#lnd x reader

"It was all his fault!" You think as you fume at the paperwork on your desk. Burning holes as if they'd magically ignite in front of you, but what you're really angry at is Sylus. Not exactly him, but the way he actually left when you told him to leave made you even angrier…

You didn't mean it. You wished he'd turn around and kiss you and slip his hand under your skirt and make love to you—but no, he's off subjugating enemies as a form of releasing frustration. 

It's that time of the month when Sylus oh-so-kindly lets you use his body like a toy. Yet you're in the middle of a fight, and both monarchs are too prideful to give in quickly. So you have no choice but to lie down after work to touch yourself on your shared bed. All you can do is imagine his thick fingers rubbing your clit, and closing your eyes to picture his annoying smirk. 

"I want to wipe that off his face by riding it like a horse." You thought to yourself as your back arches and your mouth opens sensually. Your fingertip touches your swollen folds, and you try to insert one finger, trying to remember how Sylus did it. But your attempts are met with disappointment because his skills are just that special. You can't quite replicate the feeling of him, so you just rub and stimulate your cunt in the best way you can. 

Frustrated whimpers bounce off the walls as your high begins to accumulate. Your vivid imagination pulls you in so much that you can't tell what's real and what's not anymore. It's like Sylus is really here; his large hand engulfs your body in a way that it's natural to unravel in front of him. "Hnnngh!" You let out a high-pitched whine, drool coming out of your lips as you repeatedly thrust upwards to get more stimulation out of your fingers. Repeated intrusions of your fingertips build one by one until you feel that tightness release from within. 

Relief washes over as you take a breath and lay your tired arm limp. How does Sylus not get tired doing all the work? Suddenly, you sense a presence in your room and your eyes immediately fly open, ready to fight. Then your eyes travel to the intruder's long legs, up to the bulge in his pants, and up to his red eyes that are filled with mirth. 

Sylus has very much enjoyed your little show and made no noise to not interrupt your self-session. 

"Missed me, sweetie? Is this your way of apologizing?" His tone was haughty, as if he had hit a jackpot coming home at the right time to see you in such a state. Your pussy facing him the moment he entered the door was a welcome sight. You were even kind enough to wet it for him to slide right in. 

You were frozen until he spoke, immediately registering what had just happened and refusing to show embarrassment on your face. "You can dream. I'm not apologizing because I'm not wrong." You cover yourself with your sheer nightgown, and you realize it's not doing much, so you resort to blanketing yourself. 

Sylus walks agonizingly slowly towards you, making you feel like a cornered prey that has no choice but to be eaten by the predator. The look in his eyes was giving off desire and a warning: You can run now. You can choose to leave and end this eye-fucking, but before you know it, Sylus is close to your face, and his arms are caging you between the bedframe.

"I don't even remember what we fought about." He whispers and kisses your lips, not out of lust but out of love, a certain tenderness reserved for you. "I'm sorry anyway because I made you upset. And I walked out on you when you clearly wanted to make up yesterday." 

You sigh, caressing his face, to which he rubs on your hand like a cat. "Don't worry about it. It's just my mood swings, and I'm pretty emotional these days." 

"Oh? Are you ovulating right now?" Sylus smirks as if he knows what it means, and you chuckle bashfully. 

"Are you gonna help me?" 

"Of course, I'm your husband" He groans near your ears and slides down the sleeves off your shoulder, exposing your naked top half to the air. A dry chuckle comes out of his throat as he sees your bare chest and wastes no time fondling them. You moan as he plays around, massaging and whispering sweet nothings to your ear. "You should do this more often. Not wearing anything underneath." He pinches your nipple as he says it, making sure his suggestion sticks. "Or you could wear nothing at all, much preferred." 

You grind against his hard cock, straining against its confines. Rubbing yourself, which Sylus responds to by rutting against your core. The dry humping goes on for a few minutes before you got impatient, and threw the useless nightgown you have on. Sylus follows suit, looking down at you as he unbuckles his belt and lets his cock free. His abs flex as he takes off his shirt and positions on top, naked bodies sending warmth to each other. His fingers slide down to your core, entering with one finger and then another to thrust upwards. You scream in pleasure, legs thrashing around as Sylus feeds on the expressions on your face.

"No one's ever as good at pleasuring you except me. Not even yourself. Remember that."

His thick fingers, rubbing against your walls and hitting the spot every time, bring tears to your eyes. You feel how unfair it is that he knows your body so well. "Sylus..." You call out for him, and he obliges, immediately pressing your lips together in a sloppy tongue clash as he speeds up his fingers to bring you to your orgasm. Your legs start to shake, and with one last thrust to your g-spot, your eyes go to the back of your head as you orgasm around his thick digits. 

"Fucking tight," He whispers

Sylus takes out his fingers and dives straight between your legs. His hungry licks bring out screams from you as he devours like a starved beast. Your legs are on his shoulders, and he's practically gluing his lips to your center. He was having a heated make-out session with your cunt as if a long-lost lover, and you could do nothing but gasp and moan in the warmth of his tongue. So you bury him deeper with your hand keeping him from rising, and ride out your incoming high while your slit slides in his nose bridge perfectly. 

"Sy… I'm going to cum!" 

You scream as he does tricks with his tongue to pull you to the edge. Juices then splatter in his face as you release another time, but with more force. Sylus's mussed-up hair comes into view, one eye closed, before opening both. It was clear that you had squirted on him, and this bastard was treating it like an achievement.  

He lingers between your thighs to scoop up your essence and brings them to your mouth as you suck and look at him seductively. Sylus groans as his cock impossibly hardens, resisting the urge just to insert it right then and there.

"Don't say anything," You groan into the pillows, and Sylus chuckles, adoring your mannerisms and how cute you look after cumming on his face. 

"As much as I love to do that again, I have a different kind of need right now." He has a pained expression on his face as he lets you come down from your own high. Kissing and soothing your body before letting you know that he'll enter you. "You should prepare yourself because you know I missed you."

You smile and take his face in your hands. "I missed you, too." Sylus smiles and kisses you. The thick head breaches your entrance, pushing against the resistance as you shiver and whine at the penetration. You lock your legs behind his back to keep him there, leaving Sylus no choice but to push himself deeper.

His thrusts start slow, as if saying sorry to make up for the stupid walkout he did. For leaving you alone when you needed him. This sex was pure servitude to you as his wife. All his feelings conveyed through his body spill out to give pleasure to you. Sylus pulls out a little and thrusts back in, making you whine as skin slapping sounds echo. His pace quickens once he makes sure all the feelings are out of the way. Splitting you open on his dick as your walls repeatedly expand to accommodate his size.  

"Nghhh-ughhh" Your pornographic moans are music to his ears. The feeling of being stuffed dumb by a big cock sends your mind spiraling in pleasure. His rhythmic thrusts completely swallow you. His hips buck into your cunt to be skin-to-skin and to drive deeper. Sylus's hands grip your sides from the involuntary jolting of your body every time the cock head bruises your g-spot. 

"Good kitten, you can take it," He groans because you were tightening on him like crazy. Pussy walls clench to welcome the thick intrusion alongside his brutal thrusts. Sweat forms on Sylus' forehead as he pounds you into the mattress, soaking the surroundings in body fluids. It was like you never wanted him to let go, and all he had to do was stay inside forever. You could stay like this forever—fucked out and free from empress duties. 

Your legs were tired and sore from hanging behind his back. You were about to put them down, but Sylus then sends a deep thrust, balls swinging against your ass every other second as a warning. 

"A little more." He rasped amidst the wet sound of smacking flesh. You were too tired to think about replying, just wanting to feel his warm cum after his cock finishes wrecking your insides. And so you clench on him as hard as you can, making his hips jerk forward in surprise that sends him straight to your spot. You screech in surprise, not expecting that to backfire on you, but now you really feel your lower belly tightening, and your pussy starts to throb in anticipation of the joined climax. Sylus equally feels the pressure pressing down his shaft, his eyes intent on bringing your high. 

Your walls start to flutter around him, and you beg to keep him going inside you, your vision starting to spin from the immense pleasure. Sylus obliges and sets out a final reckless pace before you shiver and let out a choked sob of his name. It was like a dam had broken, and your juices coated his thickness in a sticky essence. It left you trying your best to catch your breath as the man on top of you prepares to flood you inside. 

Sylus chases his release and soaks up the feeling of your pussy and your lewd expressions before stuttering his hips and locking himself deep to empty his balls inside you. He paints your cunt with warm cum. Your pussy muscles milk every drop of his seed, taking it as they always do. His eyes were closed while dumping copious amounts into you. Sylus gives light thrusts before pulling and watching it all come out of your abused hole. 

He scoops up some of that cum and pushes it back in, pressing his lips against your belly before coming up to your lips. 

"That was insane." You managed to breathe out in the middle of kissing, and he chuckles, kissing your forehead for good measure. 

"Rest for now, I'll clean you up." Sylus fixes your baby hairs that are stuck to your face, and you feel like giving in to the need to sleep. That exercise took quite a toll on your stamina. 

Before you truly gave up and settled on another option for a toast spread, you had one last thing to try. Who else could open a stubborn jar if not your strong, very capable lover, Sylus? You probably should have done that from the start, honestly... But sometimes asking for help is hard. Embarrassing. And a wound to your dignity that you so stubbornly try to save.

With a sigh, your shoulders sag as you look back to the living room. Sylus is on the leather sofa, one leg crossed over the other as his index finger taps rhythmically on his temple. On the coffee table sits a laptop, the drone of some business man sounds from its speakers. They're in a meeting, and Sylus looks bored out of his mind. It wouldn't hurt to pop in for a second... You're sure he wouldn't mind.

Sauntering over with the accursed jar of strawberry jam in hand, you stop just before you could be seen on camera, keeping your identity anonymous. Sylus had already started to look up when you walked over, yet only stared in momentary confusion as you held out the jar. It takes a second before it clicks in his head what you're asking for—and he chuckles as he takes the jar from your hand.

One twist and Sylus is already handing it back to you. He opened it with ease, annoyingly so. But he did help, and at this point you're too hungry to bother sulking at him for laughing at you. Besides, you can't deny that you're thrilled. Unable to resist beaming at him for fulfilling such a simple request, you blow him kisses instead of leaning in to actually kiss him.

Not that you don't want to but his business partner on the other side of the laptop screen would see you, and Sylus prefers you out of his dealings for your safety. Instead, you opt to mouth a thank you to him. Along with an added bonus of praising his strength and telling him that he's doing a good job enduring his meeting. You don't think much of it and head back into the kitchen for your much anticipated toast.

Unfortunately, that means you turned away too quickly to see him freeze up for a split-second before regaining his composure. His eyes widen just the slightest, lips parting as his breath catches as if he wanted to say something but lost his train of thought. There's a flush on his skin now, rosy heat creeping up his neck and the tips of his ears. Now he truly is unable to focus.

—

Ever since that day, you had begun to notice Sylus... Hovering nearby whenever you do something. More often than not, he swoops in to take over as soon as you begin to struggle. Whether it's reaching for objects at high places, picking up something from the store that you forgot, or the most mundane task you really don't feel like doing, he always takes it from your hands before you can even think of asking for his help. It's relieving. It's suspicious.

You're sitting side-by-side on the floor of his armory today, helping him with gun maintenance. Sylus had already told you that you didn't need to, yet you insisted because this is still a way to spend time with him. However... You've been at it for a while. Curse his extensive collection. Your neck and shoulders are tense, a dull ache seizing the muscles from being hunched over.

As soon as a sigh escapes your lips, Sylus is reaching out, and the gun you were cleaning is out of your hands by the next blink. His fingers are running up and down your aching spots, relieving it with pressure. There is it again. You didn't even voice out a complaint, and he's already taking care of the problem. When you meet his gaze, his crimson eyes look at you expectantly. A certain longing that gives him away when he wants something.

“Why... Are you looking at me like that?” You ask, eyes narrowing.

“Like what, sweetie? I'm only trying to help.” Sylus drawls, head tilted just slightly.

Yeah, he definitely wants something.

“Sylus. You've been following me around the base like a stray puppy for a few days now. Spit it out.”

At that, he seems to deflate. Only you would compare the feared leader of Onychinus to a puppy. But he doesn't want that. Sylus wants you to see him as someone reliable. Dependable when needed. To be the one you seek out when problems arise because he desperately wants to hear your approval of him being a good partner for you.

“You... seem to have trouble asking for assistance. And I... Simply want to be of use to you. Won't you indulge me, my dear?” He admits, an awkward smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

Oh. Oh.

“Sylus do you—” You pause, the question sounds a little embarrassing in your head but you decide to ask anyway, “like it when I... Praise you...?”

The way Sylus averts his gaze tells you everything you need to know. This behemoth of a man was doing everything he could think of just to hear a few honeyed words from you as though his life depended on it. Adorable, you wanted to say. Really, he could have just asked you instead of feeling the need to earn it. You would have done it in a heartbeat.

Your hands move faster than your thoughts, palms cupping his face and bringing him closer to you.

“My beloved. My sweet, adorable, unbelievable heart. You are more than ‘of use’ to me. You're a wonderful partner and the only one I trust my heart with. You're doing good.”

Meanwhile, Sylus thinks his heart might give out. Given his abnormally fast-beating heart, he has never experienced his heart race. This ache, he thinks, might be the closest thing. Deep within his soul he believes a fiend could never be loved. But if someone as pure as you, who he reflects, does it as easily as breathing, then who is he to say otherwise?

“Are you gonna try and stop him orrrr,” a muffled voice asked, words echoing through the hallway. Just outside the office room of the Onychinus base, Luke and Kieran peered their heads inside to observe the white-haired man who had just stood up from his black leather chair.

They technically weren’t spying—at least they wouldn’t define it as spying—they were simply watching over their boss! Their gaze followed the man in question as he walked to the other end of the room, grabbing an unopened bottle of liquor.

“Hell no. Do you remember the last time we told him to cut back?” Kieran whispered.

“That time he kicked us out of the base for the night or the time before that—or the time before that-" Luke rambled before being cut off. 

“All of them, Luke! All of them! You know better than to mess with the boss man when a drink is in his hand.” Just as Luke was about to retort, a voice cut through the brief silence—freezing the boys in their places.

“I can hear you guys, you know,” Sylus turned his head in the direction of the door, a look of annoyance twisted with amusement forming on his face. “You boys aren’t exactly…quiet.”

The door to the room slowly opened as the twins made their way inside, heads hanging low. Luke and Kieran don’t respond to him immediately, patiently waiting for whatever scolding was to follow—-yet they were only met with silence. With a quick glance up towards Sylus, the twins were met with a glare of disappointment.

“We're sorry, Boss!” they both spoke in frightened unison before turning around and speed walking down the hallway—never giving Sylus the chance to finish his lecture. He clearly didn’t care enough though, letting them leave and wonder when his discipling would come.

He continued to twist open the bottle of whiskey he grabbed from the shelf and poured it into a cocktail shaker. He wasn’t drinking for any particular reason, sometimes he just enjoyed a nice beverage on a cool autumn night. Rarely did he ever let the amount of alcohol he consumed get out of hand—but there were definitely times when he almost had too much.

Tonight, he was teetering that edge of enjoying a couple beverages and accidentally downing an entire bottle. While he kept telling himself one more glass, that didn’t stop him from having his 4th—no, 5th glass of the night. Luckily, his high body mass allowed for him to consume far more alcohol than the average person before reaching a truly intoxicated state.

As the night carried on, Sylus continued to sip on the drink in his hand, listening to a vinyl on his vintage record player. As the instrumentals from the song played, he couldn’t help but softly hum along—thoughts of you consuming his mind.

His gaze flickered to the clock on the wall as he patiently waited for the moment you arrived home. Even though the sun had long set, he knew you were safe—with help from Mephisto’s watchful eyes of course. His eyelids felt heavy every time he blinked, but he never allowed himself to rest until he knew you were safe at home.

When you finally made it to the front door of the Onichynus base and turned the doorknob, you were greeted by two familiar faces.

“Hi boys,” you waved at the twins chatting in the living room which wasn’t far from the main entrance. “Have you guys eaten? If not, I grabbed some food on my way here,” you said, lifting up a white plastic bag filled with carry out.

“We ate already! The boss made some dinner earlier,” Luke responded.

“Good to hear,” you grunted while bending over to slip off your shoes. After you stood back up, you wandered into the living room to continue the conversation. “Where is he anyway? Has he gone to bed already?”

“Uhhh…no, not exactly. He should still be in his office—but beware—he’s had a drink or two,” Luke joked.

“More like a drink or five,” Kieran chimed in, causing you to chuckle to yourself.

“Haha, thank you guys. I’ll see you in the morning,” you said your goodnights and put your food in the fridge before making your way down the hall. You weren’t terribly worried about Sylus overdoing the amount he drank because he only ever had enough to get mildly drunk, never completely wasted. Plus it really only happened maybe once every other year—if that. He had always been a responsible drinker and there were even times when you encouraged him to let loose a little more.

When you reached the door to his separate living room, you softly knocked on the door.

No response.

Based on the sound of your favorite record playing from inside, you knew he was there. You moved to open the door and called out his name.

“Sylus? Syl–there you are.” When you make it into the room, you’re met with Sylus sprawled out in his chair. His head was tilted back but it perked up at the sound of your footsteps approaching him.

“Hey—*hic*— kitten,” he managed to say, greeting you with open arms. You couldn’t hold back the smile forming at both his words and appearance. His white hair was all ruffled from leaning back and his face was flushed a crimson red. You took a seat in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Hey there handsome, what have you been up to?” you giggled. It was a rhetorical question, of course. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he had been up to for the past couple hours.

“Destressing,” he replied simply with a lopsided smirk. His hand wrapped around you and found your arm as he lightly traced your skin with his fingers. The warm touch sent shivers down your spine and a soft sigh left your lips. His touch was always so comforting after a long day at work and you couldn’t have been happier to be home. “I missed you a lot.”

“I missed you too, Sy. I always do—you know that,” you whispered back. His pupils were blown wide, most likely from all the alcohol in his system, but little did you know that no drink could get him more intoxicated than the way you do. Sylus’ body leaned ever so slightly into yours and his eyes closed for a fraction of a second longer than usual, signaling to you that it was way past his bedtime. “We should get you to the bedroom, mister.”

“Mmm, the bedroom you say?” He joked, clearly not thinking straight.

“Yes, the bedroom. You know, the place where we sleep?” you asked as one of your eyebrow raises. At this point, it is becoming hard not to burst into laughter at his unseriousness.

“We…” he paused to gather his thoughts while a faint smirk appeared on his face. “We also—*hic*—do other things there, kitten.”

“Are you trying to seduce me right now!?” You lightly smacked his arm at his dirty mind, rolling your eyes playfully. Sylus simply t in response while going to move the hair out of the way—placing small kisses along your neck. 

“Do you want me to be?” he slurred and his words strung out a little longer.

“I want you to sleep!” you whined with a small smile forming on your face. Even though his lips felt amazing, you pulled him away from your neck. “You’re on the verge of falling asleep upright in this chair when our bedroom is right down the hall.”

You go to climb out of Sylus’ lap but his hands gently wrapped around your waist, keeping you temporarily frozen in place. You shook your head and laugh to yourself at his persistence before pulling away from his grip. It didn’t take much strength to do so, leaving his arms to fall back to his sides like they were made of jello.

“Can you walk by yourself?” you asked.

“Can I—*hic*—or do I want to?” he spoke back, his sass becoming far more evident since you left his reach.

“I’ll meet you in the bedroom, Sy,” you said sweetly.

Even if you wanted to, there was no way in hell you would’ve been able to lift his large and muscular body by yourself. That left him no other choice but to get up on his own two feet all by himself. You figured he would eventually make his way to you just as he always did—and you were right. When you entered your shared bedroom, it wasn’t long before a drunk Sylus followed behind you. He didn’t say anything—not that there was much room for thought with the alcohol still flowing through his blood.

Sylus came to his senses enough to change into a pair of pajama pants while you made your way to your closet and put on some comfy sleepwear. You both walked towards your respective ends of your bed, but of course it wasn’t that easy. The limited control Sylus had left of his body only allowed him to flop onto the bed.

You immediately got out from under the covers and crossed the room to his side. A breathy laugh escaped your lips at the sight of the big and strong leader of Onychinus just barely making it into his bed. You rolled his body over, lifted the sheets from underneath him, and gently tucked them over him.

When you made it back to your side of the bed, you pulled Sylus closer to you. He instantly melted into your touch, resting his head on your chest. Just as his breathing slowed and he appeared to have fallen asleep, his voice filled the room.

“I love you,” he mumbled quietly, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. His gaze was captivating yet soft. Even though there have been countless times where you have gotten lost in his eyes, you never grew tired of it—in fact, you only craved him more.

“I love you too,” you replied. Your fingers tangled with his hair and you planted a kiss on his head. He really was your everything. You truly loved and adored every second with him, even if it meant making sure he made it into his own bed on a night he had a little too much to drink.

“I always have, you know—loved you,” Sylus confessed. “From the moment I met you and…even before then. I’ve loved you in every life and—*hic*—I promise to love you in every future life going forward, kitten.”

Listening to him ramble endlessly about his undying love for you almost made your heart explode. He has always had his fair share of incredibly romantic gestures and speeches, but right now felt different. His words unraveled onto each other and in that moment he was only able to say the unfiltered thoughts that were running through his mind.

“And because I—*hic*—have always loved you, and always will. I was wondering if you’d make me the happiest man alive and…marry me?”

Your eyes widened, taken aback by his words. A light blush dusted your entire face at his confession, making it harder to think straight. You searched for any signs of playfulness or him playing a joke on you, but you came up empty handed.

He was dead serious.

“You cannot seriously be proposing to me right now,” you grinned in amusement, knowing it was the alcohol talking.

“Is that a no? If so, please reconsider…” He was genuinely disappointed by your lack of response which shouldn’t have been funny, yet a small chuckle erupted from your throat. You knew that he wouldn’t have remembered any of this in the morning, so there was no true reason to accept or reject him.

“No, I am not saying no to your proposal, Sy. But I think that you should maybe sleep on a question that big,” you giggled, hoping to either shift the conversation to a different topic or finally convince him to go to sleep.

“I wouldn’t ask it if I didn’t know what it meant. I—*hic*—want to spend the rest of my life with you—every day, every minute, every second—all of it, kitten.” Even while stumbling over some of his words, Sylus had a look written all over his face. The look somewhere between love and desperation that only came when he was completely consumed by your existence. Even drunk, he was forever devoted to you.

“You will spend the rest of your life with me, but right now you need a good 8 hours of sleep.”

“Do you promise?” Sylus was practically pouting, peering up at you. You wish you could take a picture of him like this but you knew teasing him in the morning was the best you were going to get.

“I promise, baby. Let’s get some sleep now, okay?” You lean in, pressing a soft kiss on his lips.

“Okay, kitten.”

The next morning came way too soon. The bright light shining through the bedroom windows caused you to stir in Sylus’ arms. You attempted to wiggle your way out of his grasp which only makes him hold onto you tighter.

“Sy, are you awake?” you whispered.

“Mmm,” he groaned in response, clearly not wanting to start his day just yet.

“I have to pee.”

“But you’re so warm.” His arms stayed wrapped around your waist. He went silent for a minute and you assumed he just fell back asleep—grip loosening on you which allowed you to slip out from both his grip and under the covers.

When you came back from the bathroom, Sylus was already mostly awake and laying his back against the headboard. He was always like this—the moment you left his side, he wasn’t able to fall back asleep. His hand reached for his forehead and his eyebrows furrowed in mild discomfort from his hangover.

“You had quite the night,” you said, breaking the silence. “You know, you’re quite the romantic when you’re drunk.”

“I was tipsy at most, kitten.” Sylus’ morning voice was deep and raspy, laced with his usual flirtatious and teasing tone. It brought you closer to him as you hopped onto his side of the bed and positioned yourself in his lap. His words sounded convincing but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself rather than you.

“Oh yeah, wanna know what you asked me?”

“...I’m listening.” he responded while cocking an eyebrow, expressing his interest.

“For my hand in marriage,” you choked out, almost cutting yourself off from your own laughter. 

That’s when the reality of the state he was in hit him. Yeah…he was definitely far beyond tipsy.

He couldn’t help but feel embarrassed from your retelling of his words from the previous night. Not because he asked you to spend the rest of your life with him—no, he meant every word—but because he had already asked you that very question two years prior.

His gaze flickered down from your teasing eyes to the shiny diamond ring wrapped around your left ring finger. The ring he held in his hands when he actually proposed to you.

You two had been happily married to each other for almost two years but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell your intoxicated husband the truth. It probably would’ve only confused his poor brain even more which would’ve led to an endless amount of incoherent questions. At the end of the night, you knew that all he needed was to sleep the alcohol off.

Now piecing together the events from the previous night, he understood how foolish he must’ve seemed. But as always, Sylus wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“I just wanted to relive the moment,” he spoke with false confidence. A light shade of red dusted his cheeks and ears, making it evident that he didn’t have a damn clue of what he was talking about.

“It’s okay to admit you were drunk out of your mind, you know?” you laughed at his attempt to move on from last night's “proposal”.

“Tipsy, kitten, tipsy.”

“Sure, whatever you say…I’ll be sure to include that crucial detail at our ‘future wedding’ when people ask me how you proposed.”

All he did was smile and shake his head.

"And yet, you sound so happy over it," you grumbled. Sleep is so close yet so far, and you'd been squirming around in search of the closest boarding gate. His touch delicate as he pulled you onto his lap.

You snuggled closer on instinct. Picking up on the faint smell of sandalwood and something finer, richer. There was movement on your back, Caleb's palm stroking up and down, while the other held you by the back of your neck like an infant.

"I spoiled you, too."

You frowned, looked at him blearily. "Nuh-uh."

"Uh-huh." He pushed your head back onto his shoulder. "Go to sleep."

Sure, Caleb took extensive measures to ensure your comfortable upbringing with him. But you weren't spoiled.

Right?

But you go on your first date with someone that isn't him, and it kind of hits. Making an offhanded comment about how the water temperature was more cold than warm—you asked for room temp—doesn't result in your date immediately requesting another glass or them buying you bottled water from the convenience store across the restaurant.

Instead, you're told, "they probably forgot, it's fine" and the date continues. You watch the condensation form on your glass quietly. Every rational droplet is speaking to your acrid gut feeling—it's just water. It'll be room temperature eventually.

Later on, your date messages you. They asked if you got home safely, all the while you'd been drinking a glass of lukewarm water in Caleb's dining room. You pressed block once you heard his familiar, curious voice asking how the date went.

"It was meh." And you asked for another glass.

Another time, you'd been hanging out with old high school friends as a simple gathering. Though, you hadn't expected that it would lead to seemingly endless anecdotes in relation to you. Over fruit smoothies and café pastries, they'd all been exchanging stories once the conversation turns over to yourself in high school.

"Remember when she would always ask us to do stuff?" One girl laughed, cutting into her french toast.

Another cleared her throat, exaggerating her voice into a falsetto, "hey, can you get me a bun from the cafeteria? Oh, there's no more? Then, a banana milk and whatever pastry they have."

It earned a crackle of laughter along the table of five people. You, the object of discussion, smiling at the head of the table. Rather awkwardly, too, as you sipped on your drink.

"You forgot to add on the "you can do that at least, right?" at the end!"

"Oh, oh, the sulking too, if you don't do it!"

"She'd always complain about our fans, too."

"Oh my God, yeah. "Why does your fan battery run out so quickly? Did you not charge it?" Like, hello?"

One of the girls face you amidst the active exchange, grinning. Despite the recollection of your nature in the past, they weren't mad. Simply taking the entertainment value in it.

"Don't worry," and she said your name, placing a hand over yours on the table.

"You've got an older brother, right? It may have been annoying, but we're friends. You were like, our little sister."

A muscle in your jaw ticked. His face popped up in your face and you wanna punch him, despite him being nowhere near you at the time of this event. But, you laughed and nodded; acquiescing to her reassurance was easier this way.

It slipped out once more when you go out for movies with Tara. It's the same theater you and Caleb always frequented before. You already swiped your card for payment of movie food, and had besn walking to the screening room.

"Tara, can you check the bucket? Make sure it has enough butter on it?"

"Hm? Okay," she replied. While you scrolled on your phone, you heard the plastic lid of the bucket pop open.

"Seems good to me. You check."

When you move your attention over to the bucket, you're met with mediocre-looking buttered popcorn. The golden syrup of butter scattered over the pieces. You frowned. Since when were they so shy about buttering literal corn?

You stopped walking, brows furrowed. "It's so... pale. Let's go back and ask for more, I didn't pay for that."

"Huh? Oh, okay?" You didn't really register Tara's confused tone of voice until after you had a spat with the person at the popcorn station.

It was some moody teen probably working minimum wage. He was scowling while you talked about the butter portioning.

He sneered, "over some popcorn? Really? Were you that spoiled as a kid?"

It winded you. Tara was pulling at your arm, seeming to try and hold you back despite you being frozen. The manager came out once the commotion seems to stop, only because you were gobsmacked.

He'd been apologizing profusely to you and Tara upon recognizing you both as hunters; his eyes had landed on you with so much familiarity. He's probably been working here for a decade or so. Long enough to have previously seen you and Caleb at movie screenings.

Tara's at the butter dispenser of the self-service station—something they closed over half a decade ago apparently, but frantically opened for today, coincidentally—with you behind her when she finally spoke

She was a bit bewildered, but it was easy to pick up the lighthearted tone. "I didn't take you for the pampered type. That was the normal amount of butter on popcorn for most places."

You shook your head. "No, it wasn't. I was a regular here in the past. Every time we got a bucket of popcorn, they were always so generous with the salted butter."

"By yourself?"

"No, with my friend."

There'd been a pause between you two. She pressed the lid back into place and begun shaking it, the popcorn rattling. Then, she turned to you, like she knew something that you didn't.

"And you never once thought this friend scared the employees into putting extra butter for you back then?"

It always went back to him.

Whenever you'd go to a colleague's place and bore holes into the crooked cuts of the apple slices on a plate, you found yourself recalling Caleb's expert cuts. These ones weren't even red delicious apples.

You're a bit peeved when the food from the monthly catering service at the Association doesn't taste the same way that Caleb makes it, even though the food is the same kind and recipe.

Your next trip to Skyhaven is definitely highly anticipated. You're been exhausted and haggard for the past few days. It only amplifies as the day stretches on, grimacing when Caleb opens the door. He's surprised to see you, panting and sweaty in his white tanktop. Fresh from a workout, most likely. It makes you a bit, a tiny bit, mad.

"Pipsqueak? What's the occasion?"

"You," you hiss, releasing your hold on your suitcases. You kick off your shoes as you push your way into his place, pointing an accusing finger to his chest.

Caleb's confused. It's clear in the furrow of his brow and frantic blinking that his synapses are doing rapid fire checking of what today is, what he's said or done recently, what stores are on sale, and what snacks you need.

Despite being the one who said he himself spoiled you, he clearly has no idea how it's manifested in your life, and it pisses you off even more.

"I'm the occasion?" He squawks, confused. "It's too early for my birthday—"

"You and your stupid past self. I should have your head on a stake," you bark, slamming your fists onto his pecs, pushing him further into his own home.

He laughs a bit, still completely in the dark, but his voice gets a bit more pitchy.

He leans down, cranes his gargantuan ass down to your height. It's polite. You know this, he's done it countless times. But your gut speaks to you. You're going to throttle him.

"Huh? What did I do?"

"You piss me off!"

His face softens with concern. His hands come up, ghosting over yours. He murmurs your name—

Then you're gripping him by the neck. You get to drink in the way his eyes widen to saucers as your fingers delicately wrap around his throat, palms on either side. You don't squeeze, and instead, aggressively shake him. "Pipsqueak?"

"You spoiled me!" You shriek, voice shrill with accusation.

Frustration, the buildup from the past couple of weeks comes to full fruition in this very moment. It's only for a split second that you see realization dawn on Caleb's face before you continue yelling.

"I relied on others to get me snacks because of you, I complain over batteries because of you, now I want specific water temperatures, I can't stand pale popcorn because you demanded extra butter, I'm picky over food—"

"Hey—"

"Don't you hey me, mister!" You jut your finger up at his face, and he shuts his mouth instantly. "I'm like this, because of you!"

You don't miss the glitter of mirth in those stupidly ethereal eyes of his, and it's wholly unreal how your anger amplifies when you notice his twitching lips. He found this funny.

"You're laughing?" You whisper, low and indignant. You squeeze his throat, feel his breath pass under the skin. Adrenaline riveting and real in the low thrum of your heartbeat.

"I'm here, devastated over the effect of your stupid actions on my life, and you're laughing?"

"Devastated?" Caleb echoes. The idiot sounded delighted over this. Like he was finding a great deal of validation in your admission.

A grin quirks his lips into its signature, charming curve, and he's leaning down into you some more. One of his hands sliding over yours with a gentleness only he could emulate. Your resolve stutters, and he's quick to take advantage of that.

"Oh, please, pipsqueak." He chuckles. "That's not true and you know it."

His fingers gently slide between the gaps of yours, making room for himself and filling the emptiness. Effectively peeling them away from his throat, and doing the same to the other hand. You relent, letting your arms hang loosely at your sides.

Caleb's still smiling when he takes a step forward, crowding your space now. It doesn't register that he's cornered you until your back is flat to the closed door and you're surrounded by him and everything about him.

The very man who's fed you every granule, acquainted you with the taste of having the world at your every whim. A charged zap runs up the base of your spine when he lifts your chin.

"If you were really devastated, you'd have come here cryin' instead. You'd be on your knees, weepin' over how I've ruined you. Not yelling and screaming and accusing me," he coos, sickly sweet. His thumb rubbing below your lower lip.

"Are you done? Do you feel better after getting it all off your chest?"

His gaze feels abysmal. Two pools of an oceanic depth, spatial and intergalactic and beyond your comprehension. Hungry.

Something darker lurks there. That one look that flickers in and out of conversations whenever you're close to him, or when the topic tilts into something that you know you shouldn't be touching. Like he's satiated, but still craving more and more. You feel small under it every time.

"Even a kid knows how to manipulate their guardian into givin' them what they want."

The double meaning, one of comparing you to an immature brat, isn't lost on you. Heat crawls up your skin as your cheeks round with the scrunch of your nose. Ready to retaliate with equal venom, even if his words weren't inherently insulting.

But, before you even could, the expression on his face stops you in your tracks.

It's like looking at the colonel. Caleb cocks his head to the side, expression clinically cold. "When someone is speaking, we?"

He stares. He's waiting for a response, you realize.

You finish his sentence, pacified. "We listen."

"Good. Seems you still have the manners I taught you."

Your face heats up.

That stupidly patient smile on his lips was grating on your nerves, far more than any revelation of his ingrained presence in your every action, thought, word, and emotion.

His thumb is soon pressed flush to your lips. He isn't prying it open like he did before, instead rubbing the pad of his thumb along your lips, caressing the divot of your cupid's bow. He's playing with the glossy texture and film of your lippie, smearing it past the corner of your lips.

The first thing you want to do is push him away. Shove him, hard, and make space between the two of you so that your train of thought could return. Yet, the softness that decorates his grape-colored irises was making you hesitate. He's an annoying guy, someone who gets on your nerves, with featherlight caresses and an admiration so sincere.

Rouge stains the pad of his digit when he draws it back. He's curious, his gaze thoughtful as he examines the pigment. Then, you're watching as he lifts it to his mouth with a deliberate kiss. Lashes fluttering over his cheekbones.

When he drops his hand, the scarlet pigment is smeared over his lips like a brand.

You're burning alive. You reach up, immediately trying to wipe it from his lips. "You—"

"Weirdo? I know." Caleb catches your hand with ease, beaming with half-lidded eyes. "Buuut, you're just as weird as me for lettin' me do that, y'know."

He's making a point. You're going to gut him alive, you think to yourself. In stealing an indirect kiss from you, he's replicating every scenario you've ever bared yourself to him. How easy it is, to melt in one's earnest wonder and affection, unable to say no.

In an attempt to regain your composure, you scowl with all the feigned vitriol you could muster. "You're even weirder for condoning my every action."

He cocks his head, like he was reloading a couple memories from the past. The countless times he let you get away with things.

"It's... not that easy for me, pipsqueak."

"Yes, it is." You huff and free your hand from his grip. Settling your palms flat over his chest, fingers curling into the stretchy fabric. "Telling me no couldn't have been that hard."

"Yeah?" He teases. "You think it's that simple for me?"

"Grandma could handle me."

Caleb deadpans at your mention of her, his face relaxing into something like bemusement.

"If Gran or I took away your stuffed animal to clean it, you'd kick and scream and cry. If I denied you of your favorite food or a candy apple, you'd say you hate me."

You blink. That wasn't the response you were expecting. All of a sudden, you feel like someone's wiped your mind of everything you've ever known, and redefined your recollections of childhood. Embarrassment crawls up your face in burning streaks.

"Gran could handle you?" He repeats, shakes his head with a sad look.

There's a pained aspect to his current physiognomy, the furrow of his brow, the deepened set of his mouth. "That's because it's her. Of course, she wouldn't mind your cries. But I did."

He crouches, and for a moment, it was as if he was falling. The sunlight filtered in through the glass of the door behind your head, catching on the nutty brown strands of his hair. Cradling his head against the junction of your neck and shoulder, hiding away his face.

"I didn't want you to hate me." He admits, the words fanned over your throat. You inhale deeply, and his familiar scent invades your senses. You hope that stupid central organ wasn't too loud, or else he'd hear the beating of your pulse working double time.

Caleb's a constant in your life. He was a pillar, from youth 'til now, that never failed to offer you assistance regardless of the circumstances. You knew him to be reliable, persistent, generous. Perhaps it plays into the way he's coated your teeth in sugar, nipping at your enamel in a thick film that tastes of sweetness.

Yet seeing him like this, frustrated and amused and annoyed—it was unfounded.

"I didn't know much." The vulnerability was low yet blaring. "I just knew I didn't want you to hate me. I knew I loved seeing you happy. And if I denied you, you weren't happy."

It's too black and white. So childish and simplified. It's an easygoing description of his feelings toward you during early youth, one that could easily be swallowed up and consumed by the nasty nature of the world.

Yet, you card your fingers through his hair. Press your lips to his temple all the same, and listen to his utterances.

Your bottom lip is jutting out before you can stop yourself. And in spite of his own admissions, the uncomfortable nakedness that comes with it, you mumble a pointed, "you made me high maintenance."

"You're only figurin' that out now?" He snickers against your skin and the subsequent vibrations make you jump. "Pipsqueak, everyone's known you're high maintenance."

You protest, "that's not true."

"Yes," he says, amused. "It is."

Peeling away from your neck, Caleb's face is less grave now. Relief floods your senses and you cup his face, smoothing over the corners of his lip to wipe away the frowns. There's a weight behind you that isn't the door, his palm a welcome touch as his fingers splay over the small of your back.

His other hand resting on the side of your throat, fingers resting on your nape and thumb rubbing the ridge of your jaw. The motion is soothing, and you close your eyes to memorize its rhythm.

"Even if you're high maintenance, I'm the one who caused it. Allegedly."

You bristle and your eyes fly open, "allegedly? There's proof—"

"Ah-ah."

Caleb's brows are raised on his forehead as you pipe down, amused by how quick you were to correct your behavior.

"Much better. As I was saying."

Despite the extra firmness to his voice, his touch on you was nothing short of gentle. Like your body was carved from marble, reinforced by a fragile porcelain, he does that thing where he tilts your head with the hand on your neck. His thumb rubbing your earlobe.

But the most violating part had to be those intense, smoldering eyes that beheld you with utmost priority. How did you ever think he didn't care for you?

Caleb's tone of voice is chiding. "You're high maintenance because of me, and that makes you mine to maintain."

He's talking down to you. Treating you like one would to a child learning how to tie their shoelaces, his voice chiseled with the vines of condescension. Heartbeat speeding in your chest, distinguishing your heartbeat from your rampant thoughts became far more difficult.

The little smile that's on his lips seems manic. Far away, distant, as you slide your hands over his pecs. A shudder ripples over your skin.

"After all, it's my fault for making sure you're comfortable. It's my fault for prioritizing you above all else, as children and as adults." He starts, chillingly calm. He shakes his head to himself with a deep sigh, and tilts your head back against the door. Examining you with an unblinking, almost detached visage. Yet, his words were anything but, thick with emotion.

You breathe slow, torturous inhales and exhales, feeling Caleb's hand wrap itself around your throat. Alarms ring out in the back of your mind—loud, incessant, disturbing, yet you close your eyes and let him hold you there.

He won't hurt you. He never would, intentionally.

Quietly, like a forbidden fruit to not be consumed or heard, he mutters, "it's my fault for wantin' nothing but the best for you, because it's what you deserve. Nothing less."

Oh, you breathe out.

There's absolutely no pressure to the way he holds your neck. His palm wasn't against the column of your throat, instead, the pads of his thick digits were clasping the skin with a touch so invisible it almost felt nonexistent. When you swallow, the flexed skin presses itself up to his touch.

"Do you really want me to take it back?" Caleb asks, breaking the momentary silence and taking you out of your thoughts.

You blank out for a moment too long. "What?"

"You came over to let me know I've spoiled you beyond reversing repair, without wantin' me to change?"

Why did you come over? Why did you decide to come up to Skyhaven one day, literally days away from your regular times of visiting him? Over something like this? Literal outdated information that you've only recently discovered.

Why? You don't know, but you're rushing to speak, holding onto his top. "That's not what I—"

"It's not what you what?"

He tilts his head down toward you and every coherent thought exits your headspace instantly. God, his eyes. They're darker now. Frustration brimming in the burning fuchscia, the indigo of his irises all-consuming.

"I can stop pamperin' you starting today." He offers.

The surfacing ache in your chest is abrupt, disruptive.

"Starting today, I won't buy your favorite snacks. I won't ever pat your head again. I'll leave you to fend for yourself in every fast food line, and you can get your own stuff when we go shopping. You can even do your shopping alone. Is that what you want?"

No. No, it's not what you want, but how do you express that? An entity, so puissant and arresting, is crawling up your esophagus, scraping at the backs of your teeth, trying to pry your mouth open, and wail its truth into the minimal distance between you and Caleb. It's an ugly feeling, one stripping you down to your base needs.

Pain bleeds into his expression, his eyes only softening as a thought crosses his mind. "Are you gonna tell me you don't need me again?"

"Caleb, no," you manage.

"If not, then what's the problem? It's too late. If I've ruined you, you've destroyed me."

You destroyed him? When? You've never... When have you ever—?

Your chagrin spikes in time with your bewilderment. "I never did anything like that."

Caleb peered into your eyes. Your soul. Questioning, a bit disbelieving. Like he can't really believe your own blindness. An incredulous laugh slipping through his nose when he realizes you weren't lying.

He takes a step forward. You're fully sandwiched between him and the door now, and one of his arms come up to rest above you on the surface. "Caleb–"

"I can't go through the grocery store without thinking of what you want for dinner." He admits, the revelation so tender and tied with candor. Your words die on your tongue and dissolve.

"I can't do my laundry anymore unless it's with your brand of fabric softener, since it reminds me of you. Every time I try on a new jacket, I wonder how it would look good on you."

The information comes pouring out of him like a geyser. And his voice is full of nothing but love. You press your hands to his chest with more force, but he won't budge. Your ears are scalding and you're avoiding his gaze now, his face.

"You dedicated a journal to me. You came to every basketball game." Caleb laughs, breathless. A little in awe of you, so full of adoration. "You always visited Skyhaven when I moved out. You pretended to be my girlfriend. You didn't want me to get a girlfriend. You kissed me at my graduation."

He stutters over himself at the end, sighing deeply and it's making your stomach do flips. "God, you kissed me."

Really? You're burning. Did he have to bring that up?

He's pulling you out of your thoughts yet again, using his hold on your yielding neck to find your gaze once more. You could crumble into ashes right now. In fact, you hoped the floor underneath you would just swallow you whole and leave nothing behind for Caleb to dissect.

"You're think you're spoiled, pipsqueak?" Another laugh, and it's mixed with raspy agony and disbelief, shining in his stare. "I'm rotten."

In Caleb's home, you never really heard much commotion. Simply the low hum of the television in the background, the living room a few paces away. Yet, your heartbeat was the soundtrack to his life, and he's made it his favorite ringtone.

You could feel his own racing heart under your palm. He looks defeated now, conflicted. Oh, Caleb.

"You never wanted me to take it back." He says it to himself. Like he's trying to get himself to believe it.

"You just wanted reassurance that I'd never leave you, no matter how coddled you are."

The heart that's thudding rapidly against your ribcage was so fickle, so naïve. It might jump out of your throat at this rate—God, Caleb could probably feel your pulse like this.

Your mind's racing. There's only one way you could resolve this rift formed from these series of revelations and confessions. You weren't going to lose him again. He has no right to leave after this.

"You're so quiet now. Don't tell me you're thinkin' of runnin' away, pipsqueak." His voice is lighter, more in jest now. The first sign of distance, denial.

You clasp his wrist, and whisper, "I'll take responsibility."

"What?"

"I'll take responsibility. For ruining you. In exchange, take responsibility for me too." You declare, louder. You sound more sure.

He's blinking at you now. Then, his brows furrow and a bewildered laugh leaves him. Before he could reply, you push forward, not allowing him any time to recover.

"I'm in your hands now, aren't I? You said so yourself. You did this to me. I did this to you. I'm yours to deal with."

You wind your arms around his neck, hearing how his breaths stutter and feeling his hand leave your throat. You're on your tippy toes, pulling him down so you could settle back against the door, feeling his grip settle over your waist. It's a lovely sensation. One so right. It cements your resolve.

"The only ones who can handle us are each other. Nobody else."

You don't know what you're saying anymore.

But you know you like the rising determination, you like whatever this is. You like the hope that swims in his gaze. The fear that's within them, terrified of this being one of your pranks. It wasn't; you'll prove it to hom.

"You can't make all these promises and leave me alone," You speak in a hushed tone, finality thick in the waver of your voice. You're leaning in before you can stop yourself and whispering, "I won't let you."

You can't help but feel like whatever game you two are playing now, you've lost. He's won yet again. Yet it doesn't quite feel like a loss this time around, not when Caleb's face is smoothing out into one of relief. One of contentment as he closes the distance.

The breath that fans over your mouth is hot and his voice is full of yearning, "I never planned on it."

You make it to the art salon just in time. Thanks to the heavens! Half an hour before you doubted it heavily, but now you’re here. And everything went surprisingly smooth. Your eyeliner slayed, your lip contour perfectly accentuated, and your dress was absolutely wrinkle-free. After all that stress and countless wanderer hunting, this really is a nice change.

You nearly spot him immediately as you enter the venue, sitting on a velvety red vintage sofa and answering questions that some art connoisseurs are torturing him with. At least that’s what you read from his slightly tensed composure and the artificial smile that doesn't reach the ocean of his unique eyes. 

Your boyfriend begged you to be at his side today, and you agreed. How could you even deny him, as he dramatically threatened to stay at home when Thomas threw you one of his desperate pleading gazes.

As soon as Rafayel spots you too, he stands up to greet you. “Cutie! You’re here!” wrapping his arm around your waist and guiding you toward the seating. “A welcome oasis in this dry conversation,” he whispers through unmoving lips. “Save me please with your gracious figure from these so called art experts…“

Trying to hide your snicker and not scolding him back for his exaggerated complaining, you sit beside him. And you’re immediately intrigued by the softness of the sofa, the deep plush that seems to suck you in. The exhaustion of the day crashes on you a few moments later as you’re handed some champagne from Rafayel’s elegant hands. With some quick blinks, you try to shake it away, but your eyelids get heavier each second.

And Rafayel is right. The conversation is dry like a desert in summer, not even the expensive sparkling of your champagne helps it to loosen up. Instead, the alcohol makes it even more difficult to follow the flow of the conversation and not nodding away in an instant.

Unconsciously, you sink against your boyfriend's warm body, the familiar scent of paint and the ocean engulf you. It’s so comfortable.

You don’t even recognize how you're dozing off. And if you would, you’ll shriek up in embarrassment, but so you only sense in your half dream state how the rhythm of the conversation shifts, how the sounds turn quieter and Rafayel whispering somewhere into the void.

“No, Thomas. I’m staying here.” 

Some indiscernible murmur, and Rafayel‘s firm voice again. “I’m here, aren’t I? That’s exactly what you wanted. And now, let me be her pillow because she’s so tired. If they want to talk with an artist, they can bother you.” and with a firm tone that allows no objections, “I’m busy.”

If there ever is a time where he feels insecure or jealous, he isn’t above trying to cut off someone’s relationship with you. If it comes to threats so be it, but it will end. It doesn’t matter if it’s from your side or the pursuer. It’s an ultimatum, either him or the other person, but not both.

He has a bigger concern about you not needing or growing bored of him than falling in love with someone else. Otherwise, he tends to have faith in you.

Protectiveness Level: 8/10

Rafayel knows you’re strong. Trust him—a twisted arm and playfights abound—he knows. But you are also bulledheaded and naïve. He worries you might end up getting yourself injured; or worse, killed.

So, he’s observant as always, watching for any suspicious activities with the people you’re around, whether warranted or not. He wouldn’t just do that for anyone, only for his precious mate and also for his precious peace of mind. He tends to operate from the background to not be too overbearing, but he doesn’t mind being the one to step in—to get hurt—if it means keeping you safe.

Scenting

Scent: Beach Sand with a Hint of Citrus

Rafayel smells of white beach sand and tropical fruit. He smells like the first hint of salt air and the ocean breeze and mineral. It reminds you of family vacations and old memories. He insists most Lemurians have scents like these, but his is special! It's the only one that mixes so lovely with yours.

He does scent you when you ask, but he requests that you do the same. It’d be much better for you to scent each other. He loves to tease you when you ask him to scent things for you.

“If you like it so much maybe I should make it into a perfume.” But he’d hate it if you actually agree. “Wait, let’s not be too hasty. A perfume really can’t compete with the natural source.”

Mating

Rafayel dislikes his mating cycle only because he dislikes losing his sense of control over himself. But when you’re there, with your scent clouding his mind, it’s all bets off. He’s so needy and HAS to have you. He feels like he’ll die if he isn’t burying himself in your scent, your presence, in you. He needs to feel your hands on him and isn’t below demeaning himself or being more forceful than usual to get it.

He’ll constantly seek you out, calling you late at night. He has nothing to say. He just needed to hear your voice, just keep breathing for him, he’s almost there. He needs you to come over to his place right now. It’s all your fault he’s burning like this. You need to get there immediately and take responsibility before he goes insane. He's already dizzy and his hand isn’t cutting it anymore.

In person, he grabs your hand, and the look in his eyes is begging in place of his mouth that’s too heavy with pants to talk straight as he savors your touch, desperate and gluttonous. 

“Right there...don't make me beg…just a little bit longer.” “I need to feel you. There. You feel incredible.” “If you want my knot, you can have it. Say you want it for me, and I’ll give it to you. Say it.”

When it’s your turn to go manic, he’s going to have his revenge for all the bullying and petting you did while he was rutting. He’s going to coo and fawn over how much you need him, and make you ask him nicely for his touch, but he’ll always give in to his little mate. He knows what’ll make you feel good, and he’s going to give it to you in due time. He thinks you look so pretty when you’re about to cum, covered in sweat, body tensing, the shallow, quick breaths.

“I wish I could paint you like this, but I don’t want to look away.” “Do you really want me to breed you that bad? Don’t say you didn’t ask for it.”

Rafayel is going to make sure you have an easy time, clearing out your schedule for you and letting you stay in the studio with him. Thomas' calls are going to go unanswered for a while.

General

6/10 possessiveness level

Zayne is able to get jealous; however, he isn’t one to distrust you. It’s other people he doesn’t trust. He’ll drop hints he doesn’t like something you’re doing, a sarcastic jab here, a polite warning there, and even a “you should be careful of the company you keep.”. He always introduces himself as your mate to ensure there are no misconceptions about your relationship with him.

Zayne occasionally has to remind you that he’s your partner especially when you insist on teasing him and being a brat, poking at that jealous side of his to rile him up. It doesn’t take long for you to get the idea after having him between your legs. It’s really more of a funny thing, seeing him possessive, because he becomes a lot more short-tempered but absolutely refuses to admit he’s being possessive.

However, he calms relatively easy with some reassurance, and he doesn’t care as much if someone likes you after he knows you have zero interest in them. It’s more of an annoyance than something for him to fear.

Protectiveness Level: 10/10

Zayne is always so worried about you. He always has to tell you to be careful, to watch where you’re stepping so you don’t trip, to not drink too much without him there to take you home, and to watch for injuries. It might be a bit of his doctor attitude coming out, but it’s so much worse when it comes to you. You know no one else who adds the weather of the city you’re in to confirm you’re okay.

He’s also protective of your mental wellbeing; he tends to be the rock you rely on. If someone is bothering you, you can tell him, and he’ll be sure to handle the issue immediately.

Scenting

Scent: Bamboo Forest

Zayne smells like bamboo forests, a mix of floral and earthy. It kind of reminds you of him, calm and quiet but strong and solid like the earth. Fresh, green, and slightly woody. It smells like nature.

He scents you when you ask, and he quietly scents you when he wants, always overthinking if it’s something you want him to do or appropriate at a given point in time. It doesn’t take long for him to become better at knowing when you want it, when to leave something with his scent for you when you’re upset, and when to simply cradle you against him. His mood improves exponentially whenever you shove your face into his chest and mumble about how good he smells.

Zayne loves the way you smell. It’s a familiar and comforting thing to have your scent greeting him after a hard day at work. It lets him know you’re doing okay, and he gets worried whenever your scent is off. He can usually tell the slightest changes of your mood, and it makes him agitated whenever you try to pretend you’re fine when he can clearly tell different from smell alone.

Mating

Zayne tries his best to control himself and avoid you during his ruts. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you, which leads him to being too restrained whenever he’s with you to the point where you can tell he’s not handling himself well.

It’s going to take a few times to convince him that you can handle it, that he can let go and give you everything before he finally allows himself to dive into his hormones, throw you against the bed, and kiss you hard. It's almost like a completely different side of him. Sure, he could always be dominant in the bedroom but there was always a control to it. Instead, he's instinctive, running off the rush of endorphins to reach the peak he desperately wants to tumble over, harsh and tunnel visioned as he chases the sensation of you clamping down around his knot.

“Hold it there, we’re almost there. You can handle it.” “Let me have you a few more times. Then, you can rest.” “Good girl. You’re doing so well. So good to me.”

During your time, he is meticulous. Zayne knows you almost as well as you know yourself, knows what sweets you like to eat, what positions make you the most comfortable, and tips on how to keep yourself together.

That only works so long, however, and soon he takes a more hands on approach in helping you through your heat cycle. His fingers curled up inside you, pushing that sweet springy spot inside you that has your juices pouring over his palm. He shushes you as you beg for him to give you more and more, to please stop this edging and fuck you already.

He promises he’ll make it good, but he has to slowly work you up first, so you won’t get overstimulated. Then, he’ll give you what you want until you pass out.

“Hold still, or do you want me to stop?” “Does it feel that good? I’ll be sure to remember that for next time.” “See what happens when you follow directions?” “You’ll have your reward soon. Which do you prefer to have—my fingers or my knot?”

Zayne also takes special care of you no matter the situation, making sure to wipe you off and hold a warm rag to your swollen and puffy cunt as he makes out with you. He scents you heavily afterward and lets you fall asleep against him until it all starts over again.