being tugged towards him, hearing the faint ruffle of his pants being unzipped and then the soft schlick of your cunt being stuffed by his cock.

“Not a sound.” His voice is cold as steel yet dripping with desire, holding you down tight by the waist to stop you from moving. You can just feel him twitching inside you.

“I could’ve held back and waited until we reached the car but seeing you in that lace,” He adjusts, jutting his cock up deeper into you but not giving you the pleasure of fucking you good in the middle of the cafe. “Seeing that delicious pussy… you must be shameless.”

Feeling a slew of moans brimming at the back of your throat, you bite your lip hard enough to make it bleed just to hold yourself back. You wanted this the entire time but you didn’t expect it to happen this early. Not to mention literally sitting in a full cafe while cockwarming your lover.

If anything, the goal you had in mind was to get him riled up enough to humble you in his car. This, however, looks like it’ll be so much better.

“You’re getting so wet, my love.” Zayne whispers, feeling more at ease as his evol relaxes. His lips press hot kisses on the shell of your ear. His breath is hot on your skin and his once ice cold hands tighten their hold on your waist. “Is sitting on my cock in front of all these people turning you on?”

You won’t lie, it is turning on. You’re soaked through and through to the point where your arousal slick is dripping onto his pants. If it isn’t the way he’s teasing you in that hushed sexy voice of his, it’s his girthy length pulsating deep inside you.

Your walls involuntarily clench on him, making squelches loud enough for the couple in the booth behind you to hear. Zayne can feel his control slipping, feeling the plush of your ass so comfy on his lap, the way your pussy is just clamping tight on him— he just has to remind you to behave.

He raises your hips just a bit and slams you back down on his cock with a soft plap. You both have to swallow your noises of pleasure. Zayne can’t help himself but fondle your ass beneath your skirt, feeling that soft flesh that he loves so much.

“Zayne,” You whimper, feeling your core tighten in heat. “I need you.” There’s only so much discipline you have when it comes to cockwarming him— and being in a literal public space doesn’t make the matter any easier.

“Talk to me, darling.” Zayne murmurs, nudging your legs apart with his knee to grant himself access to your throbbing clit. Discreetly under the table, his fingers find your sensitive nub covered by sheer lace and gently rubs and teases you in cruel, rough circles.

“This is what you wanted, no?” He muses, now using two fingers to pinch and pull at your clit while his hips twitch into yours— a clear indicator of him being close. He would never admit it out loud, but the risk was turning him on too.

“After all that teasing, wearing those panties here for me to see, you didn’t think I’d give you just what you need?”

Before you can even muster a response, loud screams erupt around you followed by scrambles of people rushing to leave the cafe. You both snap out of your trance to see wanderers lurking outside the cafe and citizens rushing to escape.

Out of impulse, you move to stand up only to be held back down, deeper into Zayne’s length.

“Zayne, the—“

“Look, hunters have already been dispatched.”

You glance out the window to see a hoard of hunters already in battle against the wanderers, swiftly moving people out of the way. Mind still fuzzy from being stuffed, you ease back into his embrace.

“And since the cafe’s empty…” Zayne grins into your nape and presses a wet kiss on your skin. His hands roughly push your skirt high up your waist, relishing in the sight of your plump ass so close to him.

He pumps his cock right into your cunt, shamelessly moaning into your ear as you whine from his ministrations. “Let’s take care of this needy pussy.”

RAFAYEL

He probably shouldn’t have asked you to join him in the bath.

Yes, you hadn’t seen him in a week, and yes the only time you could see him without disruption was coincidentally his bathing time. Buuuuuut… a little bath wouldn’t hurt, right?

WRONG! Rafayel can feel his cock rising beneath the water. He’s struggling to think. Look at you, reaching for the shampoo on the little side table next to the bath. Stretching so nice that he can watch droplets of water cascade down your spine and fall into the crack between your plump ass cheeks.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s seen you naked more than enough times to be well accustomed to seeing your posterior— he’s painted you like this more than fifty times. But this particular sight is something that not even paint can accurately capture.

He watches you spread your legs wider, exposing your core right to his hungry eyes.

“Fuck.” Rafayel curses under his breath. He wraps his hand wraps tight around his cock, slowly pumping his shaft beneath the water.

“What’s wrong?” You muse, wriggling your hips just enough to make your ass bounce and smack the water.

Just enough to tease him. Just enough to make him lose his patience, grab you by the hips and fuck you so good that half the water in the tub ends up splattered on the floor— along with a few other fluids.

You know just how much Rafayel loves your ass, plump and soft just for him to fondle and nibble on. You’d found paintings scattered around his studio and even more bound within his sketchbooks, all having a small note of his insatiable thirst for you.

Don’t get him started on the view he gets when he takes you from behind.

He’s shamelessly stroking his cock, feeling the heat of unbearable pleasure surge through his veins. He has a very strong feeling you know what you’re doing, rudely moving like that for him. Precum mixes with water and his breath goes heavy.

“Is it that hard to get shampoo?” He huffs in a huskier tone, one you easily recognise as him getting more aroused. “Can’t be that hard, cutie.”

“Can’t seem to reach it,” You deliberately whine, dramatically arching your back for the water to collide with your skin like a wave crashing with the shore. All that work and Rafayel just doesn’t seem to budge.

“Uh huh.” He’s in a daze. Eyes locked like glue on your ass, watching your sweet nectar start to drip from your core, almost as if your pussy could sense the rise of desire in his cock. You are his bride, after all. It’s only natural to share each other’s desires.

“Just— just keep trying.” His words slur as the sounds of his hand stroking his cock grow louder just enough for you to hear. “You’ll get it.”

The splashing and rhythmic pumps definitely catch your awareness, and that only irritates you more. Why isn’t he doing anything about it? You softly grunt and snatch the shampoo from the counter, ensuring you lean back directly above his crotch.

“Got it!” You grin and glance over your shoulder. And my, my, my, is he a sight for sore eyes.

His cheeks are flushed redder than a tomato, his hand shamelessly jerks away at his length to pleasure himself while his eyes are locked on your ass.

“You were ignoring me on purpose!” You huff, hitting his face with water to catch his attention.

“Do you even know what you do to me when you act like this?” Rafayel releases his cock from his grip and holds your hips to align your pussy with his throbbing length. “I just had to wait for you to come back.”

You can feel your eyes twitching. “I wanted you to lean over me and fuck me senseless, Raf, why do you think I was taking so long?!”

“Oh.” There he goes with that faux shock. “I thought you were just struggling. Wasn’t really surprised. But now that I know what you want…”

He swiftly pulls you onto him while raising his hips, filling you to the brim with his cock. He doesn’t waste any time to start snapping his hips to pound his cock as deep as it can possibly go— which isn’t that hard considering you’re soaked like a fucking sponge.

Your eyes roll as soon as he hits that delicious sensitive spot instantly, moans ripping from your throat to echo around his bathroom like a lewd symphony. His leaky cockhead continuously pokes that gummy spot as if it’s target practice. You can barely keep up with how hard he’s going, your balance keeps slipping from being half submerged with water despite the death grip you have on the edges of the tub.

“Rafa—“ Choke on your moans, practically hypnotised by the way the water moves with you, drenching you, him, and the floor completely. His thick length just stretches you out so so good you can barely think straight, your only ambition is to squeeze around him tight enough to memorise each vein— as if you haven’t already.

“Not— fuck— not gonna last long—“ Even better for you. You want to have him fill you up, that’s what you’ve been aching for the entire time.

“Don’t hold back,” You squeeze around his cock tighter forcing your walls to clench as hard as you can, stringing out a noise from his lips that sounds like a mix of a moan and a whimper. “Want you to cum deep inside.”

The water jumps out of the bathtub and up Rafayel’s thighs as your hips roll in tandem with his thrusts, landing a noisy slap of his sacks against your clit— only bringing you closer to unravel on his cock.

The schlap schlap schlap of soaked skin colliding in an obscene tempo begins to create a symphony in his head that he forces himself to memorise. The pieces he could create from the sounds of your pleasure could make audiences break down into tears.

“Gonna fill you up good,” Rafayel muses right into your ear. “All that teasing… you deserve it, don’t you?”

You can barely speak from how hard you’re going, grinding your hips on his to chase your pleasure while bringing him to his own undoing. All you can do is nod, and that’s all the signal he needs to keep going.

And he won’t stop for a while.

SYLUS

You have no business bending down like that.

Especially not on his bed. In one of his many tailored shirts that barely cover your torso because it keeps slipping off your shoulder. Bending over his bed to reach for your book.

Why were you bending over in such a scandalous position? It’s simple, really. You threw your book off the bed in the midst of your cuddle/reading session because you read an unexpected plot twist. A very erotic plot twist.

Sylus had made a soft yet audible whine when you pried his hands off your waist but his little noises — which only you have the privilege of hearing — fell to silence when you crawled to the edge of the bed and leaned right over the edge, leaving the image of you straddling air for him to consume.

“Need help, sweetie?” Sylus muses as he watches your struggle, both amused and aroused. A very familiar hardening length is starting to push out of his robe’s parted front— and he conveniently decided not to wear anything apart from his robe tonight.

“Nope.” You huff over your shoulder. The book is more than an arm’s length away— why did you throw it so aggressively?

You’d been in that position for longer than you intended, fully absorbed on the goal of taking your book. What’s taking you so long was the fact that you are about to fall off the bed. Feeling gravity attempt to pull you to the floor (again), you swiftly wiggle your ass as you move your legs bit by bit to push you further into the bed.

All Sylus can see is the ricochet of your soft cheeks with each movement. It takes so much deep restraint to not crawl to you and bite your ass just for the fun of it.

But he’ll have to distract himself even if his eyes refuse to look away. “How’s the search going?”

“Terribly.” You huff— but it sounds more like a suppressed moan from stretching your body to abnormal lengths to reach for that damn book.

That just makes it worse for your poor kindred lover. His hard on reveals itself by pushing his robe out of the way— that’s just how strong his love and desire is for you when you unintentionally tempt him. Now imagine what happens when it’s deliberate.

He doesn’t even try to touch himself, knowing the eventual slick noises will catch your attention. It’s becoming unbearable to watch you in the midst of your hunt, trying to keep his eyes on you when all he can see is your arched back accentuating the curve of your ass all while his length twitches and leaks in his peripheral.

Each movement of your reaching forward or rebalancing yourself made your flesh jiggle. Every. Single. Movement. That plush, softness that he’d always grip on tight when you clench on him hard, or that he’d smack soft or hard when he aches to hear you moan so deep in his ear that it’s engraved into his every thought.

When you move one more time, if you jiggle that ass one more time— and you eventually do— Sylus closes his eyes in blissful resignation.

Fuck it.

Smack!

It’s been hours. Hours since he pounced on you.

His hand collides with your cheeks to watch that delicious, cock throbbing ricochet that makes him harder and harder than he’d like to admit.

You’re hours deep into him being deep inside you, still bent well over the edge of your bed with the only thing keeping you in place being his powerful grip on your hips.

“I feel like you did that on purpose.” Sylus purrs and pulls your hips flush against his to ensure you can feel the curve of his cock dive into your pussy with each powerful thrust. “You could’ve hopped off the bed— ffuck— and yet-“ smack! “You chose to be a tease instead.”

You can only respond with a giggle that sounded more like a moan. Blood is rushing to your head like a current, your hands grip the bedding to claw at every time he pounds your weeping pussy harder and harder just how you like it.

Was it intentional? Maybe.

In your defence, you did actually throw the book out of shock. You were about to simply hop off the bed to make it quick but you had stopped and came up with the idea to tease your lover. Just a little bit. You did neglect the fact that you weren’t wearing anything under his shirt that you wore and that the book made you wetter than you’d like to admit.

Another thing you underestimated was that Sylus is down horrendously bad for you. So down bad that seeing your pussy glisten in the dimmed lights while you’re bent over the edge of the bed would drive him mad.

“Took— took you long enough!” You whined as a harder push of his hips almost threw your off the bed, bringing you closer to your edge (for the fifth time tonight).

The position you are in is just too good. The bed’s already soaked through and through with cum from both of you that somehow managed to leak out of your hole while he’s been plowing you. Your skin is warm and sticky with sweat and slick adding extra deliciously maddening friction for every time your hips collide.

Sylus is grinding— no, rutting on your ass, moaning loud into your ear from how soft and cushy it feels, how your pussy literally swallows his cock and refuses to let him out.

“Keep squeezing me like this and we’ll end up making a big mess, Kitten.” He seethes, bending over your body to lick the shell of your ear while his cock still ravages you, dragging through your gummy walls until its shape is ingrained in you.

“S-Sy!” You whine. You can feel yourself falling. At an instant, a gust of black and red mist swirls round your body and raises you both to keep you in place.

“Relax, I got you.” That purr is more than enough to make you cum again. “I’m not done yet. You teased me with this pretty ass of yours.” Another smack! hits your skin— you’re sure it’ll leave a mark of his hand.

“I plan to make the most of it tonight.”

CALEB

He can literally smell your arousal in the air.

It’s not even like you’re doing anything. He can just smell it.

That sweet musk that he chases to inhale whenever he does your laundry. That delicious scent the snorts into his brain whenever his face is locked between your legs slurping up your slick to satiate his thirst that only you can provide.

You aren’t doing anything. Just lying on the couch. Legs spread. Wearing as little as a crop top and one of his favourite panties. One that he’s definitely used for other purposes.

Lying on the couch with a pillow underneath your abdomen to keep you comfy while you scroll away on your phone. Lying on the couch with your ass up in the air, panties bunching in to accentuate your curvaceous form.

You aren’t doing anything. And that’s the problem.

Your legs hang casually over his lap, directly above his crotch. You can literally feel his boner growing beneath you but you’re playing it off, pretending you don’t even notice. Pretending you don’t even notice the strain in his voice, the need brewing in his core like a pot boiling over onto the stove.

“D-Do you mind, uh—“ Caleb stops himself before a moan slips out from his lips. His knuckles are about to turn white from how hard he’s gripping the couch to stay in place. Anything to stop his hips from acting out of their own accord.

“Huh?” You stretch your legs right over his bulge, making sure you rub just enough to build up friction. You’re such a tease.

Caleb’s rendered speechless. He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing heavy through his nostrils to gather some level of control. Jokes on him, that flew out the window the moment he saw your ass.

He can’t seem to stop staring at it. Seeing how you naturally get wet just from being within his proximity, how your slick coats your underwear and exaggerates the puff of your pussy lips especially when you’re horny, how he can literally smell it—

“Caleb?”

His throat goes dry hearing his name leave your lips. Not even, he’s salivating. Literally dribbling from the mouth like he saw a meal after weeks of not eating. He might as well assume that is the case.

“Yeah?” He chokes out while forcing himself to pull his gaze away from your ass. What was he trying to ask earlier? “Oh— you mind moving your legs a bit? I need to stretch.”

“Stretch?” You innocently ask — but that grinch-like grin slapped on your face only widens. “You just sat down.”

That is just all the confirmation he needs to know you’re doing this intentionally. He sighs and grips your thigh. Tight.

“I’m going to turn over and eat you out through your panties if you don’t let me stand up.”

You didn’t expect him to fold that quickly. Usually, when either of you play this teasing game, it can take up to hours for either of you to fold— be it literally grinding on each other or using subtle innuendoes. This time, he looks extra needy for you.

You turn to look at him over your shoulder, wondering if he’s joking. He’s not. His eyes are practically turning another colour from all that arousal brimming deep within him, not to mention the his hard length raging in his pants.

“Yeah?” You tilt your head, gracing him with a Cheshire grin. Caleb doesn’t even bother speaking. He plants his face right onto your clothed cunt while the rest of his body follows suit, laying comfortably in a makeshift sniper position to eat your pussy until you soak the couch.

“Fuck yeah.” His breath is hot on your skin, prickling goosebumps all over your body.

He can hear the squelching gush of your arousal spill out of your pussy like a bursting faucet. His tongue slurps up a taste of your desire through your panties, suckling as much of your taste through the fabric as he can.

He might ruin this pair of panties but he’s more than happy to take you out to buy replacements— just to ruin them later.

Your taste is divine, heavenly. He could worship you every damn day if you ask him to. He’d do anything to drown in your taste, your scent, in you. It all just feels too good not to rut his cock on the bed like a dog in heat.

“Oh, fuck, Caleb,” You sigh into the cushion trapped between your arms, bucking your hips back for him to ravage you completely. No matter how many times either of you try to tease each other, nothing beats the satisfaction that comes from breaking.

The way his clothed cock just perfectly fit in the junction between the cushion and couch is mouth watering. Eating you out while the stimulation going off in his cock like alarms is more than enough to make him cum, but he’d never waste his seed on something that isn’t you.

Caleb reluctantly pulls his face away from your core and strokes himself while he aligns his cockhead with your sobbing cunt. “I think I’m gonna ruin these panties, baby.”

“No, they’re my favourite!” You whine at the feeling of his cock rubbing up and down your clothed cunt, the stimulation from how wet you are makes your back arch like a cat. “Don’t you dare.”

“Don’t worry,” You can practically hear the smile spread on his face as he leans over you to press his cockhead into your cunt, pushing his panty-covered tip inside. “I’ll just fuck your panties a little bit. Then I’ll give you just what you need.”

The mere heat of his tip throbbing inside you drives you into a lust-dazed frenzy. You hump your hips in tandem with his short, torturous thrust, relishing in his swallowed moans from how your soaked panties rub on him just right.

“So tight,” He whines into your ear, arm slithering under your head to put you in a gentle headlock, just the way you like it. “Pussy’s so tight— fuck—“

Caleb’s arm slides between you to tug your panties to the side then slides his cock right inside, slow and deep. The tight fill just burns so good that you both make noises loud enough for anyone outside the house to hear.

“This is so mmmuch better,” You smile into his arm.

“Yeah?” The muscles of his biceps and triceps bulge as he tightens his headlock on you. You choke on your breath just as his cock starts to pound into your cunt, wet plaps from his hip smacking your ass sounding in the living room. “Good. We’re gonna stay like this. Nice ’n snug. Til neither of us can think."

a/n: this was so fun to write, LET ME BE FREAKY!

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thalwri · 1 month ago

Text

THIS ONE EATS A BIT TOO GOOD!!!!!!!!!

Salt on your Skin

Summary: You’ve lived your whole life in a sleepy coastal village where nothing ever changes until he arrives. A stranger with silver hair. He shouldn’t matter. He’s just another tourist, just another passing face. But the way he looks you, the way he listens… it makes you feel seen in a way that terrifies you. Between the salt air, the mango-sweet afternoons, and his voice whispering promises you’re not ready to believe, you start to wonder: what if this forgotten place isn’t where your story ends, but where it begins?

Character: Sylus x f!reader / you

Gender — ☆ AU, romantic, fluff, intimacy, slow burn, slice of life, summer romance, sexual content (nsfw), smut with feelings, light angst, Hurt & Comfort

Word count: 19.7k | Reading Time: 77 min | AO3 Sorry that this thing is so fucking long.

🎧 "Salt on your Skin" Spotify Playlist -> A/N: You’ve waited long enough, I won’t keep you. I’ll be hinting at songs I listened to while writing certain scenes. If you don’t feel like pausing to click on each one, no worries—just hit play and enjoy. Sorry that it got so fucking long. It was my intention to create such long fanfic. *In this story, the character referred as "Reader" or "You" is from an unnamed cost village, the specific location isn't relevant to the story. While Spanish is the character's native language, and they mainly will speak it in the story, most of the dialogue will be presented in English for ease of reading. I just display thing in Spanish with translation, for funny moments and relevant emotional dialogue. Also I tried my best to catch the grammatical errors. (＞﹏＜)

Taglist: @blessdunrest @xxsyluslittlecrowxx @voidsylus @thechaoticarchivist @leftpoetrymoon @madam8 @stxrrielle @terriblesoup @mansonofmadness @leftpoetrymoon @jadeloverxd @nutshellera @zaynessdarling @sylusgirlie7 @mothlillies @deathrye @mansonofmadness @peascribbles @pdacex @eolivy

Salt on your Skin

🎧 "Salt on your Skin" Spotify Playlist

You grow up in a small fisherman village, south, nothing spectacular, nothing loud. Sun kissing your skin, salt tangled in your hair, the smell of the ocean was your everyday. Palms swayed lazily in the wind. Cactus grew wild by the roadside. The earth was dry, cracked in places, but always warm. Sand found its way into everything: your shoes, your sheets, your soul. Nothing ever really happened here. Nothing special, at least. Not many people cross this place, just the occasional wanderer and backpacker, drawn in by the silence, the stillness, the illusion of escape.

And it is beautiful. To the outsider, it’s paradise. A hidden postcard painted in blues and golds, for all who pass by and leave, carrying the souvenirs, the sand, and probably a peeling sunburn back to wherever they came from. But you? You never left. Maybe for college and for short trips not far away. You picked a degree because someone said it was practical—but what’s practical in a place where everything moves slowly and nothing ever changes? So you came back with a diploma in hand, a broken heart from some idiot and little by little, you buried your dreams. Right there beside the notebooks you used to fill with sketches of faraway cities and impossible futures. Right beside the plans you whispered under your breath when you still believed your life could unfold somewhere else.

Now you help your parents at the store or your work at the beach bar. You tell yourself it’s not so bad because it isn’t. This place raised you and cradled you. But sometimes… When the sun dips low and the air turns heavy with memory… You wonder what else your life could’ve been. You try not to want too much. Having dreams, in a place like this, is the first way you start to go crazy if they're too big. It feels so difficult to find the right way to break free.

Your days follow the rhythm of the tide. You wake with the sun, light slipping through the shutters in pale golden stripes, warming the terracotta tiles before your bare feet even touch the floor. Coffee first, always strong, slightly bitter, brewed in a tinny bialetti older than you. You sip it slowly in the kitchen where the radio was always on. The village is small enough that everyone knows your name, your business, and what you looked like in every awkward stage of growing up. You can’t walk five steps without a nod, a wave, or someone shouting:

“¡Dile a tu mamá que tengo listo su pedido” (“Tell your mom I have her order ready.”)

You smile and keep walking. You help out at the family store during the hotter hours. Selling sunscreen, postcards, cold drinks, cheap towels for tourists who forgot theirs. Sometimes you sit in the doorway fanning yourself with an magazine while your father tries to fix the old A/C and your mother swears in the background. And then there was your second job, unofficial but necessary. Since you've returned, you've been saving, for that eventual emergency plan, if your heart finally found the courage to leave. So you stand in that beach bar almost every day during the high season.

Plastic chairs half-buried in sand, a fridge that hums louder than the music, and drinks poured from memory. You know who likes extra lime. Who never tips. Who only comes to watch the sunset alone. It’s simple. Predictable. There’s comfort in that. But sometimes, when you’re rinsing out glasses or wiping sand off tables, you catch yourself watching the horizon. Something out there is calling you, something that still believes in the girl who once drew maps of cities she’s never seen. But then you shake it off. Because this is home. This is yours and if nothing ever changes…

Until that one afternoon.

Is hot like always, so you are wearing shorts and your bikini under the top. Ready to cool off whenever you need. Preparing some drinks, getting ice cubes and cleaning tables. That’s when you notice him. A tall man with sunglasses sitting at one table with an umbrella. He’s definitely going to get roasted with that skin color, you think. You know how tourists are so, you sigh but still you approach with cold iced water and place it in front of him. “If you stay long, please don't forget to use sunscreen. We have some here if you need.”

He just lifts his head slowly behind the lenses. And somehow, you feel like you’re the one under the sun now. He lifts the glass slowly, takes a sip, and sets it down and keeps watching the ocean. A moment later, you hear a soft, almost too quiet “Thank you”. That’s it.

Weird. You shrug it off. Tourists are strange sometimes. Some just want peace. Others… are well yeah just strange. You go back to refill the drinks fridge and emptying trash cans. Around this time of the year it can be a bit busy, but mostly on the weekends.

A breeze sweeps through, bringing the scent of seaweed and coconut sunscreen. You hum a little, a tune only half-formed, and focus on your tasks. Sometimes you dance behind the bar to some songs. Is a easy way to make the hours pass by and keep yourself busy. But today, a strange feeling doesn’t leave. That sensation that someone’s watching you. Not in a creepy way but more out of… curious.

Later, you bring drinks to another table, and when you glance back toward him, he’s still there. A notebook sits on this lap in front of him, he’s sketching or writing. You can’t quite tell. Odd choice for this heat. You observe him a bit longer, taking in the silver hair, the shape of his nose, the sharp jawline. The defined muscles along his arms; clearly a sporty guy. In the heat of the day, he’s wearing a black linen button-down shirt and long white pants. The view of him sinks deeper into your mind. One of the fancy tourists, no doubt. But… What does he do here?

A small smile appears on his face. Did he write something funny? You pause mid-step, pretending to adjust the tray in your hands, but your eyes flick toward him again. The pen in his hand stills for a heartbeat. It stirs something in you. Curiosity takes over you with persistent. You wonder what kind of thoughts live in that notebook. You’re about to turn back when he lifts his eyes from the paper and shifts slightly toward you, propping one elbow on the table and resting his head against his hand.

“¿Creciste aquí?” (“You grew up here?”)

It catches you off guard. Did he just speak your language?

“Sí” (“Yeah, I do,”) you reply, the words came out slow, drawn out by your confusion.

He closes the notebook, the pen slipping between the pages. His sunglasses stay on, but you can feel the weight of his gaze.

“Debe ser genial” (“Must be nice,”) he says, almost wistful. “Crecer con el océano como tu patio trasero.” (“To grow up with the ocean as your backyard.”)

The comment was harmless but… your eyes were still on him, searching for an accent you don’t hear. No, there wasn’t any. It was like he’d lived here his whole life, like he’d sat on these plastic chairs a hundred times, melting under the sun, playing cards with the elders, gossiping with the ladies, and running barefoot through the sand as a child. But you’ve never seen him before.

The air shifts. There’s something about him you can’t place. Maybe you should take a break and get some water. You cross your arms, standing your ground. “Are you just passing through?”

He smiles “Something like that.”

That wasn't an answer, definitely not a straight one.

“Honestly, you look more like someone who belongs at a luxury resort than in a remote place like this.” Ups… That was a bit too direct. You tilt your head, trying to be a bit more polite this time. “Well, there is not much to see here. I hope you enjoy the quietness though.”

He laughed, and finally takes off his sunglasses. You get lost in his eyes: red, deep, impossible. Like twilight caught in glass. The world seems to slow. The wind rises slightly, brushing against your skin like a whisper, stirring the salt and sunlight around you. You got trapped for a moment that felt more like an eternity. The intensity of his eyes. You blink a few times. You decide to ignore whatever is fluttering in your chest. Your shift just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

“You got a name?” you ask with an arrogant tone, your chin tilted just enough to make it a challenge.

He smirks. “Depends who's asking.”

You roll your eyes. Of course he’s flirting. You know how this goes, always some smooth-talking tourist thinking the local girl is part of the experience: “Wild, free and exotic women.” You could throw up.

Not going to insist if he is that kind of guy…

You huff and turn away as the manager calls you, yelling for more napkins or limes or whatever crisis the little storage shed has today. By the time you come back, the man is gone. A bit irritated, you finished your shift. You wanted to know his name, because those eyes will be hard to forget. But in the end, it's another tourist that comes and goes, so who cares?

Only… The next day, he’s there again. Same chair. Same sunglasses. Same notebook.

You try not to react. Just grab a tray of drinks and keep your head down. But you feel it, the burn of his attention. The strange, steady way he watches you without saying a word, like he’s reading a story only he can see written on your skin. You can’t exactly kick him out. To be fair, he’s not doing anything wrong. Just sitting there, quiet and scribbling in a worn leather-bound notebook. He never bothered you with more words than necessary, just with his simple order.

He returns the day after, and the next one too. Day after day.

You’d notice another group of girls, tourists with their bright bikinis and confident smiles, approach his table once more. Was it already the third time today? They'd lean in, their voices a little too loud, trying to flirt, trying to get his number.

Bored behind the bar, the clinking of glasses and the distant murmur of waves providing a dull backdrop, you'd watch the scene unfold. You'd find yourself absentmindedly munching on some salty peanuts, watching how the girls creatively or rather uncreatively tried to get from him some kind of reaction. But he never paid them much attention. He'd just offer a polite, almost distant smile, and then his gaze would drift past them, straight across the sunlit space, directly to you. It was as if he knew you were enjoying the theater.

This time, he finally gets up, placing the exact amount for his drinks on the counter. He could at least tip me… Asshole. With a casual wave, he said, “See you tomorrow,” before disappearing into the shimmering heat of the afternoon. You hate how that makes something flicker in your chest.

By the fifth day, it’s getting under your skin. You don't even know why it bothers you so much. More than one tourist has spent several days in a row at this bar, but he's different somehow. They can call you crazy, but you have the distinct feeling that he's coming to see you.

“Okay,” you mutter to yourself after drying off your arms behind the bar. “What’s your deal, big guy?” you turn around to him. He catches your eyes. Notebook in hand walking toward you.

“I'm just enjoying the sunshine. Is that a crime, sweetie? ” His voice is smooth, playful. He’s testing you.

You straighten your back. “Don’t call me that.”

He grins, tilting his head. “Then tell me your name.”

You don’t blink. “No.”

He chuckles and shrugs, like that settles it. “Sweetie, it stays.”

“Does that line usually work on all girls?”

He raises a brow, leaning one elbow casually on the bar. “Which girls?”

“Like the ones from yesterday,” you scoff. “Bet you tell all of them they’re special.”

His smile falters for half a second.

“I don’t like wasting my time,” he states, a hint of challenge in his tone. “Are you jealous?”

You want to roll your eyes so hard they might get stuck. You want to mock his question. But the unexpected flutter in your gut throws you off. Instead, with a frustrated sigh, you toss a dish towel onto the counter and turn away. Organizing the glasses on the shelf. “Order something or move, I’ve stuff to do.”

“You always talk to your clients like that?” he asked casually.

You pause for a moment. Damn him. “Well, you don’t have to flirt with me to get your coffee.” You muttered, your tone as flat as you could manage. There’s a beat of silence. Then, you hear the faintest scoff, more breath than sound. You glance over your shoulder, just enough to catch the slow curve of his mouth. His eyes glint with amusement.

“Who said it was flirting?” He tilts his head. You were already regretting giving him a reaction.. “But…” His voice dips lower, velvet and sin. “...would you like to see the difference, sweetie?”

Your heart stutters. You scoffed and you pretended not to hear the pet name. And marched off to clean a nonexistent stain on the espresso machine before he could see the flush climbing up your checks. For the rest of the day, you cursed him. And cursed yourself most of all for almost wanting to ask what the difference would feel like.

On your day off, you try not to think about him. Really. You swear you don’t care. You’re just… curious. That’s all. Wondering, maybe, if he showed up again. You imagine him sitting there, legs crossed, sunglasses on, notebook open like always. Maybe he’s gone. Maybe he finally got bored of this sleepy place and your uneven service. That would be good, right? Maybe that means your brain can shut up now.

I shouldn't care.

You grab your towel, a bottle of cold water, and your favourite pair of flip-flops and head out. Not to the main beach where the kids yell and the old ladies gossip under their hats. No. You take the winding dirt trail, sun on your back, cactus needles lining the path like prickly guards. You duck under hanging branches and hop down the rocky slope, slipping once like always and catching yourself just in time. It's a longer walk, but getting there is...

...is, your little secret. The cove. Small, quiet, framed by cliffs and half-hidden by palms. It feels like a pool but big enough to swim. The ocean is glass today, turquoise and endless. You drop your towel on the warm rock, kick off your flip flops and remove your clothes. This… this is yours. No tourists. No bosses. No strange men with sharp smiles and too many secrets. You dive in, the water cold and perfect, wrapping around you like silk. You swim out until the world goes quiet. Just the splash of your limbs and the lull of the tide.

You turn toward the shore, slick hair clinging to your neck, water dripping down your back. You’re just about to wade out... You freeze. There he is. Sitting on the rocks, on your rocks. You grip the edge of a stone, still in the water. You can't be serious. Of all the places in this world, on this piece of earth, exactly at the same moment as you're here…

“How?” you demand, brows furrowed.

He barely moves, still perched like a damn king on your favourite spot, one leg stretched out, the other bent. White T-shirt and shorts this time, sea breeze tugging at the hem. Of course he looks good. Too good. Effortless.

“How what?” he asks, tilting his head just slightly so the sun hits the curve of his jaw. He doesn’t even take the sunglasses off.

“This place,” you snap. “How do you know about this place?”

“It’s easy when you can talk to people or…” He pulls out his phone and waves it lightly. “You know, you use social media.”

You click your tongue, annoyed. Probably some old tagged picture from a local, maybe even one of yours. Is it really just coincidence and bad luck?

“Fuck you,” you mutter, more at yourself than him. You can’t blame him. But gods, it stings. You embarrassed yourself yesterday, thinking he was flirting with you and now you have to see his face on your day-off. This is a punishment.

He grins. “I could leave, if it bothers you but you’ll have to say please.”

“You’re such an asshole.” You say without hesitation.

He laughed lazily. “I have heard that a few times.”

You climb out of the water, dripping and fierce, and march right past him, snatching your towel. Drying off your face. “You’re ruining my sacred space,” you declare.

“Sacred, huh?” he murmurs, still watching you. “Didn’t mean to trespass on holy ground. Either way, since I’m here…” He flips open the notebook. “Mind that I stay a bit more? It was a long walk.”

You pause. Half wrapped in irritation and a very dangerous, very inconvenient curiosity. In all the years finding a tourist here, in your place was extremely rare. Some of your friends and people of the village used this place as well. But in the end, most of the time, you're alone here.

“Do whatever you want,” you mutter, turning your back on him as you dig through your bag for your diver goggles. You don’t look at him again.

You slip the goggles over your head, adjust the strap, and wade back into the water. As soon as you dive, the world changes. The sun dims, the sea hums around you, and everything slows. Fish dart between rocks, flashes of silver and blue. You follow them deeper into the cove, letting the water strip away the heat of his gaze, the smugness of his voice. Down here, it’s just you. Every so often, you surface for air, and he’s still there. Legs stretched out, notebook resting on his knee, watching you like you’re some rare creature he stumbled across and hasn’t figured out if he should leave alone or chase.

The coral shimmered beneath you like a dream, sunbeams piercing the water in long, golden threads. Tiny silver fish darted between sea fans, and swaying anemones moved in slow, hypnotic rhythms. You floated there, suspended in the hush, arms outstretched, breath held tight in your lungs, letting the stillness soak into your bones. Being in the water makes you feel free. All these creatures can swim, leave, and be wherever they want. They migrate without fear, camouflaging themselves with the seabed. You are jealous of such a level of freedom.

Distracted by your own thoughts, you didn't notice the shadow approaching. You turned your head, and there, gliding just a few meters away, was a massive stingray. Its wings undulated as it passed, alarmingly close. You gasped for air. Big mistake.

Saltwater rushed in, burning your throat. You kicked upward, desperate for air, but your limbs felt slow, heavy, panic clawing at your chest. A strong hand wrapped around your arm. You broke the surface with a choking gasp, coughing hard as you ripped your goggles off. You barely noticed you were trembling, clinging to whoever had you, water spilling from your lips.

“Are you okay?” His voice was close.

You nodded through the coughing, breathing in hard, rough gulps. “Y-Yeah… yeah.”

When you finally look up, you don’t find the lazy smirk he always wears. Concern, drawn across his face like a shadow. His brows are furrowed, mouth slightly parted, as if he wants to say something but doesn’t know where to start. His gaze searched your face.

Your mouth parted, breath still shaky, and for a moment, you forgot how to form words. He tilted his head slightly, still holding your arm. You were too close. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your lips. Close enough to see the drop of seawater sliding down his neck, tracing the sharp line of his collarbone. You almost lean in, just a little. The impulse hits you fast and stupid, heat rising too quick. You squirm in his arms, suddenly aware of every inch between you.

You clear your throat and pull away. He lets go without a word, and you swim back toward the rocky entrance with the energy left you had. You haul yourself out, grabbing your towel and slipping on your shorts. Your heart’s pounding, angry and confused. You want to leave. Double strike. Not only did you embarrass yourself, but he had also saved your life from drowning. If he hadn't showed up… You stopped.

Fuck… I owe him my life.

That makes you turn in the exact moment when the sun catches his skin as he walks out of the sea. He runs a hand through his wet hair, squeezing the water out with a slow drag of his fingers. In his other hand, he holds a pair of diving goggles. You were damn right, gods, were you right. Now that he’s standing there in nothing but swim shorts, there’s no doubt about it. His body is sculpted.

Shoulders broad, chest defined, muscles honed from more than just casual swimming. The drops trace delicate lines down his torso, catching the light, glinting like it’s showing off for you. You blink. Your eyes shamelessly are scanning him. He has such a big ass and if that's big, what about his...? You glaze dropped briefly over his crotch. Just a glimpse and then you drag your eyes back up to somewhere safe, somewhere less dangerous at least.

“Thank you,” you say almost too low “For helping me...” You hesitate.

“No need to thank me.” You started coughing again. He made you sit down and handed you your bottle of water. Having him so close, you realized he looked worried. So you hadn't imagined it before. You should worry about yourself, but your eyes couldn't stop scanning his features. Yes, his nose really was beautiful. The length of his eyelashes, the faint dark circles under his eyes. Was it because he didn't sleep well, or were they natural? What did he even do? Was he some kind of businessman? No, he looked more like a model. Thousands of questions crossed your mind…

It's not your business.

But still...

“How can I compensate you?” you asked, finally recovered.

He paused, then took his own towel, draping it around his neck. “Help me explore this place.”

“The village?” you asked surprised by such an absurd request. “There’s nothing to explore.”

“There is,” he replies, calm as ever.

You frowned. “What would that be? This place has like… three alleys and a very enthusiastic goat.”

“Sweetie, isn’t exploration what you do when you don’t know what you’re looking for?” There it was again, that smug little note in his voice.

“You always talk like that?”

His smirk sharpened, eyes glinting with mischief. “Do you always look at someone’s crotch?”

Your mouth fell open, he noticed. You straightened, refusing to give him the satisfaction to admit that you did it. “Fine, I’ll be your guide.”

He smirked, unabashedly pleased. “Good. So, should I stick with Sweetie or start to calling you Miss Guide now?”

You shot him a dry look, already turning away. “Try it, and I’ll kick you off a cliff.”

He laughed, unbothered. A beat passed, your steps crunching against the sand. “How should I call you?”

“Sylus,” he said simply.

You nod, repeating it silently in your head.

Sylus.

And for some reason, hearing it made something shift—this is like the opening page of a fresh new book. And you’ve never been great at turning down a good story.

Days pass like waves and a little too easy to get lost in.

At first, you meant to show him the typical tourist stops—the scenic overlook, the main plaza, that one beach every guidebook lists first. But after the second spot, he leaned close and said, “I’ve seen all of these before. Try harder, sweetie.” So you started to improvise.

You showed him the old boat wreck tucked behind the rocks, half-sunken, forgotten by time, but not by you. The kind of place only someone who’s grown up here would know. Then came the spot with the best grilled fish and amazing fresh fruit juice, and the owner who winked at you every time like she knew something you didn’t. You take him to the cliffs no one climbs but you, another one of your secret places to scream into the wind and feel free. He stands at the edge, hands in pockets, peering down like he’s measuring how far he’d fall. Asking if you were really going to kick off the cliff. “It’s still an option,” you muttered, but your lips betrayed you with a smile.

Both walked down to the pier, where the old fishermen had already settled in for the morning, as they always were, lined up with their tattered hats and leathery skin, smoking, drinking cheap beer, swapping stories that blurred the line between memory and myth. It was also one of the best spots to jump into the water when the tide was right.

Sylus seemed genuinely interested in their fishing; leaning in, asking questions, even tossing out a few jokes that made one of the men laugh. You watched him exchange words with ease. If he was one of those rich types, shouldn’t he have more expensive hobbies? Golf, yachts, or something with polished marble and champagne? One of the old men turned toward you suddenly, his voice rough with years and sea air.

“Me agrada tu amigo” (I like your friend!) he shouted, grinning through missing teeth and raising his beer in salute.

Sylus, just slips into your days without ever asking to. It was stupid how easily he fit into the cracks of your life. He starts waiting until your shift ends, arms crossed, a lazy smile on his lips like this is normal. It's definitely making your days more entertaining, if it weren't for the fact that the neighborhood is starting to notice. Of course they do; someone always does. You ignore the comments as best you can.

“¿Quién es ese muchacho tan guapo con el que anda?” (Who is that handsome boy you are walking with?)”

“He’s paying me to be his guide.” You said to the people every now and then. It’s not a lie. It’s also not the truth. You don’t explain more. You don’t want to. This town is small and whatever this is between you and him, it’s yours. Reacting too much to the gossip spreading like gunpowder, would only lead to more of them. You really don't want to start a fire.

“Who said I'm paying you?” he leaned closer, an amused murmur in your ear as he caught your quiet deflection.

“Be quiet and let me handle the gossip,” you hissed back, not breaking your stride.

“I'm fine with that, but under one condition.” You stopped mid-stride, your heart giving a nervous jump. He smiled and tugged you a bit closer. “You can't lie to me.”

“Why would I do that?” You tried for nonchalance, but your voice felt thin.

“Well, if you lie…” He stopped, turning dramatically toward the group of old ladies playing cards. They were perfectly set up in the shade in front of one of their houses, colorful hand fans fluttering against the heat, their eyes already on you.

Oh no.

“¡Señoras, soy su nov—!” (Ladies, I'm his boyf—)

“Shut up!” You lunged, grabbing his shirt, the fabric bunching in your fist. Panic flared in your chest. You could see your entire calm world shatter, crackling into chaos, if he blurted out something like that. “Fine, fine! I won't lie to you.”

“Smart decision, sweetie.” His smile widened, all innocent charm, but his eyes held a glint of triumph.

You let go. “Asshole,” you murmured back.

You pretended not to notice but it’s the little things. The flutter moments that sneak past your defenses and settle under your skin. The way he always calls you sweetie. He knows it annoys you, but says it anyway, just to watch that fire light in your eyes. How he's always too close. A finger under your chin, forcing your gaze when you try to escape his. You tell yourself it's annoying. You tell yourself you don't enjoy it.

You reminded yourself, every time he brushed against you “by accident,” every time he leaned just a little too close to whisper something entirely unnecessary. You reminded yourself of it especially when your heart started beating too fast in his presence, when your body began to crave that warmth. You were just enjoying the game while it lasted. A little spark. A little summer mischief. That was all this was. Because people like him… They didn’t stay. He was a tourist, and the charming ones always knew how to play his cards. They were all promises but vanished at the end of summer. And you? You wouldn’t be stupid about this. You weren’t going to fall.

...Right?

One night, you're sitting on the sand, barefoot, toes buried, only a small flame between you, driftwood fire crackling soft, heat licking your knees. The stars are bright, the kind of sky you only get in places forgotten by noise. You tilt your head and catch him watching you. The shadows from the fire dance across his face, making it harder to read his expression.

“Do I have something on my face?” you ask.

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Starlight.”

“Sure...” You shift a bit. “Are you ever going to tell me what you’re doing here?”

He exhales, slow, like he’s been waiting for that question. But instead of answering, he says:

“What do you dream about?”

It doesn’t surprise you. He always does this, twisting the conversation back to you. You stare into the fire. You think about it and somehow he has this calm way to let you pour out your heart. Without judgement, he listens or asks how you feel about everything. About how you wanted to leave, once. How you almost did. About books you read and lifes you imagined. About how sometimes peace tastes like salt… And sometimes, it tastes like regret.

You could talk with him for hours, discuss thousands of scenarios like you've never done with anyone before. It feels like the dirty gears of those buried dreams are being dusted off with each word he said. Sylus tells you some stories about what he has seen, eaten and experienced already. He points out the things you would like, places he would show you. The collection of vinyl he has, how he enjoys playing the piano. The familiarity he has with you is overwhelming. He teases you, makes you angry, he flickers his finger against your forehead when you say something stupid. He has been even helping you with everyday chores like the other day:

The market is buzzing. Colorful umbrellas flapping in the breeze, baskets full of delicious fruits and vegetables stacked in uneven towers, the scent of grilled spices and fish so rich it makes you hungry on the spot. You weave through it like you always do, with a tote bag swinging at your side. Sylus is less graceful, dodging kids with sticky fingers and getting bumped more than once by old ladies with strong elbows. He clearly doesn't like to be in the crowd.

“You sure you know where you’re going?” he teases, glancing at your bag. “Or are we just wandering until you collect enough mangoes for a year?”

“I always know where I’m going,” you reply smugly. “And don’t judge my mango obsession. They're better than whatever bitter fruit you probably grew up with.”

“I prefer oranges.” He plucks one mango from a pile and holds it up, golden and soft. “This one’s bruised.”

“Don't be so picky. That means it’s perfect,” you snatch it from his hand. “Bruised fruits are sweeter. You know nothing.”

He laughed. “Teach me, then.” He buys one cup with fresh cut fruit at the same stall and spears a piece with a toothpick. He chews, then nods thoughtfully. “You’re right. They are perfect.” Your stomach growls, loud enough to make you wince.

Sylus glances at you, then casually offers the cup, holding it out. “Do you want some?”

You hesitate for a second, somehow it feels more intimate than it should. But then you take the offered bite. Your fingers brush his and his gaze lingers, just a moment too long.

“You like it?” he asks, voice softer now.

You nod, chewing. You try not to smile as you pay for the mangoes. Before your hand even reaches your wallet, Sylus slips in, handing over the change to the vendor. You narrow your eyes, but he’s already walking. By the time you're heading back toward home, your tote is filled with groceries, the fruit cup now shared between you, and the sun is heavy over your shoulders. Sylus walks beside you, glancing at his phone for a moment, then back at you.

“I need a moment,” he says, stepping under the awning of a closed stall, voice already lowering as he answers a call. You nod and wait a few steps ahead, settling into the shade of a tree with a sigh, adjusting the straps on your bag.

Minutes later a tourist approaches, clearly lost, holding a map and trying to look confident.

“Hi! Sorry… Em… do you know how to get to Playa Baja?”

“Yeah,” you say, automatically switching into your helpful voice. “Go back to the main road. Take the bus from there, near the bakery. Is a 20 minutes ride.”

He grins. “Thanks! You’re local, huh? Makes sense, only locals are this kind.”

You laugh politely. “Sure.”

But before he could say more, the tourist glanced over your shoulder, and he caught Sylus’s stare. He backed off quickly with a smile faltering, then cleared his throat and stepped back. “Enjoy your day.” And disappears as quickly as it appeared.

Sylus stands there, phone now tucked away.

“Huh. That was fast,” you say.

He shrugs. “Wasn’t important.”

You finally reached your house and the family store below it, the familiar babble of domestic chaos greeted you before the front door even opened.

“Just buy another one, you stubborn old man!” your mother’s voice echoed from the back.

“No, this one’s fine!” your father snapped, followed by a loud Clank Clank, as he smacked the side of the ancient A/C unit again.

You sighed and pushed the door open. “Really? Still fighting over that thing?”

The store was warm, stuffy, and smelled faintly of dust and cleaning spray. You dropped the bags on the kitchen table with a loud thud before stepping into the shop. Sylus follows you silently, scanning the familiar chaos with calm eyes.

“¡No puedo más!” (“I can’t take it anymore!”) your mother snapped from behind the counter, wiping sweat from her forehead with a dish towel. “Tell your father to buy a new one before he sets the store on fire.”

You sighed. At the sound of another figure entering with you, both of your parents looked up. Your mother’s gaze immediately fixed on Sylus. She blinked, surprised, eyes traveling from his silver hair down to his clean, fancy clothes, pausing on his calm expression. A stranger in her home and he comes with you? Not common. But as always, she gathered herself fast. Her tone shifted.

“Excuse us for the shouting,” she said quickly, brushing her hair back. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Her eyes met Sylus’s, just for a moment, and something changed in her face. A flicker of quiet recognition, curiosity… Then she turned to you, wandered over with a little smile playing on her lips.

Oh no, she's already imagining things.

You rub your eyes. That mother smile. The one that knew too much and said nothing for now. Sylus very politely and kindly declined your mother's invitation, then he stepped closer to where your father stood grumbling beside the A/C unit.

“Mind if I take a look?” he offered casually, nodding toward the old machine.

Your father blinked at him, thrown off, giving space and the screwdriver. “¿De dónde sacaste a este muchacho?” (“Where did you get this boy?”) he whispered to you.

You smirked. “Me ha estado siguiendo como gato callejero. Creo que me ha cogido cariño.” (“He's been following me around like a stray cat. I think he likes me.”)

Your dad huffed a laugh, still eyeing Sylus like he wasn’t sure whether to be suspicious or impressed. He stays by your side, arms crossed, ready to judge every move Sylus made. The machine was old, rusted at the edges, and had a habit of rattling like it was possessed by a ghost. Most people wouldn’t dare touch it without at least cursing first. He knelt beside it, examined the wires and casing with quiet concentration, then reached into the toolbox without asking where anything was.

There was a soft click, a sharp spark, and then the hum. Not the loud, wheezing death-rattle it usually made. A smooth, low vibration and cool air drifted out. Everyone froze. Your father blinked and moved to press his hand to the front of the unit like he couldn’t believe it was real.

Sylus stood, brushing dust from his hands. “It’ll work for now,” he said casually, glancing at your dad. “But you should definitely buy a new one.”

Your father opened his mouth, probably to argue but stopped.

“¿Una cerveza, muchacho?” (“A beer, boy?”) he asked, already moving toward the fridge. “Por lo menos para agradecerte.” (“At least to thank you.”)

“And you’re staying for dinner,” your mother added before Sylus could respond, her voice final, already thinking about the menu she would display tonight. “Is there anything you don't like to eat?”

“Mamá…” you said in a tired tone, shaking your head.

“We need to thank him properly,” she chirped.

Sylus hesitated, looking between them, then over at you, as if silently pleading for a way out. But you just smiled, leaning against the counter with one eyebrow raised, thoroughly enjoying the moment. Your father was already asking for a detailed explanation of how the miracle worked. And if he also knew how to fix cars.

“Looks like you’ve been adopted,” you said sweetly. “Good luck.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, but there was a flicker of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You expected him to fumble—thought he’d slip up on the names, or get awkward answering your dad’s too-bold questions. You wanted him to flinch a little, if only for your own petty satisfaction. But somehow, he didn’t. He was smooth and polite. Your mother was enchanted in less than ten minutes, practically glowing every time he addressed her with a soft “señora.” And when he mentioned liking fishing? Your father lit up like it was Christmas morning.

You sat there in quiet horror as your dad leaned back in his chair, nodding thoughtfully. “Lo quiero como yerno.” (“I want him as a son-in-law.”) You nearly choked on your water. Your soul left your body.

“Papá…!”

Sylus set his glass down gently and said, perfectly composed, “We don’t have that kind of relationship” Then, with the faintest trace of dry amusement, he added, “She actually threatened to push me off a cliff earlier.”

Your dad let out a booming laugh. “That’s love!”

Your mother gasped and you slumped in your chair, face in hands, absolutely done.

Later, when the plates were cleared and your parents had gone off to debate which neighbour had the best tomatoes this year, you tugged Sylus out onto the back porch. The sky was a soft indigo now, stars starting to blink awake. Crickets chirped. The kind of summer night that made everything feel special.

You leaned against the railing, arms crossed. “Don’t listen to anything my dad said.”

Sylus leaned next to you, hands in his pockets, lips twitching with amusement. “What, about wanting me as a son-in-law?”

“Yes, that.” You groaned. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was... funny” His voice softened. “And... nice. Being around that much love. The way he looks at you. The way your mom knew you were lying about not being hungry.” He smiled faintly. “It’s loud, chaotic—and kind of wonderful.”

You glanced up at him, and something in his eyes made your chest ache.

“They raised you well,” he added quietly.

You tried to brush it off, but your voice cracked slightly. “How was your childhood?”

“Different.” He looked out into the trees. “I struggled to survive.”

You nodded, unsure what to say. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

"Don’t be." He patted you head, his voice was strangely comforting.

“Well, you can always come back,” you offered, suddenly nervous, removing his hand embarrassed. “They’ll be happy to see you again.”

He turned, eyes finding yours.

“And you?” he asked.

“Eh?”

“If I leave… would you be sad?” Your stomach flipped. But instinct kicked in, and you played it off with a shrug. True... He will leave...

“Not unless you start tipping me at the bar.”

He chuckled. “Is that so?”

“And also, you shouldn’t drink every day either. You’ll die young.”

He turned to fully face you now, clearly amused. “Oh? So now you’re worried about me?”

You tried to hide your smile. Sylus laughed softly, but you could still see the warmth in his eyes.

Under all that tension. Your feeling is accumulating points of reward each time he leans in too close. When he hands you over a bottle of cold water. When he pulls out the chair before you sit in the restaurant or when he lets you use his lap as pillows to sleep on the beach. And in those moments when you see his smile, like now, under the flicking bonfire and his features are so soft as clouds drifting over the sky. You wish you had never met him because one day, probably soon… he’ll be gone. You should’ve known better.

The ache in your chest is already blooming. Not sure if you won’t be able to bury it after he leaves, you choose the only thing you can. Make the moment yours before it’s gone. You stand, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt, peeling off layers of doubt with every piece of clothing. The air is warm, soft against your exposed skin. The flame crackles behind you, but the sea calls louder.

“I’m going to swim,” you say, calm, even if your pulse isn’t. You glance back over your shoulder, half naked by now. “Coming?”

He blinks, just once, surprised. But that smirk; god, that infuriating smirk; returns quickly.

“You’re bold,” he says, shacking his head but his hand catches your arm gently, his glowing red eyes hold you in place. “Are you sure?”

You raise an eyebrow. “About swimming? Yeah.” You know he is not asking about that.

The last piece of clothing drops to the sand. You walk into the water, until it's covert over your naked body and you submerge yourself entirely. He follows, doing the same. You can feel him behind you before you even turn. His fingers, tracing the curve of your back, a feather light touch that sends shivers up your spine.

“What is your deepest desire?” You hesitate. You could lie. You’ve lied before but somehow, with him, it feels… pointless. He sees through it already. “Sweetie,” he says, his breath hot against your neck. “Don’t lie to me.”

“…I want to leave this place,” you admit. His hand holds yours beneath the water, while his arm wraps around your waist.

“Why haven’t you?” he asks.

You stare out at the horizon, the darkness of the night merge with the ocean, and the stars shimmer almost on the water. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m afraid.”

“What would you do?” His voice is closer now. Lips brushing your wet hair.

“I want to see the world,” you whisper, lifting your free hand toward the sky as if you could touch the stars. “I want to know what it feels like to really live.”

He presses his lips on your shoulder. “I can give you that.”

You huff, half a laugh, half a shield. “Yeah, sure. Is that a promise… or just another pick-up line?”

His fingers tilt your chin gently toward him. His lips graze your cheek, your ear. You close your eyes briefly enjoying the prickling sensations of him, of your feeling surfing over your skin.

“Don’t lie to me,” you echo back.

“I’m not,” he whispers, his thumb brushing your cheek, lingering as it slides over your lower lip with the faintest pressure. Your mouth parts instinctively, you feel the urge to chase his thumb with your tongue, but you hold back. His gaze locks onto yours. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

His thumb rests there a heartbeat longer, then trails down, tracing your jaw, your neck. You turn toward him slowly, pulse climbing, not sure if you're bracing for something or hoping for it. Sylus just pulls you a touch closer, fingertips resting at your waist, holding you steady. He leaned in, slowly, giving you a few agonizing seconds to pull away. You could still stop this. He’s giving you the chance.

The kiss it’s not like in the stories. It’s not gentle. It’s every unsaid thing burning behind your ribs. You melt into it before you even realize. Fingers gripping his shoulders, heart racing like it’s trying to escape your chest. You didn’t want this. You didn’t mean to want him. But his mouth fits too easily, and your resolve slips, undone by the sheer gravity of wanting. And your soul be damned, suddenly, all the rules you'd set for yourself over years: no feelings, no attachments, no hopes… Shatter with the fire inside your chest. Fuck. You don’t want him to leave and that terrifies you more than anything.

Sylus was hungry for you, that much was clear. He kissed you then with an intensity that doesn't match what you were expecting. You’ve met selfish lovers before. Men who touched you like a reward, a prize, like they earned your body just by showing up. Sylus let you lead. And when you kissed him deeper, testing limits, pressing your bare body against him in the water, feeling how hard he was. His grip tightened at your waist, drawing you closer until there’s no space left. Yet he still didn’t cross the line. He wanted to, you felt it. You reached out, your fingers brushing against his hard cock pressing on your belly, and your body burned with desire. Your hand wrapped around him, the impressive length and thickness of him filling your palm, even through the water. A soft gasp escaped your lips as you stroked him, pulling him further into the kiss. Your tongues met with a urgent dance as they swirled and tangled, exploring every curve of each other's mouths. His hand, now tangled in your wet hair, pulled your head back slightly, deepening the angle of the kiss even further.

Then, with a soft, ragged breath escaping him, he broke the kiss. His eyes were heavy with unspoken longing. “As much as I desire you. I want to give you more than just this…” His voice was low, aching with restraint, as he gently removed your hand from his length. Then he kissed you—deeply—like he needed you to know how much he wanted you, how much he was holding back. Yet, he still made you dress and walked you home in silence and left you at the door. He kissed your hands, then pressed another, lingering kiss on your temple, and whispered a soft “Good night”.

The ceiling fan carved the silence in soft, slow turns. Outside, the ocean whispered secrets to the rocks. A dog barked once, far off, then silence settled again. The air carried the scent of sea and distant charcoal fires into his room.

Sylus sat on the edge of the bed in his rented apartment, your kiss still ghosting his lips. The notebook lay open in his lap, pages filled with observations only he would understand. His handwriting wound through sketches, your fingers curled around a drink, the curve of your smile when you weren’t watching, the weightless joy that flickered in your laugh. He stared for a while at the half-finished line, heart heavy with a feeling he hadn’t expected to grow so fast, so deep.

“You kissed me with your whole heart trembling in your chest, and I felt every piece of it trying to crawl into mine.”

Sylus hadn’t meant to kiss you tonight. His fingers dragged slowly across his lower lip. He closed his eyes, replaying the moment in silence. Your skin against his, the sound you made when his hand slid to your waist. The way you leaned in, offering more than kisses. You would’ve given him everything if he’d let you. But he stopped it. He breathed through the tightness in his throat. He wanted more than just the heat of a passionate night. More than a fleeting moment tangled in sheets and whispers. He wanted your yes in daylight. He wanted your smile with no hesitation behind it.

The pen hovered. He turned to a fresh page.

“I wanted to give in. To drown in you, in that moment, in everything we both tried to silence. But if I touch you like that… if I let go… I want it to mean something neither of us can take back.”

His jaw clenched. His heartbeat had yet to settle.

“I don’t want to be a moment you regret. You deserve love that doesn’t ask you to run. So I’ll wait. Even if my hands ache from not holding you. I’ll wait, because I already know what I want. I want you.”

He set the pen down gently, running his thumb along the notebook’s inner spine. The ceiling fan is still slicing the dark above him. And though the bed was empty, every part of him was still holding you, still feeling the shape of your body against his. Sylus leaned back, letting the notebook rest against his chest.

[Notebook]

“You called me arrogant today but your face was all red. Later, you walked closer. Closer than you usually do. You’re so cute.”

[pressed hard into the paper]

“If I ever could taste the salt of your skin on my lips…”

[Margin note, stained with coffee]

“I tried not to watch your mouth when you called my name.”

[With a small cat sketch]

“Sometimes you act like a cat… Probably I can lure you with mangos and a feather. I should start to call you Kitten.”

He hadn’t planned to stay this long in your town. But his soul was already settled down to your side. He came here for a reason… Something he hasn't told you yet but he hopes to do soon. For now, you made the days longer in the best way. And the nights? They stretched on without you. His gaze drifted toward the dark window, where the reflection of his own silhouette blurred with the night beyond. How long could he stay here? Another week? Maybe two weeks? Could he pretend, just a little longer?

The phone buzzed softly against the table. Its glow carved a cold line through the room.

Kieran.

Work never stayed quiet for long. He looked down at the page again, absently tapping the pen against the margin. The light of the phone blinked again. He turned it face down. Let the darkness swallow it.

“Not tonight,” he murmured.

Tonight, Sylus wants to stay in the dream a little longer.

You didn’t sleep much that night. Your mind was racing, what a strange man. No, Sylus isn’t like other men. Since that night, not much has changed. He still shows up at the bar. He still ordered his usual, except that the amount of alcohol had decreased. He walks you to your home after your shift and takes you to some new corner of this forgotten coastline. Some days it’s a long lunch in a neighbouring village, sharing fried fish and watching old fishermen untangle their nets. Other days it’s a walk through ruins or abandoned train tracks where he tells you stories that feel like lies but you can’t quite call him out on them.

You'd spent afternoons together where he’d saved your life, snorkeling together in the cove. You'd watched fish drift by, swum alongside turtles. But beneath the surface of those moments, the intensity between you had grown, a horrible static electricity building, filled with desire and agonising restraint. Yet, you haven't kissed again or he hasn't tried it either. You really want to taste that fire once more on his lips, desperately, but the fear of getting hooked overwhelms you in those moments and yet, amidst all the tension, he keeps your close.

A few days later, just after you’d flipped the last chair onto the table and wiped your hands on a dish towel, you found him leaning against the counter. “I need to head into the city tomorrow,” he said, voice casual, but something in his tone tugged at your attention. “Just some business. A couple of hours' drive.

You look to the sides, confused.

“Do you need my bless to leave?” you joke.

“No. You said last time you haven’t been there for a while.”

“Yes, I did...” you say still moving from side to side, cleaning up. He takes out his phone and pulls up an image of a poster he saved from who knows where. Then he slides his phone over to me. You stopped what you were doing, and you look at the picture even more confused than before. “Looks interesting. That kind of vintage bookshop really suits you. Would love to see it.”

Then, after a beat, his voice dropped a little, almost hesitant:

“I’d really like your company...” he stopped. He didn’t look at you right away. Just tapped his fingers lightly against the counter, like maybe he wasn’t sure what you’d say. And for a second, your heart stuttered, wondering why that small invitation suddenly felt so big. “I want to ask you out.” You stopped what you were doing, and you look at him even more confused than before. You opened your mouth, searching for words. Are he...?

“I— We’d stay the night,” he added quickly, almost stumbling over the words. “Would be a shame not to enjoy the city.”

You didn’t answer. Can that be a good idea? Going alone with him somewhere else? Spending a night... together? Wait... You're not sure about anything right now. Did he asked your for a date?

“Can I think about it?” you ask, your voice softer than you intended. Your heart was beating a frantic thousand times per hour.

He nods once, a small smile tugging at his lips, as if he understands more than you’re saying. “I’ll be waiting for you here in the morning,” he replies.

You brought it up to your mother later that night, expecting a lecture, maybe a little Catholic guilt or dramatic sighing, or even a heartfelt monologue about reputation. Instead, she practically threw you out of the house. By morning, she’d stormed into your room, yanked the curtains and told you to get in the shower. Breakfast was already waiting, and by the time you were dressed. Your backpack was packed and waiting by the door. You stood there, speechless.

“Go,” she said, waving her hand like she was shooting a fly. “My beautiful and intelligent daughter… You’re a grown woman.” Then she gave you that nostalgic mom-look. The one that makes you feel like she’s seeing your five-year-old self and not the woman standing in front of her. “I’ve seen you around him. You light up.”

You gawked at her. She kissed your cheek and shoved two lunch boxes into your hands. “Just… be smart, okay? And use protection.”

“Mamá!” You laughed, heart pounding in that strange mix of nerves and excitement.

She winked, shoved you toward the door, and muttered, “And if he hurts you, I will find him.”

He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the open window, sunglasses hiding his eyes, hair tousled from the coastal breeze. The warm air rolls through, that kind of afternoon that tasted like freedom. You tapped through his playlist, surprised to find a mix of old ballads and moody instrumentals, jazz and classic. An old soul.

“This is tragic,” you exhale. “Do you only listen this kind of music? Who are you, the Godfather?”

He shrugged. “It helps me think,” he said smoothly, as if brooding jazz was a requirement for plotting international deals or crimes.

With a small grin, you scrolled until you found something upbeat—something from your childhood that made your shoulders instinctively roll. The rhythm of the village, the kind of song that dragged you out of your chair whether you wanted to dance or not.

♫ Bachata en Fukuoka ♫

“You know this one?” you asked, teasing.

He didn’t answer. He sang. Badly. You burst out laughing because his voice was deep, slightly offbeat, and he only knew every third word. But gods, he was trying. Your chest ached in the strangest way.

“Please stop,” you gasped between laughs.

“I’m giving it soul,” he argued. “And you’re not any better.” You stick out your tongue and turn the volume up, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

When he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, grinning, you caught it—that angle of his jaw in the sunlight, the muscles of his forearm flexed against the wheel, veins drawn like rivers under skin. The line of his throat as he tilted his head back slightly, mouth curved around the chorus. His lips… again you felt your breath catch. Shit. You turned toward the window quickly, letting the wind cool the heat rising up your core and mind.

The city rose out of the horizon hours later. You hadn’t been here in a long while. You shifted in your seat, suddenly hyper aware of everything. Sylus pulled up to the hotel. You stepped out of the car and instantly felt underdressed. Marble floors. Velvet armchairs. Staff in suits. And the chandeliers were huge, golden things that looked like they belonged in a ballroom, not in a lobby. You wrapped your arms around yourself slightly as Sylus handed over the keys to the valet. At the reception desk, the woman behind the counter lit up the second she saw him.

“Mr. Qin. Welcome back.”

Welcome back? You glanced at him, but his expression was unreadable. Then she turned to you with a professional smile. “And welcome to you as well, Missus Qin.”

Your breath hitched. Missus Qin? You opened your mouth to correct her, but Sylus just smiled, clearly amused about your flustered expression with silent satisfaction. He didn’t correct her. Instead, he took the room key, slid your bag over his shoulder, and placed a gentle hand on your back, guiding you toward the elevator.

“Why did she call me that?” you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant. You weren’t sure if it worked. He didn’t answer. “Sylus?”

“Must’ve been a mistake, sweetie,” he said, voice rich with mischief. You gave him a look.

The suite was stunning. High ceilings, city view, modern decor with soft touches of luxury, everything immaculate.

“We’re staying in the same room?” you asked, half amused, half testing him.

“Since you’re Missus Qin today,” he said with a smirk, pulling off his sunglasses and setting them neatly on the table, “it’s only logical you stay here with me.” He gestured to the sofa, far too expensive to actually be comfortable. “I can sleep there, if it makes you more comfortable.” Then, almost teasingly, “Or I could book another room… if you’d prefer distance.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way your pulse stuttered was entirely unfair. “I will survive one night. Also you’re paying for the room.” Then, to break the tension threatening to tighten your chest, you added with a smirk of your own, “If you snore, I swear I’ll kick you off the bed.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “I’d expect nothing less.”

You turned away before he could see your grin. He checked his watch as you lounged near the window, sipping from the complimentary bottle of water. The city shimmered below, heat caught in the glass.

“I need to head to a meeting soon,” he said, checking his phone. “It won’t take long…” You looked up at him. “Would you like to accompany me?

Your brows lifted. “Why? Isn’t it a business thing? Nop. I’m not dressed for that.”

“That shouldn't be a problem.” Then, with a glint in his eye. “We can go shopping.”

Your mouth opened slightly. “I… I don’t—”

He stepped closer. “I asked you to come with me. Let me spoil you a bit.”

You blinked. “This feels like Pretty Woman… The rice guy who—” you avoid finishing the sentence, while you blush… You’re reading too much into it. He laughed but still he flicked his finger gently against your forehead.

“Hey!” you protested, rubbing the spot with a scowl that didn’t reach your eyes. “For what was that?”

“Don't overthink it.” He smirked. “Come on. Follow me.”

The hotel’s boutique was quiet and elegant, tucked just off the main lobby. Every item looked carefully chosen. Every mannequin poised. Every price tag… conspicuously absent. You picked a dress—fluid fabric, a cut that hugged you just right, something that made you feel both effortless and elegant. He plucked a pair of heels from a nearby display, held them up with a faint smile, and nodded once, like it was obvious they were yours. Even if you had insisted, even if your hand had reached for your wallet, you both knew it was pointless. The dress, the heels, probably cost more than your savings account held. At the counter, while the attendant folded the items with gloved hands, Sylus leaned in, the heat of his breath grazing your ear.

“Being Missus Qin,” he murmured, voice velvet-smooth, “means being more greedy. Can you handle it, my love?” That last word just rolled off his lips, and your cheeks instantly flared. You had to practically twist away to try and mask the grin threatening to take over your face. He chuckled softly, clearly pleased by your reaction. He carried the bag himself as you walked out, your heart still trying to recover from that one line.

“Go change,” he said, gesturing toward the elevator. “I’ll be waiting.”

By the time you returned, dressed and flustered, Sylus was already deep in conversation with two well dressed young men. His sentence slowed mid-syllable the second you stepped into view.

“You look…” His voice dipped lower. “…beautiful.”

The two men turned to look at you with perfectly timed curiosity. They introduced themselves as Luke and Kieran—identical down to the sharpness of their suits and the easy confidence in their smiles. But it didn’t take long to notice the difference: Luke had a warmer gaze and Kieran was quick-witted, his charm more playful, layered beneath sarcasm and quick glances exchanged between them.

Despite your confusion about who they were or what kind of business was Sylus doing with them. They treated you with quiet respect, never once making you feel out of place. Their ease around Sylus said more than their words, they trusted him. Completely. Which made you wonder again: what kind of man was Sylus really?

You sat together in a private business lounge. You stayed silent, hands folded in your lap, unsure where exactly to place yourself in their conversation. But Sylus didn’t miss a beat. Even while talking about contracts and acquisitions; about someone needing to sign off on a property, timelines, numbers that blurred together. And still, his attention didn’t drift far from you.

Without glancing, he reached out and pulled your drink a little closer, as if sensing you hadn’t touched it. A minute later while still speaking, something about closing dates and a stubborn signature, his hand slid the menu toward you with a gentle nudge. You looked up but he was still mid-sentence. The way his pinky brushed yours briefly. How, when your posture tensed just slightly, he shifted his knee until it touched yours. You weren’t sure if it made you feel more comfortable or more exposed.

At some point, a set of blueprints and renderings were spread across the table; floor plans, materials, and elegant, dark-toned interior designs. You leaned forward, tilting your head. It was sleek, yes. Sophisticated, expensive. But also… cold.

“Too much black marble,” you said, nose scrunching slightly. “Is it an apartment or a villain’s lair? Who is going to live there?”

The conversation paused for a breath. Sylus blinked, lips parting faintly. A beat later, Luke chuckled. Kieran raised a brow in amusement. Sylus turned his head slowly to look at you and the faintest smile ghosted across his lips.

He adjusted one of the pages, letting you see the whole layout again. “How would you distribute it?”

And after maybe other two hours, Luke and Kieran stood up, gathering their documents with ease and that lingering air of familiarity.

“When will you come back, boss—?” Luke started to ask, but was promptly elbowed by Kieran, who gave him a look.

“Dude! Don’t you check the situation?” Kieran hissed under his breath, nodding slightly in your direction with an exaggerated arch of his brow.

Luke blinked, then followed the gesture, finally catching on. “Oh. Oh. Ooooh…”

Sylus exhaled through his nose then replied with that measured calm that somehow still carried authority. “I still have a few things to take care of.”

Kieran bit back a smirk. Luke straightened, saluted poorly, and muttered, “Message received.”

The way they deferred to him made it obvious, they weren’t just associates. They were his employees. Loyal ones. And the way he held their respect without needing to raise his voice or assert control told you everything about the kind of leader he was.

And just like that, they were gone.

♫ Grecia ♫

You smile “I like them.”

Sylus laughed, already loosening his collar as he sank into the seat beside you, his shoulder brushing yours.

“That’s good” he said, with that familiar glint in his eye. He tilted his head, voice low and easy. “Now... what do you want to do?”

You didn’t have a plan, but Sylus seemed to know how to make the hours stretch. The city buzzed around you, alive but not rushed, soaked in golden light as the sun melted behind the towers. You’d already walked for hours, through markets full of spice and music, narrow alleys lined with vines and hidden bookstores, quiet plazas where street musicians played like they didn’t care if anyone listened. He bought you a tiny ring from a vendor who didn’t even take cards, “just to see if it fit”.

At a corner café, he ordered two lemon sodas and claimed the tiny mosaic table beneath a jacaranda tree. The breeze carried soft music from someone’s open window, and for a moment, everything slowed down. He tapped his glass to yours, watching you over the rim with a look that made your skin feel warmer than the sun. You laughed at something he said—something dumb and half-flirty. He leaned back with a smug grin, the corner of his mouth tugged higher with every note of your laughter. His eyes sparkled.

“Are you flirting with me, Sylus?” you asked, aiming for teasing but missing the mark.

His smile widened, then he tilted his head, one brow arched, a flicker of something triumphant in his gaze. “I told you you’d notice the difference,” he said softly.

Your heart jumped in your chest, as it had tripped over itself trying to catch up with the moment. You looked down, suddenly fascinated by the edge of your napkin. The heat in your cheeks gave you away, the quick breath you took, the smile tugging at the corner of your lips no matter how hard you tried to keep it in check. You felt embarrassed but also happy. So many emotions rushed through you at once it was hard to name them all. Something was clear as day, you wanted to hold onto this moment for a bit longer.

Sylus brought you to that small bookstore from the poster, and stepping inside, its quiet atmosphere and crooked rows of worn shelves immediately embraced you like a sanctuary. Dust floated in lazy golden stripes through the high windows, and the smell of old paper settled in your lungs. You wandered aimlessly, fingers brushing spines, pretending to read while your thoughts raced. You found Sylus in the poetry section. He hadn’t said a word, just stood there, back to you, his frame relaxed and strangely at home among the faded covers and soft silence. When he sensed your presence, he turned. His finger was pressed against the page, underlining a single verse in the middle of the poem.

“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,”

“in secret, between the shadow and the soul.*”

You swallowed, something catching in your throat. Sylus finally met your eyes, reading the short poem in calm voice.

“So close, that your hand on my chest is my hand…”

“So close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.*”

*(Pablo Neruda - 100 Love Sonnets)

The book stayed open between you two, but everything else, the shelves, the world blurred around the edges. And then he added, softer still, “That’s what it feels like. With you.”

A few stray cats lounged on stone benches, and small paper lanterns had already begun to glow in anticipation of evening. You walked along the edge of a garden square after that. He slowed his steps to match yours. His fingers brushed yours once… then again… until, without ceremony, he reached down and took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. Your heart feels relieved when you feel his warmth.

A loud, unmistakable growl echoed between you, making you freeze. Your stomach betrayed you. “Dinner’s on me.” he said, thumb stroking across your knuckles in a quiet rhythm.

The restaurant he chose was tucked away, elegant without trying. Dim lights, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city’s slow descent into night. The staff greeted him with too much familiarity, calling him Mr. Qin with polite bows and smiles that told you this wasn’t his first time here. You looked around. Velvet booths. Every guest was a portrait of tailored wealth. But across the table, Sylus didn’t blink at the opulence. The waiter poured wine, announcing its origin with elegance. Sylus barely acknowledged him.

You didn’t know how to hold yourself here. How to sip the wine without second-guessing the angle of your wrist, how to sit without wondering if you were taking up too much space. What am I doing here? The thought came uninvited. This wasn’t your world. You never imagined sharing a table with someone who ordered without glancing at the prices.

“Do you want to leave?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Umm?”

He leaned in slightly, elbows resting against the tablecloth, eyes still locked on yours. “You’ve gone quiet,” he said. “You always get quiet when you’re overthinking.”

You hesitated, then offered a small, breathy laugh. “Is that so obvious?”

“To me? Yeah.”

“No, it’s fine,” you said, lifting your glass. “It’s just new. That’s all.” You took a sip, then smiled, a little crooked but warming. “And you did said you were going to spoil me… so I’m taking advantage. I plan on eating a lot of dessert.”

That finally made him smile.

The food was exquisite. The wine had begun to soften the edges of your nerves. He made you laugh and in that moment, you let your guard down. You reached for your glass, felt the soft weight of his gaze settle over you, and let yourself believe it was okay. If you can stay in this fantasy a little longer, so be it. You've spent too much time avoiding long-term love affairs. Only short encounters with those who weren't going to call you when they left. After college, that jerk broke you into a thousand pieces, and since then, your heart has become an icy shell. Yet, Sylus had found a way to chip at it, digging into the ice and creating a space within the cracks where he'd slipped through.

Yes, maybe it was time to let down all the defenses, and let someone like him... really in.

And then she walked in. A woman who looked like she belonged on a billboard: long hair, perfect lashes, crimson lips, and the kind of curves sculpted by some cruel god. She paused near the bar, eyes scanning, and landed too long on Sylus. Your heart twisted, a sharp, unwelcome knot of something you refused to name. She didn’t glance at you once. Why would she? You could still feel the ocean in your hair, the faint scent of sunscreen still on your skin from earlier. You felt small. Ordinary. Like a summer girl dragged into a winter party.

Sylus was… He was someone in this world. You were someone who worked at a beach bar. Who folded towels. Who knew every corner of a sleepy coastline but had never walked in shoes like hers. You knew it was stupid to feel that way. You knew it. But that didn’t stop the doubts from crawling into your mind. Or the whisper in your ear that said: You don’t belong in this story. You’re not special.

If he wanted to be with someone else, you knew he'd just do it. He was too honest, too direct for anything less. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t made a mistake with you. Even if he had asked you to come with him. Planned this trip. Bought you a dress. Treated you like you were someone important to him.

You forced a smile and took a slow sip of wine. Pretended like nothing inside you was shifting and unraveling. Keep it together, you told yourself. Don’t let him see it. But deep down, the quiet part of your heart was already breaking off into questions you didn’t want the answers to.

What if I’m just temporary? What if I’m not enough?

And across the table, Sylus’s gaze lingered on you. That scared you even more. Because if he saw all that insecurity in your eyes and chose to walk away… You weren’t sure you could blame him.

Sylus noticed it the moment your smile shifted. The way your shoulders dipped just slightly, the flicker behind your eyes as you reached for your glass. He followed your gaze and found her. The woman at the bar.

When you stood and excused yourself, your smile polite but paper-thin, he waited only a moment before rising too and walked over. The woman blinked up at him as he approached, lips already parting in a smile. She clearly thought she’d won. After all, a man like him didn’t just glance at someone like her and do nothing. In her mind, men like Sylus always fall for her.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said smoothly, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to be polite. She offered her name like a gift, tilting her chin, lashes fluttering with well-practiced charm. Sylus was already typing with one hand in his pocket. A quick search. That’s all it took. Her name wasn’t just a pretty label wrapped in lipstick and entitlement. It came with strings. Connections. Family ties woven through business and media. An old-money name known for its reach, and also its scandals.

He nodded once. “Let me get straight to the point,” he said, his tone smooth but sharpened at the edges, “I find it hard to enjoy my dinner when someone is making my wife very uncomfortable.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed and with a scoff masked as a laugh, she tilted her head toward your empty seat. “That little thing is—”

“I’ll say this once,” he said, still polite but his eyes were already burning with a cold fury. “Don’t ever look at me… or my wife, again. If you want to keep your status intact.”

She adjusted her hair so that it fell over her back, and grimaced in disgust. “Who do you think you are?”

Sylus stepped in slightly, just enough to tower, casting a shadow that wasn’t there before. The soft light caught in his eyes, turning them darker. Crimson heat cooled into something unholy. His stare sharpened, he changed to a wolf, ready to kill. “I’m someone you don’t want to challenge,” he said quietly.

And in that silence, she took a step back. Sylus walked away and sat back down, sending a quick message to Luke. He replied with a thumbs-up emoji and an Already on it, boss.

But when you returned, something in you was still pulled taut. And so the rest of the evening unraveled almost in silence. Now, walking through the winding streets back to the hotel, the heat of the day had faded into a softer warmth. The city hushed beneath golden streetlights. A tinny vendor’s radio spilled music into the night.

♫ Qué se siente que me gustes tanto? ♫

The lyrics landed first in the air, then in your chest. Sylus didn't wait long to bring up the subject. He couldn't leave it like that.

“You really think I’d look at other women when you’re across from me?” His voice was low.

You stiffened. You kept your gaze fixed forward, on the uneven cobblestones, refusing to meet his eyes. “Don’t know what you mean.”

Silence stretched, and it made you squirm. You didn’t want to admit it, that spark of fear, the ache of never being enough. You were proud. You’d never ask to be chosen.

His voice dropped even lower, “My beloved…” he called you, the words were softer than the fading music and gentler than the evening breeze that just barely stirred your hair. The sound wrapped around you, and made your heart be even more confused. You stopped walking, rooted to the spot. This was bad. Really, really bad. If you let yourself fall for him now, truly fall, there’d be no way for you to untangle yourself from his beautiful, complicated world.

And yet, when he reached for your hand, you didn’t resist. He pulled you into his arms, and pressed your face into his shirt, soft cotton that smelled like a special mix of wood, spices and leather. Is the first time you really noticed it. Is intoxicating. The music still played behind you. Your eyes stung. Sylus felt your breath against his chest, the tension running through your spine, so he pulled back just enough to look at you.

“Dance with me,” he said, not really asking.

“Now?”

“Why not?” he murmured. His hands found your waist, pulling you close as you swayed in place gently with the rhythm. The world around you blurred.

Warmth settled between your rips, your hands finding his with ease. For a moment, there was no one else. Just the hush between lyrics and the quiet longing. His thumb moved in lazy circles against your lower back. He could feel the tremble in your body and he held you tighter. You didn't know where to pour all the overflowing feelings. You wanted to lean in, to taste the comfort of his lips again. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then shot back to yours, holding you captive. In that moment, you wondered if, behind those intense crimson eyes, he also carried his own silent insecurities. And if he, like you, knew the fear of giving his heart away.

Sylus leaned in, hummed low with the melody, his mouth brushing near your ear. The verse slid back in, whispering as he echoed the lyric:

“¿Y si te doy mi vida?” (What if I give you my life?)

The words melted into your skin, and with them, the fear grew bigger. What if, for a moment, you put your fear aside? What if, for a moment, you dared to give in to all your emotions?

Please...

What would it feel like if your feelings were reciprocated? Your heart were hammering in your ears, beating so fast you hadn't felt like this in years.

Don't hurt me...

The moment stretched. You stepped a breath closer, and his hand pressed you more firmly against him. You had stopped dancing. Your eyes darted all over his face, searching for an opening.

Kiss me...

His phone buzzed loudly in his jacket pocket, shattering the moment. He didn’t move at first, his forehead nearly touching yours, but then he sighed and stepped back with a quiet, frustrated sound. The sudden space between you felt colder than it should have.

“Give me a moment,” he murmured.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly chilled despite the warmth of the night. Your mind is a mess. Even with the overwhelming urge to kiss him, your mind, predictably, had already strayed, lost in its own labyrinth of thoughts. Tonight was beautiful, but what did it mean tomorrow? And what if—what if this was just how he made any girl feel special? That thought struck harder than you expected.

By the time you reached the hotel, your mood had changed. The heat between you had been replaced with the chill of doubt, creeping in from all sides. You stand in the middle of the room. Barefoot, feeling small. You look over to the bedroom, then to him. You see your reflection and notice how the joy you felt this morning just disappeared with the day. You feel pathetic.

“Are you upset?” You shake your head. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t lie to me.” he said softly, removing his watch, and placing down his phone on the table then opening a few buttons of his shirt. “Say whatever's on your mind.”

Your heartbeat echoed in your ears, louder than the silence between you. The distance wasn’t physical space; it was the weight of all the words that still hung, unspoken, in your chest.

“¿Y si te doy mi vida?”

His hand brushes yours. Your fingers twitched, desperate to reach for him. Your throat feels tight, as if you were suffocating. You're actually terrified. Because you want him, desperately. Not just the heat of his kisses, not just the easy laughter or the wild, thrilling mystery that he is. You want to actually love someone for once, truly. And it’s him. Fucking God, it’s him. But if he leaves… If he goes back to wherever he came from, with his smirk, his rich laugh and silver hair… Your heart will shatter and go straight back to that frozen, numb place. And you’ve only just started to thaw. You flinch. You meet his gaze in the low light. His expression is serious, no, even worse… Disappointment, sadness or something in between.

“I’m not… lying.” You lie.

He watches you a second longer, then slowly moves even closer to you. His movements are careful. His fingers wrap gently around your wrist, and he guides your hand to his chest, on his warm skin. A fast, steady rhythm beneath. His parted lips hover just above yours. The same lips you kissed a few nights ago, when you told yourself not to care. When you whispered: Let’s just have fun. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

But now…

Now, your thoughts are overflowing with him. Mornings, nights, in the quiet moments between customers, between dreams, you think of him. In his presence, somehow, you found the courage to admit out loud that you want to leave your home. The paradise with its palms and sleepy routines. That you want more. To go somewhere, do something, be someone. And still… even if he’s offered you all that, you’re terrified. Terrified he could simply use you. Terrified that things won't work out between you, and you'll be back to square one, heartbroken again.

“What do you really want?” he murmurs. His gaze is piercing you, you want to avoid him. If you let him… if you let yourself. The knot in your chest seems to struggle your heart to death. It hurts so much. You blink fast, trying to clear the sudden blur in your vision. Your throat tightens, making it impossible to swallow. “Why aren't you saying anything?”

“I—” You take a deep breath, trying to reduce the growing anxiety in your chest. “We should sleep,” you whisper, you’re one breath away from breaking.

“Don’t—” he starts, his voice rough, as if he’s about to say something that might shatter the last bit of distance between you but he stops. He swallows whatever it was, a visible effort, and just hugs you for a long time.

The silence settles again, but this time it’s louder, pressing in on you. And for a long while, neither of you sleeps. You want to cry out all the pain, and ironically, let him comfort you, wipe the tears from your face, and promise you that everything will be okay. The bed feels too big and far too small at the same time. You close your eyes, trying to ignore how closer Sylus was.

After that, every passing day carves the question deeper into your mind: What happens when he finally leaves? It gnaws at you more with each sunset. You keep telling yourself not to get attached. You’ve had flings before. Summer heat, wandering hands, promises made in the dark that vanish with the morning sun. You’re not new to that rhythm.

However, Sylus remembers the way you like your coffee. That you hate papaya. That your first kiss wasn’t anything magical, just wet and awkward behind a middle school building. That you used to get bullied for being too loud, too intense, too weird. He knows that you chew your straw when you're nervous. That you hold your breath during horror movies. He knows you have a birthmark between your shoulder blades you pretend to hate but secretly hope someone finds beautiful. That you’ve never told anyone the exact moment you stopped believing love was safe.

By now, it’s been fifteen days since you met him and in that time he knows more than you ever told anyone. Tonight, he’s sitting on his usual spot, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he skims a finger across the rim of his whiskey glass, he hasn't touched. You’re closing the bar tonight. There isn't anyone left on the beach. You join him wordlessly, sinking into the chair in front of him. You glance over. His eyes are fixed on the ocean, jaw tight. Something’s off.

“…Sylus?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just exhales through his nose.

“I’m leaving…” he finally says. There it is. Your stomach knots. You knew this was coming, didn’t you? You swallow hard.

“When?”

He looks at you then, and his eyes, those burning red eyes, look tired. No, they look unexpectedly sad. “Tomorrow afternoon.”

The silence that follows carries the heavy weight of all the unsaid things. You nod, pretending it’s fine. You’re fine. This is how it should be, how it always ends. You swallowed the bitterness of the coming farewell, the pain that had flooded your entire body, and the crushing sadness of never seeing him again. Maybe you'd screwed up.

“At least I have one less customer to serve,” you quip, a thin attempt at humor.

He huffs a breath, a sound that's a tired mix of amusement and resignation. “I… didn't expect to stay so long.”

You nod again. He reaches for your hand, his fingers wrap around yours.

“I told you I’d give you everything,” he says, and his voice is serious.

“What does that even mean, Sylus?”

Why me? Who are you really? What happens after this?

He lifts your hand, presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“It means,” he says slowly, his eyes holding yours, “if you want to leave this place. If you want to see the world, say it.”

You stare, breath caught in your throat. “You’re asking me to just… go with you?”

“I’m offering you a way out.” He smiles then, soft and utterly unreadable. “Your choice.”

The smell of herbs and something baking fills the air. You hear the soft clatter of your mother’s steps as she moves from counter to stove. You sit there in the dim light of the kitchen, elbows resting on the table, the ghost of Sylus’s offer still echoing in your chest. You want to ask her, but you can’t put your words together.

She passes behind you, then stops. Set something down gently on the table. You glance at it. A photograph. Slightly bent at the corners, colors a little faded with time. You are in a yellow swimsuit with flowers, front tooth missing, two uneven braids. One hand gripping a tiny shovel, the other clutching the hand of a boy, frowning, clearly not thrilled to be holding yours.

“Do you remember that summer?” your mother says, her voice light, amused. You don’t answer. Just stare at the photo like it might rearrange itself if you look long enough.

“You met that boy,” she continues, “and I remember you told everyone you were going to travel the world with him.” She chuckles under her breath. “You always wanted to go beyond the horizon. I don’t know what happened to that dream but…” she pauses, and her voice softens. “You know... Your father and I—we can live alone.”

You look up. She’s already turned her back again, kneading something, hands working like they always do. You huff. You even haven’t said anything but she already knows what is oppressing your heart.

“I just thought it was cute, how serious you were,” she adds. Then, quieter—like she’s saying it to the dough. “Who knew he’d grow up to be so handsome…”

Your breath catches. You look down at the photo again. At the boy. You hadn’t made the connection. Same frown. Same eyes. That stubborn, restless energy in his bones.

Sylus.

No wonder he could speak your language so well. You stare at the picture, fingers tracing the edges. Was that why he was here? If you have forgotten about that, has he too? Could it be...?

You lay on your bed, eyes wide open, ceiling fan spinning slowly above you, offering no peace. How did you forget him? How did he slip through the cracks of your memory? You remember the summer, vaguely. You remember falling, scraping your knee, building sandcastles. But him? Not really. Maybe your brain, like your heart, had tucked it away for safekeeping.

You throw off the sheet when the first rays of sunlight appear behind your curtain. You take the photo and slip it into your pocket and walk out. The path is still etched into your bones, even after all these years. Past the old mango tree, down the narrow stretch of dirt between fences, and through the tall grass that tickles your legs until the world opens up.

The beach. You find the spot. The place where your little hand held his. You sit down in the sand, cool grains sticking to your legs. The sky is bruised with the first light of morning, deep pinks and soft golds stretching across the horizon. The ocean glitters just for you. You pull the photo out, staring at it again.

You don’t hear his footsteps at first.

“I wondered if you’d remember.” You look over your shoulder. “You kept the picture,” he says, sitting beside you.

You hold it up. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The ocean murmurs beside you, waves licking the rocks with that slow, lazy rhythm that feels almost too intimate for this moment.

“Would you have looked at me the same way, if I’d said it on day one?” His gaze lingers on the horizon. His thumb brushes over his knee, slow and distracted. “You didn't seem to remember me at all.” He paused. “I thought… if I added more weight to all of this, you'd pull away.”

You stare at him, lips parted, heartbeat louder than the sea.

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” he finishes, finally turning to face you. “But I think I might have, anyway.”

You look down at the photo in your hand then at the man beside you. Maybe you stayed because some part of you was waiting. Hoping. Hoping he'd come back. And then it clicks. Like a lock turning after all these years. You did make a promise. You both did. You remember the salty wind in your hair, the scraped knees, the laughter. The little boy frowning at the sun, then reaching for your hand and whispering something like:

“When we’re older, let’s explore the world. You and me. I’ll came back.”

You huff. Then laugh, low and disbelieving.

“So you came here to find me?” you ask, glancing at him.

“No,” he says, eyes still fixed on the horizon.

You squint at him. “Then what was it?”

He’s silent for a moment.

“I’ll tell you. But first… I want to here your decision.”

“Does my choice change your secret?”

“No,” he repeats.

You press your lips into a fine line. A choice. Yours. The word echoes through your chest. Panic rises in your throat, a quiet flutter of fear. You’re not sure what you’re waiting for, some sign or burst of clarity, but maybe the truth has been there all along. Leaving because of some old promise would be stupid, but... you had waited for an excuse, for something that would finally pull you out of your comfort zone. You’ve been scared. Of leaving, of staying. Of wanting something too much. But this… him. It hasn’t felt temporary in a long time. You exhale. The nerves are still there, fluttering like butterflies wings under your skin. But somewhere deeper inside of you, already knows the answer.

“I want to leave and see the world,” you squeeze his hand. “But also... I want to be with you.”

His head turns slowly, and he looks at you with tenderness. His hand closes over yours. With the sun rising and the sea singing low beside you, you realize you’re choosing something that feels like destiny.

“I'm glad to hear that.”

“Now…” you whisper, “your—”

Sylus laughs under his breath, then draws you in. His mouth meets yours with a softness that steals the air from your lungs. You feel the tremble in his exhale, the way his fingers tighten slightly. Your hands find his chest. The world narrows to the taste of him, familiar, new and everything at once. He barely parts from you, his forehead brushing yours, his nose nudging yours.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “All these years. I wanted to find you.” A pause. “Coming here wasn’t planned, I almost gave up,” he admits. “I was just taking a few days off. And then… I found you.”

There’s a softness in his expression, an openness that makes your soul leave your body. For you, he’s not just a visitor anymore. Not just a beautiful man passing through. He’s the ache in your chest that finally has a name. He’s the silence that felt full instead of empty. You grip his shirt, holding onto him like he might vanish if you let go.

The sun crowns him in gold, dawn spilling across his skin, catching in his lashes, turning him into something you could never explain to anyone else. You kiss him again, this time with everything you’ve been holding back. He answers with equal fervor, hands cradling your face. The world tilts, and for a moment it’s just breath and warmth and the ache of something too big for words. The kind of kiss that means yes. He breaks the kiss with a soft, disbelieving laugh, eyes impossibly bright as if he can’t quite believe this was happening. Without warning, he rises, sweeping you into his arms effortlessly. Your laughter bubbles up, wild and breathless, muffled against the curve of his neck as he spins you around.

The door barely clicks shut before you’re on him again, tangled in each other. Clothes fall in a trail behind you. His fingers slide under your shirt, tugging it over your head as his lips find your neck, dragging a sigh from your lips. The trail of clothes grows behind you, scattered and forgotten, urgency pulsing beneath every touch.

The relentless desire for the feel of your bare skin against his, already warm and damp with your rising heat, was getting both of you into an intoxicating high. A thirst as overwhelming as hours without water in the desert.

You kiss him slowly. First his lips, a deep, soft sigh shared between you, then lower, down the sharp line of his jaw. Your mouth drifts to the curve of his neck, tasting the warmth there. His breath hitches,when your tongue traces the hollow of his throat. You can feel the tension building, a taut wire humming through his body, every muscle pulled tight…

Sylus tilt your head, eyes burning in desire. You just smiled, making him sit on the bed. You knelt before him. He exhaled sharply. You kept going, placing soft, wet kisses down his chest, over each ridge of muscle, pausing to press your mouth against the places that made him twitch, and made him whisper your name.

“You don’t need to…” he started, his voice thick with unspent lust, but your lips had already closed around his leaking cock. His head fell back with a low groan. Your mouth moved with intention. You wanted to savor this—him. You hollowed your cheeks just enough, letting your tongue glide along his length, feeling every small shudder ripple through him. His hand drifted to your hair only holding, enough to ground him as he unraveled.

“S-sweetie…” he murmured, his voice roughened, broken open by pleasure.

You didn’t stop. You owned this moment, every agonizing, beautiful second. The taste of him was rich, musky, utterly intoxicating, a flavor that filled your mouth and settled deep in your throat. The way he fought to keep control and still offered it to you completely, without reservation. He was yours like this—silent except for the sounds you pulled from him, the way his hips shifted with restraint beneath your hands.

Your lips wrap around his thick cock, feeling the slick heat. You split over him, taking him deeper in. Tears pricked at your eyes, because of the sheer effort and the overwhelming sensation. Yet you enjoyed it so much, you wanted more.

Sylus can barely breathe, every nerve ending screaming. He feels his control fraying, a thin thread about to snap. His hips twitch, wanting to thrust into your mouth, but he holds himself rigid, a strangled sound catching in his throat as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm him entirely. You pull back, and a thin line of breathless laughter escapes him, as if he can’t believe what you were doing to him.

You wiped your mouth delicately, lingering for a moment to lick away his taste still on your lips. Then you kissed your way back up his body, over his taut stomach, up his chest, hovering just above his lips.

“Still think I’m not greedy enough?” you whispered, your voice husky. He looked like he wanted to worship you and surrender at the same time. His answer was a kiss that made the whole room spin.

He didn't give you time to continue. Sylus made you lay down on the bed, his knee nudging between your legs, creating a space just for him. His eyes, dark with fervent hunger, scorched your flushed skin as he leaned in. He kissed your collarbone, then the hollow of your throat, his lips playing with your breath, before his mouth drifted lower. He took your nipple between his lips sucking on them, making your back arch and a gasp in response to that. You felt the sudden gush of your own wetness, a hot, insistent tide rising, your whole body with a pulsing need to have him.

“Let me... return the favor,” he murmured and then he disappeared between your legs.

Your eyes rolled back in your head. His hot tongue danced over your swollen, damp pussy. The taste of you, sweet and musky, filled his mouth, a heady rush he craved more than air. It felt so terribly, impossibly good. “So wet...” he purred, the words vibrating against your sensitive skin. Your whole body tensed, an electric current shooting through you. He gorged himself on your wetness, every lick, every suck deepening his own hunger.

He kept you firmly in place, his hands on your thighs, devouring you with an intensity that stole your breath. Your moans grew louder, and uncontrollable sounds ripping from you. You grabbed fistfuls of his hair while your other hand clenched the sheets, twisting the fabric. “Sy— Fuck...!” Your breath was a mess, short-circuited, ragged gasps. You were going crazy, right on the edge, especially when he pressed his tongue deep inside you.

“Sy— I'm… aahh… mm…” Your words were broken sounds, lost in pleasure.

The vibration of his own moan against your dripping pussy was the cherry on top. You were about to cum on his face when he pulled back. You let out a small, frustrated whine.

“What…” he murmured, his tongue flicking hard against your clit. “...Do you…” again, a deeper, swirling lick that made your hips arch instinctively. “...Need..?” You couldn't form coherent thoughts; how could one man be so impossibly good at this? “Tell me.” He pressed a hot, claiming kiss to your inner thigh, sending a shockwave through your entire body. You couldn't even articulate if you wanted him inside you, or if you simply needed more of his impossibly talented tongue.

“Be honest,” he whispered, the words punctuated by tiny, insistent bites on your inner thigh. His nose then brushed against your clit, drawing a sharp gasp from your throat. "You smell so good," he purred.

He kept you on the edge, pushing you further with every lick, every suck. You writhed beneath him, your fingers twisting in the sheets, desperate to articulate the overwhelming need. Sylus continued to feast, drawing out your pleasure until your pussy screamed for something more, for him.

“I... want.. you…” The admission ripped through you.

“As you wish” he breathed, and the certainty in his tone was an aphrodisiac, sealing your fate.

Every breath, every motion feels etched in starlight. When he finally thrusts into you, the wet, full slide of him ignites a deeper fire, driving even further, lost in the vast extent of your desire. A whimper tears from your throat, your nails drag burning trails down his back, and then, without quite thinking, you sink your teeth gently into his shoulder, desperate, loving bites that pull a gasp from him. You murmur something incoherent against his damp skin, something silly that dies on your tongue. He chuckles, breathless.

His entire body is on fire with the profound pleasure of being inside you, feeling you stretch around him, so wet, so impossibly tight. Sylus pressed harder, deeper inside you, with the urge to bury himself completely, never wanting to let go. His warmth floods you, mingling with your own burgeoning sweat, dissolving the last threads of hesitation. “Fuck,” he rasps, a rough, breathless sound against your ear, his voice full with his own spiralling pleasure, "you feel so incredible.”

You feel every inch of him: solid muscle, steady breath, the faint shiver that betrays his own restraint. Letting out a long breath, you fully surrender to his embrace. Your legs wrap around him almost instinctively, drawing him in tighter. His mouth devoured yours, tongues tangling, wet and insistent, mixing tastes of hunger and the lingering salt from his skin, a flavour of absolut, undeniable devotion. You move together, slow at first, building a rhythm that pulls you both under.

He moans your name against your ear. The world narrows as the heat of his skin grows. The sound of your breathing tangled together is getting louder, and the steady rhythm he finds between your hips makes your vision blur. He feels you clenching around him, demanding more. His thrusts are smooth, sensual, purposeful. He’s trying to memorize the shape of your body from the inside out, imprinting himself onto you.

Each movement sends sparks up your body, makes your chest arch, your breath catch, your thoughts dissolve into nothing more than him. “Sylus…” you whimper against his neck. Sweat glistened and rolled over the planes of his chest, catching in the silver hair that trailed down his lower stomach to the base of his cock.

The wet slap of skin echoed the deep, rhythmic thwack of his hips meeting yours, and the raw longing burning in his eyes is almost too much to bear. You cling to him, your hair sticky against your own body, as well as the weight of all your feelings: your fear, your yearning, your surrender, everything coiling tighter into every powerful roll of his hips.

His mouth brushes your ear as he promises you things you can’t quite hold yet, but desperately want to believe. “Please…” you gasp, the word lost in the rising tide of climax. “Sylus…”

“If… you keep saying my name like that...” he moaned, so shaky and broken it barely sounded like him. “I’m not… ah… going to last long.”

The desire rised between your bodies like a storm about to break. You couldn't hold back; the dam of all your emotions was seconds from bursting. And with a few more relentless movements, you came, shuddering violently over his cock, gasping for breath as if you’d been drowning. You cried out with a wild, untamed sound you'd never made before, a full-body surrender that spilled into a rush of shared liquid.

Your body trembled beneath him, and still he didn’t let go, maintaining the rhythm, anchoring you both in the eye of the storm. He presses his forehead to yours, breathing hard, his fingers brushing your cheek with tenderness. He could feel every tremor in your frame, hear the racing beat of your heart, echoing his own.

Sylus pulled back slightly, only to thrust in harder. His cock, already thick, hardened further, pulsing with a fierce demand inside you. He needed more. His own climax, so close just moments ago, was now a conscious chase. Each powerful plunge was a desperate claim, a primal need to consume and be consumed.

He felt the nails of your fingers digging into his back and it only drove him further. The way your face twisting in pleasure, of your body arching in that first, explosive climax coursed through him, intensifying his own need. He hadn't expected to go so fierce with you the first time. But your tongue, your hands, your raw surrender had provoked him beyond anything he’d anticipated. He sighed. He needed to come. You were pushing him past every limit.

You felt him hit your sweet spot, driving you wild again. Your body arched up to meet his every brutal, perfect demand, instinctively answering the raw desire in his every thrust.

“Sylus...” You cried out, and the sound of his name on your lips was a direct path to his soul.

“Relax. You can handle it,” he choked out, his hips driving relentlessly. The wet, furious slap of skin against skin became the only sound in the universe. Your legs clamping again around his waist. His muscles bunched and flexed beneath your fingers, shimmering with sweat, as he hammered into you, faster, harder...

Just as his body tensed for release, he pulled back a fraction, you hear his choked question against your ear: “Can I come inside you?”

“Mmm-hmm... yes!” you whimpered, your body arching. “ ’m taking... the pill...”

His body tensed with renewed power, and he slammed into you, picking up a new tempo with a desperate urgency. He was rock-hard inside you, pushing you toward a second climax even as your head spun with the intensity.

Until a desperate moan tearing from his chest as he poured himself into you, filling your core. You let out a load moan, your own climax exploding through you, pulling you violently with him into the sweet oblivion. He collapsed against you, heavy and spent, his breath ragged against your neck, his fingers digging into your hips, still clutching you.

After, your bodies remained impossibly tangled, bathed in the hush of the room, slick with shared heat. You felt weightless and pinned at the same time, his leg tangled with yours, Your heart still raced a frantic rhythm barely believing what just happened. The sheets are a mess, but neither of you moves. His arm is heavy across your waist. His breath fans gently against your temple. You stare at the ceiling, too full of feeling to speak.

Then, his fingers found your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek with feather-light care, he turned you toward him. You looked at him and found no trace of the usual smugness in his face but rather a profound softness you hadn't seen.

“I hope you know…” he said, his eyes flickering side to side, almost vulnerable. “…this wasn’t just for fun.”

You stared at him, the unexpected softness in his gaze disarmed you. The overwhelming tide of emotion swelled within you, a chaotic mix of the shattering intimacy you'd just shared, the fierce longing that had coiled inside you since that trip to the city, and the startling realisation that Sylus had been holding back too. You felt it now, in every inch of your body, lingering on your lips…

“Yes, I know, but—” you blurt, your thoughts instantly slipping out in a rush. “But I’m also a disaster! I overthink everything, and I say stupid things. I’m going to ruin this, I know it, even though I don’t want to. I’ll probably just cry and then analyse every breath we’ve shared because I can’t stop myself—and I won't be enough!”

Sylus blinks once, then twice, clearly caught off guard by the sudden rush of words.

“And maybe I’ll run or say something stupid because that’s what always happens when something actually matters and this... You... You matter so much I can’t even breathe right and I— I love you so much…” Sylus’s eyes widened, freezing on your face. You haven't realised what you just said. “...and it’s terrifying because if you leave I won’t know how to be okay again. And I don’t think I’ll even know how to want anything else after this... after you... and, and...”

Then, his hand finds yours beneath the sheets, firm but gentle. He laces your fingers together and pulls you slightly closer, grounding you with his gaze.

“Leaving me is not an option,” he says, eyes steady. “I won’t accept that.” The intensity in his gaze sends your heart stumbling all over again. You feel your face heat up so fast it’s like someone struck a match across your skin. “After all,” he murmurs, and there’s the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips, “you love me…”

You froze. Did you say that…? The words echoed, loud and clear in your mind, burning with the fresh memory of the confession torn from you just moments before. Mortified, you yanked the covers up and over your head like a kid hiding from a nightmare. “God, why am I like this?” you mutter from underneath.

He laughs softly, leaning over the mound you’ve become. “Don’t hide under the blanket, Kitten,” he murmurs, leaning over the mess of linen you’ve become. “I remember everything you said.”

“I’m not hiding,” you protest, voice muffled and absolutely unconvincing.

“Oh?” His tone tilts into that familiar, playfully smug edge. “You’re not hiding. Enlightened me then…” his fingers pinch a corner of the blanket. “What exactly are you doing?” He gives the covers a tug, but you cling to them tighter.

“And why are you calling me Kitten, now?” you protest, struggling with him.

“It suit you” he laughed.

A brief, silly struggle ensues and before you know it, he’s won. He slips beneath the blanket with you, pinning you down, his bare chest warm against yours. You yelp as his mouth finds yours again in the dark, laughter caught between kisses.

“Don’t be so fussy, Kitten,” he murmurs against your lips, smug and soft all at once. “You already said it.” You turn into his chest, breathing in his scent, your hand clutching the fabric of the sheets between you. He wraps his arms around you tighter. “Now let me show you what that means to me.” He murmurs, and before you can respond, his lips find yours.

A kiss that speaks in quiet declarations: I heard you. I see you. I’m not going anywhere. His mouth brushes over yours once, then again, softer, slower. His hand cradles your jaw, thumb tracing your cheek, and you melt into him, the warmth of his chest, the strength of his arms, the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palm. The moment stretches between heartbeats, soft and suspended. Then you sigh, the weight of reality pressing lightly on your chest.

“It’s a shame we can’t stay like this too long.”

“We have plenty of time” he said, pressing his again hard cock against you.

“You’re not leaving today?” You lift an eyebrow, already suspicious. He keeps kissing your neck. “Sylus…” you warn, your tone dropping.

He pulled back, hovering over you. “I guess you can say I lied.”

“What?”

“Leaving today was… an option.”

Your mouth falls open in disbelief, you push him from you, scandalized. “Liar!”

“But,” he drawls, he caught your wrist effortlessly, tugging you back against the bed with ease. “I still need to get on a plane this week. Which means, my beloved…” he kisses your knuckles with infuriating calm, “we have the whole day to ourselves. And enough time to pack your things.”

Your heart skips, a flustered mess between outrage and joy. “You’re assho—”

“I know,” he smirks, utterly shameless, pulling you into a kiss that tastes like victory and sweet devotion.

The days after, the sun rose just like it always did—but everything felt different. You packed quietly, folding memories between cotton shirts and worn-out sandals, tucking away pieces of your old life with a strange sense of calm. Your mother hugged Sylus tightly at the door, laughing as she told him, “You always were handsome, even back then as a boy.” He smiled, a little shy for once. Your father gave him a few heavy pats on the shoulder, nodding solemnly. Take care of her.”

And just like that, you left. With nothing more than a suitcase, enough to pack everything important to you. You had always known this place wouldn’t hold you forever. Your heart had been beating against its walls for years, aching for something just out of reach. But it was also a cage, painted in soft colours and built from everything you loved and yet couldn’t stay for.

Sylus didn’t rescue you. He gave you a reason, an option to leave. Before your courage could shrink back into doubt, before the weight of comfort could drag you into settling. He was a spark, and you were dry wood pretending not to be waiting for the flame.

You found out later, that the blueprint you once saw, the one that made you wrinkle your nose and tease him over his terrible taste in dark interiors… was a real apartment. A place he had already bought. For both of you. Just in case you said yes. He had designed it with the quiet precision only he possessed. Room for you to make it yours.

You slowly began to accept every piece of him. His shadows. His impossible expectations. His infuriating smirk. His softest silences. And he, in turn, accepted yours. Your doubts. Your fear. Your stubborn heart that had always longed to run.

Months passed. Then years. And with each one, your love with Sylus deepened. He never tried to clip your wings, instead, he helped you build them stronger. He stood by you, through every new city, every strange adventure, every late-night doubt. He pushed you when you forgot how powerful you were. With him, you became the woman you were always meant to be: strong, radiant, free.

One day, when you were ready—truly ready—he knelt before you, eyes bright with unshed tears. You said yes, the word trembling from your lips like a vow the universe had always been waiting to hear.

The bell of the church rang across your small village, echoing through palm trees and sun. Rice flew through the air, laughter danced on the breeze, and petals rained down on two people irrevocably in love. You stepped out in white, hand in hand, heart in heart. When he kissed you under the sun, tears mixed with sweat and ocean memory, and he whispered against your lips: “I love you.”

A/N: If you’ve reached this part — congrats! I hope you enjoyed the story. I did my best to portray Sylus as true to character as possible in this scenario. It’s quite a challenge to take him out of the whole LADS universe.

Depending on how The Taste of Apple and Pomegranate evolves, I’d love to write an epilogue. I honestly feel like this story could easily have two parts.

But, well… work and life exist, so we’ll see.

Still — I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comment section, and I hope to see you in future stories!