#snow.writes

Another small wave of arousal hits. You shift again. The pillow currently folded between your thighs moves, and you try different movements to find the right angle for optimum friction. You’re so close. Dangling on the edge of the edge, like a little more you could get there - but every time it seems close enough to touch, it slips from your grasp. 

Some mix of frustration, desire, need well-up inside of you. A pit forms in your stomach, despair creeping in and starting to sink. Sweat beads your skin from your effort, but you’re not quite ready to throw in the towel.  

Again. You try again. Eventually, after taking a few deep breaths. You shift your hips up until the pressure on your clit is just right, and god—it feels so good. A low, involuntary sound slips from your mouth as a small shock wave of pleasure hits. You bite down on the pillow you lay your head on, muffling the sound.  

You’ve never made a sound like that on your own. It startles you, blood draining from your face. Sylus is stirring besides you. Forcing yourself not to move, you stiffen your every muscle and remain deathly still. You wait for what feels like hours, until his breath goes even.  

One more time, you think caustically, this time with less enthusiasm. 

You can feel your whole cunt throbbing. The sensation is so intense it feels like your insides are being tangled. Twisted and tightened without a modicum of relief, a constant and endless displeasure. 

You lay there limp. Despair washes over you at your latest attempt, tears prickling in your eyes.  

You feel dramatic, but it’s been a rough day and this isn’t helping. The kind of day that warrants getting off so you can sleep, as a small kindness to yourself. Yet you can’t. 

 You’re hot under his duvet, overstimulated out of your mind and almost angry. How dare he be like that, how dare he do this to you. You can’t accept it. 

 Your heart is racing. You lay there in oblivion night, moonlight sweeping over the room. Pale like a spectre but bright still. You lay on your stomach, with your leg hitched up, clutching the pillow under your head to your chest. Burying your face in it to hide, your own shame souring in your stomach.  

These slow, careful movements are nowhere close to enough. Especially not with Sylus sleeping so peacefully next to you. It doesn’t feel worth it anymore. Trying this off-handed method of grinding against a pillow. You need more. But, even if you gave up being quiet—you aren’t sure it’d amount to an orgasm.  

It’s been hours. How could this be? You used to be able to make yourself cum with ease.  

Before Sylus at least.  

You still can make yourself cum, sometimes. If you’re horny enough and you haven’t had sex in a while, you can work up to it. Take your time, read something that makes your thighs clench.  

But inevitably, even when you’re trying to use other material, your thoughts drift back to Sylus.  

Maybe that’s part of the reason you’re struggling. Your silent protest of him even in the recesses of your mind prove there’s no amount of distance you can really put between you.  

He seems so insistent on doing just that lately, so right now, it feels so blatantly unfair. 

It’s always been the nature of your relationship, at least pertaining to sex. Sylus likes to have control over your orgasms. Monopoly over them. Often times, he makes you cum without expecting anything in return. All the good sex you’ve ever had in your life has been of his efforts ultimately. He has authority over your body in a way no one else does, and worse - he enjoys it. He takes so much pride in being able to touch you over your underwear to make you cum. Sometimes, not having to touch you at all.  

(You don’t want to talk about it) 

You’re not very agreeable. Never been much the type. Your relationship to authority is damaged beyond repair and you’re rough around the edges on your best days. Sometimes violent, often hostile. You’re vigilant of people and your surroundings to a fault, never at ease.  

And Sylus loves to monopolize anything his heart desires. If it’s his, it’s his alone. It’s twisted in a way but once he looked into you, and saw how deeply you sought approval, he made it his mission to give you what you want. 

 So you’d be only his.  

Your sexual dynamic is founded upon this effort. Sylus likes the shame it seems to make you feel. Gradually, he became more paternal and authoritative in his efforts. The first time he called himself Daddy, it was after carefully tearing your walls down and taking control in a way he felt suited you. He had waited until you were all his, then stamped himself in your life.  

He knows what’s best for you, he insists. Just like a father would.  

In all other ways and methods, Sylus had no way of taming you. But he could give you approval in droves, enough to make you comply with relative ease.  

You’re so irritated because so many wires are crossing amidst your spat. You don’t remember the last time you’ve needed to do this. So, you feel like you’re losing your mind. It’s just so stupid, in a way. A small part of you wants to give up on being discretion, to lay on your back and touch yourself directly. But you’re so wet you think it’d be audible if you tried. Sylus wouldn’t even be mad if you did. He spoils you, knows you need that more than discipline.  

But you can’t. You especially couldn’t bear the mortification of Sylus waking up to you so needy and flushed.  

(It embarrasses you almost as much as it arouses you, if you’re honest.  

A small, animal part of your brain wants it. Craves for it. For him to wake up and catch you, smile at you like a cat with cream. You imagine how he’d pin you to the bed. His mouth tasting your fingers as you watch him, wide-eyed. You can see his playful grin, red eyes full of adoration and bemusement. You can hear the soft coo in his voice as he pours out all of his faux sympathy, thumb tracing your lower lash line.  

Oh, sweetheart. Can’t do it on your own? Not without daddy? Too hard? I’ve got you. 

You’re just looking for an escape. An easy way out. A reason to give into him in the way he’s trained you for.)   

Your mind runs rampant with fantasies as you try to collect yourself. You want to throw your pride out of the window and wake Sylus up. Make use of him. Grind against his cock while he’s soft and half sleep. For him to lend you the hard muscle of his thighs or his fingers, to put you to rest because you’re too useless right now to do it alone. You’re supposed to be mad at him. In a fight. You can’t let him win. If you woke him up just for this, your pride would never recover.  

 So, you’re left to your thoughts. You can’t wake him up, but it’s… not a crime to just imagine. You tell yourself this until you believe it.  

Your mind is too drunk with lust to commit to anger in the moment, though. You’re so wired to cum with his help. You hardly care, you just—need him to fix it. You can be angry again in the morning, and it’s not like you’re forgiving him and— 

And Sylus is so good at making you cum. Knows your body like the back of his hand.   

He’d fuck you so good if you gave in and just asked. 

You can’t. You’ve held on. What’s the point in being obstinate if you don’t see it through to the end? You really, really can’t.  

Trying to get your head on straight, you take a deep breath and try again. Hiking your leg up an inch, carefully folding the pillow tighter as you rut your hips against the folded corner, chasing the sweet relief. You manage a few deep, deliberate grinds and your feel sweat start to form at your temple from effort. But it almost gets you there.   

You push a little harder, eager, than lose your spot.  

Again. God fucking damn it.  

Tears form at your lashes.  

In your complete and utter despair, you don’t notice Sylus. 

You don’t notice any of it. Not him stirring, or waking, or looking over at you. You only hear him when he decides to speak moments after. Your eyes are still closed as you’re commiserating.  

You nearly jump out of your skin. His voice is soft and low like an echo.  

“You alright, sweetheart?”  

In your mind, you scream. Out loud, you take a deep quivering breath and hope Sylus doesn’t notice … anything, really. You clear your throat.  

“I’m fine, Sy. Sorry for waking you,”  

“Having trouble sleeping?” He asks.  

You close your eyes, being as careful as you can possibly manage as you wiggle away from the pillow without making a sound. “U-uhm. A bit. Tossing and turning. Just uh, not very sleepy.” 

Another long pause. You tense up, hoping he lets it go.  

You feel Sylus turn over then, towards you instead of the opposite way. You close your eyes and pray that his grogginess will alter his razor sharp perception and that you won’t be revealed.  

“Let me see your face,”  

Fuck. You have no idea what you look like. But if you look even a quarter as desperate as you feel, you’re in danger of him finding you out. You take a deep breath (as deep as you can without him noticing) and do as he asks, slowly turning over.  

In the darkness, Sylus’s red eyes gleam like a lantern. They examine you with the precision only a man descendant of dragons can offer, unyielding in their intensity. His hand comes up to cradle your face, concern furrowing his brow. 

“Your face is flushed.” He observes. You bite your lip.  

“I’m okay. Maybe a little hot? I might—” You look away from him, pretending to think. “Maybe take a shower? Jus-just to cool off.”  

It’s a good solution. You can turn the water on and put your hips under the stream. Maybe cup a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming and orgasm that way, muffled under the running water.  

Sylus shakes his head. He looks almost offended. “Don’t be ridiculous, sweetie. I’ll run you a bath.” 

His voice is gentle. It often is, but the sleep softens it so much more. His immediate consideration for you restlessness sends you into a guilty spiral. He goes to get up and a part of you thinks about letting him, just to save face. 

 It’s your fault he’s even awake right now. He barely even sleeps during the day, and it’s not often you get to sleep next to each other. And you were already in a fight earlier, yet he’s offering to run you a bath in the middle of the night. The guilt becomes too much, your hand shooting out to tug at his bicep before he can get out of bed. He turns to look at you, confused.   

You close your eyes and hope to whatever higher power it is that a sinkhole will open up and swallow all of the N109 zone whole.  

“Sylus, don’t get up. I’m fine. I was,” You pause, making the grave mistake of looking at him. His expression is so earnest it makes you feel even worse. You close your eyes. “I was just…I was trying to… get…get off. Without w-waking you.”  

Without you, goes unsaid.  

Silence stretches between you. The words seem to linger. It feels like hours. You screw your eyes shut and pray that he leaves it there.  

“Why didn’t you wake me?”  

His tone is so even that you can’t find a single emotion to read from it. But his curiosity is genuine.  

Shame crawls up your spine like ivy.  

“I just—it’s kind of embarrassing. I just wanted to rub one out and sleep, but I just—I couldn’t do it for some reason and then, I kept getting close, like so fucking close, but if I moved too much I couldn’t wake you and—“ 

“How long?”  

“What?”  

“How long have you been trying to make yourself cum, sweetheart?”  

The ache in your wrist suddenly reminds you of it’s presence. You clench your jaw.  

“Uhm…two hours? Maybe m-more?”  

A pause. And then, Sylus laughs.  

It’s a strong fit of laughter. A belly deep sort of laugh you don’t often hear, because Sylus is brooding and chuckles politely, more than he laughs. But he’s laughing, specifically at you, and you’d be much more upset if the sound wasn’t so…pleasant. In a way that makes you flush down your neck. You’re conflicted because he is laughing at you, but then, he sounds so nice. His voice is so nice. Smooth and deep and—  

You’re getting distracted.  

“A-are you? You’re laughing at me! Fuck, I shouldn’t have—“  

Sylus gently maneuvers his arm around your waist and pulls you back into bed when you try to get up, still collecting himself. You squirm from his grasp but to no avail, he’s too strong. The muscle of his arm is like a weight against your lower belly, keeping you tight to him back under the duvet.  

“You’re really something,”  

“Unhand me,”  

He laughs again. It’s so sweet it melts you out of your anger.  

“You should’ve just asked me,” He hums, pulling you against his chest. You’re turned away from him, your face in his arm as he rests his chin on your head, arm around your waist. “Two hours? It must hurt, huh? Poor thing,”  

Sylus’s silver tongue earns it’s reputation. He can be incredibly charming or undeniably cruel. Towards outsiders, Sylus wields speech like the tip of a knife. Condescending, slow, precise - cutting only enough to break the skin. Towards comrades, companions, Sylus is patronizing and firm, but steady. Like a silver chain, tethered but heavy. 

Towards you, Sylus voice colors in every shade. Often patronizing, lightly condescending, always firm. Always steady. It’d be a lie to say Sylus only speaks to you kindly, but honest to say he never speaks to you cruelly.  

Most of all, there’s a way Sylus speaks that’s reserved only for you. A more precious tone of silver. Gentle, and firm, and most of all - faux sympathetic. Sweetness no more than skin deep.  

Sometimes, Sylus talks down to you. Paternal. Like you don’t know enough to go against him, and he knows it. You should hate it and hate him for how often he does it, how unintentionally. You should hate that he speaks to you in a way anyone else could hear as demeaning if they tried.  

But it eases you instead. It wrings the resistance out of you. Because Sylus loves  you no matter how stupid, how empty-headed, how pliable and clueless you are. He’ll take care of you if you nod along and given in. He loves making you give in. He loves when you need him enough to give up on your pride and let him crush it so completely. Let your daddy take care of it. You’re all his, mind and body and soul, aren’t you?  

Just a small shift in tone is enough to pull you into it. The voice that’s only yours as much as you’re only his. The sound of him, the smooth mellow calm. Affection that seeps so deep into him, it bleeds into his every word. His poor, sweet thing.  

The drunken power he takes in knowing he has the effect on you, but loving you too much to gloat entirely. It should be an affront to you, by all accounts. But it isn’t. Instead it makes you so aroused your vision starts to blur.  

You press your face into his bicep, your breathing erratic, and your heartbeat goes kicking again. Because suddenly, you want him, enough to beg.  

That’s really all it takes.  

“Shut up.” 

“It does, huh?” He says, this time being mean. “Poor baby. Should I make it feel better?”  

“Just go to sleep,” You murmur.  

“You don’t mean that,” He says, soft against the nape of your neck, the shell of your ear. “do you, sweetheart?”  

You quiet, a gasp lodged in your throat. Seconds later, you whine. Whine because what else is there to do but succumb to him when he has you so completely? He smiles against your skin. Widening slightly when you begin tilting your neck up to give him easier access - a step away from begging him to kiss you, touch you.  

Anticipation draws your breathing uneven. Sylus helps you onto your back and eases himself on top of you. He kisses your lips lightly, more a greeting than anything, before he moves. A kiss to your jaw bone, followed by an open mouth one on your neck. His mouth lingers at your pulse like he’s trying to taste it from over your skin, a soft tongue like he intends to savor it.  

It pulls a gasp from you immediately. You’re already throbbing, so eager, that he could stay right there, and you could cum if you just squeezed your thighs. In knowing, Sylus parts your legs with a gentle hand. He’s pleased by your obedience when you leave them open, despite how eager you are for friction.  

His teeth ghost over the skin softly, over and and over, soothing the phantom wound through licking after he bites. He never moves to give you more unless you push him to. 

Your voice claws itself out of your throat, hungry. Desperate.  

“Please,” You whine, gasping sharply. “Please, just—“  

“Shh, sweetheart. Be good. Leave the thinking to me, yeah?”  

You whole body wracks with a shudder, nodding your head. Yes, yes, yes. 

 Everything becomes white noise after that.  

He pulls his lips down further and further, watching delightedly at the way you react. You’ve been so aroused for hours, Sylus’s touch feels like throwing gasoline into an already burning fire. Your whole body feels pulled taut as you steel yourself against cumming before he actually touches you where you need to be touched. You choke off a whine, trying to rid your thoughts of your poor, neglected cunt.  

Your back arches up, toes curled up, hands fisting at the sheets. Shaking just from the way he kisses your neck, your jaw. Full lips ghosting over the skin before kissing more firm, open-mouthed, wet and hungry.  

But Sylus doesn’t move any faster. Doesn’t give you enough to tip you over the edge. He’s unhurried, only intending to taste.  

(Later, you will recall this as a petty revenge. A kind of punishment, since Sylus could never really punish you.  

He could easily give you the relief you need now, but he’s frustrated in his own way. With the fact you’d waste your time being stubborn while he’s sleeping next to you. He could’ve given this to you from the start, and not made you wait.) 

 His fingers are delicate as they push your pajama shirt over your tits, squeezing them with appreciative hands without ever touching where you want. Kissing at your collarbones, your sternum, the dips and underneath side of your breasts as your breathing so heavily they rise and fall in front of him. His tongue slips over the skin, tasting salt, pleased with your effort. Soft against our skin, wetting it slightly. Goosebumps form over your skin as he pulls away, air cooling the dampness. Arousal makes your nipples harden, and Sylus fondles them too for good measure. Delicately rolling them with thumb until you cant your hips to get more.  

“Touch me,” You whine. Sylus laughs.  

“I am touching you, kitten.”  

You make a garbled sound that Sylus just laughs at again.  

Your heart is hammering, tongue thick and heavy in your mouth. Desire that’s been climbing the same peak and falling back down for hours and hours, finally starts to pivot back up. It’s climbing so steadily, so high. You can’t handle the tension. You’re a mess into the sheets of your bed, an arm over your face as your panting and moaning dries out your mouth.  

At the precipice of losing your mind, you claw into yourself and find your voice.  

“Sylus,” You say his name with everything you have left of you. “Please,”  

“Try again, love.”  

Asshole. “Daddy, please.”  

Sylus moans in reply. The sound comes deep from his chest like he’s purring, so pleased with how you call on him. Lean on him. Ask, in your stubborn way, for him to kiss it better. His mouth trails further south, kissing hotly from base of your chest down the expanse of your tummy. He kisses your navel reverently, until he’s just above your waistband.  

Again, louder this time. “Oh, please. Please, please, please,”  

Sylus kisses you over your pajamas shorts with adoration and hunger split equal. His hands sink into your hips, fingers gripping onto your skin as he sinks his face down between your legs 

He lingers there, wetting his mouth. His breath is hot against your sensitive, sore pussy. It makes you squirm, watching with ragged breath. He nudges his nose against it, breathing the scent of you, pressing impossibly close. And then you feel it. Saliva soaks your pajama bottoms as Sylus spits and licks through the thin material. You gasp. Your jaw falls open in a silent scream. Fuck. Your stiff clit throbs at the press of it, hardening all over. The intensity almost urges you to crawl away. Your underwear, already wet, soaks further from a mix of saliva and arousal. Clings to your pussy, offering such an intense sensation, you cry out.  

You want it. You don’t know what it is, but—fuck, you want it so bad you can’t help yourself. You curl your fingers into his hair and push his head into your clit, impatient. Desperately searching for whatever will fix the feeling. Sylus just laughs, barely moved by your show of force.  

He’s kind enough to get the memo, though. After you pick your hands back up and fold them at your sides, Sylus’s fingers reach into the elastic of your waistband, and tug.  

Your underwear rolls as Sylus slides it down your thighs. He helps you lift your legs up to take them off. Standing on his knees and tossing them to the floor, he gently eases you back down. He positions your legs for you, feet flat on the bed with your knees up. You feel vulnerable like prey with your legs so open. Sylus takes a beat to admire you. He uses his thumb to draw you open, spreading your pussy open wide until everything is visible. Your clit twtiches from the sudden attention, the admiration. The genuine love in his gaze as he stares down gives you grief like no other.  

Embarassed, you tuck your chin. Sylus keeps looking.  

“A pretty pussy from a pretty girl, hm?”  

 You crinkle your nose and resist the urge to close your legs, letting out a breath of relief when Sylus lays back down without saying anything more.  

Finally, finally - Sylus pulls you close and presses his tongue against your clit.  

Your whole body breaks down. Like one white hot flash of heat, every inch of your skin lights up. A raw nerve split open and so tender. You moan so loud it makes your throat hurt from strain, bordering on a scream.   

“Ohh, fuck.”  

Sylus’s mouth feels so fucking  hot. His tongue moves through you, eager to taste. Before he focuses his attention, he flattens his tongue to taste all of you, pushing it into your hole. His nose bumps your clit as he repeats the movement, over and over until there’s nothing else. Licked clean, he move up and presses a soft kiss to the sensitive nerves. The tip of his tongue traces around the outside of your clit, precise and angular. 

Sylus teases you, smiling as your hips buck up against his mouth. Both hands wrap around your thigh, pulling you as close he can before he gives you what you need.  

Your whole body jolts when Sylus’s finds the right spot. He laps at your cunt eagerly, fingers pressed into the fat of your hips. Sylus holds you horribly still as he eats you out, not prolonging your suffering.  

But the win is  so temporary it’s bleak. Your first orgasm washes over you before you can wrap your head around it. Your fingers clutch aimlessly at the bedsheets, body going slack as the first weak wave of pleasure falls over you.  

You cry out, finding no relief in it. Dissatisfaction makes you thrash against him, but he holds your hips down. Unrelenting, Sylus hushes you as you whine, pitiful.  

He pulls away, the lack of friction making you hiccup. “Easy there, sweet girl.”  

“Sylus,” Your voice is a soft whine in the back of your throat.  

“Didn’t feel very good, hm? Wasn’t what you needed?”  

You almost sob as you shake your head. Sylus clicks his teeth.  

“I know, sweetie, I know.” Sylus hums, close but not touching. “I’m the only one who can give you what you need right?”  

A voice, deep in the back of your head, urges you to gnash your teeth at him. Instead, you nod your head, eyes closed.  

“Yes, yes, please,” You hiccup. Tears spring. Already damp from sweat, fat tears form at your lashes before spilling down your cheeks. You need it. “Make me cum,”  

“How, baby? Tell me how you want it,”  

“Inside,” You whimper, hands fisted at the sides of the sheets.  

Suddenly, you feel so fucking empty. It’s awful. You’re so wet and slick and needy, but you’re so, so empty. Something deep in your core is burning molten, your legs trembling. Your cunt aches with need so bottomless, it feels like it won’t ever stop. You want him to reach deep, deeper than anyone else and touch you there. Fill you up and make you feel everything. Stretch you until you’re whole again.  

It’s not enough. Nothing is enough and you need, you need— 

“What do you need, kitten?” Sylus taunts.  

You hiccup. “Fuck me. Put your dick in me, please, I need it. Sylus, I need you to—“  

“You need it?” Sylus iterates, so aggravating. “Oh, sweetheart.”  

Asshole. “Yes.”  

Sylus wipes your tears. His palm cups your face, thumb brushing away some of your tears. He coos at you sympathetically, leans down to kiss all over your face. It relaxes you, a brief respite of tenderness amidst feeling like you’re falling apart completely. The touch disarms you, Sylus brushing his nose against yours.  

He’s grinning, delighted, as you look back at him. He leans in some more, a kiss to your jaw, to your neck, that makes you break out in shivers all over.  

“I like when you need me, sweetheart.” Sylus hums, so pleased with you. “You’re cute when you’re docile, y’know? You’re rarely this helpless. Except for when—“  

He grinds the hard shape of his cock against your thigh. You tremble, lust making your mind go blank. “When you need me to fuck you. When you need to feel good. Then you’re all sweet like this. Can’t form a single word, can you?”  

You shake your head, and Sylus mimics the gesture, teasing. “Only word you seem to know is please. What a good girl you are, huh? Begging me to fuck you. Say it for me one more time. What you do need from Daddy?”  

“Fuck me,” You hiccup. “Make me feel good. Make me cum. Wanna cum on your cock, please, please, I need—“  

“Shhh, good girl. That’s it, that’s all I wanted to hear. Now hold still.”  

Sylus dips back down between your legs after pressing one last kiss to your hairline.  

The second time Sylus goes down on you, he doesn’t bother with any theatrics. He slides his fingers through your folds, wetting them, before pushing inside of you. Two go in with so much ease, it embarrasses you. You start to shiver helplessly, unsure of how to stop. The pleasure, the relief is so immediate. You’re so high strung from your first orgasm being ruined, that this feels unbelievable.  

Your back arches as Sylus pushes himself deeper, middle fingers down the knuckle. It feels intrusive, in a good way. The emptiness inside you is placated briefly by the touch. 

Then, at the same time, Sylus bends down and licks a stripe on your clit, while he bends his fingers up towards your gspot.  

You spasm. It happens so quickly, so rapidly. The pressure inside of you that’s been halted, stagnated all this time, comes falling down. Suddenly, you’re falling back down to Earth, hot like a star crashing through the atmosphere. Burning hotter than ever, destined to leave a completely mess in your place.  

Sylus barely has to move his fingers. A few strokes of them against your gspot, his tongue sucking softly on your clit  - and you’re gone. Your vision blurs out as an orgasm wracks through your body all at once, every muscle taut like a bowstring. You cum hard, and intense.  

It’s so fucking much.  

And it feels like it won’t stop. Your sensitivity kicks into overdrive, and your orgasm feels endless. Wave after waver of euphoria washes over your mind. It feels so fucking good you can’t speak, don’t have any words left. Sylus moves his pace steadily, unhurried, constant. Gives it to you exactly how you need without hurrying you forward. Steady and calm, but relentless.  

Sylus makes a pleasant noise. You’re too lost to realize you’ve squirted on his face, soaked him all the down to his wrist. Constant waves of pleasure wash over you without stopping. You don’t have room left to breathe. Your mind is blank 

Over and over, Sylus continues to fingerfuck you open. Mouth and tongue in tandem wringing orgasms from you like it’s easy. Your body lingers in a state of overheat, small bursts of  wetness gushing out, soaking the bedsheets, his fingers. Sweat drips down your body from the effort of it, and the muscles of your stomach tensing.  

“Oh god, oh my god, oh my fucking god—“  

Sylus stops when you can’t find anymore words. You whine at the loss of contact, but in the same breath - you’re relieved, not sure how much more of it you could possibly handle. Your mind is already broken already.  

Sylus moves his face away from your clit, but another finger joins the two left inside. This time he’s careful, almost procedural, in stretching you out. He avoids touching you where you need, avoids rubbing against your g-spot with intention. It lets you come down from your high.  

“How greedy you are sweetheart,” Sylus growls. For the first time in a while, you open your eyes and look at him. His eyes are so focused on your sex, low and lidded. His chest heaves slow, like he’s trying to regulate. “Look at you,”  

You can feel yourself better than you can see. Swollen, puffy, and slick from overexertion. So sensitive to the touch that, even the air, the slight buck and tremble of your hips, echoes through your whole body. It’s so much that Sylus’s deliberate avoidance is still enough to make you whimper in soft, broken moans.  

You can’t help yourself anymore, the words slipping before you have a chance to feel ashamed of them.  

“Fuck me,” You beg, winded from it. “Fuck me, fuck, please,”  

“Who do you want to fuck you, sweetheart?”  

Shame curls in your stomach, low and hot. You turn your face towards the pillow, the words coming out of you with a slow whine. A shallow breath escapes you.  

“Daddy,” You moan. “Please, fuck me, please. Need it,”  

Sylus smiles. Somewhere between sweet, adoring, and incredibly arrogant. He bends down quickly, presses a kiss to your mouth that you chase. Coos at you before kissing you once more, twice more for good measure. His cock throbs against your cunt, laid heavy and aching. Pre-cum spills against your clit. You’re comforted in the thought he wants it too.  

He speaks, low and measured. “Good girl,” 

Sylus sits back up on his knees, pulling you closer to him. He pulls your hips flush to his pelvis, heavy cock resting against your cunt. Your legs are up, ankles by his shoulders as you stare at him wide-eyed, stupid with want.  

You shudder. Anticipation draws your breath, as Sylus reaches between your bodies, sliding his tip through slick folds. The swollen head of his cock pushes slowly but surely into your entrance.  

Your whole body reacts, like an electric current through water, forming sparks.  

 Your mouth falls open in a cry. Your spine is fucking tingling. You point your arms up to Sylus, wet and wide-eyed, urging him down. He bends forward until your arms close around his neck, a hand on your hip as he keeps you secure to him. Slowly but sure, he moves his hips. His cock is so thick, fuck. Hot and heavy, pulsating as it slips inside. Inch by inch, slowly dragging against your insides.  

“Oh,” Your eyes roll up, the slight ache making your whole body sing. Your nails find Sylus’s back, clawing at him. “O-oh my fucking god,”  

Sylus sounds wrecked despite himself. His breath tickles your shoulder blade, mouth pressing hot kisses up the side of your neck as he eases inside.  

“You feel so good. Haah. Incredible.” He says, half-laughing. “You’re so wet. So wet it feels like you’re pushing me out,”  

“No,” You whine, wrapping your legs around him, clinging helplessly. “Deeper,”  

“How deep do you need Daddy, sweetheart?” 

“So deep,” You choke, gasping. “Fuck me deep, please, please,”  

“So whiny. You feel so perfect for me. Always perfect for me,” Sylus praises. The praise makes your head feel full of cotton. You whimper aloud.  

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,”  

“Be good and hold on for me,”  

True to his word, Sylus steadies himself and starts to move. 

It doesn’t take anything, really. Not after how long you’ve spent, how worked up you’ve been. Not with how big Sylus is, ridiculously thick as it fills you. You’re already so stretched open and soft, so pliant - but there’s a familiar dull ache that you love, the feeling of being so whole and so full that leaves your mind completely blank. 

You’re so aroused, so stretched emotionally and physically, so keyed up and needy from any number of things— that it takes almost nothing to make you cum. You’ve wanted it—this—for so long, for what feels like days, and the first moment it stretches you, nothing else even matters. No anger, no upset, no frustration, just complete fullness and depth.  

Sylus is so comforting above you, warm like only another body can be, in a way that makes your throat close up from emotion. He’s sturdy and broad, shoulders stretched over you like a shield. His other hand is cups the nape of your neck, forehead touching yours, breathing you in so deeply, only inches away. You can smell the scent of his skin, feel the shape and callouses of his hands on your hips.  

He’s so deep in you, touching you in a place and in a way anyone else seldom has. There’s never been someone like Sylus in your life. So much so, all the sex you’ve ever before feels written over.  

He just makes you feel so good. It’s so overwhelming to have him.  

The apparent need that’s been clawing inside of you all day, since you started arguing this morning, since you needed to get off—it feels like everything clicks. Something in your brain starts to whirr. The tension bleeds from you, as you realize almost suddenly, what you’ve wanted this whole time what you want from him.  

To feel close. 

You’ve just wanted to feel close. This close, like nothing else matters. Like there’s nothing in the world that can interrupt you.  

The realization has your breath hitching, tears welling up in your eyes, sliding down your cheeks.  

Sylus coos at you, careful. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?  

“Feels good,” You mumble, not sure what else to say because it does. Other things cross your mind. You’re not completely talking about sex.“Feels so good. I love you. Love you, Sylus.”  

Sylus hums, kissing a tear from your face. “Let me make you feel good. Keep holding on like that,”  

So you nod, and let Sylus fuck you. You fall limp, completely trusting, as Sylus thrusts his hips. You rock with the gesture, pure euphoria causing you to tremble. Your first orgasm blindsides you. You go slack. It feels impossibly good. Your pussy is so wet and so stretched and nothing else seems to matter other than being fucked like this, fucked so good and so hard and so intentional. 

 You choke a little on your moans, warmth flushing down your chest as you hold on.  

He fucks you over and over. Not slow but not fast, just perfect - the head of his cock rubbing against the spot inside of you that makes you see heaven. It feels like you can’t stop cumming, not sure where he ends and you start. Just one loop pleasure, and all the warmth you could need, to fuck you through it.  

“Sweet thing,” Sylus says, so revering as he fucks every orgasm out of you, pussy around drooling around his cock as everything melts away. “Shit, you feel so good.”  

Your legs are trembling, completely blissed out, by the time Sylus feels close to cumming. You perk up when it becomes apparent, wrapping your legs around him even tighter, encouraging him with everything you have.  

“Sy,” You whisper. “Daddy. Cum in me. Please?”  

Sylus laughs, sounding drunk. 

“You know what I like hearing, huh.”  

You laugh in earnest. “Fill me up with your cum. Need it. Wanna keep feeling you. Please.”  

Sylus groans. It’s a broken sound, his hips stuttering and movements coming to a slow. You can feel his cock throb and pulse inside of you, the cum shooting out of it suddenly. It’s thick and warm, painting your insides, adding to the mess without restraint. There’s so much cum it makes you shudder. It’ll take a while to clean, but you’ll just force him to help you.  

Sylus stops, finally, still panting. He smiles at you sleepily. You smile too.  

He stays still for a while before pressing a kiss to your head.  

“Up. Let’s take a bath.”  

___  

The water runs warm. 

Everything in Sylus’s home is excessive and grand, and the same is true for his bath. You can spread out in it with relative ease.  

And even with Sylus behind you, taking up so much room, it’s not very cramped.  

Neither of you have spoken in some time. You don’t really know what to blame it on. You’ve exchanged kisses and touches, and you’re pressed against Sylus’s back. You can tell he’s being careful, and somehow, you find yourself a little upset with him. Maybe in your longing for the same closeness. 

You don’t show it, though. This time, it’s your own issue to deal with. You play with the warm, soapy water and think about sleeping on it.  

But then, Sylus speaks. His voice is quiet. Calm and even over the bathwater, and comfortable to listen to.  

“I’m sorry.” 

This surprises you.  

“What for?”  

Sylus sighs, running a wet hand through his hair. Not in annoyance, since you’re not asking him in upset either. Your fight from earlier never really got resolved. You’re not sure Sylus even figured out why you were upset, so you wonder why he’s apologizing in the first place.  

“I shouldn’t have let you go to sleep angry,”  

You shrug, shaking your head. “It’s whatever.”  

He leans forward, his chin on your shoulder. “It’s not,”  

No it’s not, but you aren’t sure what else to say.  

You had this conversation with him before, but to no avail. You don’t have any new ways to frame it, to make him understand. But it dawns on you that maybe your revelation from before might be helpful. You furrow your brow, and feel emotion well up inside of you again before sighing.  

You can be brave first, if he needs it. 

“You feel…faraway sometimes,” You tell him, twiddling with your fingers. “Not really sure how to put it. Earlier, you were clearly upset about something but you wouldn’t even let me ask about it and…” 

“And?”  

“Dunno. Just felt distant. How would you feel if it were me? If I were upset and didn’t even talk to you about it?”  

He frowns deeply. You smile tiredly, a touch amused. “I’d give you your space but—“  

You interrupt. “It’d eat at you, wouldn’t it?”  

After a while, Sylus nods. “It would.” And then, more quietly “I especially dislike not knowing when it comes to you,”  

You roll your eyes. “You’re worse than me in a lot of ways. But that’s fine. You’ve seen a lot in your life. But I wish you would just…tell me, y’know? If it’s not something we can talk about yet, or ever. Talk to me. I’m your partner, right?”  

“Of course,”  

“Then keep me in the loop. It hurts when you feel distant…especially when…” You feel yourself flush down your neck. “And when I let myself be so…” You gesture vaguely. “Whatever, with you.”  

Sylus knows immediately what you mean, laughing against your shoulder. “Whatever, huh? Eloquent.”  

“Shut the fuck up. I’ll kill you.” You say, with no real bite at all.  

“I’d be honored,” He says, none of his usual snark or sarcasm. His voice is all soft and revering. Almost small.  

Sylus only ever seems to seem small when it comes to love. He’s so imposing, otherwise. Ruthless and feared. His whole life painted in myth.  

With love though, real love, he’s meek somehow. The more he loves you, the more it seems to haunt him. The more haunted he is, the farther away he becomes. Love often feels a game with Sylus, and winning is a matter of who can leave first with the least scars.  

From all you know, you understand it. But you aren’t sure you know how to fix it. Those wounds are so many lifetimes older than you. You wonder if there’s even a way.  

Your thoughts draw you quiet, but Sylus goes first this time. His turn to be brave 

“I’ll try,” Sylus says, in earnest, breaking you out of your thoughts. “I’ve never had a reason to…open up to someone, per se. But I do now,” He says, soft. “So I’ll try. Thank you for the patience.”  

You don’t say anything in reply, but you smile, looking down into the water.  

“And for the record,” He hums, “I love you too.” 

You slide both hands underneath his arms and slide them all the way into the open buttons of his collared shit. His double-breasted jacket lies open with a thin dress shirt underneath, material fit for warmer weather. The light blue color makes the texture of of the lingerie every so slightly visible from under it.  

The bralette you’ve chosen for Sanji is white. A sheer, ribbon-like material makes the square bralette, one without a plunge that shows off the flatness of his chest. Dotted with bows and lined with lace, as it hugs the bottom of Sanji’s pecs every so slightly. Sanji’s face is covered by his hands as you admire him with it on.  

He’s filled out over the two years you were apart, at least for you to see it fill the unlined bralette ever so slightly. You slip your hands underneath the cups, palms gently running over his hardened nipples. He gasps quietly and a laugh bubbles out of you—somewhere between cruel and adoring. A sense of elation overwhelms you as you round your hands up and squeeze. There’s a slight weight, barely enough to fill your palms. Sanji shivers a little in your lap, keening.  

“Flat chested girls are cute too. Such a pretty girl.” You offer, knowingly, delighted by Sanji’s immediate reaction. “Aren’t you?”  

He can’t bring himself to say yes, but you can see it all the same. The way it washes over him from head to toe, that sense of euphoria that threatens to leave him completely boneless. 

Sanji, by all accounts, is the best man you know. He’s good in all the ways that matter. Generous, considerate, and so believing in the superiority of every woman he knows. Your authority and Sanji’s service for you never feel at odds when you’re together. He alway takes good care of you, better than anyone man or woman. To be a man for Sanji has high expectations, and Sanji seeks to exceed every single one.  

For all of his playful charm, deep down you know better that Sanji always believes himself a little unworthy.  Even after everything, and all of this time. You’ve always had to talk him out of deifying you, but it all runs so deep in him. A belief in the holiness of you, and the burdensome belief of born sinc.  

But the ways in which you are like God, is how you’re made in the image of mankind, selfish and primal. Each time you touch him you try to remind him of that—that your appetite comes from inside of you, Sanji turns away. Becomes bashful and disbelieving in the very idea that each offering at the altar is appreciated so wholly.  

Letting Sanji be your girl is like tethering him back to Earthliness alongside you. A great equalizer that allows him to take as much as you can give. Step beyond himself to receive the affection he needs so desperately, that he soaks up like a sponge. It makes giving himself up something to bask in for just one moment.  

 Sanji warbles a little, his voice light. More airy than you usually get to hear it. Your fingers tease and toy with his nipples without constraint, crooning at him each time he lets his voice out for you.  

“Does that feel good baby?”  

“Yes.” Sanji replies simply, rutting his hips again ever so slightly. “Yes, feels so—“ 

You flick your thumb over them, feeling them harden further under your touch. Sanji is sensitive everywhere , but it took you some effort to make him feel it there. The reminder of his own efforts to please bring you inexplicable joy. You find yourself reaping your efforts often, regardless of what role you play for the evning.   

When you touch them, something in Sanji unfolds itself in front of you like a love letter; an open invitation to take him further—into where you wish. A place you’ve primed for no reason other than wanting to make him feel as good as he can. His spine goes loose at even the slightest brush now, floating as his weight falls into your lap. Eyes shut close, breathing uneven. It overwhelms him, always, without any theatre.  

But as your girl, it makes him dizzy. It makes him wet and needy. Makes him ache and shiver. This kind of desire acts like a kind of cradling for him, a haziness, an undeniable proof of what he isn’t and what he couldn’t possibly be. No necessity for anything other than to be your one and only girl, something he longs for in a way he could never voice.  

“Lots of girls feel it here,” You say empathetically, rolling one softly with your thumb as his voice becomes louder and louder. Desire welling up inside of him, curling around his ribcage. “Don’t be so embarrassed,”  

Sanji’s protest comes genuine, a sense of upset to his words and all too sincere. On the very edge of letting go but still on the precipice. Just needing one more push before he can embody what you expect from him. “I’m trying,”  

Your laughter flows easily at his discontent. “That so? I’m sorry, baby. Should I help you?”  

Sanji doesn’t say anything back to you, frowning a little in a way that endears you something awful. You pinch him lightly.  

“Use your words, sweet girl.”  

“Yes,” Sanji whines, so ashamed and so turned on that pre-cum leaks out onto his slacks. “I really don’t know what to do with myself,”  

You recognize the honesty, putting it all to pause for a brief moment. You put your mouth next to his ear while still toying with his nipples, tongue caressing along the outer and inner. His whole body trembles, arousal suddenly spiking and spilling out of him—his loud moaning echoing. “Just let me have you, Sanji. Don’t think so hard. Just be good and listen to me. Can you do that?”  

Sanji makes another face of conflict before finally yielding, his expression turning towards you desperately. You kiss him deeply then, opening the seam of his mouth with your tongue so you can kiss him like trying to swallow him whole. A kiss like the eucharist. Sanji moans slightly into your mouth when you do. You break apart from him, the tip of your nose brushing his.  

“Good girl,”  

Embarrassment soaks back into him, but it’s different now. A pleasant sort of shyness, cute and coquettish that makes you grin as he wrestles with it. So quickly, his whole body flushes a gorgeous color. A shade of pomelo, ripe with need. He goes pink to the tips of his ears, down the line of his shoulders, the slight bump of his chest. 

“Let’s move this,” You say, pushing the bottom end of the bralette up just past his nipples until it sits folded, sliding both palms down his abdomen. “There you are,”  

With his chest bare, you move your fingers carefully onto his belt. Undoing the zipper and buttons and pushing them down. Sanji lifts his hips for you with immediate obedience, helping you keep his slacks in place at the middle of his bare thighs.  

He gasps at the sight of what lays beneath. Under the neat black fabric of his slacks is the sheer, lacy white of Sanji’s underwear. Boyshort panties with trimmed ruffles, sheer enough to see everything that’s barely hidden. It’s completely obscene in a way that makes both you and Sanji reel. You smile sweetly looking at. The rounded tip of Sanji’s cock spilling pre into the lace turning it almost transparent. Highlighting the shape of it, the length and size. Big and useless, standing completely straight. The tip of his cock is a shade of pink dark enough to look red. A furious color making him stick out even. 

 The tented material of his panties make it so there’s nowhere for him to hide.  

From there you can see everything. The neatly trimmed hair over his cock, and the small happy trail on the smooth, pale expanse of his stomach. His length ulsating as he waits for more with such shallow breaths.  

“Oh, baby,” You murmur lovingly. “You’re needy, huh? It’s throbbing. Haven’t even touched you.”  

Sanji just nods, making you coo in sympathy. You creep your hands onto the inside of the stretched lace, still not touching his cock as you rest both palms on his pelvis, a hand on either side. You press your tits further into his back to get the proper angle. Wrapped around him completely with no room to run from your touc.  

“You’re a good girl, baby.” You say lowly, placing your hands closer and closer to his cock. “How do good girls get what they need?”  

Sanji fumbles, some part of him intrinsically knowing the answer, which makes him bashful beyond measure. “Using their…words,”  

“So, what does my pretty girl need from me? What should I do with her?”  

“Please touch me.” He begs with ease. You shake your head.”Please,”  

“Touch you where?”  

Red blooms all down his skin. You can tell the exact moment it occurs to him what you mean, a noise of uncertainty following the thought. Your shoulder shake with silent laughter as you watch him wrestle with it. Want always wins out in the end, both of his hands gripping into the bedsheets as he grits the word out with every last shred of his conscious.  

“Please touch my clit,”  

You moan, pleased. “Atta girl,”  

The pitiful whine that leaves his mouth as soon as you touch his cock urges you into motion. Your poor baby. You circle your palm over the head of his cock, wetting it. Once, twice, three times—pressing your thumb tender into the slit. With your hand now soaked with pre-cum, you wrap a fist around the base of his shaft, holding it tight.  

Sanji gasps, throwing his head back as his body shudders in your arms. A laugh crosses your lips at how loud he’s being. Your other hand squeezes his tits for him making Sanji melt.  

You waste no time in bringing him close to the edge, delighting in the way he’s let himself go to the feeling. With your fist firm around the base of his cock, you move your hand in a slow, rhythmic motion. You let yourself linger at the tip, rubbing it around in the small circle of your close hand before bring it back down to stroke him. You can feel his cock twitch endlessly under your expert touch, moaning as he resists bucking himself into your first. Sanji hates ruining his own pleasure that way 

His chest rises and falls, mouth fallen open as you watch him take each stroke. He moans incoherently, losing his voice somewhere inside of him as he grips onto the sheets and pants. So wanting for you always, the whole figure of his body wracking with oncoming pleasure.  

His cock leaks a little on each stroke, pre-cum now a steady stream as you bring him closer and closer to the edge.  

“Oh, oh, please, please, please,”  

“You wanna cum, pretty girl? Gonna be good and cum for me?”  

Sanji thrusts up into your hands involuntary, desperate as he nods. Muttering incoherently as he pulses, body gone completely taut with anticipation. His stomach tenses hard, and then in motion you watch everything in his body just begin to unwind.  

Faster, the room fills with a wet, filthy noise. “Fuck. Yes, yes, yes,”  

“Go on. Cum for me, sweet girl. Show me,”  

With another few strokes Sanji spills into your hands. Your fingers go sticky with thick ropes of white cum, stroking feverishly even as Sanji keeps cumming. You squeeze every last drop of it out until he has to beg you instead to stop instead, which you finally do.  

Sanji breathes heavily as he lays in your arms in the post-orgasm glow, trying to catch his breath as you kiss all over his neck and shoulders. His usual comes back to him after a beat, soft and worn, and oh-so utterly grateful it makes your core ache with desire.  

“Thank you,” He says, voice smile.  

You smile at him tenderly, nosing at his neck and jaw. “Of course sweet girl…but I didn’t say we were finished yet, did I?”  

Sanji makes a garbled noise. “Sorry?”  

You grin sharply. 

“It’s alright, baby. I know. You need something to fill your pussy with right?” You say, cuddling into him, smiling gently as you see Sanji already starting to get hard again. “I’ve got you,”  

 He’s not wrong. You are very drunk. You’re very drunk and incredibly horny and a little lonely, and actively trying to console yourself about all three. 

Summer nights like this one don’t come around as often as they used to. It’s still early enough in the season that the night air is cool and dry without being humid. The alcohol in your bloodstream keeps you from freezing, since your dress barely reaches your thighs. You’re sitting at the bottom of a stairwell knees up to your chest, your heels pushing your legs up higher. The alcohol makes it hard to hold yourself upright so you just let yourself be limp as you hug your knees. You’re thoughts are hazy from how much you’ve had. 

Otoya is with you still, by some miracle. Him and Karasu always bring you to get-togethers with their soccer buddies. You’re used to your best friend ditching to go chase tail. You’re sure he’s bored out of his mind considering there’s no other girls around. He hasn’t spoken much since earlier. Just been on his phone looking for someone to hook-up with, most likely.  

 You’re used to that, it’s standard Otoya shit. You really shouldn’t care at all but you have those pesky ass feelings for him, so that’s a lie. It makes you feel weird so you just try not to dwell on it. It’s hard to be disappointed when you don’t have any expectations.  

The fact you’re even thinking about those feelings means you’re drunk out of your fucking mind. If you were sober, you’d probably go straight home to make sure you didn’t make a fool of yourself.  

You’re not sober though. And you’re lonely. Otoya is there, but he’s not gonna give you what you’re after—at least not tonight. You sigh dramatically.   

“Where’s Karasu?” You whine, sniffling. “I miss him.”  

Otoya shrugs. “Him and Hiori are in the basement, I think.”  

You move before your mind can catch up with you, immediately a little dizzy. Otoya goes stiff with worry but relaxes when you manage not to fall on your ass upon standing up. Your feet hurt a little from your heels.  

You turn away from him.  

“Gonna go find him.” You say, words slurring together.  

“And leave me here? By myself?” He asks, mildly offended. You furrow your brows.  

“You could just come with me.”  

“Nah. Don’t wanna.”  

He’s uniquely annoying sometimes. You scowl, not turning back round.  

 “Okay, then die I guess. Just text whenever you get back home,”  

With your back to him, you wave to indicate your departure. It’ll be better if you go now, so your feelings don’t have a chance to rise anymore up in your throat, like you’ve had a little too much to drink and you’re trying to keep the bile down.  

You’d never actually tell him, no matter how fucked up you got. You’d sooner jump into oncoming traffic before letting him get the hint. You’re not worried that you’ll confess but there’s just something unbearable about being right next to him when your body feels hot. He’s here, and the wine has gone straight to your clit, but you can’t have him. You can’t even let yourself even think about it. It’s frustrating and too heavy for the night you want. Karasu is always good at consoling you when you get like this, get your thoughts away from everything. 

You wanna suck his dick. Maybe today will be the day you hook up finally. Either option sounds better than lingering next to source of your troubles.  

“You can hang out with Karasu later,” He insists. “Hang out with me.”  

It becomes clear quickly that Otoya really doesn’t want you to leave.  

“You’re gonna ditch me in like…” You do some drunk math in your head. “An hour to go get your dick wet, anyway. Did you want me to stay with you until you made your pick?”  

You ask as a half-joke, but Otoya seems inclined to take you up on it. You flick his forehead with manicured fingernail.  

“Have some decency.”  

“Whatever,” He replies, nonchalant. “Anyways. I’m not even trying to get laid right now. Do you think that’s all I think about?”  

You laugh out loud. “It literally is.”  

He has no rebuttal so he doesn’t try to argue.  

“Well, I’m not right now.” He offers lamely. You roll your eyes at him but eventually sit back down with a sigh.  

He’s enough of a gentleman to hold your hand and steady you as you sit back on the steps 

“Really? Aren’t you bored out of your mind?”  

“Why would I be bored when you’re here? But I will be bored if you ditch me for Karasu.”  

He offers the words up so casually, it makes you thankful to be drunk. There’s some chance him saying it will simply wipe from your memory. You want to ask him if he ever hears himself. If he notices the lingering implication of telling you that you’re the most fun thing here. 

You’d never, in your life, bring it up. He says it all the time, though. Despite how often in your lives he’s ditched you to go on dates, he always comes back over to your place, eventually. Like a stray dog who always sleeps in your backyard, but never comes through the front door.  He sleeps in your bed, eats the food out of your fridge, hangs out and plays games. You’ve known each other since elementary so all of that is normal. You just thought it’d stop eventually. 

How many times has it happened now? That he breaks up with a girl then comes over? Says he got bored, but it’s fine. You’re more fun, anyway. You get sick of hearing it. 

You know him too well. Better than he knows himself. Fun is all that matters to Otoya. What does it mean for you, that you’re the one thing he never tires of? You don’t let yourself wonder, and it’s part of the reason you refuse to cross the line—let alone acknowledge your feelings. If Otoya gets bored of you, you’re sure you’d never see him again.  

You try to shake the thoughts away from your mind. “I’m not ditching you. You could literally just come with me. You don’t even like…hate Hiori.”  

Otoya shrugs “It’s just a different vibe, and not my current vibe. Why are you so obsessed with him, anyway?”  

You pause at the accusation as Otoya walks around to sit down close to you, his back against the wall adjacent to you. Your heels are touching the edge of his sneakers. They’re the same color, though it wasn’t on purpose.  

The small intimacy chokes you a little. You take a sip of your drink before replying. 

 “Obsessed? With Karasu?”  

“You were about to ditch me for that guy. I’ve known you how long. Since elementary school basically? Does our friendship mean nothing to you?”  

He’s mostly being sarcastic, but not entirely. He’s prone to sulking, and he’s never really liked when you get other guy friends. Girls, he’s perfectly content with, obviously. How many friends you’ve lost to that asshole in your life is astounding. But never guys. He’s possessive about your friendship in particular. You have one guy best friend, and it’s him. Anything else is betrayal.  

Usually, Karasu is the exception to this rule. So this kind of comes as a surprise. If you were in a better mood, you’d be content to wait it out with him until he found something else to occupy his attention.  

“Shut up,” You say irritably. He has a talent for getting on your nerves when you really need him not to. “We’ve hung out like, everyday this week, dude. I haven’t seen Karasu since you like what…? January or something.”  

Otoya makes an impatient face. You can tell he’s also a little drunk. “So I’m chopped liver to you just cause he’s here. What happened to loyalty?”  

“Can you be fucking for real? Literally what the hell are you talking about.” You reply, dazed. Though you’ve been friends with Otoya for long enough that you get into petty spats like this all the time. He’s always been kind of a hypocrite. He can ditch you all he wants for a girl but god forbid you can’t hang out with him one day. “I like Karasu, alright? He’s fun to hang with. You guys play on the same team but it’s not like I play with you.”  

He scoffs. “So you wanna hang out with him over me.”  

“Sure I do” You say, knowing it’ll upset him further. “He’s nice, and he smells good, and I like his accent,”  

Your lips are loosened from alcohol, and you wonder in the back of your mind how this conversation will feel to you later. It’s taking a specific direction that you most often go out of your way to avoid. You’re not sure you’ve ever uttered a word to Otoya about any man you’ve liked or even found pleasing to look at. For reasons aside from just being a little in love with him.  He has a unique way of fucking things up by association for you because of his reputation.  

As far as he’s concerned you’re basically siblings, but the guys you like never seem to believe you. You don’t want him getting any ideas about trying to play wingman, and it’s also just something you’re not comfortable telling him about. You both want different things out of relationships. It’s just weird, or something. 

With all of this in mind, you still can’t stop yourself from saying what you want to say. You speak bluntly.“He gives me attention, sometimes. And I want some right now. I’m horny and this outfit is wasted hanging out with you.”  

Otoya’s eyes go wide. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him make a face like the one he is now.  

“Woah, woah, what? What did you just...? I mean hold on. You’re—you have…You have a thing? With Karasu? Of all fucking people?”  

You wave your hand dismissively, no longer having the strength to care about how he feels.  

 “It’s not like a thing. Like we haven’t hooked up yet—“  

“Yet?!”  

You ignore him, continuing to run your mouth.  

“But he gives me attention, y’know. Like just for kicks. He’s real sweet about it. It’s nothing serious. He’s very…boyfriend though. The kind of guy you date, whether or not you like him, just cause he’s such a good guy.” You really should not be telling this to Otoya. It’s going to be a huge pain later. But he’s being annoying right now, and you’re a little sick of everything. “Easy to fall in love with. And he smells so good.”  

There’s a long stretch of silence. You pick your beer can back up and take another few drinks, content to leave him with whatever thoughts he’s having.  

Otoya speaks after a long time, his voice still low with shock. “Dude, why do you—like—why do you sound like a girl?”  

This asshole. You’re really going to kill him. “I am a girl, dickwad.”  

“No, no like. Yeah, technically. But you’re,” Otoya makes a face. “You’re… I mean… and with Karasu?”  

You snort. “We’ve been friends since elementary and you’re just now figuring out I like getting attention from the opposite sex? Are you going to discover the sky is blue next?”   

He gasps in offense. “Dude. Our whole lives, and you’ve never even mentioned a dude before. And now you’re horny over Karasu? Of course I’m shocked. That’s the wildest shit I’ve ever heard.”  

“Wow. I know you’re kind of stupid but this is next level,” You say, a little resentful but not seriously.  “It’s not easy to find a guy who’d willing to hook-up with a girl whose best friend is a fuckboy.” 

He frowns. “What? So it’s because of me you don’t bring it up?”  

“No, but like, yeah.”  

You can see the gears in his mind turning slowly, probably rusted over from lack of use.  

“So…wait. Have you dated other guys before?” 

You laugh out loud. “No shit, man.”  

“And you never told me?”  

You shrug. “It didn’t get serious enough to tell you.”  

“I tell you about all of my relationships.”  

“Yeah cause it all starts to blend together, Eita. Be serious for a sec.”  

“Wait. So then. Have you…I mean are you still…?”  

The implication is easy enough to discern. You roll your eyes, hands reaching for the beer besides you for another drink.  

“Quit thinking with your dick. No, I’m not a virgin. Not since highschool”  

Otoya yells what so loudly nearby members of the gather all quiet to turn and look at him. You wave them away then proceed by smacking Otoya on his arm.  

“Dude. Seriously?”  

Otoya ignores your concern, still caught up on the revelation.  

“Who was it?” He probes 

“The captain of the judo club,”  

Otoya looks at you with his jaw dropped.  

“That guy? You were friends, I remember, but you—“  

“We hooked up like right before the end of second year. Invited him over for tutoring or something. He was really attentive,” You drift a little, remembering your first time with abject fondness and a little arousal. Something clenches between your thighs. “And so insanely ripped.”  

Otoya looks so shocked. You feel a little guilty for laughing but at the same time, it’s kind of funny to see him so speechless over something that would be obvious to anyone else.  

It makes you feel that familiar fondness for him that you hate. He’s a lot of things, mainly a fuckboy and a moron. But he has a way of endearing you with his cluelessness, a naive and genuine part of him that makes you laugh.  

Otoya is a simpleton, through and through. For better or for worse. He chases pleasure, and good times. But he’s generally personable, easy to get along with, and loves to adventure. Between the two of you, he’s always the one that’s dragging you to have new experiences and chasing adrenaline and live more of your life. He’s a good influence on you in that way.   

He’s consistent in his inconsistencies, so it’s easy to be his friend. You don’t know what it is about him that keeps you being his best friend. You’re sure anyone else would work for him but you’re familiar. It just… works, somehow. It keeps you here.  

Sometimes it feels like you’re waiting for him to finally get bored of you, but you keep that thought to yourself.  

“I feel mindfucked. Like. What’s going on anymore?”  

“You can’t genuinely be this surprised. Like I know I’m not really in your scope, but dude.”  

Otoya shakes his head. “I just assumed you were like a sexless blob. I feel like I just found out Santa isn’t real. Even worse, you were about to ditch me, your best friend, to go try play tonsil tennis with Karasu?”  

You smack his arm. “Don’t be gross.”  

“You didn’t deny it!” Otoya accuses.  

“Yes, I was. I was gonna ditch you to get laid. Like you do with me, like all of the time. C’mon, man.”  

He looks so genuinely upset and surprised, you don’t whether or not you should laugh or cry.  

“So earlier when you told me to kiss you, you really wanted to kiss?”  

You feel your breath hitch a little but smooth over it quickly.  

“I mean, yeah. Not you forreal, but in general, yeah.”  

“You like kissing?”  

You give him a look. Sometimes you wonder if anything goes on in his head when he speaks. Like anything at all. You feel your face get hot and avert your eyes somewhere else.  

“Yeah. If the other person is good at it.”  

“And Karasu is good at it?” He squawks.  

You laugh. “Very, very good at it.”  

He scoffs, shaking his head.“Well, I’m probably better.”  

“Don’t be childish. But no, I don’t think you are,”  

“I have way more experience!”  

You laugh, at ease with the silliness of the conversation. “Yeah but Karasu is like…I dunno. Sensual. He’s really, really good at it, actually.”  

Otoya goes silent again.  

“Kiss me.”  

He can’t be serious.  

“Eita.”  

He ignores your obvious disdain for the suggestion. “I’m better than him. But I can’t like, prove it to you, any other way.” 

“Oh my god. Are you serious? Why would it matter what I think anyway?”  

He pouts. “Cause you think he’s better than me.”  

“At kissing.”  

“Whatever. I can’t accept that. Just kiss me.”  

You feel a headache come on. “Dude. Be serious for a second. Do you seriously think you can kiss me?”  

He waves you off. “It’s all the same if I close my eyes. It’s fine.”  

“Maybe for you. But I can’t just kiss you. It’s weird.”  

“Why not?”  

“For the same reason I can’t fuck or date, dipshit. We’re best friends. Like siblings, or whatever.”  

You wonder if it’s always been this easy to lie to his face about your feelings for him. Over the course of your life, you’ve buried the want so deep inside of you, that it doesn’t hurt much anymore. It’s just always there, somewhere trapped in the depths of you, waiting to be uncovered. 

 A part of the reason you never get close to anyone else, never try to move on is because inevitably, when someone wants to know you, they’ll find him. The part of you that loves him idiotically. You’re always waiting to be found out it seems like. It’s such an annoying part of your life.  

Yet it’s so easy to lie about it. So simple.  

“Not actually related though. I can’t accept you thinking he’s better than me. And didn’t you wanna do it, anyway? If you can do it with him, why not me?”  

“Please use your brain for five fucking seconds.” You say, exasperated. “And with Karasu…he just gets me.”  

“In a way that I don’t?” He seems genuinely hurt. But you might just be seeing things that aren’t already there.  

“Yeah.”  

You don’t want to tell him that Karasu knows about your feelings for him. Your camaraderie with him is based in a sense of mutual understanding. Karasu happens to like you, so it’s easy for him to give you what you need as friends or something else. You remember when he asked you the first time about if you liked Otoya that way. You cried and he even awkwardly consoled you.  

He knows how serious you are about moving on, so he lets there be something between you. Something to make it easier, when you’re ready. You really do like it about him. You get why Otoya doesn’t like it, but you can’t exactly explain what you have.  

“Whatever, then. I’m still your best friend. Come on. It’s a win-win. I get to prove you wrong and you get to kiss someone whose a good kisser.”  

“Eita, come on, don’t be—“  

Without much pre-amble, as if deciding suddenly, Otoya to his feet, then pulls you up with him.  

Then you’re being dragged away from the backyard of the party. He’s being careful enough that you don’t trip over your heels, but you find yourself stumbling all the same. You keep trying to tug away from him in gentle protest, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you.  

He’s stubborn when he sulks. Damn it.  

He walks you around until you’re on the opposite side of the fence that walls in whoever house the party is being thrown at (Oliver, you think?), in the neighbors empty yard. Otoya traps you there, his body caging you in.  

All the air between you seems to disappear in that moment. You can’t breathe. Otoya is still a little taller than you in your heels, and his face is so close to yours. You hate him. God. He’s so stupidly good looking, even with that dumb stripe in his hair. He smells good, like mens deodorant mixed with sweat.  

Fuck. You’re freaking out at this unfamiliar sense of distance, or rather the lack of it.  

He’s all you can see, and your heart is hammering. If he could hear the sound of it beating, you’d be so fucked.  

“Eita.” You protest weakly. “Don’t be stupid. C’mon,” 

“Don’t pussy out. It’ll be fine,” His breathing seems a little different too. A little uneven, but maybe he’s just horny in a way that has nothing to do with you. Maybe, some part of him thinks he could turn you into an easy lay, cause he’s a piece of shit like that.  

He just wants to get his rocks off, and he realized you’re also a girl. It’s just convenient. You tell yourself that’s all this is, even when you know it’s not true  

(Deep down, you know it’s nothing. You could think of a million reasons but it’s probably as simple as him being curious. You think it would hurt less if he outright tried to use you, instead of just wanting to know.  

But you know Otoya. Eita. You know he just wants to know what it’s like. Since you’ve done it before, with someone else and since you think Karasu is a better kisser than him. Somehow it hurts worse than anything else.)  

“God, you’re so—fine. Fine. Just, ugh.”  

Before he gets a chance to make the first move, you steel yourself in your mind and lean back into your drunkenness. Let your instinct take over. Take a page out of Otoya’s book and stop thinking.  

You place your hands on his chest, and feel your breath hitch. His chest is defined, and you can feel it easily through the Henley he has on. You make the mistake of looking up at him when you do. His eyes are alight with curiosity and interest. He’s hesitant, almost. Maybe he’s starting to understand why this is a bad idea, but you decide not to worry about it. He can back out if he wants, whenever he feels like.  

You slide your hands up his chest, up to his neck, until your fingers are tangled and threading through his hair. You just stay there a while, quietly. And the both of you seem to be suspended here. You watch his breathing grow heavier as you tug lightly at the root, staring at him, in limbo.  

Just kiss him once. Once and it’ll be over.   

You pull him down closer, closer until your lips are nearly touching. A beat later, you press your mouth to his chaste but deeply. A real kiss, but a short.  

Otoya moans when you press your lips together, even though it’s so brief. A deep, needy sort of sound that makes you reel. Makes you panic all over again. And when you go to pull away, he leans back in. His hands find your waist and you sigh into his mouth, as he pushes you back up against the fence harder, parting your lips with his to kiss you deeper.  

You feel so conscious of him, but your mind can’t keep up with thinking when he’s kissing you. You can’t form a single thought that isn’t about wanting more, more, more. The greed shakes you to your core, your hands growing desperate. You can’t hide it like this, your want for him feels so open to air. Everything is spinning.  

He’s aggressive while kissing you. It’s surprising. Otoya does everything lightly, without care or trouble. Everything is about having fun, avoiding displeasure. This level of intensity, like you’re lovers, it’s so much.  

His hands move to hold your waist then move further down to grip your ass. You gasp a little into his mouth. Otoya uses it as an opportunity to swipe his tongue against your lips.  

You lose yourself in it. Time, noise—everything melts away. Kissing like this, drunkenly, frenzied, already needy, there’s nothing to do but lose yourself. You keep telling yourself to pull back, to move away, to stop this from going further, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. You’re both catching breaths in between kisses, and every time you pull away, Otoya kisses you again like he’s starving for it. And his hands are everywhere on your body, pulling you in so close you can feel the heat of his skin spread through yours. 

And it’s noisy. In between moaning and deep breaths is the soft, wet noise of each kiss that makes your stomach flip. He tastes like shochu. You can’t tell anymore where he starts and you end. Your head feels so hazy. Fuck, you’re going to regret this when you sober. Maybe you’ll start regretting it the minute it’s all over.  

Otoya pulls you closer until your bodies are pressed up firm against each other.  

You feel him, then. His dick is hard, pressed up against his jeans, and currently brushing up against you.  

You whine. It all feels out of your control. And for a brief moment, it feels like the thing you’ve wanted for so long is so close to being yours that something keeping you together starts to fracture.  

You separate after that. Pull yourself from him. You’re both breathing heavy, still and it’s dead quiet as you linger there.  

You wonder what stupid thing he’s gonna say as you steady your breaths and try to sober. It almost comforts you—the though that Otoya will just gloat, or say something dumb, or whatever else.  

But he doesn’t do any of that.  

“You made me hard.” Otoya says, dumbstruck. “I’m so fuckin’ hard right now.”  

“You just,” You close your eyes, ignoring the throbbing between your legs. You’re so wet. “You just need to go get laid,”  

“Are you seriously telling me to go fuck someone else?” Otoya asks, half-laughing.  

Your voice is shaking. You can’t go any farther than this. You won’t be able to go back.“No shit. What, you’re gonna tell me you wanna fuck me next? Don’t be stupid, Eita. You already got what you wanted.”  

Otoya is looking at you with such intense desire your knees feel like they’ll buckle. “Look, I don’t get why you’re mad at me. But I kinda really wanna fuck you actually. I mean,” He leans in closer and your eyes snap open. “It was really good. It felt super good. I dunno why, but you wanted to get laid right? And I’m here,”  

“You asked me to kiss. Do you even know what you’re saying right now?”  

“Yeah. I wanna have sex.”  

“We’re friends. You don’t even see me like that.”  

“We’re best friends, so it’ll be fine. And I usually don’t but right now….it’s different right now. So, c’mon, let’s just do it,” He says. His voice almost sounds like a whimper. “I’m so hard, it seriously hurts. I’ll return the favor so,”  

He grabs your hand and puts it up to his dick. Your whole body goes hot, like lightning through your veins.  

Fuck. “Why can’t you find someone else to do it?”  

“Because I want you. I don’t think it’ll feel as good as how it feels when you’re touching it,”  

You close your eyes, knowing you’re about to make the worst decision of your entire life.  

Just once. To get it out of your system. Then it’s time to box these feelings up for good.  

“Fine. You better be able to get it up for me,” You tell him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him close. “Or I’ll fucking kill you.” 

AUTHORS NOTE: i try to update every two weeks, sometimes every other week if i can manage. but i am a full-time student, so please do be patient. thank you!

Tags: Reader is Not MC, Strangers to Lover, Enemies To Friends To Lovers, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Friends With Benefits, 18+

Content Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Implied / Reference Child Abuse, Torture / Human Experimentation, Psuedocest, Depictions of Mental Ilness and C-PTSD

Extended Authors Note | AO3

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

TBA...

Now you smell like salt and iron, and your heart rate is still thrumming under your skin. It feels good to be able to run again, but you’re too impatient to bask in it. You need to go home.  

You catch your breath as you stand in front of his office.    

Big, wooden doors with intricate carvings like something out of a gothic novel loom overhead. Your eyes barely seem to reach the top. You rap your first impatiently, knocks echoing in the empty hall.  

Back home, you were trusted enough to not report after every single thing. Sylus is keen on monitoring you and you’re maladjusted to the change. You hear his voice vaguely from behind the door, and shift your weight to one side.  

Just as you’re about to knock again, the door opens.  To your surprise, it’s a woman answering the door. Sylus is still sitting at his desk at the end of the room.  Mystery woman is not familiar to you. She has on a uniform that you don’t see around these parts, and a gun on her hip. Not from around the N109 zone, and likely from civilian life. There’s an air of tenseness, a particular kind of vigilance only people from the outside tend to carry with them here.  

It’s not strange for someone like her to be in Sylus’s office, though. The upper echelon of the N109 zone all have their hand in politics. You have no reason to assume Sylus is any different.  

The dark-haired woman is pretty, though. Neat and well put-together with soft features. She smiles at you kindly as she opens it. You give her a cautious look, but come in. Whatever business she has with Sylus is her own.  

“Thanks,”   

Her smiles brightens up and she steps aside. She’s really not from around her.  

You feel awkward as you slip by and walk up to Sylus to give your report.   

It’s not the first time you’ve been in Sylus’s office, but you’re always surprised by its interior. Sylus has an aesthetic eye you find yourself agreeing with, which is irksome. It’s tidy too, lived-in in a way that feels inappropriate for a member of the mafia. There are bookshelves lining the back wall, and a number of knick-knacks with a macabre flair. On the adjacent wall is a map of the N109 zone with many post-it notes and pins. And a window with blinds over them that spans across the wall opposite.  

The door behind you clicks with a shut, and the nameless woman who opened the door for you stands aside.  

The first thing you notice is Sylus’s eyes, and how they’re not looking at you—but past you. He’s looking at the woman from before. More specifically, you notice the way he looks at her, which is so bewildering, you wipe your eyes and wonder if the exhaustion is making you finally hallucinate. It’d be about time you go insane.  

“You don’t need to stand over there, you know.” Sylus says. He’s not talking to you. 

Inwardly, you raise a brow. It takes more effort than usual to maintain a mask of neutrality as you hear it.  

“I’m not going to be rude to your guest.” The strange woman says.  

Sylus falters. You huff under your breath at the suggestion of being his guest. Sylus sends you a weak glare but you don’t rise to it, not looking his way.  He smiles then, more polite than he ever would if you were alone, just like a politician.  

Ha. He really is a piece of shit.  

“She’s not a guest. She’s who I was telling you about earlier, remember? Though,” Sylus looks you up and down, as if he’s disappointed you’re in the room. You’re itching to remind him that you don’t  want to be here either, but keep face. “I wasn’t expecting her to get back so soon.”  

Reminiscing on holding a knife to his throat, you wish you succeeded. 

“Come stand behind me.” He says, addressing you for the first time in conversation.  

You stand stock still, looking at him coldly. He hates when you do this. You do it because he hates it. He smiles at you, paternalistic.  

“Should I repeat myself? Or are you not interesting in getting off work?” He adds, his tone deceptively steady. 

You scowl at him, rolling your eyes, but do as he asks.  You’re used to taking orders, even from men you don’t respect. And sometimes it’s easier just to go along with it, especially when you’re this eager to get back home.  

It’s not the first time in your life you’ve been a lion in the cage, being taunted by a master you could gore if provoked.  

But here, unlike home, there’s no reason not to at least growl, push back a little. Even if just to keep sane. Sylus can’t take it out on anyone but you.  

He knows it too.  As you come stand behind him, he turns his eyes back towards the other woman, who is looking a little uncomfortable at the tension between you. She’s pretty in an orderly way. A head shorter than Sylus, with long black-brown hair, round eyes, and pale skin. She stands as comfortably as she can manage, as if trying to move the situation along without further tension. You can tell she wants to say something but doesn’t know your relationship to him well enough to do so.  

You aren’t sure what to make of her yet. There’s something between them very obviously, but what specifically remains unclear so you just keep watch. Sylus looks at you from the corner of his eyes, grabbing your attention. 

“This is MC. She works with the Hunters Association and is here on business. She’ll be helping us.” He pauses, then adds. “Make sure you treat her with respect.”  

You think about strangling him for being so patronizing, but refrain. Any delay in your already overdue shower is not worth the effort.  

You look at MC again and nod curtly. She gives you another warm, apologetic smile that you can’t be bother to return but feel obligated to. You give her a tight-lipped one until she turns her attention away, hoping that’ll be the last of the conversation. 

“Sylus tells me you used to operate under Magnolia?” She probes.  

You speak for the first time today.“Kinda.”  

“She was an experimentation subject there,” Sylus supplements. You nod.  

MC gives you a solemn but understanding look.  “We have similar backgrounds.”  

This catches you by surprise. “We do?”  

She nods firmly, a diplomatic smile replacing her sincere one. “It’s a complicated story, but I was also a subject of human experimentation. I have a weak heart as a result.”  

“I’m sorry to hear that,”  

Her smile remains steady. “Me too. But I hope it’s comfortable speaking with me, knowing I can understand it a little better than most.”  

You give her a look of uncertainty, but nod. She seems like someone who works with the public a lot.  

“It’s kind of you to share something so personal.” Sylus says. MC shakes her head.  

She laughs lightly, as if embarrassed by the sentiment. “Not at all. Just felt like a good time to do it.”  

It’d be impossible to not notice the stark difference in attitude when Sylus addresses her.  

 Each time it makes you want to laugh in his face, sheerly at the absurdity. He’s excessively warm with her, almost cloying in his sweetness. It drips into his words, his demeanor. In front of her, Sylus is kinder than he ever is on his own. It’s easy to deduce that he loves her, based on how he bites his tongue in front of her, how he attempts to appear generous and forgiving and stern, rather than cruel.  

The sudden shift grates your nerves, solely on  principle. You can’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t be irritated by it.  

By virtue, you think plenty of women would find it honorable. A man who is only kind to the woman he loves is often touted in love stories and romances. You can understand it.  

In practice and in reality, it’s just frustrating. You are the woman he is unkind to, after all. It’s difficult to find nobility in it.  

It’s true that Sylus does not show the appetite for cruelty that most men do. Your time here has shown that. That does not mean he is incapable, and it’s a far cry from kindness.  

Well, whatever. You shouldn’t concern yourself with their affairs.  

Sylus breaks the silence again. “Well, since were all here,”  

You feel their eyes on you suddenly, wincing. Clearing your throat, you turn your eyes to MC.  

“Was there anything specific you wanted to know?”  

She shakes her head. “We don’t know much about Magnolia other than they’re a research facility owned by someone wealthy. That’s about as far as we’re aware on record. Sylus?”  

“Our records show some prior incidents at Onychinus involved with some of your… colleagues to put it one way. That they’ve made a number of attempts on killing me and the like, and some details on how money funnels in for research. Otherwise, nothing.”  

You’re surprised. You know Magnolia as always been somewhat underground since Mr. Sinclair funds it, but you thought there’d be more out there. Though it’s mainly you and Dee carrying out work outside.  

You don’t really know what to say about it, so you sigh, scratching the back of your neck.  

“All of that is pretty accurate. We’re a research facility on paper. I think public record has us registered as a weapons manufacturer, which is…true in a way, I guess,” You say contemplatively. “It’s closer to a human trafficking ring. There’s research and money involved, but the “weapons” are people.”  

They both seem rather alarmed.  

“I’m sorry…human trafficking?”  

You nod, recollecting what you think will be helpful. “Essentially. They find usually orphaned kids and bring them back to experiment on. The facility was formerly involved with protocore research before the N109 fell into chaos. Somewhere around then they started experimenting with Evol and protocore manipulation. It was smaller when I was taken in, but it’s pretty established now.” 

MC has a forlorn look on her face. “That’s much worse than I thought.”  

Sylus turns to look at you, and his expression is unreadable. He speaks quietly. “You haven’t told me any of that.”  

You look at him bewildered. “Not like you asked.”  

You and Sylus haven’t spoken much at all really. After signing your contract, you recovered in one of Onychinus’s base of operations and spent about 8 weeks there healing your broken rib under supervision and otherwise in isolation. In that time, you saw Sylus twice exactly, each time to check on your injury and discuss your work when you return to the outside. All conversation was mostly procedural 

After recovering, you were put to work immediately and had no other reason to speak with him. You were briefed on the basics of working under Onychinus as an operative agent, but the work you were tasked with was familiar. Assassinations, tracking and hunting, gathering information. Mainly stealth missions with little public exposure to keep your status under wraps.  

It’s been business as usual. You do your job and report back to Sylus, day in and day out. None of your conversations have been meaningful. You honestly assumed Sylus knew all of that, and took you in because he knew, at least in some capacity, what you were capable of. What you were literally built to do.  

You’re surprised that he’s surprised.  

“Human trafficking…there’s a lot of it in the N109 zone but most of the operations we know of are well documented. Nothing about Magnolia in those records.” MC says, troubled.  

“It’d be hard to know. The operation is pretty self-contained. Our founder is filthy rich, and there’s a lot of bureaucracy involved that does clean-up work in public record,” You say thoughtfully. “We’re not much of a faction so unless you’re looking to buy, there’d be trouble finding us.”  

“And what of you…?” Sylus asks. The question is vague but you understand what he’s getting at.  

“Prototype. I’ve been around the longest.”  

“How old are you?” MC asks.  

“Twenty-six. I was taken in after the Chronorift disaster. so started when I was twelve or thirteen and began working when I was eighteen. Assassinations, arson, and theft mainly.”  

“So you’re older than me,” MC says.  

“And only two years younger than me.”  

You give Sylus a glance.  

MC finds a chair against the wall and sits in it, clearly processing the information. The two of them sit in silence while as you stand around awkwardly. You weren’t expecting the reaction. Most of the people you meet are people who work with Magnolia already, so it’s never new to anyone.  

“May I ask you a few more questions?” MC asks gently.  

“Shoot.”  

“How exactly did…I mean how did you end up there?”  

You rake your mind for the memory. You don’t have many of them from back then. When you think of your life after being orphaned, your stomach ties in knots and things become sort of blurry, but you do your best to explain.  

“There are auctions on the outskirts of the N109 zone, for human trafficking. Pretty big ones. I’m sure you know of them. The operations move around a lot so it’s hard to find unless you’re looking. After I was orphaned and adopted, my foster parent sold me off to pay off debt. It’s a similar story for most of my siblings.”  

“Siblings?” MC asks 

“To put it one way. Adopted siblings. All of us are test subjects.” 

“This is…much more serious than I thought,” MC states. You don’t have anything to add. 

She looks at you thoughtfully, her face painted with sympathy but not pity. It melts away some of your initial distrust in her. “I won’t ask what exactly you were subject to, but a brief summary would be helpful. I’ll probably start building a case file soon.” 

It’s the first question of the conversation that feels hard to answer. Most often, you push it out of your mind. You haven’t been under the scalpel since you were eighteen, The memory sends something cold through your gut, stomach churning with distinct unease. You rub your eyes and recompose yourself, not wanting to show weakness.  

“Uh.  Mostly EVOL manipulation. Bit of everything, including drugs and a focus on cybernetics. We’re also started young on extremely rigorous physical training. All of our abilities are a little different.”  

“Different how?”  

“We’re subclassed via EVOL. Those abilities are then further trained. I have Esthesia. High kinesthetic awareness, lower pain threshold, and touch sensitivity. I have a copy of my files somewhere, but there’s a lot there. It’d take a while to discuss. We’re like super solider cyborgs.”  

“Esthesia Evol? That’s not very common”  

You laugh lightly.  

“Yeah. Made me a valuable prize pony. They’re still on the lookout for another user. I’m sure they’re scrambling right now.” 

MC frowns. “Suffering such intense abuse from childhood. I’m sorry. It must’ve been tough,”  

The word abuse shakes you a little. You’ve never had it framed that way by someone else, someone from the outside. You nod, looking away.  

“Yeah.”  

“This is more serious than I was expecting.” MC says, sighing. “We’ll need to re-convene and speak some more, but the more information the better. I’d like to apologize in advance, but since you’re our main lead, these questions will likely get tough,” She looks at you seriously. “If there’s anything I can do to make that easier for you, please let me know. The Association will offer you plenty of financial compensation and we can talk about setting you up for after the operation is over.”  

You nod, feeling a little like a deer in headlights. You’ve not stopped to consider what after looks like, and decide you’d rather not for now anyway.  

“I will. Thank you,”  

MC smiles at you softly before looking at her watch. “I’m out of time today, so I’ll have to head out soon.”  

“It’s no rush,” Sylus offers, calm and collected, his first time speaking in a while. His tone is uncharacteristically gentle. “Do you need me to drive you back to Linkon? I have time.”  

MC smiles congenially, shaking her head as she stands up and dusts herself off. “No worries. I have somewhere to stop so I’ll be heading out on my own. I’ll have Luke and Kieran walk me out, so finish your work, alright?”  

Sylus laughs warmly. “How cruel, kitten.”  

You almost recoil physically before you catch yourself. 

MC rolls her eyes. “I’ll see you later, Sylus. You too, have a good rest of your day. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”  

You give MC a curt smile and nod, which she returns before leaving his office. As soon as she’s gone, you make a face of disgust while Sylus is turned away from you.  Kitten? Maybe you misheard him. You wince and choose to believe you did.  

Sylus sighs as she leaves, turning his attention back to you.  

“Give me your report and you’re free to go.”  

His change in tone almost drives you to strangle him. You stay calm.  

“It was fine. Wasn’t messy since there were only two guards on duty and they were easy to take out. Lot of resources still in his mansion that might be worth taking,” You fish something out of your pocket in a plastic ziplock. “Here. He was looking at them when I got there.”  

“How convenient,”  

You nod, because it was rather convenient. Saving you time in getting out of there before you could get caught, you’re kind of grateful for it. Sylus bends down, plugging the hard-drive into his desktop computer, clicking a few things, and smiling to himself.    

He looks genuinely happy which never gets easier to see.  

Before long, he looks back up at you, as if to ask what you’re still doing in his office. You grit your teeth.  

“Am I dismissed?”  

Sylus nods, eyes lingering elsewhere.  

“Yes,” He hums. “You don’t have any urgent work for a while. Lay low, and let Luke and Kieran know if you need anything.”  

“Will do,”  

With that, you hurry to leave his office before he can call you again.  

__  

Hot, pressurized water beats down against your sore muscles in welcome reprieve. You sigh in relief as you step under the stream, marveling at the way tension bleeds from your spine.  

Moving so that your face isn’t under, you grope around aimlessly for a washcloth and bar soap to wipe yourself off. Your shower fills with the clean scent as you lather, enough to mask the unmistakable scent of iron you’ve been trying to scrub off since morning.  

As you start to wash up and your thoughts start to drift—you inevitably start to think of Sylus.  

In the first place, the reason you’re showering somewhere so nice is because of him.  

When Sylus first offered you shelter, you thought at you misread his tone. It was the week you were cleared to be discharged, and the second conversation you had with him. What sounded sincere but you assumed must’ve been sarcastic. It wasn’t, though. Sylus had really provided you with lodging, free of charge.  

You know better than anyone that his offer was mostly to monitor you. It’s precisely why you turned him down at first, and only took a peer after his insistence. Apparently, the place was already cleared out, and it was a convenient distance from Onychinus HQ.   

On the first night of your stay here, you turned off the breaker to the electricity and generator, and manually checked the house for cameras. You managed to find a couple of them, and decided it was best to leave them untouched after taking a few photos of the models to research later. You didn’t want to move them, nor were you surprised they were there.  

Other than the glaring invasion of privacy, which is honestly to be expected, the place was thoughtfully stocked. Luke and Kieran brought you groceries, and once you moved in - your closet had everything you needed in your size plus various toiletries.  

You imagine Sylus hired someone to take care of it, but you were stuck on why. Intrinsically, you understood the answer. Distrust. Sylus wants you where he can see you, and to remind you of his watchful eye.  

You assumed that you were on your own, though. Whatever distrust Sylus has in you, you have in him tenfold. A place to stay that isn’t completely bare bones is odd and alarming. You half-way wonder if there’s a mechanism in here in place to kill you if need be.  

You chalked it up to his wealth. Sylus is a powerful man, so you assumed it’s a slip-up. Something he had not given any thought to.  

Yet, you're stuck on the thought.  On the memory of how he could care, or how he did, in a way that feels unfamiliar.  

When soap enters your eyes as you wash your hair, you take it as a sign to abandon the line of thinking entirely and step out of the shower.  

__ 

You slip into boxer-briefs and a tank-top as you step out of from the shower, drying off before putting lotion on. You think of your full kitchen and the various bottles of alcohol waiting for you, but as soon as you leave your bathroom, there’s a knocking on the door.  

A familiar voice is muffled from the other side.  

“Yo. Open the door before somebody comes to fucking get me.”  

A feeling of relief and excitement flood your system. You almost stumble as you rush to the door, mood lifting instantly.  

“Dee!”  

At your door is D’Angelo. His face is half-covered with a mask, striking teal eyes like a light from under his hair. You nearly stumble all over yourself letting him, quickly stepping aside and shutting the door behind you.  

As soon as it’s locked again, both of his arms wrap around your middle. Without you asking, like he knows you need it.  

It isn’t until he does that you realize that you kind of did.   

You press your face against his chest as he sighs, his voice calm but relieved. “I’m here,”  

You give him the ghost of a smile. “You’re here.”  

He squeezes you a little tighter, his chin resting on your head. “You scared me half to death.”  

“It’s been busy. Sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.” You say, apologetic. “How’d you find me?”  

“Once I got word from you, I managed to decipher your location based on what you left me. I was waiting to visit until I could cover my tracks enough to keep you safe,” He says thoughtfully, pulling back. “I really thought you weren’t gonna come back this time.”  

You’re thankful he remembered something from so long ago. You and D’Angelo have a place on the outskirts of the N109 tucked away from all life and only traceable by co-ordinates. When you were kids, you started a pact that if anything went wrong, you’d contact each other by leaving something inside. At the start of Magnolia, it was more of a possibility you’d be separated. You were so attached to him and young enough to cry to him about it.  

He’d come up with the idea, but it’s been years since it’s been of use.  

You feel so relieved. You can leave behind almost everything in your life but him.  

“I always come back.” You say 

D’Angelo frowns. “I really didn’t think you were this time.”  

“I know, but it wasn’t on purpose. There’s a lot we have to catch-up on. I had broken ribs and was out of commission for a while,” You tell him, hand on his chest comfortingly. “I contacted you as soon as I had some time.”  

“A broken rib? Jesus christ, kid.”  

“I know. Pretty nasty bruise, but I lived. Not going anywhere. Cross my heart.”  

His eyes search your face, worry tensing his features. After a while, he puts his hand up to your face, leaning down to touch your forehead to his.  

“Don’t scare me like that again.”  

You just nod solemn, accepting his gesture. He pulls away after that, scrubbing your hair instead.  

“I’ll try,”  

He rolls his eyes but moves on without saying, taking his shoes off before welcoming himself. Bent down, he questions you.  

“How’d you even find this place?”  

“You’ll never guess.”  

He stands back up, pausing, before turning around to look at you in disbelief.  

“This Sylus’s property?”  

You nod, turning back at him. You gesture him to follow you into the kitchen. Opening your fridge, you grab two bottles of beer and hand it to him to hold. “I know. I don’t get it either. We both know it’s not out of good will, but it’s weird.”  

He hums. “Might just be an oversight on his end. Or maybe he’s that much of a control freak.”  

You snort. “Snacks? Or are you staying for dinner?”  

D’Angelo looks at you surprised. “Can I? I figured I should leave as soon as I can.” 

“You worried about Sylus? He won’t touch you. I already made a deal with him.”  

“And I’m in it?”  

“I told him ahead of time I wasn’t gonna kill any of my siblings.”  

D’Angelo huffs, half-way between a laugh and scoff. “And that’s what I am to you?”  

“For the purposes of saving your life, yes. I won’t let him touch you, alright? So stay over for dinner.”  

“I’m not worried about me . I’m worried about you. He’s dangerous, isn’t he? I don't want him to retaliate cause I’m here.”  

 Retaliate. You haven’t known Sylus long. But he does… surprise you sometimes. At how normal he is, when you’re not looking.  

“He’s not the type,”  

“Not the type?”  

You shake your head. “To retaliate. He might try to leverage you against me. He’s more strategic than he is downright cruel.”  

D’Angelo hums, nodding in understanding. A good enough answer that doesn’t feel like you’re defending him.  

“Interesting. All the rumors make him out like a serial killer.”  

“He’s more like a vampire.”  

D’Angelo smiles. “That tracks.”  

“He kind of looks like one too.”  

D’Angelo lets out a soft huff of laughter, before sitting himself at your kitchen table. You rummage through your cabinets thinking of what to eat.  

“Do you want anything particular for dinner?” 

“You already know I’ll eat whatever,” He says, leaning back. “Something quick, maybe. We have lot to catch up on.” 

“I’ll make those chili oil noodles you like.”  

He grins. “Sweet. Thank you.”  

You wave him off, just happy to have him here.  

A/N ; thank you for reading to those of you that did!!! more exposition this week 💀💀 BUT NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE THE REAL READER AND SYLUS INTERACTIONS. please look forward to it, i'm very excited.

this ending is a little abrupt for me but i felt like that was the best place to cut it off for now. i mainly write one shots so slowing things down is tough. either way, thanks for being here.