Gigi

You already had a strategy to end the arrangement. You wanted to take it slow, step by step, with just a bit of pain on your side. You knew it wasn't your best plan, but it was a plan nonetheless. You wanted to end the friends-with-benefits arrangement in a way that would make you both slowly, almost naturally, drift apart—so subtly that he wouldn't even notice the change. As for you, you were ready to bear the painful consequences of your actions, if it saved you from the excruciating pain of a broken heart later.

You started with avoiding his kisses.

And it turned out to be a tough job to do, because you didn’t realize before how much of a kisser Xavier became during your friends-with-benefits situation. It never really bothered you before, you always accepted every single kiss with content. However, during your last meeting, you were trying so hard to avoid his lips, and noticed that he made it into an almost impossible task.

When you went out one night, he wanted to kiss you three times during hot pot, even though you were sitting across from each other. You thought that the sitting situation was enough of an obstacle, but you quickly learned that he always somehow managed to find a chance to try to steal a kiss. That not only bewildered you, but also made you blush so hard that you had to blame the spicy food for it to not look suspicious. Yet, you managed to stay your ground and ignored his needy attempts at capturing your lips.

You also avoided his lips while you were later watching a movie in his apartment, by pretending that you didn’t see or feel his constant gaze on you. You thought that maybe if he saw that the movie engaged you so much, he would finally drop the attempts. Unfortunately, your plan failed the moment his patience thinned, when he started kissing your neck while cradling your body to his. He was grabbing at you almost desperately and you really couldn’t escape from every single kiss he was giving you, no matter how much you tried to. And you really tried to.

“Why—why are you turning your face away? A-Ah… Let me look at y-you—mmm.” He said between his moans, and he never once stopped thrusting inside you. It was the day when he took you on a sofa between his soft, plushy pillows with the movie still playing in the background. Your legs were laying on his shoulder, his both hands holding onto them tightly while his hips thrust deep inside you, making you gasp in pleasure. When you didn’t respond and kept your head away, hoping that he would finally stop with his relentless kisses, his hand gently grabbed your face and turned it towards his so that your eyes met. He smiled softly, his cheeks pink and face damp. “Yes, there you are. You feel good? You wanna break?” He almost slurred and you adored how quickly he was loosing himself with you, how much he was losing his composure. When you squeezed your eyes, moaning at a harder thrust and shook your head no, he whimpered. Next thing you knew, he lowered your legs onto the sofa and lay between them, bringing his body closer to yours. Your chests touched and you could feel his rapid heartbeat, mirroring the rhythm of your own. He nudged your head, which was still turned to the side, with his nose.

“Give me a kiss, c’mon, starlight.” He kissed your cheek, slowing down his thrusts to a lazy, delicate ones. “I couldn’t get a kiss all day, I need it. Let me.” And when you saw his eyes, full of desperation and something that reminded you of adoration, you couldn’t keep denying him. Your lips touched his and he didn’t let go of them until you came, and later when he began growling straight into your mouth, chasing his own undoing.

It was the last time you met up, and after that you decided that you had to cut it off completely. You couldn’t continue being with him like this, not when you knew that he already loved someone else. Being with him this close messed with your head. You didn’t want to feel like a convenient second choice and you couldn’t help but feel that your meetings were slowly becoming more and more intimate. You had to constantly remind yourself that you weren’t together. You made sure to label the change in your relationship properly at the start of the arrangement — still on friendly terms, with occasional mutual pleasure. But the close proximity and constant intimacy started to make the lines blurry in your mind.

And your heart couldn’t take it anymore, it hurt every time you reminded yourself that he didn’t reciprocate your feelings, and that he never will.

After that movie night you decided that the next step to your goal would be to stop engaging in small talk with him, especially the one that occurred at work.

You worked together at the Hunter’s Association, he was one of the best Hunters out there, and you specialized in weapon modification from the safety of your own desk. You wanted to be a hunter once, but with your Evol involving micromodification you guessed that you could be needed in a position that involved working with weaponry. After working there for years, you were passionate about your work and elated to have a job you loved and where you thrived while helping others to the best of your abilities.

Thus, because of the shared place of employment, you saw Xavier almost every day. He was often near your desk, passing by it, putting snacks before you or teasing you with that soft smile of his. So, cutting the contact out there was one of the toughest jobs for you, but it had to be done.

When you knew that he would be free, you found a task that needed completion in other departments, so that you will not cross paths. Often, instead of others coming to you to fix their weapons, you proposed to make the trip instead. In this way you were always quick on your feet, going from department to department, back to the workshop and again to the others’ desks. You didn’t mind the extra activity, it made you think less about your breaking heart.

And when Xavier managed to catch you from time to time, because he always somehow would, you were trying to appear too busy even for a small conversation.

“Where are you rushing off to again? I didn’t manage to talk to you these past few days.” He said one day when he caught you by your elbow while you were going out of the bathroom. He must’ve seen you go in there and wait for you to come out. He brought you a little closer to himself and looked at your face so intently, that you got scared he could see right through you.

“Sorry Xai, I’m just really busy lately.” You answered, maybe too quickly, and were trying to calm your beating heart upon seeing him so close again. Too close. It didn’t help that he was in his hunter’s uniform, that made him look twice as dreamy. You were so close that you could also smell his comforting scent and see the small scar on his cheek that he got last year after you two tried ice skating for the first time.

The first and the last, for it appeared that you were much better at it than he would ever be, and you wanted to avoid him getting hurt again. It was also before your friends-with-benefits situation, when your friendship was pure and healthy. Your heart squeezed remembering how he grabbed your hand then, and how tightly he used to hold it throughout the whole activity.

“Xavier, are you sure you don’t want to go back home already? I’m afraid that your cut will scar if we leave it like that.” You said, looking at the band aid on his cheek, the only remedy for his small injury that you could provide at that time.

He squeezed your hand and still appeared sheepish after his fall. You secretly found him adorable, you never saw him doing something in which he didn’t excel in. It was as if he let you see a part of himself that no one had ever seen before. That thought made your chest warmer.

“No. I won’t let the ice defeat me.” He said surely and you knew that he won’t give up, even if his legs already visibly trembled from exhaustion. You let out a sigh. “Besides, you’re holding my hand now, so I feel much safer.” He looked at you, his voice soft and cheeks red, most likely from the cold air. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state made you completely overcome by the feeling of tenderness, and you send him a huge smile, thinking that it was the first time he relied on your protection, and not the other way around.

Little did you know that this smile would catch him by surprise so much that he slipped backwards, this time pulling you down with him. However, your reflexes slightly worked, because you managed to put your hand behind his head, shielding it from the impact with ice. You landed on him with a groan as his hands moved to pull your body closer.

“Oh god, Xai, are you okay? How did that happen?” You asked him, trying to lift yourself off of him. You felt him relax his head further into your hand, and when you raised yourself enough to face him directly, he sent you a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. This sight made your heart melt.

“See, I knew you would protect me.” He replied, clearly referring to your hand behind his head. “My little savior.” He called you, and when you puffed the air out, annoyed that he could have hurt himself for real this time, his smile turned into a full laugh, his body shaking under yours. He looked so angelic, covered in snow, laughing in a way that was so scarce that you couldn’t help but join him in his moment of happiness.

And thanks to your mittens, your hand was left with only a purple bruise from the impact. Still, Xavier couldn’t let you forget about it up to the day it disappeared completely, expressing guilt for the minor injury, his sight chasing your hand every time it appeared in his line of vision. He often caressed it softly with his fingers, looking at it with a mysteriously thoughtful expression, whispering “My little savior.” under his breath. It made you wish that the bruise would never disappear.

You took a step back, suddenly overwhelmed by the memories and the closeness between you. He always invaded your personal space, stood so close that you could almost feel his breath on your face. This time, you had had to cut it out for your own good.

“S’okay. You’re always busy but I guess I just got used to meeting you near your desk. Just text me after work? Maybe we could meet up for our book club today.” He said and you swallowed the awful feeling of longing in your chest. Book club was the term you came up with when you both just wanted to sit and read together for hours. Unfortunately, you knew how book club sessions looked like since the beginning of your friends-with-benefits arrangement.

You were sitting together in silence, reading for hours, then talked about your books until you both lost your breaths. A wonderful experience, you adored your little reading sessions, but you knew that recently they always ended with his lips on yours, and with your clothes scattered around his bedroom.

You couldn’t let this go on forever. You couldn’t go back to being just friends now, and you couldn’t keep him so close, knowing that he will never fully be yours. You pitied your poor heart.

“Sure, will do. See you around!” You were aware how awkward you sounded, but before he could stop you, you were already off to another task of the day.

You didn’t text him after work, and neither did you reply to his message in time. The next day you send him an excuse that you were tired and fell asleep quickly, and you hoped that he believed it or didn’t care enough to question you further.

If the distance hurt you this bad now, you couldn’t even imagine how would it feel when he eventually would’ve left you for her.

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The next stage of your plan involved not answering his texts at all. You allowed yourself small replies from time to time, most often very brief, if the situation called for it. Replying excuses from left to right. Then, you incorporated not picking up his calls, especially on weekends, when he appeared to want to see you the most, because you were absent from the Association building and he couldn’t catch even a glimpse of you.

The distance you yourself put between you broke your heart, and you were getting more and more depressed by the day. Ignoring the person you loved wasn’t easy, when he was the one with whom you wanted to spend your time the most.

To distract yourself from the situation, you were trying to pass your time differently. You were meeting up with your family and friends, or you started doing things that you were putting off for ages. Everything and anything to fill the void in your heart caused by the absence of the one you loved. The absence forced by you.

It had to be done, you reminded yourself daily. You had to end this somehow, no matter how it hurt you. You had to move on. You couldn’t still be in love with him the day he would end up with MC. You knew it would ruin you.

Three weeks passed since your last meeting at the Association and you could feel that Xavier was getting impatient. His calls were more frequent. His messages longer. Sometimes while running away from him at work, you could catch how he was scanning the room in search of you. How frustrated he seemed to be. How upset.

You understood it. You were best friends after all, and he also probably needed someone near him to help him get his head clear of MC. You knew that it must’ve been hard for him. But you were sure you were doing the right thing, that’s why you kept avoiding him during the past month, and not only it was the longest period you’ve been away from each other since the start of your complicated arrangement, but also the longest time since the start of your friendship. Even when the times were rough, you managed to see each other at least once or twice a week.

You felt the pain of the distance too. Missing him almost every second of the day. But you had your reasons. You didn’t want to try to satiate the hunger he felt for another woman anymore.

So every time his name appeared on your phone screen, along with the picture of him shoving two muffins into his mouth at the same time, you closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and waited out the signal, simultaneously praying for and dreading the silence.

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On a quiet rainy day, after a month of ignoring almost every attempt to make contact from Xavier, you heard your phone ping thrice. You sighed and put the book you were reading down, deciding that it was a good moment to reply something short to him in order to slightly ease his worries, and make him feel less alarmed. You wanted distance, but you still sticked to responding from time to time, to appear casual. To let the connection break off less abruptly.

xavier: why cant I see U at all recently.

xavier: why are U not picking up my calls and not replying to my texts.

xavier: are U hiding from me?

you: Of course not, just busy.

xavier: busy for me but not busy for others I know U are going out all the time.

xavier: are U mad at me? did I do something wrong.

you: No, you didn’t, don’t worry. It’s just me. I have a lot of things on my mind recently.

xavier: could U please have me on Ur mind too? I miss U.

xavier: so bad it hurts

You let out a rugged breath, and decided to stop responding, but then another text came. This time, making your blood run cold.

xavier: going back from a rough mission right now i think i need help.

you: Oh my god, are you okay? Are you injured?

xavier: cant tell U why dont you come and see me for Urself.

you: Fine, I need to see if you’re okay. Do you need anything? Food? Medicine? I will pick something up on my way there.

xavier: i just need U

You closed your eyes and hid your face in your palms, then swore it would be the last time. You will go in, treat his wounds and go out. It had to be the last time you allowed yourself to be this close to him, and then you had to cut him off completely. A month wasn’t enough to heal your broken heart, and these small sightings won’t make your heart feel any less burdened.

It had to end today.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

When the door opened, he managed to take your breath away once more.

First, only figuratively. His beauty always managed to amaze you. He looked so handsome no matter the circumstances, his hair so fluffy and shiny, his face like that of an angel, with sharp jawline and soft, pink lips almost screaming at you to be kissed. When you met his eyes, you almost gasped at the intensity of his deep blue gaze. There wasn’t a thing about him you didn’t miss terribly after so much time apart.

Then, literally, when the first thing he did was grabbing your hand and hugging you tightly to his chest, that was still clothed in his hunter uniform. He pressed his face into the crown of your hair and touched the nape of your neck, holding it gently with his cold hand.

“Was the mission that difficult?” You asked, thinking that his reaction to you was mostly due to his need for someone else’s closeness. The need for security. “Were you in danger?” You asked quietly, fear bubbling in your mind.

“No. I lied.” He murmured and you felt him squeezing you even harder, inhaling your scent with content. His hand started stroking your back, slowly making its way under your thin coat. “Didn’t know what else to say to make you come see me.” He said and you hoped that he couldn’t hear, nor feel the sound of your erratic heartbeat.

He shouldn’t say things like these, it made you feel too hopeful. You tried to push that feeling down, knowing that’s how he normally acted with you, his best friend. You knew that he didn’t have a lot of people beside him, thus he treasured the ones that stayed. And that thought made you so incredibly apologetic that you had to swallow the tension in your throat. You hated that you fell for him so hard. You hated that you had to leave him because of it. You hated that you knew, that he would blame himself when you’ll leave.

And you started to hate yourself the most because of all of it.

“Did you miss me that much?” You teased, trying to calm yourself with a friendly banter.

“Yes.” The answer was immediate. The kiss he placed on your temple as natural as breathing. “Everything and everyone seems to be taking you away from me these days.” He said and you could hear him sulking. Your heart squeezed again, but you knew that you were doing the right thing. The distance was necessary.

Necessary for you to avoid breaking. You had to protect yourself first, you decided. You couldn’t remain in love with him forever. You had to move on and in order to do that you had to keep the distance. Which was impossible with him around, when he craved physical touch so badly.

You started to be so mad at yourself for breaking your streak today. You didn’t realize how touchy he will be after some time apart and it was getting to your head. You were so conflicted. You felt too much, and that was always the case when you were around him.

He was in love with someone else. Your head was screaming loudly, trying to calm the wave of unwanted emotions.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. I love you, you thought. “But now I’m here, so maybe I can inspect you for any injuries? You always seem to neglect them as long as they don’t make you bleed out.” You managed to free yourself from his hold and missed how his hands went after you for a second. He didn’t want you to put distance between you two. Not yet, not ever.

He looked into your beautiful, shiny eyes and nodded without a thought. He couldn’t say no to you, not when he saw the still remaining hint of worry in them. Besides, checking for injuries always came with physical contact, and he was so starved. He needed to feel your body close to his. Your hands on him, somewhere, anywhere, everywhere. He felt addicted and craved some kind of relief. He looked after you like a lost puppy, following your footsteps closely, touching the familiar material of your coat that you left on a counter. The distance this past month made him feral, every part of his body screamed to hold you and don’t let go.

You sat down on his couch, and patted the place next to you, hinting at him to sit beside you. He was trying not to appear too eager while doing so, and also when he started taking off the upper part of his uniform. He was almost shaking with excitement knowing that you really came to see him. That you were worried about him. The distance was making him sick. Furious. Desperate. Hurt.

He suppressed a shudder when you touched his shoulder and peeled away the material off his back completely. Your hands were pleasantly warm, as always. He bit his lip trying not to gasp from the contact.

He needed more.

“Xavier.” He hummed, giddy inside upon finally hearing his name from your lips. He was bracing for your outburst. Couldn’t wait for it. “You said you lied about the mission being hard, while having a fucking gash on your back? I-I can’t believe you...” He heard your angry, shaky voice and smirked unintentionally. You were worried about him and he liked that. He liked the attention, when it was coming from you.

Yet, you didn’t know that.

You cursed under your breath and went to grab the first aid kit from one of his drawers, and proceeded to patch the man back up, having no idea that he allowed the Wanderer to injure him, to have an excuse to see you. To keep you with him for a minute longer, even if it was only under the pretense of tending to his injuries. He was ready to do anything at this point to keep you from slipping away from his grasp.

If you knew that, you wouldn’t be so adamant on distancing yourself.

But because you didn’t know, you also didn’t predict that after patching him up, he would propose you to eat dinner with him, making up an excuse that he didn’t want to be alone with his pain. Later, when you wanted to come back to your place, he mentioned he wanted to play kitty cards, the game you adored. You couldn’t refuse him.

During the next hours you spent at his place you both talked in the same way you always used to - about everything and anything, exchanging opinions, stories and everyday thoughts. You laughed together for the first time in weeks, and your cheeks hurt from how much he was able to make you smile. You always had so much fun with him; he was your favorite person in the whole world. You missed him so bad, despite knowing that you couldn’t back out from your plan fully. Yet, you allowed yourself a little break, telling yourself that it was in order for your distancing to not look suspicious. In addition, he was injured, and you felt the need to comfort him in any way you could. The gash on his back wasn’t that deep, but it worried you regardless.

The atmosphere changed drastically only when he managed to win the next round of kitty cards. You jokingly frowned at him, forging displeasure, and he looked directly at your pouting lips. The time seemed to stop when you noticed that look. He raised his hand to touch your collarbone, caressing it with his fingers, up to your neck and over your cheek. He looked deeply into your eyes, and you noticed how dark his became. You found it fascinating that his soft gaze could change so drastically in a matter of seconds.

His hand reached out to grab your chin and brought your face closer to his. And when he whispered: “Could I ask for a reward?” with that dangerous, needy voice of his, you knew that you couldn’t deny him anything.

When your lips touched, you decided that it will be the last time you let it happen. It would be your goodbye, before losing the feel of his touch. You thought that you could at least make the best of it, get lost in the artificial feeling of being treasured for the last time, before you started the last phase of your plan.

After that, you had to cut off the ties with him completely. No matter the measures. No matter the pain.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Xavier, m-maybe not today?” You asked when you realized how low he was going with his kisses. You knew what he was about to do, and you hated how much you couldn’t contain the sounds that were coming out of your mouth when he was doing it. Besides, it didn’t feel like a mutual pleasure anymore, it felt like an act of service and you were not sure you wanted him to pleasure only you.

He looked at you, having already dropped to his knees. He looked ruined, his hair already a mess from the touch of your fingers, lips wet and swollen, shirt off displaying his toned chest, bandaged in the center with caution. He was practically heaving. The sight made you blush.

“Why not?” His voice sounded whiny, his lips already kissing the inside of your thigh as if he couldn’t restrain himself. Every kiss sent electricity to your already wet core and you found it hard to think clearly. His hands were grabbing your tights possessively, relishing in their softness. “Please, let me eat you out. I’ll make you feel good, I promise.” The pleading in his eyes was so apparent. So unfiltered.

“Don’t you want to get to the point already?” You offered shyly and he huffed out a laugh.

“Where are you trying to run off to this time?” It sounded like a joke, but he appeared annoyed. “Relax, starlight and let me take care of you. Please.” You still hesitated. It made him pout. “I need it, please, star. I want to taste you so bad. I didn’t manage to last time.” He kissed your knee and put his head on it, looking for the answer in your unsure eyes. “Will you let me?” His pleading tone, along with his desperate gaze was what made you break. You whispered a soft confirmation and it was all it took before he quickly put his mouth on your core, licking vigorously, devouring you like the most delicious thing on the planet.

“Mmmm.” You heard him humming, before your own cries, along with the constant tremble of your legs, drowned out any other sound.

He was elated.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Mmmh— Yes. Yes. H—holy—” He whimpered at the same time with his thrusts and squeezed your waist harder, moving his hands up and down your back, caressing it affectionately. “You are s-so warm, so beautiful, fuck—” He moaned when you tightened on him. You stiffed a whimper and tried to commit to memory the touch of his strong hands.

He was taking you slowly from behind and the pace was almost unbearable for you. You needed more, and you couldn’t stand how romantic it felt when he was this gentle with you. However, at the same time you didn’t want him to strain himself, you were aware that the slow pace was reasonable due to the injury on his back. The slow pace did surprise you either way, you thought that after so much time apart he would be quick and rough, chasing his pleasure faster than he normally would. Instead, he acted even more passionately than usual.

The slow pace brought you so much pleasure that you couldn’t contain the sounds escaping from your lips. He kept pressing your most sensitive spots, his thrusts slow, deep and precise. His forehead rest on the back of your shoulder, and you could feel his hot, labored breath pressing against your damp skin.

He made you feel so appreciated, and so cared for, and that made you uneasy. More so, with the accompaniment of the things he was constantly saying to you, from the moment you allowed him to touch you today.

“Can you turn around now? Please, my star, I want to see you.” He half-whispered and started kissing your neck, then moving his mouth to every patch of your skin he could reach: your shoulders, back, arms. No place was left unkissed under his relentless lips. You shook your head no; you didn’t want to let this become even more passionate than it already was. You positioned yourself facing the headboard of the bed from the very beginning, and you were adamant to keep your stance up until the end. You feared that your eyes would betray you, displaying your feelings for him and that was what made you not lose your composure.

Upon hearing your refusal for the third time this night, he proceeded to voice his frustrations by grunting, and thrust into you a little harder. You moaned loudly, surprised at the sudden change of tempo.

“Please, starlight.” He begged; his voice achingly earnest. He picked up the pace and you almost choked with how deep he reached inside of you now. You thought that you could never get used to how big he was, his girth filling you up to the brim. “Turn around. T-turn around for me.”

“X-xavier slow down, I don’t want you to get hurt—” You managed to choke out, grasping sheets with your hands for some kind of stability. You closed your eyes when they were turning upwards, biting your lip in the process. He felt otherworldly, but you couldn’t help but think about the gash on his back. He shouldn’t strain himself.

“Then turn around and look at me.” He repeated and you shook your head again.

“I-I can’t, I—Ah—”

“W-why do you keep—Mmh—denying me?” His voice came out like a growl and he kept up the fast tempo. Then, he grabbed your shoulder and put his other hand on your lower back, making you bend over more. His thrusts got even faster, making you moan louder. “Like that. Yes.” You breathed quietly. So good. He was so, so good. “I just want to see your face. I need to kiss y—A—Ah—Kiss you so bad, so, so, so bad.” He thrust more deeply, making you involuntarily back out from the stimulation, your body almost collapsing, but he quickly grabbed you with his strong arms, and brought you even closer to him. You saw stars and touched one of the arms that held your whole body — from your waist, between your breasts, to your neck. His arm was so hard, so strong. He was huge compared to you. “No, n-no, don’t run away, star. You feel so good—G-God how I missed this—” He held you closer by the second, pressing more kisses to your shoulders, his thrusts becoming quicker, less deep. You were holding back your tears from how good he felt inside you. “I missed you. I missed you. I miss you.” He started babbling and that’s how you knew he was close.

To your surprise, he suddenly pulled out of you completely and grabbed you by your shoulders, turning you around to finally face him. Before you could show any signs of protest, he lowered himself onto his forearms, caging your head between his biceps so that he could have a perfect view of your face. He took his cock in one of his hands and he slipped himself into you again with ease. You shuddered and cried out softly with astonishment.

“Xavier—!”

“Yes. Yes, that’s my name.” He started thrusting into you again, this time much slower and more attentive, and looked deep into your eyes. You had nowhere to run, the only thing you could do was to close your eyes, but the sight of him so close made you want to never look away. “Say it one more time. Just once.” He looked ethereal, his silver hair wet from the perspiration that gathered on his forehead, and his cheeks painted a pretty shade of red. You could see how blissful he felt. “So p-pretty.” He finally kissed your lips softly. “So sweet.” He licked into your mouth, deepening the kiss. It made your toes curl, you loved when he kissed you this sloppily. When he released your already swollen lips, there was a string of saliva connecting you. It was all so intense.

“Why were you denying my kisses?” He kissed you again deeply, sucking on your tongue. His slow thrusts made you go insane. “You don’t like kissing me like this?” He sucked on your lips until they were red and swollen. There was so much saliva. He licked them and kissed them again. “I could come from this feeling alone. So soft.” You were shocked at how much he talked. Was he always this talkative? Or were you realizing it only now, when you knew that the closeness with him would soon come to an end?

“Am I making you feel good? Yeah?” You decided to nod at him truthfully, your moans short, resembling small hiccups. You were lost in the pleasure; you could feel the end approaching. He put his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. “W—wow, you—you sound so adorable, I won’t last long—” He moaned and grabbed your face in his hands, kissing your nose first, then softly your lips.

“Yes, yeah, let go. Let go my little star. My starlight, my treasure.” He whispered into your ear, feeling you clench down on him as you came with his name on your lips. You felt him reaching the end quickly after you, he shuddered, his mouth opened, and he released into the condom with a low moan. Still cumming, he took your face into his hands and kissed your forehead gently. When you both were still coming down from the high, breathing heavily, he began stroking your hair, pushing it out of your face, and kissing your cheeks.

What in the world was all that?

God, you couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t let this keep up, it felt too real, too romantic, and your heart really couldn’t take it. Not when every time you were together like this you keep thinking that he would like you to be someone else instead. Did he imagine her under him this time? You trembled, scared because of that thought, but the things he was saying made you feel that it really could be the case.

Your breath came out shakily and you took his muscular forearms in your palms and grazed them gently with your thumbs. You let yourself feel for the last time how warm his body was, how pleasurable his weight on top of you. You kept your eyes closed to not let him see your tears, but you couldn’t stop one from going down your cheek.

And of course, he saw it as soon as it appeared. He seemed to always look at you when you wanted him to ignore you the most.

He kissed it off, swiped the wetness with his thumb and proceeded to kiss your temple.

“Why are you crying?” He asked softly, his eyebrows furrowed. “Did I hurt you?” He appeared so concerned, and you felt the shivers going down your spine.

Yes, you wanted to scream.

“No, of course not.” You said instead. Because it was your fault for feeling too much. “I’m okay, just tired.” You lied straight to his face. He sent you a small smile and kissed your closed eyelids gently.

And when he shifted and pulled out from you slowly with a little hiss, you let out a sigh and knew that your time with him had to end now.

But before you could lift yourself up, he hugged you from the side and put his head on your chest. He was listening to the sound of your heartbeat, and you already knew that it had a soothing effect on him. His hand started caressing one side of your waist, his hair touching your chin, his scent overlapping you. You could feel his heartbeat on you, fast but steady. Another tear escaped from your eyes. You had to run away. You couldn’t take the closeness anymore. It was too painful.

“Xavier, I—” You swallowed the sob forming in your throat. Your voice came out rusty. “I really need to go.”

“Already? Stay with me for a little while longer.” He squeezed you harder to himself, showing no intention of releasing you from his hold. You hated that you needed to cut short such a vulnerable moment with him. “The night is still young. I thought we could maybe watch something together? Or bake these cinnamon cookies you like? I practiced, they taste and look almost perfect now.” You closed your eyes hard, moved by his thoughtfulness, and you almost sobbed audibly if it wasn’t for your hand quickly covering your mouth.

But he felt it, and it made all the muscles in his body tighten, as if he was struck.

“Star?” He loosened his hold on you and quickly studied your face. “What’s wrong?” His eyes became huge, filled with worry. And that concern on his features was what finally made you run.

You raised gently and pushed yourself from him, starting to pick up your scattered pieces of clothing. Your hands shakily put the panties and your sweater on your trembling body, not once looking Xavier’s way. He was waiting patiently for your answer.

“I can’t do this anymore, Xavier.” You replied, feeling more comfortable now that you had some clothes on. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but you heard him standing up from the bed.

“Do what?” He sounded puzzled. You heard him grabbing and putting on some pants hastily, clicking his belt in place. As if he was preparing to run after you. “Did I do something wrong? You didn’t like it today? Was I too intense?” You had never heard him speak so quickly, and the panic in his tone was a rare occurrence too.

“No, it’s— I am at fault here.” You answered truthfully, and you took a couple steps away from him. You wanted to run as fast as you could but for the love of God, you couldn’t locate any other pieces of your clothing. Your eyesight was clouded by unleashed tears. No, not now, you couldn’t let them fall until you were in the safety of your home.

“But you were perfect.” His voice carried more panic by the second. “We could change some things. You could tell me what to do differently, everything works with me as long as I do it with you.”

You suddenly remembered the beginning of your night, and rushed to his living room, were you finally found your pants.

“No. No, and please stop trying to persuade me. This—this friends with benefits thing, it ends now.” You uttered surely, now fully clothed. You turned around and finally laid your eyes on him, and saw him wearing only black jeans and a miserable expression on his face. God, he still looked perfect. He almost shined, the workout clearly visible on his face, his hair, his lips. Your resolution almost wavered.

“Okay. Okay, of course, I—I understand.” He answered quickly, and you felt a slight pang in your chest at how easily he took the news. This whole time you were so easily disposable. “But please stay. I want to spend some time with you, I haven’t seen you in such a long time.” He took a careful step towards you, and you wanted to bolt then and there. “Please, stay.”

“No, Xai, I—” You paused to take a breath, trying not to crumble in front of him. His worried expression felt like a knife to your chest. You were his best friend, yet here you were, clearly wanting to run away from him—how could you expect him to feel anything but hurt upon such a sight? You felt incredibly cruel. “I really can’t. I think I need a break from all—all of this.”

“You mean from me?” He didn’t wait for your answer, the thoughts in his head seemed to go quicker than lightning. “No, please, I swear that if you don’t like it then I won’t touch you anymore. I swear.” You hated how upset he sounded. You closed your eyes for a second and fresh tears slipped away. You couldn’t keep them from falling anymore. “You know how much you mean to me. Don’t make me stay away.” He looked as if you were tearing his heart out, his posture slumped, hands shaking. How you wished you could take them into your own and warm them up.

“I have to.” Your voice came out whiny. He stepped closer to you, keeping his arms in front of himself.

“But why?” His question was quiet, nearly a whisper. He couldn’t help but wonder, if you really wanted a break from him, then why were you crying as if you didn’t want to go?

“I—” You stopped yourself before going as far as to utter a confession. He couldn’t know. Not now. Not ever. “This— This situation, and how our friendship looks like right now it’s—it’s so wrong.” You opted for a response that was the closest to the truth.

“It’s not.” He replied immediately. “Not for me.”

“Well it is for me. Friends don’t sleep with each other, Xavier! We messed up so bad this time and I’m afraid we can’t let this past us.”

“Do you regret it that much?” His voice was losing its’ strength, and he seemed so utterly hurt. Meanwhile, you were just trying to protect yourself from feeling even more pain. How could you make him understand without confessing to him? You didn’t really know because you were always honest with him before. He was your safe place.

And to think that everything could be avoided, your friendship left unscratched if only you could control your feelings better. But you had no idea how to stop loving him so deeply, when he was everything that you’ve ever dreamed of.

“I should. I know that I should, it was never going to end well, I—”

“Stay. Please, starlight, stay. At least for one more night, let me hold you just for one more—” His arms went out to grab you and you flinched, taking a few steps back. His jaw tightened.

He was always afraid that he will see you run away from his touch. He felt as if his nightmare became reality - the thought of losing you too much for him to bear.

“Xavier, I can’t!” You trembled all over. Why did he make this so hard for you? “I can’t do this with you anymore, can’t you understand how much it hurts me?” The truth was at the tip of your tongue, craving to be spoken out loud.

“Why? Why does it hurt you? The only one who has a good reason to be hurt is me, you avoided me, ignored me, and for what? If you just talked to me honestly one time—”

“You are in love with someone else!”

The silence that followed was unbearable and seemed to last ages. Slow ticking of the clock was the only thing cutting through the tension, reminding you that the time didn’t stop, even if your heart seemed to do so.

You turned to him, the tears falling from your eyes in cascades now and your chest was coming up and down rapidly with how fast you were breathing.

The tears run down your cheeks quickly, making your vision less blurry. How you wished that they stayed in place, if that meant that you wouldn’t have to see Xavier’s pained expression, that quickly changed into one of utter confusion. You were shaking with how much you were feeling, your frustration pooling out of you in a form of shaking hands and bitten lips.

“I can’t continue being like this with you when I know that you’re in love with her! And I get it! I really do. She’s so wonderful, and so, so lovable. And I could never be her, no matter how much you would want me to be. I just don’t want to be a replacement anymore.” You continued, the desperation in your voice almost making you wince. You sounded pathetic and felt so embarrassed for it. You felt as if you were losing the ground beneath your feet.

“What?” He said completely stunned. He wasn’t moving a single muscle. “What on earth are you talking about?” He hissed, and took a step towards you, and when you shook your head and wanted to bolt through the door, he quickly grabbed you by your wrist and pressed your body close to his. You gasped at the contact, so sudden and forced. “No, stop running away from me!” He raised his voice, still holding your wrist tightly. You’ve never heard him sound so irritated. “Speak.” You kept your head low, when he was desperately trying to catch eye contact, but you couldn’t look at him right now. Not when your true feelings were basically flowing to the surface.

“About what? You really thought I didn’t know about your feelings for her?” You struggled to keep your voice from shaking. “Xavier, I know, and I knew from the very beginning, and you really don’t have to explain yourself to me. I really understand.” You tried to free your wrist from his grasp, but he held it too tightly. You needed to run, this conversation wasn’t supposed to happen, you didn’t even have a reason to be mad at him. You couldn’t blame him for not loving you romantically, nor for feeling this way towards someone else. You were only friends, and friends should be happy for each other when they find someone dear to them, not sick of the idea of losing the other to someone else.

“I’m afraid you actually don’t understand anything.” He sounded almost defeated. His voice back to its soft tone, but his hold on you unrelenting.

“It’s really okay, I—”

“No.” He scoffed. You finally gained enough courage to let your eyes meet his and you were instantly appalled at how furious he appeared to be. “It’s truly NOT.” He released your wrist and put his hands up to stroke his hair back. He breathed out loudly. “Who the fuck are you talking about?” He asked, confusion and irritation taking over his features completely. You never saw him wear that expression while talking with you.

“Oh, don’t make me—” You cut off, seeing his furious glare. You took a deep breath, stepped back from him and touched your cheek, trying to swipe the wetness caused by your tears. You failed, they were still coming down, one by one, making your efforts futile. “MC. You know that I mean MC.”

“You have to be fucking kidding me.” He groaned and let his head fall back. He covered his face with his hands for a second, and when he looked at you again, you couldn’t read his expression correctly. “Who told you about it? Where did you get it from?”

“Jeremiah.” That’s all he needed to know. And apparently it was enough for him to grasp the situation. He laughed humorlessly and shook his head, his hands squeezed tightly into fists by his sides.

“I will strangle him this time. I swear, I will—”

“Oh, please, Xavier, stop! What’s so wrong about me knowing? I was glad that someone finally enlightened me!” You couldn’t believe that he was so angry at you for knowing such an important thing. Not when from the moment Jeremiah said that he had a thing for MC for a long time, you wondered why he kept that a secret from you. “You never even said a word about it even though I thought we were best friends. I had to learn from someone else and that already hurt.” You wanted this conversation to be over. You wanted him to admit to it already and let you go away, with a broken, but at least free heart.

But he had different plans.

“Have you maybe thought that I never said a word about it simply because it wasn’t true?” He asked carefully, his voice still angry. “I just can’t believe you thought that I loved someone else—”

“What?” Your mind went blank. You needed a moment to collect your thoughts. “What do you mean it’s not true?” You sniffed quietly, confusion taking over your face.“B-But Jeremiah said that you had a past with her and—”

“I did. I had feelings for her once, but that was literal lifetimes ago!” His irritation didn’t ease in the slightest. “I had feelings for someone who looked similar to her. But she’s not the same person anymore, and even if she was, I couldn’t possibly fall in love with her. Not now, not ever.” You stopped in your tracks, trying to analyze everything he was saying to you and failing miserably at it. You looked at his face, your expression puzzled, searching for an answer there, hidden between his beautiful, soft features. It shocked you to see that now he started to calm himself down, gaze genuine, an image of complete transparency.

You couldn’t wrap your head around the idea that you were mistaken. All this time, when you thought you never stood a chance, when you thought that he loved another, when you wanted to let him go—

“You’re not in love with MC.” It wasn’t a question anymore, your voice quiet while you were trying to process that thought. He must’ve seen how you fought with the thoughts inside your head, because he released a groan and took a step towards you. You unintentionally took one step back. He frowned.

“Of course I’m not.” Voice sweet like honey, stance sure, his eyes searched desperately for yours. He looked at your face, covered in tears and his eyebrows furrowed deeper, hating how upset you seemed and didn’t know how to reverse it. “How could I ever be, when your face is all I can see, every time I close my eyes?” He uttered looking at you with such devotion that it almost made your knees buckle.

Complete silence took over your thoughts after his confession. You didn’t know what was happening.

But fortunately, his mind finally started to piece everything together in a picture, that although was beyond frustrating to think about, was giving him so much hope for something he thought he already lost.

He allowed himself to relax, took a deep breath and finally decided to drop his inner shackles, letting his emotions flow out of him without restraint.

“You are the one that I love.” He said clearly, not moving a muscle. He wondered if you could see the quick movement of his chest, with how hard his heart was trying to escape through it to reach you. Whereas, you felt as if yours stopped moving completely, along with the time around you, not ready to believe that this was truly happening. “It was you from the very beginning. I adored you since the day I first saw you.” He continued, his gaze piercing into your face, slight confusion visible on his features. “And I thought that was obvious? I wasn’t exactly the best at hiding my feelings, especially after I told you about them the first night we spend together.”

You blinked slowly. Once, then twice.

Your head hurt. You couldn’t wrap it around everything he was saying. Xavier was in love with you? And he already told you about it? You were so confused that the only way you knew how to react was with denial.

“You—You didn’t. I didn’t know, you are not being serious.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“I did. You really don’t remember?” His tone softened, and he waited a short second for your answer, but couldn’t contain his nerves. “It was the night I kissed you for the first time, thinking that would be the last. But you reciprocated.” His eyes gleamed in the moonlight, and you found yourself holding your breath, afraid even the slightest sound might interrupt the flow of his confession.

“You—You kissed me back, and let me do things to you I only ever dared to dream about before.” He took another step your way, a small smile grazing his handsome face. “And the confession slipped out of me so naturally before we even reached the bed.” He briefly recalled that fateful night, describing the conversations you forgot, but longed to remember since that very moment.

“You didn’t reply, but you responded nicely to my touch, so I thought that meant that you wanted me too, that maybe you’d accept me. As your beloved. Your soulmate.” You brought your hand to cover your mouth. You couldn’t believe it. “But then in the morning when you woke up, you were panicking. I tried to reassure you, but you weren’t listening to me.”

That part of the story you knew by heart, him telling you that he couldn’t forget, didn’t want to forget. Back then you didn’t connect it with anything close to confession, but more with the change in your relationship. You really didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, you didn’t even dream about him loving you, when you thought that he loved MC. Insecurities and false assumptions completely clouded your vision.

“And when you proposed staying friends, with the bonus of intimacy, of course I took the chance. I thought you remembered my confession and didn’t reciprocate my feelings, but I was so desperate that I would take anything you were willing to give me, even if it didn’t involve your love. I—” he cut off, blush flushed over his cheeks, up to the tips of his ears. He took a shaky breath. “I was clinging to the hope that maybe through the new shared intimacy I could show you how much you meant to me. And maybe, maybe someday you would start feeling the same, when you realized how good we are together and how good I can be for you.”

“Xavier—Oh my god.” You breathed, your hand still covering your mouth, your eyes never leaving his face. His beautiful, starstruck face, now so full of confusion and unspoken hurt. “Bunny, I’m so, so, so sorry. I had no idea, I—” Your voice practically a whisper, you were still coming to terms with the fact that your feelings were reciprocated. And that you were the one who complicated things between you. “I don’t remember anything you said to me that night. I couldn’t even hear you through the sound of my own blood thrumming in my ears, that’s how drunk I felt. How overwhelmed after our first kiss.”

The alcohol consumed that night also wasn’t of big help. You were a lightweight and you drunk only occasionally, so the few drinks you had already made you feel dizzy. Mixed with the intensity of your emotions, it overwhelmed you so intensely that his touch was all you could remember from that night. But now you could make it all alright.

“I only remember your touch, the things we did, and our conversation the next morning. I remember touching your hand and initiating the kiss, and my tipsy brain just thought that you went with it to forget about MC.” You said truthfully, letting it all pour out of you. Your cheeks burned with the embarrassment of admitting how desperate you were for him, that the thought he loved another didn’t stop you from having sex with him.

Then the blush deepened from the realization that from the very beginning the only one he was thinking about was you.

This thought made your head spin, the happiness slowly bubbling in your chest. Your whole body trembled.

“That’s— Fuck. You really don’t remember.” He shook his head again, realizing how deep the misunderstanding reached. “You didn’t initiate anything. I was the one who kissed you first.”

“No, I—”

“Yes. You touched my hand, smiled at me contentedly and said some things and I—I just couldn’t restrain myself any longer.” This time you were the one who started approaching him slowly. You needed him close. Always. And you realized that now you didn’t have any reasons to deny yourself that lack of distance. “You looked so soft, so open and kissable, and I just went for it. And then you reciprocated.” The light in his eyes started sparkling when he noticed that you were finally coming closer to him. He reached out his hand for you and you took it gently, still shaking from the unspoken emotions.

“I can’t believe it. All this time I thought that you were in love with someone else.” His hand was warm, the touch electrifying. You squeezed his hand and intertwined your fingers together. You saw how between your clasped hands, his Evol started shining brightly, shading soft light upon your features. It was a sign that he was excited. “I tried to put a distance between us, end this intimacy because I thought that I was just a second best for you. An easy distraction.”

“How could you think that? Almost from the moment I met you, I have loved you passionately—” He brought you even closer together, pulling you by your intertwined hands, and put his other hand on your cheek. He swiped the reminder of your tears with his fingers, looking into your eyes with a devotion so apparent that it took your ability to form coherent thoughts. How did you manage to miss the way he was always looking your way?

“X-Xavier.”

“I couldn’t even think about anyone else even if I tried to. You occupy my every thought. How could I ever find a place for somebody else in my heart when you fill the space out completely?” Everything that came out of his mouth was laced with impatience. He was trying so hard to make you understand him, and the intensity of his emotions. He couldn’t psychically hold it inside anymore, he restrained himself for so long that he felt as if all of his walls finally crumbled. He needed you to know everything.

“I love you, starlight. I’m so in love with you that I couldn’t contain that feeling inside anymore. I couldn’t even spend five minutes in your presence without trying to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you. My whole body longs for you constantly.” He said, thinking about the months after you started being friends with benefits. How at first, he wasn’t sure how much he could take from you, and then, when he noticed that you didn’t mind the affection outside the bedroom, he couldn’t contain himself. He kissed you every time he had a chance, he touched you everywhere he could, he was trying to stay away from you as little as possible. Despite thinking that you did not reciprocate his feelings fully, his love for you flowed out of him naturally, every look and every touch laced with unconditional devotion.

During the period of your silence and avoiding him, he thought that it was because he finally crossed a line. He let his feelings out too much, he finally made you uncomfortable. He was starting to act as you lover, not as your friend and it wasn’t what you agreed to. He thought you still didn’t love him and maybe that was a sign that you never will. And even if that could be the case, he still couldn’t let you go.

And it appeared that he didn’t have to.

That you were not uncomfortable, but unsure.

That it was all a huge misunderstanding.

And the words that came out of your pretty, little mouth next, almost brought him to his knees.

“Xavier. Xavier me too, I—” You stuttered, completely overwhelmed by how much you were feeling. You squeezed his wrists, and looked deep into his beautiful, hopeful eyes. “I love you too. And I fell in love with you long before our first night together. I just thought that it was wishful thinking, because your heart was already taken by someone else. And that I could just stay beside you as your friend and that would be enough. And then share your bed from time to time, if that meant that I could hold you close, be on the receiving end of your affection.” You said and raised on your feet to place a quick kiss on his lips. He chased after you instantly, despite appearing stunned. You noticed his hands were shaking.

“You really mean it?” He asked, leaning towards you, kissing your lips again, this time for longer. He had trouble keeping his mouth away from yours, especially now, that he knew that every one of your kisses was filled with love. “Am I not dreaming this time?” You smiled and stroked his hair affectionately, petting his head, wanting to convey your feelings in every way possible.

“Xavier, I love you.” You repeated, grabbing his head in your palms and looking deep into his eyes. Your voice was strong, leaving no room for uncertainty. “I love you so mu—” He didn’t let you finish that sentence, because he quickly picked you up and spun you around, holding you in his arms. You giggled and put your arms around his neck, holding him tightly, his face buried in your neck. When he stopped, he quickly found your lips again and that kiss felt groundbreaking.

He held you close to him, one hand squeezing you by your waist, and the other holding your jaw gently. His brows furrowed in desperation and his kisses were slow, sensual, sending pleasant shocks throughout your whole body. His tongue made an appearance, and he tasted you in a way that made your legs feel like jelly. He licked into your mouth, grunting lowly, his fingers placing a strand of your hair behind your ear, then tracing patterns on your warm cheek. When you opened your eyes for a second, you could see that the tips of his ears were red. The blush spread through his cheeks too, making him look so adorable.

“It does feel like a dream.” He breathed between kisses. “And sounds too good to be true.” He captured your lips again and you smiled into his mouth. Your heart was about to burst.

“I love you.” You repeated, basking in the feeling of finally being able to say it out loud, be open with your emotions. He released your lips and kissed your forehead. You looked up, and he placed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a wide smile adorning his face.

“Don’t stop saying that. You make me so happy.” He said quietly, and you whispered the confession once again, making him sigh shakily.

“I was so stupid. I should’ve asked you right from the start if what Jeremiah said was true.” You said and hugged him more tightly. “I should’ve told you sooner.” You placed your head on his strong chest, your ear touching his bare body, listening to his fast heartbeat. Your hands were hugging his waist, mindful not to touch his bandaged back.

“No, I foolishly thought that telling you once would suffice. I forgot that you drank that night and that could’ve clouded your memory.” He squeezed you harder to himself and started back away with you in his arms, until the back of his legs touched his couch. He fell into it, holding you close, making you sit on his lap. “To think that I could have you sooner—” He looked into your eyes, as if searching for something.

“You had me before, and you have me now. My heart, my body, my soul.” You positioned yourself more comfortably, placing your legs on both sides of his waist, and took his face into your hands. He closed his eyes at the contact, and started to caress your body, from your waist, down to your legs. He squeezed the plush of your tights and let his head fall against the couch pillows.

He couldn’t believe that this was happening. He prayed that this wasn’t a dream, that all of the things you were telling him were true. His chest vibrated pleasurably, incredible warmth spreading through it. His heart beat so quickly, and so loudly that he thought it was the first time he felt its’ beat so intensely himself. Your words made him feel drunk with emotion.

He opened his eyes to look at your face.

He almost choked with how beautiful you were. How divine, sitting on him, caressing his shoulders, smiling at him with the stars in your eyes. He looked at your lips, full and swollen, bearing the signs of his kisses. He looked at your neck, delicate and unmarked, and he stroked it with the back of his hand, wanting to change that fact immediately, knowing that now he was allowed to do that. He switched his gaze to your eyes again and drank them in, basking in their light, wishing that this moment could never end. Or maybe it should, so it could become your new beginning.

You were his treasure. His star, his light, guiding him through life, making his existence worth pursuing. You showed him that the world can be beautiful, despite its overbearing cruelty. You were his salvation, his safe place, his one and only, showing him every single day that he mattered, that he was not a lost cause, or a villain in disguise. You taught him that he was capable of loving so intensely and now, that he was loved as passionately in return.

He doubted his worth, but the only way he knew to prove his love for you was by protecting you with his very life. You had no idea, but his sword, now a symbol of your bond, was yours to command—and you were the only reason he continued to wield it.

“What are you thinking about?” Your voice was not more than a whisper, your eyes still looking into his starry ones, losing yourself in the deep blue. You loved them, how magnificent and expressive they were, and you swore to yourself to tell him about it every day.

He seemed to get out of the trace he was in, and his eyes softened, still taking you in. He smiled and took your hands into his, and kissed your knuckles, his kisses gentle and long-lasting.

“You.” He replied shortly, his voice gentle and reassuring. He put your hands on his shoulders, making you hug his neck with them. You complied and put your whole arms around his neck, bringing your bodies closer. One of his hands touched your waist, caressing it delicately, and the other one stroked your hair, admiring its’ softness. His eyes never left yours. “Always you, my starlight. Then, now, and till the end of my days. I will always carry you in my mind, and in my heart, to be able to reach you, no matter the distance.” You could feel his breath on your face with how close you were to each other, and he gazed at your open lips, which were already waiting to be kissed senselessly. “I love you, as I never loved anyone else in my life, and I never will again.” His lips captured yours in a kiss so soft, yet so desperate, and full of adoration, that you felt a single, happy tear escape from your eye. He deepened the kiss and held you throughout the night, kissing you and touching you, never wanting the moment to end, the warmth of your skin to become a memory.

It all started with the simplest of touches, and it never truly ended. The spark you ignited that first night has never faded. Since the moment you met, it has burned brightly between you both, a light so powerful that it could be seen across the vastness of deep space. Everlasting and exquisite, just like the different lifetimes you both had ahead of you, always finding each other, as if guided by its warmth.

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thank you for your time and please let me know if you liked it!! i was thinking of writing more for this au, maybe from xavier’s perspective? how they met and how he fell in love + how their first night really played out ♡

It slipped into a rhythm, quiet and unspoken, until it almost felt inevitable. Long days that ended in exhaustion, nights when liquor softened sharp edges — somehow, they always ended with you in his bed or him in yours. Sometimes it was his knock at your door, a crooked half-smile that never reached his eyes. Sometimes it was you finding his light still burning at midnight, stepping inside without needing to ask. You didn’t talk about it. You didn’t define it. You just let it happen.

And yet, sometimes, in the stillness after, you found yourself staring at the ceiling, aching in ways the sex didn’t fix. You missed the way it used to be — before that first kiss had redrawn the lines between you. Late night talks stretched across his couch until dawn, impromptu rounds of video games that ended in laughter and insults, knocking on each other’s doors just to share snacks or trade complaints about work. Back then, you never had to wonder where you stood with him. Back then, it had been easy.

Now, every time his hands closed around your waist or his mouth crushed yours, you couldn’t help but think about the morning after. About the way he’d roll out of bed, slip back into that guarded silence, and leave you with nothing more than the memory of how tightly he’d held you just hours before. It made you wonder if he was just lonely. If you were just convenient.

And worst of all was knowing you didn’t have the courage to ask. Because if you asked, he might answer. And if he answered, it might mean losing him entirely.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The office smelled faintly of burnt coffee and paper toner, that sharp tang of recycled air clinging to the late afternoon. Your computer screen glowed with endless reports, but your attention kept sliding to the man sitting at the desk beside yours — James — the new recruit.

“Hey,” he said, leaning closer so his voice carried under the low hum of conversation. “You’ve been staring at that same paragraph for five minutes. Want me to read it out loud to you?”

You snorted despite yourself, heat creeping into your cheeks. “I’m fine, thanks. Just… zoning out.”

“Sure,” he said, grinning, and the easy confidence in his tone made it clear he wasn’t discouraged. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you entertained, then.”

He wasn’t subtle. He didn’t even try to be. The little asides, the jokes tossed your way when no one else was listening, the way he made sure to ask for help with tasks you already knew he knew how to do — it was obvious he liked the excuse to hover close. And maybe, in another life, you would’ve leaned into it without hesitation. He was handsome, charming, the kind of man who wore his intentions on his sleeve.

It was… nice. Nice to feel wanted openly instead of in shadows and silence.

But every time you laughed at something he said, your chest tightened with unease. You couldn’t stop thinking about Xavier. About what it would mean if you let this thing with the new recruit turn into something more. Would it cut the thin thread you and Xavier balanced on? Could you stop the midnight knocks, the heated nights tangled in his sheets, and still expect him to look at you the same way? Would he even care?

You didn’t know. And the not knowing gnawed at you.

Across the room, Xavier shifted in his chair, the leather squeaking as he leaned back, jaw tight. You didn’t notice the way his eyes tracked every glance you shared with the recruit, every quiet laugh. To him, it was unbearable.

He had put up with a lot. Your hesitance. Your silence. The way you carried on like what you had meant nothing when the sun was up. The way you never reached for him as he made his way out. But watching you lean close to another man, seeing someone else claim the easy smiles he’d fought for in private — his patience frayed by the hour.

By the time noon rolled around, Xavier couldn’t take it anymore. He strode over, casual on the surface but every movement wired tight. He leaned against your desk, folder in hand.

“I have a coupon for that hotpot place you mentioned,” he said, tone deceptively soft. “Do you want to go together?”

Your head snapped up. Heat rose to your cheeks, but before you could answer, James perked up beside you. You glanced between them, then smiled faintly. “I actually promised James I’d take him out for lunch today. Show him around.”

The pause stretched too long. Xavier’s jaw ticked before he forced a nonchalant shrug. “I see.”

You tried to soften the sting, tilting your head. “Maybe James could come with us?”

Xavier’s eyes slid to the recruit — sharp, cutting — then back to you. “I only have two coupons,” he said flatly. “Another time, then.”

You blinked at the edge in his voice, but before you could press further he pushed off your desk and walked away, folder snapping shut in his hand.

James cleared his throat. “Was that… your partner?”

You nodded, trying not to let your expression slip. “Yeah. Don’t mind him. He’s just… intense sometimes.”

James smiled like he didn’t mind at all.

Lunch passed in an easy haze — James kept you laughing, kept pointing out little shops and cafés as if cataloging future dates. But under the warmth of his attention, something nagged. You kept thinking of Xavier’s clipped tone, the way he hadn’t looked back when he left.

By the time training rolled around, James was already at your side, easygoing as ever, matching his stride to yours as you crossed the wide practice field. The late sun threw long shadows over the dummies and sparring rings, the air buzzing faintly with other recruits already mid-drill.

“Ready?” he asked, grinning, staff balanced against his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

You matched his smile, if only faintly. “Ready.”

But when you looked up, your usual place at the far edge of the grounds wasn’t empty. Xavier was already there, stretching, blade at his side, the sun catching against the damp skin at his temple. The sight made your chest hitch, like missing a step on the stairs. This was your rhythm — your spot. Him and you. Always.

Xavier’s gaze lifted, finding you instantly. Then it slid to James, and something in his expression hardened. He pushed up from his stretch and strode over, calm on the surface but sharp underneath, like the quiet before a storm.

“I’ll take it from here,” he said, his tone even but directed squarely at James. “She’s my partner.”

James blinked, thrown off. “Oh…uh. Captain Jenna asked her to train with me until I get an assignment.”

“She did,” you cut in quickly, brushing a stray hair back, suddenly aware Xavier hadn’t heard. “She asked me this morning. I thought she’d told you already.”

For a moment, Xavier just looked at you, unreadable. Then his shoulders eased a fraction, voice soft when he finally replied, “She must have forgotten.”

James gave an awkward half-shrug, shifting his grip on the staff. “Guess we’ll, uh… get started then?”

Xavier didn’t move, lingering a heartbeat longer before his mouth curved in a faint, too-casual smile. “Sure. No worries. I’ll see you when you get home.”

James blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—you two live together?”

Your laugh was quick, maybe too quick. “No! He’s just my neighbor. Same building.”

James’s shoulders loosened, though the flicker in Xavier’s eyes said that had been the point all along.

The silence between you and Xavier sharpened. His eyes darkened, lips parting like he might argue, might finally let the weight of his frustration loose—

But before he could, Tara jogged up, bright and oblivious. “Xavier! You’re with me today.”

He turned his head slowly, expression unreadable. “What?”

“Orders,” she chirped, tossing him a practice baton. “C’mon, don’t keep me waiting.”

For a second, Xavier didn’t move. His jaw clenched, muscles straining as though every instinct in his body screamed to refuse. Then, with a curt nod, he turned back to you. His gaze lingered — dark, cutting, and almost wounded — before he forced himself to step away.

You watched him go, stomach sinking as James nudged your arm with a grin, oblivious. “Looks like it’s just us, then.”

And just like that, the thin thread you and Xavier balanced on frayed further.

Xavier walked off stiffly, Tara jogging to keep pace beside him, but his eyes didn’t leave you. Even as you and James took up position on the far side of the training grounds, he tracked every movement, every exchange.

You adjusted James’s stance with a light touch at his elbow, guiding his arm until his aim straightened. The sight of your hand lingering on another man’s skin made Xavier’s chest seize. Then you stepped behind James, voice low as you demonstrated the motion yourself — your body aligning with his, movements seamless, easy in a way that should have been reserved for him.

It made him sick.

You were supposed to be by his side. Training with him. Trusting him to guard your blind spots, to fight shoulder to shoulder until there was no question where you belonged. Did James even know how to protect you? Would he know what to do if an S-class wanderer bore down on you, if the world cracked open under your feet? Xavier knew the answer — no. James was raw, green, too eager for his own good. He wasn’t ready. And yet there you were, laughing at some joke in between shots, your smile wide and easy.

Xavier’s knuckles whitened around the practice baton Tara had given him.

“You’re sooo jealous,” Tara drawled, snapping him out of his spiral.

His head whipped toward her, eyes flashing. “I’m not jealous. I’m concerned.”

Tara arched a brow, lips curling into a sly smile. “Uh-huh. Concerned. Sure. That’s what we’re calling it now.”

He glared at her, but she only laughed, twirling her own baton like she was playing a game.

“Xavier,” she said lightly, “maybe she’d notice how much you like her if you actually said something. You know, instead of acting like you don’t care in front of everyone else and then brooding like this when she so much as breathes near another guy.”

His chest tightened, but he kept his voice flat. “She doesn’t see me that way.”

“Please.” Tara’s laugh was sharp and knowing. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you when she thinks you’re not watching. You two are impossible.” She sighed, rolling her eyes as though the weight of both your stubbornness sat on her shoulders. “What am I going to do with you?”

Xavier didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His gaze had already drifted back across the training field.

You corrected James’s grip again, stepping close, your voice carrying faintly with another laugh. James turned toward you with that grin he wore too easily, too openly, and Xavier’s chest burned.

The pressure inside him needed somewhere to go. He summoned the light blade with a flick, its energy flaring sharp in his grip. The nearest training dummy fell to pieces in two strikes, the air hissing with each cut. Then another. And another. His movements grew harsher, faster, until the crash of splintering dummies echoed across the grounds.

It didn’t help.

Because no matter how cleanly he carved through the targets, no matter how sharp his blade, it couldn’t slice through the sound of your laughter drifting from across the field. It followed him, relentless, every note cutting deeper.

By the time training ended, his jaw ached from clenching. He hadn’t spoken another word, not to Tara, not to anyone. He only stalked back to the lockers, peeled off his gloves, and left before he had to see you and James walk out together.

The sky outside had gone dusky purple by the time you finished up, the office windows glowing with the last scraps of daylight. You were too focused on wrapping up for the evening to notice him watching from across the room, arms crossed, expression carved from stone.

Your phone buzzed against the desk.

You glanced down.

xavi: Come to my place after work.

No explanation. No teasing. Just the clipped demand of a man who couldn’t stand another second of restraint.

James leaned over, catching the flicker of tension in your face as you typed a quick reply. “Good news?” he asked lightly.

“Something like that,” you said, locking your screen before he could read too much in your expression.

But the truth pressed sharp against your ribs as you gathered your things. You couldn’t keep pretending this fragile thing between you and Xavier could last forever — not when someone else was looking at you with clear intentions, not when your own heart was caught somewhere in between.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The hallway was quiet, dimly lit by the flicker of a bulb overhead. You’d barely lifted your hand to knock when the door swung open.

Xavier stood there, dark eyes burning like he’d been pacing behind the door, waiting for you. Before you could even draw breath, his hand closed around your wrist and he hauled you inside. The door slammed shut with a sharp crack, and then his mouth was on yours — hot, urgent, devouring.

You staggered back against the wall, your protest swallowed in the force of his kiss. It was rough, frantic, all teeth and tongue, like he’d been starving for you all day and finally snapped. His palms framed your face, thumbs pressing into your cheeks before sliding down to grip your waist as though he could hold you there forever.

“I needed you,” he muttered against your mouth, voice gravelly, words punctuated with another searing kiss. “All day—fuck—I couldn’t think of anything else.”

Your back hit the wall harder when he pressed closer, one knee forcing between your thighs. His hand caught yours, dragging it down, pressing your palm to the thick strain in his jeans. The heat there, the hard throb beneath denim, made your head spin. His breath hitched sharply, forehead falling against yours.

“Feel that?” His voice was hoarse, almost a growl. “Ah—feel what you do to me, star?”

Heat surged through your veins, but panic cut through just as quickly. You twisted slightly, breaking his mouth from yours long enough to gasp for air.

“Xavier—” His name tore out of you, uneven, desperate for space. You turned your face away, chest heaving. “Maybe we shouldn’t… do this anymore.”

The shift was instant. His expression darkened, hunger sharpening into something colder, angrier. His jaw flexed, the muscle jumping as his eyes narrowed in on you.

“Do you like him?” The question landed like a slap.

Your lips parted, stunned. “What? Who—”

“The new recruit,” Xavier bit out, low and sharp. He stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing yours, presence heavy enough to crush the air from your lungs.

“James?” The name slipped from you before you could stop it.

The shift in him was instant. His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing darker, and his fingers dug harder into your waist. “Don’t say his name,” he hissed, the words trembling with anger.

You froze, heart hammering. “I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” His mouth twisted in a humorless curve, a shadow of a smile that wasn’t one at all. He leaned in, nose brushing yours, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Didn’t mean it? You’re pulling away from me the second he shows up, and you think I’m too blind to notice?”

“I’m not…” you tried, but his hand slid up your side, rough and certain, cutting your words short as the heat of his palm burned through the fabric of your shirt.

He crowded you against the wall, lips grazing your jaw, then lower, the scrape of his teeth making your breath hitch. “Don’t lie to me,” he murmured, and though his voice was quiet, the weight of it pinned you harder than his body did.

Your thoughts scattered, tangled between confusion, panic, and the undeniable pull of him. “Xavier, this isn’t about—”

“One last time,” he interrupted, his mouth brushing your throat. The scrape of stubble and the hot press of his lips sent your knees weak. “Give me one more night.”

Your chest rose and fell too fast, words catching in your throat. “I—”

“You can tell me to let you go in the morning,” he cut in again, voice raw, almost pleading beneath the steel. His hands clamped tighter on your hips, dragging you flush against him so you could feel the hard line of his arousal. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his next words cracked open, something darker than just desire bleeding through. “Just be mine for the night.”

His eyes softened, but only barely — a flash of something raw behind the anger, the kind of desperation that made his next words rougher than they should’ve been. He leaned in until his lips brushed the hollow of your throat, his tongue tracing up the line of your neck.

“You want it too, don’t you, starlight?” he murmured, kissing and licking at your skin like he was trying to brand you there. His voice cracked, a low plea threaded through the demand. “Your body is so warm… I can feel how much you need me.”

His thigh pressed harder between yours, and without meaning to, your hips rolled against it. The friction made you gasp, the moan slipping out before you could stop it. His grip tightened on your waist, satisfaction flashing in his eyes as he felt you grind against him.

Breathless, you whispered, “One more time.”

A wicked smile tugged at his lips. “That’s what I thought.”

The kiss that followed was hot and devouring, teeth catching your bottom lip before his tongue pushed past. He caught you under your thighs and lifted you with startling ease, forcing your legs to wrap around his waist. The heat of him pressed hard against your core as he carried you through the apartment, his mouth never leaving yours.

By the time your back hit his bed, you were already dizzy from the taste of him, from the sheer force of his body caging you in. He didn’t give you a chance to settle before pinning your wrists above your head, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His gaze locked on yours, fierce, unyielding.

“Tell me again,” he demanded, voice low, ragged. His hips ground down, the solid line of his arousal dragging against you in a way that stole your breath.

“Xavier,” you gasped, arching into him. Your wrists strained against his hold as your hips lifted, desperate for more. “I want it.”

His stare pinned you where you lay, wrists still caught in his grip until, finally, he let go. He stepped back, the heat of his body leaving yours, but his presence filled the room like a storm about to break.

“Strip.”

The command landed heavy in the air. 

You sat up slowly, heart hammering, your body still tingling from the way he’d pinned you down. For a moment you hesitated, almost shy under the weight of his gaze — then something inside you shifted. If he wanted a show, you’d give him one.

He loomed beside the bed, tall and imposing, his arms tense at his sides until one hand dragged up to the bulge in his jeans. His palm pressed hard, a hiss escaping through his teeth as his eyes stayed locked on you.

Your fingers moved to the buttons of your shirt. One by one, you slipped them free, deliberately slow, the small pop of each fastening loud in the quiet room. You parted the fabric just enough to let his eyes glimpse bare skin beneath, then dragged it wider, letting the shirt fall open.

Xavier’s breath came heavier. He cupped himself harder, thumb rubbing along the thick line straining his jeans. “Fuck…” he muttered, almost to himself, voice low and jagged.

You slid the shirt from your shoulders, letting it slip down your arms to the floor. Then your hands went to the clasp of your bra. You toyed with it, rolling the hooks between your fingers, before finally easing it open. The straps fell loose, and you let the bra slide down, baring yourself to him fully.

His jaw flexed, curses tumbling under his breath. He tugged roughly at the swell in his jeans, the sound of fabric straining as he shifted his palm over the outline of his cock. His eyes were glassy, furious, hungry all at once.

You rose from the bed, standing tall under his scrutiny. Your thumbs hooked into the waistband of your pants, easing them down your hips inch by inch. You turned as you did it, giving him your back, then glanced over your shoulder with a sly smile as the fabric slid lower. The sight of your bare skin revealed at that slow, deliberate pace made him groan, his head tipping back for a second like he was fighting for control.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, squeezing himself hard through denim, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. “Such a tease,”

The pants pooled at your ankles, and you stepped out of them carefully, dragging the tease to its limit. When you finally turned back to face him, you weren’t bare — your panties still clung low on your hips, soft fabric an intentional barrier. His gaze locked there, dark and searing, like he wanted to tear them off with his teeth.

His knuckles were white against his jeans, his other hand curling into a fist at his side. Every muttered curse that fell from his lips made the air between you thicker, the tension stretched taut enough to snap.

And still, he didn’t move. He only stood there, palming himself, eyes devouring you like he needed to memorize every second before he lost the last thread of restraint.

The mattress dipped as you shifted back onto it, propping yourself against your palms, knees parting just enough to leave a space between them. The hem of your panties tugged at your thighs when you spread, your body relaxed but your eyes locked on his.

“I thought I told you to strip,” Xavier said, voice low, clipped — like you’d broken a rule he hadn’t even explained.

A slow tilt of your head, lips curving faintly. “I just did.”

For a heartbeat, silence. Then a sharp laugh — empty, humorless, rough. He moved in on you like a storm breaking, knees hitting the edge of the bed as he leaned down between your legs. His hand slid over the inside of your thigh, rough fingertips dragging until his thumb found the thin barrier of your panties. The slow drag of it over your folds was casual, testing, until he pressed harder — pausing at the wet heat that had already bled through the fabric.

The look he gave you then could’ve burned. His brows drew together, jaw tight, almost seething as though you’d betrayed him. “Is this really for me?”

The corners of your mouth twitched upward — you almost laughed, though his tone suggested he wasn’t joking. Your hand came up anyway, cupping his cheek with a softness that clashed with the storm in his eyes. “Xavier,” you murmured, thumb brushing his skin, “are you pretending to be mad?”

His eyes sharpened, gaze cutting through you. “I’ve only pretended not to be.”

Before you could breathe out a response, he buried himself against you. His face pressed into your thighs, mouth dragging over the soaked fabric, tongue pushing against the damp spot until heat flared sharp through your nerves. You arched back with a gasp, your spine curving into the mattress as he worked through the barrier, lips and tongue and breath all hot and messy against you.

The friction was maddening — just enough to make your hips writhe, not nearly enough to break you open. Your fingers dug into the sheets, knuckles whitening, until frustration curled into your voice. “Xavier—stop teasing.”

He pulled back barely enough to speak, his mouth still hovering over you, breath humid against the wet fabric. “Beg for me.”

There was no give in him tonight, no chance of slipping around his demands. His eyes had that flat, dangerous sheen that told you he wouldn’t be coaxed with anything less.

So you did — your voice breaking on his name, soft and shameless as you gave him what he wanted.

The sound of it must have satisfied him, because he hooked a finger under the edge of your panties and tugged them aside, baring the slick heat he’d been tormenting. Then his mouth was on you again — nothing measured, nothing slow. His tongue worked greedily, sloppily, like he meant to consume you whole. Each drag was rougher than the last, lips and tongue and teeth slipping through slickness, sucking until your thighs trembled around his head.

The rhythm of it was relentless, no space for breath, no tenderness to cling to — just heat and hunger and the sound of him devouring you. Your body seized against the bed, legs twitching, fingers twisting in the sheets as every nerve lit up under his mouth.

And still, he didn’t slow. He didn’t want slow. Not tonight.

The pace of his mouth grew frantic, sloppy, almost savage against you — tongue dragging, lips sucking, nose brushing the tenderest parts of your skin until sparks flared white-hot behind your eyes. Your thighs snapped around his head as your orgasm tore through you, muscles clenching so tight you could feel the tremble in your calves. A strangled cry left your throat, your whole body bowing up from the bed before crashing back down, chest heaving, nails clawing at the sheets.

Still, Xavier didn’t stop. He pushed deeper, tongue working messily as if he meant to wring every last shudder out of you. The overstimulation came sharp, searing — your hips jolted against his mouth in helpless, broken thrusts. “X–Xavier, please—” you whined, voice cracking as you tugged at his hair, pulling him up. “Too much… sensitive—”

Finally, he relented, lifting his head with his mouth slick, eyes red-rimmed and dark. He stripped quick, movements clipped and impatient, tossing clothes aside as if they offended him. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was crawling over you, heat and weight pressing down, the mattress sinking under the span of his body.

You let out a shaky laugh, brushing damp hair from your face, though your lips curved into a tease. “What happened to my bunny?” Your tone was light, playful, but there was a tremor beneath it. “You’re being so mean tonight.”

He didn’t crack. His face stayed hard, lines carved deep in his jaw as his mouth closed over your chest. Teeth grazed, tongue laved, lips pulling your nipple into the wet heat of his mouth. The sharp suck made your breath stutter, your back arch.

“I’m being mean?” he murmured around you, voice edged and bitter, vibrating against your skin. His teeth grazed again before he pulled back, a flush marking your chest where his mouth had been. “You’re the one who was smiling, laughing, with some other guy in front of me all day.”

The anger in his tone made your stomach twist — not fear, but something headier, darker. He shifted lower, and suddenly the blunt head of his cock was pressing at your folds, sliding through the slick mess he’d made of you. Just enough to tease, to smear himself in your wetness, not enough to push in. The contrast was unbearable: the stretch almost there, the intrusion denied.

“And now,” he went on, voice rough, as the head dragged up and down your entrance, catching on your clit in maddening passes, “you say you don’t want to do this anymore.” His gaze locked on yours, unwavering, his jaw tight as he rutted just shy of entering. “That’s all it took? One guy gives you a little bit of attention and now you want to get rid of me.”

Your lips parted, his name spilling out in a breath meant to soothe, meant to explain: “Xav—”

But it was cut off in an instant, strangled into a moan as he pushed forward. The head breached you, then the thick, stretching length of him slid in slow, heavy, unstoppable. The drag was exquisite and punishing, your walls straining around every inch as he seated himself deep, filling you so completely your eyes fluttered shut.

“Fuck—” Xavier hissed through his teeth, the curse hot against your neck. His hips slammed forward, rough and sloppy, like he couldn’t control himself anymore. Every thrust was mean, desperate, dragging a moan out of you whether you wanted to give it or not.

“I don’t get it,” he rasped, jaw clenched as he drove into you harder. “What could he give you that I can’t? What’s so fucking special about him?”

You tried to catch your breath, to explain, to soothe, but the words fell apart the second he snapped his hips sharp and deep. Your voice cracked into a moan, eyes rolling back, nails sinking into his shoulders.

“Xavier—!”

He dropped lower, forehead pressing to yours, breath ragged, voice breaking between thrusts. “Tomorrow, when you’re looking at him,” his pace faltered, stuttered, “laughing with him,” another harsh thrust, your cry cutting through the air, “you’ll still feel me. I won’t let you forget me.”

Your chest heaved. Heat spiraled low in your belly, curling tighter with every punishing roll of his hips. “W-why are you so jealous?”

His rhythm staggered. For just a second, his eyes flicked open, wide, confused, before anger burned through again. He snapped his hips forward so hard the headboard rattled, and you cried out.

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice cracked, raw. His hand slid up your ribs, pinning your wrists harder against the sheets. “Why do I have to be your little secret? Why do I stay in the shadows while he gets your attention out in the open?”

Another sharp thrust. Your body arched, strangled moan spilling past your lips.

“Do you think this—” he shoved deep, gritting his teeth as his cock twitched inside you, “—is all I’m good for?”

Your walls clenched hard around him, wet and needy, each rough snap of his hips forcing another whimper from your throat. His breath was ragged, face twisted in something darker than lust — anger, jealousy, desperation — yet the way his cock dragged against your walls had you trembling on the edge anyway.

Your voice fractured around a moan, desperate to cut through the haze. “N-no, that’s not it—Xavier, it’s just—”

His pace faltered only to sharpen, each thrust slow and brutal. His mouth brushed your ear, voice low, dark. “Just what?” His teeth grazed your skin. “Because all I see is you spreading your legs and acting like this is the only place I exist. You only remember me when I’m buried inside you.”

A whimper tore out of you, back arching against the sheets. “That’s not…ah—Xavier, please—!”

“Please what?” His jaw was tight, his forehead pressing into yours as he grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes open when your head tipped back in surrender. His gaze burned, red-hot and unflinching. “Look at me when I fuck you.”

The command sent another shudder through you, your walls fluttering around him. He held your wrists pinned above your head, grinding deep until your breath hitched, until you couldn’t think. His free hand slid down your trembling stomach, finding your clit with a cruel kind of precision.

Your cry was sharp, broken. “Xavier—fuck!”

He circled you harder, rolling his hips against yours, the drag of his cock syncing with the relentless press of his thumb. His voice stayed calm, deadly soft even as you writhed beneath him. “Tell me. Could anyone else make you cum like this? Hm?”

You shook your head, words spilling ragged between moans. “N-no, no one—fuck—Xavier, I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” His lips ghosted yours, voice a low hiss. “You can take it, star. Cum on my cock, show me how good it feels,”

That final command tore you apart. Your body bowed against him, thighs trembling, walls seizing tight around his length as your orgasm crashed through you. You cried out, clenching hard, your slick dripping down his cock as he kept working your clit through it, dragging every last wave out of you until you were shuddering and breathless.

The way you clenched broke his composure. Xavier snarled under his breath, pulled out with a rough stroke of his hand, and came hot across your stomach. His head dropped, chest heaving, his release splattering your skin as his cock twitched in his grip.

For a moment he stayed like that — hovering over you, forehead still pressed to yours, breaths uneven, his dark eyes locked on you like he was daring you to look away.

The tremors in your body hadn’t yet stilled when your hand lifted, almost without thought, to cup his cheek. His skin was hot, damp from exertion, and beneath it his jaw flexed tight — anger and restraint wound together. For one breath he hesitated, but then he leaned into your palm, lashes lowering as if your touch was the only anchor he had left. The air between you thickened, and when you tugged him down the kiss came desperate, messy, all teeth and tongue and the taste of something too sharp to name. His hand, still wrapped around your wrist, loosened at last, letting you clutch at him like you’d fall without the hold.

Your chest was still heaving, the air hot and heavy between you when the kiss finally broke. His lips hovered, parted like he meant to say something but the words caught in his throat. His eyes searched yours — dark, fevered, desperate — and you realized he looked just as undone as you felt.

His body still hovered over yours, chest dragging against yours with every ragged breath, but when his lips didn’t find yours again, you realized he was trembling. A beat later, he collapsed forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His damp hair clung to your skin, sticky with sweat, and his breath scorched a path across your collarbone.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he rasped. The words were muffled, but you felt them more than you heard them, vibrating against your pulse. His voice cracked like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, like it slipped past a wall he’d been holding up for too long.

“Xavier…” Your hand moved without thinking, sliding into his hair, still damp from exertion. You combed your fingers through the strands, gentle, grounding, while your chest heaved beneath his weight. The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

“I wanted to end this because…” Your throat tightened. You swallowed, the words breaking uneven. “Because I thought it’s all you wanted from me.”

He stilled. Completely. Then he lifted his head just enough to look at you, his face still so close you could feel the ghost of his breath on your lips. His eyes were raw, open in a way you’d never seen before — dark but vulnerable, glinting like something fractured inside him.

“Why,” he said hoarsely, disbelief roughening the edges of his tone, “would you ever think that?”

Your breath caught. You couldn’t look at him, not directly, so your gaze slid aside, landing on the line of his shoulder, slick with sweat. “Because… outside of this you just treat me as a friend,” you admitted. The truth burned, humiliating to say out loud. “So I assumed you didn’t want me. Not… like that.”

For a moment, he just stared. His eyes widened, his lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe. And then the look on his face shattered something in you. He looked—devastated.

“Fuck,” he whispered. His voice broke, low and guttural, like it hurt him to force the word out. “I’m sorry. I…, star, I’m sorry.”

Your heart twisted as his forehead pressed to yours again, almost desperate, his hands bracing on either side of you like he needed to cage himself close or he’d lose you.

“I thought this was all you wanted,” he confessed, his words tumbling out in a rush. “When it started, I thought… you regretted it. That you’d shut me out completely if I pushed for more. So I stayed quiet, I stayed careful. I thought I was doing the only thing that kept me from losing you.” His voice cracked, the faintest tremor running through it. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, tender in a way that undid you more than the roughness had. “I wanted more. I’ve always wanted more. But I would’ve let you use me forever if it meant I could have you, even if it was just like this.”

Your breath caught sharp. The confession knocked the air from your chest, left you staring at him wide-eyed and speechless. His face, open and raw, cut through every assumption you’d built between you.

For a moment, the silence stretched thick, pulsing between you with everything unsaid. Then, because you didn’t know how else to keep from breaking apart completely, you flicked his forehead with your finger.

“Idiot…you should’ve said something,” you whispered, voice trembling despite the tiny gesture.

“Ow.” He actually winced, catching your wrist before you could pull your hand back. His lips ghosted against the inside of your palm, kissing it softly, lingering there. “Yeah,” he admitted against your skin. “I should’ve.”

He kissed lower, tracing the ridge of your wrist, the pulse that leapt there. The scrape of his teeth made you shiver. His mouth followed a trail up your arm, slow and reverent, before finding your throat.

“Instead of telling you…” His voice was a low murmur against your skin, words half lost in the press of his lips. “…why don’t I show you how I really feel?”

His mouth moved higher, leaving tender, wet kisses along the line of your jaw, brushing at the corners of your lips until he finally claimed them. This kiss was nothing like the ones before — no anger, no frenzy, just raw, aching sweetness. He lingered there, slow and consuming, like he meant to pour every unsaid word into your mouth until you understood.

The kiss broke only because he shifted, bracing himself above you. His gaze searched yours once, as if for permission, before he guided himself back in with an agonizing slowness.

You gasped the moment he pressed deep, body arching instinctively against his. The stretch of him, the heat, the drag — it stole your breath, sent pleasure sparking up your spine before he even started moving.

“You’re squeezing me so tight,” he whispered, forehead brushing yours, his breath hot and shaky. “God, you feel so good.”

His hips rolled forward, slow, deliberate, his pelvis nudging against your clit each time he ground into you. The friction had your legs trembling, already coiling with tension. He set the rhythm like he meant to savor you, savor this, dragging it out until every tiny grind had you shivering.

Your hands slid up his back, clutching at his shoulders, your voice catching in a moan when he pushed just right.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Every time we do this, I imagine you asking me to stay,” he murmured, the words spilling soft and unguarded. “Making me yours.”

You whimpered, tilting your head as his mouth trailed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, worshipful and unhurried. His hands were everywhere — sliding over your hips, smoothing your thigh up higher around his waist, pressing firmly into your ribs like he needed every part of you beneath his palms.

“I want everyone to know you’re mine,” he whispered against your throat, pausing to kiss the hollow there. “I want so much more than this.” He shifted, catching your mouth again in a kiss that tasted of raw longing. His voice broke against your lips as he asked, “Do you want that too, star?”

“Yes, Xavier—ngh—yes,” you gasped, the answer torn from you on a moan when he ground especially deep, his pelvis circling against your clit.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, voice roughened but tender. “You’re so beautiful like this, falling apart for me.” His thumb found your jaw, tilting your head so he could kiss the corner of your mouth, then lower, nipping at your throat in reverence.

The pleasure coiled hotter, tighter, until you couldn’t stop the choked moans spilling out, your body trembling beneath his as he moved with steady, unrelenting sweetness. He whispered through it all — how good you felt, how much he wanted you, how badly he needed you to know you were his.

When it broke, it was sharp and shattering, pleasure ripping through you so hard you cried out his name, clutching at him. He groaned deep in his chest, the sound raw, and drove in deep as your walls fluttered around him. The feeling pulled him under with you, his release spilling hot inside as he held himself flush, forehead pressed to yours.

He stayed there, breathing hard, kissing you softly between every word. “My star,” he murmured, voice shaking with more than just exertion. “You’re mine.”

The air between you hung heavy with warmth, both of you slick with sweat and still trembling faintly from the release. Xavier didn’t pull away, not yet. He stayed buried inside you, chest pressed to yours, arms tightening like he thought you might slip away if he let go. His lips found your hairline, a slow, lazy kiss.

“Stay here tonight,” he mumbled, voice low and rough with exhaustion.

You smiled faintly, your fingers tracing the sharp edge of his shoulder, the slope of his neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise me something, then,” he said, his tone soft, almost boyish in its unguardedness. His lashes were already half-lowered, his breath warm against your temple. “Hotpot tomorrow. Just you and me.”

You couldn’t help the quiet laugh that slipped out, light against the hush of the room. “Hotpot? That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

“Yes,” he muttered, eyes closing, his mouth brushing your hair with the word. “Promise.”

“Fine,” you teased, combing your fingers gently through his damp hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. The pleased little sound he made had your heart stuttering. “I promise. Hotpot tomorrow.”

He shifted, hugging you tighter, nose brushing the hollow of your throat. “And promise me you’ll train with me tomorrow.” A pause. “And the day after that. And every other day.”

You laughed again, soft and breathless, scratching your nails lightly at the back of his head until he practically melted against you. “Okay. I promise.”

A quiet sigh shuddered out of him, pure contentment. He nestled closer, his lips ghosting against your throat like he couldn’t help kissing you again. “Walk home with me tomorrow, too.”

You grinned, tilting your head back enough to look at him. “You’re being so greedy, Xavier.”

His eyes opened just enough to meet yours, drowsy and heavy-lidded but shining with something raw. “You almost broke my heart today,” he said softly, the words clumsy but real. “Can’t I be a little greedy?”

Your throat tightened, but you managed a tender smile, cupping his jaw. “Just a little.”

He caught your mouth in one last kiss — slow, lingering, the kind that made time feel like it stopped for both of you. When it broke, he kept his forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in.

Wrapped up together, his arms locked around you and his words finally stilled, you felt him drift first. Sleep tugged at you too, and the last thing you knew before dozing off was the weight of him warm against you, his chest rising and falling in sync with yours.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The morning light poured pale and golden through the blinds, casting stripes across the rumpled sheets. You stirred awake to the sound of movement — the quiet shuffle of clothes, the clink of a belt buckle. Blinking sleep from your eyes, you found Xavier leaning over the dresser, tugging on his jacket, his hair damp from a quick shower.

For a second, you just watched. Watched the line of his shoulders, the way the fabric stretched across his back, the casual efficiency in every motion. It struck you then how… natural this felt. How easy it had been to wake up tangled in his warmth, to move around each other without words as you both got ready. Something almost domestic, like slipping into a rhythm you didn’t know you’d been craving until it was there.

“You’re blushing,” he murmured without turning, though the corner of his mouth betrayed the faintest smirk.

You rolled your eyes, throwing the pillow at him. He caught it one-handed, tossed it back onto the bed, then leaned down to steal a quick kiss before lacing his boots.

By the time you both stepped into the association building, his hand found yours without hesitation. Warm. Solid. The small contact grounded you in a way you weren’t prepared for, and you didn’t pull away.

Your eyes flicked automatically to your section of desks — expecting to see James hunched over paperwork, flashing that usual easy grin. But his chair was empty. Your brows knit. “Weird. Where’s James?”

Xavier’s jaw tightened just slightly at the name, but when he spoke, his tone was soft, almost too casual. “He was reassigned.”

Your head snapped toward him. “Reassigned? Since when?”

“Since this morning,” he said with a nonchalant shrug, tugging you gently toward your desk. “I made a call to Captain Jenna. I thought he’d work well with someone on the Chansia team.”

You stopped mid-step, smacking his arm with your free hand. “You’re ridiculous!”

He only smirked, clearly unbothered by your scolding.

From her desk, Tara propped her chin on her hand, watching the exchange with no small amount of exasperation. “Finally,” she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes like she’d been waiting forever for this exact scene.

a/n: this took forever omg😭 i'm still figuring out how to write xavier so i kept getting stuck + life is so busy. but im so excited to finally have a standalone fic for him

Here is his response in an interview that was introduced before the official release of the game:

This undermines his natural state as a predator, the one who chases what he wants and doesn’t end up as the prey. He is, after all, a Lemurian, the Sea God of his people who is destined to lead and guide his people into the future. Also his persona as an Assassin in his myths. You can’t be stealthy and sneaky without being in control every second or without knowing how to use sudden changes to your advantage.

You only need to read his anecdotes to realize he is in charge far longer than one might expect, from avenging his own people, to keeping an eye on his beloved bride from afar.

No he’s a master of scheming and planning the “long game”. He’s always in control and knows exactly what he’s doing.

Observe the Main Story!

From the very first meeting to his story branch, Rafayel is ALWAYS one step ahead of MC. My dear moot @munnmolads had made an exquisite post on how Rafayel was well prepared for MC's visit to his house, keyword “material log”.

Also, MC's entry to the N109 Zone, suggested subtly to him and guided her to want to go there. Yes, he was worried about her at the same time but also making sure, she’s relying on him for this.

Also his various 4* cards.

He wanted to be the one getting the Artsy Bird for her, so he secretly tried to get it. Also, the way he is hardly convinced to change places at the claw machine? Yes, he wants to stay in charge, in control.

How he saved her from that stalker - Do you really think it was a “coinkidink” that he was there at the right time? 😏

“Hearty Knock” he wanted MC to trust him, to let him in for more of her life, so he planned to give her the key to his house. He took control of the situation and gave her the reassurance she needed.

“Glistening hearts” he came back exactly the moment when MC lost her ground towards some paparazzi. He immediately took control of the situation and shooed those nasty people away.

“Tipsy”: subtle but it’s there in his way to state how he helps her close the zipper if her dress is and that he always is there to help her with such things. How did he guide her to make her admit she will miss him?

“Lost in your eyes”: do I really need to explain? He knew from the very beginning that MC followed him there, he had already planned to bring her along to the auction, as he showed off his powers and sent a warning to his enemies. How he scared away the man who flirted with MC in asserting dominance over him and MC.

Homecoming Sonata: subtle again but he holds her hands as they walk. He doesn’t want her to fall so he takes control to avoid it.

“When Light Falls” even if he couldn’t see a thing, he got a cab to the hospital, asked his way along and only called MC when he wanted her to pick him up. At home he started to prepare dinner, ably nudging her to help him with the steaks. He isn’t helpless and even if handicapped he does everything to be the one leading.

Radiant Halo: he was prepared for everything! From making MCs make-up to bringing along some sneakers for her to walk in. This man leaves nothing to chance!

Heartfelt Game: he was jealous that MC played so happily with Thomas, so he started to learn Kitty Cards to spend more time with her and make her happy. Also, a form of control, because he felt helpless in that moment.

Rainbow strokes: He takes control in their shared vacation location. He talks to the receptionist, and he drags her along into the room so MC doesn’t argue with him to share that. Do you really believe her lost booking was random? Think again! 😏

Flowery Words: Oh he’s so in control here! He picks her up in surprise, literally pins her to the bed, and makes sure she can recover. First time he’s asserting dominance so openly!

And don’t get me started about the secret times!! He always is the one taking control in the end. Rafayel only endures letting MC play around for a few minutes before setting an end and retaking control.

And all the little moments on phone, video calls, moment posts, and events.

He stalks her location with air tags in her suitcase, always noticing changes in her background, how he over and over demands that she always can ask him directly, coming to him, and so on. All are little details how he can’t stand not knowing what MC is up to, that he needs control over everything around him and her well-being.

There are also so many moments in his 5* cards where we see him leading, deceiving, scheming, and taking the lead.

How he is mostly the one driving, getting motion sickness when MC drives (Intertidal Zone), pinning her in a corner to kiss her (Ignited Echoes), and rescuing a suit and a wedding dress as his house was compromised (Destined Dawntide), and how he pins her wrist so he can keep MC in control. He is most controlling in Extreme Dose. Even if it is an AU, it counts because this is the raw uncurated version of him. Where his edges and predatory nature are emphasized and not hidden in layers of layers of deception for the people around him.

But to name them all would really burst this whole thing, so let me end this post with a strong note, that proves more than everything else, that Rafayels need to stay In control is because of traumas and experiences in the past and also a need to simply survive in a world that hunts his folk for science and entertainment from his third anecdote “addicting pain”:

“He must ensure his absolute safety before doing anything rash.”

Xavier's hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles bleaching white against the black leather. His silver-blonde hair fell across his forehead as he gave a nearly imperceptible nod. The muscles in his jaw worked silently, a subtle clenching that you'd come to recognize as restraint.

Traffic lights painted his face in alternating shades of red and green as you drove through the evening streets. You swallowed, the sound audible in the car's stillness. The hair on your forearms stood up despite the heat blasting from the vents.

Each breath between you seemed to crackle with static, making the space between your bodies feel both vast and nonexistent at once. You shifted in your seat, suddenly aware of how the fabric of your jeans pressed against your inner thighs, how your body responded to his tension with an answering heat.

"Are you okay?" you asked, watching his profile. The sharp line of his jaw, the subtle hollow beneath his cheekbone, the way his lips pressed together—these details had become precious to you, a map you'd learned to navigate.

"Fine," he said, the word clipped short. His voice was soft as always, but underneath ran a current of something raw and untamed.

You sank back into your seat, mind drifting to the ridiculous pact you'd both agreed to two weeks ago. "No Nut November." It had started as a joke, a challenge you'd thrown at him one lazy Sunday morning. You hadn't expected him to take it seriously, but Xavier had a competitive streak that surfaced at the most unexpected times.

Two weeks without sex. Two weeks of watching his lean body move through your apartment, of stolen kisses that pulled back just before they deepened, of hands that started wandering and then retreated. Two weeks of lying beside him at night, bodies carefully not touching, the space between you charged with unspent desire.

The car slowed as Xavier turned onto your street. Streetlights cast elongated shadows through the windshield, stroking across his forearms as he downshifted. You watched the flex of tendons beneath his skin and swallowed hard.

"You've been quiet," you said, needing to break the thickening silence.

His eyes flicked toward you, then back to the road. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"The way you looked at him." The words fell between you like stones into still water.

Heat crept up your neck. "Zayne? He's an old friend."

"You touched his arm three times." Xavier's voice remained measured, but beneath it lurked something dangerous. "You laughed at everything he said."

"I was being friendly," you protested, even as you remembered the warmth of your own laughter, the ease of conversation with Dr. Li. You hadn't meant anything by it—but watching Xavier's reaction now made you wonder if some part of you had been performing, had wanted to provoke exactly this response.

Rain began to spatter against the windshield, fat drops that blurred the streetlights into smears of gold. The wipers dragged across the glass with a rhythmic squeak that seemed to measure the tension building between you.

Xavier pulled into your driveway and cut the engine. The sudden silence felt heavy, punctuated only by the tapping of rain on the roof and the soft sound of his breathing. He didn't look at you, staring instead through the windshield at your darkened house.

"I should go in," you said, not moving. "It's getting late."

His hand found yours in the darkness, fingers intertwining with deliberate slowness. His skin felt fever-hot against yours, the contact sending a shiver from your palm straight to your core. "I'll walk you to the door."

This was the moment he usually left—a kiss at your doorstep, perhaps lingering a moment too long, before he retreated to the elevator with that half-smile that promised later. But something in his voice told you tonight would be different.

You stepped out into the rain together, droplets immediately beading in his silver-blonde hair, catching the porch light like tiny stars. The walk to your door felt endless, each step synchronized with the heavy thud of your heart.

The rain soaked through your thin jacket, plastering it to your skin, and you were acutely aware of how your body responded to the cool touch—nipples hardening against the damp fabric, skin prickling with goosebumps that had nothing to do with the temperature.

At your door, you fumbled with the keys, suddenly clumsy under his intense gaze. You could feel him behind you, not touching but close enough that the heat from his body radiated against your back. Water dripped from his hair onto your neck, sliding between your shoulder blades in a cool trail that made you shiver.

"Xavier," you said, voice coming out breathier than intended. "What are you doing?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, his hand came to rest at the small of your back, a touch so light it might have been imagined if not for the electrical current it sent through your body.

"Two weeks," he finally said, his voice low enough that you felt it more than heard it. "Two weeks watching you. Wanting you."

You turned to face him, your back pressed against the door. His eyes had darkened to midnight blue, pupils dilated in the dim light. Rain streamed down his face, catching on his lips before continuing its journey along the elegant line of his throat.

"We agreed," you reminded him, even as your body betrayed you, leaning imperceptibly toward his. "No Nut November, remember?"

His smile was slow and dangerous, a predator's display of teeth.

"That was before you flirted with another man right in front of me."

"I wasn't flirting," you protested, but the words sounded hollow even to your own ears. Perhaps you had been, just a little—testing the boundaries, seeing if you could crack that composed exterior. If so, it seemed you'd succeeded beyond your expectations.

"Open the door," Xavier said, his voice deceptively soft. It wasn't a request.

The realization hit you with dizzying clarity. This "no nut" challenge had been a terrible idea.

The key slid home with a metallic click that seemed to echo in the rain-soaked night. As the door swung open, you knew with absolute certainty that Xavier would not be leaving tonight.

And God help you, you didn't want him to.

The door had barely closed behind you when Xavier's hand pressed flat against your back, shoving you forward with unexpected force. You stumbled into the darkened entryway, the thud of the door slamming and the decisive click of the lock echoing in the silence. Turning, you found Xavier silhouetted against the light filtering through the blinds, his broad shoulders tense, his breathing audible in the quiet house.

"Xavier, what are you doing?" Your voice trembled slightly, uncertain whether from fear or anticipation.

He didn't answer. Instead, he stepped forward, rain still dripping from his silver-blonde hair onto the hardwood floor. In the half-light, his pupils had swallowed the blue of his irises until only a thin electric ring remained.

He didn't blink. Didn't look away.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, finding nothing but desert. His silence was more unnerving than any words could have been.

"Hey," you tried again, taking an instinctive step back. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"

Another step forward. Another step back. A dangerous dance across your living room floor.

The back of your knees bumped against the coffee table, forcing you to veer toward the couch. Xavier adjusted his trajectory with the fluid precision of a predator, never breaking his stare, never uttering a word.

His silence was a physical presence in the room, heavy and charged. You could smell his cologne. The wet fabric of his shirt clung to his chest, defining the lean muscle beneath. A droplet slid from his hair down his neck, disappearing beneath his collar, and you found yourself tracking its path with inappropriate fascination given the tension of the moment.

"Seriously, you're scaring me a little," you said, though the hammering of your heart wasn't entirely from fear. There was something else—a dark, liquid heat pooling low in your belly as you recognized the hunger in his gaze.

Your heel caught on the edge of the area rug. You stumbled backward, losing your balance, and fell onto the couch with an ungraceful thump. Before you could recover, Xavier was there, looming over you, his hands planted on either side of your head, his knees bracketing your thighs. The couch cushions dipped beneath his weight, sliding you closer to him.

Caged between his body and the couch, you could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the rain on his skin, see the subtle tremble in his forearms as he held himself above you. His face was inches from yours, his breathing controlled but deeper than normal.

"Tell me about the doctor," he said finally, his voice deceptively soft. It always was—Xavier never needed to shout to command attention. "Doctor Li. How long have you known him?"

The question caught you off guard. "Zayne? Since we were kids. We went to elementary school together, like I told you in the car."

"And you've kept in touch all this time?" His eyes narrowed slightly. A water droplet fell from his hair onto your cheek, sliding down like a cold tear.

"No, I—"

"You seemed very comfortable with him," Xavier interrupted, his face dipping closer to yours. "Touching him. Laughing at all his jokes."

"We just recognized each other and caught up. It was nothing—"

Your explanation dissolved into a gasp as Xavier's lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear. His mouth was hot against your rain-cooled skin, the contrast sending shivers cascading through your body. His teeth grazed your earlobe, and your train of thought derailed completely.

"He looked at you," Xavier murmured against your neck, his words vibrating against your pulse. "Like he wanted you."

You tried to focus, to form a coherent response. "He's just an old friend, I swear. I haven't seen him in years until today—"

Xavier's mouth moved to the hollow of your throat, and your words died away. His lips traced a burning path along your collarbone, the gentle scrape of teeth making you arch involuntarily toward him. One of his hands moved to cup your face, thumb brushing your lower lip in a gesture simultaneously tender and possessive.

"You liked it," he accused, his breath hot against your skin. "You liked his attention."

"No, I—" Your denial was cut short as his mouth found yours in a bruising kiss that stole the air from your lungs.

His lips were demanding, tongue sweeping inside without preamble, claiming every inch of you. You tasted rain and mint and the unmistakable flavor of jealousy—sharp and dark and intoxicating.

When he pulled back, your lips felt swollen, sensitized. You struggled to remember what you'd been trying to say, your thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm.

"Xavier, please listen—"

But he was already moving down your jaw, lips and teeth alternating in a maddening pattern that made coherent speech impossible. Your hands came up to grip his shoulders, feeling the damp fabric of his shirt, the solid muscle beneath. His hair tickled your chin as he worked his way down your neck, leaving a trail of heat that contrasted with the cool air on your damp skin.

It dawned on you, through the haze of growing arousal, that he wasn't really listening. Each time you tried to explain about Zayne, Xavier would interrupt with his mouth, his hands, derailing your thoughts and redirecting your body's attention to the sensations he was creating.

It was deliberate—he didn't want explanations.

He wanted to assert ownership.

And God help you, your body was responding. Each kiss sent electric currents racing along your nerves. Each brush of his hands—now moving down your sides, tracing the curve of your waist—made you press closer to him, seeking more contact. The weight of him above you, not quite touching except where his mouth connected with your skin, was a delicious torment.

"Xavier," you managed, voice barely above a whisper. "There's nothing between me and Zayne. It was just—"

His teeth sank gently into the junction of your neck and shoulder, and your words dissolved into a moan that seemed to come from some deep, primal part of you. His answering growl vibrated against your skin, sending a fresh wave of heat between your legs.

"Mine," he whispered against your throat, the word more felt than heard. His hands moved to your waist, fingers digging in with just enough pressure to make you gasp.

"Tell me you're mine."

The demand in his voice, the possessive heat of his body hovering over yours, the two weeks of denied pleasure—it all coalesced into a throbbing need that made your hips shift restlessly beneath him, seeking friction.

You were dimly aware that you should be annoyed at his jealousy, at his refusal to listen to reason, but your body had its own agenda now, responding to his dominance with a surrender that felt inevitable.

"I'm yours," you breathed, and felt his smile against your skin—predatory, satisfied, hungry for more.

Xavier's hands found your knees, his long fingers spreading your legs with a gentle but insistent pressure that brooked no argument. His eyes never left yours as he positioned himself between your thighs, a slight curl to his lip that was neither smile nor sneer but something uniquely predatory. The weight of him settled against you, a delicious pressure that made your breath catch as he lowered his head to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along your still-clothed inner thigh, working his way upward with deliberate slowness.

"No one else gets to see you like this," he murmured against the fabric covering your thigh, his breath hot enough to penetrate the material. "Spread open. Waiting. Desperate." Each word was punctuated with a kiss, moving higher, closer to where heat pooled between your legs.

You squirmed beneath him, the friction of your clothes against sensitized skin both relief and torment. His silver-blonde hair fell forward as he worked, tickling your skin where your shirt had ridden up, exposing a strip of flesh at your waist. His hands slid beneath your hips, angling you toward his mouth as he moved to the juncture of your thighs, pressing a deliberate kiss directly over your clothed center.

"Xavier," you gasped, the pressure both too much and nowhere near enough. Your hands reached for him, fingers seeking purchase in his damp hair, needing to anchor yourself against the rising tide of sensation.

He caught your wrists in one swift movement, pinning them above your head against the arm of the couch. His face lifted, eyes darkened to midnight, lips slightly parted. "No," he said softly. "You don't get to touch. Not yet."

The restraint sent an unexpected thrill through you, a surrender of control that made your pulse quicken. His free hand traced a path from your wrist down your arm, across your collarbone, between your breasts, continuing its slow journey to the waistband of your pants.

"You deserve everything I'm going to give you," he said, his voice dropping to a register that vibrated through your core. "Every. Fucking. Thing." His fingers dipped just beneath your waistband, a teasing touch that made your hips rise involuntarily, seeking more.

The sudden sound of tearing fabric startled a cry from your lips as Xavier gripped your pants and ripped them open with one powerful motion. Cool air hit your exposed skin, raising goosebumps that his hot breath immediately soothed as he lowered his face between your thighs. Your underwear was damp, evidence of arousal that Xavier noticed with a satisfied hum.

"Look how wet you are for me," he growled, hooking his fingers into the elastic of your underwear and dragging it aside rather than removing it completely. "This cunt is dripping, and I've barely touched you. Were you this wet for the doctor? Did you soak through your panties when he smiled at you?"

Before you could protest, his mouth was on you, hot and demanding. His tongue circled your clit with precise, knowing pressure, then dipped lower to tease your entrance. The sudden sensation after two weeks of denial had you arching off the couch, a broken sound escaping your throat that was part moan, part sob.

Xavier's free hand splayed across your lower abdomen, pressing you back down, holding you in place as his tongue worked mercilessly against you. He knew your body too well—knew exactly how to alternate between broad strokes and pinpoint precision, knew when to suck your clit between his lips and when to ease back to teasing licks. The pleasure built rapidly, a coiling tension that had you straining against his restraining hand.

"Only I can make you feel this good," he murmured against your flesh, the vibration of his words sending new shivers through you. "Only I know exactly how to lick this pretty pussy until you're begging to cum."

Your thighs trembled on either side of his head, your breathing reduced to shallow gasps as he drove you higher. You could feel your orgasm approaching, that telltale tightening at your core, the tingling that spread outward from where his tongue worked its magic. Your vision began to blur, focusing inward on the mounting pleasure as your body tensed in anticipation.

And then, without warning, he pulled away.

The sudden absence of his mouth left you gasping, hips bucking into empty air, seeking the contact that had been denied. Xavier released your wrists, sitting back on his heels to look at you—hair disheveled, clothes half-removed, thighs trembling with unfulfilled desire. His mouth glistened with your arousal, and he made no move to wipe it away, wearing it like a badge of ownership.

"Please," you whimpered, beyond pride or pretense.

His laugh was dark and satisfied, the sound of a predator toying with prey. "Look at you," he said, his voice thick with desire and triumph. "So fucking desperate for it. For me."

Without warning, his hand came down in a sharp slap directly against your exposed cunt. The sensation was electric—pain and pleasure so intertwined that your brain couldn't separate them. A startled cry tore from your throat, your body jerking upward from the impact.

Before you could process the first slap, another followed, slightly softer but no less shocking. Your wetness amplified the sound, a lewd, wet smack that echoed in the quiet room. Droplets of your arousal scattered with each impact, some landing on Xavier's cheeks and chin, mingling with the evidence already there.

"Mine," he growled, delivering a third slap that had your eyes rolling back, toes curling, a guttural moan ripping from somewhere deep inside you. The pain blossomed into a heat that radiated outward, your nerve endings singing with confusing signals of pleasure-pain.

Xavier's eyes locked with yours, watching your reactions with focused intensity as he delivered a fourth slap, then a fifth. Each impact sent jolts of sensation shooting up your spine, your flesh reddening under his attention. Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes—not from pain but from the overwhelming intensity, the surrender, the desperate need for release.

After the sixth slap, when your thighs were quivering uncontrollably and your breathing had devolved into ragged sobs, Xavier's expression softened fractionally. His hand, the one that had just delivered such exquisite torment, now cupped your sensitized flesh with unexpected gentleness. His thumb traced soothing circles around your swollen clit, careful not to touch it directly, easing the sting while maintaining the heightened sensitivity.

"So pretty when you're marked by me," he murmured, his voice a rough caress. "Your cunt is as red as your face now, flushed and ready and aching for more."

His fingers glided through your abundant wetness, spreading it over your tender flesh in a cooling balm that made you shiver with renewed desire. The contrast between the sharp slaps and this gentle attention was dizzying, keeping you off-balance, never knowing what sensation would come next.

"Xavier," you managed, your voice barely recognizable to your own ears. "Please..."

His smile was slow and knowing, the smirk of a man who held all the cards and knew exactly how to play them. As his soothing touch continued, tracing patterns over your reddened flesh, you felt his fingers begin to edge closer to your entrance, teasing around the perimeter with maddening patience.

"Shhh," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, just beside the area he'd been tormenting. "We're just getting started."

Each stroke of Xavier's fingers soothed your reddened flesh while simultaneously stoking the fire building inside you. His fingertips swirled through your wetness, drawing invisible spirals that tightened with each revolution.

Your entrance pulsed and fluttered as he approached, only to have him veer away at the last moment, leaving you empty and aching. A whimper escaped your throat when his middle finger grazed your opening, applying just enough pressure to dimple the sensitive flesh before retreating again.

You felt yourself clenching around nothing, your body begging for fullness in a primal language of need. His eyes, dark with desire, watched your face with predatory intensity as he teased, noting each flutter of your eyelids, each catch in your breath, gauging exactly how much torment you could bear before breaking.

"Please," you whispered again, the word barely audible through your ragged breathing. Your hips tilted upward in silent supplication, seeking more pressure, more contact, anything to ease the aching emptiness.

Xavier's thumb brushed your clit so lightly it might have been accidental, sending a jolt through your oversensitized nerves that had you gasping. His fingers continued their torturous path, circling your entrance, gathering your wetness, spreading it in slick patterns across your inner thighs. Each time his touch dipped slightly inside, just enough to hint at penetration before retreating, leaving you whimpering with frustration.

"Tell me who this belongs to," he demanded, his voice a rough velvet that scraped along your senses.

"You," you managed, the word choked with need. "Only you, Xavier. Please..."

The curve of his smile was dangerous, victorious. His fingers continued their teasing exploration, each circuit bringing them a fraction deeper, testing your readiness without satisfying your craving for fullness.

Then, without warning, he plunged three fingers into you at once.

The sudden stretch, the abrupt fullness after so much teasing, tore a hoarse cry from your throat. Your body arched off the couch, taken by surprise at the intrusion even as it welcomed the pressure.

Xavier's fingers were long and skilled, pushing deep inside you before curling upward with devastating precision, finding that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

"Fuck," you gasped, the word fragmenting as he began a rhythmic massage against your g-spot, applying firm pressure that had your thighs trembling uncontrollably.

Xavier's free hand moved to your hip, pinning you in place as he worked his fingers inside you. His movements were deliberate, almost clinical in their precision—if not for the flush spreading across his cheekbones, the barely controlled tension in his jaw, you might have thought him unaffected by your writhing beneath him.

"Look at you," he growled, twisting his wrist to change the angle of his thrusting fingers, hitting that perfect spot with each stroke. "Taking my fingers so well. So fucking wet for me."

Your head fell back against the couch cushions, eyes fluttering closed as pleasure built in concentric waves from where his fingers curled inside you. Each thrust sent jolts of sensation radiating outward, making it impossible to focus on anything beyond the building pressure in your core.

"Open your eyes," Xavier commanded. "Look at me while I fuck you with my fingers."

The effort it took to comply was monumental, your eyelids feeling weighted as you forced them open to meet his gaze. His face swam in your vision, features sharpening and blurring as your focus wavered under the assault of sensation. His lips were parted, breath coming faster as he watched you come undone beneath his touch.

"Who do you belong to?" he demanded, fingers curling more firmly inside you, pressing rhythmically against that perfect spot that had your vision going white at the edges.

Your mouth opened, but no coherent sound emerged—only a broken moan as your eyes rolled back, the pleasure too intense to maintain eye contact or formulate words. Your body answered for you, inner walls clenching around his fingers, hips rising to meet each thrust despite his restraining hand.

Xavier took your incoherence as affirmation, his lips curling into a satisfied smile as he increased both pace and pressure. His thumb found your clit, pressing in tight circles that worked in counterpoint to the thrusting of his fingers. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, shorting out your ability to think, to speak, to do anything but feel.

"That's it," he encouraged, voice dropping to that register that seemed to vibrate directly through your core. "Let go. Show me how much you need this. How much you need me."

The pressure built exponentially, a coiling tension that bordered on painful in its intensity. Your breathing fragmented into sharp gasps, hands clutching desperately at the couch cushions as your body balanced on the knife-edge of release. When it finally broke, it wasn't the gradual wave you'd expected but an explosive force that had you crying out, back arching impossibly high as pleasure crashed through every nerve ending.

Xavier didn't slow his movements as you came, fingers continuing their relentless stimulation, driving you higher until something inside you gave way entirely. A gush of fluid rushed from you, soaking his hand, splashing onto his forearm and chest.

Through the haze of your orgasm, you registered the look on Xavier's face—raw triumph mingled with an almost reverent awe as he watched your body respond to his touch. His movements gentled but didn't stop, fingers slowing to help you ride out the aftershocks that continued to ripple through you.

"Fuck," he breathed, the word almost worshipful as he surveyed the evidence of your pleasure coating his skin. "Look what you did. Marked me with your cum."

You couldn't form words, could barely focus your eyes as you lay boneless beneath him, chest heaving with exertion. Your body felt simultaneously weightless and leaden, disconnected from your mind in the aftermath of such intense release.

"I'm sorry," you finally managed, voice barely audible, words slurring together. "About the doctor... wasn't flirting... didn't mean to make you jealous..."

Xavier's expression shifted, predatory hunger replacing momentary tenderness. Without warning, he withdrew his fingers from inside you, eliciting a whimper at the sudden emptiness. Before you could catch your breath, those same fingers—slick with your arousal—pressed against your lips.

"Open," he commanded, and your mouth parted automatically, accepting his fingers onto your tongue. The taste of yourself was musky and salt-sweet, intimate in a way that made heat rise to your already flushed cheeks. "Taste what you did. How wet you got for me."

Your tongue curled around his fingers instinctively, cleaning them of your essence as his eyes darkened further, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of blue remained. When he finally withdrew his fingers from your mouth, they left a glistening trail across your lower lip.

"If you're really sorry," Xavier said, his voice a low promise that sent fresh shivers through your still-sensitive body, "then you're going to take everything I give you. Every. Last. Inch."

The implication was clear, and despite your recent orgasm, despite the lingering tremors still pulsing through your limbs, you felt a renewed surge of desire at his words. Your thighs fell open in wordless invitation, a surrender that drew a satisfied growl from deep in Xavier's chest.

"Good girl," he murmured, hands already moving to his belt, the metallic sound of the buckle unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

Xavier's hands found the backs of your knees, pushing your legs up and back until they nearly touched your shoulders. The position left you completely exposed, vulnerable in a way that made your breath catch in your throat. His eyes, dark with intent, locked with yours as he positioned himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing insistently against your still-sensitive flesh. You felt the stretch, the inexorable pressure as he began to push inside, your body yielding to him inch by deliberate inch.

"Xavier," you gasped, fingers clutching at his forearms, feeling the corded muscle tense beneath your grip.

He paused, his jaw tight with restraint, sweat beading along his hairline. "Tell me you want this," he demanded, his voice strained. "Tell me you want me to fill you up."

"Yes," you breathed, the word barely audible. Then, louder, "Yes. Please."

Something feral flickered in his eyes, a momentary loss of that careful control he always maintained. With one powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, the sudden fullness tearing a cry from your throat that echoed through the quiet house—loud enough, you dimly realized, for neighbors to hear.

The sensation was overwhelming—your body, still hypersensitive from your earlier orgasm, struggled to accommodate his size. Two weeks of abstinence had reset your tolerance, making the stretch burn in the most delicious way. Xavier remained still for a moment, allowing you to adjust, his breathing harsh and uneven against your neck.

"Listen to you," he murmured, rolling his hips in a small circular motion that made you whimper. "So fucking loud. Do you want everyone to hear what I'm doing to you? How I'm claiming what's mine?"

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, the forbidden thrill of being overheard adding a new dimension to your pleasure. Your inner walls clenched around him involuntarily, drawing a hiss from between his clenched teeth.

"You marked me earlier," Xavier continued, beginning a slow, measured withdrawal before sinking back into you with deliberate force. "Squirting all over me like a dirty little slut. Marking your territory."

Each word should have offended you, but in the heat of the moment, his filthy talk only heightened your arousal. Your body responded to his crude language with a rush of wetness that eased his increasingly forceful thrusts.

"Well, I'm going to mark you too," he growled, punctuating the statement with a sharp slap to the outside of your thigh.

The sudden sting made you yelp, your body jerking in surprise. Before the sensation could fade, his hand came down again on the opposite thigh, leaving a blooming handprint on your flesh. The pain melted quickly into pleasure, nerve endings confused by the dual sensations of being filled and struck simultaneously.

"Everyone's going to know you're mine," Xavier continued, his rhythm never faltering as he established a punishing pace, each thrust driving the air from your lungs. His head dipped, mouth finding the sensitive junction of your neck and shoulder, teeth scraping before biting down with enough force to make you cry out again.

The suction of his mouth at your pulse point sent conflicting signals of pleasure-pain through your system, your body unable to distinguish between the sensations. He moved to another spot, just above your collarbone, leaving another mark—then another at the base of your throat, and another just below your ear. Each location he claimed with lips and teeth, ensuring the marks would be visible above your clothing, impossible to hide.

Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes—not from pain but from the overwhelming intensity, the primal satisfaction of being claimed so thoroughly. Your skin felt electric, hypersensitized to every touch, every breath, every subtle shift of Xavier's body against yours. The weight of him pressing you into the couch, the scent of his skin mingled with sex, the sound of his breathing growing more ragged with each thrust—it all combined into a sensory overload that left you dizzy with desire.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard," Xavier growled against your throat, his voice dropping to that register that seemed to vibrate directly through your core, "that your body will remember my shape. Will reject every other man who even looks in your direction."

His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to leave additional marks as he adjusted the angle of his thrusts, hitting a spot deep inside that made your vision blur at the edges. Each impact sent shockwaves of pleasure radiating outward from your center, building a pressure that threatened to shatter you completely.

"I'm going to cum in you so deep," he continued, his words becoming more fragmented as his control slipped, "so hard that you have to take my seed. Going to breed you. Make you mine. Let everyone know who you belong to."

The filthy promise in his words sent a fresh surge of heat through your body. Logically, you knew you were protected, but the primal part of your brain responded to his talk of breeding with an instinctive clench of your inner muscles, drawing a groan from deep in Xavier's chest.

"Please," you begged, beyond pride or pretense, beyond anything but the desperate need for release. "Cum in me. Fill me up. Make me yours, Xavier."

Your hands scrabbled at his back, nails digging into the sweat-slicked skin, leaving welts in their wake. The knowledge that you were marking him too, claiming him as he claimed you, added a new dimension to your pleasure. Your legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locking behind his back, trapping him against you, inside you, making it clear you had no intention of letting him pull away.

The couch beneath you creaked with each powerful thrust, the rhythm growing more erratic as Xavier chased his release. One of his hands slipped between your bodies, finding your clit with unerring precision, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with firm pressure that had you seeing stars.

The additional stimulation was all it took to push you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you with devastating force, inner walls clamping down on Xavier's cock in rhythmic pulses that had him cursing against your skin. Your vision whited out at the edges, body arching impossibly high off the couch as wave after wave of pleasure radiated from your core to your extremities.

Xavier felt the change immediately, the tight grip of your body around him as you came. His thrusts became desperate, uncoordinated, the careful control he maintained in every other aspect of life abandoned in the face of such intense pleasure. His breathing fractured into harsh pants, his forehead pressed against yours as he drove into you with single-minded determination.

"Fuck," he gasped, the word half-growl, half-prayer. "Taking my cock so well. So fucking perfect. Mine."

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, his body going rigid as his release overtook him. You felt the hot pulses of his cum flooding your inner walls, marking you from the inside in the most primitive way possible. His cock twitched within you, each spurt accompanied by a low groan that you felt more than heard, the vibrations traveling from his chest to yours where your bodies pressed together.

Time seemed to suspend as you clung to each other, hearts hammering in tandem, breath mingling in the narrow space between your parted lips. Xavier's weight pressed you into the couch, a delicious burden that anchored you to reality as your mind slowly drifted back from the heights of pleasure. The scent of sex and sweat hung heavy in the air, mingling with the lingering smell of rain from earlier, creating an atmosphere that was uniquely intimate—a cocoon of sensation that belonged only to the two of you.

As the most intense waves of pleasure subsided, leaving pleasant aftershocks rippling through your joined bodies, Xavier's eyes found yours. The predatory hunger had softened to something warmer, though no less possessive. His hand, gentle now, brushed damp hair from your forehead in a gesture so tender it made your chest ache with an emotion too complex to name.

"Mine," he whispered again, but this time the word held as much reverence as ownership, a declaration that went beyond the physical joining of your bodies to something deeper, more permanent.

Your legs remained locked around him, keeping him inside you, unwilling to break the connection just yet. In response, your fingers traced the marks you'd left on his back, feeling the raised welts your nails had created in the heat of passion.

"Yours," you agreed, voice hoarse from crying out. "Only yours."

Xavier made no move to separate your bodies. Instead, he lowered himself fully against you, his weight a comforting pressure that pressed you deeper into the couch cushions. His breathing gradually slowed, warm puffs of air against your neck where his face had tucked into the curve of your shoulder.

Your body ached pleasantly, the kind of soreness that came from being thoroughly claimed. The marks Xavier had left—handprints on your thighs, bruising kisses along your throat and collarbone—throbbed with a dull heat that reminded you of his possession with every heartbeat.

His hand, so demanding and forceful minutes before, now traced gentle patterns along your side, fingers skimming over the curve of your waist, the flare of your hip, with butterfly lightness. Where he found a developing bruise or tender spot, his touch became even more careful, massaging with a delicate pressure that soothed rather than inflamed.

"Did I hurt you?" His voice was soft against your skin, barely above a whisper, as though he feared breaking the fragile peace that had settled over you both.

"Only in the best ways," you murmured, your own voice hoarse from crying out.

You felt rather than saw his smile, a slight curve of lips pressed against your shoulder. His hands continued their careful exploration, finding each spot where his passion had left its mark and tending to it with surprising tenderness.

Xavier shifted slightly, lifting himself just enough to look down at you, his silver-blonde hair falling in disarray around his face.

His eyes, still dark but no longer predatory, studied your features with quiet intensity. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he lowered his head to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the sensitive spot just below your ear.

His lips traced a path down your neck, revisiting each mark he'd left, but this time with a reverent gentleness that made you shiver for entirely different reasons than before. Each kiss felt like an apology and a reaffirmation all at once—I marked you, and I don't regret it, but I'll care for you now.

Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers threading through the silver-blonde strands that felt like cool silk against your heated skin. You massaged his scalp with light pressure, drawing a low hum of appreciation from deep in his chest that vibrated against your sternum where his body pressed against yours. Your touch moved to his shoulders, feeling the tension there slowly melting beneath your ministrations.

"Feels good," he murmured, the words slurring slightly as his body relaxed further into yours.

Your fingers traced the welts your nails had left on his back, some deep enough that you worried they might leave lasting marks. Xavier didn't flinch at your touch; instead, he seemed to press back into it, silently encouraging you to continue your exploration of the damage you'd inflicted in the throes of passion.

"I marked you too," you said softly, a note of apology in your voice.

Xavier lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes, his lips curving into a lazy smile that held none of its earlier predatory edge. "Good," he replied simply, before tucking his face back into the crook of your neck.

He remained inside you, your bodies joined in the most intimate way, though the urgency had long since passed. There was something profoundly connecting about this—being filled by him even in this quiet moment, feeling him soften within you but making no move to withdraw.

His body shifted, settling more comfortably against yours, one leg sliding between your thighs, an arm curling around your waist to hold you close. The movement caused a subtle shift of his cock still nestled inside you, drawing a small gasp from your lips as oversensitized nerve endings responded to the stimulation.

Xavier's answering chuckle was warm against your skin, his arm tightening around you in response. "Sensitive?" he asked, though he clearly knew the answer.

"Mmm," was all you could manage, too content to form proper words.

Xavier's breathing had slowed further, taking on the deeper rhythm that suggested approaching sleep. His body was a warm weight above you, solid and real, anchoring you to this moment, to this feeling of complete surrender and unexpected safety.

Despite the possessiveness, despite the intensity of his jealousy and the marks he'd left to claim you, you had never felt more secure than you did now, beneath him, surrounded by him, filled by him.

His hand made one last slow circuit of your hip, your waist, coming to rest splayed across your ribcage where he could feel your heartbeat. "Fall asleep with me."

The invitation was unnecessary—you couldn't have moved if you wanted to, nor did you have any desire to break this connection. Instead, you continued the gentle massage of his shoulders, feeling the last remnants of tension melt away beneath your touch. Your own eyelids grew heavy, the combination of physical exertion and emotional release taking its toll.

"I'm here," you whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple where his pulse beat slow and steady against your lips. "Not going anywhere."

His only response was a contented sigh as he burrowed deeper into your embrace, his body becoming a pleasant deadweight as sleep claimed him fully.

You followed soon after, drifting into dreams with the steady rhythm of his heart against yours, his body still inside yours, the physical manifestation of a connection that ran far deeper than either of you had anticipated when this "No Nut November" challenge began.

The last thought that floated through your mind before sleep claimed you completely was that some challenges were meant to be failed—especially when failing meant winning something far more valuable in return.

Wanna nut?

Hah.

Being docile really doesn’t suit Sylus. 

Even as he kneels before you, his proffered hand gloved in satin white, his measured smile holds shadows, a glint of darkness lurking behind those blood ruby eyes. Unbidden, your throat goes dry. Gaze dropping as you swallow hard, your fingers twiddling with the feather wand in your grasp. 

It’s been a few weeks since that damn kiss. 

That kiss. That damned fucking kiss. It’s enough to make you want to die of mortification every time it crosses your mind. As evidenced by all the groaning and dull thunks of your skull against your desk— even Nero has drifted over to ask, very cautiously, whether you’re alright. 

But the most mind-boggling aspect of it all? 

How things have been so damn normal. Well, as normal as things could be between a Hunter and the Onichynus crime lord. Sylus still calls you at the same cadence. Still makes trips to Linkon for his ‘fruit vendor business’, with side quests to annoy you. Even catching glimpses of Mephisto to and from your way home has become a more common happenstance than not. 

So how come you're the only one who can’t look him in the eye without flushing? Who stumbles back every time he leans in? And why, god why, when he concedes to respect your wishes, does disappointment twist sharp in your gut, your body fighting the urge to lean forward while your mind reels back? The implications alone are enough to give you hives. 

“Cat got your tongue?” You start, catching him lift a dark silver brow in askance. And then he adds with a hint of snark, almost as an afterthought: “My lady?” 

“Hah...” You inhale deep through your nose, steeling your resolve. Right, the mission. It would be a shame to waste such a perfect moment— to practice his role as obedient pet butler, yes, but also tease him while you’re at it— especially with how clearly he hates playing along. A light tap of the whisk of feathers gently against his cheek and then you drag the wispy plumes slowly under his chin. 

“Meeting my expectations? I’ve yet to see. You cost me quite a pretty penny, y’know?” You lean slightly forward, your voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve got?” 

Sylus huffs, his tail swishing in a playful arc. 

“I’ve only been a butler for a few days,” he says slowly as he captures your hand, forcing your feathery assault to come to a halt. “If the service isn’t up to your standard,” —his gaze steady on yours darkens from glittering garnet to cherry sangria wine— “I’m afraid there’s no refund.” 

Your eyes narrow even as his drawl sends a pulse of heat through your frame. 

“You look like a fast learner,” you say with a shrug, your other hand coming up to trace your fingers along his jaw. “Impress me.”

He tenses at your touch, a brief lilt of silver brows before his shoulders settle, his head cocked to the right as he studies you. The moment stretches out long enough for you to get nearly uneasy before he finally chuckles, the low rumble rippling down your spine.

”My lady,” he savors the syllables, tongue curling around the endearment like he’s swiping a drop of honey clinging to his lips. You twitch; his ever perceptive gaze catches it, crinkling at the corners as the faint traces of amusement blossoms into an open smirk. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”  

Ugh, for an ‘obedient’ butler, he sure is cheeky. 

“…Maybe,” you concede absentmindedly, mind racing for a way to make him squirm. “But I shouldn’t be the only one enjoying myself, right?”

Your fingers latch on to the first thing that catches your gaze— his ever twitching ear, the warm appendage velvet soft to the touch. Sylus freezes, his tail comically snapping ramrod straight before he jerks out of your hold.

Heh.

Jackpot. 

“You seem well acquainted with a cat’s weak spots,” he grumbles, settling on the floor, retreating out of your reach. His words sound more like a warning than an observation. 

But you’ve never been known to heed warnings. 

“Oh, come on,” you coo, reaching forward to trace a fingertip down the shell of his ear. “Don’t be embarrassed. You and your ears are very cute.”

“Cute, huh...” Sylus echoes unconvincingly, frowning when you capture the soft ears between your fingers again.

But as you continue to gently rub his feline ears, his furrowed brow fades. Even as his head tilts forward and then back, as if wavering on whether or not to lean closer, it’s not long before his eyes flutter closed with a soft grunt, giving in to your ministrations. In fact, you swear you hear something— a humming undercurrent, a steady vibration— a purr, you realize with glee, his head leaning more heavily into your hand with every stroke. Delighted, you stroke them again, firmer this time, taking care to graze your nails at the base of his ears. He rewards you with a sigh, slow and content, his breath ghosting along the inner edge of your arm like rising steam. 

“See?” you gloat. “Not so bad now, is it?” 

It’s a few moments until he responds with a languid nuzzle into your hand. 

“Hm...” His hum ignites a fine vibrating tingle racing through your limbs, warm static in your veins. “More.”

His husky plea— because that is what it is, isn’t it? The closest you’ve ever heard the crime lord, who wants for nothing, come to ask for anything, and it catches you off guard, a jolt that liquifies, warmth pooling low and sliding down your spine. Your heartbeat echoes like a drum in your ears as you tense, pressing your thighs together; the silk of his hair soft against your palm as his head presses more insistently into your hand. His nose twitches, and then he shudders when he inhales deep; his eyes slit open, a narrow sliver of glowing ruby. 

Hungry.

Staring into the abyss, the abyss staring ravenously back.

A touch breaks you out of your reverie. 

“You shouldn’t touch me so casually.” Sylus is holding your hand by the wrist, clearly taking care to keep them away from his ears, but ever so gently, you can barely feel his grip. 

“Why?” Maybe you’re poking the beast. Maybe, a little voice whispers, you should stop. But you feel strangely separate from yourself— your mouth already moving, your thoughts trailing behind. “You bite?”

“I do.” His words are so solemn that it gives you pause. “A monster like me, once I sink my teeth into you...” The faint glow in his right eye throbs. “I don’t let go.” 

Another warning. He's practically baring his fangs in slow motion— stop, danger, do not go. And if you were smart, tempered by the memory of his grip around your throat, of his impervious gaze cast down over his cold sneer— you would back down. But recklessness is all you are tonight, emboldened by his restraint, possessed by the wild urge to test his limits, to see what it would take for the beast to stop pretending he was tame. 

“Good thing,” you breathe, holding his gaze without flinching, “I’m not scared of monsters.” 

“…No.” His lips twitch into a small smirk, his thumb strokes once over your inner wrist. “You never were.” 

Huh?

That hint of melancholy haunting his voice. A glimmer of apology and promise in his blood red gaze. It throws you off kilter, even more than any threat or provocation he’s ever leveled at you. Enough for you to retreat, jerking your hand from his grip.

“But Snowy Owl might be,” you remark more curtly than you intend. “So keep those fangs to yourself, yeah?” 

A small crease appears between his brows, lips pulling back to reveal the faintest hints of a scowl before his expression smooths. His firm grasp on your thigh is the only warning you get before you’re abruptly hauled off the couch. You let out an undignified squeak as you land astride his lap, the fabric of your dress scrunching up your legs. Sylus pays no mind to your weak protest, his fingers skimming your jaw, tipping your chin up to meet his gaze. 

“Are you really doing this,” he asks, eyes roaming your face as if searching for an answer, “so that another woman can have me?” 

He’s so close. Too close. White buzzing panic, the staccato of your heartbeat in your throat, the heat of his body encompassing yours—

“It’s…” You swallow, wetting your lips. “It’s for the mission?” 

Sylus scoffs. “I don’t ever recall agreeing to this little plan of yours.” His arms coil around your waist, seating you more firmly in his lap. “Do you really not care if I become someone else’s cat?”

His hand is drifting up your thigh, nudging past the hem of your dress, the other tracing up your spine. Your leg jerks, an involuntary reflex, ribs squeezing around your lungs as his scent rolls in, thick as smoke, searing into the back of your throat. 

“You clearly don’t care.”

Your hand flies to your mouth, but it’s too late; his brows are practically up to his hairline. 

“I don’t care?” Sylus repeats, rolling the words around as if they’re foreign on his tongue. “Sweetie,” he sighs— long suffering, indulgent, as if you’re the one testing his patience; the tone alone makes your hand ball into a fist on his chest. “Are we playing this game again? Did we not already have a demonstration of my... intent?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flick down to your lips. “Do we need a reminder?”  

“But I kissed you. Last time.” It bursts out of you more like an indignant hiss than a full sentence, your face on fire. “I-I’m just saying. Not really your demonstration, per se...”

“Ah, I see.” But you don’t think he sees at all, because his fingers curl under your chin. “My mistake.” His eye burns— bloody as the moon in eclipse. “Then this time, will you allow me,” —his warm breath caresses your lips— “to demonstrate properly?”

He watches you with devastating patience, as if content to wait a millennia for your thoughts to settle, for you to choose— until you nod. Only then, do his eyes wane, glittering with warm satisfaction as he leans in, like a beast finally lowering its head to feast. But it’s just the faintest press of his lips to yours, a touch as ephemeral as a dragon’s breath. Once and then again— like he’s teasing you, a cat flicking its tail to see if you’ll chase. 

So you do. 

Fingers curling into the smooth wool of his vest, thighs cinching tighter around his waist. Incense and smoky amber in your lungs, the lush velvet of sweet cherry wine on your tongue. You push forward and his body curves around yours, like wings folding in, a purr of pleasure vibrating from his chest. Under your hands, he burns— liquid gold, orange-honey embers— knuckles brushing satin, fingers grazing higher, until they comb through white locks. 

His breath stutters— once, twice— each inhale deeper than the last. You kiss him harder, tongue tracing the seam of his lower lip, and the sound he makes— a low shaky rasp through clenched teeth, shoots an answering pulse to your core.

His hand flexes on your hip, possessive, digging in the fabric of your dress as he drags you flush against him. His other hand slides up, spanning half your jaw, palm hot against your cheek; his thumb tracing a slow arc beneath your eye, a caress that whispers like a vow as he tilts your head back, guiding you into a deeper, claiming kiss. 

Sylus kisses you like he’s starved for it. Like a fiend damned to the dark and you’re the sunlight, awestruck as warm gold dapples his face. Like he’s finally found you after tearing apart galaxies, overturning planets, your name the only thing he kept gripped between his teeth. Like he would hoard you away, hide you in the hollow of his chest, safe from all who’d dare touch you, if he could. 

He kisses you the way he looks at you: with a quiet desperation, with hope and regret and resentment and hunger— like he’s standing at the edge of a burning abyss, all ash and longing and ruinous want. Smoke and mirrors, hairline fractures, you can’t tell what to think, what to feel when he kisses you like this, where danger ends and devotion begins. 

When you break for air, you find yourself on top of him, palms spread over his heaving chest. His face is flushed crimson, eyes half lidded as he slowly blinks up at you, pupils blown wide. Swollen lips parted, panting against your skin as he noses along your jaw, teeth grazing your earlobe in a soft, helpless bite.  

“Kitten…”

You huff at his choice of endearment— bold words from the one with cat ears— only for the breath to melt into a soft moan when he mouths at the sensitive point behind your jaw. His answering growl is dazed, unfocused, hands tightening on your hips as he draws you down, grinding the solid heat of him against the apex of your thighs. 

“Tell me to stop.” 

God, you're not sure you want him to. The rasp of his voice sends a shiver skittering down your spine, pleasure fizzing through your veins like champagne catching sparks. Your body moves first, pressing down, seeking more— a breathless noise caught in your throat when you feel the hard press of his arousal under your thigh. 

“S-Sylus…” Hot, open mouthed kisses down your throat, hands molding your pliant curves. “Ah, wait—”

A sweep of vertigo and then you’re on your back, laying on plush carpet as his weight brackets yours, his arms caging you in. 

“Wait?” This time he chuckles, soft and sinister. “That’s not what I told you to say.” 

He slants his mouth over yours hard enough to bruise, devouring your gasp. Threading his fingers through yours, pinning your joined hands to the floor as he rocks against you. You arch into him with a fractured, trembling sound, nails carving crescent moons into the burgundy fabric of his sleeve. 

"I mean nobody's seen him at the studio since the beginning of the month." Thomas's voice was taut with his own concern. "I thought he was with you or working from home or something. But his commission deadline was yesterday, and he never misses deadlines without warning."

Your stomach twisted into an intricate knot as you thanked Thomas and ended the call. The screen of your phone reflected your furrowed brow as you scrolled through your text history with Rafayel.

Your last dozen messages stretched down like a one-sided conversation, each one marked "Read" but unanswered. The timestamps chronicled your descent from casual checking-in to unmistakable worry.

*Hey, want to grab dinner tonight?*

*Raf, everything okay?*

*Seriously, are you ghosting me or just busy?*

*I'm getting worried. Please call me.*

*Rafayel, please respond*

You pressed his contact photo—a self-portrait where his violet eyes seemed to mock the very concept of being captured on camera—and listened to the familiar rings before his voicemail greeted you again. That silky voice, recorded and replayed, felt like a taunt now.

"This is Rafayel. I'm either creating something beautiful or..." a pause, followed by that low, teasing chuckle that always sent warmth down your spine, "...being created by something beautiful. Leave a message and I'll decide if you're worth calling back."

You hung up without leaving another message. The fifteen you'd already left formed a desperate monologue that grew more concerned with each passing hour.

Outside, the evening air carried the first hint of autumn chill as you walked briskly toward his apartment building. Each step was purposeful, your mind filling with possibilities—each worse than the last.

Was he hurt?

Had he left town without telling anyone?

Was he avoiding you specifically?

Standing before Rafayel's door, you raised your fist and knocked—three sharp raps that echoed in the empty hallway. Nothing. You tried again, louder this time, calling his name. The silence that answered was dense, like fog.

You reached for the doorknob, not expecting anything—a gesture born of desperation rather than hope—and felt a jolt of surprise when it turned easily in your hand. The door swung inward on silent hinges, revealing the darkened entryway to Rafayel's house.

"Raf?" Your voice sounded thin and uncertain in the stillness.

You stepped inside, fumbling for the light switch. The soft glow that filled the room revealed a space in disarray—unusual for someone who treated his living environment as an extension of his artistic canvas.

Empty water bottles were scattered across the coffee table, some tipped over on the floor. Moving deeper into the apartment, your eyes caught on details that seemed wrong—a painting hanging slightly crooked, cushions strewn across the floor instead of arranged in Rafayel's usual precise manner, his favorite jacket abandoned in a heap by the sofa instead of hanging in its designated spot.

The air felt strange against your skin—heavy and warm, growing noticeably warmer as you approached the hallway leading to his bedroom.

There was something else too, a tension in the atmosphere, like the charged feeling before a thunderstorm. Your fingertips tingled with it, and the fine hairs at the nape of your neck stood on end.

You paused outside his bedroom door, listening. The silence had given way to sounds that made your heart skip—low groaning, the rustle of bedsheets, labored breathing. Relief flooded through you (he was alive) quickly followed by new concern (he sounded unwell).

"Rafayel?" you called again, softer now, uncertain if you should be intruding.

The groaning continued, uninterrupted by your voice. It was punctuated by something that sounded almost like a whimper—a sound you'd never imagined coming from confident, composed Rafayel.

Your palm pressed against the wood of his door, warm to the touch as if the room beyond was overheated. Slowly, you pushed it open, the hinges giving a small protesting creak.

The bedroom was bathed in half-light, heavy curtains drawn against the evening sun but allowing thin ribbons of amber to slice across the rumpled bed.

And there, twisted in sweat-dampened sheets, was Rafayel—his purple hair dark with moisture and plastered to his forehead, his chest bare and glistening.

But what froze you in place, what made your breath catch and your lips part in surprise, was the sight of your jacket—the one you'd thought lost weeks ago—clutched in his hands, pressed against his face as he inhaled deeply, his hips moving in an unmistakable rhythm against the mattress.

And then you heard it—your name, tumbling from his lips in a desperate, yearning groan that made heat bloom low in your belly despite your concern.

He hadn't seen you yet, his eyes screwed shut as he writhed on the bed, lost in what appeared to be a fever dream with you at its center.

The sight before you burned itself into your memory—Rafayel sprawled across his bed, half-naked and desperate. His lean body twisted in the sheets, skin gleaming with sweat in the dim light that filtered through the curtains. His fingers clutched your missing jacket with surprising strength, bringing it repeatedly to his face as he inhaled deeply, like a man starved for oxygen who'd found it concentrated in the fibers of your clothing.

His hips moved with unmistakable purpose against the mattress, grinding down with a rhythm that spoke of pure, unfiltered need. The soft cotton of his sleep pants did little to hide his arousal, the outline of his hardness pressing insistently against the fabric with each thrust.

A dark, wet stain had spread across his thin cotton pants where his cock head leaked steadily, the fabric clinging obscenely to every ridge and vein as his pre-cum soaked through, leaving no doubt about how desperately he needed release.

"Please," he groaned into your jacket, his voice rough and broken around the edges. "Need you. Need your scent. Need your skin."

Then came your name, falling from his lips like a confession, a benediction.

He moaned it into the fabric of your jacket, his voice catching on the syllables, stretching them out into a sound of pure longing that vibrated in your core. His eyes remained closed, lost in whatever fantasy had taken hold of him, unaware of your presence just meters away.

"So empty without you," he whimpered, his accent thicker than usual, words slurring together as if drunk on desire. "Can't think. Can't paint. Can only smell you and want you and—" His words dissolved into another groan as his hips jerked more forcefully against the mattress.

Your name again, this time paired with filthy promises of what he wanted to do to you, how he wanted to taste every inch of your skin, fill you completely, mark you as his. Each word sent a curl of heat spiraling through your belly, down between your thighs where an answering ache began to build.

"Rafayel," you called softly, finding your voice. "Raf, I'm here."

He didn't respond to your voice, just continued his desperate rutting against the bed, your jacket now pressed against his chest as if trying to absorb it into his skin. His moans grew more urgent, more frustrated, as if the friction wasn't enough, could never be enough.

"More," he begged to the phantom you in his mind. "Need more of you. Need all of you."

You stepped further into the room, the floorboard creaking beneath your weight. Still, he didn't look up, too lost in his delirium to register the sound as real. The air grew thicker as you approached, carrying his scent—the familiar notes of his expensive cologne now overwhelmed by something else, something musky and primal that made your mouth water inexplicably.

The heat in the room was oppressive, like walking into a sauna. Sweat began to bead at your hairline, between your breasts, at the small of your back. How was he surviving in this heat? Was this why he was so feverish?

"Rafayel," you tried again, louder this time, standing at the edge of his bed. "It's me. I'm really here."

His only response was a frustrated growl as he flipped onto his back, one arm flung across his eyes, the other still clutching your jacket against his chest. The movement exposed the full length of his body to your gaze—the taut muscles of his abdomen contracting with each labored breath, the prominent bulge in his pants now fully visible, the damp spot larger.

You reached out, hesitating just for a moment before laying your palm against his shoulder. The heat of his skin shocked you—it was like touching a radiator left on too high. Beneath your fingers, his muscles jumped and twitched, responsive even in his delirium.

"You're burning up," you murmured, concern momentarily overriding your arousal. "Raf, you're so hot."

His reaction to your touch was instant and visceral. His back arched off the bed, pressing more firmly into your hand as a sound somewhere between a groan and a sob tore from his throat. "Don't stop touching me," he pleaded, still not opening his eyes. "Even if you're not real. Even if I'm hallucinating. Please don't stop."

The rawness in his voice, the desperate edge, made your heart clench. Gently, you placed your other hand on his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart beneath your palm. "I'm real, Rafayel. Open your eyes and look at me."

Instead, his hands found your wrists, gripping them with surprising strength despite his weakened state. His touch was scorching, like bands of fire circling your skin. You winced at the intensity of the heat, but didn't pull away.

"Let me help you," you said, using your leverage to ease him fully onto his back, away from the damp spot he'd created on the mattress. "You need to cool down. You're too hot."

As you maneuvered him, his head lolled to the side, exposing the elegant column of his throat, which was flushed and slick with sweat. You noticed strange bluish markings appearing just beneath the skin at his collarbone—faint, like veins, but patterned in a way that was distinctly not human.

When you had him positioned on his back, his grip on your wrists tightened, pulling you off balance until you had to brace yourself with one knee on the mattress. "Stay," he rasped, still clutching your jacket with his free hand. "Stay with me. Need you close."

His fingers moved from your wrist to your arm, sliding up to grip your shoulder with the desperate strength of a drowning man clutching a lifeline. The heat of his touch penetrated through your shirt, branding your skin beneath. His other hand finally released the jacket, reaching for you instead, finding purchase at your waist.

"You feel so real this time," he whispered, and the vulnerability in his voice made your throat tighten. "Better than the dreams. Warmer. More solid."

You placed a tentative hand on his forehead, brushing back the damp purple strands of hair that clung to his skin. His temperature was frighteningly high, but he leaned into your touch like a cat seeking affection, a small sound of pleasure escaping his parted lips.

The rhythm of his breathing changed as you continued to stroke his hair, becoming less erratic, though still heavy with desire. His grip on you remained firm, possessive, as if afraid you might dissolve into smoke if he loosened his hold even slightly.

What was happening to him? This wasn't a normal fever—the strange markings, the overwhelming heat, the desperate fixation on your scent. Something was very wrong with Rafayel, something beyond ordinary illness.

But before you could form any theories, his eyes fluttered beneath closed lids, his face turning toward you as if drawn by an invisible force. His lips, dry and cracked from the heat, formed your name one more time—a question now, tinged with a fragile hope that made your heart twist painfully in your chest.

Rafayel's eyelids fluttered, then slowly lifted, revealing those extraordinary violet irises—now dark and dilated with desire.

For a moment, confusion swam in their depths as he stared at you, as if unable to process that you weren't a figment of his fevered imagination. Then recognition dawned, and with it, a naked vulnerability you'd never seen on his usually composed face.

"You're... you're actually here," he whispered, his voice rough with disbelief and need.

"Of course I'm here," you said, pressing your palm against his cheek, alarmed by the heat radiating from his skin. "I've been worried sick about you. You're burning up, Raf. Let me get you some water."

As you tried to pull away, his expression shifted to something akin to panic. His hands shot out, gripping your arms with desperate strength, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave marks. "Don't," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "Don't leave me. Not now. I can't—" He broke off, shuddering violently.

"I'm just going to the kitchen," you assured him, trying to soothe. "I'll be right back with some ice water. You need to cool down."

"No!" The word tore from his throat, almost a snarl. His eyes had taken on a strange luminescence, the violet color seeming to pulse with internal light. "You don't understand. I need you here. I need—" His words dissolved into a groan as another tremor wracked his body.

Before you could react, Rafayel surged upward with surprising strength. In one fluid motion, he flipped your positions, his body suddenly looming over yours, pinning you to the mattress.

The weight of him pressed you down, his heat enveloping you like a physical entity. You could feel the hard length of him against your thigh, insistent and unyielding.

"Raf—" you started, but your words were cut short as he captured your mouth with his.

This wasn't like any kiss you'd shared before.

His lips moved against yours with bruising pressure, teeth nipping at your lower lip until you gasped in surprise. He took immediate advantage, his tongue plunging into your mouth, exploring every crevice with possessive thoroughness.

But what struck you most wasn't the force or the passion—it was the wetness.

Rafayel was producing an unusual amount of saliva, the kiss growing slicker and messier with each passing second. Instead of being repulsed, you found yourself responding with unexpected fervor, your body arching up into his as heat pooled low in your belly.

He broke the kiss, breathing heavily against your lips, his eyes now almost entirely pupil with just a thin ring of violet around the edges. "Open for me," he commanded, his accent thicker than you'd ever heard it. "Open your mouth. Need you to taste me. Need you to swallow."

Your jaw slackened, lips parting before you could think. A hot pulse throbbed between your legs as his words registered, and you swallowed hard, your mind suddenly unable to form a coherent objection. The room tilted slightly, his violet eyes the only fixed point in your swimming vision.

When his mouth descended on yours again, you didn't resist, parting your lips to accept him. This time, you were prepared for the unusual wetness, but not for what came next.

Rafayel deliberately began to let his saliva flow into your mouth, his tongue pushing it past your lips in a way that should have been disgusting but somehow wasn't.

"Swallow," he murmured against your mouth, the word vibrating against your sensitive lips. "Please. Need you to swallow me down."

You obeyed without thinking, letting the warm liquid slide down your throat.

It tasted strange—sweeter than normal saliva, with an underlying hint of something like sea salt. As soon as you swallowed, Rafayel groaned with satisfaction, his body relaxing slightly against yours.

"Again," he whispered, and captured your mouth once more, repeating the process with growing urgency. Each time you swallowed, he rewarded you with sounds of pleasure that vibrated through his chest and into yours where your bodies pressed together.

After the third or fourth time, you began to notice a change in your own body. Your skin grew hypersensitive, each point of contact with Rafayel sending ripples of pleasure radiating outward. The room seemed warmer, your clothing suddenly restrictive and abrasive against your heightened senses.

Between your thighs, a pulsing need began to build, your cunt growing wet and swollen with arousal that seemed disproportionate to the situation.

You pulled back slightly, gasping for breath. "Raf, what's happening to me? I feel—" You couldn't find the words to describe the heat crawling through your veins, the desperate emptiness growing inside you.

Rafayel's eyes fixed on yours, a flash of lucidity breaking through his feverish state.

"I'm sorry," he said, though his hands continued to roam your body with possessive intent. "Should have warned you. It's my cycle—mating cycle."

"Your what?" You tried to focus on his words, but your attention kept scattering as pleasure buzzed through your nerve endings.

His hips rocked against yours, the hard ridge of his erection grinding against you in a way that made coherent thought difficult.

"Mermen," he panted, "we go through ruts. Once a year. Can't control it. My saliva—" He groaned as you shifted beneath him, creating delicious friction. "It has aphrodisiacs. Natural ones. Makes my mate receptive."

The information should have shocked you, should have raised a thousand questions—Rafayel was a merman? This was a mating cycle?—but all you could focus on was the growing ache between your legs, the desperate need to feel him inside you.

"Is that why you're so hot?" you managed to ask, your hands sliding under his shirt to feel the burning skin of his back. Your fingertips traced over subtle ridges that hadn't been there before—the faint outlines of scales emerging just beneath his skin.

He nodded, burying his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. "Can't regulate temperature out of water during rut. Been trying to stay away from you. Didn't want to drag you into this."

His teeth grazed your pulse point, making you shiver despite the heat. "But I needed your scent. Stole your jacket last time you were here. Been living off that for days."

A whimper escaped your lips as his hand slid beneath your shirt, palm scorching against your stomach. "And now?" you asked, your voice barely recognizable to your own ears—breathy and desperate.

Rafayel lifted his head, his violet eyes boring into yours with predatory focus. "Now you're here," he whispered, something dark and possessive lacing his words. "And you've taken my aphrodisiac. And we both know there's only one way this ends."

As if to emphasize his point, your body clenched around nothing, a wave of need so intense it bordered on pain washing through you. You were soaking through your underwear, your nipples tight and sensitive against the constraint of your bra. Every cell in your body seemed to be screaming for him, an imperative that overrode all else.

"Yes," you breathed, surrendering to the heat, to the primal call resonating between your bodies. "Yes, Rafayel. Show me."

Your hands collided with his in a frantic rush to remove clothing, fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers, tearing at fabric with little concern for the integrity of the garments.

Rafayel's usual grace had abandoned him, replaced by a desperate urgency that had him cursing in frustration when your shirt wouldn't immediately yield to his demanding fingers. The sound of tearing fabric punctuated your heavy breathing as he finally lost patience, ripping your shirt open and sending buttons scattering across the floor like tiny missiles.

"Need to feel you," he growled, the refined, teasing cadence of his normal speech transformed into something guttural and primal. "All of you. Skin on skin. Now."

His burning hands skimmed over your exposed torso, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Your bra followed the fate of your shirt, the delicate clasp at the back snapping under his forceful fingers.

You barely had time to gasp before his mouth was on your breast, tongue circling your nipple with desperate hunger.

Meanwhile, your own hands weren't idle, shoving frantically at his sleep pants, dragging them down his hips to free his straining erection. Your fingers wrapped around his length, finding him impossibly hard and hot—hotter than human flesh should be, almost scalding against your palm.

"Fuck," you breathed, feeling the impressive girth stretching your fingers as you stroked him. He was larger than you remembered, than you'd ever seen him—swollen with his rut, the head glistening with pearly fluid that seemed to produce faster than normal.

Rafayel's response was a snarl against your skin as he moved lower, teeth grazing your ribs, your stomach, his hands working at your pants with single-minded determination.

He practically tore them down your legs, your underwear following in the same motion, leaving you completely exposed to his hungry gaze.

"Look at you," he rasped, violet eyes glowing in the dim room as they devoured the sight of your naked body. "So fucking beautiful. So wet for me already."

His fingers slid through your folds, collecting the evidence of your arousal, and he brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a groan that reverberated through your core. "Taste so good. My perfect mate."

Before you could respond, his hands gripped your ankles with surprising strength. In one fluid movement, he pushed your legs up and back, folding you nearly in half, your ankles coming to rest on either side of your head.

"Rafayel," you gasped, startled by both the sudden movement and the extreme position, your muscles stretching to accommodate.

"Need you like this," he explained, his voice thick with desire as he loomed over you. "Need to see all of you. Need to go deep."

His cock hung heavy between his legs, jutting proudly toward you, the head nudging against your entrance but not yet pressing in.

"Help me," he pleaded, suddenly sounding almost pained. "Help me get inside you. Need to feel your cunt around me."

Your thighs trembled at his words, a warm trickle of arousal sliding down to dampen the sheets beneath you. You reached down between your bodies, taking his thick length in your hand and guiding him to your entrance.

"That's it," he murmured, his eyes fixed on where your bodies were about to join. "Guide my cock inside you. Show me where you need me."

The blunt head of his erection pressed against your opening, the size of him momentarily daunting despite your arousal. But your body was more than ready, slick and open from whatever aphrodisiac properties his saliva contained.

As he began to push forward, your flesh yielded to him, stretching around his considerable girth in a slow, delicious burn that had you both moaning.

"So fucking tight," he hissed, his jaw clenched with the effort of restraint. "So hot and wet. Like you were made for me. Made to take my cock."

The sensation of him filling you was overwhelming—his unusual heat making it feel as though you were being branded from the inside out.

Each inch he sank deeper stretched you further, the slight pain only enhancing your pleasure as your nerve endings fired in confused ecstasy. When his hips finally met yours, his cock buried to the hilt inside you, you both stilled for a moment, panting in unison.

"Fuck," you whimpered, feeling impossibly full, your inner walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that you couldn't control. "You're so deep, Raf. So big."

His response was a groan that sounded almost tortured. "Can feel you squeezing me. So perfect. My perfect little mate."

His hands gripped your ankles tighter, using them as leverage as he withdrew slightly before thrusting back in.

"Yes," you gasped, the word barely formed before another thrust punched the air from your lungs.

That single word of encouragement seemed to break the last of Rafayel's restraint. He began to move in earnest, his hips driving forward with increasing force, each thrust going deeper than the last.

His thrusts punctuated the silence with rhythmic, slick sounds—FWOPFWOPSHLICK—as your bodies collided. From deep in Rafayel's chest came something primal—half-growl, half-purr—that vibrated against your skin where he pressed against you.

"Take it," he commanded, his accent thickening as his control frayed. "Take all of my cock. Squeeze me with that tight little cunt. Show me how much you want it."

Your body responded to his filthy demands without conscious thought, your inner muscles clenching around him, your hips lifting as much as the position allowed to meet his thrusts.

Each time he bottomed out inside you, the head of his cock nudged against your cervix. Just as you were adjusting to the rhythm, beginning to climb toward what promised to be a shattering climax, Rafayel suddenly withdrew completely.

The emptiness was shocking, a whine of protest escaping your throat before you could stop it.

"Turn over," he growled, his hands already moving to flip you. "Need you from behind."

He didn't wait for your cooperation, his enhanced strength making it easy for him to manhandle you into the position he wanted. One large hand pressed between your shoulder blades, pushing your upper body flat against the mattress while the other gripped your hips, pulling them upward until you were posed with your face down and ass raised high.

The position was even more vulnerable than the last, your legs spread wide, your pussy completely exposed to him. You felt the mattress dip as he knelt behind you, his burning hands gripping your hips with bruising force.

"Look at you," he murmured, one hand sliding up your spine before pressing your neck gently but firmly into the mattress. "So beautiful. So fucking ready for me. Your pretty little cunt dripping for my cock."

As if to prove his point, you felt a finger trace through your folds, gathering your abundant wetness before pushing inside you, quickly joined by a second. The digits curled, finding that spot inside that made your vision blur, a keening sound escaping your lips.

"Please," you begged, past pride or pretense, your body burning with need. "Please, Raf. I need you back inside me."

"Since you asked so nicely," he purred, the momentary return of his usual teasing tone quickly overwhelmed by something darker as he removed his fingers and positioned himself at your entrance. "Going to fuck you so deep like this. Going to fill this perfect cunt until you can't take anymore."

In one powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, the new angle allowing him to penetrate even deeper than before. Your fingers clutched desperately at the sheets, a strangled cry tearing from your throat as he stretched you to your limits.

"That's it," he groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he began a relentless rhythm. "Take it all. Take every fucking inch of me."

The shrill ring of your phone cut through the symphony of your moans and Rafayel's grunts like a knife, the familiar tone jarring in the heated atmosphere of the bedroom.

It vibrated against the hardwood floor where it had fallen from your discarded pants, the screen lighting up the dim room with an eerie blue glow. You might have ignored it completely, lost as you were in the overwhelming sensations of Rafayel's relentless thrusts, had you not caught sight of the caller ID: Thomas.

"Ignore it," you gasped, the words punctuated by the slap of Rafayel's hips against your ass as he continued his merciless pace.

But Rafayel had seen it too, and something dark flashed in those violet eyes—a possessive, mischievous glint that made your stomach drop. Without slowing his thrusts, he leaned over, his chest pressing against your back as he stretched one long arm toward the floor.

"Don't you dare," you hissed, trying to twist away, but his other hand held you firmly in place, his cock still buried deep inside you.

"I want him to hear how well I'm taking care of you," Rafayel growled against your ear, his accent thick with arousal. "Want him to know you found me."

His fingers closed around your phone, and before you could protest further, he'd swiped to answer and hit the speaker button.

"Hello?" Thomas's voice filled the room, tinny through the phone's speaker but unmistakable. "Are you there? Did you find Raf?"

You froze, mortified, as Rafayel continued to move inside you—slower now, deliberate, grinding circles that had the head of his cock pressing against your most sensitive spots. His hand covered your mouth, muffling any sounds that might escape.

"H-hi, Thomas," you managed when Rafayel removed his hand, fighting to keep your voice steady as pleasure coursed through your veins. "Yes, I'm... I'm at his apartment now."

Rafayel's teeth grazed the sensitive skin of your shoulder, his hips never ceasing their torturous motion. You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood, determined not to make a sound that would give away your compromised position.

"Oh, thank god," Thomas sighed, oblivious to your predicament. "Is he okay? What's going on with him? I was worried when he missed the deadline."

Rafayel chose that moment to withdraw almost completely before slamming back into you with enough force to jolt your entire body forward. A strangled noise caught in your throat, which you barely managed to disguise as a cough.

"Sorry," you said quickly, "just a tickle in my throat. Raf is..." You glanced over your shoulder at the man in question, who was watching you with predatory amusement as he continued his shallow, maddening thrusts. "He's been... under the weather. But I've got him now."

"Under the weather?" Thomas repeated skeptically. "That doesn't sound like Raf. He once came to a gallery opening with a hundred and three fever because, and I quote, 'death waits for art, not the other way around.'"

Rafayel's hand snaked around to your front, fingers finding your clit with unerring accuracy. He began to circle it with maddening precision, the dual stimulation making your thighs tremble and your inner walls clench around his invading length.

"It's a... different kind of illness," you gasped, your free hand reaching back to grip Rafayel's thigh in warning. He responded by leaning forward, gathering your hair in his fist and pulling your head back to expose your neck, which he immediately attacked with lips and teeth.

The sensation of his hot mouth marking your sensitive skin while his cock filled you completely and his fingers worked your clit was almost too much. Your eyes rolled back, pleasure building to an unbearable pitch as you struggled to maintain the conversation.

"Different how?" Thomas pressed, concern evident in his voice. "Should we call a doctor? Is he contagious?"

The word 'contagious' made Rafayel chuckle against your skin, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. He released your hair to grip your hip again, angling you slightly to hit an even deeper spot inside you with each thrust.

"N-no doctor," you stuttered, sweat beading on your forehead from the effort of speaking normally. "It's just... something he needs to... work through. I'm helping him."

The wet sounds of your coupling seemed suddenly louder, obscenely clear in the quiet room. Surely Thomas could hear them through the phone? But he continued, apparently unaware of what was happening on your end of the call.

"Well, that's a relief. Tell him the gallery owner was understanding about the delay but needs the pieces by next week at the latest. Can he manage that?"

Rafayel's pace increased at the mention of his work, as if the reminder of the outside world, of obligations beyond this bed, spurred him to stake his claim more firmly. His thrusts grew harder, the hand on your hip digging in with bruising force as he pulled you back to meet each forward drive of his hips.

"I'll tell him," you promised, your voice noticeably higher now, strained with the effort of holding back your moans. "Look, Thomas, I need to go. Raf needs... attention right now."

"Of course, of course," Thomas replied, still completely oblivious to the true nature of the 'attention' you were providing. "Just have him call me when he's feeling better, okay? We need to discuss the installation details."

"Will do," you said quickly, reaching desperately for the phone. "Bye, Thomas!"

You barely managed to hit the end call button before a particularly well-aimed thrust broke your resolve, a loud moan escaping your lips as Rafayel's cock hit your deepest spot with devastating accuracy.

"There it is," Rafayel growled, satisfaction dripping from his words as he tossed your phone aside. "There's the sound I've been waiting for. No more holding back now. Let me hear how good I'm making you feel."

Released from the need for silence, your moans flowed freely as Rafayel abandoned all pretense of restraint. Both hands gripped your hips now, holding you in place as he pounded into you with animal ferocity, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the room along with the obscenely wet sounds of your coupling.

"Fuck, look at you take it," he snarled, his voice barely recognizable. "Taking my cock so perfectly. Your tight little cunt squeezing me like it never wants to let go."

His words, filthy and raw, pushed you closer to the edge, your body responding to both the physical stimulation and the verbal degradation with increasing urgency. The coil of pleasure in your core wound tighter with each brutal thrust, each dirty phrase he growled into the heated air.

"You're mine," he declared, the words a primal claim as his rhythm grew erratic, his own pleasure clearly mounting. "Mine to fuck. Mine to fill. Mine to breed."

Rafayel's rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming erratic as his pleasure crested. His fingers dug into your flesh, holding you in place as his entire body went rigid behind you.

A guttural sound tore from his throat as he pushed impossibly deeper, the head of his cock pressing against your cervix as he began to pulse inside you.

"Fuck, yes," he snarled, his voice barely human as his orgasm overtook him. "Taking it all. Taking my seed deep where it belongs."

Your eyes widened as liquid heat flooded you, the temperature making you gasp. You clutched at his shoulders, mouth falling open as it kept coming, wave after impossible wave, your stomach tightening as he continued to fill you beyond what seemed physically possible.

Pulse after pulse of liquid heat flooded your inner walls, the quantity far exceeding what should be physically possible. It felt like being filled with liquid fire, a burning fullness that triggered your own climax in response.

Your inner muscles clenched and spasmed around his still-throbbing length, milking him for every drop as waves of pleasure crashed through your nervous system.

Your vision blurred, tears of overwhelming sensation gathering at the corners of your eyes as you pressed your face into the sweat-dampened sheets and surrendered to the intensity.

Rafayel continued to grind against you through both of your orgasms, ensuring his release went as deep as possible. His breathing was harsh and ragged in the aftermath, his chest heaving against your back as he draped himself over you, his weight pinning you to the mattress.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, joined intimately as your breathing gradually slowed.

Your body felt used in the most delicious way—muscles pleasantly sore, skin sensitized, inner walls stretched and filled.

Rafayel's cock remained hard inside you, which seemed impossible given the intensity of his release, but you attributed it to the aftereffects of arousal.

When your strength returned enough to move, you shifted slightly beneath him, intending to disentangle your bodies and collapse properly onto the bed.

His reaction was immediate and startling—a low warning growl rumbled through his chest as his hands tightened on your hips, holding you firmly in place.

"Where do you think you're going?" he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. Despite the gentleness of the question, there was steel beneath his words, a possessive edge that brooked no argument.

"Just... adjusting," you explained, surprised by his continued hardness inside you. "Aren't you going to... pull out?"

Rafayel's chuckle was dark and knowing as he slowly withdrew—but only partway before sliding back in, the movement producing an obscene squelching sound as his abundant release was displaced by his returning length.

"Not done with you yet," he purred, his voice regaining some of its usual silky quality, though still roughened by desire. "Not even close."

He pulled out completely this time, and you felt a flood of warmth trickling down your thighs as his release began to escape your body.

Before you could move, his hands were on your hips again, flipping you onto your back with casual strength. Your jaw dropped at what you saw before you—Rafayel kneeling between your spread legs, his cock still fully erect and glistening with the combined evidence of your pleasure, his eyes glowing with renewed hunger.

"Look at that," he murmured, one finger tracing through the milky fluid seeping from your well-used entrance. "All my cum dripping out of your pretty little cunt."

He gathered some on his fingers before pushing it back inside you, making you gasp at the sensitivity. "Where're you going, sweetie? I have two weeks' worth of baby batter to rut into you."

Your eyes widened at his crude declaration, your cum-soaked pussy clenching involuntarily at the filthy promise as understanding slowly penetrated your pleasure-hazed mind like his cock had just penetrated your swollen, dripping hole.

"Two weeks?" you echoed, your voice hoarse from moaning.

Instead of answering directly, Rafayel gripped your waist and hauled you upward, positioning you to straddle his lap as he sat back on his heels. The movement sent another gush of his release trickling down to coat his still-hard shaft.

"Ride me," he commanded, guiding your hips downward. "Let me watch you take me again while my cum drips all over my cock."

Despite your exhaustion, your body responded eagerly to his demand, sinking down onto his length with surprising ease. The sensation was incredible—your sensitized walls stretching once more around his girth, the warm wetness of his previous release creating a slick channel that welcomed him back inside.

"That's it," he praised as you began to move, your hands braced on his shoulders for leverage. "Use that cum-filled pussy to milk another load out of me. Show me how greedy you are for it."

You established a rhythm, rising and falling on his shaft while he watched with predatory satisfaction, his hands guiding your hips but letting you set the pace—for now.

"The first day is the most intense," he explained, his voice strained with pleasure as you continued to ride him. "Won't be able to stop for long. Need to mate, need to breed, need to mark you as mine in every way possible."

Two weeks of this insatiable, primal Rafayel?

Your body, already beginning to feel the effects of just one intense session, protested at the thought even as a thrill of forbidden excitement raced through your veins.

"Don't worry," he said, reading the mix of desire and concern on your face. His hand came up to cup your cheek with surprising tenderness, a flash of the normal Rafayel breaking through the haze of rut. "I'll take care of you between rounds. Feed you, bathe you, worship every inch of your perfect body."

His hips thrust up sharply, making you gasp. "But when the need hits, I won't be able to hold back. And from the way your tight little cunt is squeezing me right now, I don't think you want me to."

He was right—despite the rational part of your brain questioning your physical capacity to endure what he was describing, your body was already responding eagerly to the promise of more, your inner walls clenching around him in greedy anticipation.

Rafayel's hands moved to your ass, gripping the flesh firmly as he began to take control of the pace, lifting you and pulling you down onto his cock with increasing force.

"Going to fill you up again," he promised, his voice dropping an octave as his movements grew more urgent. "Going to keep you so full of my cum you'll be leaking for days afterward. Going to fuck you in every position, on every surface of this apartment."

The mental image his words painted sent another surge of arousal through you, your second orgasm building improbably fast despite your recent climax. Your movements grew erratic as pleasure mounted, your thighs trembling with the effort of continuing to ride him.

Sensing your fatigue, Rafayel took over completely, his enhanced strength allowing him to bounce you on his cock like you weighed nothing at all. The new angle had the head of his erection hitting your g-spot with every thrust, sending sparks of almost painful pleasure radiating outward.

"That's it," he encouraged as your head fell back, your body surrendering completely to his control. "Just take it. Just feel it. Let me do all the work."

As another orgasm began to build within you, more intense than the last despite your exhaustion, a single coherent thought managed to break through the haze of pleasure.

If this was just the beginning—just the first hour of a two-week mating cycle—you weren't entirely sure you would survive Rafayel's rut with your sanity intact.

But as his cock swelled even larger inside you, his thrusts becoming more desperate as he chased his second release, you decided that if this was how you were going to go, at least you'd die thoroughly, blissfully fucked.

Wanna nut?

“I don’t know,” you shake your head, arms crossed over your chest. You remembered Tara was more devastated about your phone than you were.

“What about all of your pictures? All of your contacts? Everything is gone! You heard Andrew. He said that it is next to impossible to reassemble your phone, let alone salvage the memory card!”

Well, shit. She did have a point. All of your pictures with you and your fruit vendor boyfriend. The late night texts just as he was getting up for the beginning of his day while you were about to end yours. All of the tired voicemails he left for you when you were gone on your longer missions. Fuck, you were even going to lose your secret photo album that consists of pictures of a sleeping Sylus, a man who simply couldn’t be bothered to wake up since he feels so safe around you.

You had lost it all and, well, you were devastated to say the least.

You walked back to your apartment and placed the phone parts on your kitchen counter. Before that, you stopped by your cell phone carrier’s store and placed a new order. Somehow, as fate would have it, all of the cell phones in Linkon — or just at the nearby stores — were backordered. Something about the new version being released so everyone and their mother wants to have one.

You are going to be without a phone for at least a week. That honestly sounds like pure hell to you.

You stare at the ceiling after plopping down in your bed. The ceiling fan slowly turns, your eyes following the blades as they spin in their perpetual cycle. You tried to watch television earlier but none of the shows tickled your fancy. You tried doing a puzzle but that just grew too frustrating. None of the books on your shelves stuck out to you either and what turned out to be a punishment for being careless teetered into something more. Something just absolutely torturous. While left alone with the silence of your apartment, you had no way to talk to your boyfriend.

You didn’t have one of those refrigerators that could somehow find a way to make a post on social media for him to see nor did you have any kind of creativity to send some kind of smoke signal for him to spot from the N109 Zone.

You did have the creativity, though, when it comes to your imagination. You could lay in bed all day and simply imagine scenarios to pass the time by. Letting out an exasperated and dramatic sigh, you shove your windows open and drape yourself on the edge, your eyes meeting the Linkon horizon. Just in the distance sits the N109 Zone, the tall and dark skyscrapers contrasting against the bright blue sky. You extend your hand out, pretending as if you could pluck Sylus from Onychinus’ base and drag him back to your apartment. You sigh and close your eyes, allowing your imagination to take over.

Two lovers separated by an event that was out of their hands. The princess is now trapped inside of the tall castle. The castle is guarded by many knights and horses, willing to stop at nothing to keep the knight from the kingdom of Onychinus away from their princess. There are treacherous lands that separate the knight from his princess, including the old maid who lives on the first floor of the tower who aims to marry the knight to someone who isn’t the princess.

“Caw! Caw!”

The sound of fluttering wings and a familiar voice catch your attention. You open up one eye and see a black crow flying towards you. A smile spreads across your face. You straighten your back and outstretch your hand. The bird’s little feet easily catch onto your finger and he gives you a loud caw as a thank you.

“Mephisto,” you smile down at the bird, drawing him inside of your apartment. You walk towards the couch and sit down, the crow making himself at home on the very special bird perch you bought for him awhile back. “What is the purpose of your visit? Business? Or pleasure?”

“Caw!” Mephisto flaps his wings.

“Ah! Business it is!” you continue your banter with the bird and slightly narrow your eyes at his. “Let me guess, is he watching right now?”

“Caw! Caw!”

“Ah! He is!” you clap your hands together, a newfound excitement fluttering in your chest. You jump to your feet and look down at the crow, who looks very eager to come and join you. A small plan begins to form in your head, something that will help ease the princess’ pain and gives you something to do until your phone is delivered.“Please, my dear Mephie! Allow your wings some rest!” your voice has suddenly turned to the accent a princess usually would, holding a playful tone while you dramatically run to your room. “I’ll be right back! I promise!”

Sylus was amused on the other end of the live video feed. His smile is big and his red eyes are vibrant from excitement. He loves watching you and your playful spirit. The video feed from Mephisto turns away from your image and back to the rest of your apartment. Mephisto blinks a few times, his head on a swivel as Sylus leans in close to the computer screen, taking in the sight of your apartment.

“Before you can ask,” Sylus speaks to the crow, knowing that the bird is listening to his every word, “the answer is yes: you are allowed to take the gems she has so clearly hidden for you. Go crazy.”

Mephisto excitedly caws and begins his maddening search around your apartment while you remain hidden in your bedroom. The man glances down at his phone, your text conversation with him on the screen. He has texted you at least three times since you were supposed to come back from your mission from the No Hunt Zone. Those messages were not returned and, well, Sylus was admittedly worried that something happened to you. That you somehow got hurt and needed his help. Sylus even set an alarm that woke him up earlier than usual just so he could make for sure that you came home safe.

He texted you a few times after that, trying to come up with the excuse of needing your help with one of his business deals, that it may have information that the Association would want about illegal protocores. That usually got you responding in a matter of minutes. He even placed his phone face down on his desk while pretending that he totally didn’t care about your message with the hope that it would somehow make you answer any faster. 

Sylus stands from his desk, eyes moving up as the door to his office opens up. Luke and Kieran come stumbling inside, their laughs and snickers a familiar sound that Sylus honestly welcomes. He enjoys the chaos that they bring with them. It makes Onychinus feel less…lonely when you aren’t here.

“Boss!” Luke is the first to speak up. He waves to Sylus, who simply nods his head in response. “You’re up early? Or is it late?”

“Is there something important that you need us to do?” Kieran asks after slapping Luke on the back of the head.

“No,” Sylus shakes his head, the smile remaining on his face.

He glances at the computer screen, watching as Mephisto collects rare gems that Sylus has gifted to you over the months. His heart feels warm and full at the sight. There is a lingering feeling of confusion, though, that sits in the back of his mind. The question as to why you aren’t answering his calls and texts has him worried. Did he do something wrong? Is this one of those times you are trying to…what’s the word you used with him that he simply couldn’t understand? Ragebait? Are you trying to ragebait him? Or are you so tired that you haven’t had the energy to—

“Okay, Mephie,” your voice comes from the computer’s speaker. Sylus’ attention immediately fixates on the screen, the man lowering himself back onto the chair. Luke and Kieran giggle with each other but he pays them no mind, watching as you appear on the screen with…what in the hell is that?

You hold a small white piece of paper in your hand. It is rolled into a cylinder and is tied up with the red ribbon that he gave you earlier that week. The bow is perfectly made and looks like it came straight out of a romance novel. Mephisto flies towards you, landing on the perch. You drop to your knees, the smile on your face never leaving, has you very gently attach the paper to his little leg.

“Take care of my message, Mephisto,” you reach out and gently pat the mechanical crow’s head, “make sure my knight gets my message.”

My knight?

Sylus raises an eyebrow, his heart skipping a beat. That was the first time he has ever heard you refer to him as such a name. Sure, he can be your knight, but you must know that a man of his stature is more suited towards a dragon than hero.

Sylus turns to the twins who were just about to leave the office. He clears his throat and the boys freeze, slowly turning around to look at their boss. Sylus narrows his eyes at them and the corners of his lips perks up when he gives them their very first order: “Get the castle ready.”

It was mere minutes later when Mephisto arrived with your gift. The crow flies through the open window, its wings flapping and fluttering through the quiet hallways. The bird turns the corner and glides into Sylus’ office, making himself at home on the man’s shoulder. Sylus smiles, amused by the red ribbon that hangs from the rolled up piece of paper. He plucks it from Mephisto’s leg. The bird gives Sylus a caw and flies towards his designated spot in the office, a perch up in the corner of the room.

He slowly unwinds the paper. The more and more he uncovers, the more and more the office begins to smell like you and that perfume he bought for you. The sweet smells of pomegranate, honey, and sandalwood fills his nose. His body immediately relaxes, eyes closing as he smells that you have very clearly sprayed onto the paper. A gift for him to hang onto while he slowly uncovers this plan you have come up with because with you, there is always something to be on the lookout for.

Sylus opens his eyes and looks down at the piece of paper. Your handwriting is cute, much more legible compared to his cursive style. His red eyes scan over the letters, not reading the words quite yet, but rather savoring this piece of yourself that you put on the paper in front of him.

My Knight Sylus,

Oh, how I miss your handsome face. Those ruby eyes. You are everything that I dream of and more. I yearn to be by your side and bask in the glory of your kingdom but alas, a vast abyss must keep us separated during times like these.

I have found myself in a rather tricky situation, my knight, one that I must inform you through this letter. My usual mode of communication has been obliterated into bits and pieces. So, I thought that my knight and I could communicate like they do in fairy tales. The ones where a princess and her love have been separated.

I am so lonely in this tower and with each passing second, I miss you more and more. I wish to return to my knight’s side, but I am trapped in this tower with no escape. Perhaps, my knight will come save me one of these days?

With much love and adoration,

Your Princess

P.S., my patience only lasts so long. I may run off with a prince if you keep me waiting!

Sylus has never smiled bigger. He gently places the piece of paper onto the wooden desk in front of him. His cheeks are warm from a light blush, the idea of you as a princess waiting for him to show up. Will you toss him down your hair? Or must be fight an ogre in order to get inside of your apartment building? He clears his throat and grabs a nearby piece of paper. He slips a knife free from the desk drawer and slices it in half, grabbing a nearby pen to begin his letter for you.

Mephisto watches from the metal tree Sylus crafted for him. The crow prefers the comfortable one in your apartment but alas, he cannot complain. He turns away from Sylus and looks out the window. The sun has begun to go down and the once light blues have been replaced with dark oranges and purples as nighttime takes over the sky.

“Mephisto,” Sylus says after rolling the piece of paper up. He grabbed a small vial of his cologne from the desk, always having it on him just in case he needed to freshen up before a meeting or before you came to visit from the N109 Zone. The bird flies towards the white haired man and lands on his shoulder. Sylus silently attaches the letter to Mephisto’s neck, using ruby bracelet as something to hold it in place. “Deliver this to her. What until she sends something back.”

“Caw! Caw Caw!”

Mephisto departs from the window in Sylus’ office, his wings flapping up and down in its usual rhythm while heading back towards Linkon city. The bird is weighed down by the ruby bracelet but he keeps up his speed, suing the wind to carry in for most of the distance. His beady little black eyes make contact with the sight of your apartment building. There is light coming from your bedroom.

You are laying in bed, a small smile on your face since you know your letter is in good hands. A fuzzy blanket is draped across your body and you are wearing one of Sylus’ old shirts, one that he tried to throw away but you snuck it into your bag before you left his home. You bring the collar of the shirt to your nose, slowly inhaling the leftover scent of Sylus’ detergent. You close your eyes. The ache in your body begins to subside, the tension leaving your body with each passing second.

There’s a tap at your window. Your eyes open once again, one eyebrow perked up. Mephisto catches your eye, his chirps and caws muffled through the window. You immediately get out of bed and rush towards the window, opening it up so the bird can come inside. You catch him on your hand, his tiny little feet clinging onto your fingers.

“What are you doing here?” you ask with a smile on your face. You look at a tiny piece of paper that is attached to the bracelet. A quiet gasp leaves your mouth. You slip them from Mephisto’s body and watch as he flies to his favorite place in your apartment, making himself at home. “Ah, so that’s what you’re doing here.”

You rush back to your desk, plopping into the chair. You turn on your lamp, the warm and golden tones from the lightbulb illuminating the immediate area. You slowly unravel the piece of paper, Sylus’ cologne filling your nose. You let out a sigh of content. You do not wait or bask in the moment, though, ready to devour the words he has written to you.

My lovely princess,

I miss you as well. Your beauty simply knows no bounds and I cannot wait for my eyes to lay on your face once again. Please accept this bracelet as a gift to make up for my absence.

Must I ask about what happened with your old form of communication? Please know that your dragon may provide a replacement for you if your heart desires. I prefer seeing you work so hard to talk to me, though. I must admit that a part of me loves to see my princess lay her soul bare in her previous letter.

Also, I would not consider myself a prince. You know me. I am merely a fiend that wishes to keep his princess happy. A dragon that wishes to keep his most precious treasure locked away from those who can hurt her. I will save you from the tower you condemn but know that my armor comes with wings and an everlasting bond.

I wish to see you soon. As your dragon knight, I must inform my princess that my arrival will be sooner than you think. I have to deal with some previous arrangements but I will be there to slay the ogres and villains that keep you trapped at home.

You have my heart, please know that,

Your Dragon Knight

P.S., would you prefer a horse drawn carriage or to fly away with me once I save you from that wretched tower?

A squeal leaves your lips. This serious man that Sylus portrays is all a facade, a persona to keep his enemies afraid of him. If only they knew of the man who immediately gave into your antics and played along with your imagination. Sylus has always been the first to indulge in your desires but this? This is just perfection.

He said that he would be here sooner than you expected! What could that mean? Will he be here in a matter of hours or days? Do you need to pack anything for this bold escape that he has planned?

Never mind that! You have a letter to write!

Sylus has busied himself with preparations of your escape from the tower. He has remained on the phone with Luke and Kieran, informing them of your destination to his castle and the duration of the visit. The twins are already stocking the fridge full of food and ingredients. The twins are also cleaning the home, freeing it of dust and cleaning all of the sheets. Hell, the twins were also delighted to place candles all over the place to fit the “medieval” vibe that their boss described to them.

While they were doing that, Sylus was quietly ordering you a whole new wardrobe to be delivered to the castle. The last time the two of you were at the castle, you were on a job while he just so happened to cross your path. He took you to the dragon bones in the valley, one of the few places on the planet where he feels a special connection with. A connection apart from you, of course.

The smile has yet to fall from his face. It doesn’t falter when the twins inform him that they accidentally broke an ancient vase that came with the castle when he bought it.

He glances to the as soon as Mephisto flies in. He takes the piece of paper from the crow and carefully rolls it out. The scent is different this time. A new perfume, perhaps? Something to keep him on his toes, that’s for sure.

My Dragon Knight,

Please accept my humblest apologies for the lack of “dragon” in my previous letter. I was not aware that you wished to join in on the fun. Since you get to be a dragon knight, then I wish to be Sorceress!

And this Sorceress would love to fly away with you. Who needs a carriage when I have my fearsome Dragon to take care of me?

When do I get to see you? I am eagerly awaiting your response, my love. My heart aches knowing that this much distance has been put between us.

I must catch up on my rest though, my good Dragon. I hope to receive a letter from you soon.

Until I see you again,

Your Sorceress

P.S., I would like to humbly request that you provide your sorceress with a new shirt for her to steal…thank you!

Sylus’ heart flutters. He tries to contain his smile, to force himself back into the cold persona he usually wears round the base but it is simply of no use. The man places your letter beside the other one in his desk drawer, delicately placing it inside. He closes it and looks up at the mechanical bird that sits on his desk. Mephisto blinks his eyes at Sylus as if he is awaiting a reward.

“Did she say that I would give you something?” Sylus asks, amused.

“Caw!” Mephisto replies. Sylus laughs and shakes his head, unable to contain his amusement.

“Alright, alright,” Sylus calms himself down. He gestures to the open door. “You can pick out two jewels from my collection. Then we’re even for delivering the letters, yes?”

“Caw! Caw!” Mephisto cries out with a happy flap of his wings. He flies away and leaves Sylus behind.

Sylus sits down at his desk. He clears his throat and grabs the extra piece of long paper, grabbing his pen and writing a simple message on it.

You fell asleep in a matter of minutes. As soon as you let Mephisto go, watching him disappear into the night sky, you got back into bed and made yourself at home under the covers and blankets. Sylus’ shirt hugged you despite it being loose on your body. It brought you through comfort that you needed to, well, pass the fuck out.

The sun is bright in the morning. You forgot to close the curtain after Mephisto’s departure but the sight of a bright and Sunday day in Linkon is enough to accept your fate of waking up early. You sit up in bed and stretch out your arms and legs. A quiet groan falls from your lips and you let out an extra huff of air, a smile forming on your face.

You hop out of bed and open up the window, allowing the fresh morning air to greet you like an old friend. You close your eyes and keep your head poked out of the window, listening to the nearby ambiance of the city. Today is going to be a good day. You can feel it in your bones. It is just too bad that Sylus is probably asleep right now and isn’t on his way to come get you.

Alas, the Sorceress must wait until her Dragon arrives.

Something just out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. A black box with a red ribbon on top, the same one that you wrapped the first note in. Mephisto caws from the side of you. You smile at him, your heartbeat quickening. You reach for it and slowly pull the top of the box off. Inside sits a brand new phone. On top of the sleek screen is a small rolled up piece of paper. You grab it and slowly unravel the note, your heart skipping a beat.

My Beautiful Sorceress,

You look so beautiful. Even when you’re asleep, you are the most beautiful woman to ever exist. I am so lucky to have you in my life.

I decided to solve your communication problem. I took the old parts of your device and recovered all of your messages and memories. They await you in your new phone.

I wait for you too. I wish to see my love, my heart…the woman I live to serve.

Forever waiting for you,

Your Fierce Dragon Knight

P.S., I know it isn’t a horse drawn carriage nor is it a flight among the clouds, but…

The sound of a motorcycle engine catches your attention. You gasp, holding the letter close to your chest. You rush towards the window with the new phone in your hand.

Sylus swings his leg off of the motorcycle. He wears black pants and a white shirt. A smile sits on his face as he looks up at you, waving his phone in the air. He brings it to his ear and his eyes never leave yours.

The device in your hand begins to vibrate. The screen lights up, an image of you and Sylus at an auction appearing as the wallpaper. His name sits on the top of the screen with a red heart and dragon emoji next to his name. Your eyes move back down to the picture, knowing that it’s what he chose as his new contact photo.

It is Sylus’ favorite photo of you two, the one he always looks to when he wishes to see your face. The two of you are sitting side by side. Sylus’ arm is draped around your waist, his hand resting on your stomach. You lean into him with a bright smile on your face, staring at the camera while he looks down at you. Your hand rests on his chest and a big, diamond ring sits on your finger. He has never looked prouder than he does in the photo with you showing off his new gift.

You click the green button and slowly bring the phone to your ear, looking down at the man who waits for you down below.

“Good morning, sorceress,” Sylus’ voice is deep and husky. It shocks your body back to life, a ball of heat igniting in your chest. “I have slain all of our enemies. The ogres didn’t stand a chance and all that’s left are the faeries who aided me in my battle to rescue you.”

“What are you doing here?” you ask, your tone gentle and filled with love and adoration. “I thought it was going to be a few days before I could see you.”

“I live to surprise my sorceress,” Sylus says, his voice smug and cocky. “I did say that I would come sooner than you expected. Did you not read the letter I sent?”

“Sylus,” you shake your head as laughter falls from your lips, “what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” he sighs into the phone, expression softening. “I hoped to steal you back to my castle for the weekend. I thought we could have time for the two of us. I even bought you an outfit for the occasion. After all, I did vanquish all of your enemies. The sorceress is free to leave the confines of her tower with her dragon if she so wishes.”

“I love you, Sylus,” you breathe into the phone, already ready to embark on this adventure with him.

“I love you too. Now come on, your Dragon wishes to show his Sorceress all of his treasures.”

Regardless of what you thought, Sylus had never been blind to your presence in his life. He still remembered when you were 10 years old and had climbed a tree too high and subsequently became too frightened to climb down. He’d had to climb into the tree with you to help you down, and he had done it without a second’s hesitation. He remembered when you proudly showed him your first piece of needlework at 12, the flowers slightly misshapen and lopsided, but he’d praised it nonetheless. He remembered when you were standing next to him in front of both of your parents at 14, nervously twiddling your fingers as the two of you were told you’d been promised to each other as eventual spouses. He remembered when you were 17 and Caleb had made a passing comment to him about how pretty you were becoming and Sylus had shot him a look so quickly he nearly snapped his own neck. He remembered the first time he kissed you at 19, how soft your lips had been and how your hands felt cupping his jaw and how worth it it was to risk the scandal. But what he remembered most vividly was the way your face crumpled when you’d told him that you’d been chosen as a candidate for concubinage to the emperor. He’d never forget the raw grief and anger he felt the day you left for the interior palace.

Sylus would stand against God if it meant taking his rightful place at your side, so who was an emperor to stand in his way? But he waited. Plotted. Planned. He’d be yours and you would be his, even if he had to burn the whole palace to the ground. 

----------

You weren’t sure how it had happened, but during one of your outings you had been noticed by a eunuch sent to your town with the express purpose of scouting potential companions for the emperor. It all happened in the blink of an eye. The eunuch visiting your family home. Discussing what this meant with your parents. Informing Sylus, whose face would be seared into your memory forever. You may as well have ripped his heart from his chest. But the wants of the emperor superseded all else. What you had thought to be fated, written in stone, was ripped from you before you could truly fight for it. Your bags were packed by the maids, your tears wiped clean by your mother, and your heart still held securely in Sylus’ hands, even as you were loaded into the carriage tasked with taking you far away from all that you had known and loved.

You didn’t speak unless spoken to, and even then you did so in as few words as possible. The trip was long and tiresome, but you did eventually arrive at the gates of the Forbidden City, the grandeur of the palace stealing the breath from your lungs. You tried to remain positive. You really did. Thousands of girls were chosen for this process and the vast majority of them were sent back to their parents. So, in all likelihood, you would be back home within the week. Surely.

Upon arrival, you were sorted into a group of other girls your age. Everything about you was assessed: your height, weight, skin, face, hair—even the way you spoke. By the end of it all, the number of girls had drastically decreased, and yet still you remained. One month, you were told. You would remain for one month as an entry-level concubine under the observance of other court women. It was a terribly long month, as you were not allowed contact with anyone outside of the palace. Your entire world had shrunk to just the inner court.

As luck would have it, it was your inquiry about the possibility of sending letters that exposed you as literate, a valued quality. You had always considered your family’s noble background a privilege, but it was unfortunately that very privilege that gave you all the traits desired in a concubine. 

50. There were only 50 of you left. Again and again you were needled about your knowledge of literature and the arts. You had always been studious, and it showed when you were ranked highly amongst the remaining girls. You had considered lying and making yourself seem far more uneducated than you actually were, but dishonesty towards the emperor was not taken lightly. You’d be flirting with severe capital punishment, possibly even execution. It wasn’t worth the risk of never going home again. Of breaking the hearts of your family—of Sylus—more than they already were.

So, you persevered. But marked were your words—the emperor would never touch you. You could abide being chosen, as much as you loathed the thought, but you would die before allowing him in your bed. Should that ever happen, you would never be permitted to leave, a fate worse than death.

In the end, no matter how much you wished to kick and scream and cry, you were chosen to remain in the inner court. Whether your family was notified or not was not disclosed to you. You hoped they were, and you hoped Sylus would not completely give up on you. In the meantime, you decided, you would keep your head low and not draw attention to yourself. An unnoticed concubine is an untouched concubine.

------------

After a month of your absence, Sylus joined the imperial army. If he remained idle waiting for your return, which grew more and more unlikely by the day, he was apt to completely fall apart. Caleb chose to join as well, and he had been the one to inform Sylus that it wasn’t unheard of for generals and high ranking military officials to be rewarded for valor with a concubine of their choosing. If he could swallow his pride and serve the man who had taken you from him in the first place, he could potentially win you back.

The training was grueling. The two men had already built quite the physiques with the training they had already done, but the army honed and polished their skills to their fullest potential. If they were intimidating before, they were downright formidable now. But that was only training. Sylus had yet to see battle. He had yet to earn any merit that could allow him to move up the considerable ranks it would take to garner any favor or notice from the emperor.

But he would do it. Would follow orders to a T, would shoulder every task, would cut down anyone who opposed him until the emperor himself was felled by his sword if that was what it took. Though for now, he would settle with helping quash the small insurgence that was causing trouble in the south.

------------

While Sylus was risking life and limb to make a name for himself in the army, you were navigating the complexities of the inner court’s social hierarchy.  Though discouraged, there was much jealousy among the concubines, something you had come to know after witnessing an unfortunate interaction between two others. 

Jingshu, the name one of your ladies whispered to you, was a high-ranked concubine, a favorite of the emperor. You caught ear of her berating Xinyue, whom you were surprised to recognize as one of the girls who had been evaluated in your group. 

“Why would he go to you and not me?!” Jingshu’s face was red from anger, the stark white makeup not enough to hide the deep flush on her cheeks.

You witnessed how Xinyue did a remarkable job of not letting the injustice of such a public confrontation allow her to lose her composure. In a sure and steady voice, she responded, “Perhaps the emperor simply has no use for a concubine who is already pregnant.” 

A sly grin slid over her face as her eyes drifted downwards to the slight bulge of Jingshu’s abdomen. That grin was enough to tell you that she knew exactly what she was doing, antagonizing Jingshu and very skillfully getting under her skin. You suppressed the small smile that would have turned Lady Jingshu’s wrath on you should she have seen it. It was unlikely through the audience that had gathered around the spectacle, but it was not a risk you thought worth taking. Xinyue had nerve, you’d give her that.

As entertaining as you found it, Jinghsu found it equally infuriating. “You—!” she reeled her hand back, prepared to strike Xinyue. The crowd stirred and a eunuch pushed his way through. He’d likely be punished for this later, but he wrapped a hand around Jinshu’s wrist, effectively preventing her from harming the other concubine. Jinshu looked at him incredulously, likely having never been opposed before due to her social standing within the inner court.

Jingshu yanked her arm from his grip, ready to rage at the poor eunuch who clearly only wanted to deescalate the volatile situation. Before she could get a word out, he sputtered, “Lady Jingshu, you should not be exerting yourself so much!” He gave a meaningful glance to her abdomen. Her words were arrested in her throat, a grimace on her face as she took in the implication. She lowered her arm and the eunuch released her, a clear expression of relief painted on his face.

With one last sneer towards Xinyue, JIngshu stormed off, her ladies in tow. The eunuch turned towards Xinyue, seemingly to ask if she was okay. Now that the yelling had stopped, you couldn’t hear as well as before from your spot at the edge of the courtyard, so you assumed that was what he was saying anyway, especially since Xinyue gave him a small smile and nod of affirmation. With your entertainment clearly having come to an end, you continued on your way.

That had been nearly two weeks ago, with no sign of Jingshu since, the concubine presumably staying cooped up in her room to be doted on by her ladies during her pregnancy. That, or she was rightfully embarrassed by the show she put on and was waiting for some other drama for people to gossip about. Xinyue, on the other hand, you saw quite often. The first time you had spoken was when you saw her painting in one of the open-air pavilions in the imperial garden. Your curiosity got the best of you and you found yourself wandering closer, trying to peer over her shoulder to see what she was painting. Unfortunately, your curiosity led you a bit too close, and she noticed your presence creeping up behind her.

She turned to you, somewhat surprised that anyone other than her attendants had been watching. Recognition shone in her eyes when she took in your face, sheepish expression and all. “I know you! We came here in the same group!”

You were shocked she remembered you, but pleased nonetheless that she seemed friendly despite what had occurred with Jingshu. You returned her smile before answering. “Yes, we did,” you said with a small laugh. “Truthfully, I’m surprised you remember me. There were so many girls.”

She acknowledged your words with a nod. “True, but you stood out so much it was hard not to notice you.”

Stood out? You had done your best just to blend in, what could possibly have made you stand out so much that Xinyue remembered you? “Did I really?” You asked.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, debating how best to word her thoughts. “You always seemed so sad. Never talked to anyone, never smiled…” she trailed off, her brows somewhat raised and eyes wide, concern practically radiating off of her.

Of course you had been sad. You still were. You didn’t want to be there. You should have been at home, helping your mother with the household tasks or having tea with your father. More than anything else, you should have been preparing for your wedding. 

Xinyue could see the swirl of emotions in your eyes, and she gestured to an empty seat at the table where she was seated. “Would you like to join me? You could share whatever is bothering you. Might make you feel better. Or we could request more supplies and you can paint with me?” She asked hopefully.

You eagerly accepted the offer to join her, having spent most of your time in the palace alone, save for your ladies who didn’t seem to have the extra time to socialize with you in between their daily tasks. It wasn’t even proper for them to walk next to you on your walks around the gardens, always keeping at least two steps behind you at all times. Xinyue requested that one of her ladies bring more supplies, and you gladly took a seat beside her.

“Not to be too forward, but do you want to talk about whatever is making you sad? It seems like more than just not wanting to be here.” You hesitated and she picked up on it immediately. Waving her arms in front of her, she quickly backpedaled. “Of course, you don't have to if you're uncomfortable!”

You laughed at her franticness, the feeling almost foreign as it had been so long. You shook your head, “No, it’s okay. I think it would make me feel better to share with someone.”

You picked up the paintbrush one of the ladies had brought out to you, and Xinyue followed your lead, resuming her painting while glancing your way and waiting for you to begin your story.

You took a deep breath, trying to briefly collect your thoughts before finally speaking. “I was promised in marriage before coming here. We were going to marry next spring. I’ve known him my whole life. Our parents are close friends and business partners, so they thought that by arranging their children to marry they could ensure joint prosperity. It wasn’t just an arranged marriage for me.”

Xinyue had a soft, sympathetic look on her face. She knew exactly where this was going. You continued. “I really did want to marry him.” Your voice cracked and your throat was becoming painful with the effort to not cry. “It was a palace eunuch that thought I would be a good candidate. So now I’m here, and I’ll likely never see him again. He’ll marry someone else and I will still be trapped here.” The tears spilled then, against your wishes and best efforts to keep them at bay. You rushed to wipe them from your face, but she placed a gentle hand on your forearm.

“It’s okay to cry, y’know? I won’t judge you for being upset.”

You only shook your head, not quite ready to be that vulnerable with a woman you had only just made the acquaintance of, no matter how kind she’d been so far. When you had sufficiently pulled yourself back together you turned your full attention to her, unfinished painting left abandoned in front of you. “How did you come to be here?”

Xinyue flushed, somewhat ashamed at her circumstances after hearing yours. “I come from a noble family. My parents wanted to elevate their political and social standing.” She didn’t elaborate further. She didn't need to; hers was a common story. Many noble families sent their daughters as candidates to directly tie their family to the imperial line, especially if their daughter happened to bear a son.

From there, the conversation drifted to lighter topics. Discussing books you had both read, complimenting each other’s painting skill, even arranging to meet again the next day since you’d both found the other could play an instrument—why not play together? At some point, she leaned in to whisper to you if you had heard anything about the skirmishes in the poorer regions of the country. She seemed almost shocked. Apparently, it was a great hubbub where she was from, though you had heard of no such civil unrest.

Xinyue, sweet as she could be, was more than happy to fill you in. The emperor, and the government as a whole, really, wasn’t following through with their promises to send food to struggling townships. Some of the people took it upon themselves to attack traveling merchants, making the roads dangerous. You took in her words with rapt attention. 

Though you didn’t know it, as you were learning about the strife that apparently riddled the nation, your beloved was actively fighting on behalf of the empire. 

------------

One after the other they fell by his sword. Old, young, it didn’t matter. He had his orders and he would follow them. He would ride through the ranks, he would be recognized by the emperor, and he would have you as his. You were the one single point on which all of his drive and motivation was hinged. How the slaughter of bandits and petty thieves would get him there, he didn’t know, but he didn’t need to. He just knew that his tasks were important to his commanders, so he would complete them without fail or hesitation. 

However, it didn’t escape his notice how frail some of the men looked. They were far too weak to fight imperial soldiers, but still they fought with the desperation of men that had everything to fight for. But so did he. 

Still, he thought it odd that these men, who clearly were not equipped for this lifestyle, were so determined to condemn themselves. He never got the chance to ask them himself, and he certainly wasn’t going to question his senior officers. It wasn’t until he was promoted to captain that he finally got an answer. An answer for their desperation. Their frailness. Their hopeless yet unrelenting pursuits. Simply put, they were starving. Each time Sylus had fought what he was led to believe were petty bandits, he was really fighting ordinary citizens like himself, albeit much worse off financially than the Qin family.

It was only after he had made it to the rank of commander, the highest rank sent out on what the empire considered small, inconsequential skirmishes, that he was able to give the order to interrogate rather than kill on sight. From one of the countrymen he learned that a recent drought had decimated their crops, leaving the people in dire need of food. He turned to the men in his troop. “These men will not be harmed.”

The man who had been made to kneel before Sylus looked up in shock. Before he could say anything, Sylus continued, now addressing the man. “Hunger is not a crime. But thievery is. I may understand your motivations, but the emperor does not have a tolerance for such a crime. In return for sparing your life, I expect the theft to stop and for each of those involved to await further word from me.”

Sylus was playing with fire and he knew it. That night, with his men gathered around the campfire, he explained to them that not a word of this was to be spoken of. It wouldn't matter if Sylus took full responsibility—the entire regiment would be punished. It took some convincing, but none of them could deny that he had a point earlier. It wasn’t a crime to be hungry. As the men discussed how on board with this they actually were, Sylus stared into the fire, contemplating how he’d be able to tell Caleb about the development without anyone overhearing.

His opportunity came quicker than he anticipated. Caleb had found him first, leading him into the woods surrounding camp. “And what could you possibly have to show me?” Questioned Sylus.

“Oh, shut up and just follow me.”

Sylus rolled his eyes but continued anyway until the pair came to a pier that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. “Ta-da!” Caleb said in a sing-song voice, arms extended dramatically. He wasted no time stripping his outer layers and jumped right in. Sylus opted to sit on the edge of the old pier, his legs dangling in the water. Caleb groaned, “Man, I thought you were going to swim with me. And let's face it, you could use a bath.”

“Apologies for not wanting to strip down to my underwear in the presence of those young ladies,” Sylus chuckled, pointing to a pair of girls on the opposite bank giggling to each other, each with a basket of clothes in their arms.

Caleb looked horrified and almost made to get out of the water before thinking better of it. As long as he was mostly submerged, the murky water would keep him concealed. “Bet it wouldn’t have been a problem if it was Y/n over there,” Caleb mumbled.

Sylus shot him a pointed glare only to be rewarded with his friend’s self-satisfied smirk, pleased to have gotten under his skin. “If it was Y/n you’d have a black eye for undressing in front of her.”

Caleb rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, she’s off limits, I know. Wouldn't dream of taking your girl.”

The conversation lulled, and it wasn’t until the girls across the water left with their now-clean laundry that Sylus spoke up about what had been bothering him. “Those bandits they’ve been having us fight,” he started. “Do you know why there has been such an increase in merchant attacks?”

“Can’t say I do, why?”

“Has it not struck you as odd how weak they are?” Sylus raised a brow at his companion. 

“In what sense? I mean, we are imperial soldiers, so of course average citizens would seem weak.”

Sylus sighed, exasperated. “No, not like that. Weak in the sense that they’re frail. The other day I spoke to one of them. Their villages are starving and the empire is doing nothing to help them. They rob the merchants and travelers to either take whatever food they have or anything of value they can sell.”

As Sylus was speaking, he’d been staring into the water, watching the ripples formed by Caleb’s movements. He didn’t return his gaze to his friend until he’d finished, finding a stormy expression in place of his usual carefree one. 

Caleb huffed and pulled himself out of the water, seating himself next to Sylus and drawing one leg up, his arm propped on his knee. He seemed to be struggling to find the words to say. After a few moments’ thought, he asked, “So what did you do?”

Sylus gave Caleb a full debrief of what had transpired. “Y’know, if any higher ups find out what you did, you’ll get killed for treason.”

Sylus growled. “Which is why they won’t find out. Are you really going to continue to punish these people who are only trying to survive? To keep their families fed?”

A sigh of resignation. “No, I guess not. But what instead?”

“Talk to your men. Let them know we’ve all intentionally been kept in the dark. The generals know that most of the army come from the same types of villages and towns as these people. They would sympathize. But they’ve painted them as thieves and criminals. Of course there’s the threat of execution as well for not following orders.”

Sylus told Caleb of how, in return for sparing the lives of the bandits, the thievery would stop, else it would be all of their heads. It took time and convincing, but he and Caleb came to an agreement: have the men in their regiments spare the citizen’s lives, and convince the citizens that they’re on their side and are genuinely trying to help. 

------------

Music floated through the open windows of the room you and Xinyue occupied. As agreed the last time you’d spent time together, you were playing your respective instruments to create a beautiful melody that caught the attention of any passerby within earshot. It had been many days of practice, and your piece was finally perfected.

As the last note faded away, Xinyue took the opportunity to tell you of her latest encounter with the emperor, sans the savory details. “I told him that I was practicing my music with another girl, and he seemed really interested. He wants to hear us play the piece once we have it down.”

Your face paled. She meant well. She did. But you had done your absolute best to not draw attention to yourself, to not stand out in any way. You knew you couldn’t outright refuse the emperor, but every cell in your body was screaming to stay far, far away from him.

You smoothed the fabric of your dress (the beautiful garment likely costing more money than you could fathom) in an attempt to soothe yourself and gather your thoughts enough to form a coherent sentence.

Still, Xinyue was nothing if not observant, as you’d come to find out when you first met her. Her brows pinched together. “You look upset. Should I have not said anything?”

You sighed, resigned to the fact that you would probably have to intentionally make a fool of yourself to tarnish your image in the emperor's eyes. “I don’t want the emperor's attention on me,” you finally confided. “Whether I’m here or at home my heart still belongs to Sylus. None that lie with the emperor are ever permitted to leave, and I simply can’t allow that to happen.”

Xinyue’s eyes widened, her lips forming a perfect O-shape. “I didn’t even think what it could mean for you. I was just talking—“

You cut her off quickly. “No! It’s not your fault!”

She looked ashamed for a moment at having brought such distress to her friend, but it was quickly replaced with a stern, determined expression, an idea forming in her head. “He likes graceful and confident women. Trip on your dress. Stutter when you speak and do so quietly. Keep your head down and twiddle with your fingers. I can’t undo my words and I can’t prevent him from coming, but I can help you be as unappealing as possible to him.”

Though you were still anxious that you were to be thrust into the spotlight before the emperor, you were thankful that Xinyue was there to help, even if she was the reason for the mess in the first place. 

------------

Later that night, after you had gotten ready for bed, you found yourself unable to sleep. You just couldn’t get comfortable, and every sound was amplified in the stillness of the night. Clearly you weren’t getting any sleep, so you huffed and sat up, contemplating what to do with your newfound free time. Your eyes wandered to the small desk you had been provided with in your room, untouched stationary sitting atop it just waiting to be used. You hummed to yourself, thinking as you frowned at the lantern you had already blown out with no way of relighting it. You eyed the wooden brushes scattered on the desk. It wasn’t ideal, but it would work without having to wake someone.

You chose one brush at random and exited your room with it, on the lookout for the nearest lantern that still had a candle burning. You found one and scurried back to your room as soon as the wooden end of the paintbrush was lit. You probably looked like some kind of fool, but that could work in your favor given the circumstances, so you weren’t particularly bothered. 

Now with an appropriate light source, you could start what you’d wanted to from the beginning. Even if you couldn’t send letters outside of the palace, you could still write them. You opted to use the paintbrush you’d sacrificed, almost as an apology for using it for anything other than its intended purpose. 

My beloved Sylus,

The palace is a terribly dull place. It’s beautiful, but I find myself doing the same things every day. There was one instance when I witnessed an argument between two other girls. Jingshu, who has an ego larger than the palace itself, and Xinyue, with whom I am now friends. It was entertaining, short lived as it was. But now that I’m friends with Xinyue it’s not something I want to see repeated. With another girl perhaps. 

Lately, Xinyue and I have taken to playing music together. She’s a lovely erhu player, but today she told me that the emperor wishes to hear us play. I haven’t met him and it worries me to be in his presence. Xinyue said she’d help me be less appealing to his tastes, so hopefully all will be well. 

Life here is so boring there’s not much else for me to share. I’m well taken care of and never go without anything. Much of my copious free time is spent wondering what you’re doing at that exact moment. I hope you’re well. 

Yours always,

Y/n

Not a literary masterpiece by any means, but it’s not as if you’d be able to send it anyway. You sighed, eyes downcast on the drying ink. When you were certain the ink would no longer smear, you folded the letter and placed it in one of the drawers. Couldn’t afford anyone reading that, could you?

With nothing left to occupy yourself, you decided to at least try to get some sleep tonight. You left the lantern lit this time, having learned your lesson the first time. If the candle burned out, then so be it. The palace could afford more. You settled into the sheets, and, thankfully, sleep found you quickly this time. 

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“You mean, you’re not punishing us?” The man asked timidly from his knees, Sylus’ imposing figure standing over him. 

“Consider the fear of being killed itself your punishment. I’d like to speak with you privately if I may?”

The man nodded quickly, more than willing to do whatever was asked of him if it meant his head remained attached to his shoulders. Sylus followed him to what he assumed was the man’s private residence. Upon entering, Sylus was greeted with the sight of two young children chasing each other around the home. The thinness of their arms did not escape his notice. He frowned, a small furrow forming between his brows. 

“Do you see why—“

Sylus held up a hand to stop him. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I know. It’s the same all across this region. It’s also why I want to speak to you.”

Sylus explained everything to the man. How he was on the cusp of being promoted again, how, if he could earn that sway with the emperor, then he could personally implore the government to help its people. It was asking a lot, he knew, but he needed to be able to tell his superiors that the thievery would not continue, and for that to work he needed the man’s cooperation, and that of his accomplices as well. The man was hesitant to agree, for obvious reasons, but acquiesced. Sylus informed him that he would be in touch. 

Time and time again it was the same thing. Truth be told, he was tired of giving the same talk over and over again, but it would all be worth it in the end. 

It was during one of these routine raids that Sylus came across a pair of young men. He had given them and the other men the spiel and deal he’d given everyone else. Instead of slinking back home like he’d expected them to, however, the two approached him. As they neared, Sylus couldn’t help but glance between the two. Twins, they had to be. 

“We want to work for you,” declared one of them boldly, the other nodding his head in affirmation. 

Sylus’ eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, shocked. He had been expecting to be confronted, argued with, or even fought, but certainly not this. 

“Are you saying you wish to join the army?”

“No,” said the one who had nodded. “We want to work for you, specifically.”

Sylus’ initial shock morphed into confusion. These two couldn’t possibly be serious. He decided to gloss over it for the time being. “What are your names?” He asked, addressing the one who had first spoken so boldly. 

“Luke,” he responded. Sylus looked to the other one. 

“Kieran.”. 

“Right, and why would you want to take orders from me, specifically?” His confusion was mounting every second he didn’t get an answer or know for sure that these two were genuine. Although, in the event that they were, he already had a task in mind. 

“Because there’s nothing for us here. We don’t have a purpose of our own right now, but you seem like you do, so let us fight for your cause until we find our own.”

Sylus was taken aback. He pondered how best to go forth. On one hand, they could be advantageous to have in his service, on the other, they could get killed in the process, and Sylus wasn’t sure if that was a weight he wanted on his conscience. Still though…

He exhaled heavily through his nose. “Can the two of you pose as eunuchs in the Forbidden City?”

Initially, they had begun to smile, excited at the prospect of having a mission. But then the words actually registered.  “We wouldn't have to actually become eunuchs, right?”

“Of course not. That is why I said ‘pose’ as eunuchs.”

Their relief was practically palpable. It was Kieran who pressed for more details. “Why do you want us to go there?”

“There’s a woman there I need to get in contact with. Her name is Y/n L/n.”

“We can do that, but why do you need our help with that?”

“Because she’s not a servant; she’s a concubine. They’re not permitted to contact anyone outside of the palace. So I need you two to relay messages.”

The twins nodded solemnly. “How will we know where to address our letters back to you once we’re there?”

Sylus raised a hand to his face, rubbing at his chin in thought. “There’s a depot nearby. Send your messages there. I should be in this region for a while, so I’ll be able to stop by and collect anything you send.”

Luke and Kieran nodded in understanding. “We’ll set out first thing tomorrow morning.”

With that settled, they each went their separate ways: Sylus back to his horse to return to camp, and the twins to their home to prepare for the long journey ahead of them. 

------------

You were going to be sick. You could feel the bile rising in your throat as your nerves wreaked havoc on your body. With Xinyue’s coaching, you knew exactly how to behave to ensure the emperor took no interest in you now or, even better, ever. 

The servant girls were scrambling around, ensuring that tea and snacks were prepared and the instruments set up and ready to be played with skill befitting a personal companion of the emperor. 

You knew when he had arrived not because you saw him, but because the maids went deathly quiet. The idle chatter that had previously filled the ornately decorated room had come to a complete halt. Your heart pounded in your chest, threatening to burst with the intensity of its beats. You and Xinyue rose from your seats and turned to greet him.

Nervous as you were, perhaps you didn’t even need Xinyue’s help to make a fool of yourself. You felt more than capable of doing that all on your own. 

The emperor returned the greeting to each of you, his eyes lingering on Xinyue in a way that made your skin crawl. You knew the purpose of having so many women at his fingertips, just waiting to be graced with his favor, but you could not imagine your entire life being dedicated to a man who may not ever so much as spare you a glance, much less love you. You thought of Sylus. He had looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, like you were the axis on which his whole world spun. The emperor did not look at you in such a way. 

When his attention shifted to you, his eyes roved over your figure, almost analytical in the way he scanned up and down. He was younger than you had anticipated, but still clearly older than you and most of the other court ladies.

Once the emperor was fully settled in his seat, indulging in the steaming cup of tea that had been carefully poured for him, you and Xinyue took your respective seats. She got into position to play and looked over at you, ensuring you were ready as well, your fingers hovering over the strings. 

You counted off together and began to play in sync, the long draw of her bow across the erhu creating a melody perfectly completed by the plucking of your guqin. It was a lovely piece, truly, just such a shame to be played for a man you harbored such animosity and fear towards. 

He had a small smile on his face as he watched the two of you in silence. As the music continued, his attention drifted from Xinyue to you with a contemplative expression. You didn’t like that. Not one bit. 

He likes confident women, you remembered Xinyue telling you. You plucked the wrong string, the sharp note ringing harshly in the air. It was a jarring sound, immediately disrupting the gentle melody that had been permeating the space. You spared a glance at the emperor, who seemed somewhat disgruntled. You also didn’t miss the sideways glance from Xinyue, who knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was intentional.

After your small error, you played up the act of a nervous woman. Of course, you truly were nervous, but not for the reasons you needed the emperor to think. You hunched your shoulders more and tucked your head lower than it needed to be. But this wasn’t the last of your little “mistakes”. 

When the piece had come to its conclusion, you both waited for the emperor’s remarks.

“The music was lovely, though I falsely believed I gave you ample time to perfect it. It seems as though more practice time would have been beneficial.” He didn’t outright say if, but that was most assuredly directed at you. Even still, he didn’t seem as disinterested as you wanted him to be. You’d have to try harder. 

As the emperor rose to take his leave, you and Xinyue did so as well to see him out, presenting you with the perfect opportunity to ensure that the emperor would never so much as look twice at you. When you went to step forward, you hooked your foot around the leg of the table that supported your guqin. You went sprawling to the floor, and, for a brief moment of horror, you thought the now-teetering table would come down with you, guqin and all. Thankfully, the table stabilized and your instrument was unharmed, but your reputation in the eyes of the emperor was certainly not. He looked down at you with mild disdain, the corners of his lips turned down slightly in a small frown.

Your little performance was made even better by Xinyue’s presence. She was regal and poised throughout the entire affair, the perfect contrast to the bumbling fool you had made yourself out to be. 

Still, the show must go on. You scrambled to your feet, the servant girls having rushed forward to help you up. You hurriedly glanced at the emperor and plastered a panicked look on your face, ready to further tarnish his view of you with words (You should stutter when he speaks to you) instead of just actions. But he wasn’t even looking at you. No, he was thanking Xinyue again for the evening, and then he made his leave.

You walked forward to stand next to Xinyue, watching the emperor until he was out of sight. The moment you could no longer see him, Xinyue dismissed the servants. Upon their exit, she turned to you with all the excitement and giddiness of someone whose wildest dreams had come true. “It worked! It worked!” She lunged herself at you, her arms wrapped around your shoulders. She pulled back before you could return the gesture. Your own broad smile mirrored hers. Tears welled up in your eyes from sheer relief.

Even if you could not be with him, you would remain loyal to Sylus until the grave.

The remainder of your day was spent in the company of Xinyue. It wasn’t like either of you had any other important matters to attend to. Your only function in the inner palace was to be pretty and produce children. You were thrilled that you had been able to make such a good friend. It was also to your great amusement that she was very well informed about the happenings of the palace. She was quite the gossip. Apparently, Jingshu had caused a ruckus again, this time directed at a laundry girl who had been unable to remove a stain from one of her outfits. You rolled your eyes at the story. As if Jingshu wasn’t extremely pampered in the court and wouldn’t have a replacement by the end of the day.

Interestingly, there were also rumors of a new eunuch who was seemingly everywhere all at once.

“From what I’ve gathered from my ladies, one person might see him in one area, but someone else will say that they just saw him in a completely different part of the palace. It’s strange. Perhaps he runs everywhere he goes.”

The conversation naturally drifted towards other topics until, before either of you knew it, the sun was setting. “Oh my, it got late quickly,” giggled Xinyue.

“Indeed it did. We should both ready for bed. Would you like to visit the bathhouse tomorrow?” You offered, thoroughly enjoying the time spent with her and already looking forward to more chances to hang out.

She nodded eagerly. “But only if we look for that new eunuch first.” You recognized that familiar glint in her eye. You laughed lightly, your curiosity admittedly piqued as well. Palace life had been so boring that even this small mystery was enough to have you intrigued. You bid each other good night, and you made your way back to your own quarters.

During your walk, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being followed. You quickened your steps, eager to return to your room. You tried to reason with yourself that you could simply be paranoid, or that those faint rustling sounds were from the trees and not the fabric of one’s clothes. Either way, you surely weren’t going to turn around.

When you made it back, you double checked that every door and window was firmly shut and locked. Your heart was racing, but for what? You didn’t even have proof, or reasonable suspicion for that matter, that you had been in any danger. You shook your head to clear the thoughts. It wouldn’t do you any good to dwell on it, and you would only make yourself even more paranoid.

With a sigh, you plopped down at your desk, intending to write another letter to Sylus. It had become a nightly ritual of sorts, though it was more like writing in a diary than letters meant to be sent to someone. They were mostly short, telling him about your day and asking questions about his that you so desperately wanted the answers to. How were your families? Was he faring well helping his father’s business? Are your peonies still blooming? 

And, the one that you could never bring yourself to write for fear that you would write it into existence—

Has a new bride been chosen for him?

Again, you chose not to dwell on it. There was nothing you could do if your worst nightmare had actually come to pass, and it would only serve to upset you. As far as you were currently aware, it was only a hypothetical situation that deserved no more consideration than the dirt that kisses the bottom of one’s shoes. You took a deep breath to gather your scattered thoughts as you pulled out the appropriate materials to begin your nightly letter.

My beloved Sylus,

Today Xinyue and I played music for the emperor, and I made a right fool of myself. Intentionally, mind you. Plucked the wrong strings, refused eye contact, and even tripped over a table leg. I really thought I had overdone it and would take the table down with me, but it was fine. It would have been a shame to damage the guqin I was supplied with. It is of extraordinary craftsmanship. It was embarrassing having to pretend I’m less than what I am, but entirely worth it since I do believe that the emperor will not seek my company.

After that, I spent my day with Xinyue. Jingshu has been causing trouble again. It’s always something with her. This time it was a laundry girl who was victim to Jingshu’s anger. Something about a stain she couldn’t remove. Xinyue also told me about this new eunuch who seemingly has a knack for being in two places at once, so those are our plans tomorrow. Finding him, that is. 

Also, while I was returning from Xinyue’s quarters I could have sworn I was being followed. Truthfully, I was too scared to turn around so I walked faster. I’m writing from the desk in the safety of my room now.”

A sharp rap sounded on the window. Your pen stilled and your breathing practically stopped as well. Your room was now dead silent as you sat motionless in your chair, waiting to see if the sound would come again or if your brain was just playing tricks on you. You were waiting on another knock, but instead you heard the whispers of a hushed argument from outside your window.

You took a deep breath and rose from your seat as silently as you could. You listened intently, only making out snippets here and there. Small phrases such as “right room” or “sleeping.” The occasional insult, as well.

You swallowed thickly and reached out a hand towards the window. With your grasp now firmly on the frame, you yanked it open, revealing two young eunuchs. In their startled state, they both jumped back a step.

“What are you doing?” You asked bluntly. Seeing that it was just some palace eunuchs, you calmed down somewhat, but you were still concerned about why they were there at all.

“Ah, well,” started one.

“We were just, um,” continued the other one.

“Just spit it out, please. What reason do you have to lurk outside of my bedroom at this time of night?” You were growing frustrated. Just who were these two? Granted, there were many eunuchs employed on the palace grounds, but in your few months there you had never seen these two.

“Are you F/n L/n?” Asked one suddenly.

“I am. Why?”

Their faces brightened and they turned to look at each other, ecstatic over something you didn’t understand.

“Mr. Sylus sent us!” Exclaimed one.

You immediately focused all of your attention on the one who had spoken. “Sylus sent you? Who are you and how do you know him?”

“I’m Luke, and this is Kieran. We were part of a not-so-legal group and Sylus was the captain of the—”

You cut him off. “Captain? Do you mean he’s joined the army?”

“Oh, did you not know that?” Asked Luke, his head tilted to the side.

You didn't answer, lost in thought about what could have possibly made him join. Somehow, you knew Caleb was involved.

“No, I didn’t,” you answered, your brows arching up in surprise. Sylus had never had any interest in military pursuits, so why now?

“Anyways,” continued one of the—whom you assumed to be, at least—twins. 

. . .Twins.

It hit you just then, and you had to fight off the smile your lips so desperately wanted to form. Who could be in two places at once if not twins? 

“Mr. Sylus took us on as his employees of sorts. We were sent here to find you.”

“He seems to care a lot about you,” chimed the other one. “Who are you to each other? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“We grew up together. We were even supposed to get married, until I got sent here.” Your voice took on a wistful tone as you spoke. 

For a brief moment, the twins looked as if they regretted asking. With some hesitation, Kieran asked, “Why haven’t you written to him?”

Luke elbowed him. “Because she’s not allowed to, duh. Mr. Sylus told us this.”

Kieran had the proper sense to look embarrassed, his face flushing red. “Oh, yeah.”

Luke continued, “If there’s anything you want to send him, we can take care of it. It’s why we’re here.”

You were skeptical, you had to admit. You knew the rules about correspondence outside the palace walls, but these two knew Sylus by name. You were uncertain, but your eyes slowly drifted to the unfinished letter, and then to the drawer that housed every other you’d written with the belief that he’d never read them. 

You turned back to the twins, ready to ask the question that had weighed heavily on your mind since your arrival in this horrid place. “How is Sylus? Is he well?” The deep care and concern you held for the man in question was written all over your face as you anxiously awaited their response. 

“Uhhhh,” was the collective response of the two boys. “Sorry, but truthfully we don’t know him well enough to answer that.”

You nodded in understanding, disappointed but ultimately not surprised. “So, if I give you two something, you can get it to Sylus?”

Their previously apologetic expressions immediately morphed into ones of excitement. “That’s why we’re here! Give us what you’ve got and we’ll handle the rest!”

You chuckled at their enthusiasm, quickly becoming enamored with their amusing attitudes. While gathering all the letters you had written over the months, your eyes landed on the unfinished one at your desk. You looked to the window where the twins were waiting patiently, whispering amongst themselves. “Could you give me a few minutes to finish this?” You asked, holding up the letter. 

With their somewhat overeager approval, you picked up where you had been interrupted, drawing a line under your last sentence. 

“Shortly after writing the above portion, there was a knock on my window. Scared me half to death but I had nothing to worry about. Just two identical admirers. 

P.S. The army? That has Caleb written all over it. Please be safe. 

Yours always,

Y/n

The second the ink was sufficiently dry, you folded it and added it to the stack. It struck you then, that there was in fact something else you wanted Sylus to receive. You dug through your pockets and pulled out a small square of cloth. It was always on your person, but you rarely found actual need for it. You placed it within the stack and began to dig through your desk drawers. You could have sworn you had some string somewhere. Pulling the drawer out completely, you finally found it tucked away at the very back. Of course. You should have known the second you needed it it would practically be hiding. 

With the string now in hand you wrapped the letters securely, using a small knife helpfully supplied by one of the twins to sever the material to a reasonable length. 

Upon handing over the stack to Kieran, it was safely stashed away in his robes, hidden completely out of sight. “We’ll have these sent out first thing tomorrow, miss.”

With that, they were gone. No sign that they had ever been there. Certain you wouldn’t be writing any more letters tonight, you blew out the lamp and crawled into bed with a warm smile on your face, your mind filled with thoughts of ruby red eyes and silky silver hair. 

------------

Letters. Filled with your handwriting. Your thoughts. Even your tears, if the small blotchy smudges were any indication. This was the closest Sylus had been to you in so long it was like having a tiny piece of his soul restored from when it had shattered all those months ago.

Overcome with the sheer relief that you were okay, he withdrew to his tent to pour over every letter like it was sacred text. He was meant to lead these men, not show them a side of himself they were never meant to see—the side that was only for you. As he read through them, he noticed that a “Xinyue” was mentioned frequently. You’d made a friend. Even if he couldn’t be there with you, it was comforting to know you had someone there who cared. There was also a Jingshu, whom Sylus couldn’t help but roll his eyes at with her every appearance in the day-to-day chronicles you wrote for him. 

However, all the amusement of the palace gossip was washed away immediately when he read that the emperor would be visiting you. Not bothering to read the rest, he flipped through the mess of paper on his cot, looking for the appropriate date that followed what he had just read. He’d kill the man personally if he had forced anything. 

The second he found what he was looking for, his hand shot out to take it from the pile, his overzealousness causing the fragile paper to crinkle in his grip, his lips a thin line and brows pulled into a deep furrow. 

A table leg. You’d tripped over a table leg to intentionally make yourself undesirable. A deep chuckle erupted from Sylus’ chest, his nerves releasing themselves in the form of laughter. As his laughter abated and he looked over your letters fondly, still scattered around him, he realized that they all began and ended the same way. He was still your beloved, and you were still his. His heart clenched in his chest. Oh, how he missed you. Your laugh, your voice, your jokes, the way your hands fit in his, the way your lips had molded to his, how your waist had felt under his hands. 

His thoughts were running away with him and he made no effort to stop them. You consumed his every waking thought and he didn’t even care. With every fantasy that gripped his imagination Sylus slipped further and further away from reality. He was no longer on his cot in a tent, he was home with you. It wasn’t his hands impatiently freeing his hardening cock from the confines of his pants. They weren’t his own fingers wrapping around the shaft, stroking up and down slowly with single-minded intent. He pictured you in front of him, on your knees with his legs on either side of your head, your warm breath blowing over his sensitive tip right before you took him in your mouth. 

Sylus stifled a groan as the image morphed into you with teary eyes, struggling to take the full length of him into your mouth. Barely able to remain sitting upright, he collapsed onto his cot, your letters with their immaculate penmanship that had been so neatly tied together now spread beneath his large figure. He continued his ministrations, using every ounce of his self control to keep the pace steady, to make the fantasy last longer. 

He thumbed his leaking slit, using his own precum as lubricant. This time, there was nothing he could do to stop the deep moan that pushed past his lips. The pleasure was overwhelming. The mental fantasy changed again. You’d look so pretty on top of him, taking what you wanted, what you needed from him. God, you could use him however you wanted and he’d say thank you.

Would you cry and wail for more? Would your nails scrape over his back as he pounded into you? Would you scream his name as he made you cum over and over again?

His hand shot out to grip the bedding, his fingers digging into a fabric much too soft to possibly be the military-supplied cloth. Your handkerchief. He’d completely forgotten about it. Without a second thought or a moment of hesitation, he snatched the small square of fabric and brought it to his face, inhaling deeply. His eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head from the intensity of it all. The fantasy had just taken on a more real element now that he was able to smell the perfume you always wore. 

It fully immersed him in the image of you riding his cock, your breasts bouncing every time your hips met his. His hands squeezing your hips, guiding your movements. Your tight cunt fluttering around him as he thrusted upwards from beneath you. He gave in to the unbearable need to quicken his hand, his orgasm so close he could practically taste it. He was panting heavily into the cloth still held over his face, the tight grip on his cock as unforgiving as he imagined your pretty pussy would be. With one last pump, he unraveled, his sticky cum splattering over his bare abdomen and the hand over his face pressing tighter, a pitiful attempt to muffle the obscene noises he couldn’t quite hold in, only succeeding in pushing your sweet floral scent further into his nose. It was all too much, and he all but whimpered into the palm of his hand, still riding out his high. 

When he was finally thinking clearly, albeit still out of breath, he couldn’t help but wonder if you had ever indulged yourself to thoughts of him in the same manner. Even so, there was still a part of him that felt bad for sullying the letters, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, only thinking about the day you would be his again, in the flesh and not just his imagination. 

He’d only barely gotten himself cleaned up and presentable when he heard his name being called from outside the tent. 

He ducked through the flap, seeing a young soldier waiting anxiously. As soon as he saw that Sylus had exited, he straightened his spine and nearly shouted the message he had been sent to deliver. “There’s an invasion at the border! You and your troops have been ordered to move out!”

Sylus nodded. “Understood.” He hated taking orders, but it was a necessary evil for his end goal. And this was the perfect opportunity to see if Caleb’s words had any truth to them. He just had to follow through and ensure he earned glory for himself. 

------------

Easier said than done, Sylus thought bitterly as he wiped the long-dried blood from his armor. It had been a difficult battle, but one that would hopefully award him with bountiful military prestige.

“Man, you’ve looked better,” said a joking voice off to Sylus’s right. He turned to see Caleb, who certainly had no room to talk, and Sylus told him as much.

“Fine, I guess you don’t want to hear that we’ve been summoned to the palace. And that the emperor himself is requesting an audience with the two captains that earned him victory. But whatever. I’ll let him know you can’t make it.” Caleb shrugged, making to walk away. 

“Come back here,” Sylus called after him. Caleb turned to look at him, an amused grin on his handsome face. “Are you serious?”

“Yup,” he answered, popping the p. 

Sylus immediately retreated into his thoughts, dirty armor completely forgotten where it lay in his lap. Caleb could see that his friend was no longer paying him any attention. As much as he poked fun at Sylus for his infatuation, there was a part of Caleb that was jealous. He longed to have that sort of relationship, where you would do anything for the other person. It seemed like everyone around him had a lover. Even the medic had a girl of his own (though Caleb wasn’t supposed to know that). She had done an impressive job of disguising herself as a man. He didn’t know her motivations to go to such lengths just to be on a battlefield, of all places, but he figured he’d find out sooner or later. In the meantime, he was waiting on Dr. Zayne to finally notice that his dear little apprentice wasn’t just an effeminate man. 

------------

When the day came, and both Sylus and Caleb were standing before the emperor, you would never know from appearances that Sylus was equal parts nervous and excited.

“You have both proven yourselves more than worthy of advancement. Captain Xia, you will assume the rank of colonel. And Captain Qin, you will assume the rank of general, for your instrumental role in subduing the invaders and in keeping the peace in our great nation’s southern regions. I would like to reward each of you with a gift, as acknowledgement for your great deeds. Other than just the extra responsibility of your new positions!” The emperor chuckled heartily at his own joke. 

Caleb was right. A reward for military valor. Maybe all of this strife and bloodshed would finally be worth it. 

“Well, boys? Any requests? It’s not everyday you get to personally ask for something from me. Land? Money? A title?” He looked at them expectantly. 

Caleb answered first. “Money. I’m not sure about anything in particular, but when I figure it out I’ll already have the funds on hand. 

The emperor nodded, accepting the request.

When it was Sylus’ turn, he spoke smoothly and confidently. “There is a woman amongst your harem that I would like returned to me.”

The emperor was shocked at first, entirely taken back that someone had made such a bold request of him. His shock faded into incredulousness and then to mirth. It was laughable. He guffawed, but Sylus’ determined expression did not waver. This was not a joke. 

“My dear boy, I am the only one permitted to pick the flowers of my garden. Their scent and petals are for my enjoyment alone.”

Sylus wasn’t stupid. He got the innuendo and he was absolutely seething. Even if you were still untouched by this man’s disgusting hands, you were still at his mercy in the palace. He had to choke back a snarl. 

The emperor’s cocky grin dropped momentarily, the phrasing of the request only just now registering. “You said ‘returned’ to you. Elaborate.”

Sylus swallowed thickly. “There is a girl here that I have known since my youth. We were betrothed to each other, only months from marriage, when she was called to the selection process here at the palace. She never returned.”

The emperor nodded with faux sympathy, but he was all too eager to again inform his new general that, no, none of his girls would be leaving the palace grounds. A muscle in Sylus’ jaw twitched, but he gave no other indication of the rage and anguish he felt. He saw Caleb glance at him from his peripherals, his friend’s face practically screaming “don't you dare lose control.”

“So, again, I ask you, is there anything else I can reward you with? I’m nothing if not generous, even if I’m not quite as generous as you had been hoping.”

Sylus pursed his lips in thought. “The reason the people of the South are causing the empire so much trouble is because they're desperate. Could I use my favor on their behalf? To have food sent to the villages?”

For a second time in just a few minutes, the emperor was well and truly shocked. Most of the requests he’d received were about money or a title. Never this. There was no room for a bleeding heart in his military. Especially not one coveting after something that didn't belong to him. He exhaled heavily from his nose, at least pretending to think about it. 

“Rice to the south. Done.” Those fools didn't deserve so much as a second of consideration as far as the emperor was concerned, but it was clear that Sylus wasn’t going to waver in his ideals.

It wasn’t as though he had to specify how much rice, anyway.

“Well, that was unproductive,” Caleb remarked as they were being escorted to the gate that would lead them back into the city. “For you, anyway. Why didn't you just ask for land or something? You know there’s no way he’s going to follow through on what you asked, right?”

“He declined the only thing I wanted from him. Nothing I asked for could make up for it,” Sylus answered. His posture was rigid and his jaw was clenched. Everything about him screamed frustration. Why Caleb even bothered trying to talk to him in this state was beyond him. Sylus fumed the entire journey back to camp, and for days after. He was harsher with his subordinates than he ever had been, not tolerating even a single infraction.

Caleb could see the impending snap in his friend’s reasoning abilities creeping closer by the day, and the thing that finally broke him was another letter that Sylus received from you. The emperor was having the eunuchs question all of the women of the palace—concubines of all ranks, servant girls, and court ladies—if any of them had been engaged to a man named Sylus Qin. He was looking for you. That greedy bastard was actively trying to find the most cherished love of his general. And Sylus wouldn’t stand for it. With both his and Caleb’s promotion, they had each been allotted a much larger battalion. And, unfortunately for the emperor, it’s not hard to radicalize men who see firsthand the suffering caused by the man they're supposed to be loyal to. Also unfortunately for the emperor, he was so dead set on making an example of the South that the ratio of soldiers was skewed in Sylus’ favor.

Additionally, the villages he had been to were eager for a chance to show the emperor just how much of an error he made in abandoning his people. With such influence and ability, it wasn’t shocking when Sylus had a detailed plan put together and delivered to the men within the same week of receiving your letter. The twins had made sure to give Sylus their own updates when you were unable, informing him that you had denied knowing him and that the emperor was losing his patience more easily these days. It seemed it was really getting under his skin. 

If only such effort had been given to the people he was supposed to care for.

The weeks passed quickly, and, once again, Sylus found his armor covered in the blood of others. Screams rang out through the city, and he hoped it was from soldiers that were stationed here in the capital still upholding their sworn duty and not from the innocent civilians. Either way, he didn't have time to dwell on it. There was only one person he cared for at this moment; the person he was committing treason for in the first place and who kept him up at night well into the early hours of the morning.

Caleb, who he had lost track of early in the chaos, sidled up next to him. “There you are. Was starting to think you were worm food. The city is pretty much occupied, and they just got the palace gates open. Ready to head that way?”

Sylus nodded grimly, following his friend to the imposing structure that had been your beautiful prison. But not for much longer.

------------

Maids and eunuchs were rushing to and fro all around you, screams emanating from the surrounding city, but no one would take the time to tell you what was going on. You were near hysterical at this point, scared beyond anything you had ever experienced. You didn't know what was happening, but you knew something was wrong. So terribly wrong. 

“Y/n!” You heard your name yelled from behind you. You whirled around, finding Xinyue in the doorway looking every bit as frightened as you felt. You embraced tightly, relieved to see the other unharmed.

“What’s happening, what do we do?” you asked frantically.

“I don’t know! I heard one of the eunuchs say something about the army, so whatever it is is already being handled.” She tugged your arm. “C’mon, we shouldn’t stay out in the open like this.” She was right. The entire way back to her quarters all either of you saw was panicking staff and other concubines. No one seemed to truly know what had started all this. When you reached her room, she made sure to lock the door behind you both. You could still hear the shouts of people in the halls, but were only able to catch snippets. From what you gathered, the army wasn't here to help like Xinyue had assumed, but rather, they were the ones invading in the first place. And from the sounds of it, had already made it to the inner court.

------------

“Inform the eunuchs that if they stand down they will not be harmed. And I want every single concubine gathered here in the inner courtyard,” Sylus commanded the first soldier he happened to lay eyes on. “Unharmed!” He added.

“Yes, sir,” responded the soldier with widened eyes, clearly downright terrified to be addressed by the imposing general.

Sylus and Caleb stood side by side, looking up at the emperor’s personal palace. As desperately as Sylus wanted to look for you himself, the emperor was still breathing, and that was a problem that needed to be dealt with swiftly.

“Want me to go with you or look for Yn?” Caleb asked, not particularly bothered with what he was tasked to do so long as he wasn't standing around doing nothing.

Sylus thought about it for a moment. “Find her. And if you see some identical eunuchs, send them my way,” he answered.

Caleb obviously had no idea who Sylus could possibly be talking about. Twin eunuchs? How does Sylus even know any of the palace eunuchs? But whatever. It wasn’t really his concern anyhow. He briefly watched the broad back of his friend ascend the stairs before redirecting his attention to his surroundings. There were pavilions in all directions. Had to start somewhere, he guessed, before picking the left side.

All around him, Caleb saw cornered eunuchs cooperating with the soldiers and helping escort the women to the courtyard. Still, no sign of you. Room after room after empty room.

“Miss Yn, Miss Yn!” He heard someone calling. His head jerked to where he heard your name. It wasn't just one eunuch. It was two. And they looked exactly the same. What luck.

“Hey! You two!”

They both screeched to a halt. “What!” Shouted one of them.

“Who are you?” Shouted the other.

“I’m Colonel Caleb with the imperial army and a personal friend of Sylus Qin. He asked me to look for two identical eunuchs. I’m guessing that's you two?

They looked much less wary now that Caleb had introduced himself as a friend of Sylus’. “Yeah, why? We really have to look for someone, so we gotta keep moving.”

“Yn, right? Sylus already asked me to do that. He wants you both to meet him in the emperor’s personal palace.”

They looked at each other and nodded, about to run off again before Caleb stopped them for a second time. “Wait! Where might I find her?”

“Well,” started one of them, “you were actually going in the right direction towards her room, but we already checked and she wasn't in there.” Caleb frowned at that. “So we were  going to see Lady Xinyue, since she and Miss Yn are close.” They quickly explained to Caleb how to get there before both parties set off to fulfill their orders.

Caleb ran at full speed towards where he hoped to find you, but when he reached the room, the doors were already wide open and the room devoid of any presence. He swore under his breath, running a hand through his hair while glancing around, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. He hoped at least some other soldier had found you and taken you to the courtyard as had been ordered. Otherwise it would take their full numbers to search the whole palace, massive as it is.

------------

Sylus couldn't believe that the sniveling man in front of him was the man who ran the entire country. After discovering the emperor holed up in his bedchambers, Sylus had Luke and Kieran restrain the poor excuse of a sovereign to a chair that likely cost more than what the average citizen made in a year.

“I made you a general, and this is how you repay me? Treason? What more do you want?”

Sylus leaned down, close enough for the emperor to see the pure unadulterated hatred swimming in Sylus’ ruby eyes. “I want my bride,” he growled, the sharp edge in his voice leaving no room for doubt that he was entirely serious.

The emperor blanched. “You spilled all of this blood, defied heaven, for a woman?” He exclaimed incredulously. 

Without answering, Sylus straightened his back and strode out of the room, leaving the emperor where he was in the meantime. “Luke, Kieran. Stay with him.”

“Right, boss!”

Standing just outside the doors, Sylus could see the women of the palace gathered as he had instructed. Hell, even the eunuchs were accounted for. He made his way down the stairs quickly, all the while scanning through the crowd of immaculately dressed women, about one hundred in all, for one face in particular. His frustration and anxiety grew when he realized he probably couldn't even make out his own mother’s face at this distance, so he switched tactics. Now looking for Caleb’s imposing frame which would surely stand out in a crowd, he figured you’d be sticking by a familiar presence that you knew to be safe. By the time he made it to the bottom of the staircase, he still hadn't found you nor Caleb.

------------

You had been with Xinyue in her room when someone forced the door open. It was a soldier you didn't recognize.

“I need you two to come with me. All of the women are to be gathered in the courtyard by order of the general,” he demanded. You and Xinyue glanced at each other worriedly, but ultimately rose from your cowered positions, grasping each other’s hand for comfort. The soldier, for whatever it was worth, held the door open and gestured for the both of you to exit first.

He guided you towards the center of the inner court, where you saw many of the other women already gathered. He directed both you and Xinyue to join them. Still, no one had bothered to clarify the situation. All you knew was that the army was acting against the empire. The ladies around you were of even less help, unable to offer a modicum of new information.

“Look!” Xinyue whispered. “Someone is coming downstairs!”

You glanced at the staircase, seeing a tall figure descend the steps just as Xinyue had said. But what caught your attention was the silver hair that framed his face. His eyes were scanning the gathered crowd, but they didn't seem to linger anywhere in particular. Your breath caught in your throat. Could it actually be him? As he got closer and closer, still not stopping his obsessive search, his features grew clearer. There was no mistaking him.

He had only barely stepped off the last step when he heard it.

“Sylus!”

And there you were. Running towards him every bit as desperate to be in his arms as he was to have you there.

It felt like his heart and his breath stopped at the exact moment he saw your lovely face for the first time in what felt like millenia. He couldn't move. Couldn't think. But the second you threw your arms around his neck it felt like every broken piece of himself had never been broken in the first place. Without a second’s hesitation or thought, he wrapped one arm around your waist and placed his other hand on your upper back, pulling you into his sturdy frame as much as he could without hurting you.

There was no word for the euphoria you felt at being back in your lover’s arms, no word that could adequately describe the rush of emotions you were currently experiencing. “You came,” you sobbed into his chest.

“Darling, there is no force on this earth that could have even hoped to stand in my way,” he murmured solemnly, lips brushing against the top of your head.

He didn't even consider loosening his firm hold on you until you were pulling away to look up at him, eyes watery and ringed with a puffy red. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words quickly died in your throat. You had so many questions that you didn't even know where to start. Eventually, you settled on simply asking, “How?”

Sylus exhaled through his nose. It was now his turn to be unsure just where to start his tale. “The current emperor is unfit to rule, and these men bore witness to the proof. They were easily convinced. Will that satisfy you for now? I promise to answer every question you have for me, but right now I would like you to come with me.”

The last thing you expected to see when you walked into the room after Sylus was the emperor restrained to a chair with Luke and Kieran flanking either side of him.

“Sylus?” You started hesitantly, unsure what to make of the scene.

When the emperor saw who it was his oh-so-loyal general had brought with him, he couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out of him. He recognized you as the pretty young thing his favored Xinyue often spent time with. A shame your other qualities weren't up to his standards.

“I recognize you. You're Xinyue’s friend,” he said, addressing you directly and opting to ignore his captor for the time being. He watched with narrowed eyes as Sylus stood directly behind you, arms winding around your waist, but continued speaking without commenting on it. “Yn, right?”

You swallowed thickly. Not trusting your voice, you only nodded.

“How does it feel,” began Sylus, the rumble of his voice sending vibrations through where his chest connected with your back. “To watch helplessly while I take what you consider yours?” His hands massaged your waist with sensual strokes as he spoke.

The emperor finally looked at Sylus, a deep scowl disfiguring his already relatively unpleasant face. “Arrogant, aren't you? You ought to know your place.”

“And you ought to know when to hold your tongue,” Sylus responded smoothly. He motioned to Kieran, who was already two steps ahead of Sylus with a strip of cloth in hand, wrapping it around the emperor’s jaw, forcing him to bite down on it. Satisfied, Sylus looked between the twins and the door. They took the hint, leaving you with Sylus and the still-struggling emperor.

When the door was again firmly shut after the twins’ exit, Sylus had to practically pry himself away from you so that he could maneuver you to face him. He exhaled softly when his eyes met yours, wide with uncertainty, but trusting him fully nonetheless.

He cupped one side of your face, his large hand cradling your cheek as he stroked your cheekbone with his thumb. “Are you ok?” He asked. It was a vague question that held a thousand more. He knew that this was a lot to take in, especially over the course of just a few hours.

You laid your own hand on top of his, nuzzling your cheek further into his palm. “I’m fine,” you answered, smiling softly. “Just really happy you’re here.” Sylus mirrored your smile with one of his own, his gaze glancing between your eyes and your lips. With slow, bated breath, he leaned in slowly. It was just a small peck, hardly even a kiss, but he hadn't even fully pulled away when he dove in for more, and you eagerly reciprocated. His lips were all that you knew in that moment—all that you could focus on—and nothing else mattered.

His arms again wound tightly around you, pulling you in close while he devoured your lips as though they were a fine delicacy he’d been deprived of his whole life. It wasn’t enough for Sylus, though. He needed more. He needed everything you were willing to give. His mouth trailed lines of fire down your jaw and neck until he reached a spot that had you gasping. He redoubled his attention to it, biting and sucking and leaving his claim on you for all to see.

“Sy,” you whined, the sensation of his tongue on your throat sending heat directly to your core. He hummed, but he didn't stop, not until you couldn’t  speak again, unable to form a coherent thought.

He finally pulled away to look at your face. “Have you already had enough, kitten?” he asked mockingly. “Or is it that you need more?”

You answered without hesitation. “More. Please.”

He chuckled. “As my princess wishes.” Without any warning, he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he plopped you onto the emperor’s extravagant bed. You were the very picture of perfection to Sylus, your legs spread just for him and your shallow breaths bordering on needy whines.

He leaned in, recapturing your lips with his. He swiped his tongue across the seam, urging you to open up for him. He groaned into your mouth when you did, tongues tangling together. He slid a hand across your front, settling on your breast and squeezing gently.

You pushed your hips up, hoping to relieve the ache that had quickly settled into your body. He tutted, pulling away from your lips once again and placing a hand on your hips, keeping you firmly in place. “Patience is a virtue,” he said, a teasing smirk that showed you just how much he enjoyed teasing you.

“We’ve been apart for so long I don't have any patience or restraint left,” you said shamelessly, taking it upon yourself to pull him back down, crashing your lips back onto his. He laughed into the kiss, eagerly reciprocating. As much as he enjoyed teasing you, he was no less desperate. This time, he hooked his fingers into your clothes. “Let’s remove these then, shall we?” He whispered against your skin, already pulling the layers of fabric away from your body to reveal your skin to his hungry eyes. He drank in the sight, marveling at every curve and committing it to memory.

“You're so perfect,” he murmured, more to himself than directly to you.

You tugged on the armor he still donned. “This is hardly fair,” you stated. “That I’m the only one naked.”

He chuckled. “You're right, so why don't I fix that?” He climbed from the bed and stripped himself of both armor and undergarments before resuming his position on top of you. “Better?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

You didn't even hear him, too busy admiring the physique he had surely worked hard on. Your gaze trailed from his solid shoulders to his defined chest and abs, and then it drifted even further to see his hard cock, swollen and dripping with precum.

“It’s rude to stare, you know. But if it’s you I guess I’ll make an exception.”

Before you could retort, his head swept downwards, his lips wrapping around your nipple and his tongue swirling around the bud, sucking lightly. Whatever you were going to say died in your throat, an unbidden moan escaping in its place. You felt the huff he exhaled from his nose, but he remained intent on his ministrations, using his other hand to give the same treatment to the other bud, tweaking it between his thumb and forefinger. You wound your hand through his silky hair, crying out his name and pulling him closer. Your heavy breathing and soft moans spurred him on as he switched sides, his teeth occasionally grazing the delicate skin in his fervor. Your poor, neglected cunt twitched desperately around nothing, aching to be filled. You clenched your thighs together, a pitiful attempt to produce even a little friction, a little relief.

With a soft pop, Sylus released your nipple, blowing cool air onto the wet skin. You shuddered, a soft sigh passing through your kiss-swollen lips. He began to trail open mouthed kisses down your torso, slowly, methodically, savoring the taste of your skin. Only when his head was snugly between your thighs did he look up at you, crimson eyes boring into yours. “Is this okay? Can I keep going?”

You didn't even think twice before giving him an eager nod of approval. A chaste kiss to your dripping folds was all the warning you were given before Sylus dropped all pretense of having any self control. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, gripping them tightly and preventing you from even attempting to close your legs. He licked a broad stripe from your clenching hole to your clit, which he eagerly laved in attention.

“Sy!” you squealed, writhing with pleasure in his iron hold, unable to move away from the overwhelming ecstasy. He moaned into your hot cunt, the vibrations adding to the stimulation. He released one of your legs to push a finger into you, curling the digit and providing the delicious friction you had been craving. He grew more and more fervent in his ministrations, his own hips grinding onto the bed. “Cum for me,” he growled, voice muffled from between your legs as he added another finger. “Give me everything.” With every lap and suck of his tongue and with every curl of his fingers you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. You were panting for air, nearly coming apart at the seams as Sylus brought you right to heaven’s doorstep with just his sinful mouth and hand. WIth a final suck on your clit, you were pushed over the edge, your vision going white as you called his name.

Sylus pulled his fingers out slowly and repositioned himself on top of you. He pressed his fingers to your lips, urging you to part them. You obliged, taking them into your mouth and sucking your own juices off of his fingers as you watched him slowly lick his bottom lip. Satisfied, he freed his fingers from your mouth, using the same hand to slowly stroke his cock. He teased your entrance with the head, muttering a small curse under his breath when he finally pushed forwards. The burn of the stretch was almost completely overshadowed by the sheer euphoria he was making you feel. He filled you so fully you could practically feel him in your throat.

He groaned as soon as his hips were flush with yours, his cock fully sheathed inside you. “You feel so fucking good, sweetie,” he rasped, trying to get ahold of himself to allow you however much time you needed to adjust to his size, but that was easier said than done. The walls of your pussy were clamping down on him and he hadn't even started moving yet. At this rate, he would cum before he got the chance to feel your sweet cunt spasm around him as he brought you to another orgasm. 

He mouthed at your neck and collarbones as he waited for any indication from you that you were ready for more. The very second that your plea hit his ears, he was pulling out almost completely just to thrust back into you all at once. You gasped, raking your nails down his back.

He set a brutal pace and you were certain he’d have scratch marks down his muscled back, not that he cared. As far as Sylus was concerned, those scratches marked him as yours. The way you said his name like a mantra spurred him on further, and he found himself reaching down to thumb your clit.

“Wait, Sy—ah—it’s too much—!” You wailed, tears beginning to well up in the corners of your eyes from the intense pleasure.

“You can take it. I know you can, so be a good girl and cum on my cock.” His voice was strained, arousal making it hard to even think straight, much less speak.

Your back was arching off the bed, your peak so close you felt like you might shatter at any moment. “You're so pretty,” Sylus panted from above you. “Even prettier when you're underneath me like this.” If his face and stuttering hips were any indication, he was just as close as you were. And you were just as enamoured with him as he was with you. His silky silver hair was unkempt, lips parted and gasping for air with each thrust into your sopping cunt.

When it finally hit you, all you could manage to do was cry out his name, your poor abused cunny spasming around his hard length. Your own pleasure was all it took for Sylus’ to overtake him. He buried himself to the hilt, hands gripping your hips with a bruising strength, holding you in place as he filled you with hot spurts of cum. 

Spent, he collapsed on top of you, head nestled on your breasts and the both of you still breathing heavily. From over his shoulder, you could see the emperor seething from where he was still restrained in the chair. You noticed with wicked amusement that, as angry as he was, he was still aroused, the tent in his robes giving him away.

“What’s so funny?” Asked Sylus, tilting his head to look up at you.

“Nothing,” you answered lightly.

“I don't believe that for one second,” he mumbled into your skin. “Just as long as it’s not me you're laughing at.” He pushed himself up to pull out of you slowly, his cum dripping from your slit. He stared for a beat too long, captivated at the sight of himself leaking out of you. Giving no mind to the mess, he pulled you into his arms, your back flush to his chest, safe against him like it should have always been. As he situated himself, he briefly glanced at the emperor, noticing exactly what had probably amused you so much. He laughed. A real, true laugh. “That’s pathetic,” he scoffed.

Your lover settled behind you, stroking your skin gently. As much as he wanted to fall asleep with you, there were many things to be handled before he could relax. The highest priority of which was right there in the room with the two of you.

------------

When you woke, you were still warm and snug in your husband’s arms. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest from behind you. Still asleep. You knew firsthand how seriously he took his responsibilities as emperor, staying up well into the night pouring over documents and ensuring his people were taken care of. Not wanting to disturb his much-needed rest, you intended to go back to sleep, but a certain little one had other plans. You rested a hand on top of your rounded belly, the kicks more persistent than usual. Sylus, the light sleeper that he was, must have noticed your stirring.

“Good morning,” he mumbled, voice groggy with sleep and more gravelly than usual. 

You turned slightly to look at him and raised a hand to his cheek. You didn’t think you'd ever get used to the sight of his handsome face first thing in the morning. “Morning,” you responded with a broad grin. You took his hand in yours, placing it where yours had been just moments prior. “Little one is active this morning,” you said. Sylus chuckled when he felt it under his palms, his eyes softer than even the finest of silks.

In true sibling fashion, you couldn’t give just one your attention. You heard the little patter of bare feet seconds before the bedroom door was pushed open, your 3 year old daughter rushing into the room. Mama! Papa!” She giggled, pulling herself up the foot of the bed. 

“Well, good morning, sweetheart,” said Sylus, sitting up to pull her onto his lap. You sat up as well, leaning over as best you could to kiss her chubby little cheek.

It was a peaceful morning, spent mostly sitting in bed and entertaining your daughter. But duty will always call, and Sylus eventually had to leave to meet with his advisors. They were a tedious affair, especially since Caleb no longer attended. He had chosen to remain in the military and had since been given another assignment. Most of the time, the advisors didn’t dare question Sylus’ choices, but it seemed that today one of them had a death wish.

“There is still the matter of heirs. Have you considered reinstating the imperial harem, Your Majesty?” One of them asked timidly. 

The glare Sylus fixed upon him was almost enough to convince him to resign his position right then and there just to escape the red eyes that promised unimaginable pain if he failed to tread lightly.

“And why would I do such a thing?” Sylus asked coldly. “Is Her Majesty the Empress not good enough for you?” 

“No! No, of course that’s not what I meant! I just—” he faltered under the stare of not just Sylus but the two intimidating masked men that stood on either side of his chair. 

“You just what?” Pressed Sylus, his eyes narrowing into slits.

“Well, Her Majesty has only provided you with a daughter, so there is concern for the security of the lineage.”

Sylus snarled at the careless comment. “I have no intention of ever bedding a woman that isn’t my wife. Who, since you’re clearly so concerned about it, is carrying our second child. And if you ever speak about my wife or daughter like that ever again, I’ll have your head, do you understand?”

The color drained from the advisor’s face. He nodded, but didn’t dare risk speaking again.

“Good. Then we’re done here.”