laying in bed with lando, eyes half open. he’s got you curled into his side with his big hand slipping between your legs, rubbing his palm against you.
it isn’t rushed, it isn’t stifling and heady like it usually is when you’re both keening for it. no, it’s slow and gentle when he opens your legs, slipping his fingers through the wetness.
his voice is low in your ear, soft and warm and when he bites at your earlobe, it has you gasping, squirming.
“mm, you like that?” he murmurs, teasing lilt to his voice as he lets his tongue trail over the shell of your ear. it has your lips parting again, breath caught in your throat when he circles your clit, fingers hot and calloused, rubbing slowly against your sensitive bud.
your thighs try to squeeze together, pressing hard into one another to still his hand. it’s quiet in the room, a midday nap turning into a slow, sweet make-out session before lando’s hands had rucked off your sleep shorts. he tuts at the action, letting out a displeased sound. his lips are right at your ear, whispering in that honeyed voice of his.
“nuh-uh, baby. be good for me, love. open up for me.” it sends a shiver down your spine as you let out a breathless whimper, back arching and thighs parting wider. “there we go. let me in, angel. gonna make it good for you.”
when you come, it’s slow. it starts as a tightening in your belly, expanding but coiling tighter and tighter. you try to stave it off, wanting to feel lando’s fingers circling your bud for a few minutes longer, but it’s futile. lando can see the furrow in your brow, the parting of your lips, the way your chest rises and falls quicker.
“that’s it… good girl, c’mon, love. my sweet dove, come for me. give it to me.” a broken mewl slips from your mouth as it washes over you, legs trembling as you come for lando, walls fluttering, eyes closing. you grip onto his wrist, grounding yourself as your mind floats somewhere else, high from your own body. it’s an orgasm you’ve never experienced, and it’s orchestrated by the man who tells you that you look prettiest when you let go.
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cw: pseudoincest, gege use (familial and flirtatious), inappropriate dancing, alcohol use
posting this feb 6 as part of @inabsolutions folded wishes event, a caleb fanart and fanfic event <3 highly recommend checking the event out when it starts. there’s soooo many talented artists and writers taking part. :3
You opened the door and nearly dropped your drink.
Sylus stood in the hallway, deadpan, wearing a pair of black cat ears. No costume. Just the ears. And his usual holsters, guns, knives, and impossible composure.
“…why,” you whispered, pressing your lips together to keep from laughing.
“I heard that’s what people do on Halloween,” he said simply. “Couples usually choose complementary costumes. You’re the witch, I’m your familiar.”
You blinked, reminding him of earlier. “You refused to dress up!”
He shrugged one shoulder. “They threatened to ban me from the party.”
“They?” you echoed, confused.
“The twins.”
That made you choke on a laugh. You covered your mouth, shaking your head.
“You let them talk you into this?”
“‘Let’ is a strong word,” he said dryly. “They ambushed me with glue and glitter. I chose the lesser humiliation.”
“You look ridiculous,” you managed between giggles.
Sylus stepped forward, unhurried. “Correct.”
You nearly snorted into your drink. “You’re not even gonna deny it?”
“Why would I? he asked, stepping inside like he owned the place. “You’re laughing. Mission accomplished.”
“Ughh, shut up, Sylus.”
His mouth curved. “As you wish.”
He moved past you, full-on smirking, and you tried not to stare.
Everyone else failed miserably. Every head turned as he crossed the room, tall, armed, radiating danger…and wearing cat ears like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
A hush rippled through the party. Then came the whispers.
Since when does he attend these parties?
Is that—are those cat ears?
Do you think she made him wear them?
Sylus ignored them all. He reached for a drink from the tray, unbothered, moving through the murmurs like a king walking among peasants.
No one dared to comment on it. And if they lingered too long, they wouldn’t like the outcome.
After a beat of silence, people tried to go back to what they were doing, but it was hard. There were whispers, speculations about why he was even wearing such a thing.
Sylus was unfazed by it all. He didn’t care about their opinions. He never cared what anyone thought…except for you. And if you were happy or if he managed to make you smile, to laugh, then that was enough. He was happy, even if you were laughing at him.
When he caught you watching him from across the room, trying to suppress another laugh, he raised his glass slightly in a silent toast.
And there it was again. The small traitorous smile tugging at your mouth.
You made your way toward him, weaving through the crowd. “They’re all terrified,” you whispered when you reached him.
“Good,” he murmured. “Fear keeps people quiet and out of my way.”
“Or it kills the mood,” you muttered, sipping your drink.
He glanced down at you, the corner of his lips lifting. “Not mine.”
You raised a brow. “So this is you in a good mood?”
“This is me humoring you, kitten,” he said dryly. “Don’t get used to it.”
You smirked. “You’re only here because I told you to socialize.”
He turned toward you then, fully. “I’m socializing.”
“Standing in the corner doesn’t count.”
“I’m standing beside you and talking to you,” he corrected. “That’s enough.”
Your heart did that annoying flutter thing you pretended not to notice. “You’re unbelievable,” you said, exasperated and grinning.
He leaned closer, his breath brushing your ear. “And yet, you keep inviting me to these things.”
You rolled your eyes. “Because you need to socialize with other people, not just me.”
“Do I? I think I’m sociable enough.”
“Yes, you do. And threatening people with violence isn’t considered sociable.”
He pretended to think about it. “You seem to like me antisocial anyway.”
“I didn’t say that,” you said quickly.
His smirk widened, satisfied. “Then what do you like?”
You stared up at him, lips parting before you could answer. The cat ears twitched slightly when he tilted his head, and that absurd contrast, predator in plush felt, broke your composure all over again.
You laughed. He didn’t. But the faintest shadow of amusement crossed his face, the kind only you would notice.
“Don’t take them off,” you said sincerely.
He raised a brow. “So you like them?”
You shrugged, feigning indifference. “Maybe.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “Then they stay.”
Your breath caught, just slightly.
The party noise blurred into the background as he looked down at you, calm, unreadable, and utterly in control while wearing something so absurd. And that was the most Sylus thing of all: somehow, he could make cat ears look like a threat and a promise at once.
You shook your head, smiling helplessly. “You’re going to ruin Halloween for everyone else.”
He took a slow sip of his drink. “They can find somewhere else to be.”
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