₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 💖

Caleb turns to head in the direction of the bedroom and Zayne goes to follow before glancing back and giving a short tug on your leash to make sure you know to join them.

You don’t attempt to stand, you crawl on your hands and knees as a good pet does. It took you a while to get used to that, but now it’s second nature and nothing pleases you more than being led around on your leash by one of your owners. You like the feel of your tail swishing behind you, of the tightness around your neck when you’re crawling a little too slow and you need to be tugged along.

When you reach the bedroom you resume the same kneeling position you were in before, looking up at your owners hopefully as they stand right in front of you. It’s been so long since you got a reward you’re practically vibrating with anticipation.

Neither of them pay much attention to you at first, Zayne simply keeps ahold of your leash while Caleb begins to kiss him. They kiss each other slowly but passionately, little moans and groans slipping through every now and then. When Caleb starts to unbutton Zayne’s shirt, Zayne’s hand drifts down to your head, stroking your hair and giving you little scratches behind your ear. You lean into his touch, nuzzling his palm and making little noises of happiness.

Gradually belts are unbuckled, shirts stripped off, and Caleb’s stepping out of his boxers so that he can grind his cock up against Zayne’s that he’s pulled out of his trousers. They’re panting into each other’s mouths, hips rocking gently up and down, pre-cum smearing together to make a slippery mess and you swear your mouth is about to start watering.

You want to lean up and lick them, beg them to use your mouth. But you are a good pet. And a good pet waits to be told what to do. So instead you watch in torture, only whining a little Caleb slaps the head of his cock against Zayne’s and you see a string of pre-cum form between the two of them.

Caleb looks down at you while Zayne kisses his neck and he chuckles with a little smile.

“Perhaps we should move this to the bed.” He says. “She’s getting pretty needy down there.”

You wonder what he means at first, and then you realise how your hips have been moving, practically humping the air while you watch your owners kiss and touch each other.

Zayne hands the leash over to Caleb so he can remove the rest of his clothing and they both go to sit on the bed, backs resting against the headboard. You crawl over with them but stay on the floor, knowing you’re not allowed up on the furniture unless given permission.

“Up.” Caleb says, patting his thigh. “Good girl for waiting.”

You eagerly climb up onto the bed, straddling Caleb’s thick thigh, and wait for further commands.

“Sit.” He instructs, and they both watch as you lower yourself down onto his thigh. A little whimper slips out when your clit grazes his skin. His hand comes up to gently toy with the ears perched on the top of your head. “Good giiirrrl.”

You preen from the praise, extending your neck up to press your ears further into his hand.

“Now, since you’ve been so very well behaved, you’re allowed to come as much as you want. But,” his hand travels down to casually tweak one of your nipples while he talks to you. “You still have to ask each time, okay? Pets always have to ask permission.”

You nod in understanding, clit tingling and pussy clenching around air. You can’t hide the grin forming on your face.

“Look at our happy little girl.” Zayne says as he reaches over to grasp Caleb’s cock. “You’ve been such a good pet this week, you deserve all the orgasms you want.”

Caleb tips his head back with a groan, hooded eyes remaining firmly on you, then grabs your hips, forcing you to start moving against his thigh.

“Go on.” He encourages. “Rub that needy little pussy on my thigh, use your owner to get yourself off.”

You start to grind down onto him, the chain of your leash jangling with every little rock of your hips. You can feel your cum smearing against his leg, making the glide easier. 

Meanwhile your owners are watching you as they stroke each other’s cocks. It’s intense being under both their stares, like you’re the main star of the show and they can’t take their eyes off you. But it turns you on knowing you’re performing just for them. They like seeing their pet so wanton and desperate. They’re both breathing heavily, looking at you like they’re ready to eat you up and, honestly, you’d happily let them devour you.

You can’t help but glance down at their hands. Caleb’s giving Zayne lazy strokes, just casually moving his hand up and down, occasionally drifting down to tease his balls. Whereas Zayne seems to be focusing on Caleb’s tip, milking out tiny little beads of pre-cum with each twist of his fist. 

Watching them touch each other always helps you get there. You’ll never admit it, but one of your favourite punishments is when you’re locked away in your crate and forced to watch your owners fuck each other. If they’re feeling kind they’ll let you have a toy with you so you can get yourself off over and over again while you watch from the corner. If they’re feeling cruel they’ll put your blanket over the crate so you don’t even get to watch, you’re just stuck listening to the animalistic sounds of sex.

Your hips move faster, practically rutting against Caleb’s thigh, desperately chasing your orgasm with little pants and whines.

“Is she—mmm—is she in heat?” Caleb asks Zayne.

“Hm,” Zayne ponders. “No, it shouldn’t be until next week.” He bucks his hips up into Caleb’s fist with a grunt. “We just have a n-needy pet on our hands, I think.”

The plug feels so good in your ass when you clench around it. You love when they talk about you like you really are just their pet. You close your eyes, shoving your cunt down so hard against Caleb’s thigh with a loud moan.

“Is our pretty pet gonna come?” Caleb coos.

Zayne removes his hand from Caleb’s cock and gets up on his knees next to you, pushing back some of the hair that’s fallen in front of your face from the jerky movements of your hips.

“G-gonna come.” You mumble before remembering the rule. “P-please may I come?”

“Such a good girl for asking.” Zayne says gently. “Yes, you may come.”

Zayne strokes down your spine like he’s petting a cat, whispering words of praise and encouragement in your ear as you chase your high. Your clit feels raw from the friction but you don’t care–you’re so. Fucking. Close.

“C’mon,” Caleb encourages, two hands coming up to pinch at your nipples, making you gasp. “Our poor little pet needs to come so bad, huh.”

He’s doing that tone—the tone that says, despite his words, he really doesn’t feel bad at all—and fuck, that’s what send you toppling over the edge.

“Good girl.” Caleb praises, squeezing harder on your nipples, forcing you to clench more around your plug. “Such a good pet coming for us, aren’t you? Yeah you are.”

You can’t help but smile from his affection while you writhe and tremble on his lap. These are the words you crave so badly, the reason you behave…most of the time.

You haven’t even finished coming before two sets of fingers force their way into your still-pulsing cunt. Caleb’s hook straight up to your g-spot, rubbing firmly, while Zayne’s work on stretching you open. You know what this means–they intend to squeeze both of their cocks inside of you at the same time.

“Yeeaah,” Caleb chuckles. “Our filthy girl knows what’s coming, doesn’t she.”

It always feels so odd when they both finger you at the same time, the sensation of two different places inside you being stimulated at different rhythms and speeds. Like how right now, Caleb is fucking his middle and ring finger into you with quick movements, causing you to let out a stream of moans, but Zayne is pushing his index and middle finger in and out of you ever so slowly. He works on scissoring his fingers, pushing against all sides of your walls, making sure you’ll be open enough to take the both of them.

“Such a messy pussy our girl’s got.” Caleb grins at you, the sloshing sound only getting louder with each curl of his fingers. He peeks over your shoulder to look at the man now positioned behind you. “She ready yet?”

“Mm,” Zayne hums, “I believe so.”

Their fingers slip out of you, leaving a trail of your sticky cum.

“Up,” Caleb pats his thigh again like before, but this time further up his body to indicate he wants you to straddle his hips. He holds his cock up ready for you. You hover over him, his tip just grazing your entrance and you look at him with pleading eyes. “Sit.”

You sink down, eyes fluttering closed as you sheathe yourself around him.

“Fuuuck.” Caleb groans. “Pussy always feels so good.”

With the plug in your ass you feel so full already and your heart thuds in anticipation at the idea of Zayne having to squeeze in as well. Caleb wraps the chain around his fist and pulls you down to him, lips slotting over yours in a deep and messy kiss. His hips rock up slightly into you and you feel the vibration of his groan on your lips.

“Ahh-” You gasp when your tail gets a little tug, the wide base of the plug pressing against the rim of your tight hole. You feel it being moved to the side and flipped up to rest on your back, the fur tickling your skin.

Zayne presses on your back, making you arch up to present for him, and then you feel the blunt head of his cock against your already full hole.

“Let him in,” Caleb mumbles against your lips and a broken moan escapes your mouth when Zayne forces his cock in. “There you go—shit.”

Caleb’s eyes fall shut, no doubt enjoying how Zayne’s cock slides in next to his, pressing up tightly.

“Breathe.” Zayne tells you, moving your tail to swish back down the back of your thighs and running a soothing hand up and down your spine. “Relax for us, there’s a good pet.”

You always dread the initial stretch of having the two of them inside your pussy whilst wearing the tail. But it’s always worth it. The fullness is like nothing else when Zayne finally seats himself inside you, hips flush against yours and chest pressed to your sweat-slicked back. He nuzzles your ear, gently easing out of you again to get you used to the feeling.

“You’re taking us so well, darling.” He mutters into your ear. “You’re doing such a good job.”

His praise doesn’t help as it only makes your pussy squeeze impossibly tight around them. You form a picture in your mind of what your poor little cunt must look like as your owners’ cocks bully their way inside of it. It’s not difficult, one time you even asked them to take a picture so you could see and now it hangs on the inside of your crate like a little trophy.

Zayne tugs on your tail again to get you to push back up off of Caleb. Your head lolls back against him, mouth hung agape with furrowed brows. Caleb starts to buck his hips up into you at the same time as Zayne’s.

Your breasts sway gently with each thrust, cocks sliding with ease in and out of you in an alternate rhythm. They’re being kind tonight, slow but firm, allowing you to really feel them. You smile because they really are rewarding you for being good.

Caleb holds your leash and Zayne holds your tail—the perfect symbolism of how they both own you.

“God you should see her,” Caleb says with a grunt. “So beautiful with that smile lighting up her face.”

Your whole body feels alight with pleasure, you’re so fucking full, stuffed to the brim with cock and you can sense your thoughts slowly drifting away one by one.

Zayne drops your tail to reach around to your front. His fingers rub firm circles over your clit, his lips caress the side of your neck, and his cock reaches so deep inside of you. 

“Need our precious pet to come around her owners’ cocks.” He rasps. “Can you be a good girl and do that for us?”

You give a shaky nod, face contorting in pleasure as you’re brought closer and closer to climax.

“C-can I come now?” Your voice is high-pitched, whiny, and so fucking needy.

“Of course you can.” Caleb’s permission is all you need. You come with a cry, cunt clenching down on their cocks. “F-fuck, it’s like she’s tryin’ to push us out.”

“W-want—” You stutter, cutting yourself off with a sob from the intense feeling of still coming around them. “Want my owners t’fill me up.”

“Mmm,” Zayne moans into your back, pressing his forehead to the base of your neck. “You’ve been so good.”

“So good.” Caleb agrees. “You deserve to have your sweet little pussy filled up with cum, hah, shit, oh fuck.”

You watch through hazy eyes as he glances behind you, looking at Zayne with a snarl.

“Needa feel your cum coating my cock.” He growls, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs.

That spurs Zayne on and he starts thrusting harshly into you, hips slapping against your ass, until you hear a stifled moan and feel the sudden burst of warmth pool inside you.

“Ooooh fuck,” Caleb groans. “Gonna fill my good girl up, my good little pet, our perfect, perfect—f-fuuuuck.”

The second load of cum spills inside you and you can immediately feel it starting to seep out of your stretched hole and around their cocks. You whimper, settling down on them as far as you can, wanting to keep both cum and cocks deep inside you. 

Two sets of hands run over your body, keeping you grounded. Caleb trails little kisses all over your face, whispering words of praise as he does so before leaning past you and pulling Zayne down to him. You smile and giggle, squished between your two owners as they kiss over your shoulder, and there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

Like that time on the second floor bathroom in the business building. You were washing your hands. Two girls were by the mirrors doing whatever it was that required standing there for that long, they weren't even trying to keep his name a secret.

"I'm telling you," one of them said, pressing her lips together to even out her gloss"nobody warns you"

"That bad?"

"It wasn't bad. At all. Just —a lot."

You rinsed your hands faster.

"Oh my god, the head alone was—" she continued, and you turned the tap off and left before she finished that sentence because you had places to be and a GPA to protect.

A week later you were at the library looking for a journal article when a nursing major two rows over starts telling her friend about preparation. Actual preparation.

“I still can’t get over how thick he is. I thought the toys I bought prepared me for it but I only took half before I had to tap out. It felt like he was pushing into places that weren’t meant to stretch that far. I had to make him cum him with my hands because I could not take another inch without tearing up.”

You relocated to the other end of the library after that.

You tried not to pay attention because college gossip inflated everything. Length, skill, stamina—all of it grew in the retelling. Still, you found yourself thinking about it at odd hours. The thoughts arrived uninvited, usually when you were already half aroused from something else, and they left you shifting in your seat with heat pooling low in your stomach.

The stories piled up. Someone on the track team swore the stretch left her walking funny for three days, ten out of ten, would probably do it again once she'd recovered enough to consider it. A girl from the art building said the pressure against her cervix made her cum once just from the attempt but she couldn’t get him in deeper. Another version floated around after a house party, that he was so particular about fit that half the time he didn’t even bother getting fully hard if he could tell a girl wouldn’t be able to handle him.

Different girls, different nights, not a single overlapping social circle, and everyone kept arriving at the same point, nobody had managed to take the whole thing. The record, as far as campus was aware, remained open.

Last week hadn’t helped. Three different sets of hands, three different mouths, three different ways of stretching you open until you forgot what day it was. Your body still carried the memory in the form of residual soreness and a new awareness of empty space. The idea of something larger should have made you want to recover in private. Instead it made the rumors louder.

Tuesday morning found you at your usual table in the café near the library, textbook open, highlighter ready, determination firmly in place. You needed to catch up. The last seven days had been a blur of skipped study sessions and late night recoveries. Coffee steamed by your elbow while the café hummed with the usual mid morning noise, laptops, quiet conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine.

Two girls settled into the booth behind you. Their voices carried just enough to cut through the background.

"Zero," one of them says, settling in. "Completely soft the entire time. I tried everything. Hand, mouth, that thing with the hips. Nothing."

"And this was on Saturday? At Simone's?"

"Yeah. I thought maybe he'd had too much to drink but he really hadn't. He just wasn't interested. Or maybe its true that he doesn't bother unless he knows you can handle it."

A soft laugh, edged with something competitive. “Someone’s going to have to commit. Whoever makes him cum inside and fits the whole thing in gets bragging rights until graduation. First girl to ever get Sylus Qin to finish the proper way.”

"I'd spend a solid month preparing if I had a real shot."

Your highlighter slipped. The tip left a bright yellow streak across the page. Your thighs were pressed together under the table. The mental pictures arrived fully formed, the slow push, the moment of resistance, the deep fullness when the last of him finally disappeared. The sounds he might make when he came inside with no intention of pulling away.

You stared at the open textbook and saw nothing. Three guys in one week and your body still responded to speculation like it hadn’t been used at all. You shifted in the chair and tried to force your attention back to the page but the words refused to stick.

Behind you the girls kept going. More details about weight and girth. One of them mentioned buying a new set of toys. The other talked about the way he’d held her hips when she tried to sink lower, with a quiet warning in his voice when she pushed past the point of comfort. They laughed about the pure ego of being the girl who finally changed the record.

The café noise went somewhere distant. What remained was a chair scraping the floor and the ongoing conversation behind you that had your pulse doing something embarrassing for a Tuesday morning.

Then one of them cut off mid sentence.

The other one made a small sound.

You turned your head in time to see them moving toward the exit like they had just realized they'd been saying all of that stuff at full volume in a public space. The door swung hard behind them. They were gone.

You turned your head again, looking. Sylus sat in the booth directly across from you, coffee untouched, one arm along the back of the seat, eyes already fixed on you.

One second he was watching you and the next he was standing, coffee still on his table.

He stopped beside your booth. Close enough that you had to tip your head back to meet his eyes.

“Interesting conversation, don't you think?”

Your stomach dropped. “I wasn’t listening.”

“Hmm.” He glanced at the empty booth behind you, then back at your face. “Well, that’s not actually what I came over here for.”

“Then what?”

“I haven’t seen you in over a week.” he said it simply “You’ve been dodging the group. Skipping our usual spots. I'm starting to think we're contagious.”

“I’ve just been busy—”

“Studying.” His gaze flicked to your textbook, highlighter lying across the page with the bright yellow streak. "And looking like you haven’t slept properly in days.”

You hated how easily he cut through the bullshit. You hated even more that your pulse had started hammering the second he walked over.

“I have a lot going on right now,” you said.“Deadlines and normal student things.”

“Normal student things?” He rested one hand on the back of the empty booth in front of you “Is that what we’re calling it now? Because to me it looks like you’ve been running. And you’re not very good at it.”

You grabbed the highlighter and shoved it into your bag harder than necessary. “I’m not running.”

“No?” he tilted his head slightly. “Then explain to me why you left Simone's party through the back door on Saturday the second you saw Caleb walk in."

Your face burned “Maybe I just needed space.”

“From people you’ve known for two years? After one night that none of us have pretended it didn’t happen."

“I am fine, Sylus”

“You’re sitting in a café looking like you’re ready to bolt the second I say the wrong thing.” he shifted his weight, still not blocking you, but not making it easy to leave either. “That’s not fine, sweetie”

You stared at the table. The coffee ring left by your cup. A crumpled napkin. Anything except his face.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked "It's weird now, ok. I don't know how to look at any of you without— it's just weird. Are you happy?"

"No."

You let out a short, frustrated breath.“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable.” there was a faint edge of amusement in his voice.“You disappear for days, show up at your usual table like nothing’s different. I’ve been patient. We all have. But patience has a limit, and you’re testing it.”

"Is this the part where you tell me to get over it?”

“No.This is the part where I tell you that hiding isn’t working. And that I’d rather you stop pretending it is."

You stood up. Grabbed the rest of your things and said “I need to go.”

Sylus didn’t move out of the way immediately. He watched you sling your bag over your shoulder, his expression unreadable.

“Zayne made me take notes for the lecture you skipped on Thursday, said you’d need them. They’re at my place. You can grab them now, or you can keep avoiding everyone and hope the midterm material magically appears in your inbox.”

You hesitated.

It was the kind of thing Zayne would actually do.

"That's convenient"

Sylus waited, patient as ever, like he already knew which way you were going to tip.

You adjusted the strap of your bag and exhaled through your nose. “Fine. But I'm just picking up the notes and leaving."

"Understood" he said, already turning toward the door.

--------------------

The notes hit his desk with a soft slap. You didn’t even remember deciding to throw them. One second you were turning toward the door with the half hearted intention of leaving, the next your bag was on the floor and your hands were fisting the front of Sylus’ shirt and your mouth was on his.

He made a low sound against your lips —surprise, maybe, or something darker— and then he was kissing you back. All heat and pressure and the faint taste of coffee still lingering on your tongue. His hands found your waist and hauled you in until there was no space left between you.

He smelled so good it made your head spin. Clean skin, expensive cologne and warmth, a scent that clung to the inside of your lungs. Or maybe the dizziness was just the lack of air. You kept kissing him anyway, lips parting, tongues sliding, a messy, open mouthed hunger that made your knees threaten to give out. Every time you tried to pull back for a breath he chased you, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, dragging it slowly before claiming your mouth again. His hands slid up your back under your shirt, palms hot against bare skin, fingers spreading wide like he needed to touch as much of you as possible.

You made a soft sound into his mouth. He answered it with a deeper kiss, tilting your head exactly where he wanted it, tongue sweeping against yours in a slow rhythm that had your hips rolling forward without permission.

“Your mouth,” he murmured against your lips “is so sweet”

He nipped along your jaw, sharp enough to sting, then soothed it with his tongue. The scrape of his teeth made you shiver. Two fingers tapped once against your lower lip—demanding, the exact same way he had that night in Zayne’s dorm. You opened for him without thinking and his fingers slid over your tongue and you closed your lips around them, sucking hard, hollowing your cheeks the way you knew he was watching for.

His eyes dropped to your mouth, tracking the way your tongue curled around his knuckles, the wet sound of it, the way your lips stretched around the width of just two fingers. A low groan rolled out of his chest and he pushed his fingers a little deeper, enough to feel the soft give of your throat, then slowly pulled them free. A thin string of spit connected his fingertips to your bottom lip for a second before it broke and dripped down your chin.

He brought those same fingers to his own mouth and sucked them clean, eyes never leaving yours. The sight of it—his tongue dragging over the wetness you’d left—made your pussy clench hard.

“Just like I remembered,” his voice was sin“Sweet and filthy.” He leaned back in and kissed you again, chasing the taste of him on your tongue. “I’m going to need a different sample of you this time.”

You managed a breathless laugh against his mouth. “Only if I get a sample of you first. Deal?”

A faint flush of color touched the tops of his cheekbones. He held your gaze for a second, breathing harder than he usually let himself.

“Open your mouth.”

You did.

He spat into it.

The warm, wet shock of it made your pussy clench again, so hard it almost hurt. You swallowed on instinct, heat flooding your face and spreading lower, and the sound that left you was close to a whimper. Your thighs trembled. You could feel how soaked you already were, the fabric of your underwear clinging uncomfortably.

“Now, for my part of the deal...”

His hands moved beneath your shirt again and you lifted your arms so he could pull it off and toss it aside. You reached for him too, shoving his shirt up his torso and over his head. His chest felt warm under your palms, the faint scent of his skin stronger now that there was nothing between you. You dragged your nails lightly down his abs and felt the muscles jump.

He reached for the button of your jeans. You reached for his at the same time. The sound of zippers and fabric was loud in the quiet room. You both stepped out of your pants in a clumsy tangle of limbs, kicking them aside without looking where they landed. Then it was just underwear between you—his black and stretched tight over the thick outline of his hard cock, yours already dark with how wet you’d gotten.

When you reached for the waistband he caught your wrist firm enough to stop you.

His eyes had dropped to your skin.

The marks were still there. Bruises from Caleb’s mouth layered over the older ones from Rafayel and Xavier. Sylus didn’t ask. His fingertips traced each one in turn, mapping them like he was reading a language only he understood.

“Caleb” he said quietly, not in question. He followed the trail of bruises down until he was on his knees in front of you, eye level with the last of them.

Your breath caught.

He hooked his fingers in the sides of your underwear and dragged them down your legs. You had to lock your knees to stay upright while Sylus stared. Strings of arousal clung to the inside of the fabric and stretched between your thighs. He watched them with something close to awe.

“They got you ready for me,” he sounded almost pleased“I’ll have to thank them later. Especially Caleb. He was thorough.”

Of course he knew. You didn’t know how—whether someone had talked or whether he’d simply put the pieces together like he always did—but Sylus Qin always knew.

He looked up at you from the floor. The question was silent but unmistakable. His hands rested on your hips, thumbs stroking small circles against your skin.

You nodded once.

He leaned in.

His nose brushed your clit first, a firm pressure that made your hips jump and a soft moan leave your throat. Then his tongue parted you slowly, collecting your arousal, and sealed over the swollen bud with an open mouthed kiss that made your vision blur.

He licked from your entrance up to your clit and stayed there, circling and changing the pressure until your hips started moving on their own. You buried both hands in his hair and when he hooked your leg over his shoulder you used it—tightened your thigh to pull him in closer at the same time your hips rolled up against his mouth. The shift let him get deeper. His name escaped your lips and he answered by sealing his lips around your clit and sucking.

The suction was filthy and loud. He pulled the swollen bud into his mouth and worked it with his tongue, circling, flicking, pressing flat against it. Spit and your own wetness mixed and ran down his chin and every time he pulled off to breathe, a thin string of slick connected his mouth to your clit. He always licked it away.

“Sy—” your voice came out shaky. “Fuck, your mouth—”

“Yeah?” he licked your clit again “Do you like it? Like me eating this pretty pussy?” he pushed his tongue just inside your entrance and fucked you with it in little thrusts then flattened it and dragged it hard over the sensitive bundle of nerves “Tastes like you need it. Dripping all over my tongue.”

Two thick fingers pressed against your entrance but he didn’t shove them in. He held them there, letting you feel the stretch of the tips while his mouth kept working. When he finally pushed forward it was slow, the burn of it dragging a sharp breath out of you. He curled them almost immediately and found the spot Zayne talked about. Every time he curled them you felt the stretch more. Every time his tongue flicked your clit your thighs shook.

“Shit—please don’t stop,” you begged, fingers tightening in his hair. “Feels so good—your tongue feels sooo good—”

Your hips rolled harder against his face. He took it, letting you use him while his fingers kept moving. He was open mouthed now, licking and sucking and breathing hard against you, chin shiny, lips shiny, the whole lower half of his face coated in you.

He scissored his fingers gently, stretching you further, and groaned when more slick spilled out around them. “Messy girl"

Your stomach tightened and you came hard. Your pussy clamped down around his fingers so tight he had to work to keep moving them.

“Fuck—yes—” you choked out, still shaking.“Sylus—”

He licked you through it, gentler, tongue flat and patient “Good girl,” his lips brushed your clit with every word “Ride it out. Perfect. Fucking perfect.”

Only when your grip on his hair finally loosened and your leg slackened over his shoulder did he ease back.

Zayne’s voice cut through his head clear as day.

"Patience is key. The tissue needs time. If you force depth before she’s fully relaxed you’ll cause microtears and you’ll have to stop. Use your fingers. Stretch her properly. Keep the external stimulation consistent so she doesn’t tighten out of instinct. When you push in, go slow, short strokes, let her body pull you deeper on its own. Do not rush it".

Sylus exhaled hard through his nose. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then stood. His hands slid under your arms and lifted you like you weighed nothing. You made a startled sound and grabbed his shoulders as he carried you the few steps to his bed and laid you down on the cool sheets.

He followed you down. His mouth found your breast immediately—hot and open, tongue dragging over the nipple before he sucked hard enough to make your back arch. He switched sides, licking, biting lightly, blowing cool air across the wet peaks until they ached. His hand slid between your thighs, fingers stroking through the mess he’d made of you, keeping you open and sensitive while he talked against your skin.

“I’ve thought about this,” his mouth brushed the curve of your breast. “How tight you’d be. Whether you’d even be able to take me.” long fingers traced the soft skin of your inner thigh, then higher, spreading your legs apart just to look. “Wondered if the space between your legs was enough to handle me.”

You let out an incredulous laugh.“You were sizing me up?"

His hand left your thigh and he held it up in front of your face, thumb and pinky stretched as far apart as they would go, and then laid that same span against your body, starting at the top of your pelvis and stretching up, up, up, almost to your belly button.

You stared.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“That is not real. You’re measuring wrong.”

“I’m measuring exactly right.” His voice stayed calm, but his eyes were dark. “That’s roughly the length. Thickness is a separate problem.”

You made a strangled sound and tried to scoot back up the bed. He caught your ankle without even looking and dragged you right back down to settle between your thighs. His mouth found yours, swallowing whatever protest you were about to make, while his hand slid back between your legs and stroked through the wetness.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispered against your lips, the words curved with amusement. “Not until we find out if I was right.”

You reached for the waistband of his underwear. The fabric clung to him, already damp at the tip where a wet circle had spread from how much he’d been leaking. You hooked your fingers under the elastic and dragged it down. His cock sprang free and for a second you could only stare.

It was thick. Long enough that your stomach flipped. The fat head was already shiny with pre, a slow bead gathering at the slit. Veins stood out along the shaft. It looked heavy in the best way, the kind of size that made the rumors feel suddenly very real. You wrapped your fingers around it on instinct and your fingers didn’t quite meet. It pulsed against your palm and another bead of precum welled up and spilled over your thumb.

“I want to return the favor”

Sylus caught your wrist.“You’re not ready for that,” he teased“Not yet. That's a lesson for another day.” he guided your hand away and settled back between your thighs, his cock resting against your pussy. “Right now I need something else.”

He dragged the fat tip through your slit, coating himself in you. The heat against your clit made your hips twitch. He did it again —teasing slides up and down—then started tapping the head against your clit and he watched your face the whole time.

“Sensitive?” he started rubbing the tip in circles over your clit until your breath hitched and more arousal spilled out of you and he used it to slide lower, notching the blunt head against your entrance without pushing in. The pressure alone made your stomach clench. He stayed like that for a few seconds, just the wide stretch of the tip resting against you, letting you feel exactly how much he was going to force you open.

“Sylus—”

“I know.” he rocked the head against you, pressing and releasing "That’s only the tip and you’re already shaking.”

Over and over again he kept teasing. Sliding up to grind against your clit, then back down until you were making soft, desperate sounds every time the head caught against you. Your hands fisted in the sheets. Your hips kept chasing him. He wouldn’t give you more than that pressure.

“Spread a little wider for me,” he said finally“Let me in, sweetie.”

Your thighs fell open further and he pushed in.

The stretch burned—sharp and perfect—and a broken sound tore out of you. It was everything the rumors had promised and more. The pressure, the way your body had to yield around him just to take the head. Your nails dug into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. He held there, only the head inside, letting you feel every pulse of him while your pussy fluttered and tried to adjust.

“You feel incredible,” he sank in another inch, slowly, and his thumb found your clit, rubbing steady circles counterclockwise while he worked himself deeper. “Fuck. You’re so fucking tight.” Another inch. The stretch intensified. “You’re going to come like this and then I’m going to fuck you.”

You tried to roll your hips and take more of him but he held you still with a hand firm on your hip and pulled back until only the head remained inside. Then he thrusted in again to the same depth—close to halfway— thumb still working your clit. The fullness was already overwhelming. Combined with the steady pressure on your clit it pushed you right to the edge.

“Please, Sy—deeper—”

“Not yet.” he rocked the same few inches in and out, stretching you around the thickest part of the head and the first half of his cock."Greedy little cunt.” his voice dropped.“You have to come on my cock just like this. Give it to me.”

You came with a sharp cry of his name and the look on his face was priceless. His cheeks were flushed dark, almost feverish. His mouth had fallen open. He was breathing hard through it, eyes watching you squeeze around him like the sight alone might undo him.

“That’s it,” he rasped. "Just like that.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct and when the aftershocks started to fade you felt him push deeper, the slick of your orgasm easing the way. The burn returned, sharper now, as more of his cock forced you open.

“Does it hurt?”

You wanted to say yes. It did hurt, but it hurt so damn good that the word wouldn’t come out right.

“No.”

“Good.” He unwrapped your legs from around him and pushed your thighs open, folding you so he could watch every inch disappear. “I need you open. Just like this.”

More than halfway. The stretch turned intense enough that your body tried to escape it—your hips shifting back on instinct. He noticed immediately. His hands tightened on your thighs and he pulled you down onto him, burying another thick inch inside you.

"Holy mother of fucks—"

“Don’t run now, it’s too late to chicken out, kitten.”

You sucked in a deep breath, forced your body to relax as much as it could, and pushed down to meet him. The last of him slid inside. You both moaned—his broken and loud, a sound that would live in the back of your mind forever. For the first time since you’d met him, Sylus Qin looked speechless. He stared down at where the two of you were joined like he couldn’t believe it was real. His hips were flush against yours. There was nowhere left to go.

“For fucks sake, Sy” you whispered, voice shaking. “Just fuck me already"

At first it was slow. He pulled back in a careful drag that let you feel every vein and ridge, then sank back in just as slowly, giving your body time to adjust. His eyes stayed locked on your face, watching every flicker of pain and pleasure. When your breathing evened out and your hips started meeting his, he gave you more—harder strokes that still kept that deep rhythm.

“I knew it,” his forehead dropped to yours for a second.“Knew this pussy would be the only one that could take me.” he snapped his hips a little harder and watched your mouth fall open. “Just you. This tight little cunt was built for my dick.”

He fucked you like that until the burn faded, until every thrust punched soft sounds from your throat and when he was sure you could take it, he stopped holding back.

His hands pushed your thighs higher and he looked down again.

His cock was visibly moving low in your stomach with every thrust— a subtle bulge that rose and fell as he sank in to the hilt and moved back out. His eyes locked on it and the last of his control cracked as he watched himself move inside you from the outside.

He pressed his palm over the bulge, feeling the shape of his own cock under your skin.

"Can you feel how deep I am? he moved his hips forward, feeling the bulge push up against his hand "That’s all of me and you’re still squeezing me like you want more.”

Your orgasm built slower than the first two. Heavier. He felt it before you said anything, the way you started squeezing around him made his rhythm stutter and a sound left his chest that he clearly hadn't planned on making.

"Already?" His forehead dropped to yours again and a breathless chuckle left him "You're going to be the death of me"

"Sy, please—"

You felt him pulse inside you and his eyes found yours. "I want to cum inside of you. Can I?"

He was actually asking.

"Yes. Inside — yes —"

He started moving again and this time it was different, the slap of skin filling the room, his hands on your thighs tight enough that you'd find the marks tomorrow.

“Gonna fill you up— fuck—every drop. Keep it. Walk around tomorrow still dripping with me.”

He came with a sound that vibrated against your mouth. His whole body shuddered but he kept rocking through it, forcing every spurt deeper, a hand back to pressing over the place where he was emptying himself inside you, until the overflow started leaking out around his cock and down your ass.

Then he slowly pulled out.

The rush of cum that followed was a lot. Thick and white, it spilled out of you in a heavy gush, sliding down onto his sheets. Sylus watched his cum leak out of the pussy that had just taken him completely for the first time.

He reached down, gathered the mess on his fingers, and pushed it back inside you without a word. Two fingers stuffing it back into you while you twitched and whimpered from the oversensitivity. He did it again—scooping up what had escaped and forcing it back in—until he was satisfied that most of it was where he wanted it.

“There,” he murmured to himself, watching his fingers disappear inside you. “Keep it in”

He collapsed onto his side next to you, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest still rising and falling hard. The flush hadn’t left his cheeks. His cock lay heavy and wet against his stomach, still twitching occasionally.

You stared at the ceiling, body aching, the slow leak of him between your thighs impossible to ignore. After a long minute you let out a slightly unhinged laugh.

“So…” you said, turning your head to look at him. “Should I tell those girls I broke the record? Or do you want to keep your legendary status intact?”

Sylus moved his arm just enough to crack one eye open at you. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Let them know if you want,” his voice was still rough "And then tell them you’re the only one who gets to do it again.”

Like that time on the second floor bathroom in the business building. You were washing your hands. Two girls were by the mirrors doing whatever it was that required standing there for that long, they weren't even trying to keep his name a secret.

"I'm telling you," one of them said, pressing her lips together to even out her gloss"nobody warns you"

"That bad?"

"It wasn't bad. At all. Just —a lot."

You rinsed your hands faster.

"Oh my god, the head alone was—" she continued, and you turned the tap off and left before she finished that sentence because you had places to be and a GPA to protect.

A week later you were at the library looking for a journal article when a nursing major two rows over starts telling her friend about preparation. Actual preparation.

“I still can’t get over how thick he is. I thought the toys I bought prepared me for it but I only took half before I had to tap out. It felt like he was pushing into places that weren’t meant to stretch that far. I had to make him cum him with my hands because I could not take another inch without tearing up.”

You relocated to the other end of the library after that.

You tried not to pay attention because college gossip inflated everything. Length, skill, stamina—all of it grew in the retelling. Still, you found yourself thinking about it at odd hours. The thoughts arrived uninvited, usually when you were already half aroused from something else, and they left you shifting in your seat with heat pooling low in your stomach.

The stories piled up. Someone on the track team swore the stretch left her walking funny for three days, ten out of ten, would probably do it again once she'd recovered enough to consider it. A girl from the art building said the pressure against her cervix made her cum once just from the attempt but she couldn’t get him in deeper. Another version floated around after a house party, that he was so particular about fit that half the time he didn’t even bother getting fully hard if he could tell a girl wouldn’t be able to handle him.

Different girls, different nights, not a single overlapping social circle, and everyone kept arriving at the same point, nobody had managed to take the whole thing. The record, as far as campus was aware, remained open.

Last week hadn’t helped. Three different sets of hands, three different mouths, three different ways of stretching you open until you forgot what day it was. Your body still carried the memory in the form of residual soreness and a new awareness of empty space. The idea of something larger should have made you want to recover in private. Instead it made the rumors louder.

Tuesday morning found you at your usual table in the café near the library, textbook open, highlighter ready, determination firmly in place. You needed to catch up. The last seven days had been a blur of skipped study sessions and late night recoveries. Coffee steamed by your elbow while the café hummed with the usual mid morning noise, laptops, quiet conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine.

Two girls settled into the booth behind you. Their voices carried just enough to cut through the background.

"Zero," one of them says, settling in. "Completely soft the entire time. I tried everything. Hand, mouth, that thing with the hips. Nothing."

"And this was on Saturday? At Simone's?"

"Yeah. I thought maybe he'd had too much to drink but he really hadn't. He just wasn't interested. Or maybe its true that he doesn't bother unless he knows you can handle it."

A soft laugh, edged with something competitive. “Someone’s going to have to commit. Whoever makes him cum inside and fits the whole thing in gets bragging rights until graduation. First girl to ever get Sylus Qin to finish the proper way.”

"I'd spend a solid month preparing if I had a real shot."

Your highlighter slipped. The tip left a bright yellow streak across the page. Your thighs were pressed together under the table. The mental pictures arrived fully formed, the slow push, the moment of resistance, the deep fullness when the last of him finally disappeared. The sounds he might make when he came inside with no intention of pulling away.

You stared at the open textbook and saw nothing. Three guys in one week and your body still responded to speculation like it hadn’t been used at all. You shifted in the chair and tried to force your attention back to the page but the words refused to stick.

Behind you the girls kept going. More details about weight and girth. One of them mentioned buying a new set of toys. The other talked about the way he’d held her hips when she tried to sink lower, with a quiet warning in his voice when she pushed past the point of comfort. They laughed about the pure ego of being the girl who finally changed the record.

The café noise went somewhere distant. What remained was a chair scraping the floor and the ongoing conversation behind you that had your pulse doing something embarrassing for a Tuesday morning.

Then one of them cut off mid sentence.

The other one made a small sound.

You turned your head in time to see them moving toward the exit like they had just realized they'd been saying all of that stuff at full volume in a public space. The door swung hard behind them. They were gone.

You turned your head again, looking. Sylus sat in the booth directly across from you, coffee untouched, one arm along the back of the seat, eyes already fixed on you.

One second he was watching you and the next he was standing, coffee still on his table.

He stopped beside your booth. Close enough that you had to tip your head back to meet his eyes.

“Interesting conversation, don't you think?”

Your stomach dropped. “I wasn’t listening.”

“Hmm.” He glanced at the empty booth behind you, then back at your face. “Well, that’s not actually what I came over here for.”

“Then what?”

“I haven’t seen you in over a week.” he said it simply “You’ve been dodging the group. Skipping our usual spots. I'm starting to think we're contagious.”

“I’ve just been busy—”

“Studying.” His gaze flicked to your textbook, highlighter lying across the page with the bright yellow streak. "And looking like you haven’t slept properly in days.”

You hated how easily he cut through the bullshit. You hated even more that your pulse had started hammering the second he walked over.

“I have a lot going on right now,” you said.“Deadlines and normal student things.”

“Normal student things?” He rested one hand on the back of the empty booth in front of you “Is that what we’re calling it now? Because to me it looks like you’ve been running. And you’re not very good at it.”

You grabbed the highlighter and shoved it into your bag harder than necessary. “I’m not running.”

“No?” he tilted his head slightly. “Then explain to me why you left Simone's party through the back door on Saturday the second you saw Caleb walk in."

Your face burned “Maybe I just needed space.”

“From people you’ve known for two years? After one night that none of us have pretended it didn’t happen."

“I am fine, Sylus”

“You’re sitting in a café looking like you’re ready to bolt the second I say the wrong thing.” he shifted his weight, still not blocking you, but not making it easy to leave either. “That’s not fine, sweetie”

You stared at the table. The coffee ring left by your cup. A crumpled napkin. Anything except his face.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked "It's weird now, ok. I don't know how to look at any of you without— it's just weird. Are you happy?"

"No."

You let out a short, frustrated breath.“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable.” there was a faint edge of amusement in his voice.“You disappear for days, show up at your usual table like nothing’s different. I’ve been patient. We all have. But patience has a limit, and you’re testing it.”

"Is this the part where you tell me to get over it?”

“No.This is the part where I tell you that hiding isn’t working. And that I’d rather you stop pretending it is."

You stood up. Grabbed the rest of your things and said “I need to go.”

Sylus didn’t move out of the way immediately. He watched you sling your bag over your shoulder, his expression unreadable.

“Zayne made me take notes for the lecture you skipped on Thursday, said you’d need them. They’re at my place. You can grab them now, or you can keep avoiding everyone and hope the midterm material magically appears in your inbox.”

You hesitated.

It was the kind of thing Zayne would actually do.

"That's convenient"

Sylus waited, patient as ever, like he already knew which way you were going to tip.

You adjusted the strap of your bag and exhaled through your nose. “Fine. But I'm just picking up the notes and leaving."

"Understood" he said, already turning toward the door.

--------------------

The notes hit his desk with a soft slap. You didn’t even remember deciding to throw them. One second you were turning toward the door with the half hearted intention of leaving, the next your bag was on the floor and your hands were fisting the front of Sylus’ shirt and your mouth was on his.

He made a low sound against your lips —surprise, maybe, or something darker— and then he was kissing you back. All heat and pressure and the faint taste of coffee still lingering on your tongue. His hands found your waist and hauled you in until there was no space left between you.

He smelled so good it made your head spin. Clean skin, expensive cologne and warmth, a scent that clung to the inside of your lungs. Or maybe the dizziness was just the lack of air. You kept kissing him anyway, lips parting, tongues sliding, a messy, open mouthed hunger that made your knees threaten to give out. Every time you tried to pull back for a breath he chased you, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, dragging it slowly before claiming your mouth again. His hands slid up your back under your shirt, palms hot against bare skin, fingers spreading wide like he needed to touch as much of you as possible.

You made a soft sound into his mouth. He answered it with a deeper kiss, tilting your head exactly where he wanted it, tongue sweeping against yours in a slow rhythm that had your hips rolling forward without permission.

“Your mouth,” he murmured against your lips “is so sweet”

He nipped along your jaw, sharp enough to sting, then soothed it with his tongue. The scrape of his teeth made you shiver. Two fingers tapped once against your lower lip—demanding, the exact same way he had that night in Zayne’s dorm. You opened for him without thinking and his fingers slid over your tongue and you closed your lips around them, sucking hard, hollowing your cheeks the way you knew he was watching for.

His eyes dropped to your mouth, tracking the way your tongue curled around his knuckles, the wet sound of it, the way your lips stretched around the width of just two fingers. A low groan rolled out of his chest and he pushed his fingers a little deeper, enough to feel the soft give of your throat, then slowly pulled them free. A thin string of spit connected his fingertips to your bottom lip for a second before it broke and dripped down your chin.

He brought those same fingers to his own mouth and sucked them clean, eyes never leaving yours. The sight of it—his tongue dragging over the wetness you’d left—made your pussy clench hard.

“Just like I remembered,” his voice was sin“Sweet and filthy.” He leaned back in and kissed you again, chasing the taste of him on your tongue. “I’m going to need a different sample of you this time.”

You managed a breathless laugh against his mouth. “Only if I get a sample of you first. Deal?”

A faint flush of color touched the tops of his cheekbones. He held your gaze for a second, breathing harder than he usually let himself.

“Open your mouth.”

You did.

He spat into it.

The warm, wet shock of it made your pussy clench again, so hard it almost hurt. You swallowed on instinct, heat flooding your face and spreading lower, and the sound that left you was close to a whimper. Your thighs trembled. You could feel how soaked you already were, the fabric of your underwear clinging uncomfortably.

“Now, for my part of the deal...”

His hands moved beneath your shirt again and you lifted your arms so he could pull it off and toss it aside. You reached for him too, shoving his shirt up his torso and over his head. His chest felt warm under your palms, the faint scent of his skin stronger now that there was nothing between you. You dragged your nails lightly down his abs and felt the muscles jump.

He reached for the button of your jeans. You reached for his at the same time. The sound of zippers and fabric was loud in the quiet room. You both stepped out of your pants in a clumsy tangle of limbs, kicking them aside without looking where they landed. Then it was just underwear between you—his black and stretched tight over the thick outline of his hard cock, yours already dark with how wet you’d gotten.

When you reached for the waistband he caught your wrist firm enough to stop you.

His eyes had dropped to your skin.

The marks were still there. Bruises from Caleb’s mouth layered over the older ones from Rafayel and Xavier. Sylus didn’t ask. His fingertips traced each one in turn, mapping them like he was reading a language only he understood.

“Caleb” he said quietly, not in question. He followed the trail of bruises down until he was on his knees in front of you, eye level with the last of them.

Your breath caught.

He hooked his fingers in the sides of your underwear and dragged them down your legs. You had to lock your knees to stay upright while Sylus stared. Strings of arousal clung to the inside of the fabric and stretched between your thighs. He watched them with something close to awe.

“They got you ready for me,” he sounded almost pleased“I’ll have to thank them later. Especially Caleb. He was thorough.”

Of course he knew. You didn’t know how—whether someone had talked or whether he’d simply put the pieces together like he always did—but Sylus Qin always knew.

He looked up at you from the floor. The question was silent but unmistakable. His hands rested on your hips, thumbs stroking small circles against your skin.

You nodded once.

He leaned in.

His nose brushed your clit first, a firm pressure that made your hips jump and a soft moan leave your throat. Then his tongue parted you slowly, collecting your arousal, and sealed over the swollen bud with an open mouthed kiss that made your vision blur.

He licked from your entrance up to your clit and stayed there, circling and changing the pressure until your hips started moving on their own. You buried both hands in his hair and when he hooked your leg over his shoulder you used it—tightened your thigh to pull him in closer at the same time your hips rolled up against his mouth. The shift let him get deeper. His name escaped your lips and he answered by sealing his lips around your clit and sucking.

The suction was filthy and loud. He pulled the swollen bud into his mouth and worked it with his tongue, circling, flicking, pressing flat against it. Spit and your own wetness mixed and ran down his chin and every time he pulled off to breathe, a thin string of slick connected his mouth to your clit. He always licked it away.

“Sy—” your voice came out shaky. “Fuck, your mouth—”

“Yeah?” he licked your clit again “Do you like it? Like me eating this pretty pussy?” he pushed his tongue just inside your entrance and fucked you with it in little thrusts then flattened it and dragged it hard over the sensitive bundle of nerves “Tastes like you need it. Dripping all over my tongue.”

Two thick fingers pressed against your entrance but he didn’t shove them in. He held them there, letting you feel the stretch of the tips while his mouth kept working. When he finally pushed forward it was slow, the burn of it dragging a sharp breath out of you. He curled them almost immediately and found the spot Zayne talked about. Every time he curled them you felt the stretch more. Every time his tongue flicked your clit your thighs shook.

“Shit—please don’t stop,” you begged, fingers tightening in his hair. “Feels so good—your tongue feels sooo good—”

Your hips rolled harder against his face. He took it, letting you use him while his fingers kept moving. He was open mouthed now, licking and sucking and breathing hard against you, chin shiny, lips shiny, the whole lower half of his face coated in you.

He scissored his fingers gently, stretching you further, and groaned when more slick spilled out around them. “Messy girl"

Your stomach tightened and you came hard. Your pussy clamped down around his fingers so tight he had to work to keep moving them.

“Fuck—yes—” you choked out, still shaking.“Sylus—”

He licked you through it, gentler, tongue flat and patient “Good girl,” his lips brushed your clit with every word “Ride it out. Perfect. Fucking perfect.”

Only when your grip on his hair finally loosened and your leg slackened over his shoulder did he ease back.

Zayne’s voice cut through his head clear as day.

"Patience is key. The tissue needs time. If you force depth before she’s fully relaxed you’ll cause microtears and you’ll have to stop. Use your fingers. Stretch her properly. Keep the external stimulation consistent so she doesn’t tighten out of instinct. When you push in, go slow, short strokes, let her body pull you deeper on its own. Do not rush it".

Sylus exhaled hard through his nose. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then stood. His hands slid under your arms and lifted you like you weighed nothing. You made a startled sound and grabbed his shoulders as he carried you the few steps to his bed and laid you down on the cool sheets.

He followed you down. His mouth found your breast immediately—hot and open, tongue dragging over the nipple before he sucked hard enough to make your back arch. He switched sides, licking, biting lightly, blowing cool air across the wet peaks until they ached. His hand slid between your thighs, fingers stroking through the mess he’d made of you, keeping you open and sensitive while he talked against your skin.

“I’ve thought about this,” his mouth brushed the curve of your breast. “How tight you’d be. Whether you’d even be able to take me.” long fingers traced the soft skin of your inner thigh, then higher, spreading your legs apart just to look. “Wondered if the space between your legs was enough to handle me.”

You let out an incredulous laugh.“You were sizing me up?"

His hand left your thigh and he held it up in front of your face, thumb and pinky stretched as far apart as they would go, and then laid that same span against your body, starting at the top of your pelvis and stretching up, up, up, almost to your belly button.

You stared.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“That is not real. You’re measuring wrong.”

“I’m measuring exactly right.” His voice stayed calm, but his eyes were dark. “That’s roughly the length. Thickness is a separate problem.”

You made a strangled sound and tried to scoot back up the bed. He caught your ankle without even looking and dragged you right back down to settle between your thighs. His mouth found yours, swallowing whatever protest you were about to make, while his hand slid back between your legs and stroked through the wetness.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispered against your lips, the words curved with amusement. “Not until we find out if I was right.”

You reached for the waistband of his underwear. The fabric clung to him, already damp at the tip where a wet circle had spread from how much he’d been leaking. You hooked your fingers under the elastic and dragged it down. His cock sprang free and for a second you could only stare.

It was thick. Long enough that your stomach flipped. The fat head was already shiny with pre, a slow bead gathering at the slit. Veins stood out along the shaft. It looked heavy in the best way, the kind of size that made the rumors feel suddenly very real. You wrapped your fingers around it on instinct and your fingers didn’t quite meet. It pulsed against your palm and another bead of precum welled up and spilled over your thumb.

“I want to return the favor”

Sylus caught your wrist.“You’re not ready for that,” he teased“Not yet. That's a lesson for another day.” he guided your hand away and settled back between your thighs, his cock resting against your pussy. “Right now I need something else.”

He dragged the fat tip through your slit, coating himself in you. The heat against your clit made your hips twitch. He did it again —teasing slides up and down—then started tapping the head against your clit and he watched your face the whole time.

“Sensitive?” he started rubbing the tip in circles over your clit until your breath hitched and more arousal spilled out of you and he used it to slide lower, notching the blunt head against your entrance without pushing in. The pressure alone made your stomach clench. He stayed like that for a few seconds, just the wide stretch of the tip resting against you, letting you feel exactly how much he was going to force you open.

“Sylus—”

“I know.” he rocked the head against you, pressing and releasing "That’s only the tip and you’re already shaking.”

Over and over again he kept teasing. Sliding up to grind against your clit, then back down until you were making soft, desperate sounds every time the head caught against you. Your hands fisted in the sheets. Your hips kept chasing him. He wouldn’t give you more than that pressure.

“Spread a little wider for me,” he said finally“Let me in, sweetie.”

Your thighs fell open further and he pushed in.

The stretch burned—sharp and perfect—and a broken sound tore out of you. It was everything the rumors had promised and more. The pressure, the way your body had to yield around him just to take the head. Your nails dug into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. He held there, only the head inside, letting you feel every pulse of him while your pussy fluttered and tried to adjust.

“You feel incredible,” he sank in another inch, slowly, and his thumb found your clit, rubbing steady circles counterclockwise while he worked himself deeper. “Fuck. You’re so fucking tight.” Another inch. The stretch intensified. “You’re going to come like this and then I’m going to fuck you.”

You tried to roll your hips and take more of him but he held you still with a hand firm on your hip and pulled back until only the head remained inside. Then he thrusted in again to the same depth—close to halfway— thumb still working your clit. The fullness was already overwhelming. Combined with the steady pressure on your clit it pushed you right to the edge.

“Please, Sy—deeper—”

“Not yet.” he rocked the same few inches in and out, stretching you around the thickest part of the head and the first half of his cock."Greedy little cunt.” his voice dropped.“You have to come on my cock just like this. Give it to me.”

You came with a sharp cry of his name and the look on his face was priceless. His cheeks were flushed dark, almost feverish. His mouth had fallen open. He was breathing hard through it, eyes watching you squeeze around him like the sight alone might undo him.

“That’s it,” he rasped. "Just like that.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct and when the aftershocks started to fade you felt him push deeper, the slick of your orgasm easing the way. The burn returned, sharper now, as more of his cock forced you open.

“Does it hurt?”

You wanted to say yes. It did hurt, but it hurt so damn good that the word wouldn’t come out right.

“No.”

“Good.” He unwrapped your legs from around him and pushed your thighs open, folding you so he could watch every inch disappear. “I need you open. Just like this.”

More than halfway. The stretch turned intense enough that your body tried to escape it—your hips shifting back on instinct. He noticed immediately. His hands tightened on your thighs and he pulled you down onto him, burying another thick inch inside you.

"Holy mother of fucks—"

“Don’t run now, it’s too late to chicken out, kitten.”

You sucked in a deep breath, forced your body to relax as much as it could, and pushed down to meet him. The last of him slid inside. You both moaned—his broken and loud, a sound that would live in the back of your mind forever. For the first time since you’d met him, Sylus Qin looked speechless. He stared down at where the two of you were joined like he couldn’t believe it was real. His hips were flush against yours. There was nowhere left to go.

“For fucks sake, Sy” you whispered, voice shaking. “Just fuck me already"

At first it was slow. He pulled back in a careful drag that let you feel every vein and ridge, then sank back in just as slowly, giving your body time to adjust. His eyes stayed locked on your face, watching every flicker of pain and pleasure. When your breathing evened out and your hips started meeting his, he gave you more—harder strokes that still kept that deep rhythm.

“I knew it,” his forehead dropped to yours for a second.“Knew this pussy would be the only one that could take me.” he snapped his hips a little harder and watched your mouth fall open. “Just you. This tight little cunt was built for my dick.”

He fucked you like that until the burn faded, until every thrust punched soft sounds from your throat and when he was sure you could take it, he stopped holding back.

His hands pushed your thighs higher and he looked down again.

His cock was visibly moving low in your stomach with every thrust— a subtle bulge that rose and fell as he sank in to the hilt and moved back out. His eyes locked on it and the last of his control cracked as he watched himself move inside you from the outside.

He pressed his palm over the bulge, feeling the shape of his own cock under your skin.

"Can you feel how deep I am? he moved his hips forward, feeling the bulge push up against his hand "That’s all of me and you’re still squeezing me like you want more.”

Your orgasm built slower than the first two. Heavier. He felt it before you said anything, the way you started squeezing around him made his rhythm stutter and a sound left his chest that he clearly hadn't planned on making.

"Already?" His forehead dropped to yours again and a breathless chuckle left him "You're going to be the death of me"

"Sy, please—"

You felt him pulse inside you and his eyes found yours. "I want to cum inside of you. Can I?"

He was actually asking.

"Yes. Inside — yes —"

He started moving again and this time it was different, the slap of skin filling the room, his hands on your thighs tight enough that you'd find the marks tomorrow.

“Gonna fill you up— fuck—every drop. Keep it. Walk around tomorrow still dripping with me.”

He came with a sound that vibrated against your mouth. His whole body shuddered but he kept rocking through it, forcing every spurt deeper, a hand back to pressing over the place where he was emptying himself inside you, until the overflow started leaking out around his cock and down your ass.

Then he slowly pulled out.

The rush of cum that followed was a lot. Thick and white, it spilled out of you in a heavy gush, sliding down onto his sheets. Sylus watched his cum leak out of the pussy that had just taken him completely for the first time.

He reached down, gathered the mess on his fingers, and pushed it back inside you without a word. Two fingers stuffing it back into you while you twitched and whimpered from the oversensitivity. He did it again—scooping up what had escaped and forcing it back in—until he was satisfied that most of it was where he wanted it.

“There,” he murmured to himself, watching his fingers disappear inside you. “Keep it in”

He collapsed onto his side next to you, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest still rising and falling hard. The flush hadn’t left his cheeks. His cock lay heavy and wet against his stomach, still twitching occasionally.

You stared at the ceiling, body aching, the slow leak of him between your thighs impossible to ignore. After a long minute you let out a slightly unhinged laugh.

“So…” you said, turning your head to look at him. “Should I tell those girls I broke the record? Or do you want to keep your legendary status intact?”

Sylus moved his arm just enough to crack one eye open at you. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Let them know if you want,” his voice was still rough "And then tell them you’re the only one who gets to do it again.”

Like that time on the second floor bathroom in the business building. You were washing your hands. Two girls were by the mirrors doing whatever it was that required standing there for that long, they weren't even trying to keep his name a secret.

"I'm telling you," one of them said, pressing her lips together to even out her gloss"nobody warns you"

"That bad?"

"It wasn't bad. At all. Just —a lot."

You rinsed your hands faster.

"Oh my god, the head alone was—" she continued, and you turned the tap off and left before she finished that sentence because you had places to be and a GPA to protect.

A week later you were at the library looking for a journal article when a nursing major two rows over starts telling her friend about preparation. Actual preparation.

“I still can’t get over how thick he is. I thought the toys I bought prepared me for it but I only took half before I had to tap out. It felt like he was pushing into places that weren’t meant to stretch that far. I had to make him cum him with my hands because I could not take another inch without tearing up.”

You relocated to the other end of the library after that.

You tried not to pay attention because college gossip inflated everything. Length, skill, stamina—all of it grew in the retelling. Still, you found yourself thinking about it at odd hours. The thoughts arrived uninvited, usually when you were already half aroused from something else, and they left you shifting in your seat with heat pooling low in your stomach.

The stories piled up. Someone on the track team swore the stretch left her walking funny for three days, ten out of ten, would probably do it again once she'd recovered enough to consider it. A girl from the art building said the pressure against her cervix made her cum once just from the attempt but she couldn’t get him in deeper. Another version floated around after a house party, that he was so particular about fit that half the time he didn’t even bother getting fully hard if he could tell a girl wouldn’t be able to handle him.

Different girls, different nights, not a single overlapping social circle, and everyone kept arriving at the same point, nobody had managed to take the whole thing. The record, as far as campus was aware, remained open.

Last week hadn’t helped. Three different sets of hands, three different mouths, three different ways of stretching you open until you forgot what day it was. Your body still carried the memory in the form of residual soreness and a new awareness of empty space. The idea of something larger should have made you want to recover in private. Instead it made the rumors louder.

Tuesday morning found you at your usual table in the café near the library, textbook open, highlighter ready, determination firmly in place. You needed to catch up. The last seven days had been a blur of skipped study sessions and late night recoveries. Coffee steamed by your elbow while the café hummed with the usual mid morning noise, laptops, quiet conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine.

Two girls settled into the booth behind you. Their voices carried just enough to cut through the background.

"Zero," one of them says, settling in. "Completely soft the entire time. I tried everything. Hand, mouth, that thing with the hips. Nothing."

"And this was on Saturday? At Simone's?"

"Yeah. I thought maybe he'd had too much to drink but he really hadn't. He just wasn't interested. Or maybe its true that he doesn't bother unless he knows you can handle it."

A soft laugh, edged with something competitive. “Someone’s going to have to commit. Whoever makes him cum inside and fits the whole thing in gets bragging rights until graduation. First girl to ever get Sylus Qin to finish the proper way.”

"I'd spend a solid month preparing if I had a real shot."

Your highlighter slipped. The tip left a bright yellow streak across the page. Your thighs were pressed together under the table. The mental pictures arrived fully formed, the slow push, the moment of resistance, the deep fullness when the last of him finally disappeared. The sounds he might make when he came inside with no intention of pulling away.

You stared at the open textbook and saw nothing. Three guys in one week and your body still responded to speculation like it hadn’t been used at all. You shifted in the chair and tried to force your attention back to the page but the words refused to stick.

Behind you the girls kept going. More details about weight and girth. One of them mentioned buying a new set of toys. The other talked about the way he’d held her hips when she tried to sink lower, with a quiet warning in his voice when she pushed past the point of comfort. They laughed about the pure ego of being the girl who finally changed the record.

The café noise went somewhere distant. What remained was a chair scraping the floor and the ongoing conversation behind you that had your pulse doing something embarrassing for a Tuesday morning.

Then one of them cut off mid sentence.

The other one made a small sound.

You turned your head in time to see them moving toward the exit like they had just realized they'd been saying all of that stuff at full volume in a public space. The door swung hard behind them. They were gone.

You turned your head again, looking. Sylus sat in the booth directly across from you, coffee untouched, one arm along the back of the seat, eyes already fixed on you.

One second he was watching you and the next he was standing, coffee still on his table.

He stopped beside your booth. Close enough that you had to tip your head back to meet his eyes.

“Interesting conversation, don't you think?”

Your stomach dropped. “I wasn’t listening.”

“Hmm.” He glanced at the empty booth behind you, then back at your face. “Well, that’s not actually what I came over here for.”

“Then what?”

“I haven’t seen you in over a week.” he said it simply “You’ve been dodging the group. Skipping our usual spots. I'm starting to think we're contagious.”

“I’ve just been busy—”

“Studying.” His gaze flicked to your textbook, highlighter lying across the page with the bright yellow streak. "And looking like you haven’t slept properly in days.”

You hated how easily he cut through the bullshit. You hated even more that your pulse had started hammering the second he walked over.

“I have a lot going on right now,” you said.“Deadlines and normal student things.”

“Normal student things?” He rested one hand on the back of the empty booth in front of you “Is that what we’re calling it now? Because to me it looks like you’ve been running. And you’re not very good at it.”

You grabbed the highlighter and shoved it into your bag harder than necessary. “I’m not running.”

“No?” he tilted his head slightly. “Then explain to me why you left Simone's party through the back door on Saturday the second you saw Caleb walk in."

Your face burned “Maybe I just needed space.”

“From people you’ve known for two years? After one night that none of us have pretended it didn’t happen."

“I am fine, Sylus”

“You’re sitting in a café looking like you’re ready to bolt the second I say the wrong thing.” he shifted his weight, still not blocking you, but not making it easy to leave either. “That’s not fine, sweetie”

You stared at the table. The coffee ring left by your cup. A crumpled napkin. Anything except his face.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked "It's weird now, ok. I don't know how to look at any of you without— it's just weird. Are you happy?"

"No."

You let out a short, frustrated breath.“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable.” there was a faint edge of amusement in his voice.“You disappear for days, show up at your usual table like nothing’s different. I’ve been patient. We all have. But patience has a limit, and you’re testing it.”

"Is this the part where you tell me to get over it?”

“No.This is the part where I tell you that hiding isn’t working. And that I’d rather you stop pretending it is."

You stood up. Grabbed the rest of your things and said “I need to go.”

Sylus didn’t move out of the way immediately. He watched you sling your bag over your shoulder, his expression unreadable.

“Zayne made me take notes for the lecture you skipped on Thursday, said you’d need them. They’re at my place. You can grab them now, or you can keep avoiding everyone and hope the midterm material magically appears in your inbox.”

You hesitated.

It was the kind of thing Zayne would actually do.

"That's convenient"

Sylus waited, patient as ever, like he already knew which way you were going to tip.

You adjusted the strap of your bag and exhaled through your nose. “Fine. But I'm just picking up the notes and leaving."

"Understood" he said, already turning toward the door.

--------------------

The notes hit his desk with a soft slap. You didn’t even remember deciding to throw them. One second you were turning toward the door with the half hearted intention of leaving, the next your bag was on the floor and your hands were fisting the front of Sylus’ shirt and your mouth was on his.

He made a low sound against your lips —surprise, maybe, or something darker— and then he was kissing you back. All heat and pressure and the faint taste of coffee still lingering on your tongue. His hands found your waist and hauled you in until there was no space left between you.

He smelled so good it made your head spin. Clean skin, expensive cologne and warmth, a scent that clung to the inside of your lungs. Or maybe the dizziness was just the lack of air. You kept kissing him anyway, lips parting, tongues sliding, a messy, open mouthed hunger that made your knees threaten to give out. Every time you tried to pull back for a breath he chased you, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, dragging it slowly before claiming your mouth again. His hands slid up your back under your shirt, palms hot against bare skin, fingers spreading wide like he needed to touch as much of you as possible.

You made a soft sound into his mouth. He answered it with a deeper kiss, tilting your head exactly where he wanted it, tongue sweeping against yours in a slow rhythm that had your hips rolling forward without permission.

“Your mouth,” he murmured against your lips “is so sweet”

He nipped along your jaw, sharp enough to sting, then soothed it with his tongue. The scrape of his teeth made you shiver. Two fingers tapped once against your lower lip—demanding, the exact same way he had that night in Zayne’s dorm. You opened for him without thinking and his fingers slid over your tongue and you closed your lips around them, sucking hard, hollowing your cheeks the way you knew he was watching for.

His eyes dropped to your mouth, tracking the way your tongue curled around his knuckles, the wet sound of it, the way your lips stretched around the width of just two fingers. A low groan rolled out of his chest and he pushed his fingers a little deeper, enough to feel the soft give of your throat, then slowly pulled them free. A thin string of spit connected his fingertips to your bottom lip for a second before it broke and dripped down your chin.

He brought those same fingers to his own mouth and sucked them clean, eyes never leaving yours. The sight of it—his tongue dragging over the wetness you’d left—made your pussy clench hard.

“Just like I remembered,” his voice was sin“Sweet and filthy.” He leaned back in and kissed you again, chasing the taste of him on your tongue. “I’m going to need a different sample of you this time.”

You managed a breathless laugh against his mouth. “Only if I get a sample of you first. Deal?”

A faint flush of color touched the tops of his cheekbones. He held your gaze for a second, breathing harder than he usually let himself.

“Open your mouth.”

You did.

He spat into it.

The warm, wet shock of it made your pussy clench again, so hard it almost hurt. You swallowed on instinct, heat flooding your face and spreading lower, and the sound that left you was close to a whimper. Your thighs trembled. You could feel how soaked you already were, the fabric of your underwear clinging uncomfortably.

“Now, for my part of the deal...”

His hands moved beneath your shirt again and you lifted your arms so he could pull it off and toss it aside. You reached for him too, shoving his shirt up his torso and over his head. His chest felt warm under your palms, the faint scent of his skin stronger now that there was nothing between you. You dragged your nails lightly down his abs and felt the muscles jump.

He reached for the button of your jeans. You reached for his at the same time. The sound of zippers and fabric was loud in the quiet room. You both stepped out of your pants in a clumsy tangle of limbs, kicking them aside without looking where they landed. Then it was just underwear between you—his black and stretched tight over the thick outline of his hard cock, yours already dark with how wet you’d gotten.

When you reached for the waistband he caught your wrist firm enough to stop you.

His eyes had dropped to your skin.

The marks were still there. Bruises from Caleb’s mouth layered over the older ones from Rafayel and Xavier. Sylus didn’t ask. His fingertips traced each one in turn, mapping them like he was reading a language only he understood.

“Caleb” he said quietly, not in question. He followed the trail of bruises down until he was on his knees in front of you, eye level with the last of them.

Your breath caught.

He hooked his fingers in the sides of your underwear and dragged them down your legs. You had to lock your knees to stay upright while Sylus stared. Strings of arousal clung to the inside of the fabric and stretched between your thighs. He watched them with something close to awe.

“They got you ready for me,” he sounded almost pleased“I’ll have to thank them later. Especially Caleb. He was thorough.”

Of course he knew. You didn’t know how—whether someone had talked or whether he’d simply put the pieces together like he always did—but Sylus Qin always knew.

He looked up at you from the floor. The question was silent but unmistakable. His hands rested on your hips, thumbs stroking small circles against your skin.

You nodded once.

He leaned in.

His nose brushed your clit first, a firm pressure that made your hips jump and a soft moan leave your throat. Then his tongue parted you slowly, collecting your arousal, and sealed over the swollen bud with an open mouthed kiss that made your vision blur.

He licked from your entrance up to your clit and stayed there, circling and changing the pressure until your hips started moving on their own. You buried both hands in his hair and when he hooked your leg over his shoulder you used it—tightened your thigh to pull him in closer at the same time your hips rolled up against his mouth. The shift let him get deeper. His name escaped your lips and he answered by sealing his lips around your clit and sucking.

The suction was filthy and loud. He pulled the swollen bud into his mouth and worked it with his tongue, circling, flicking, pressing flat against it. Spit and your own wetness mixed and ran down his chin and every time he pulled off to breathe, a thin string of slick connected his mouth to your clit. He always licked it away.

“Sy—” your voice came out shaky. “Fuck, your mouth—”

“Yeah?” he licked your clit again “Do you like it? Like me eating this pretty pussy?” he pushed his tongue just inside your entrance and fucked you with it in little thrusts then flattened it and dragged it hard over the sensitive bundle of nerves “Tastes like you need it. Dripping all over my tongue.”

Two thick fingers pressed against your entrance but he didn’t shove them in. He held them there, letting you feel the stretch of the tips while his mouth kept working. When he finally pushed forward it was slow, the burn of it dragging a sharp breath out of you. He curled them almost immediately and found the spot Zayne talked about. Every time he curled them you felt the stretch more. Every time his tongue flicked your clit your thighs shook.

“Shit—please don’t stop,” you begged, fingers tightening in his hair. “Feels so good—your tongue feels sooo good—”

Your hips rolled harder against his face. He took it, letting you use him while his fingers kept moving. He was open mouthed now, licking and sucking and breathing hard against you, chin shiny, lips shiny, the whole lower half of his face coated in you.

He scissored his fingers gently, stretching you further, and groaned when more slick spilled out around them. “Messy girl"

Your stomach tightened and you came hard. Your pussy clamped down around his fingers so tight he had to work to keep moving them.

“Fuck—yes—” you choked out, still shaking.“Sylus—”

He licked you through it, gentler, tongue flat and patient “Good girl,” his lips brushed your clit with every word “Ride it out. Perfect. Fucking perfect.”

Only when your grip on his hair finally loosened and your leg slackened over his shoulder did he ease back.

Zayne’s voice cut through his head clear as day.

"Patience is key. The tissue needs time. If you force depth before she’s fully relaxed you’ll cause microtears and you’ll have to stop. Use your fingers. Stretch her properly. Keep the external stimulation consistent so she doesn’t tighten out of instinct. When you push in, go slow, short strokes, let her body pull you deeper on its own. Do not rush it".

Sylus exhaled hard through his nose. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then stood. His hands slid under your arms and lifted you like you weighed nothing. You made a startled sound and grabbed his shoulders as he carried you the few steps to his bed and laid you down on the cool sheets.

He followed you down. His mouth found your breast immediately—hot and open, tongue dragging over the nipple before he sucked hard enough to make your back arch. He switched sides, licking, biting lightly, blowing cool air across the wet peaks until they ached. His hand slid between your thighs, fingers stroking through the mess he’d made of you, keeping you open and sensitive while he talked against your skin.

“I’ve thought about this,” his mouth brushed the curve of your breast. “How tight you’d be. Whether you’d even be able to take me.” long fingers traced the soft skin of your inner thigh, then higher, spreading your legs apart just to look. “Wondered if the space between your legs was enough to handle me.”

You let out an incredulous laugh.“You were sizing me up?"

His hand left your thigh and he held it up in front of your face, thumb and pinky stretched as far apart as they would go, and then laid that same span against your body, starting at the top of your pelvis and stretching up, up, up, almost to your belly button.

You stared.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“That is not real. You’re measuring wrong.”

“I’m measuring exactly right.” His voice stayed calm, but his eyes were dark. “That’s roughly the length. Thickness is a separate problem.”

You made a strangled sound and tried to scoot back up the bed. He caught your ankle without even looking and dragged you right back down to settle between your thighs. His mouth found yours, swallowing whatever protest you were about to make, while his hand slid back between your legs and stroked through the wetness.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispered against your lips, the words curved with amusement. “Not until we find out if I was right.”

You reached for the waistband of his underwear. The fabric clung to him, already damp at the tip where a wet circle had spread from how much he’d been leaking. You hooked your fingers under the elastic and dragged it down. His cock sprang free and for a second you could only stare.

It was thick. Long enough that your stomach flipped. The fat head was already shiny with pre, a slow bead gathering at the slit. Veins stood out along the shaft. It looked heavy in the best way, the kind of size that made the rumors feel suddenly very real. You wrapped your fingers around it on instinct and your fingers didn’t quite meet. It pulsed against your palm and another bead of precum welled up and spilled over your thumb.

“I want to return the favor”

Sylus caught your wrist.“You’re not ready for that,” he teased“Not yet. That's a lesson for another day.” he guided your hand away and settled back between your thighs, his cock resting against your pussy. “Right now I need something else.”

He dragged the fat tip through your slit, coating himself in you. The heat against your clit made your hips twitch. He did it again —teasing slides up and down—then started tapping the head against your clit and he watched your face the whole time.

“Sensitive?” he started rubbing the tip in circles over your clit until your breath hitched and more arousal spilled out of you and he used it to slide lower, notching the blunt head against your entrance without pushing in. The pressure alone made your stomach clench. He stayed like that for a few seconds, just the wide stretch of the tip resting against you, letting you feel exactly how much he was going to force you open.

“Sylus—”

“I know.” he rocked the head against you, pressing and releasing "That’s only the tip and you’re already shaking.”

Over and over again he kept teasing. Sliding up to grind against your clit, then back down until you were making soft, desperate sounds every time the head caught against you. Your hands fisted in the sheets. Your hips kept chasing him. He wouldn’t give you more than that pressure.

“Spread a little wider for me,” he said finally“Let me in, sweetie.”

Your thighs fell open further and he pushed in.

The stretch burned—sharp and perfect—and a broken sound tore out of you. It was everything the rumors had promised and more. The pressure, the way your body had to yield around him just to take the head. Your nails dug into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. He held there, only the head inside, letting you feel every pulse of him while your pussy fluttered and tried to adjust.

“You feel incredible,” he sank in another inch, slowly, and his thumb found your clit, rubbing steady circles counterclockwise while he worked himself deeper. “Fuck. You’re so fucking tight.” Another inch. The stretch intensified. “You’re going to come like this and then I’m going to fuck you.”

You tried to roll your hips and take more of him but he held you still with a hand firm on your hip and pulled back until only the head remained inside. Then he thrusted in again to the same depth—close to halfway— thumb still working your clit. The fullness was already overwhelming. Combined with the steady pressure on your clit it pushed you right to the edge.

“Please, Sy—deeper—”

“Not yet.” he rocked the same few inches in and out, stretching you around the thickest part of the head and the first half of his cock."Greedy little cunt.” his voice dropped.“You have to come on my cock just like this. Give it to me.”

You came with a sharp cry of his name and the look on his face was priceless. His cheeks were flushed dark, almost feverish. His mouth had fallen open. He was breathing hard through it, eyes watching you squeeze around him like the sight alone might undo him.

“That’s it,” he rasped. "Just like that.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct and when the aftershocks started to fade you felt him push deeper, the slick of your orgasm easing the way. The burn returned, sharper now, as more of his cock forced you open.

“Does it hurt?”

You wanted to say yes. It did hurt, but it hurt so damn good that the word wouldn’t come out right.

“No.”

“Good.” He unwrapped your legs from around him and pushed your thighs open, folding you so he could watch every inch disappear. “I need you open. Just like this.”

More than halfway. The stretch turned intense enough that your body tried to escape it—your hips shifting back on instinct. He noticed immediately. His hands tightened on your thighs and he pulled you down onto him, burying another thick inch inside you.

"Holy mother of fucks—"

“Don’t run now, it’s too late to chicken out, kitten.”

You sucked in a deep breath, forced your body to relax as much as it could, and pushed down to meet him. The last of him slid inside. You both moaned—his broken and loud, a sound that would live in the back of your mind forever. For the first time since you’d met him, Sylus Qin looked speechless. He stared down at where the two of you were joined like he couldn’t believe it was real. His hips were flush against yours. There was nowhere left to go.

“For fucks sake, Sy” you whispered, voice shaking. “Just fuck me already"

At first it was slow. He pulled back in a careful drag that let you feel every vein and ridge, then sank back in just as slowly, giving your body time to adjust. His eyes stayed locked on your face, watching every flicker of pain and pleasure. When your breathing evened out and your hips started meeting his, he gave you more—harder strokes that still kept that deep rhythm.

“I knew it,” his forehead dropped to yours for a second.“Knew this pussy would be the only one that could take me.” he snapped his hips a little harder and watched your mouth fall open. “Just you. This tight little cunt was built for my dick.”

He fucked you like that until the burn faded, until every thrust punched soft sounds from your throat and when he was sure you could take it, he stopped holding back.

His hands pushed your thighs higher and he looked down again.

His cock was visibly moving low in your stomach with every thrust— a subtle bulge that rose and fell as he sank in to the hilt and moved back out. His eyes locked on it and the last of his control cracked as he watched himself move inside you from the outside.

He pressed his palm over the bulge, feeling the shape of his own cock under your skin.

"Can you feel how deep I am? he moved his hips forward, feeling the bulge push up against his hand "That’s all of me and you’re still squeezing me like you want more.”

Your orgasm built slower than the first two. Heavier. He felt it before you said anything, the way you started squeezing around him made his rhythm stutter and a sound left his chest that he clearly hadn't planned on making.

"Already?" His forehead dropped to yours again and a breathless chuckle left him "You're going to be the death of me"

"Sy, please—"

You felt him pulse inside you and his eyes found yours. "I want to cum inside of you. Can I?"

He was actually asking.

"Yes. Inside — yes —"

He started moving again and this time it was different, the slap of skin filling the room, his hands on your thighs tight enough that you'd find the marks tomorrow.

“Gonna fill you up— fuck—every drop. Keep it. Walk around tomorrow still dripping with me.”

He came with a sound that vibrated against your mouth. His whole body shuddered but he kept rocking through it, forcing every spurt deeper, a hand back to pressing over the place where he was emptying himself inside you, until the overflow started leaking out around his cock and down your ass.

Then he slowly pulled out.

The rush of cum that followed was a lot. Thick and white, it spilled out of you in a heavy gush, sliding down onto his sheets. Sylus watched his cum leak out of the pussy that had just taken him completely for the first time.

He reached down, gathered the mess on his fingers, and pushed it back inside you without a word. Two fingers stuffing it back into you while you twitched and whimpered from the oversensitivity. He did it again—scooping up what had escaped and forcing it back in—until he was satisfied that most of it was where he wanted it.

“There,” he murmured to himself, watching his fingers disappear inside you. “Keep it in”

He collapsed onto his side next to you, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest still rising and falling hard. The flush hadn’t left his cheeks. His cock lay heavy and wet against his stomach, still twitching occasionally.

You stared at the ceiling, body aching, the slow leak of him between your thighs impossible to ignore. After a long minute you let out a slightly unhinged laugh.

“So…” you said, turning your head to look at him. “Should I tell those girls I broke the record? Or do you want to keep your legendary status intact?”

Sylus moved his arm just enough to crack one eye open at you. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Let them know if you want,” his voice was still rough "And then tell them you’re the only one who gets to do it again.”

Like that time on the second floor bathroom in the business building. You were washing your hands. Two girls were by the mirrors doing whatever it was that required standing there for that long, they weren't even trying to keep his name a secret.

"I'm telling you," one of them said, pressing her lips together to even out her gloss"nobody warns you"

"That bad?"

"It wasn't bad. At all. Just —a lot."

You rinsed your hands faster.

"Oh my god, the head alone was—" she continued, and you turned the tap off and left before she finished that sentence because you had places to be and a GPA to protect.

A week later you were at the library looking for a journal article when a nursing major two rows over starts telling her friend about preparation. Actual preparation.

“I still can’t get over how thick he is. I thought the toys I bought prepared me for it but I only took half before I had to tap out. It felt like he was pushing into places that weren’t meant to stretch that far. I had to make him cum him with my hands because I could not take another inch without tearing up.”

You relocated to the other end of the library after that.

You tried not to pay attention because college gossip inflated everything. Length, skill, stamina—all of it grew in the retelling. Still, you found yourself thinking about it at odd hours. The thoughts arrived uninvited, usually when you were already half aroused from something else, and they left you shifting in your seat with heat pooling low in your stomach.

The stories piled up. Someone on the track team swore the stretch left her walking funny for three days, ten out of ten, would probably do it again once she'd recovered enough to consider it. A girl from the art building said the pressure against her cervix made her cum once just from the attempt but she couldn’t get him in deeper. Another version floated around after a house party, that he was so particular about fit that half the time he didn’t even bother getting fully hard if he could tell a girl wouldn’t be able to handle him.

Different girls, different nights, not a single overlapping social circle, and everyone kept arriving at the same point, nobody had managed to take the whole thing. The record, as far as campus was aware, remained open.

Last week hadn’t helped. Three different sets of hands, three different mouths, three different ways of stretching you open until you forgot what day it was. Your body still carried the memory in the form of residual soreness and a new awareness of empty space. The idea of something larger should have made you want to recover in private. Instead it made the rumors louder.

Tuesday morning found you at your usual table in the café near the library, textbook open, highlighter ready, determination firmly in place. You needed to catch up. The last seven days had been a blur of skipped study sessions and late night recoveries. Coffee steamed by your elbow while the café hummed with the usual mid morning noise, laptops, quiet conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine.

Two girls settled into the booth behind you. Their voices carried just enough to cut through the background.

"Zero," one of them says, settling in. "Completely soft the entire time. I tried everything. Hand, mouth, that thing with the hips. Nothing."

"And this was on Saturday? At Simone's?"

"Yeah. I thought maybe he'd had too much to drink but he really hadn't. He just wasn't interested. Or maybe its true that he doesn't bother unless he knows you can handle it."

A soft laugh, edged with something competitive. “Someone’s going to have to commit. Whoever makes him cum inside and fits the whole thing in gets bragging rights until graduation. First girl to ever get Sylus Qin to finish the proper way.”

"I'd spend a solid month preparing if I had a real shot."

Your highlighter slipped. The tip left a bright yellow streak across the page. Your thighs were pressed together under the table. The mental pictures arrived fully formed, the slow push, the moment of resistance, the deep fullness when the last of him finally disappeared. The sounds he might make when he came inside with no intention of pulling away.

You stared at the open textbook and saw nothing. Three guys in one week and your body still responded to speculation like it hadn’t been used at all. You shifted in the chair and tried to force your attention back to the page but the words refused to stick.

Behind you the girls kept going. More details about weight and girth. One of them mentioned buying a new set of toys. The other talked about the way he’d held her hips when she tried to sink lower, with a quiet warning in his voice when she pushed past the point of comfort. They laughed about the pure ego of being the girl who finally changed the record.

The café noise went somewhere distant. What remained was a chair scraping the floor and the ongoing conversation behind you that had your pulse doing something embarrassing for a Tuesday morning.

Then one of them cut off mid sentence.

The other one made a small sound.

You turned your head in time to see them moving toward the exit like they had just realized they'd been saying all of that stuff at full volume in a public space. The door swung hard behind them. They were gone.

You turned your head again, looking. Sylus sat in the booth directly across from you, coffee untouched, one arm along the back of the seat, eyes already fixed on you.

One second he was watching you and the next he was standing, coffee still on his table.

He stopped beside your booth. Close enough that you had to tip your head back to meet his eyes.

“Interesting conversation, don't you think?”

Your stomach dropped. “I wasn’t listening.”

“Hmm.” He glanced at the empty booth behind you, then back at your face. “Well, that’s not actually what I came over here for.”

“Then what?”

“I haven’t seen you in over a week.” he said it simply “You’ve been dodging the group. Skipping our usual spots. I'm starting to think we're contagious.”

“I’ve just been busy—”

“Studying.” His gaze flicked to your textbook, highlighter lying across the page with the bright yellow streak. "And looking like you haven’t slept properly in days.”

You hated how easily he cut through the bullshit. You hated even more that your pulse had started hammering the second he walked over.

“I have a lot going on right now,” you said.“Deadlines and normal student things.”

“Normal student things?” He rested one hand on the back of the empty booth in front of you “Is that what we’re calling it now? Because to me it looks like you’ve been running. And you’re not very good at it.”

You grabbed the highlighter and shoved it into your bag harder than necessary. “I’m not running.”

“No?” he tilted his head slightly. “Then explain to me why you left Simone's party through the back door on Saturday the second you saw Caleb walk in."

Your face burned “Maybe I just needed space.”

“From people you’ve known for two years? After one night that none of us have pretended it didn’t happen."

“I am fine, Sylus”

“You’re sitting in a café looking like you’re ready to bolt the second I say the wrong thing.” he shifted his weight, still not blocking you, but not making it easy to leave either. “That’s not fine, sweetie”

You stared at the table. The coffee ring left by your cup. A crumpled napkin. Anything except his face.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked "It's weird now, ok. I don't know how to look at any of you without— it's just weird. Are you happy?"

"No."

You let out a short, frustrated breath.“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable.” there was a faint edge of amusement in his voice.“You disappear for days, show up at your usual table like nothing’s different. I’ve been patient. We all have. But patience has a limit, and you’re testing it.”

"Is this the part where you tell me to get over it?”

“No.This is the part where I tell you that hiding isn’t working. And that I’d rather you stop pretending it is."

You stood up. Grabbed the rest of your things and said “I need to go.”

Sylus didn’t move out of the way immediately. He watched you sling your bag over your shoulder, his expression unreadable.

“Zayne made me take notes for the lecture you skipped on Thursday, said you’d need them. They’re at my place. You can grab them now, or you can keep avoiding everyone and hope the midterm material magically appears in your inbox.”

You hesitated.

It was the kind of thing Zayne would actually do.

"That's convenient"

Sylus waited, patient as ever, like he already knew which way you were going to tip.

You adjusted the strap of your bag and exhaled through your nose. “Fine. But I'm just picking up the notes and leaving."

"Understood" he said, already turning toward the door.

--------------------

The notes hit his desk with a soft slap. You didn’t even remember deciding to throw them. One second you were turning toward the door with the half hearted intention of leaving, the next your bag was on the floor and your hands were fisting the front of Sylus’ shirt and your mouth was on his.

He made a low sound against your lips —surprise, maybe, or something darker— and then he was kissing you back. All heat and pressure and the faint taste of coffee still lingering on your tongue. His hands found your waist and hauled you in until there was no space left between you.

He smelled so good it made your head spin. Clean skin, expensive cologne and warmth, a scent that clung to the inside of your lungs. Or maybe the dizziness was just the lack of air. You kept kissing him anyway, lips parting, tongues sliding, a messy, open mouthed hunger that made your knees threaten to give out. Every time you tried to pull back for a breath he chased you, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, dragging it slowly before claiming your mouth again. His hands slid up your back under your shirt, palms hot against bare skin, fingers spreading wide like he needed to touch as much of you as possible.

You made a soft sound into his mouth. He answered it with a deeper kiss, tilting your head exactly where he wanted it, tongue sweeping against yours in a slow rhythm that had your hips rolling forward without permission.

“Your mouth,” he murmured against your lips “is so sweet”

He nipped along your jaw, sharp enough to sting, then soothed it with his tongue. The scrape of his teeth made you shiver. Two fingers tapped once against your lower lip—demanding, the exact same way he had that night in Zayne’s dorm. You opened for him without thinking and his fingers slid over your tongue and you closed your lips around them, sucking hard, hollowing your cheeks the way you knew he was watching for.

His eyes dropped to your mouth, tracking the way your tongue curled around his knuckles, the wet sound of it, the way your lips stretched around the width of just two fingers. A low groan rolled out of his chest and he pushed his fingers a little deeper, enough to feel the soft give of your throat, then slowly pulled them free. A thin string of spit connected his fingertips to your bottom lip for a second before it broke and dripped down your chin.

He brought those same fingers to his own mouth and sucked them clean, eyes never leaving yours. The sight of it—his tongue dragging over the wetness you’d left—made your pussy clench hard.

“Just like I remembered,” his voice was sin“Sweet and filthy.” He leaned back in and kissed you again, chasing the taste of him on your tongue. “I’m going to need a different sample of you this time.”

You managed a breathless laugh against his mouth. “Only if I get a sample of you first. Deal?”

A faint flush of color touched the tops of his cheekbones. He held your gaze for a second, breathing harder than he usually let himself.

“Open your mouth.”

You did.

He spat into it.

The warm, wet shock of it made your pussy clench again, so hard it almost hurt. You swallowed on instinct, heat flooding your face and spreading lower, and the sound that left you was close to a whimper. Your thighs trembled. You could feel how soaked you already were, the fabric of your underwear clinging uncomfortably.

“Now, for my part of the deal...”

His hands moved beneath your shirt again and you lifted your arms so he could pull it off and toss it aside. You reached for him too, shoving his shirt up his torso and over his head. His chest felt warm under your palms, the faint scent of his skin stronger now that there was nothing between you. You dragged your nails lightly down his abs and felt the muscles jump.

He reached for the button of your jeans. You reached for his at the same time. The sound of zippers and fabric was loud in the quiet room. You both stepped out of your pants in a clumsy tangle of limbs, kicking them aside without looking where they landed. Then it was just underwear between you—his black and stretched tight over the thick outline of his hard cock, yours already dark with how wet you’d gotten.

When you reached for the waistband he caught your wrist firm enough to stop you.

His eyes had dropped to your skin.

The marks were still there. Bruises from Caleb’s mouth layered over the older ones from Rafayel and Xavier. Sylus didn’t ask. His fingertips traced each one in turn, mapping them like he was reading a language only he understood.

“Caleb” he said quietly, not in question. He followed the trail of bruises down until he was on his knees in front of you, eye level with the last of them.

Your breath caught.

He hooked his fingers in the sides of your underwear and dragged them down your legs. You had to lock your knees to stay upright while Sylus stared. Strings of arousal clung to the inside of the fabric and stretched between your thighs. He watched them with something close to awe.

“They got you ready for me,” he sounded almost pleased“I’ll have to thank them later. Especially Caleb. He was thorough.”

Of course he knew. You didn’t know how—whether someone had talked or whether he’d simply put the pieces together like he always did—but Sylus Qin always knew.

He looked up at you from the floor. The question was silent but unmistakable. His hands rested on your hips, thumbs stroking small circles against your skin.

You nodded once.

He leaned in.

His nose brushed your clit first, a firm pressure that made your hips jump and a soft moan leave your throat. Then his tongue parted you slowly, collecting your arousal, and sealed over the swollen bud with an open mouthed kiss that made your vision blur.

He licked from your entrance up to your clit and stayed there, circling and changing the pressure until your hips started moving on their own. You buried both hands in his hair and when he hooked your leg over his shoulder you used it—tightened your thigh to pull him in closer at the same time your hips rolled up against his mouth. The shift let him get deeper. His name escaped your lips and he answered by sealing his lips around your clit and sucking.

The suction was filthy and loud. He pulled the swollen bud into his mouth and worked it with his tongue, circling, flicking, pressing flat against it. Spit and your own wetness mixed and ran down his chin and every time he pulled off to breathe, a thin string of slick connected his mouth to your clit. He always licked it away.

“Sy—” your voice came out shaky. “Fuck, your mouth—”

“Yeah?” he licked your clit again “Do you like it? Like me eating this pretty pussy?” he pushed his tongue just inside your entrance and fucked you with it in little thrusts then flattened it and dragged it hard over the sensitive bundle of nerves “Tastes like you need it. Dripping all over my tongue.”

Two thick fingers pressed against your entrance but he didn’t shove them in. He held them there, letting you feel the stretch of the tips while his mouth kept working. When he finally pushed forward it was slow, the burn of it dragging a sharp breath out of you. He curled them almost immediately and found the spot Zayne talked about. Every time he curled them you felt the stretch more. Every time his tongue flicked your clit your thighs shook.

“Shit—please don’t stop,” you begged, fingers tightening in his hair. “Feels so good—your tongue feels sooo good—”

Your hips rolled harder against his face. He took it, letting you use him while his fingers kept moving. He was open mouthed now, licking and sucking and breathing hard against you, chin shiny, lips shiny, the whole lower half of his face coated in you.

He scissored his fingers gently, stretching you further, and groaned when more slick spilled out around them. “Messy girl"

Your stomach tightened and you came hard. Your pussy clamped down around his fingers so tight he had to work to keep moving them.

“Fuck—yes—” you choked out, still shaking.“Sylus—”

He licked you through it, gentler, tongue flat and patient “Good girl,” his lips brushed your clit with every word “Ride it out. Perfect. Fucking perfect.”

Only when your grip on his hair finally loosened and your leg slackened over his shoulder did he ease back.

Zayne’s voice cut through his head clear as day.

"Patience is key. The tissue needs time. If you force depth before she’s fully relaxed you’ll cause microtears and you’ll have to stop. Use your fingers. Stretch her properly. Keep the external stimulation consistent so she doesn’t tighten out of instinct. When you push in, go slow, short strokes, let her body pull you deeper on its own. Do not rush it".

Sylus exhaled hard through his nose. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then stood. His hands slid under your arms and lifted you like you weighed nothing. You made a startled sound and grabbed his shoulders as he carried you the few steps to his bed and laid you down on the cool sheets.

He followed you down. His mouth found your breast immediately—hot and open, tongue dragging over the nipple before he sucked hard enough to make your back arch. He switched sides, licking, biting lightly, blowing cool air across the wet peaks until they ached. His hand slid between your thighs, fingers stroking through the mess he’d made of you, keeping you open and sensitive while he talked against your skin.

“I’ve thought about this,” his mouth brushed the curve of your breast. “How tight you’d be. Whether you’d even be able to take me.” long fingers traced the soft skin of your inner thigh, then higher, spreading your legs apart just to look. “Wondered if the space between your legs was enough to handle me.”

You let out an incredulous laugh.“You were sizing me up?"

His hand left your thigh and he held it up in front of your face, thumb and pinky stretched as far apart as they would go, and then laid that same span against your body, starting at the top of your pelvis and stretching up, up, up, almost to your belly button.

You stared.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“That is not real. You’re measuring wrong.”

“I’m measuring exactly right.” His voice stayed calm, but his eyes were dark. “That’s roughly the length. Thickness is a separate problem.”

You made a strangled sound and tried to scoot back up the bed. He caught your ankle without even looking and dragged you right back down to settle between your thighs. His mouth found yours, swallowing whatever protest you were about to make, while his hand slid back between your legs and stroked through the wetness.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispered against your lips, the words curved with amusement. “Not until we find out if I was right.”

You reached for the waistband of his underwear. The fabric clung to him, already damp at the tip where a wet circle had spread from how much he’d been leaking. You hooked your fingers under the elastic and dragged it down. His cock sprang free and for a second you could only stare.

It was thick. Long enough that your stomach flipped. The fat head was already shiny with pre, a slow bead gathering at the slit. Veins stood out along the shaft. It looked heavy in the best way, the kind of size that made the rumors feel suddenly very real. You wrapped your fingers around it on instinct and your fingers didn’t quite meet. It pulsed against your palm and another bead of precum welled up and spilled over your thumb.

“I want to return the favor”

Sylus caught your wrist.“You’re not ready for that,” he teased“Not yet. That's a lesson for another day.” he guided your hand away and settled back between your thighs, his cock resting against your pussy. “Right now I need something else.”

He dragged the fat tip through your slit, coating himself in you. The heat against your clit made your hips twitch. He did it again —teasing slides up and down—then started tapping the head against your clit and he watched your face the whole time.

“Sensitive?” he started rubbing the tip in circles over your clit until your breath hitched and more arousal spilled out of you and he used it to slide lower, notching the blunt head against your entrance without pushing in. The pressure alone made your stomach clench. He stayed like that for a few seconds, just the wide stretch of the tip resting against you, letting you feel exactly how much he was going to force you open.

“Sylus—”

“I know.” he rocked the head against you, pressing and releasing "That’s only the tip and you’re already shaking.”

Over and over again he kept teasing. Sliding up to grind against your clit, then back down until you were making soft, desperate sounds every time the head caught against you. Your hands fisted in the sheets. Your hips kept chasing him. He wouldn’t give you more than that pressure.

“Spread a little wider for me,” he said finally“Let me in, sweetie.”

Your thighs fell open further and he pushed in.

The stretch burned—sharp and perfect—and a broken sound tore out of you. It was everything the rumors had promised and more. The pressure, the way your body had to yield around him just to take the head. Your nails dug into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. He held there, only the head inside, letting you feel every pulse of him while your pussy fluttered and tried to adjust.

“You feel incredible,” he sank in another inch, slowly, and his thumb found your clit, rubbing steady circles counterclockwise while he worked himself deeper. “Fuck. You’re so fucking tight.” Another inch. The stretch intensified. “You’re going to come like this and then I’m going to fuck you.”

You tried to roll your hips and take more of him but he held you still with a hand firm on your hip and pulled back until only the head remained inside. Then he thrusted in again to the same depth—close to halfway— thumb still working your clit. The fullness was already overwhelming. Combined with the steady pressure on your clit it pushed you right to the edge.

“Please, Sy—deeper—”

“Not yet.” he rocked the same few inches in and out, stretching you around the thickest part of the head and the first half of his cock."Greedy little cunt.” his voice dropped.“You have to come on my cock just like this. Give it to me.”

You came with a sharp cry of his name and the look on his face was priceless. His cheeks were flushed dark, almost feverish. His mouth had fallen open. He was breathing hard through it, eyes watching you squeeze around him like the sight alone might undo him.

“That’s it,” he rasped. "Just like that.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct and when the aftershocks started to fade you felt him push deeper, the slick of your orgasm easing the way. The burn returned, sharper now, as more of his cock forced you open.

“Does it hurt?”

You wanted to say yes. It did hurt, but it hurt so damn good that the word wouldn’t come out right.

“No.”

“Good.” He unwrapped your legs from around him and pushed your thighs open, folding you so he could watch every inch disappear. “I need you open. Just like this.”

More than halfway. The stretch turned intense enough that your body tried to escape it—your hips shifting back on instinct. He noticed immediately. His hands tightened on your thighs and he pulled you down onto him, burying another thick inch inside you.

"Holy mother of fucks—"

“Don’t run now, it’s too late to chicken out, kitten.”

You sucked in a deep breath, forced your body to relax as much as it could, and pushed down to meet him. The last of him slid inside. You both moaned—his broken and loud, a sound that would live in the back of your mind forever. For the first time since you’d met him, Sylus Qin looked speechless. He stared down at where the two of you were joined like he couldn’t believe it was real. His hips were flush against yours. There was nowhere left to go.

“For fucks sake, Sy” you whispered, voice shaking. “Just fuck me already"

At first it was slow. He pulled back in a careful drag that let you feel every vein and ridge, then sank back in just as slowly, giving your body time to adjust. His eyes stayed locked on your face, watching every flicker of pain and pleasure. When your breathing evened out and your hips started meeting his, he gave you more—harder strokes that still kept that deep rhythm.

“I knew it,” his forehead dropped to yours for a second.“Knew this pussy would be the only one that could take me.” he snapped his hips a little harder and watched your mouth fall open. “Just you. This tight little cunt was built for my dick.”

He fucked you like that until the burn faded, until every thrust punched soft sounds from your throat and when he was sure you could take it, he stopped holding back.

His hands pushed your thighs higher and he looked down again.

His cock was visibly moving low in your stomach with every thrust— a subtle bulge that rose and fell as he sank in to the hilt and moved back out. His eyes locked on it and the last of his control cracked as he watched himself move inside you from the outside.

He pressed his palm over the bulge, feeling the shape of his own cock under your skin.

"Can you feel how deep I am? he moved his hips forward, feeling the bulge push up against his hand "That’s all of me and you’re still squeezing me like you want more.”

Your orgasm built slower than the first two. Heavier. He felt it before you said anything, the way you started squeezing around him made his rhythm stutter and a sound left his chest that he clearly hadn't planned on making.

"Already?" His forehead dropped to yours again and a breathless chuckle left him "You're going to be the death of me"

"Sy, please—"

You felt him pulse inside you and his eyes found yours. "I want to cum inside of you. Can I?"

He was actually asking.

"Yes. Inside — yes —"

He started moving again and this time it was different, the slap of skin filling the room, his hands on your thighs tight enough that you'd find the marks tomorrow.

“Gonna fill you up— fuck—every drop. Keep it. Walk around tomorrow still dripping with me.”

He came with a sound that vibrated against your mouth. His whole body shuddered but he kept rocking through it, forcing every spurt deeper, a hand back to pressing over the place where he was emptying himself inside you, until the overflow started leaking out around his cock and down your ass.

Then he slowly pulled out.

The rush of cum that followed was a lot. Thick and white, it spilled out of you in a heavy gush, sliding down onto his sheets. Sylus watched his cum leak out of the pussy that had just taken him completely for the first time.

He reached down, gathered the mess on his fingers, and pushed it back inside you without a word. Two fingers stuffing it back into you while you twitched and whimpered from the oversensitivity. He did it again—scooping up what had escaped and forcing it back in—until he was satisfied that most of it was where he wanted it.

“There,” he murmured to himself, watching his fingers disappear inside you. “Keep it in”

He collapsed onto his side next to you, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest still rising and falling hard. The flush hadn’t left his cheeks. His cock lay heavy and wet against his stomach, still twitching occasionally.

You stared at the ceiling, body aching, the slow leak of him between your thighs impossible to ignore. After a long minute you let out a slightly unhinged laugh.

“So…” you said, turning your head to look at him. “Should I tell those girls I broke the record? Or do you want to keep your legendary status intact?”

Sylus moved his arm just enough to crack one eye open at you. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Let them know if you want,” his voice was still rough "And then tell them you’re the only one who gets to do it again.”

Like that time on the second floor bathroom in the business building. You were washing your hands. Two girls were by the mirrors doing whatever it was that required standing there for that long, they weren't even trying to keep his name a secret.

"I'm telling you," one of them said, pressing her lips together to even out her gloss"nobody warns you"

"That bad?"

"It wasn't bad. At all. Just —a lot."

You rinsed your hands faster.

"Oh my god, the head alone was—" she continued, and you turned the tap off and left before she finished that sentence because you had places to be and a GPA to protect.

A week later you were at the library looking for a journal article when a nursing major two rows over starts telling her friend about preparation. Actual preparation.

“I still can’t get over how thick he is. I thought the toys I bought prepared me for it but I only took half before I had to tap out. It felt like he was pushing into places that weren’t meant to stretch that far. I had to make him cum him with my hands because I could not take another inch without tearing up.”

You relocated to the other end of the library after that.

You tried not to pay attention because college gossip inflated everything. Length, skill, stamina—all of it grew in the retelling. Still, you found yourself thinking about it at odd hours. The thoughts arrived uninvited, usually when you were already half aroused from something else, and they left you shifting in your seat with heat pooling low in your stomach.

The stories piled up. Someone on the track team swore the stretch left her walking funny for three days, ten out of ten, would probably do it again once she'd recovered enough to consider it. A girl from the art building said the pressure against her cervix made her cum once just from the attempt but she couldn’t get him in deeper. Another version floated around after a house party, that he was so particular about fit that half the time he didn’t even bother getting fully hard if he could tell a girl wouldn’t be able to handle him.

Different girls, different nights, not a single overlapping social circle, and everyone kept arriving at the same point, nobody had managed to take the whole thing. The record, as far as campus was aware, remained open.

Last week hadn’t helped. Three different sets of hands, three different mouths, three different ways of stretching you open until you forgot what day it was. Your body still carried the memory in the form of residual soreness and a new awareness of empty space. The idea of something larger should have made you want to recover in private. Instead it made the rumors louder.

Tuesday morning found you at your usual table in the café near the library, textbook open, highlighter ready, determination firmly in place. You needed to catch up. The last seven days had been a blur of skipped study sessions and late night recoveries. Coffee steamed by your elbow while the café hummed with the usual mid morning noise, laptops, quiet conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine.

Two girls settled into the booth behind you. Their voices carried just enough to cut through the background.

"Zero," one of them says, settling in. "Completely soft the entire time. I tried everything. Hand, mouth, that thing with the hips. Nothing."

"And this was on Saturday? At Simone's?"

"Yeah. I thought maybe he'd had too much to drink but he really hadn't. He just wasn't interested. Or maybe its true that he doesn't bother unless he knows you can handle it."

A soft laugh, edged with something competitive. “Someone’s going to have to commit. Whoever makes him cum inside and fits the whole thing in gets bragging rights until graduation. First girl to ever get Sylus Qin to finish the proper way.”

"I'd spend a solid month preparing if I had a real shot."

Your highlighter slipped. The tip left a bright yellow streak across the page. Your thighs were pressed together under the table. The mental pictures arrived fully formed, the slow push, the moment of resistance, the deep fullness when the last of him finally disappeared. The sounds he might make when he came inside with no intention of pulling away.

You stared at the open textbook and saw nothing. Three guys in one week and your body still responded to speculation like it hadn’t been used at all. You shifted in the chair and tried to force your attention back to the page but the words refused to stick.

Behind you the girls kept going. More details about weight and girth. One of them mentioned buying a new set of toys. The other talked about the way he’d held her hips when she tried to sink lower, with a quiet warning in his voice when she pushed past the point of comfort. They laughed about the pure ego of being the girl who finally changed the record.

The café noise went somewhere distant. What remained was a chair scraping the floor and the ongoing conversation behind you that had your pulse doing something embarrassing for a Tuesday morning.

Then one of them cut off mid sentence.

The other one made a small sound.

You turned your head in time to see them moving toward the exit like they had just realized they'd been saying all of that stuff at full volume in a public space. The door swung hard behind them. They were gone.

You turned your head again, looking. Sylus sat in the booth directly across from you, coffee untouched, one arm along the back of the seat, eyes already fixed on you.

One second he was watching you and the next he was standing, coffee still on his table.

He stopped beside your booth. Close enough that you had to tip your head back to meet his eyes.

“Interesting conversation, don't you think?”

Your stomach dropped. “I wasn’t listening.”

“Hmm.” He glanced at the empty booth behind you, then back at your face. “Well, that’s not actually what I came over here for.”

“Then what?”

“I haven’t seen you in over a week.” he said it simply “You’ve been dodging the group. Skipping our usual spots. I'm starting to think we're contagious.”

“I’ve just been busy—”

“Studying.” His gaze flicked to your textbook, highlighter lying across the page with the bright yellow streak. "And looking like you haven’t slept properly in days.”

You hated how easily he cut through the bullshit. You hated even more that your pulse had started hammering the second he walked over.

“I have a lot going on right now,” you said.“Deadlines and normal student things.”

“Normal student things?” He rested one hand on the back of the empty booth in front of you “Is that what we’re calling it now? Because to me it looks like you’ve been running. And you’re not very good at it.”

You grabbed the highlighter and shoved it into your bag harder than necessary. “I’m not running.”

“No?” he tilted his head slightly. “Then explain to me why you left Simone's party through the back door on Saturday the second you saw Caleb walk in."

Your face burned “Maybe I just needed space.”

“From people you’ve known for two years? After one night that none of us have pretended it didn’t happen."

“I am fine, Sylus”

“You’re sitting in a café looking like you’re ready to bolt the second I say the wrong thing.” he shifted his weight, still not blocking you, but not making it easy to leave either. “That’s not fine, sweetie”

You stared at the table. The coffee ring left by your cup. A crumpled napkin. Anything except his face.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked "It's weird now, ok. I don't know how to look at any of you without— it's just weird. Are you happy?"

"No."

You let out a short, frustrated breath.“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable.” there was a faint edge of amusement in his voice.“You disappear for days, show up at your usual table like nothing’s different. I’ve been patient. We all have. But patience has a limit, and you’re testing it.”

"Is this the part where you tell me to get over it?”

“No.This is the part where I tell you that hiding isn’t working. And that I’d rather you stop pretending it is."

You stood up. Grabbed the rest of your things and said “I need to go.”

Sylus didn’t move out of the way immediately. He watched you sling your bag over your shoulder, his expression unreadable.

“Zayne made me take notes for the lecture you skipped on Thursday, said you’d need them. They’re at my place. You can grab them now, or you can keep avoiding everyone and hope the midterm material magically appears in your inbox.”

You hesitated.

It was the kind of thing Zayne would actually do.

"That's convenient"

Sylus waited, patient as ever, like he already knew which way you were going to tip.

You adjusted the strap of your bag and exhaled through your nose. “Fine. But I'm just picking up the notes and leaving."

"Understood" he said, already turning toward the door.

--------------------

The notes hit his desk with a soft slap. You didn’t even remember deciding to throw them. One second you were turning toward the door with the half hearted intention of leaving, the next your bag was on the floor and your hands were fisting the front of Sylus’ shirt and your mouth was on his.

He made a low sound against your lips —surprise, maybe, or something darker— and then he was kissing you back. All heat and pressure and the faint taste of coffee still lingering on your tongue. His hands found your waist and hauled you in until there was no space left between you.

He smelled so good it made your head spin. Clean skin, expensive cologne and warmth, a scent that clung to the inside of your lungs. Or maybe the dizziness was just the lack of air. You kept kissing him anyway, lips parting, tongues sliding, a messy, open mouthed hunger that made your knees threaten to give out. Every time you tried to pull back for a breath he chased you, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, dragging it slowly before claiming your mouth again. His hands slid up your back under your shirt, palms hot against bare skin, fingers spreading wide like he needed to touch as much of you as possible.

You made a soft sound into his mouth. He answered it with a deeper kiss, tilting your head exactly where he wanted it, tongue sweeping against yours in a slow rhythm that had your hips rolling forward without permission.

“Your mouth,” he murmured against your lips “is so sweet”

He nipped along your jaw, sharp enough to sting, then soothed it with his tongue. The scrape of his teeth made you shiver. Two fingers tapped once against your lower lip—demanding, the exact same way he had that night in Zayne’s dorm. You opened for him without thinking and his fingers slid over your tongue and you closed your lips around them, sucking hard, hollowing your cheeks the way you knew he was watching for.

His eyes dropped to your mouth, tracking the way your tongue curled around his knuckles, the wet sound of it, the way your lips stretched around the width of just two fingers. A low groan rolled out of his chest and he pushed his fingers a little deeper, enough to feel the soft give of your throat, then slowly pulled them free. A thin string of spit connected his fingertips to your bottom lip for a second before it broke and dripped down your chin.

He brought those same fingers to his own mouth and sucked them clean, eyes never leaving yours. The sight of it—his tongue dragging over the wetness you’d left—made your pussy clench hard.

“Just like I remembered,” his voice was sin“Sweet and filthy.” He leaned back in and kissed you again, chasing the taste of him on your tongue. “I’m going to need a different sample of you this time.”

You managed a breathless laugh against his mouth. “Only if I get a sample of you first. Deal?”

A faint flush of color touched the tops of his cheekbones. He held your gaze for a second, breathing harder than he usually let himself.

“Open your mouth.”

You did.

He spat into it.

The warm, wet shock of it made your pussy clench again, so hard it almost hurt. You swallowed on instinct, heat flooding your face and spreading lower, and the sound that left you was close to a whimper. Your thighs trembled. You could feel how soaked you already were, the fabric of your underwear clinging uncomfortably.

“Now, for my part of the deal...”

His hands moved beneath your shirt again and you lifted your arms so he could pull it off and toss it aside. You reached for him too, shoving his shirt up his torso and over his head. His chest felt warm under your palms, the faint scent of his skin stronger now that there was nothing between you. You dragged your nails lightly down his abs and felt the muscles jump.

He reached for the button of your jeans. You reached for his at the same time. The sound of zippers and fabric was loud in the quiet room. You both stepped out of your pants in a clumsy tangle of limbs, kicking them aside without looking where they landed. Then it was just underwear between you—his black and stretched tight over the thick outline of his hard cock, yours already dark with how wet you’d gotten.

When you reached for the waistband he caught your wrist firm enough to stop you.

His eyes had dropped to your skin.

The marks were still there. Bruises from Caleb’s mouth layered over the older ones from Rafayel and Xavier. Sylus didn’t ask. His fingertips traced each one in turn, mapping them like he was reading a language only he understood.

“Caleb” he said quietly, not in question. He followed the trail of bruises down until he was on his knees in front of you, eye level with the last of them.

Your breath caught.

He hooked his fingers in the sides of your underwear and dragged them down your legs. You had to lock your knees to stay upright while Sylus stared. Strings of arousal clung to the inside of the fabric and stretched between your thighs. He watched them with something close to awe.

“They got you ready for me,” he sounded almost pleased“I’ll have to thank them later. Especially Caleb. He was thorough.”

Of course he knew. You didn’t know how—whether someone had talked or whether he’d simply put the pieces together like he always did—but Sylus Qin always knew.

He looked up at you from the floor. The question was silent but unmistakable. His hands rested on your hips, thumbs stroking small circles against your skin.

You nodded once.

He leaned in.

His nose brushed your clit first, a firm pressure that made your hips jump and a soft moan leave your throat. Then his tongue parted you slowly, collecting your arousal, and sealed over the swollen bud with an open mouthed kiss that made your vision blur.

He licked from your entrance up to your clit and stayed there, circling and changing the pressure until your hips started moving on their own. You buried both hands in his hair and when he hooked your leg over his shoulder you used it—tightened your thigh to pull him in closer at the same time your hips rolled up against his mouth. The shift let him get deeper. His name escaped your lips and he answered by sealing his lips around your clit and sucking.

The suction was filthy and loud. He pulled the swollen bud into his mouth and worked it with his tongue, circling, flicking, pressing flat against it. Spit and your own wetness mixed and ran down his chin and every time he pulled off to breathe, a thin string of slick connected his mouth to your clit. He always licked it away.

“Sy—” your voice came out shaky. “Fuck, your mouth—”

“Yeah?” he licked your clit again “Do you like it? Like me eating this pretty pussy?” he pushed his tongue just inside your entrance and fucked you with it in little thrusts then flattened it and dragged it hard over the sensitive bundle of nerves “Tastes like you need it. Dripping all over my tongue.”

Two thick fingers pressed against your entrance but he didn’t shove them in. He held them there, letting you feel the stretch of the tips while his mouth kept working. When he finally pushed forward it was slow, the burn of it dragging a sharp breath out of you. He curled them almost immediately and found the spot Zayne talked about. Every time he curled them you felt the stretch more. Every time his tongue flicked your clit your thighs shook.

“Shit—please don’t stop,” you begged, fingers tightening in his hair. “Feels so good—your tongue feels sooo good—”

Your hips rolled harder against his face. He took it, letting you use him while his fingers kept moving. He was open mouthed now, licking and sucking and breathing hard against you, chin shiny, lips shiny, the whole lower half of his face coated in you.

He scissored his fingers gently, stretching you further, and groaned when more slick spilled out around them. “Messy girl"

Your stomach tightened and you came hard. Your pussy clamped down around his fingers so tight he had to work to keep moving them.

“Fuck—yes—” you choked out, still shaking.“Sylus—”

He licked you through it, gentler, tongue flat and patient “Good girl,” his lips brushed your clit with every word “Ride it out. Perfect. Fucking perfect.”

Only when your grip on his hair finally loosened and your leg slackened over his shoulder did he ease back.

Zayne’s voice cut through his head clear as day.

"Patience is key. The tissue needs time. If you force depth before she’s fully relaxed you’ll cause microtears and you’ll have to stop. Use your fingers. Stretch her properly. Keep the external stimulation consistent so she doesn’t tighten out of instinct. When you push in, go slow, short strokes, let her body pull you deeper on its own. Do not rush it".

Sylus exhaled hard through his nose. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then stood. His hands slid under your arms and lifted you like you weighed nothing. You made a startled sound and grabbed his shoulders as he carried you the few steps to his bed and laid you down on the cool sheets.

He followed you down. His mouth found your breast immediately—hot and open, tongue dragging over the nipple before he sucked hard enough to make your back arch. He switched sides, licking, biting lightly, blowing cool air across the wet peaks until they ached. His hand slid between your thighs, fingers stroking through the mess he’d made of you, keeping you open and sensitive while he talked against your skin.

“I’ve thought about this,” his mouth brushed the curve of your breast. “How tight you’d be. Whether you’d even be able to take me.” long fingers traced the soft skin of your inner thigh, then higher, spreading your legs apart just to look. “Wondered if the space between your legs was enough to handle me.”

You let out an incredulous laugh.“You were sizing me up?"

His hand left your thigh and he held it up in front of your face, thumb and pinky stretched as far apart as they would go, and then laid that same span against your body, starting at the top of your pelvis and stretching up, up, up, almost to your belly button.

You stared.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“That is not real. You’re measuring wrong.”

“I’m measuring exactly right.” His voice stayed calm, but his eyes were dark. “That’s roughly the length. Thickness is a separate problem.”

You made a strangled sound and tried to scoot back up the bed. He caught your ankle without even looking and dragged you right back down to settle between your thighs. His mouth found yours, swallowing whatever protest you were about to make, while his hand slid back between your legs and stroked through the wetness.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispered against your lips, the words curved with amusement. “Not until we find out if I was right.”

You reached for the waistband of his underwear. The fabric clung to him, already damp at the tip where a wet circle had spread from how much he’d been leaking. You hooked your fingers under the elastic and dragged it down. His cock sprang free and for a second you could only stare.

It was thick. Long enough that your stomach flipped. The fat head was already shiny with pre, a slow bead gathering at the slit. Veins stood out along the shaft. It looked heavy in the best way, the kind of size that made the rumors feel suddenly very real. You wrapped your fingers around it on instinct and your fingers didn’t quite meet. It pulsed against your palm and another bead of precum welled up and spilled over your thumb.

“I want to return the favor”

Sylus caught your wrist.“You’re not ready for that,” he teased“Not yet. That's a lesson for another day.” he guided your hand away and settled back between your thighs, his cock resting against your pussy. “Right now I need something else.”

He dragged the fat tip through your slit, coating himself in you. The heat against your clit made your hips twitch. He did it again —teasing slides up and down—then started tapping the head against your clit and he watched your face the whole time.

“Sensitive?” he started rubbing the tip in circles over your clit until your breath hitched and more arousal spilled out of you and he used it to slide lower, notching the blunt head against your entrance without pushing in. The pressure alone made your stomach clench. He stayed like that for a few seconds, just the wide stretch of the tip resting against you, letting you feel exactly how much he was going to force you open.

“Sylus—”

“I know.” he rocked the head against you, pressing and releasing "That’s only the tip and you’re already shaking.”

Over and over again he kept teasing. Sliding up to grind against your clit, then back down until you were making soft, desperate sounds every time the head caught against you. Your hands fisted in the sheets. Your hips kept chasing him. He wouldn’t give you more than that pressure.

“Spread a little wider for me,” he said finally“Let me in, sweetie.”

Your thighs fell open further and he pushed in.

The stretch burned—sharp and perfect—and a broken sound tore out of you. It was everything the rumors had promised and more. The pressure, the way your body had to yield around him just to take the head. Your nails dug into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. He held there, only the head inside, letting you feel every pulse of him while your pussy fluttered and tried to adjust.

“You feel incredible,” he sank in another inch, slowly, and his thumb found your clit, rubbing steady circles counterclockwise while he worked himself deeper. “Fuck. You’re so fucking tight.” Another inch. The stretch intensified. “You’re going to come like this and then I’m going to fuck you.”

You tried to roll your hips and take more of him but he held you still with a hand firm on your hip and pulled back until only the head remained inside. Then he thrusted in again to the same depth—close to halfway— thumb still working your clit. The fullness was already overwhelming. Combined with the steady pressure on your clit it pushed you right to the edge.

“Please, Sy—deeper—”

“Not yet.” he rocked the same few inches in and out, stretching you around the thickest part of the head and the first half of his cock."Greedy little cunt.” his voice dropped.“You have to come on my cock just like this. Give it to me.”

You came with a sharp cry of his name and the look on his face was priceless. His cheeks were flushed dark, almost feverish. His mouth had fallen open. He was breathing hard through it, eyes watching you squeeze around him like the sight alone might undo him.

“That’s it,” he rasped. "Just like that.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct and when the aftershocks started to fade you felt him push deeper, the slick of your orgasm easing the way. The burn returned, sharper now, as more of his cock forced you open.

“Does it hurt?”

You wanted to say yes. It did hurt, but it hurt so damn good that the word wouldn’t come out right.

“No.”

“Good.” He unwrapped your legs from around him and pushed your thighs open, folding you so he could watch every inch disappear. “I need you open. Just like this.”

More than halfway. The stretch turned intense enough that your body tried to escape it—your hips shifting back on instinct. He noticed immediately. His hands tightened on your thighs and he pulled you down onto him, burying another thick inch inside you.

"Holy mother of fucks—"

“Don’t run now, it’s too late to chicken out, kitten.”

You sucked in a deep breath, forced your body to relax as much as it could, and pushed down to meet him. The last of him slid inside. You both moaned—his broken and loud, a sound that would live in the back of your mind forever. For the first time since you’d met him, Sylus Qin looked speechless. He stared down at where the two of you were joined like he couldn’t believe it was real. His hips were flush against yours. There was nowhere left to go.

“For fucks sake, Sy” you whispered, voice shaking. “Just fuck me already"

At first it was slow. He pulled back in a careful drag that let you feel every vein and ridge, then sank back in just as slowly, giving your body time to adjust. His eyes stayed locked on your face, watching every flicker of pain and pleasure. When your breathing evened out and your hips started meeting his, he gave you more—harder strokes that still kept that deep rhythm.

“I knew it,” his forehead dropped to yours for a second.“Knew this pussy would be the only one that could take me.” he snapped his hips a little harder and watched your mouth fall open. “Just you. This tight little cunt was built for my dick.”

He fucked you like that until the burn faded, until every thrust punched soft sounds from your throat and when he was sure you could take it, he stopped holding back.

His hands pushed your thighs higher and he looked down again.

His cock was visibly moving low in your stomach with every thrust— a subtle bulge that rose and fell as he sank in to the hilt and moved back out. His eyes locked on it and the last of his control cracked as he watched himself move inside you from the outside.

He pressed his palm over the bulge, feeling the shape of his own cock under your skin.

"Can you feel how deep I am? he moved his hips forward, feeling the bulge push up against his hand "That’s all of me and you’re still squeezing me like you want more.”

Your orgasm built slower than the first two. Heavier. He felt it before you said anything, the way you started squeezing around him made his rhythm stutter and a sound left his chest that he clearly hadn't planned on making.

"Already?" His forehead dropped to yours again and a breathless chuckle left him "You're going to be the death of me"

"Sy, please—"

You felt him pulse inside you and his eyes found yours. "I want to cum inside of you. Can I?"

He was actually asking.

"Yes. Inside — yes —"

He started moving again and this time it was different, the slap of skin filling the room, his hands on your thighs tight enough that you'd find the marks tomorrow.

“Gonna fill you up— fuck—every drop. Keep it. Walk around tomorrow still dripping with me.”

He came with a sound that vibrated against your mouth. His whole body shuddered but he kept rocking through it, forcing every spurt deeper, a hand back to pressing over the place where he was emptying himself inside you, until the overflow started leaking out around his cock and down your ass.

Then he slowly pulled out.

The rush of cum that followed was a lot. Thick and white, it spilled out of you in a heavy gush, sliding down onto his sheets. Sylus watched his cum leak out of the pussy that had just taken him completely for the first time.

He reached down, gathered the mess on his fingers, and pushed it back inside you without a word. Two fingers stuffing it back into you while you twitched and whimpered from the oversensitivity. He did it again—scooping up what had escaped and forcing it back in—until he was satisfied that most of it was where he wanted it.

“There,” he murmured to himself, watching his fingers disappear inside you. “Keep it in”

He collapsed onto his side next to you, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest still rising and falling hard. The flush hadn’t left his cheeks. His cock lay heavy and wet against his stomach, still twitching occasionally.

You stared at the ceiling, body aching, the slow leak of him between your thighs impossible to ignore. After a long minute you let out a slightly unhinged laugh.

“So…” you said, turning your head to look at him. “Should I tell those girls I broke the record? Or do you want to keep your legendary status intact?”

Sylus moved his arm just enough to crack one eye open at you. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Let them know if you want,” his voice was still rough "And then tell them you’re the only one who gets to do it again.”

Like that time on the second floor bathroom in the business building. You were washing your hands. Two girls were by the mirrors doing whatever it was that required standing there for that long, they weren't even trying to keep his name a secret.

"I'm telling you," one of them said, pressing her lips together to even out her gloss"nobody warns you"

"That bad?"

"It wasn't bad. At all. Just —a lot."

You rinsed your hands faster.

"Oh my god, the head alone was—" she continued, and you turned the tap off and left before she finished that sentence because you had places to be and a GPA to protect.

A week later you were at the library looking for a journal article when a nursing major two rows over starts telling her friend about preparation. Actual preparation.

“I still can’t get over how thick he is. I thought the toys I bought prepared me for it but I only took half before I had to tap out. It felt like he was pushing into places that weren’t meant to stretch that far. I had to make him cum him with my hands because I could not take another inch without tearing up.”

You relocated to the other end of the library after that.

You tried not to pay attention because college gossip inflated everything. Length, skill, stamina—all of it grew in the retelling. Still, you found yourself thinking about it at odd hours. The thoughts arrived uninvited, usually when you were already half aroused from something else, and they left you shifting in your seat with heat pooling low in your stomach.

The stories piled up. Someone on the track team swore the stretch left her walking funny for three days, ten out of ten, would probably do it again once she'd recovered enough to consider it. A girl from the art building said the pressure against her cervix made her cum once just from the attempt but she couldn’t get him in deeper. Another version floated around after a house party, that he was so particular about fit that half the time he didn’t even bother getting fully hard if he could tell a girl wouldn’t be able to handle him.

Different girls, different nights, not a single overlapping social circle, and everyone kept arriving at the same point, nobody had managed to take the whole thing. The record, as far as campus was aware, remained open.

Last week hadn’t helped. Three different sets of hands, three different mouths, three different ways of stretching you open until you forgot what day it was. Your body still carried the memory in the form of residual soreness and a new awareness of empty space. The idea of something larger should have made you want to recover in private. Instead it made the rumors louder.

Tuesday morning found you at your usual table in the café near the library, textbook open, highlighter ready, determination firmly in place. You needed to catch up. The last seven days had been a blur of skipped study sessions and late night recoveries. Coffee steamed by your elbow while the café hummed with the usual mid morning noise, laptops, quiet conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine.

Two girls settled into the booth behind you. Their voices carried just enough to cut through the background.

"Zero," one of them says, settling in. "Completely soft the entire time. I tried everything. Hand, mouth, that thing with the hips. Nothing."

"And this was on Saturday? At Simone's?"

"Yeah. I thought maybe he'd had too much to drink but he really hadn't. He just wasn't interested. Or maybe its true that he doesn't bother unless he knows you can handle it."

A soft laugh, edged with something competitive. “Someone’s going to have to commit. Whoever makes him cum inside and fits the whole thing in gets bragging rights until graduation. First girl to ever get Sylus Qin to finish the proper way.”

"I'd spend a solid month preparing if I had a real shot."

Your highlighter slipped. The tip left a bright yellow streak across the page. Your thighs were pressed together under the table. The mental pictures arrived fully formed, the slow push, the moment of resistance, the deep fullness when the last of him finally disappeared. The sounds he might make when he came inside with no intention of pulling away.

You stared at the open textbook and saw nothing. Three guys in one week and your body still responded to speculation like it hadn’t been used at all. You shifted in the chair and tried to force your attention back to the page but the words refused to stick.

Behind you the girls kept going. More details about weight and girth. One of them mentioned buying a new set of toys. The other talked about the way he’d held her hips when she tried to sink lower, with a quiet warning in his voice when she pushed past the point of comfort. They laughed about the pure ego of being the girl who finally changed the record.

The café noise went somewhere distant. What remained was a chair scraping the floor and the ongoing conversation behind you that had your pulse doing something embarrassing for a Tuesday morning.

Then one of them cut off mid sentence.

The other one made a small sound.

You turned your head in time to see them moving toward the exit like they had just realized they'd been saying all of that stuff at full volume in a public space. The door swung hard behind them. They were gone.

You turned your head again, looking. Sylus sat in the booth directly across from you, coffee untouched, one arm along the back of the seat, eyes already fixed on you.

One second he was watching you and the next he was standing, coffee still on his table.

He stopped beside your booth. Close enough that you had to tip your head back to meet his eyes.

“Interesting conversation, don't you think?”

Your stomach dropped. “I wasn’t listening.”

“Hmm.” He glanced at the empty booth behind you, then back at your face. “Well, that’s not actually what I came over here for.”

“Then what?”

“I haven’t seen you in over a week.” he said it simply “You’ve been dodging the group. Skipping our usual spots. I'm starting to think we're contagious.”

“I’ve just been busy—”

“Studying.” His gaze flicked to your textbook, highlighter lying across the page with the bright yellow streak. "And looking like you haven’t slept properly in days.”

You hated how easily he cut through the bullshit. You hated even more that your pulse had started hammering the second he walked over.

“I have a lot going on right now,” you said.“Deadlines and normal student things.”

“Normal student things?” He rested one hand on the back of the empty booth in front of you “Is that what we’re calling it now? Because to me it looks like you’ve been running. And you’re not very good at it.”

You grabbed the highlighter and shoved it into your bag harder than necessary. “I’m not running.”

“No?” he tilted his head slightly. “Then explain to me why you left Simone's party through the back door on Saturday the second you saw Caleb walk in."

Your face burned “Maybe I just needed space.”

“From people you’ve known for two years? After one night that none of us have pretended it didn’t happen."

“I am fine, Sylus”

“You’re sitting in a café looking like you’re ready to bolt the second I say the wrong thing.” he shifted his weight, still not blocking you, but not making it easy to leave either. “That’s not fine, sweetie”

You stared at the table. The coffee ring left by your cup. A crumpled napkin. Anything except his face.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked "It's weird now, ok. I don't know how to look at any of you without— it's just weird. Are you happy?"

"No."

You let out a short, frustrated breath.“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable.” there was a faint edge of amusement in his voice.“You disappear for days, show up at your usual table like nothing’s different. I’ve been patient. We all have. But patience has a limit, and you’re testing it.”

"Is this the part where you tell me to get over it?”

“No.This is the part where I tell you that hiding isn’t working. And that I’d rather you stop pretending it is."

You stood up. Grabbed the rest of your things and said “I need to go.”

Sylus didn’t move out of the way immediately. He watched you sling your bag over your shoulder, his expression unreadable.

“Zayne made me take notes for the lecture you skipped on Thursday, said you’d need them. They’re at my place. You can grab them now, or you can keep avoiding everyone and hope the midterm material magically appears in your inbox.”

You hesitated.

It was the kind of thing Zayne would actually do.

"That's convenient"

Sylus waited, patient as ever, like he already knew which way you were going to tip.

You adjusted the strap of your bag and exhaled through your nose. “Fine. But I'm just picking up the notes and leaving."

"Understood" he said, already turning toward the door.

--------------------

The notes hit his desk with a soft slap. You didn’t even remember deciding to throw them. One second you were turning toward the door with the half hearted intention of leaving, the next your bag was on the floor and your hands were fisting the front of Sylus’ shirt and your mouth was on his.

He made a low sound against your lips —surprise, maybe, or something darker— and then he was kissing you back. All heat and pressure and the faint taste of coffee still lingering on your tongue. His hands found your waist and hauled you in until there was no space left between you.

He smelled so good it made your head spin. Clean skin, expensive cologne and warmth, a scent that clung to the inside of your lungs. Or maybe the dizziness was just the lack of air. You kept kissing him anyway, lips parting, tongues sliding, a messy, open mouthed hunger that made your knees threaten to give out. Every time you tried to pull back for a breath he chased you, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, dragging it slowly before claiming your mouth again. His hands slid up your back under your shirt, palms hot against bare skin, fingers spreading wide like he needed to touch as much of you as possible.

You made a soft sound into his mouth. He answered it with a deeper kiss, tilting your head exactly where he wanted it, tongue sweeping against yours in a slow rhythm that had your hips rolling forward without permission.

“Your mouth,” he murmured against your lips “is so sweet”

He nipped along your jaw, sharp enough to sting, then soothed it with his tongue. The scrape of his teeth made you shiver. Two fingers tapped once against your lower lip—demanding, the exact same way he had that night in Zayne’s dorm. You opened for him without thinking and his fingers slid over your tongue and you closed your lips around them, sucking hard, hollowing your cheeks the way you knew he was watching for.

His eyes dropped to your mouth, tracking the way your tongue curled around his knuckles, the wet sound of it, the way your lips stretched around the width of just two fingers. A low groan rolled out of his chest and he pushed his fingers a little deeper, enough to feel the soft give of your throat, then slowly pulled them free. A thin string of spit connected his fingertips to your bottom lip for a second before it broke and dripped down your chin.

He brought those same fingers to his own mouth and sucked them clean, eyes never leaving yours. The sight of it—his tongue dragging over the wetness you’d left—made your pussy clench hard.

“Just like I remembered,” his voice was sin“Sweet and filthy.” He leaned back in and kissed you again, chasing the taste of him on your tongue. “I’m going to need a different sample of you this time.”

You managed a breathless laugh against his mouth. “Only if I get a sample of you first. Deal?”

A faint flush of color touched the tops of his cheekbones. He held your gaze for a second, breathing harder than he usually let himself.

“Open your mouth.”

You did.

He spat into it.

The warm, wet shock of it made your pussy clench again, so hard it almost hurt. You swallowed on instinct, heat flooding your face and spreading lower, and the sound that left you was close to a whimper. Your thighs trembled. You could feel how soaked you already were, the fabric of your underwear clinging uncomfortably.

“Now, for my part of the deal...”

His hands moved beneath your shirt again and you lifted your arms so he could pull it off and toss it aside. You reached for him too, shoving his shirt up his torso and over his head. His chest felt warm under your palms, the faint scent of his skin stronger now that there was nothing between you. You dragged your nails lightly down his abs and felt the muscles jump.

He reached for the button of your jeans. You reached for his at the same time. The sound of zippers and fabric was loud in the quiet room. You both stepped out of your pants in a clumsy tangle of limbs, kicking them aside without looking where they landed. Then it was just underwear between you—his black and stretched tight over the thick outline of his hard cock, yours already dark with how wet you’d gotten.

When you reached for the waistband he caught your wrist firm enough to stop you.

His eyes had dropped to your skin.

The marks were still there. Bruises from Caleb’s mouth layered over the older ones from Rafayel and Xavier. Sylus didn’t ask. His fingertips traced each one in turn, mapping them like he was reading a language only he understood.

“Caleb” he said quietly, not in question. He followed the trail of bruises down until he was on his knees in front of you, eye level with the last of them.

Your breath caught.

He hooked his fingers in the sides of your underwear and dragged them down your legs. You had to lock your knees to stay upright while Sylus stared. Strings of arousal clung to the inside of the fabric and stretched between your thighs. He watched them with something close to awe.

“They got you ready for me,” he sounded almost pleased“I’ll have to thank them later. Especially Caleb. He was thorough.”

Of course he knew. You didn’t know how—whether someone had talked or whether he’d simply put the pieces together like he always did—but Sylus Qin always knew.

He looked up at you from the floor. The question was silent but unmistakable. His hands rested on your hips, thumbs stroking small circles against your skin.

You nodded once.

He leaned in.

His nose brushed your clit first, a firm pressure that made your hips jump and a soft moan leave your throat. Then his tongue parted you slowly, collecting your arousal, and sealed over the swollen bud with an open mouthed kiss that made your vision blur.

He licked from your entrance up to your clit and stayed there, circling and changing the pressure until your hips started moving on their own. You buried both hands in his hair and when he hooked your leg over his shoulder you used it—tightened your thigh to pull him in closer at the same time your hips rolled up against his mouth. The shift let him get deeper. His name escaped your lips and he answered by sealing his lips around your clit and sucking.

The suction was filthy and loud. He pulled the swollen bud into his mouth and worked it with his tongue, circling, flicking, pressing flat against it. Spit and your own wetness mixed and ran down his chin and every time he pulled off to breathe, a thin string of slick connected his mouth to your clit. He always licked it away.

“Sy—” your voice came out shaky. “Fuck, your mouth—”

“Yeah?” he licked your clit again “Do you like it? Like me eating this pretty pussy?” he pushed his tongue just inside your entrance and fucked you with it in little thrusts then flattened it and dragged it hard over the sensitive bundle of nerves “Tastes like you need it. Dripping all over my tongue.”

Two thick fingers pressed against your entrance but he didn’t shove them in. He held them there, letting you feel the stretch of the tips while his mouth kept working. When he finally pushed forward it was slow, the burn of it dragging a sharp breath out of you. He curled them almost immediately and found the spot Zayne talked about. Every time he curled them you felt the stretch more. Every time his tongue flicked your clit your thighs shook.

“Shit—please don’t stop,” you begged, fingers tightening in his hair. “Feels so good—your tongue feels sooo good—”

Your hips rolled harder against his face. He took it, letting you use him while his fingers kept moving. He was open mouthed now, licking and sucking and breathing hard against you, chin shiny, lips shiny, the whole lower half of his face coated in you.

He scissored his fingers gently, stretching you further, and groaned when more slick spilled out around them. “Messy girl"

Your stomach tightened and you came hard. Your pussy clamped down around his fingers so tight he had to work to keep moving them.

“Fuck—yes—” you choked out, still shaking.“Sylus—”

He licked you through it, gentler, tongue flat and patient “Good girl,” his lips brushed your clit with every word “Ride it out. Perfect. Fucking perfect.”

Only when your grip on his hair finally loosened and your leg slackened over his shoulder did he ease back.

Zayne’s voice cut through his head clear as day.

"Patience is key. The tissue needs time. If you force depth before she’s fully relaxed you’ll cause microtears and you’ll have to stop. Use your fingers. Stretch her properly. Keep the external stimulation consistent so she doesn’t tighten out of instinct. When you push in, go slow, short strokes, let her body pull you deeper on its own. Do not rush it".

Sylus exhaled hard through his nose. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then stood. His hands slid under your arms and lifted you like you weighed nothing. You made a startled sound and grabbed his shoulders as he carried you the few steps to his bed and laid you down on the cool sheets.

He followed you down. His mouth found your breast immediately—hot and open, tongue dragging over the nipple before he sucked hard enough to make your back arch. He switched sides, licking, biting lightly, blowing cool air across the wet peaks until they ached. His hand slid between your thighs, fingers stroking through the mess he’d made of you, keeping you open and sensitive while he talked against your skin.

“I’ve thought about this,” his mouth brushed the curve of your breast. “How tight you’d be. Whether you’d even be able to take me.” long fingers traced the soft skin of your inner thigh, then higher, spreading your legs apart just to look. “Wondered if the space between your legs was enough to handle me.”

You let out an incredulous laugh.“You were sizing me up?"

His hand left your thigh and he held it up in front of your face, thumb and pinky stretched as far apart as they would go, and then laid that same span against your body, starting at the top of your pelvis and stretching up, up, up, almost to your belly button.

You stared.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“That is not real. You’re measuring wrong.”

“I’m measuring exactly right.” His voice stayed calm, but his eyes were dark. “That’s roughly the length. Thickness is a separate problem.”

You made a strangled sound and tried to scoot back up the bed. He caught your ankle without even looking and dragged you right back down to settle between your thighs. His mouth found yours, swallowing whatever protest you were about to make, while his hand slid back between your legs and stroked through the wetness.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispered against your lips, the words curved with amusement. “Not until we find out if I was right.”

You reached for the waistband of his underwear. The fabric clung to him, already damp at the tip where a wet circle had spread from how much he’d been leaking. You hooked your fingers under the elastic and dragged it down. His cock sprang free and for a second you could only stare.

It was thick. Long enough that your stomach flipped. The fat head was already shiny with pre, a slow bead gathering at the slit. Veins stood out along the shaft. It looked heavy in the best way, the kind of size that made the rumors feel suddenly very real. You wrapped your fingers around it on instinct and your fingers didn’t quite meet. It pulsed against your palm and another bead of precum welled up and spilled over your thumb.

“I want to return the favor”

Sylus caught your wrist.“You’re not ready for that,” he teased“Not yet. That's a lesson for another day.” he guided your hand away and settled back between your thighs, his cock resting against your pussy. “Right now I need something else.”

He dragged the fat tip through your slit, coating himself in you. The heat against your clit made your hips twitch. He did it again —teasing slides up and down—then started tapping the head against your clit and he watched your face the whole time.

“Sensitive?” he started rubbing the tip in circles over your clit until your breath hitched and more arousal spilled out of you and he used it to slide lower, notching the blunt head against your entrance without pushing in. The pressure alone made your stomach clench. He stayed like that for a few seconds, just the wide stretch of the tip resting against you, letting you feel exactly how much he was going to force you open.

“Sylus—”

“I know.” he rocked the head against you, pressing and releasing "That’s only the tip and you’re already shaking.”

Over and over again he kept teasing. Sliding up to grind against your clit, then back down until you were making soft, desperate sounds every time the head caught against you. Your hands fisted in the sheets. Your hips kept chasing him. He wouldn’t give you more than that pressure.

“Spread a little wider for me,” he said finally“Let me in, sweetie.”

Your thighs fell open further and he pushed in.

The stretch burned—sharp and perfect—and a broken sound tore out of you. It was everything the rumors had promised and more. The pressure, the way your body had to yield around him just to take the head. Your nails dug into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. He held there, only the head inside, letting you feel every pulse of him while your pussy fluttered and tried to adjust.

“You feel incredible,” he sank in another inch, slowly, and his thumb found your clit, rubbing steady circles counterclockwise while he worked himself deeper. “Fuck. You’re so fucking tight.” Another inch. The stretch intensified. “You’re going to come like this and then I’m going to fuck you.”

You tried to roll your hips and take more of him but he held you still with a hand firm on your hip and pulled back until only the head remained inside. Then he thrusted in again to the same depth—close to halfway— thumb still working your clit. The fullness was already overwhelming. Combined with the steady pressure on your clit it pushed you right to the edge.

“Please, Sy—deeper—”

“Not yet.” he rocked the same few inches in and out, stretching you around the thickest part of the head and the first half of his cock."Greedy little cunt.” his voice dropped.“You have to come on my cock just like this. Give it to me.”

You came with a sharp cry of his name and the look on his face was priceless. His cheeks were flushed dark, almost feverish. His mouth had fallen open. He was breathing hard through it, eyes watching you squeeze around him like the sight alone might undo him.

“That’s it,” he rasped. "Just like that.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct and when the aftershocks started to fade you felt him push deeper, the slick of your orgasm easing the way. The burn returned, sharper now, as more of his cock forced you open.

“Does it hurt?”

You wanted to say yes. It did hurt, but it hurt so damn good that the word wouldn’t come out right.

“No.”

“Good.” He unwrapped your legs from around him and pushed your thighs open, folding you so he could watch every inch disappear. “I need you open. Just like this.”

More than halfway. The stretch turned intense enough that your body tried to escape it—your hips shifting back on instinct. He noticed immediately. His hands tightened on your thighs and he pulled you down onto him, burying another thick inch inside you.

"Holy mother of fucks—"

“Don’t run now, it’s too late to chicken out, kitten.”

You sucked in a deep breath, forced your body to relax as much as it could, and pushed down to meet him. The last of him slid inside. You both moaned—his broken and loud, a sound that would live in the back of your mind forever. For the first time since you’d met him, Sylus Qin looked speechless. He stared down at where the two of you were joined like he couldn’t believe it was real. His hips were flush against yours. There was nowhere left to go.

“For fucks sake, Sy” you whispered, voice shaking. “Just fuck me already"

At first it was slow. He pulled back in a careful drag that let you feel every vein and ridge, then sank back in just as slowly, giving your body time to adjust. His eyes stayed locked on your face, watching every flicker of pain and pleasure. When your breathing evened out and your hips started meeting his, he gave you more—harder strokes that still kept that deep rhythm.

“I knew it,” his forehead dropped to yours for a second.“Knew this pussy would be the only one that could take me.” he snapped his hips a little harder and watched your mouth fall open. “Just you. This tight little cunt was built for my dick.”

He fucked you like that until the burn faded, until every thrust punched soft sounds from your throat and when he was sure you could take it, he stopped holding back.

His hands pushed your thighs higher and he looked down again.

His cock was visibly moving low in your stomach with every thrust— a subtle bulge that rose and fell as he sank in to the hilt and moved back out. His eyes locked on it and the last of his control cracked as he watched himself move inside you from the outside.

He pressed his palm over the bulge, feeling the shape of his own cock under your skin.

"Can you feel how deep I am? he moved his hips forward, feeling the bulge push up against his hand "That’s all of me and you’re still squeezing me like you want more.”

Your orgasm built slower than the first two. Heavier. He felt it before you said anything, the way you started squeezing around him made his rhythm stutter and a sound left his chest that he clearly hadn't planned on making.

"Already?" His forehead dropped to yours again and a breathless chuckle left him "You're going to be the death of me"

"Sy, please—"

You felt him pulse inside you and his eyes found yours. "I want to cum inside of you. Can I?"

He was actually asking.

"Yes. Inside — yes —"

He started moving again and this time it was different, the slap of skin filling the room, his hands on your thighs tight enough that you'd find the marks tomorrow.

“Gonna fill you up— fuck—every drop. Keep it. Walk around tomorrow still dripping with me.”

He came with a sound that vibrated against your mouth. His whole body shuddered but he kept rocking through it, forcing every spurt deeper, a hand back to pressing over the place where he was emptying himself inside you, until the overflow started leaking out around his cock and down your ass.

Then he slowly pulled out.

The rush of cum that followed was a lot. Thick and white, it spilled out of you in a heavy gush, sliding down onto his sheets. Sylus watched his cum leak out of the pussy that had just taken him completely for the first time.

He reached down, gathered the mess on his fingers, and pushed it back inside you without a word. Two fingers stuffing it back into you while you twitched and whimpered from the oversensitivity. He did it again—scooping up what had escaped and forcing it back in—until he was satisfied that most of it was where he wanted it.

“There,” he murmured to himself, watching his fingers disappear inside you. “Keep it in”

He collapsed onto his side next to you, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest still rising and falling hard. The flush hadn’t left his cheeks. His cock lay heavy and wet against his stomach, still twitching occasionally.

You stared at the ceiling, body aching, the slow leak of him between your thighs impossible to ignore. After a long minute you let out a slightly unhinged laugh.

“So…” you said, turning your head to look at him. “Should I tell those girls I broke the record? Or do you want to keep your legendary status intact?”

Sylus moved his arm just enough to crack one eye open at you. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Let them know if you want,” his voice was still rough "And then tell them you’re the only one who gets to do it again.”

xavier, one of the six possible love interests from the otome game love and deepspace, was next to you. there was barely any distance between the two of you, with him sitting close enough for you to feel his warm breath hovering by your ear.

close enough to feel his plush lips almost touching your heated skin.

“i–”

your feverish daze was cut short by the game interface blinking to life before your eyes, the well-known blueish rectangles of xavier’s route appearing in your field of view.

[meat skewers.]

[cotton candy.]

in the grand scheme of the game, it didn’t matter whether or not you paid attention to xavier’s question. the system was always there to guide you, popping up the two possible directions available for your festival date with xavier and effectively rerouting your previous unrestricted actions.

all these just to follow the necessary game path.

“what will it be, my star?”

xavier hummed once more as he gathered your hands into his, calloused fingers stroking the soft skin of your palms. this was one of the few actions the love interests do to allow you, the player, time to pick your choice.

such mannerisms were previously presented as words on the screen, mere descriptions; but since you have been transported into the realm of the game, you were automatically dragged into live pending sequences.

you were also automatically exposed to very realistic intimate interactions.

“hm?”

his voice was a gentle, warm vibration against your cheek, and it made your mind short-circuit. you were not wobbly because of the choices in front of you, as you were already accustomed to them, but because of the way his lips moved so delicately near your skin… you could almost taste the promise of his kiss, the one that usually happens during your third date with the love interests.

-> [meat skewers.]

    [cotton candy.]

you tipped your head back, pretending to look at the darkening sky, pulling away from xavier just enough to clear your thoughts and make a selection.

“meat skewers.” you finally responded, the words feeling like a forced script on your tongue, your true voice mingling with a more mechanical tune as you choose the most favorable option for xavier.

it always felt strange when choosing options from the system, as if your lips articulated the words without your mind participating. like a robot, just executing commands.

“meat skewers it is.” xavier smiled shortly, unaware of the game dominating his very being, exiting the animation he was forced into while you contemplated your two choices.

his fingers brushed yours briefly one last time, like a promise to return soon, before he melted into the crowd, leaving you alone on the park bench, beneath the sparkling aura of the pre-show fireworks.

the silence he left behind wasn’t as comfortable as it should’ve been — it was thick, heavy, similar to the air before a tumultuous storm.

why were you feeling so uneasy all of a sudden?

nothing noteworthy was supposed to happen during this date. it was too early for your relationship to be tested, too early for it to even have a solid, romantic label. only the lingering chance of a first kiss haunted the scenario, but even that was not certain, only determined by your choices and the affinity with xavier at the end of the chapter.

so what ruined the joyful atmosphere of the festival?

as if on cue, the answer made its presence felt. a pressure materialized behind you, familiar and yet terrifyingly uncanny, causing a shiver to prickle down your spine and blow goosebumps all over your skin.

you would learn soon that the what was actually a who.

“so you prefer saltiness now?” the eerie voice murmured into your ear, closing into you just like xavier’s. it was not warm like his though; it was cold, cutting, with a palpable sheen of malice thrown over it. “i remember you said you loved sweet things...”

is that–? impossible.

“am i wrong, my pearl?”

you fully whirled around at the familiar nickname, the short skirts of your dress flapping against your thighs from the sudden movement, completing half a turn and facing the other side of the park.

impossible.

it couldn’t be him, you thought to yourself while shifting your position. there was no way for rafayel, another one of the love interests, to be present during your date with xavier. there was no way for rafayel to appear, at any place or point in time, in xavier’s route.

there was no way for rafayel, whose route you’ve already finished, to subtract himself from the system’s rules and plunge into another route.

it must all be a glitch.

but your eyes, cloudy with confusion, struck the body frame of your previous love interest: rafayel qi was now standing before you, adorning an outfit you were well-accustomed to. by pure chance or something else you were arduously denying, his body was wrapped in a full-body attire that you’ve purchased...

as a matching set with your current dress.

glitch, glitch, glitch–

his smile was the same you remembered — gentle, charming, perfect, curling into an irresistible grin that evoked memories of love and devotion. but his eyes were strangers to yours. they were dark, hollow, like two pieces of charred coral; the pinks and blues and purples were nowhere to be seen, swallowed by the obsessive black of his pupils.

“rafayel?” your voice cracked, uncertainty and caution clawing at your throat, voicing out his name in order to identify him. was he really rafayel? “what are you doing here? this... this isn’t...”

your route, you wished to say, but didn’t, a tiny voice in your head stopping you from causing more errors by exposing the actuality of the otome game.

his expression didn’t falter at your inquiry, but it no longer offered warmth and comfort. his lips turned into a thin, cruel stretch, perverting the two rosy petals you used to kiss with passion in your previous run.

he was smiling at you like a cheshire cat, mockingly, condescendingly.

“what am i doing here?” he echoed, his voice a dark purr against the festive, talkative crowd. he took a step forward, his shoes hitting your own polished heels, and you instinctively drew them in, pushing back from the ground and anchoring your feet away from him.

“i’m cleaning up a mess. that’s what you are, isn’t it? a little, needy mess who got bored and decided to play with the next man she finds.”

his vitriolic words fell over your shoulders like acid, burning your skin with shameful accusations, and drawing a loud gasp from your lips. even the flowy material of the dress felt heavy now, pressing down on your chest and making the previous romantic thump beat at an alarming, frightening pace.

“what are you–? i didn’t–” you stammered, your mind racing with a million thoughts, trying to piece together what was going on.

this wasn’t in the script. nothing about this was.

rafayel was supposed to stick to his route, not overtake xavier’s.

“sweetheart… you know i hate liars.” he snapped, the purr vanishing into a venomous hiss. his hand shot out, fingers closing around your wrist like a steel band, adamant on not letting you run away from him again. “so don’t lie to me.”

“i–i d–don’t understand.” you mumbled, lips trembling, words slurring inside your mouth. your frantic eyes were jumping from rafayel’s frowning face to the harsh grip he had on your wrist, trying to find an explanation for his unusual behavior.

trying to bypass all this as a mere glitch.

that was the only possibility for this scene.

the crowd around you remained blissfully unaware of the nightmare unfolding in your corner of the festival. laughter and chatter swirled like colorful ribbons through the air, punctuated by the occasional crackle of a firework testing the darkening sky. none of them noticed the way your pulse hammered against your throat, or the way rafayel’s fingers tightened around your wrist like a handcuff snapping shut.

“ah, rafayel, please–” you tried to reason with him, but your voice wavered with uneasiness. “you’re hurting me.”

bringing up your perilous state, the way his fingers dug so harshly into your skin it bruised — it had to be enough to bring his softer side to the surface. and it looked fruitful at first, with his grip loosening significantly… but he didn’t release you. instead, he tilted his head, studying your face with an expression so cruel, it caused your stomach to drop.

it was the look of a collector examining a prized possession that had been carelessly handled by someone else.

“hurting you?” he repeated, and there it was! that familiar cadence in his voice, the one that used to make your heart flutter during his route. but now it sounded wrong, twisted into something acrid. “i would never hurt you, my pearl. i love you. i’ve loved you since the moment you first appeared in my world.”

his free hand came up to cup your cheek, and you flinched. the gesture was so reminiscent of the gentle rafayel you’d fallen for during his route, the one who painted sunsets for you and whispered sweet nothings by the sea. but this palm was cold against your heated skin, and his thumb traced your cheekbone with a possessiveness that made your skin shriek in fear.

“but you....” he continued, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper at your recoil. “you’ve been very, very bad, haven’t you? playing with another man, leading him on. letting him touch you.”

“i didn’t–” you started, but the words died in your throat.

what could you possibly say? that you were following the game’s mechanics? that none of this was real? the interface flickered in your peripheral vision like a silent reminder of the system governing this world.

but rafayel was standing right in front of you, loud and solid and seething, proof that the system’s rules meant nothing anymore.

“the festival.” rafayel murmured, glancing around at the oblivious crowd. his smile returned, but just as a faux stretch of the lips. “how romantic. xavier chose fireworks for your date?” he laughed, not expecting an actual answer from you; he was just highlighting the evidence of your betrayal.

“i would have chosen something more... intimate. a private gallery, perhaps. just the two of us. no crowds. no interruptions.”

your eyes darted around desperately, searching for an escape. the game interface flickered again, glitching at the edges of your vision. you saw xavier’s icon blinking in the corner, signaling his return — unlike rafayel, he was trapped on the path the game had scripted, with a few more minutes to overcome before reaching your current spot.

3 minutes remaining.

if he were to get here, you’d be locked in an animation.

if he were to get here, rafayel would be expulsed from the picture.

if he were to­–

“why so hopeful, my pearl? aww, is your knight in shining armor close?” he leaned into you, his tall frame blocking the light from the closest street lamp and drowning you in shadows. his snarl was visible from miles away, yet he felt the need to grip your face and drag you closer; your weirdly smushed lips were almost touching his bitter smile.

2 minutes remaining.

“no, no, no, we can’t have blondie ruining our fun again!”

“wait, raf–”

his fingers on your wrist went solid again, as if made from the strongest metal, clutching your arm at once and forcing your entire being up and away from your park bench. you struggled against his grip, pulling and hitting at his hand with all your might, but nothing seemed to work on rafayel.

fueled by possessiveness and jealousy, his digits nestled deep into your flesh, blooming deep bruises in their wake as he dragged you further and further away from yours and xavier’s spot.

“rafayel, stop! please, where– why–”

but he was silent… or silenced, his jaw locked tight in what looked like self-imposed restraint. he was holding himself back, legs speeding up as they dashed between the sea of people at the festival, a clear goal dominating his mind.

but what? what was rafayel chasing so arduously that he couldn’t even lash out at you?

“rafayel, let’s talk, please!”

the system spoke in rafayel’s stead.

2 minutes remaining… -> event on pause.

warning! you are too far from the designated event area. please return to your spot.

the words appeared in glowing blueish text, and you almost lost all the air in your lungs. was that his goal — to go as far away from the event spot so xavier would never progress on his return?

“w–what did you do?” your voice trembled as you asked, bracing your legs and forcing your heels to root into the ground. the jagged cobblestone pieces came to your rescue, allowing your heels shelter and aiding you in stopping rafayel’s incessant stride.

“please let me go.” you tried to break free from his harsh grip again, forcing yourself to meet his blown-out eyes. they were so dark now, the beautiful gradient you loved so much replaced by something fathomless and hungry. “you’re scaring me. this isn’t you.”

“not me?” his chuckle was sharp, hostile. “oh, sweetheart. this is exactly who i’ve always been. you just never had to see it.” he stepped closer, his hand lifting your wrist closer to his face, forcing it to cup his cheek in a loving gesture. “i was so patient with you. so gentle. i gave you my heart, my everything. and what did you do? you ran to another man’s arms the moment you grew bored.”

“that’s not how it happened–”

“you abandoned me.” his voice cracked, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of the rafayel you knew — the vulnerable artist who painted his feelings into every canvas. “and you want to do it again.” but his voice grew in intensity once more, as if the vulnerability from before was just a slip-up.

rafayel acted fast, caging you with his entire body, searching for your free hand with his own unused one. to take hold of both members and have you fully succumbing, at his mercy.

rafayel acted fast, but his situational awareness lessened. that’s why he didn’t intercepted your move.

that’s how he ended up with a stinging slap across the face.

your palm throbbed with the impact, fingers tingling from the force of the contact. rafayel’s head had snapped to the side, his cheek blooming with an angry red mark that stood out against his pale skin. for a moment, neither of you moved. the world seemed to hold its breath around you, the festival sounds fading into a dull hum.

“you are not the man i loved.”

the words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them, trembling with a mixture of fear and fury. your chest heaved, every breath feeling like shards of glass scraping against your lungs.

“ha, ha, ha, ha…”

rafayel slowly turned his head back towards you, and what you saw made your blood run cold. the red mark on his cheek was already beginning to darken into a bruise, bulging at the inner press of his tongue. but his expression wasn’t one of pain. no, it was something far more terrifying.

he was smiling.

“you little minx.” he spat, hand finally freeing your wrist to feel around his affected cheek. “you’ll regret this.”

he mumbled some more threats, but you were no longer there to listen, already turning around and picking up the pace. you stumbled slightly on your heels, something between adrenaline and terror latching onto your body, and you decided on the spot to discard them for the greater good — meeting with xavier at your spot as fast as possible!

bare footed, only with your thin tights protecting your soles, you ran between the people celebrating the firework festival, twisting and turning between the groups and mixing in with the crowd. but you made the mistake of turning back, to check on rafayel and see what putrid plan he was pursuing.

and to your surprise, rafayel wasn’t chasing you. he was simply standing there, watching you flee with that same unsettling smile, his vengeful hand raised to carefully touch the bruise forming on his cheek. it was as if he was savoring the moment, relishing in the chase.

in the way you ran away so so scared.

his behaviour was unsettling… but so were the surroundings.

“what??”

the people around you… they weren’t moving anymore. a vendor was frozen mid-laugh, his hand extended towards a customer who was equally still, her mouth open in delight that would never be voiced. a child running past was suspended in mid-stride, a sparkler frozen in his raised hand.

they had all stopped. like someone had pressed pause on the entire world.

the event, you realized with dawning horror. you were not in the right spot, so the entire world was on pause.

did rafayel knew about this?

… there was no point in asking him that.

so you pushed through the frozen crowd, your feet lapping against the cobblestones in a rhythm that felt far too loud in the sudden silence. the bench, the one you’ve occupied at the beginning of your date, was in sight. as long as you got back to the spot where xavier had to return with the meat skewers, to where the scene was supposed to continue, the world would return to normal.

and maybe rafayel would disappear.

maybe this nightmare would end.

you were twenty feet away. ten feet. your hand reached out towards the stone slats of the bench, fingers stretching with excitement and relief–

an arm hooked around your waist, and a hand clamped over your mouth before you could react.

2 minutes remaining… -> event on pause.

you were yanked backwards, your tights-clad feet scraping against the cobblestones as rafayel dragged you behind the nearest festival stall. the painted wood of the booth loomed above you, colorful banners advertising games and prizes frozen in the fluttering lull of a dead wind.

“shh, my pearl.” rafayel murmured against your ear as he pressed your back further into his own body, his breath hot and uneven against your agitated pulse point. “you didn’t really think i’d let you get away, did you?”

you thrashed against him, your muffled screams swallowed by the palm pressed firmly against your lips. his other arm was an unmoving belt around your waist, pinning you against his chest. you could feel his heartbeat through his shirt — rapid, erratic, nothing like the calm, composed rhythm you remembered from his route.

“stop fighting me.” he hissed through gritted teeth, irritation palpable in his voice. the hand blocking your mouth descended, choosing to catch your chin and turn your head to the side. “you can’t escape me, no matter how much you try.”

and then–

“ugh!”

you felt the rough wooden surface of the stall bite into your back as rafayel spun you around, the world blurring into a smear of festival lights and frozen faces. the impact knocked the breath from your lungs, and before you could stabilize yourself, his hands were on your waist — gripping, crushing, claiming.

“go awa–” you started, but the words dissolved into a choked sound as his mouth descended on yours.

there was nothing gentle about it. no tenderness, no hesitant exploration like the soft kisses from his previous self. he was conquering you. his lips crashed against yours with a fury that turned your knees to jelly, and when you tried to pull away, his hand shot up to tangle in your hair, holding you in place with merciless precision.

this wasn’t him. this wasn’t the rafayel you loved.

but his tongue pressed against the seam of your lips deliciously, demanding entry, and some traitorous part in you allowed him in. he swallowed your whimper as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with possessive strokes that left no corner untouched, no part of you unclaimed.

“you were mine first.” the words were purred against your lips, barely coherent, lost in the wet sounds of the kiss. his teeth grazed your lower lip, tugging at it hard enough to make you gasp. “you chose me. you loved me. and then you–”

he broke the kiss abruptly, but his hands didn’t relent. one stayed fisted in your hair, tilting your head back at an angle that bared your throat to him. the other began its slow, devastating journey across your body, dancing over your collarbone, cupping the swell of your breasts, molding down the curve of your waist until his fingers dug into the dip of your hip.

“then you just decided you wanted more.” his voice cracked, and for a moment, the mask of cruelty slipped to reveal something raw and bleeding beneath. “you woke up one morning and erased me like i was nothing.”

“that’s not it.” you started, but his hand pulled at your hair harshly, cutting off your protest with a whimper.

“quiet.” the single word was sharp enough to draw blood. “don’t soil your pretty lips with lies, sweetheart.”

his hand moved from your hip to your thigh, gripping the visible tights, where your dress had ridden up. his fingers dug in, painfully so, offering pressure that drew another high-pitched moan from your throat. it was hard to resist him, with his lean body pressing you into the wood of the stall, his scent flooding your senses, his warmth seeping through your thin dress like a fever you couldn’t shake.

with his cock tenting in his pants, poking at your legs with every move.

“rafayel.” his name came out as barely a whisper, broken and trembling, and you couldn’t tell if fear was the only thing fueling it.

“shh.” he cooed as he leaned in, pulling the roots of your head further into the stall and forcing your wet lips to be on display. “i’m going to make you remember. i’m going to make you remember exactly who you belong to.”

his mouth found yours again, and this time he was adamant in changing your mind. his hand also continued their exploration, mapping every curve of your body with the desperation of a man who had been starved. fingers traced the line of your spine, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips. he gripped the fabric of your dress, bunching it upwards inch by inch, until your bottom half was fully exposed.

only your skin-coloured tights and your panties keeping your frail dignity.

“you’re mine.” his lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, down the column of your throat, wetting the skin in their wake and prepping it for marking. “i spent so much time learning every sound you make, every place you like to be touched. i’ve memorized the way you shiver when i kiss you–”

his mouth found the spot just below your ear, the place that always made you gasp during your previous escapades. and you gasped now too, a sharp inhale that betrayed you completely.

“there.” his voice was triumphant, dark with satisfaction, wet lips curling into a smirk against your skin. “i knew you remembered. i knew you couldn’t forget.”

his teeth punctured the sensitive flesh of your neck, and your hands, which had been frozen at your sides, finally moved. but not to push him away or fight… your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, clutching it with the same desperate intensity he was showing you, pulling him in and silently begging for his lips on your throat.

“raf, ah– please.” the words escaped before you could stop them, a broken confirmation that made him pull back just enough to meet your hazy eyes.

“you just needed a stimulant.” his tongue slipped out to circle the bite mark, smearing the evidence of his ministration across your skin. “to remind you that you can’t just leave me. you can’t choose someone else. you’re mine, my pearl. you’ve always been mine.”

his lips found yours again, and this time you kissed him back unprompted.

somewhere in the chaos of fear and confusion, the muscle memory of his route had taken over. your body remembered him even when your mind was screaming that this was wrong, that this wasn’t how the game was supposed to go.

and he felt it. he tasted it.

“there she is.” he breathed against your lips, a mingle of relief and pride. “there’s my sweet girl. i knew you were still in there.”

his hand left your hair, sliding down to grip your waist as he pressed you harder into the stall. the wall creaked behind you, and somewhere in the frozen distance, you heard the faint crackle of a firework that would never explode. even with his body molded against yours, with the heat of him seeping through your dress like scorching fire, the system called once more.

screaming about your abandoned event.

“xavier–” you mumbled out loud as the icon blinked to life briefly, and immediately regretted it.

rafayel’s grip tightened the moment his name was let out. his eyes flashed with something dangerous, and the soft warmth of the moment shattered like glass.

“don’t...” he hissed, a threat and a warning at once. “don’t you dare say his name while i’m kissing you.”

“n–no, i just–”

“shut it.” he cut you off with another kiss, a shorter yet more punishing press of his lips. he looked like he wanted to devour you whole. “you don’t get to play on both ends. you don’t get to be a needy whore and then expect mercy.”

his hand returned to your tights, digging his nails into the thin material… and effectively ripping it open with a whirring sound.

“ngh, raf–”

you let out as his hands came down on you, slapping the bare, meaty flesh and letting it giggle beneath his calloused palm. then he crawled higher, his fingers tentatively grazing the edge of your flimsy underwear, taunting you. you were trembling beneath him, in newfound fear and scorching pleasure, a strangled sound catching in your throat from the sudden turn of events.

“kissing is not enough, huh?” his lips hovered over yours, so close you could feel the movement of them as he spoke. “you need more, a deeper reminder of our love.”

deeper had an entirely different twist; you could tell from the way his right palm spread over your lower tummy, thumb nestled at the base of your pussy while his pinky finger reached up, towards your belly button.

“am i wrong, my pearl?”

.

.

.

“n–no, rafayel.”

the pause stretched between you, and rafayel’s smile returned at your compliance — that smug, knowing smile that made your stomach flip.

“exactly.” he murmured. “that’s exactly what i thought.”

his pinky pressed harder against your navel, punctuating the deepest spot he was to reach, and you felt the heat of his promise seeping through the thin fabric of your dress. his left hand, which had been gripping your thigh with bruising intensity, relaxed its hold, allowing the pads of his fingers to inch higher.

passing the jagged material of your ripped tights and zeroing into your drenched panties.

“fuck, you’re so wet already.” he breathed, his eyes raking over your face, cataloging every micro-expression with predatory precision as he finally touched you where you wanted. “all this just from a few kisses?”

his hand traveled higher, palm flattening against your pussy through the damp fabric of your panties. the pressure was maddening: just enough to make you feel it, not enough to give you what you craved. your hips twitched involuntarily, pushing into his hand and seeking more.

his smile sharpened into a cruel curve at your needy movements.

 “ah–ah.” he tutted, clicking his tongue at your eagerness. “behave, my pearl. good girls wait. good girls beg.”

heat flooded your cheeks at his command, a mixture of humiliation and desire swirling around your head. your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his shirt, knuckles white with the effort of holding yourself together.

but the pulsing feeling between your legs spoke louder than logic.

“please.” you mouthed between whines, a quiet surrender you dreaded and loved at the same time. “ngh–”

press.

“please what?” his thumb found your clit through the soaked cotton, pushing down in a slow, torturous circle. your breath hitched, a broken little sound escaping your throat. “use your words, sweetheart. i know you can. you had plenty of them earlier, didn’t you? chatting away with xavier.”

his name was like a blade, sharp and venomous, cutting into you in the most degrading ways. you felt the shift in him immediately: the playful cruelty from before hardened into a darker version, a version that made your body stutter with a different kind of fear.

“i–” you started, but he cut you off with a sharp pinch to your clit. your sentence was turned into a sharp gasp, your head tilting backwards and hitting the wood with a loud thud.

“i changed my mind.” he said between gritted teeth, voice deceptively soft against his visible dissatisfaction at remembering xavier. “you don’t get to speak right now. not after what you did.”

his fingers found the waistband of your panties once more, and with a swift, brutal motion, he pulled them aside. cool air kissed your exposed, sensitive flesh, and you shivered violently, your legs trembling beneath you.

“you stood there…” he continued, his thumb tracing the seam of your folds, parting the slick lips fully and letting your swollen clit peek out. smothering your arousal all over your skin as if marking territory. “holding his hand. smiling at him. like you belonged to him. like you forgot who you really belong to.”

his middle finger dipped lower and found your entrance, slipping in just enough to make you jolt, then retreating before you could clench around him. a frustrated whimper escaped your lips, and he laughed at your desperation.

“did you think about this?” he approached your pussy again, two fingers gathering against your gaping hole, not entering, just resting there, taunting you. “did you think about xavier touching you the way i’m touching you now? did you imagine his fingers inside this dirty little cunt while you held hands?”

“no.” the denial came out breathless, desperate, your chest rising and falling again and again. “rafayel, please, trust me–”

“liar.” he spat the word, and his fingers plunged inside you fully without warning. you choked on a moan, your back arching off the rough wood of the stall as he pumped them in and out with punishing speed. “you’re such a liar, sweetheart. but i can fix that; i’ll fuck the lies right out of you.”

his fingers curled inside you, finding that gummy spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. and you sobbed his name — a broken, pathetic sound that only seemed to fuel his fury. his thumb found your twitching clit once more, resuming its harsh circles as he drove you towards climax.

“you’re mine.” he growled against your throat, teeth scraping the sensitive skin with the intention of marking. “say it. say you’re mine alone.”

“i’m–” your voice fractured as his fingers hit deeper and deeper. “i’m yours, rafayel, please–”

“begging again, my pearl?” his pace slowed all of a sudden, turning cruel and teasing, his fingers dragging against your walls with calculated slowness. “tell me what you want, sweet girl. and maybe — maybe — i’ll give it to you.”

your mind was a hazy, a blur of pleasure and humiliation that overlapped and combined dominating your very being. the pressure was building in your core, a coil tightening with every stroke of his fingers, every rasp of his voice against your skin.

you were close, so close.

“please let me cum.” you pleaded, the words spilling out like a confession. “please, rafayel, i need it, i need–”

“and what makes you think you deserve it?” he withdrew his fingers entirely, leaving your pussy empty and aching. a choked sob of protest tore from your throat, nails scraping at him, but he ignored you, choosing to grasp your thigh with his slicked hand. “what makes you think you deserve to cum after parading yourself in front of xavier?”

his hand jumped away from your leg, only to come back down harder — as a cutting slap.

“it doesn’t matter whose fingers are inside you as long as you finish, hm?” his breath fanned hot against your ear as he spilled a plethora of vitriolic words, prodding once more at your dignity and loyalty. “i might have to fuck you after all. break in your tight little cunt and make sure you remember me for good.”

“ugh– raf– please–”

“you like that, don’t you?” he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze a storm of dark possessiveness. “dirty fucking whore.”

the heat of his body was prominent against your semi-naked frame, a searing line of possession that dug and scorched your exposed skin with every touch. his left hand, firm and demanding, curled around your thigh, grasping your asscheek and hoisting your leg high against his hip. exposing you fully to the cool, frozen air of the festival.

the rough wood of the wall bit into your shoulder blades harsher in the new position, a somewhat grounding pain against the overwhelming ache of his touch.

“look at me, sweetheart.”

you felt why, then.

the thick, heavy shape of his cock, still confined by the straining fabric of his dress pants, was an undeniable intruder that nudged against your inner thigh, opening you for him. a choked gasp escaped your throat when it made contact with your abandoned cunt, your hips twitching involuntarily towards the thing that was to pleasure you immensely.

“tsk, tsk, tsk.” he clicked his tongue, a soft, chiding sound that reverberated through the quiet of the glitched game.

but you whimpered more, your hips bucking against his bulge, desperate for any friction. there was no relief to be earned though.

only a cruel chuckle.

“so pathetic, my pearl.” he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate purr. with your leg nicely wrapped around his hip, he removed his hands from your lower half, rerouting to your neglected upper body. with delicate fingers, respectful for the dress that matched his outfit, he unbuttoned the clasps hiding your cleavage. letting his hungry eyes devour your tits.  “such a perfect little whore. and all mine.”

rafayel guided his aching fingers to your perky nipples, grasping the hardening nubs and pinching just enough to hear you cry out, just enough to see your back arching in ecstasy.

“now…”  with a final squeeze of your tits, he set them free, allowing them to poke out the unbuttoned v-cut of the dress. “i’m going to give you what you want. but you’re going to take every inch of it, and you’re going to thank me for it. understand?”

“y–yes.” you breathed, almost on autopilot, no longer able to discern what was happening. you just needed relief. “yes, rafayel.”

at last, his attention moved down to his waistband. with a teasing motion, he unbuttoned his dress pants and pushed them down, freeing his bare cock to the air. it was thick and heavy, the tip flushed a deep, angry red, glistening with a hefty amount of precum. his balls sat heavy at the base, partially hidden by purple pubic hair.

“oh, shit!”

he grasped his aching length, giving it a few tentative pumps as he positioned himself above your cunt.

and you watched, almost drooling, as he dipped the head between your folds, teasing your engorged clit with a slow, languid drag. the sensation was electrifying, stimulating the nerves that have been denied relief just a few moments ago.

you moaned and shook, your body trembling in anticipation.

“such a needy thing.” he crooned, his voice laced with a mixture of disdain and adoration. “look at you, shaking for my cock. you’ll take it so well, won’t you? you’ll take it like you always did, sweetheart.”

“mhm– will, raf–el.” you confirmed, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “please fuck me. please, i can’t– i need you inside me, please–”

he positioned the mushroomy head of his cock at your entrance, the pressure a promise of the fullness to come. you held your breath, your entire body screaming for him to finally, finally thrust inside. but as he went to push into you, your ruined panties, still bunched to the side, slipped down and blocked your entrance.

“fuck!” he hissed, the curse blooming on his lips in an instant. his eyes, dark and stormy moments before, now burned with an incandescent rage.

in a flash, his sleek dagger materialized in his hand, its blade suspiciously stained with something crimson and ominous. it was the same blade you’d seen him wield before, a weapon that was always used in battle.

what was he–?

with a furious grunt, he dragged your panties forcefully to the side, digging the material into your hip… to pin them against the wooden wall. and then, with a savage lunge, he plunged the dagger through the fabric, trapping them to the wood.

the sound of the blade biting into the wood resonated loudly, a sharp, violent crack that echoed across the system of the game.

“ngh, ah–”

the panties were now held hostage by his dagger, the blade so close to your heated skin you could feel the danger of bloodied cuts and scratches. but the looming danger also bubbled that nefarious arousal in your tummy — the act was so possessive, so corrupting.

rafayel had literally pinned your underwear to the wall with his bloody blade, a macabre trophy of his ownership.

“there.” he grunted, hoping no other obstacle would appear. “now the way is clear.”

as if nothing happened, his hand returned to your thigh, hoisting it higher against his hip, his grip rough and unwavering. he lined himself up with your entrance once more, the tip of his cock nudging against your parted folds.

there was no more teasing, no more slow torture. this time, he was going to take what was his.

“eyes on me, sweetheart.” he commanded, his voice reaching a desperate growl. his orbs, swallowed by the black of his lustful pupils, stared into your matching eyes, full of a possessive fire that needed to be quenched. “i want you to watch me fuck you stupid.”

and with that, he thrusted inside.

he filled you in one slick, brutal stroke, stretching your walls wide around his thick cock, making your tummy bulge visibly from the intrusion. the sensation was irresistible, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure that stole the air from your lungs. you cried out, your nails digging into his clothed shoulders as he began to move. his pace was punishing and relentless from the very first thrust, wishing to leave his imprint on your poor pussy.

“fuck.” he groaned, his head falling forward to rest his forehead against yours. “so tight. so fucking perfect, just like i remember it. this pussy was belongs to me.”

he didn’t wait for you to adjust, didn’t give you time to stabilize yourself. he pistoned into you with a desperate, animalistic need, each jut of his hips driving you harder against the rough wood of the stall. the sound of his sensitive skin slapping against yours filled the air, a filthy, wet rhythm that was punctuated by your broken moans and his husky grunts.

“r–raf, so good.”

the dagger vibrated with every thrust, ringing next to your hip as a reminder of rafayel’s devotion to you. your ruined panties were tight against your skin, soiled by your combined arousal, stretched beyond possibilities by the bloody knife. the sight of them — a symbol of your most intimate and vulnerable side, pinned there by his sturdy claim at ownership — was quite representative of the relationship between you two.

“that’s right.” he praised, his hand moving from your thighs to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at where you two were connected: your battered pussy greedily devouring his slobbering length. “taking my cock just like you should. this is all you’re good for, isn’t it? being my perfect little cocksleeve.”

tears bloomed across your waterline, his stinging words prickling at you, but you still nodded, unable to form words against his verdicts. his thumb, still sticky from fingering you, found your clit once more, rubbing figure eights that pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“please.” you choked out, your voice a ragged sob. “please, rafayel, i’m so close. please let me–”

“you can cum when i tell you to.” he cut you off, snarling at your unceasing, ungrateful requests. he slowed his pace, his thrusts becoming deeper, more precise, hitting your cervix repeatedly. “but first, i want to hear you say it again.”

“say wh–hat?” you gasped, your mind too hazy to remember what was he hinting at.

“tell me who you belong to.” he demanded, his hand digging into your jaw to make you more attentive. “tell me who this cunt belongs to.”

“you.” you sobbed, the word broken and desperate, tears freely falling across your cheeks and cascading down his hand. “you, rafayel. i’m yours. this pussy is yours, it’s all yours, please–”

“good fucking girl.” he purred, and his voice finally shimmered with satisfaction. humming in approval, he resumed his brutal pace, slamming into you with renewed vigor. “now cum. cum for me. let me feel you lose yourself to me.”

the command was all you needed. your orgasm crashed over you like a humongous wave, your body convulsing against his as you cried out his name. your inner walls clamped down on his cock, milking him dry as he continued to thrust through your climax, his own release not far behind.

“thank you, tha–k y–u, thk u–”

“fuck.” he moaned, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside you one last time. “fuck, yes. that’s it. take it, take every last drop.”

hot spurts of seed flooded your insides, rafayel successfully reclaiming what was once his. his hips didn’t stop even after reaching climax, balls tightening yet unceasingly slamming against your pussy as he sought your overstimulation.

alas, his movements gradually slowed until he was just holding himself inside you, his lips pressed against yours, feeding on your whines.

the silence that followed was broken only by the sound of your labored breathing and the soft rustle of the clothes as they fell back into place. he pulled out slowly, his cock slipping from your oversensitive flesh with a squelching pop, creamy cum escaping soon after. in spite of the ministrations you’ve suffered, you whimpered at the loss, at the feeling of emptiness that was almost as overwhelming as the fullness you’ve experienced seconds ago.

“now you get it, my pearl? no matter what you do…” his gaze was still intense, still possessive, as if his fervor wasn’t quenched. “or what you say…” he then looked at the dagger, still pinning your panties to the wall.

with all your trembling and quivering, the material encouraged the blade to cut into the panties — they were utterly ruined, dissected at the seam, only relying on the back section. yet, even cut up, the dagger was sturdy, pinning the remnants of your panties nicely into the wall.

“you cannot escape me.”

©pearlescenthoney 2026. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

You stopped immediately. Eyes wide, you looked for the source. No, because that just made you want to bolt off.

You counted to three in your head, hands gripping your skirt. You ran, startling both birds on your shoulder as you started taking off.

“Oof!” Two pairs of arms caught you. You squirmed, stepping on their feet.

“Ow! Ow! Kieran, hold her tighter.”

“Ow! I’m trying, Luke!”

“Your Highness, we’re under King Sylus’ orders to keep you safe!” The masked man on your right, Luke, exclaimed. “You went too deep into the forest.”

“I did?” You stopped moving, finally feeling your feet back on the ground. 

When did the area get so dark?

You flinched at the rustling bushes. You hadn’t realized you were holding on to one of them until a bunny hopped out. Sighing in relief, you finally took a good look at the two wearing all black.

“Yeah, we’re here to guide you back to the palace. It’ll be sundown any sooner.” The masked man on your left, Kieran, spoke. “We mean no harm, Your Highness.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I hit you earlier. Are you both okay?” If Caleb ever knows you hurt his underlings, you’ll be done for—wait, they said King Sylus.

“We’re fine! We’ve been scratched by a bear before.”

“And a tree almost fell on us, but we’re alive.”

You blinked at these two… guards? Crazy masked guards?

Shaking your head, you started walking back with them. “How are you both under King Sylus’ orders? His Majesty is not even here,” you asked.

You could see them staring at each other before they both looked away. Both of your birds had found their refuge in each of their shoulders. 

The more you looked at them, the more you remembered seeing them before Skye sent them back to the kingdom. 

“Well, we’re his attendants! He sent us back here to guard you.” Luke said. “We arrived this morning. We’ve been keeping an eye on you whenever you go out.”

“Inside is off limits?” you asked just in case.

“Of course. His Majesty’s orders.” Kieran hummed, patting the dove in his hands right now. 

You are weirded out, but then again, it makes sense. As a princess—fake princess—you still should have personal guards. Emcee has Caleb, then you have these twins. Which makes you wonder, where was Caleb when Emcee went missing? 

“We didn’t know Mephisto was with you all this time.” Luke grinned, moving his hands up and down with the crow in his hands. Mephisto stayed still, already used to it.

“...Mephisto?” Your crow has a name. All this time, you’ve been calling them Caw and Coo. Mephisto is much cooler. You should think of a name for your dove.

“This is His Majesty’s bird. He personally took care of Mephi since he got injured.” 

Something doesn’t add up—everything doesn’t. Why would the king’s attendants, even a bird, come to a far neighboring palace when the king stayed in his kingdom? Or were you looking into it too much?

And the crow gave you a bracelet. Does that mean he intended to give it to the princess? 

Skye’s face and his expensive laugh came echoing in your mind. You were suspicious now. “I heard the ambassador is his closest aide. Is that true?”

“Yes, he makes the decisions if His Majesty is not around.”

“Cooo?” Even your dove feels disturbance in the force, head tilted.

“Are you under his decisions or His Majesty?” you asked once more. You swore you could feel them grinning underneath their masks.

“His Majesty’s!” In-sync.

You smiled. Great loyal subjects, you want to pull off your wig. You were sure Skye wasn’t who he is now… how will you confront him with this?

The walk back towards the palace was livelier than your one-sided chatter to your birds. You found out they were twins. Their mannerisms mirrored each other. 

You even forgot how you needed to act like a princess around them. It’s been a while since you laughed that much.

Emcee sure will have it nice if she were to marry the king.

“Did you have a pleasant walk, Your Highness?” 

Ah, speak of the man himself.

The twins had watched you crack your back to be straight after the relaxed posture. They went into place as well, guarding behind you, as if everything snapped back into place—despite the man having seen and heard the three of you being loud from afar.

“Yes, it was pleasant.” You smiled, folding your hands on your skirt. “Your attendants are very accommodating.”

“You will be meeting them more often once you are married.” He chuckled, offering an arm to walk inside the palace. “They are His Majesty’s trusted guards.”

“How about yourself, sir Skye? Will I see you more often as well?” you asked, grabbing his arm. It already falls into place with how frequently you’ve done it—you can’t imagine holding another’s arm now.

“We will see, Your Highness.” A vague answer fell out of your ears.

An ache stung in your chest at the thought of not seeing him anymore—ha, you’ve grown attached to the ambassador. 

Would you miss him when your act is done? No one to link your arm with anymore, talk about random things whilst having tea, listening to his unique humming—you’re definitely going to miss him. 

Quickly shaking your head, what were you thinking? Sure, you were jealous of the princess before, for her state of living with no debts at all—but her duty determined the kingdom’s future.

And you were no princess. You won’t see Skye anymore.

You weren’t ready to go back to your demise. Even with the promise Zayne would pay half of your parents’ debt, you were sure the madam would still add the so-called ‘interest’—and you couldn’t possibly leech off him either.

“Your Highness is holding on like you won’t let go.” He mused, feeling the grip of your arm tighter each second. Not something he couldn’t handle, but more of what he can’t read your mind.

You only gave him a crooked smile. Maybe you didn’t want to let him go after all.

You fell for Skye, the fellow ambassador. Worst, if your hunch was right—he’s the neighboring king, who was about to marry another.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

“Zayne is missing?”

You couldn’t believe your ears when Caleb entered the princess’s room to inform you. Your knees buckled, falling back on the bed. 

You were alone in this palace now.

“I told him not to go alone and yet…” Caleb sighed, running his hand through his hair. “You—I don’t trust you, but I have no choice. Give me time until I find them both.”

“That’s what Zayne said last time…” you muttered. To buy him time until they found the princess, yet he went missing. “It’s been far too long I’ve been here. They’re bound to find out I’m not the princess.”

You doubt he will save you from prison, but there was no one else you could confide in. His position would be alarmed if anyone knew he sided with the fake princess. He is the captain of the knights. Will you even be unscathed if he’s gone too?

“Just until midnight, I will be back with them.”

You hope he holds to his words.

“And tell me why you’re staring so hard at my head?”

“Oh, no—Nothing! Nothing at all… Say, do you have like a bump on it somewhere?” Curiosity got the better of you when you were reminded of Zayne’s unfortunate tale.

Caleb raised a brow. “We’re in an emergency, and that’s what you’re asking?”

“Right, sorry—” You laughed it off. He looked at you suspiciously but decided to humor you when walking himself out.

“Dunno where you heard that from… but I did slip into a pond and hit the back of my head. The bump is kinda still there.”

Your brain worked its cogs. Zayne was sort of telling the truth… You’re never telling him you assumed he threw a stone at Caleb. Did Zayne wish he did, though? 

You’re going to assume he did as a jealous rival.

Your head was frazzled if you weren’t thinking of the unfortunate tale to humor you. You were clouded with worry for Zayne, Emcee, and even the prickly knight who hates you.

Now, you were preparing for lunch with several important people—the Queen, the neighboring kingdom’s ambassador, and the prime minister. This was your royal duty to cover for the princess.

“Why the frown, Your Highness?” The familiar voice made you stop, seeing that Skye had joined you. Oh, how you wished you could tell him.

“Oh, um—I read a rather sad book, is all…” Well, that ‘book’ was your life. You’re replaying what Caleb had said earlier over and over in your mind—not about his head, of course.

“Whatever I can do to cheer you up, Your Highness?” Skye raised a brow, offering an arm to escort you to the dining hall. It became a habit whenever you walked with him through the gardens, just silently looking at the scenery.

“Maybe humor me with a small promise?” you said without thinking. You’ve grown too comfortable with him in less than a month.

“Gladly if it’s anything within my power.” Skye only chuckled—whatever makes you happy, he’ll do it.

“Since we have become acquainted… close enough to be friends—I hope you think so as well… Promise me you will not turn your back on your friend? Even if something happens that you don’t expect?” 

He wasn’t sure. Were you speaking as the princess or as you? Yet the anxiety swimming within your eyes could only make him smile slightly. He wished he could just take all of your burdens away.

“That is a hefty deal, but of course. We will be working much closer after the wedding. It is unspoken that you have my word and trust—as your future aide.”

He wished he didn’t have to add the last part, but alas, his cover is still going.

The walk to the dining hall ended when the butler opened the doors. 

“Ah, you’re here, darling.” The Queen smiled at your arrival, even more when she saw you hand in hand with Skye.

You don’t see it, but you feel it. The stink eye from the prime minister. Why is he staring so scornfully? 

The lunch was for political talks, mostly between the ambassador and the prime minister, and also with the Queen whenever her opinion was asked for.

“When will the king arrive to meet his bride?” The prime minister asked. The lunch was almost ending, and you were grateful you’d be out of this stuffy atmosphere within minutes.

“I do have something to confess,” Skye spoke from beside you. You looked at him, confused.

“I am no ambassador. I’ve come firsthand to see who my bride is. I apologize for deceiving all of you, but I believe neither of us would be comfortable marrying a stranger.”

If you weren’t in front of other people, your jaw would drop. Oh boy, you were right all along. And this man only sent you a smirk.

Well, at least it’s comforting to know it wasn’t only you who hid your identity, but you can’t have that grand revealing like this. You’ll be in prison instead of praises.

You hadn’t realized Sylus had gone out from his seat, taking your hand. Visibly stiffening, you stared at him as he brought your hand to his lips.

The bracelet slid down slightly. You had worn it for moral support from your crow—ignoring the fact it might be from the princess’s secret admirer. 

“It would be good to reveal this as well.” The prime minister chuckled, standing up. 

Guards were already by your side, but Sylus didn’t let go of your hand. The slight gaze he had made them back up—not without a hand pulling at your hair.

You winced. Your actual hair was being pulled in the process—what hurt more was being revealed of your true identity. You could hear the Queen gasp, but you couldn’t sense what his reaction was. 

“You dare to lay a hand on my bride?” 

Your eyes snapped towards him. Oh, he hadn’t faltered at all. If anything, his grip tightened around your hand.

At his gesture, Luke and Kieran came out, bringing stacks of documents to present to the Queen. Continuing the shock of her own daughter being fake, the truth of the prime minister's doings was revealed. You were more worried for the Queen’s health at this point.

You couldn’t believe your ears—fraud, money embezzlement, even the palace’s treasury. 

All you could feel was the thumb softly kneading your palm.

“Your Majesty, allow me to handle this as an international intervention if you would,” Sylus said, bringing you along as he neared the Queen.

The prime minister scoffed, already cuffed under Sylus’ guards.

“...As the Queen, I allow your intervention to aid in these matters.” The Queen took a deep breath, shaking her head in disappointment towards her most trusted person. 

She had wanted to stand up, to face you. Yet you only let her sit back, not trusting her legs would be strong enough after devastating news.

“And you, dearie.” The Queen reached for your hand. “I am… disappointed to find my daughter is missing this late. More of the fact that I had not recognized the change between you and my own daughter.”

“You look like her so… so much.” The Queen whispered. 

You only gave a wistful, apologetic smile. 

“But thank you—for withholding the duty that a princess should be doing. You must’ve tried so hard to convince His Majesty and retain the relationship between kingdoms.” The Queen had a weary expression, yet you could see she was proud of you—at a stranger who got roped into the royal mess.

“You’ve done great duty for the kingdom.”

“...You should thank your most loyal subject, Zayne. For seeking me out to help, Your Majesty.” You curtsied, a gratitude for her to not put a punishment over your improper behavior—faking as the princess, her own daughter,

The Queen only nodded, patting your hand twice before turning to the king situated behind you.

“Your Majesty. Please, find my daughter.” The Queen addressed Sylus, who still held his ground behind you—ready to defend you if anything went awry.

“That’s already been handled, Your Majesty.”

The crowd of knights came in, Caleb leading in with Emcee running towards the Queen. You saw Zayne following behind them. His eyes found yours, nodding with a small smile to express gratitude.

In the midst of the reunion, Sylus whisked you to the corner.

“...So, you knew everything?” you asked, staring at the hand holding yours. He hadn’t let go yet. You were starting to feel special for once.

“It was not hard to discern noble etiquette naturally and not.” Sylus chuckled. His other hand had tidy your messy hair from the wig pull. “However, not everything. It took time to find the princess’s whereabouts.”

“Hey! I practiced hard for my etiquette…” You pouted, looking at the crowd of reunion. You should find and thank Zayne for his guidance after this. 

You’ll miss breakfast in bed and free desserts. Then again, you were borrowing those chances—the rightful owner came back.

“I guess this is a goodbye, Your Majesty.”

“A goodbye?” Sylus raised a brow.

“You’ll be marrying Her Highness. I’ll be back to my normal life after this.” You smiled. It hurt, trying to let go of what you had been comfortable with for a month—it hurt to let him go.

“And who says that?”

His hand was on your cheek, wiping the tears you hadn’t realized had fallen. You closed your eyes—you shouldn’t be used to his touch. 

“Well… I am in no possible social standing to ever meet you again, Your Majesty. I have debts to pay, a dream to reach. Royalty has never been made for me.” You laughed slightly, reminded of your debts. 

The debt would be paid in half if Zayne did as promised, but you don’t even know how much the debt is with that so-called ‘interest’.

“You’re assuming… I will marry someone who already has her eyes for another?” Sylus raised a brow. The thought had tickled him. That would mean all his Skye disguise was for nought. 

“You are marrying for kingdom union—to help Linkon prosper from its bankruptcy,” you remembered Zayne’s words the first night you were in the palace.

“And as a royal, it doesn’t matter who you marry, as long as you’ve done your duty—doesn’t that apply to you too?” You furrowed your brows. 

It earned a hearty laugh from the king. Your face heated up so much that you looked around to see if anyone had heard. 

“What are you laughing at?!”

“You must have forgotten I am a king, from a wealthy kingdom which is not on the verge of bankruptcy.” He smirked. 

“You’re evil… you’re making my kingdom bankrupt.” You were lowkey offended. This was also your homeland he’s talking about!

But oh, that smirk you’re going to miss. Tears welled up again. You couldn’t help but cry at the thought of not seeing this man again.

“Goodness.” Sylus only chuckled. “I am not sure what you’re crying over now, dove.”

You, I’m crying over you.

“I’m sure the princess had found something interesting the moment she was captured… It’s enough to help the kingdom.” Sylus informed, taking a step closer.

“Now, let me propose a deal to you as your friend.” He muttered. 

Right, he promised to be your friend no matter what. You hum, wiping away your tears. 

“I will sponsor you to several opera performances, here and overseas. You will pay your debt with the money you earn.” Sylus started, taking your hand with the bracelet.

That would be a dream come true. 

“You will be a successful songstress. I believe in you.”

Oh, you forgot about that songstress matter. You furrowed your brows. Wait— 

“You knew all along?”

“I requested Mephisto to send this to the songstress. He’s never wrong.”

“I thought the princess had a secret admirer, sending things through a crow.” You let out a wet laugh. “Why are you so kind to me, Your Majesty? I… I betrayed your trust, I deceived you.”

“We’ve conversed enough to be friends. Isn’t this what friends would do?”

You wouldn’t know. Your only friend was the old lady who would kindly remind you to eat and sleep back in the boutique. Those were the kind things you knew.

“And had you forgotten I was Ambassador Skye to you?” He chuckled, which made you squint. Right, he pretended too.

“We both deceived each other, dove.”

You only chuckled, shaking your head. Letting go of the problem, you weren’t exactly ticked off either to know his true identity—though a little bit of fear was still evident until he saved you from imprisonment.

 “Then, as a friend… can I ask you for another favor?”

“Name your deal.” Sylus smiled.

You requested help for the old lady and run an investigation on the boutique—or rather, gather evidence of overwork and underpaid labor. What you hadn’t realized the reunion crowd soon navigated to where the both of you were.

“That’s already been done, Lady Y/N.”

The familiar voice of your previous tutor approaches. Zayne nodded as Emcee huffed. “Goodness! I don’t understand how you could live through that—that greedy mouse!”

Mmh, she must be referring to the madam.

“The royal knights will oversee the investigation into the boutique. Your debt has been repaid after performing to be the kingdom’s savior.” Caleb read out the declaration conducted by the princess herself. “You have been given a title from Her Majesty, Baroness L/N.”

‘No debts to pay’ lingered in your mind.

“There will be a day for your title bestowment, Y/N.” Emcee grinned. 

“It seems you have more friends than you thought, dove.” Sylus hummed from behind you. He had a hand around your waist, grounding you from the fleeting surprise. 

“That means the money you earn will be yours alone, your very first true paycheck.” The thought made your eyes glimmer. Not being paid for debt, but for yourself.

Emcee cleared her throat, taking both of your and Sylus’ attention.

“And I would like to invite you to my wedding! As promised, please sing at my wedding.”

Your eyes widened, seeing Emcee grab Caleb’s hand. You never knew Caleb could grin that bright. He was like a different man, not that ‘you don’t belong here, pauper bla bla bla’.

You were more worried about your previous tutor. You glanced at Zayne, who had a small smile, happy for his friends, yet the sadness was still in his eyes. Pursing your lips, you decided to get some almond cookies for him.

His eyes met yours, which had softened slightly. 

Thank you. You had read his lips correctly this time.

“So… where will you go after this?” Emcee asked. Her eyes flitted between you and Sylus—eyes fishing for gossip.

Well, Sylus had laid out your plan. You will be singing in the opera, definitely not back to your mundane life. As for next…

“Taking it one at a time.” Sylus hums. “She will be performing in Mo Grand Theater in four months. You will be sent tickets.”

Mo Grand Theater, the theater you’ve been trying to sneak into. Your jaw dropped slightly.

“As for the next step…” 

You glanced at Sylus, who was still not done yet. You were already happy with what he offered. What more could there be—

“A wedding invitation soon, hopefully.”

Huh? 

While Emcee was cheering in delight, you looked at Sylus, sending a ‘that was not in the script’ look. Sylus only shrugged while guiding you out of the palace.

A carriage was ready to bring you to your future.

“Think of it, my dove. I have already thought of you as my bride before—and you still will be. All I need is your decision after your career.” Sylus muttered, easily pulling out a box from his pocket. 

He slid a ring on your middle finger, a simple band with a ruby.

“A proper proposal will be made when you agree. This is simply proof of our partnership, I, as your patron.”

“You will be there, right?” you asked, staring at the ring. 

You already knew your answer to his proposal. You panicked just a day ago, but you were filled with happiness right now. You wouldn’t let the chance slip when he offered to help you reach your dream. 

You had to be selfish for a bit. Your lifelong dream was within grasp.

A kiss on your hand reminded you of your first meeting with him.

“At every step of the way, my dove.”

Epilogue. From the Mo Grand Theater, Linkon Palace of Emcee’s wedding, and Philos Palace—you had shared your voice. Your name was on every paper, not because of your patron—Sylus sponsored you anonymously from the world after you were recognized. You wanted to build your name. You went through the same auditioning and selection process as everyone. You caught the attention of Thomas, who brought you to Rafayel, an arts appreciator and the founder of Mo Grand Theater. Your talent was finally recognized. Your portrait was hung in the halls of Mo Grand Theater, alongside famous songstresses and songsters, within a year. You invited the old lady, Zayne, Emcee, and even Caleb to your first show. Sylus was also there, front row seat. Three bouquets and a flower decorated your room that night. The proposal was quiet. Sylus had asked you once more on one knee, in the field of flowers. You accepted, ready to live with someone who would love you, for you. You hadn’t expected he would spin you around after that with that chuckle of his. It was a happily ever after, from your courage in being a fake-princess— Uh, you were always free to begin again. Maybe next time wouldn’t be so illegal. 

i had so much fun writing this, if you can’t tell hahaha.

It was Akso Hospital's newest ad, something he didn’t bat an eye at when Greyson mentioned it. Now, he was curious about it—he hadn’t even seen it himself.

You’ve rewatched the clip over 10 times now, a 30-second video, muttering how scandalous it is for not giving him enough screen time. He appeared for a solid 8 seconds—you counted it. You’ll be downloading and cutting the video sooner or later.

Yes, he was in a video, for an ad about Akso Hospital. You happened to come past a compilation edit on social media about a certain cardiac surgeon. It wasn’t long until you reached the source.

Zayne didn’t think much when they asked to record some footage of him—he slightly regretted agreeing so easily. He wasn’t expecting the ad to become popular for the wrong reasons—or perhaps reaching the wrong audience.

4 seconds in, it showed him inside his office behind the desk, just doing some paperwork or charting—whatever he was doing, he couldn’t remember—layered with a voice listing Akso’s benefits. 

The other 4 seconds of him were Zayne in his glory. Zayne was in his scrubs—you’ve paused at that one for a long time before the transition with his surgical gown in the operating room—his eyes sharp, assessing the surgery he’ll be operating while he was scrubbing in.

Ah, he remembered this one, working on a dummy operation for content purposes. He was free. He was even happy to help that day after receiving a lunch box from you, followed by a separate container of your pancakes as dessert. 

He was in a good mood—he didn’t think much.

“...Are you not bored? It’s been five minutes you’ve been staring at that part.” Zayne muttered. He wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed or amused. Why watch and stare at the ad when he was right beside you?

“Well… My boyfriend is looking too good in here. I understand the uproar of the comments.” You nodded to yourself, as if trying to judge how good this ad is. “The only crime is your part is minimal!”

In all honesty, you just want to see Zayne in his scrubs. With the underscrubs, which complete the look, you were growling.

A different vibe from his usual buttoned-up shirt, like the one you always see when you visit him. It was probably your first time seeing him in scrubs. 

It drives you crazy.

Muscled arms covered in his long-sleeved underscrubs, holding the writing pad. The attentive gaze while he questioned the patient’s condition—er, dummy patient. This ad was giving you another look at your boyfriend.

“I hate how I have to share this look of you with people in the whole world who see this ad.” You sighed, leaning back, and falling right into his open arms.

His arm found your waist naturally as he pulled you closer. Finally, you were not glued to his on-screen version.

He only hummed. “Is it that special?”

“You have no idea what this does to me.” You let out another exasperated sigh, gesturing to the paused screen. You zoomed in on his pixelated figure, one you could decipher while they were recording in the hallway—another him in his scrubs, maybe going into an actual surgery.

He squinted, probably needed his glasses. But he was surprised. It was really him—at least from the outfit itself.

“Now, I need to see you in a sleeveless shirt, period.” You stare at him with a serious look. “I’ll get you a whole cake for it.”

Sure, you’ve seen him shirtless instead. Not that you don’t love that look, no. But certain outfits on him just get you somewhere.

Zayne wasn’t sure he should be scared or flattered that you’re showing this much love over his physique. Was he considering your request? Maybe.

“...You’re not going to be bothered by this?” 

Zayne pulled up his sleeves, showing the scars that made him cover them. His own battle and struggle. He never wanted to show anyone any of it. 

“Oh, honey, why would I?” You frowned. 

You raised his arm to your lips—your lovely forearm even if it’s full of scars. You peppered his scars with kisses before doing the same to his other arm. Lastly, you left a big smooch on his cheek. 

“Of course not. In fact, I want to take good care of your skin.” You hummed, hugging his arm. “I don’t know what causes it yet, but I’ll treat it with good care either way.”

“These are my precious hardworking forearms. Mine.” You grinned, squeezing his arm in your hug.

Zayne lets out a small breath, seemingly like a small laugh. Right, he could never predict your answers. You never fail to surprise him.

“Now, would you come home in your scrubs sometimes?” You bat your eyelashes towards him, giving your best puppy eyes afterwards.

“What’s your bribe for that?”

“...Uh, I’ll make you pancakes for two weeks?”

“Alright...” Zayne sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Does that mean you’ll wear a sleeveless top too?”

“...If you wish, but I haven't acquired any sleeveless tops. You might need to pick one for me.”

You shot to the air, grinning, chanting a ‘yes, yes, yes’ under your breath. 

“I’ll collect your pancake due every lunch hour and the cake on the day the top arrives—”

You weren’t even listening, already giggling while you ran to the living room, probably grabbing your laptop to browse the top you want to dress him up in.

Zayne only smiled. As long as he’s making you happy, he’ll do anything for you.

And as long as you’re not asking him to be stripped down with nothing at all—yet. 

i keep reaching 1k words send help—inspired by a katsuki blurb. and i’m a fan of the pitt’s scrubs, so i shall fan over zayne in his scrubs as well. honestly he would look great in ptmc’s scrubs HAHA. i don't watch the show tho, only thirsting over sir abbot.

i can’t recall if he ever wore sleeveless tops like sy’s or caleb’s, wondering how he would look in it, was there a card of that visual?

You were only a commoner. Some part of you wished you had her place instead. Maybe you’ll be able to pay that debt off—or maybe not even having a debt in the first place…

That wish came true today.

Zayne Li, the princess’s tutor and attendant, had come to your doorstep to serve as the princess’s stand-in while the royal knights searched for her. He confessed that the princess had been captured rather than running away, while the royal council had believed she had fled in fear of marrying a stranger.

You didn’t remember him when you met Emcee. There was only that brown-haired man with striking purple eyes instead. Zayne must be one of her closest confidants to tell that there was someone who looked like her twin, which was you.

You weren’t surprised he had searched your background. He offered to pay half of your parents’ debt when you finished the job, until Emcee was found. You couldn’t believe he was putting his own wealth on the line for the princess’s accident. 

You had to take the offer, your key to freedom. Also, living as a princess for a while won’t be so bad…

Right?

“Lady Y/N, please refrain from slouching.”

“Lady Y/N, pay attention when you raise your teacup.”

“Sigh—Lady Y/N.”

Now you know why you weren’t born into royalty.

You only grinned sheepishly. Zayne was at his wits' end. He’s been teaching you princess etiquette all day and night. It’s still your third day. There is a week before the neighboring ambassador returns to see whether the princess has been found.

“I’m sorry, a princess isn’t turned overnight.” You sighed, taking off your gloves. You still weren’t used to wearing them. It was to hide the scars from endless sewing and stitching. Zayne was kind enough to apply some expensive ointment to smooth the skin.

“I am well aware. Please practice these habits. We will get to your dining etiquette once more tomorrow. The lesson is over for tonight.” Zayne said, taking your gloves and placing them in their place.

“Can I ask a question, Mr. Li?” you asked, straightening your posture as he walked past to tidy up the practice items. Several books have been used to train your balance and the cutlery for dining etiquette.

“Of course, and you may just call me Zayne.” He reminded you, glancing at you. “...I am not higher in social standing than yours.”

There’s that look again. The look of longing. Maybe it was because your features are similar to the princess's. 

Did he like the princess? He has been the princess’s long confidant, after all, being her tutor—or did you misunderstand?

“Why must Her Highness be wedded? She didn’t want to be wed, as I’ve heard her woes when I met her.” It was an innocent question, yet Zayne seemed worked up about the question.

“The kingdom is on the verge of bankruptcy. The princess needs to wed to earn financial support from our neighboring kingdom… it is her responsibility as a royal.” Zayne explained, pouring tea for both of you. 

“If the princess is not back by the end of the week, they will cancel the royal wedding.”

He still eyed your movements—to take sugar, to stir your tea, to drink—it was all for the kingdom’s future. Your act will determine whether they believe the princess is back.

“...You love her, don’t you?” 

The question made him still, eyes averting elsewhere. You wondered if it hurt him to see you, a stranger who looks like her, sitting in her spot and wearing her clothes. It must be hard on him to have his lover gone—what if she really ran away?

“...It’s getting late. Get enough rest. We’ll continue our lesson in the morning.”

You watched as Zayne went out. Staring at the thick book he left for you, you groaned inwardly, trying to get the last of your brain juices to absorb these etiquettes.

Thank goodness for the maids’ miraculous hands. They can cover the bags under your eyes from memorizing the princess etiquette.

“...I hope you have slept, Lady Y/N.” Zayne deadpanned the moment he saw you. You only shrugged—still straightened, pointing at the thick book.

“Then let’s put that to the test.”

It wasn’t perfect, but there was improvement. You didn’t spill a drop from placing the sugar. You had mostly straightened your back, whether standing or sitting, and you were able to maintain eye contact with him. He could see the smugness dripping from your face.

“Great job. Here is your reward.” Zayne acknowledged it by bringing a lidded tray. He took off the lid, letting you examine the treat. 

Thick almond cookies sandwiched together, you saw his eyes sparkle at the treat—why is he the excited one?

“Try some.” 

You took a bite while keeping your manners—you wouldn’t want him to bite back. It was sweet, crumbled right through your mouth—gosh, to eat something like this every day.

“This is delicious,” you commented, taking another one. “Compliments to the patisserie chef.”

Zayne only chuckled, taking a seat across from you, partaking in the treats. “You will see the Queen tonight. She needs to see with her own eyes that her daughter came back.”

You almost dropped your precious cookie into the tea. Your test is coming sooner than you thought. 

“You will do just fine. Raise your chin. You are a princess.” 

You are a princess.

You wished it were true. 

Zayne stayed behind you at all times, providing your support—read, pressure—while you dined with the Queen. Your back was sweating, and you could feel his glare intensifying when you almost picked the wrong spoon.

Conversing with the Queen was no big deal. It seemed she didn’t really know her daughter’s interests or hobbies, or rather, she hadn’t realized because she lost her spectacles. It was all laughs before she departed after indulging in her dessert.

“Remember your duty for the kingdom, darling.”

Those were her last words before she retreated for the night. If Emcee really ran away for her freedom, you wouldn’t really blame her.

Just as Zayne helped you up to lead you back to the princess’s bedroom, a man in armor blocked your way. You staggered backwards, bumping into Zayne, who only sighed and held both your arms.

“Damn… she does look like Emcee.” You remembered this guy, the one who accompanied the princess when she went to town.

“Back off, Caleb,” Zayne said, slightly moving you behind him.

Caleb only raised his hands in surrender. “No need to get defensive, just looking at her closer…”

His eyes moved towards you. A dangerous glint flashed—oh, he doesn’t like you. He moved past you with a warning whisper.

“You’re still nothing like her. Remember your place, pauper.”

Ooh, yeah. He doesn’t like you.

You didn’t realize Zayne had already brought you to your room. Still stunned by whatever that was—it wasn’t like you’d be staying here forever. Even you knew that.

You were temporary, and you knew that.

“...Does he like—ya know, threatening mental welfare?”

“...You could say that. He hit his head when he was young.” You waited for his small chuckle to see if he was joking, but Zayne was serious as ever.

You were about to move on until he continued. “He woke up on Her Highness’s lap. He thinks she’s an angel—his savior until now.”

You raised a brow. That’s a serious issue to the point of inducing delusion. You were about to move on from the topic, but he still had something to say.

“Unfortunately, the stone wasn’t hard enough.”

“Wait—huh?” 

“Mmh, it’s unfortunate.”

“Zayne, are you messing with me?” 

Zayne sighed, crossing his arms. “Mmh, unfortunately.”

It was your turn to sigh until you didn’t know which part he was messing with you. “Wait, which part of it is unfortunate?!”

Zayne didn’t elaborate, hiding his chuckle as you pestered him for the truth about the accident. Which one was true, he never told you. 

Did it drive you crazy? Yes. You are now frazzled and confused. You’ll get Zayne next time—

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

It was another day, and the neighboring kingdom’s ambassador was back to see the princess. He brought attendants—were they twins?

Your eyes blinked at the ambassador they sent. This guy looked like he laughed out of money—he must be paid well, or maybe he’s just a wealthy noble.

“The royal wedding will ensue, it seems.” Skye, the ambassador, nodded. The attendants were dismissed to write a report to send back to their kingdom.

You felt sweat budding on your back the second time since the interaction with the Queen. This guy’s eyes looked discerning. What if he finds out you’re a fake?

“Is there something you need, sir?” You remembered to keep your chin up, which earned an amused gaze from the man.

“Why, yes. As the ambassador, I must see further if the princess is suitable for our… king.” Skye hummed, taking steps closer.

You held your ground, nodding. “Very well, let us have tea in the garden.”

Looking at Zayne for confirmation, he only nodded, instructing the maids to prepare the place.

Well, walking like a princess for more than an hour hurts your back. You’ve been gripping the front of your skirt to keep your composure. You try your best to answer all his questions about—uh, the garden, which you totally wing. 

“May I ask a question, Mr. Qin?” you asked, indulging yourself in the almond cookies Zayne must have specially requested. 

“I must have talked too much. Please do, Your Highness.” Skye nodded. He’s been watching your reactions to his words, then what you eat, what you see—you were hyper-aware of it too.

“Why had the king gone far too another kingdom to find a bride? I mean no offense, but had none of the ladies in your kingdom satisfied him?” you asked out of pure curiosity. What high standards does he have? 

He is a king. Surely, the duke’s daughter would be okay in terms of stature.

“The king has not found who he likes. That is all.” Skye easily answered. He had an amused smile. 

You raised your brow slightly. Was he much more of a romantic than she thought?

“Then, what makes it certain that the princess—I am someone he likes? We have yet to meet.” You cleared your throat, caught off guard. Caleb’s words were drilled well—you can’t refer to yourself as the princess.

“I am his closest aide. I know what he would like.” Skye chuckled. 

He wondered if you’d be betrayed to know who he truly is, Skye—or rather, Sylus Qin, the king from the neighboring kingdom.

“I will take your word for it.” A faux smile was on your lips. 

You weren’t sure whether you were happy or sad. Would he be disappointed once he knew you weren’t the actual princess?

“It will be time for my… baking lessons, yes. Please excuse me, I wish you a pleasant stay in the palace.” You tried to read Zayne’s lips from afar.

As soon as you stood up, Sylus took your hand, bringing it to his lips as a greeting. You almost pulled your hand away, grinning nervously.

“I will see you again, Your Highness.”

Curtsying one last time. You scurried down the garden path.

“Baking lessons, interesting.” Sylus only watched you run down the road elegantly—at least, tried to. He only let out a small laugh. He’ll need to speak with you more to know who you actually are underneath the title of princess.

On the other hand, you reached Zayne, who was waiting at the end of the road. “Baking lessons, was it?”

Zayne furrowed his brows in confusion, still guiding you back into the palace. “What do you mean? A princess does not bake. You are going to painting lessons.”

“Oh.” You hoped Skye would understand why baking lessons were needed.

“Did you say anything odd?”

“Whatever do you mean? Let us bake—I mean, paint!”

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

As you all wait for Emcee to be found, it’s been almost a week since you met the neighboring kingdom's ambassador. You’ve been on friendly terms with the ambassador, Skye. He’s… interesting. 

Do all nobles act this lavishly? Compared to your stiff movements, you can only wince whenever Zayne shakes his head. A great student you are.

Not to mention his sets of suits. As a seamstress, you could tell those fabrics don’t even exist in the madam’s boutique. What is that? Mulberry silk? Belgian linen?

“Like the design, Your Highness?” He noticed your gaze. He always notices everything you do. 

It was only the two of you in the garden, underneath the gazebo, for tea. It became an unspoken agreement to sit and drink around this time of day, just to talk and enjoy each other’s presence, or more of you running away from your lessons.

“It is intricate, yes. Is this your finest fabric?” you find yourself asking, eyes still on the trimming of his sleeve. 

“Derived from the softest wool. Would you like to touch?” He offered, arm extended. 

You inched closer, not missing the opportunity. You may hate working at the madam’s boutique, but learning about fabrics is basically half of your life story. How comfortable it will be when worn, how light it is for the skirt to flow…

“I have heard women love their dresses. I was not aware you would pay close attention to its fabrics.” Skye muses. 

You froze in turn. This was not what a princess would do. 

You cleared your throat, composing yourself, going back to your seat. “As you said, women love their dresses. Wouldn’t it be great if we could supply your finest materials once our kingdoms are united?”

You gave yourself a pat on the back.

“I applaud you for thinking ahead. I’ll be sure to offer it up to His Majesty.” Skye nodded, noting what you liked. While the fabrics he uses probably aren’t available, given how rare they are, if you meant business supplies for the high society.

“I shall send word to inform that Your Highness has an eye for clothing.” He will at least order a few garments for you to wear, using the high-grade wool that made your eyes sparkle the moment you touched it.

He could imagine you in your wedding dress. He’ll be sure to have the finest material ready for the wedding.

“What about you, Sir Skye? What do you like?” You really did bond with him. He lets you use his first name, or maybe because you were a princess, so he lets you.

Sylus smiled. What does he like? As in Skye? Or as himself? Both should be the same, no?

“Music, I relish hearing orchestras.” What an expensive hobby. 

You were jealous. You wished you could watch the opera, yet you couldn’t even buy a ticket with no income. The money from singing in the plaza couldn’t come close. You resolved to hear from outside the building or sneak into the back rooms—it works sometimes. 

“I see, it suits you.” It was unexpected. You thought he was more of a political guy—maybe he is, but he doesn’t show it. 

“Does it? You must love hearing songs too to hire a songstress to your room.”

You almost spit out your tea. Scandalized. He passed by your room? Now, why would he? 

The last time you sang was in the bathroom with your bubble bath—so much for a palace’s soundproof walls. 

You squinted your eyes at him. He may be hot, but you forgot he might be a red flag—a creep at that. You hadn’t recalled that his quarters were near yours either.

“Of course! Music is one of my interests.” Just smile, you weren’t lying anyway to be an enjoyer of music. 

You love music. Except that songstress was you, singing to your dove, who usually perched on your window whenever you sang. You had a habit of opening the window for her to fly in.

“Pray tell, who is that songstress? We should hire her for the wedding.” Skye asked, drinking his tea. He doesn’t get the slightest clue it was you.

Well, wasn’t this a good opportunity? While Emcee and the king get married, you will be singing for them. Just imagine how much money you’ll make by singing at a royal wedding.

“She is my personal songbird—and I’m afraid she is a little shy. It would need time for her to get ready to sing in front of such a crowd.” You smiled, lying your way through. 

“I see. Do leave a message that His Majesty would love to listen to her sing.”

Oh, you definitely will.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

Just one tiny little problem… You can’t sing freely now.

“There is the palace greenhouse if you are ever bored. You can ask someone to bring you there sometimes. Rest well.” Zayne informed you before leaving for the night. He came by to report on the princess search, and you appreciate that he is keeping you updated.

You immediately went to the greenhouse after he said it with a bag of seeds. Donned in your sleeping gown, a robe wrapped around you to keep you warm. Your dove came along, hearing you hum all the way.

“How come you’re always around at this hour? Did you memorize my schedule?” you asked the dove, who only cooed. You shrugged at the response you couldn’t decipher, smiling, “At least I have a friend here.”

The dove cooed happily as you entered the greenhouse. 

The smell of flowers wafted. Flowers were in every corner of the greenhouse. The most flowers you’ve seen were at the florist beside the madam’s boutique before living in the palace.

You sat on one of the benches, just enjoying the calm evening and releasing a few of your melodies. Another bird flew in, and you watched as it interacted with your dove.

“Hm? You have an owner?” 

A black crow… with a band on one of its legs, a shiny one at that!

It’s avoiding the seeds. Maybe you should bring peanuts too—what do crows even eat? 

While you thought, it cawed around you. You raised a brow, showing your hands. “No, I don’t have anything else aside from seeds.”

Instead, it placed… a bracelet. 

You squinted. Are these actual gemstones? Little dark red rubies decorating the golden chain—how much is this worth? Surely more than your salary could ever give, ha.

“You’re giving this to me?” Still in disbelief, you point to yourself, then to the bracelet. You think the crow just sighed. It was definitely looking at you like you’ve grown two heads.

While you were busy admiring the accessory, your dove was actively backing away from the crow, cooing defiantly. They’re just going in circles right now.

Oh, does the princess actually have a secret admirer who exchanges letters with this crow?

“You know, sorry to burst your bubble. But I’m not the actual princess right now,” you quietly said, placing the bracelet around the crow’s head, who cawed in confusion.

Yet you only placed it back on your lap before it flew away. 

You exchanged glances with your dove. She was worked up from the wooing of the crow. Holding the bracelet, you started to walk back to your room.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to hold on to it for a while.

“Are you sure you gave it to the songstress? Not the princess.” 

The crow, Mephisto, perched on his owner’s arm, only tilted his head. Sylus stood at the entrance of the garden. It was by chance that he saw you walking towards the greenhouse. He was planning to let Mephisto go and hand this bracelet to the songstress.

At first, he paid no mind to you. His goal was to find the songstress, so he could surprise you with the singer you love for the wedding. Yet Mephisto flew towards you. He furrowed his brows, following him down the path.

That’s when he heard the voice—your voice, quiet, yet the same singing voice he heard when passing by your room. He hadn’t recognized that you were the one singing that day.

“Birds of a feather, hm?” he muttered, hearing the lyrics of your song, probably singing to your only two audience. It made him chuckle slightly, singing about birds to two birds.

There was no mistake now. It was you whom he was seeking.

He knew you were different from the second time he came back to the kingdom. Sure, you looked similar to the princess, but you were not the princess.

How did he know? A sliver of your actual hair color was out while you were having tea with him. The specks of light reflecting in your eyes were different from hers, in the way you speak and sit. It was all different.

There was no fooling Sylus. While it was brief when he met the actual princess, the difference was prominent to him. The princess loves her knight. She didn’t want to marry a stranger—her eyes were already on another. 

Yet you, the slight fear was held in your eyes, from making mistakes and being caught. Survival—it was what he had seen in you. It didn’t take long for him to find out you were only a seamstress at the boutique downtown, courtesy of his twins—your interest in fabrics was the final proof.

The lunch to further plan the wedding will come soon, and the prime minister will finally join after being busy. 

“Just a little more.”

It was what both of you had hoped for. A little more to get closer to freedom.

part 2 here!

In the midst of your inner screaming, you failed to notice the series of caws going away, Mephisto had watched. Great, the sound of the crash must’ve echoed down the hall—you hoped Mephisto was sent to watch over Emcee, but he just had to be spying on you.

You crouched down, wincing when something stings on your feet. 

Ah, some of the shards prickled your feet. Tiny scratches emit blood from it—but you needed to save the flowers, you knew how much Emcee's gifts are worth to Sylus. It would probably cost your whole life.

"Stop.”

It took one single word and tone to make you flinch. The command boomed down the hallway, black mists reached too late when you had touched a shard, gripped hard when you got startled. You stiffened, avoiding looking at him. 

Heart hammering, cold sweat dampens your back. There was no way to hide this mess, huh?

Crunch of glass underneath their boots. You were only wearing slippers.

Luke and Kieran came in tow, navigating around you to clean up the mess while Sylus lifted you in his arms. He frowned at the blood on your feet, tiny glass shards still prickling in.

"Why are you hiding your face?" he asked, with a slight frown. Staring down at you while he made his way to his bedroom, were you that scared of him? 

"I haven't even bitten you,” he murmured, arms tightening around you.

"I'm sorry I broke your vase that has Emcee's flowers in it." You blurted out immediately, feeling sick in your stomach. "Please don't cast me out—or kill me, you can take my paycheck for the vase."

Sylus hasn't heard something so absurd in his life. He scoffs in disbelief. Whatever you were even talking about?

He set you down on the bathroom counter, then grabbed some medical supplies. The silence he's giving off now is scaring you much more. Your palms were clammy by now, gripping your own shirt.

He had gently taken your hand, the one that pricked the shard. He tsk-ed at the blood staining your shirt, he should’ve tended to your hand immediately.

"You could tell me why you didn't immediately ask for help and explain why you touched the shards yourself instead." He hummed, kneeling to peel off the shards from your feet with tweezers.

"I was trying to save the flowers... I know how much you value her gifts," you muttered, holding your hands together to hold off the pain. One shard had pricked too deeply, you cried in pain.

A soothing rub of comfort was on your knee, while his black mist assisted his other hand.

"To the point I would sacrifice you to go through broken glass?” He raised a brow, sighing. Before you could splutter a response, he sighed.

“No, dove,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I must change your mind if you think I would sacrifice you."

Not his worker, not his assistant, but you. Specifically, you.

He gestured for you to turn your feet toward the sink, gently washing the blood off before disinfecting them.

"But it's from her..."

"Do you think I choose her more than you?"

"I-Isn't that obvious? Her, of course."

His movements stop at your words. His eyes glanced at your teary ones, in pain from the alcohol he was dabbing on—or was it from fear? 

Wrapping it with some bandages, he made sure it was secure while he checked for any more injuries.

"You once had Luke and Kieran chase the man for the brooch that was meant for her." His head snapped up, inhaling deeply. Right, you were there when he went to grab it at an auction. He barked the orders as soon as the brooch was snatched from the auction listings.

"And the dress was the wrong size, you got mad." You timidly reasoned, fingers fiddling with each other. “I immediately sent it back for a new size—you should check it when you can, it arrived today.”

Sylus furrowed his brows. Did he come off as mad? Surely he only said it was the wrong size, but you handled the problem perfectly as always—he didn’t mean to reprimand you. It was to remind himself to double-check the size.

“Also, the necklace that wasn’t ready before her birthday…”

"It seems you're misunderstanding things, dove." He cuts you off, unable to hear anymore. He felt like a fool for not knowing how you felt all this time.

You frowned, holding onto him when he lifted you. Shifting uncomfortably, you remind yourself he was only being considerate of your injured feet—would he lift you on normal occasions?

You expected him to move you back to your room, which was just across his, only to place you on his bed. Eyes widened, you squirmed, panicking. "W-Wait, what are you doing—"

"Stay still." He grunts, fixing the pillows behind you for you to sit comfortably. "Tell me if you need anything, or ask Luke or Kieran."

"And we're going to talk. Right here, right now," he said, pulling a chair to sit by the bed.

You gulped, intimidated. Was he going to fire you after this? Will this be your end? 

Your waterworks were already streaming, which surprised him. Yet he only chuckled, wiping them away now. His hand lingered, cradling your face, just like he always does whenever he sees you asleep.

“Whatever you’re thinking is not true,” he murmured, grazing your cheek with his thumb. He felt like a fool for letting you think otherwise.

"Everything you just mentioned was all for you."

You choked on your own saliva. Sylus already had a glass of water in his hand and handed it to you. "Your paycheck wouldn't be able to afford the vase, it'll be three years' worth of your paycheck."

"I'm so sorry..." you meekly said, holding the glass of water like a wrongdoer. You hadn’t processed the words he said.

Everything was for you.

It took you a while to boot before gasping. “What do you mean it was for me?”

“I always had wanted to reward you with something for your hard work… an outfit with matching accessories, a dinner for you with me.” He had planned it. A surprise, he didn’t expect you would think it was for Miss Hunter.

Sylus laughed, glad to see your tears stop. "And your apology will be accepted if you agree to go with me to make a new vase and tell me your favorite flowers."

"Make? My favorites?"

"Yes, make. I will put your flowers in it."

The look on your face was amusing. He laughed at your disbelief expression. He decided to add the attack. "Yes, it's you whom I value more if you haven't got the hint."

"...I swear you're playing too hard, boss." You squint, looking at him. Fingers fiddled, you frowned.

“You… You’re not joking, right?”

“When have I joked about my intentions with you, dove?”

“Right…” you muttered. It wasn’t like he ever played around. 

The hand on your cheek was warm, his thumb kept rubbing comfortably—gosh, you would have your face in his hands at any time. 

“Dinner this weekend night?” he murmured, casually throwing in the invite. He raised a brow at the lack of answer, laughing when he realized you were in daze.

He thinks it’s a yes from your dopey smile.

in which i try to make less than 1k words for sylus but fail. the whole point of this is i just want someone to speak softly to me

"Thomas."

"—I will owe you forever, I will name my firstborn after you, I will—"

"I'll go."

So here you are. The door is unlocked, which means he knows you are coming or he has simply stopped caring about basic security, and with Rafayel it could be either. You let yourself in and the smell hits you first—turpentine, salt air, and a metallic undertone that clings to the house when he has been working for days without opening a window. The curtains are half drawn. Canvases everywhere. Leaning against the walls, stacked in the corner, one propped against the leg of the kitchen table for reasons you cannot begin to guess. A few look finished. Most do not. One near the window still has wet paint on it, deep blues bleeding into reds at the center, colors so saturated they look heavy.

You find him on the couch.

He is half sprawled across it with one arm thrown over the backrest and the other resting across his stomach, still in the same white shirt he had on two days ago when you dropped off food he has probably forgotten to eat. It is unbuttoned too far, sleeves shoved up, the fabric wrinkled past saving. His hair is a disaster. There is a faint sheen at his temples.

He doesn't look up when you come in.

You drop your bag on the nearest clear surface, which takes a moment to locate, and walk over.

“Rafayel.”

Nothing.

You move until you're standing directly in his eyeline."Thomas is losing his mind because you won't answer your phone, and apparently that's now my problem too. He called me four times. Four, Rafayel. I am not your secretary."

He blinks. Slow, like the signal has to travel a long distance before it arrives. His eyes finally move up to yours and the color in them is slightly off from usual. There is too much color on his face too. High on his cheekbones, a flush that had no business being there in the middle of the afternoon.

"You look terrible," you say to him.

The corner of his mouth makes an attempt at something"That's not a very nice thing to say."

"What's going on? Are you sick?"

"I'm fine." his voice is rougher than it should be "The paintings will be ready. Tell Thomas to calm down."

But his face does something when he finishes the sentence—the flush deepens fast, color rushing up his neck—and he turns his head away and brings his arm up over his eyes like the light has suddenly gotten worse. Or like he has decided you have seen enough of his face.

You watch him for a moment.

"Rafayel."

"I'm fiiiiiine," he says again, quieter. Still behind his arm. The tips of his ears now pink. "You can go. Really. I just need another hour."

He doesn't sound like he needs an hour. He sounds like he needs a week and possibly an IV drip, and the arm covering his face is now pressing slightly harder.

You pull the low table out of the way and sit on the edge of the couch near his legs. The apartment holds its quiet around you.

"How long have you been like this?"

Nothing.

"Was it like this yesterday?"

Still nothing.

"Rafayel, I'm going to start guessing and I'm going to keep guessing out loud until you answer me. I have a lot of time and nowhere to be."

You reach out and wrap your fingers around his wrist to check his pulse and the second you touch him, he sucks in a breath and goes stiff beneath your hand. It wasn't surprise. You'd touched him before. This was different.

He pulls his arm back. The flush on his face has gone from concerning to alarming, deep red climbing all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Don't," he presses his arm back over his eyes "Please don't touch me right now."

"What do you mean? You just flinched like I burned you." you lean closer, trying to get a look at his face, which he is now actively shielding. "Rafayel. What is wrong with you? Is this an Evol thing? Did something happen? Do I need to call a doctor?"

"No." flat and immediate."No doctors."

"You are burning up!"

"It's not a normal fever." He curls slightly away from you, toward the back of the couch, and on a normal day it would be funny but his voice has gone rough enough that nothing about it is funny right now. "It'll pass. It always does."

"Raf" You keep your voice even. "Tell me what's happening."

He peeks at you from between his fingers. One eye, glassy and annoyed. “I’m an artist. We’re supposed to look tragic. It’s part of the look.”

“You’re part of the ‘about to pass out on your own couch and give me a heart attack’ look.”

He drops his hand with a dramatic sigh and flops further into the cushions like the weight of your existence is personally offending him. “You’re cruel. Coming into a man’s home, insulting his artistic suffering, and for what? So Thomas can sleep better at night?"

You crouch down beside the couch so you’re closer to eye level. Up close the heat rolling off him is worse. His skin looks damp at the hairline. You reach out without thinking and press the back of your hand to his forehead.

For a few seconds the apartment is quiet enough that you can hear the distant crash of waves through the open doors. Then he makes a soft, offended sound in the back of his throat and tips his head away, but not before you feel how warm he really is.

“It’s just… residual inspiration. Very intense residual inspiration.” He waves a vague hand at the half finished canvases. “I was in the middle of a breakthrough and then life decided to be rude. Happens to the best of us.”

You stay crouched there, unimpressed. “When was the last time you ate something that wasn’t coffee or paint water?”

“I had some grapes. Possibly yesterday.”

You straighten up and plant your hands on your hips. “Get up.”

He stares at you like you just suggested he set his favorite brushes on fire. “Excuse me?”

“Get up. We’re going for a walk.”

“A walk.” He repeats the word slowly, making sure you understand the gravity of what you've suggested. "When every bone in my body is requesting a soft death on this expensive couch. You want me to walk?”

“Yes. Fresh air. Ocean. Moving your legs like a person"

He throws an arm over his eyes again. “I should have never given you that spare key.”

“You didn’t give me a spare key. I stole it last month when you refused to answer the door for a week.”

“…That tracks,” he mutters.

You lean down, catch his wrist, and tug. Just enough to make it clear you’re not leaving without him. He resists for show, then lets himself be hauled into a sitting position with a long groan that would have been more convincing if he didn’t immediately lean into your space like the proximity was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Shoes. Now. Or I call Thomas and tell him you’re dying.”

That gets his attention. He looks up at you, eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Rafayel stares at you, weighing the threat.

“Fine. But if I collapse on the sand, you’re carrying me home. Bridal style.”

“Deal.”

Getting him vertical takes longer than it should. He sways once, catches your shoulder, and mutters something about gravity being a personal enemy today. You wait him out, steady, until he seems relatively solid on his feet. He shoves his feet into a pair of scuffed loafers without bothering to tie them properly, grabs a light jacket from the back of a chair, and follows you toward the door with the air of a man being led to his own execution.

Outside the air is cooler, the walk down toward the shore is quiet at first. You keep half a step behind him in case he decides to run for it. He doesn’t. He just walks with his hands shoved in his pockets, head tipped back like he’s trying to convince the sky to take pity on him.

After a few minutes the silence starts to feel intentional.

“You’re hovering,” he says without looking at you.

“I’m making sure you don’t faceplant into the ground.”

“I’m fine.”

“You said that earlier while looking like a Victorian orphan with consumption.”

He shoots you a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth twitching “You’ve been spending too much time with Thomas. You’re starting to sound like him. Next you’ll be scheduling my meals and color coding my paint tubes.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

The path curves and the beach opens up ahead of you, all pale sand and clear water. The tide is low. The air smells cleaner out here. Rafayel slows as soon as his shoes hit the sand.

“I hate sand,” he complains. “It gets everywhere. Inside my shoes and between my toes"

“You live by the ocean.”

“I live by the view. The view does not require contact with the sand.”

You keep walking. He follows, grumbling under his breath the whole way, but the color in his face looks a little less alarming now that he’s upright and moving. The sea breeze seems to help. Or maybe it’s just the distraction of having someone to complain at.

You end up near the waterline where the sand is firmer. Rafayel stops, kicks off his loafers with unnecessary drama, and digs his toes into the wet sand and you do the same. The water feels cold when it reaches your ankles. He hisses.

“Its cold, the ocean is being rude today.”

“Everything is rude today according to you.”

“You didn’t have to come, you know. Thomas worries too much. I would have eventually crawled out of the couch and finished the paintings. Maybe.”

You bump his shoulder lightly with yours. “Next time just answer your phone so I don’t have to play rescue mission.”

He is quiet for a moment. The waves keep rolling in, soft and steady. Then he says, almost too low to catch“Maybe I like it when you show up.”

You glance at him. He’s looking out at the water, expression carefully neutral, but the tips of his ears have gone pink again.

Before you can decide what to do with that, something catches the light near the edge of the tide line.

A pale shape, half buried in the wet sand a few meters ahead. Not a shell or glass.

You frown and walk toward it. Rafayel trails after you, curiosity overriding whatever lethargy is left.

“What is it?” he asks.

You crouch and dig it free carefully. It’s a protocore, small and pure white. Not the usual colors you’ve seen before. This one looks almost unfinished, like someone carved a piece of moonlight and left it on the beach for the tide to find.

It pulses once against your palm.

Rafayel goes still beside you.

“That’s…” He trails off, eyes fixed on the white glow in your hand. “I’ve never seen one like that.”

Neither have you.

The pulse happens again. Stronger this time. The air around the two of you tightens, like the moment before a storm breaks.

You look up at him.

He’s already looking at you.

The second his fingers brush the white protocore everything changes.

A sudden pull that yanks the air out of your lungs and folds the beach in on itself. All of it collapses inward like someone is sucking the world through a straw. You feel Rafayel’s hand close hard around your wrist a split second before the ground disappears.

Then you’re falling.

You hit something green and scratchy with enough force to knock the breath out of you. Leaves slap your face and twigs dig into your back. Somewhere to your left Rafayel makes a noise that is half groan, half pure offense.

“Ouch—my hand—”

You push yourself up on your elbows, leaves stuck in your hair, heart hammering against your ribs. The protocore is still clutched in your hand, warm and faintly pulsing like a second heartbeat. Rafayel is sprawled half on his side in the same bush, one arm flung out, the other cradled against his chest. He looks personally betrayed by the existence of shrubbery.

“What the hell was that?”

He sits up with a wince, shaking leaves out of his hair. “I barely touched it and the universe decided to throw us into a hedge. Rude. Extremely rude.” He flexes his fingers, scowling. “I think I scraped my palm on a leaf."

You scramble to your feet, brushing dirt off your clothes, and look around.

The beach is gone.

Instead of open sand and ocean you are standing at the edge of a garden that looks like it belongs on the cover of an architecture magazine.

You are inside a mansion.

A full, sprawling mansion of pale stone, all clean lines and floor to ceiling glass, the kind of place that makes expensive sound like an understatement. Balconies wrap around the upper floors. Somewhere behind the structure you can hear the faint splash of water.

Rafayel stares.

Then he says, very quietly, “Oh no.”

“What?”

He is already moving, shoving through the bushes with far less grace than usual, heading for an open side door a few meters away. You follow because what else are you supposed to do. The protocore is still in your fist.

Inside is cool and quiet and smells faintly of citrus. The entryway alone is bigger than most people’s apartments. Polished floors. A vase of white flowers on a console table. Everything is spotless, lived in but somehow still perfect.

Rafayel walks straight to a side table near the door like he knows exactly where everything is. He picks up a folded newspaper that has been left there, glances at the front page and freezes.

You step closer. “What is it?”

He doesn’t answer. He just turns the paper so you can see the date printed in bold black letters at the top.

Two years ahead.

Exactly two years.

The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on.

“That’s not possible,” you say “Protocores don’t— they don’t do that.”

He flips the paper open, scans the headlines like he’s hoping the date will change if he looks hard enough.

“This is one of my properties. I bought it last year as an investment. It wasn’t even finished yet. The pool wasn’t installed. The gardens weren’t—” He stops, swallows. “This isn’t supposed to exist yet.”

You look down at the white protocore still glowing faintly in your hand.

His eyes track the movement and he reaches for it again, fingers outstretched—

A sound cuts through the quiet, coming from the back of the house. Something that might be water. Or someone moving.

Both of you go still.

“That should be the pool,” he says after a second"Or where the pool apparently already is.”

You glance at him. “We should leave.”

“We should.” the newspaper is still clenched in his other hand. “But if this is actually… if we really are two years ahead…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to. Curiosity already written across his face.

You move together, quiet, following the sound through the open plan living space and out through a set of wide glass doors that lead to the rear terrace. The pool is exactly where the sound suggested— huge, water so clear it looks like glass.

And there, on a sunbathing chair is Rafayel.

Not the one standing beside you.

Another one.

He is half reclined, one leg bent, the other stretched out. A large sketchbook rests against his thigh. Charcoal smudges his fingers. He is wearing only a pair of dark swim shorts that sit low on his hips, and his skin is flushed a deep, uneven red across his chest, shoulders and the high points of his cheekbones, like he has been sitting in the sun for too long, or like something under the surface is running too hot. His hair is slightly damp, pushed back from his face. He is completely focused on the page in front of him, his fingers moving in long strokes.

Present Rafayel makes a sound beside you but can’t look away.

The drawing is… not subtle. Even from this distance you can see the curve of a bare hip, the arch of a spine, the suggestion of breasts. A woman. Naked. Rendered with intimate details that make your stomach twist. Future Rafayel’s hand moves again, refining the line of a thigh, and the flush on his skin seems to deepen.

Present Rafayel’s fingers close around your upper arm, hard.

“We need to go,” he's trying to tug you back "Right now. This is— this is private. This is extremely private and we are not supposed to be here"

You dig your heels in. “That’s you.”

“I am aware it is me. That is the problem.” his voice is louder“We are leaving before—”

A splash of water cuts him off.

Someone is climbing out of the pool.

She— you— rises from the water in one smooth motion, water streaming down bare skin. A pink swimsuit clings to every curve, soaked through and heavy. She pushes her wet hair back from her face, water droplets catching the light as they slide down her throat, between her breasts, lower. She look relaxed. Comfortable. Like she belong here. Like this is ordinary.

She walks toward his sunbathing chair and Rafayel’s grip on your arm turns bruising.

“Don’t look,” he whispers, almost desperate. “Please don't look. We are going to pretend none of this happened and—”

You look anyway.

And that is when you see what he has been trying to pull you away from.

One of future Rafayel’s hands is not longer resting on the sketchbook.

His palm is pressed firmly over the front of his shorts. The fabric is stretched tight. The outline of his cock is unmistakable. He is hard, and he is not even trying to hide it. His eyes are still on the page, on the naked figure he is drawing, but his hand starts moving in a lazy, self indulgent rhythm like the two things are connected.

Your mouth goes dry.

He is half naked in the sunlight and it is impossible not to notice everything at once. The breadth of his shoulders. The clean lines of muscle across his chest and stomach, still faintly damp from earlier swimming or from the heat rolling off his skin. The way his abs tighten when his hand presses harder. He looks like a sculpted god.

Present Rafayel sounds like he is being slowly murdered.

“Stop staring,” his ears are scarlet. His whole face is scarlet. “I cannot believe he has the audacity to— in broad daylight— with a sketchbook— I am going to have words with myself. Harsh words."

Future you reaches his chair and future Rafayel finally looks up.

He smiles at her like the sun just came out and the flush on his skin darkens another shade.

You cannot look away from the version of him stretched out in the chair, hard, watching her while he strokes his cock.

“Seriously, stop looking.”

“You stop looking.”

“I’m looking at myself!”

“So am I!”

“That is not the same thing and you know it. Looking at me looking like that is a crime against my dignity. Stop.”

You do not stop and he doesn't either.

Future Rafayel sets the sketchbook aside and leans back, one hand still pressed over the front of his shorts, and watches the wet version of you like he has been counting every second.

“Took you long enough, I was starting to think you’d decided to let me suffer out here alone.”

She moves and stops between his knees, water still running down her skin in slow tracks. She tips her head, droplets falling onto his thighs. “You looked busy. I didn’t want to interrupt the masterpiece.” her eyes drop to the thick outline under his palm. “Although it seems you are having a hard time staying focused.”

He lets out a breath that is half laugh when she reaches down and presses her fingers over his, forcing him to grind harder against his own hand. “You’re evil.”

She leans in until her wet hair brushes his chest and her mouth is close to his ear. “How long have you been out here touching yourself to a drawing of me?”

“I’m starting to regret every time I told you I liked it when you teased.”

“You love it when I tease.” her voice drops lower, soft and filthy. “You like it when I make you draw me while you're hard. When I sit there and tell you in detail what I'm going to do to your cock later and watch you try to keep your hand steady." she drags one finger down his chest."You've gotten close just from that. Just from my voice. Haven't you?"

His hips jerk under her hand. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Let me come. I’ve been good. I waited. I drew every line exactly the way you wanted—look at it, it’s—”

She picks up the sketchbook, glances at the page, and sets it back down with a small, considering hum. “That’s good enough.”

She moves back to settle on her knees between his thighs. Takes her time about it.

Rafayel’s fingers dig into your arm. “Is she—"

Her hands move to his hips. Thumbs hooked under the waistband of the dark shorts. He lifts enough to help. The fabric drags down, catching for a second on the fat head of his dick before it springs free.

It's a really pretty cock.

Long, slightly curved, thick enough that her fingers look almost delicate wrapped around the base. The head is dark pink and shiny, already wet from how long he has been touching himself. A thick vein runs along the underside. A clear bead or precum gathers at the tip and threatens to spill.

“I did not need to see that. I did not need to see my future—”

She doesn't take him into her mouth right away. She leans in and licks a slow stripe over the head, catching that bead of pre on her tongue and humming like it was exactly what she wanted. His hand flies to her wet hair, holding on“Fuck—don’t tease, not after everything—”

She drags her tongue up the underside slowly, base to tip, and his thigh jumps against her shoulder.

Then she circles the head, the flat of her tongue pressing in, taking her time with the ridge of it, the specific place that makes his breath change, and she stays there until his breathing has gone uneven enough that she can hear it clearly over everything else.

She licks the tip once and his hips move forward and then stop, the effort of keeping still visible in every muscle of his thighs.

She licks it again. Slower.

His thighs are shaking now, a fine tremor he's trying to control and can't. She watches him and waits until it gets worse.

Then she opens her mouth and sinks down.

All the way.

Her throat works around him. He groans, head falling back against the chair as she starts to move, she pulls almost all the way off so her tongue can swirl over the head before she slides back down until her nose brushes the flushed skin of his stomach.

Present Rafayel is now quiet beside you. Heat rolls off him in waves. When you glance sideways his face is the same feverish red it was on the couch. He has angled himself carefully so the front of his pants stays hidden, but the tension in his shoulders and the way his throat works when he swallows tell you everything. Future him is deep in it. Present him is feeling every second.

You look back.

She keeps teasing—pulling off to lick long, wet stripes up the underside, sucking just the head while her hand strokes the rest in tight twists, then taking him deep again until his hips keep making small thrusts he is clearly fighting. His voice has gone wrecked and pleading.

“Please— I’ve been so patient— you said if I waited you’d let me— fuck, your mouth is so wet— don’t stop—”

She hums around him. The vibration makes his whole body jolt. Her free hand slides between his legs, cupping and rolling his balls while she sucks harder, faster, the wet sounds turning filthy. Spit slicks down his shaft. Her lips stay stretched around him. Every time she takes him to the root he makes a broken little sound like he cannot believe it's still happening.

He comes with a punched out groan, hips lifting off the chair, one hand fisted tight in her wet hair. She stays on him through it, swallowing, throat working visibly around every pulse until he finally sags back, panting, still twitching on her tongue.

Something in the air shifts.

The flush on future Rafayel’s skin deepens and when he opens his eyes they are no longer the same color. They glow in a bright, electric blue, completely different from the man who was begging a moment ago. The sea god is looking out through them now. You can feel it in the way the temperature of the air seems to drop, in the way the water in the pool goes unnaturally still for half a second.

He moves fast.

One second he is still half sprawled in the chair. The next he has hauled her up into his arms like she weights nothing, takes two long strides, and jumps.

Water explodes outward as they hit the pool together.

Present Rafayel’s breath leaves him in a rush. “Oh no. Oh no, no, no—"

They surface together and his mouth finds hers before she's finished catching her breath.

It's not a gentle kiss. It's wet and open and his tongue slides against hers like he's been thinking about doing this for hours.

He moves her back through the water.

She lets him. Her hands are at his shoulders, the water is chest high and he moves through it like it's nothing, one arm around her waist, the other already at the strings of her bikini top, pulling at the knot at her back while his mouth stays on hers and the tiled edge of the pool finds her spine.

He pulls back half an inch just to look at her, water running down her face, her hair slicked back, both of them breathing hard and then his hand finds the knot at her neck and tugs.

Her breasts spill free, wet and flushed, nipples tight from the cool air and the sudden attention. He makes a low, approving sound and ducks his head, taking one into his mouth. He bites—hard enough to make her gasp sharply—then soothes the sting with a wide stroke of his tongue before sucking hard enough that the sound carries clearly across the water. His other hand cups the second breast, thumb dragging roughly over the nipple until it is just as tight and sensitive.

Heat pools between your legs, soaking into the fabric of your panties. You can feel every pulse of your clit.

“We have to look away” you say, voice thinner than it should be.

Rafayel’s head snaps toward you. His eyes are glassy. The flush on his face has spread down his throat. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.”

He doesn't deny it again. He just stares at you, breathing too fast, while the sounds from the pool keep going.

Future Rafayel has one hand between her legs under the water. You can tell by the way her hips roll, by the way one hand clutches the edge of the pool hard enough that the tendons stand out in her wrist. They are face to face, breathing the same air, mouths almost touching.

His voice has dropped into something deeper, colder, older—nothing like the playful tone from before.

“You're shaking already and I’ve barely touched you. All that teasing earlier, all that swimming past me with your eyes on my cock, and now you can barely breathe. Pathetic.” He pushes two fingers in without warning and her head falls back with a broken sound. “You spent hours winding me up and the second I take over you turn into this?”

She is breathless. He adds a third finger and his mouth stays right against hers as he speaks, mean and relentless.

“Your pussy is needy today. Every time I curl my fingers you clench like you’re trying to keep them inside. You’re not keeping anything. I'll take them out when I want to take them out. You’re just a hole that gets wet when I stop being kind. Tell me what you are.”

“Yours—”

“Not good enough. Try again.”

“Your hole— fuck— your wet little hole—”

“Better.” the word is sharp, almost amused. “You pushed and pushed and now you get the consequences. He curls his fingers and holds.

"I'm going to make you come like this first." His mouth at her jaw. Just his lips against her skin, speaking directly into it. "Then I'm going to put my mouth on you and do it again. While you cry." his thumb circles her clit "Because you're going to cry. We both know that."

She opens her mouth.

"Don't even think about it" he says.

She closes it.

"After that—" his fingers pull back slowly and push forward and she clenches and he makes a quiet sound of acknowledgment that is worse than anything else he's done so far, "—if I decide you've earned it, you get my cock." He pulls back just enough to look at her face "Understand?"

She can only nod, trembling.

His thumb circles her clit again.

Once.

Her thighs try to close but his hand is in the way.

Twice.

She grabs at his arm. Not pushing, just needing something to hold onto. He lets her. His fingers curl inside her at the same time, in an angle he's already learned, and the combination of it makes her vision blur at the edges.

"Stay with me,"

Three times.

She clenches hard around his fingers and makes a sound that is embarrassingly close to a sob and he groans in response, satisfied, his mouth dropping to the side of her neck.

"There it is."

Four times.

She comes apart so fast it surprises her, her orgasm hitting before she's braced for it, her whole body seizing around his fingers. He keeps his thumb exactly where it is, keeps the pressure steady, works her through every wave of it without speeding up or slowing down, just that same circle while she shakes against him and grabs at whatever she can reach.

He doesn't stop until she goes still.

Then he pulls his fingers out slowly and she feels the loss of them immediately.

He looks at his hand.

"One"

Heat throbs hard between your legs. You realize you are panting, mouth open, and that present Rafayel is close and his eyes keep dropping to your mouth and then to your future selves like he cannot decide which is more dangerous.

In the pool, Rafayel ducks under the water without another word.

Her hands slap against the edge, gripping so hard her knuckles go white. Her back arches. The moan that tears out of her is loud enough that anyone walking by would think she is dying. He stays under, the water moving in small waves.

She grabs the pool edge and tries to pull herself out. He pulls her back down.

She cums with a cry that cracks in the middle and leaves her trembling.

He surfaces slowly, eyes still that bright, unnatural blue. "Two"

He doesnt give her time to recover.

He hooks her knees over his elbows, lines himself up, and pushes in with one hard thrust that punches another broken sound out of her. He fucks her like he is trying to leave bruises on the inside, his mouth staying close to her ear the whole time, voice still mean and devastatingly effective.

“Dont look away, watch me use you.” He snaps his hips harder “You're already trying to milk me. Greedy. You’ve always been a greedy girl"

She can barely form words.

“You’re going to come on my cock and when you do, you’re going to say thank you like you mean it. If you don’t, I’ll stop and leave you empty. Clear?”

“Yes— clear— please don’t stop—”

“I wasn’t asking you to beg. I was telling you the rules.” He fucks her deeper, the water splashing over the edge with every thrust. “So the next time you decide to tease me for hours, remember how it ends. Remember how the sea god fucks the attitude out of you until all that’s left is this—open legs and a mouth that only knows how to thank me.”

The heat is now unbearable. You turn away because the combination of the wet filth of it and the way Rafayel is breathing beside you makes it hard to pull air into your lungs. Your thighs are pressed tightly together. You can feel how soaked you are, how every mean word from the pool seems to land directly between your legs.

A hand brushes yours.

You look down.

Rafayel is right there—close enough that the heat of his body sinks into your skin, close enough that the flush on his cheekbones is impossible to ignore. His eyes are fixed on your face. The lewd sounds from the pool keep washing over both of you—water, skin, broken moans, the low mean murmur of future him still talking, still fucking into her with the same rhythm, still telling her exactly who she is and how he is going to keep using her.

His fingers slide against yours, until the tips brush the edge of the white protocore still clutched in your hand.

Gravity disappears. You feel his hand tighten around yours and the two of you are pulled hard into a sudden, familiar freefall.

It ends the same way it started, without warning.

You hit something warm and solid at the same time Rafayel does. The impact knocks the air out of both of you. But you are not side by side.

You are on top of him.

Your knees bracket his hips. Your hands have landed on either side of his head. His are on your waist, fingers spread like he grabbed for you mid fall and never let go. The white protocore slips from your hand and dissolves into the air. His chest rises and falls hard under yours. His eyes are wide and dark and too close.

The flush on his face from earlier has not faded. If anything it has gotten worse. Up close you can see the way his pupils are blown, the way his throat works when he swallows. You can feel every place you are touching. The press of his stomach against yours. The unmistakable hardness that is currently pressed against the inside of your leg.

He notices the exact second you notice.

The ocean keeps making its usual sounds like nothing has happened, like the two of you did not just watch his future self get his soul sucked out through his dick.

“Raf—”

“Don’t.” He closes his eyes like that will help. “Don't say anything. Dont move. I am hanging on by a thread"

You can feel the thread, currently throbbing against your thigh.

“You’re hard,” you say, because someone has to acknowledge the extremely obvious.

“Yes. Thank you for the live commentary. I was hoping we could both pretend the last twenty minutes did not happen and that I am not currently one deep breath away from doing something we will both have to live with for the rest of our lives.”

“We just watched—”

“I am aware of what we watched.” His eyes open again. They are fixed on your mouth. “Future me is a menace. Future you on her knees is a menace. The entire afternoon has been a coordinated attack on my ability to act like a functional person.”

You shift slightly and the movement drags you directly over the hard line of his cock. His fingers dig into your waist hard enough that you feel the shape of every single one.

His eyes keep dropping to your mouth and then forcing themselves back up.

“This is your fault,” he mutters. “You and your ‘let’s go for a walk’. I was having a relaxing day on my couch and now I have the memory of my own co—”

He cuts himself off.

“Rafayel.”

“What.”

“You’re still holding me.”

You can feel the damp spot between your legs, still lingering from everything you watched. Every inhale presses your chests together. Every exhale makes the space between your mouths smaller.

“If you kiss me right now I am going to let you. And then I am going to hate both of us for doing it on a public beach with sand in places sand should never be. So please, for the love of every unfinished painting in my studio. Do not.”

You don't kiss him but you also don't move off him.

His eyes are so dark they look almost black. You can feel the exact shape of his cock now and the way it jumps when you move your weight even a fraction.

A shadow falls over both of you.

Someone clears their throat.

“Am I interrupting?” Thomas asks, voice flat with exhaustion that only comes from managing Rafayel for years, “or is this the new method for meeting deadlines?"

He stands a few feet away with a folder under one arm. He looks from Rafayel's face to yours and then back to him again.

“You weren’t answering your phone. Again. The gallery has three collectors asking about the new pieces and I was informed—by you, last week—that they would be finished by today.” Thomas’s eyes drop briefly to where your knees are still bracketing Rafayel’s hips.

“I have been having a medical event,” Rafayel says through his teeth. “A very private medical event that is currently being made less private by the second.”

“You’re on the beach. On top of each other. In public. Do either of you need a hand up, or should I come back in ten minutes with a a plausible deniability statement for the local press?”

Rafayel’s hands finally leave your waist like they have been burned. You scramble off him, heart still hammering, face hot. He sits up slowly, carefully angling his body so the evidence of the last few minutes stays hidden behind one bent knee. His hair is a disaster. There is sand on his cheek. The flush is still there.

Thomas looks between you both one more time, then pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I’m going to pretend I saw nothing” he turns and starts walking back to Rafayel's home without waiting for an answer.

Rafayel stares after him for a long second. Then he drops his face into his hands and lets out a muffled sound.

You sit there in the sand beside him, trying very hard not to think about the way his voice sounded when he told you not to kiss him.

He stands up carefully, brushing sand off his pants and offers you a hand without quite meeting your eyes.

“Come on. Before Thomas comes back”

You take his hand.

It is warm.

He does not let go right away.

When he realizes he is still holding it he drops it and starts walking, deciding the only way to survive this afternoon is to pretend, pretend none of it happened and that he doesn't need a very cold shower.

You follow him and watch the back of his neck stay pink the entire way.

THE LAST PART FOR THIS SERIES IS VALKO, BUT FIRST NERD! ZAYNE (SYLUS) 😈😈😏

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