Salt in The Tears of Gods

The big bad boss-man of Onychinus has watched you listlessly mope around the base for far too long. The twins and Mephisto can’t get you to play. You’re too sad to even submit to his clingy cuddles.

That simply won’t do. At least this new shipment of state of the art weaponry needs a test run.

He strides past your view all dressed up in his riding leathers and packing heat. It makes you sit up from your sad moping in a fluffy blanket with a little wolf plush.

You watch him stretch out his neck and tug leather gloves on like a little cat peering over the back of the couch.

“Sy… where you going?”

A swirl of his evol has his helmet settling in hand to tuck it under his arm while he puts on his sunglasses. He glances at you. It takes step strides for him to be in your space and pressing a kiss to your crown. Then he’s walking out the door, hand lazily waving.

“I’m getting your wolf back.”

You barely register his words before you’re scrambling around the base to get dressed too.

Most days he’s content to be the man who owns the N109 Zone.

But every spring, around the equinox when the city air turns thick with pollen and new heat, something ancient wakes up.

It starts subtle: restless pacing at three in the morning, red eyes glowing brighter in the dark, the shadow of wings he hasn’t had in centuries manifesting under the right light, under his back like phantom limbs. His voice drops half an octave. His touch lingers longer, heavier.

He doesn't say the word "rut," but you feel it in the way he crowds you against walls, in the way his teeth scrape your throat just shy of breaking skin, in the way he starts buying things.

Jewellery arrives in velvet lined boxes almost daily.

Thick chokers studded with black diamonds, heavy ruby drops that brush your collarbones, ropes of pearls so long they drape between your breasts like spilled moonlight. Gold cuffs that clank against each other when you move, rings stacked three deep on every finger, a delicate golden headband that sits like a crown, then a proper tiara, ruby and onyx, sharp enough to draw blood if you're careless. He clasps each piece on you himself, fingers reverent, eyes dark with something older than love.

“You look like a treasure,” he murmurs against your ear one night, voice rough as gravel. “My treasure.”

And you’re already dripping by the time he finishes adorning you. The weight of it all, cold metal warming against fevered skin, gems catching every flicker of lamplight, makes you feel obscene, decadent, claimed in a way that has nothing to do with words.

He doesn’t bother with the bed this time.

you’ve only just crossed that line; sex started careful, reverent almost, his hands careful like he’s handling something priceless, kisses passionate but never bruising, thrusts measured and deep enough to make you see stars but never rough enough to leave marks that last past morning.

he always checks in, voice low and soft in your ear asking if it’s too much, if you’re okay, if you want more, and every time you nod yes because it feels good, god it feels incredible, but lately there’s this itch under your skin you can’t scratch.

you want it nasty. you want backbreaking. you want it questionable to your self respect.

you want him to pin you down so hard the headboard rattles, want his fingers digging into your hips leaving fingerprints for days, want him to fuck you like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else, like the leash he keeps on himself finally snaps.

but he’s so careful. so goddamn respectful. the way he cradles your face when he comes, the way he murmurs praise against your throat like you’re fragile glass, the way he pulls out slow and gentle afterward to clean you up himself, it all makes your chest ache in the best way, but it also makes you squirm because you’re dying for the other side of him. the one you’ve glimpsed in flashes: the dark glint in his eyes when you push back against him a little too hard, the low growl when your nails rake down his back, the way his grip tightens just a fraction when you whisper “harder” like it’s a dare.

you don’t know how to ask for it. every time you try the words stick in your throat. you’ve thought about straddling him on the couch and grinding down filthy, thought about bending over the kitchen counter in nothing but his shirt and waiting for him to snap, thought about texting him something shameless but then you picture his face, those crimson eyes going soft with concern instead of heat and you chicken out.

what if he thinks you’re not satisfied with what you’ve had so far? what if he pulls back even more, thinking he’s hurt you somehow? he’s already told you once, mid kiss, that he never wants to push you past what you’re ready for, that he’s waited too long for this to rush it now.

so you’re stuck simmering. every time he fucks you slow and sweet you arch harder, moan louder, claw at his shoulders like you’re begging without words. you bite his lip a little too sharp one night, grind back against him until he hisses, and for a second, god, for a glorious second, his control slips. his hand fists in your hair, yanks your head back just enough to expose your throat, and he thrusts once, hard and punishing, deep enough that your vision whites out and a broken sound rips from your chest.

then he freezes. lets go like he’s been burned. “im sorry, kitten. too much?” he’s already easing out, turning you over gently, checking your face with those worried eyes.

you want to scream. instead you grab his wrist, pull his hand back to your hip, and whisper, voice shaking with want, “no. do it again.”

he stares at you for a long beat, pupils blown wide, something hungry and dangerous flickering behind the concern. “you sure?”

you nod, frantic. “please. i want it. just- fuck me like you mean it.”

the air shifts. his smile is wicked, predatory, the one that makes your stomach flip. he leans down, mouth brushing your ear, voice a low rumble that vibrates through you.

“careful what you wish for, sweetie. once i stop holding back, i might not stop until you’re begging me to.”

then he flips you onto your stomach, one massive hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you pinned, the other yanking your hips up exactly how he wants them. the slick sound of him sliding back in, thick and unrelenting, and the first brutal snap of his hips that punches every thought out of your head.

When it first catches you, it’s too strong for you to fight off. Your only choice is to just endure its oversized cock until it stuffs you and lets you go. But you keep enduring, and enduring, and enduring, and the monster never shows any signs of stopping. After it’s fucked countless orgasms out of you, it hasn’t even had one. If there’s a clock nearby, you might be able to tell that you’ve been getting used as a toy for hours and hours, assuming you can still think about anything other than monster dick

You can’t endure forever, as the constant railing exhausts you till you can’t move. And with one more orgasm you finally pass out. The monster’s not satisfied, though. It doesn’t pause for even a second as it continues thrusting away into your unconscious body. You don’t get to truly rest, and eventually you’re woken up by the same rough thrusting that knocked you out. It’s been nonstop for a full day now.

Like imagine non mc being mc's neighbor and friend and mc starts to hang out with non mc more than the lads boys. The lads start getting jealous and always inserting themselves whenever they all meet, either by coincidence or planned. Then they slowly got to know non mc more and start to genuinely enjoy their company more and more until they just start asking non mc more to hang out with just them until they realize they start falling in love. And yes, I mean all of them, mc included.

Now here's the funny part, non mc knows about mc's connections to the lads boys and doesn't realize that theyre all trying to come on to them. They think that theyre just really good friends and either ignore or deny their advances. Now the lads and mc are just pining for nonmc's affection, even bickering with each other behind nonmc's back and going insane cause nonmc doesn't realize how down bad they all are for them. They are YEARNING bad, practically just straight up telling nonmc "i love you" and nonmc chuckles as they just go "aww thanks, love you, too bestfriend."

it happens while his head is buried in the crook of your shoulder. you can't see his face. you aren't even aware he's changed. he just stills for a moment and inhales deeply, tickling your neck with his nose.

then he shifts a little, just enough for his cock to slip a little further inside you—testing.

he'd been rolling his hips into you in long, languid strokes. it'd been lazy and sensual. a stark contrast to the way he nudges into you now, all coiled tension.

there's no warning when the tension snaps.

he draws himself from you, right to the tip, then drives deep in one smooth motion. again and again, without hesitation, his cock spears through your walls—hips colliding into you with a weighty, almost brutal force.

and when you gasp out his name as you bounce against the mattress beneath him, he finally lifts himself from your shoulder so you can see the scales adorning his cheeks and the blue glow of his eyes.

there's no gentleness in them as he looks upon you, only the raging hedonism of a god with no one to answer to but himself.

without word, he sits back on his heels, grips your hips, and begins tugging you onto his cock. it's inhuman divine strength only you can overpower.

You link your arm with his. Bare skin resting against the expensive wool suit jacket. You can feel Sylus’ urge to unlink and wrap his arm around your waist instead, a possessive claim on you as he slowly – boredly – looks the man before him over from head to toe. “Seems you’ve befriended a dog, kitten.” 

Valko, whose expression had been so carefully neutral until this moment, couldn't help but bear his canines. You can’t help but pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing softly as you squeeze Sylus’ arm just a tad tighter. 

“I told you to be nice, Sy. He’s a good friend.” Ironically, the word friend seems to agitate the wolf more than being called a dog. “It’s a pleasure to meet the infamous leader of Onychinus.” Valko starts, adjusting his collar and trying to work through his own inner turmoil. 

“Likewise, it’s a pleasure to meet the dog my wife has talked so highly of… whose thoughts of her are so very loud…” A cool wave of tension etches its way through every part of your body. Your gaze immediately slid up towards the crimson glow of Sylus’ eye. “Sylus.” 

“S’alright, little lamb. He’s not wrong.” Now, your head is whipping towards Valko. An incredulous look crosses your face as you wonder what the hell the man could be thinking admitting this to your husband. “Can’t help myself when I’m around you, though I have enough sense to not act on a married woman.” 

Your feet are glued to the floor, the air in your lungs seems to freeze a full mass. This information has your world tilting on its axis, yet neither man seems bothered by these confessions. “She is quite desirable, so I really can’t fault you for your feelings, dog.” Sylus does unhook his arm from you this time, slowly slithering it around your waist and tugging you closer to his side. 

“She’s truly something. You’re one lucky bastard for getting to her first.” 

He's condescending.

He’s holding you down on the bed with his evol so his hands are completely free. He’s purposely spreading you open nice and wide, exposing you almost embarrassingly. Watching you squirm as he blows on your exposed clit.

“Aww, too sensitive? My poor baby.” You want to argue back, you want to squeeze your thighs closed. But something about this feels so good, too good.

“She’s so pretty all spread like this. Just for me.” Your head tilts back, eyes squeezed shut as heat floods your face. He’s studying you too intensely, for some reason it feels more intimate than his mouth being on you.

“Y-you’re so mean…!” But it’s weak, you’re barely able to take yourself seriously as Sylus chuckles. “Oh I know, I’m so mean. Sitting here complimenting your pretty cunt…”

Scent freaks

you got jealous of the hostess eye-fucking your boyfriend, so you made him pay for it with your stilettos ♡

cr: @/adeline_ns (IG/X)

CW: NSFW. Heels kink, semi-public sex, power bottom, cowgirl, creampie, possessive & jealous reader. Dom/sub undertones

Sylus was magnetic. The kind of man who commanded every room without even trying. Charismatic in a dangerous way, with that lazy, knowing smirk, those red cat-like eyes and a voice like velvet wrapped around a knife.

People didn’t just approach him, they were drawn to him. Some did it foolishly, lured by the thrill of his presence; others— mostly women—were pulled in by his raw, masculine aura.

Everyone in the room knew exactly what he was: the leader of Onychinus, a man who could ruin lives with a single word or a flick of his fingers. And, more importantly, everyone knew he was taken.

Everyone, except the whore of a hostess at the restaurant you were at now.

You were right by his side, clearly accompanying him, yet she flirted with him shamelessly. She leaned far too close over the polished counter, batting her lashes, her fingers lingering on his wrist when she grabbed his card. She was clearly enchanted by the infamous Sylus. He didn’t encourage it, but that signature smirk of his stayed in place, unreadable.

When you finally sat across from each other in the private booth, you ignored him completely. You stared pointedly at the menu, your jaw tight, but the words were a blur of meaningless ink. Your mind was still replaying the way that woman had looked at him like he was a prize to be won, ignoring the fact that you were by his side. It made your blood boil.

You gripped the menu at the thought.

“Kitten.”

You didn’t look up. You could feel his gaze on you—that heavy, all-knowing weight that always made your skin prickle.

“Sweetie, are you jealous?”

The audacity. You lowered the menu just enough to glare at him, letting all your irritation bleed into your expression. “No.”

Sylus leaned back against the leather booth, one arm draped lazily along the seat. He looked completely relaxed, entirely too entertained. “Let’s try again. Are you jealous of a hostess I didn’t even glance at twice?”

“She was practically hanging over the counter” you countered, your voice a sharp, low blade.

“And?”

And you let her, you thought, a surge of possessive fury overriding your restraint. You stood there like a king, enjoying the worship.

“And you…” You didn't finish the sentence. Instead, you dropped the menu entirely, leaning forward. Slowly, deliberately, you began to slide your heel up his thigh under the low table. The movement was teasing and measured, the sharp stiletto dragging along the expensive fabric of his trousers, feeling the hard, toned muscle beneath. “…didn’t say anything.”

His relaxed posture shifted instantly. His crimson eyes sharpened, turning dark and heavy with sudden interest. He didn’t pull away; he simply parted his legs a little wider, inviting you in, that dangerous smirk deepening with clear amusement and a flicker of growing arousal.

“Why would I waste—”

You didn’t let him finish. He was always so prone to lecturing, to trying to regain the upper hand with his smooth words. You dragged the heel back down with deliberate slowness, sliding it over the growing bulge in his trousers until the sharp point rested directly against his hardening cock. Then you pressed. Hard.

A low, ragged groan tore from Sylus’s throat. It wasn't the polished, composed sound he usually reserved for his subordinates; it was raw, unfiltered, and entirely yours. His crimson eyes flashed with a predatory hunger, the usual calm mask fracturing as his hips jerked forward, involuntarily chasing the sharp, punishing pressure of your heel.

“You’re really punishing me with the heels I bought you?” he rasped, a dark, breathless chuckle mixing with the words. “Naughty little thing… Look at you, all jealous and territorial.”

His large hand shot under the table instantly, fingers wrapping tightly around your ankle, anchoring your stiletto firmly against his throbbing length. He didn’t push you away. Instead, he ground up against it—slow, deliberate movements that let you feel every thick inch of him swelling and straining desperately against the expensive fabric.

“Harder, sweetie” he murmured “If you’re that mad about the hostess touching me, then punish me properly. Grind that pretty, expensive heel into my cock with all that jealousy.” He was rock-hard under your heel now, thick, heavy, and throbbing with every heartbeat. He was waiting for your next move, completely at your mercy, and he was clearly loving every second of the surrender.

But you suddenly stopped, yanking your ankle out of his grip.

The sudden shift in your demeanor caught him off guard—a flicker of genuine surprise finally pierced through his predatory mask. As you stood up, moving with a lethal grace, you didn't give him a second to recover. You slid into his side of the booth and straddled his lap.

He didn't protest as your fingers—deliberate and steady—reached for his belt. The heavy buckle clicked open with a sharp sound, followed by the slide of the zipper, exposing him to the cool air of the restaurant booth and the overwhelming heat radiating from you.

He looked up at you then, his crimson eyes dilated, burning with a mix of shock and dark hunger. He was a man accustomed to owning every situation, yet here he was—pinned, exposed, and entirely captivated by your next move.

You leaned down, your gaze locking with his, your voice dropping to a low, possessive murmur that seemed to vibrate against his skin. You guided him to your already slick entrance, one hand sliding your panties aside beneath the fabric of your crimson dress 

"You," you said, your voice dripping with an authority that matched his own as you lowered yourself, taking his tip inside you. He groaned as his cock twitched, thick and desperate for more. 

You kept your eyes fixed on his, your hands moving to cup his face, your palms pressing against his sharp jawline.

"Are," you continued, your voice breathless now as you began to settle, sinking further down, feeling his length fill you completely—an intoxicating fullness that made your head swim.

"Mine."

You sat down fully, the air driven from your lungs in a sharp, jagged exhale. Sylus let out a guttural, broken growl as his hands gripped your hips as if he were trying to imprint his touch onto your skin as you started moving on him, desperate and unrelenting.

"Look at you" he rasped, his hands digging into your waist to guide your rhythm. "So demanding when you finally decide to take what's yours."

You didn't answer, caught in the friction and the overwhelming heat of him. You accelerated, the sound of your skin slapping against his filling the small booth. The world narrowed down to the pressure, the slide, and the way he looked at you—worshipful and ruined. When the release finally crashed over you, pulling a sharp cry from your throat, he followed immediately. He groaned, a deep, earth-shaking sound that vibrated through your joined bodies, and he spilled into you, holding you anchored against him as he bucked upward.

As the aftershocks faded, you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, feeling the heavy, wet evidence of him dripping down your inner thighs. You quickly adjusted your underwear—trapping the slick warmth against you—and smoothed the dress back into place, sliding out of his lap to return to your seat.

Sylus let out a low, dark chuckle, his gaze heavy and possessive as he watched you fix your hair.

“Well, looks like my kitten decided to bare her claws” he rasped, that smug grin never leaving his face. “Feeling better now?”

You turned your head away with an exaggerated little “Hm.”

Sylus laughed, his eyes dark with lingering heat. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹⊹₊˚‧︵

Riding Sylus is a daunting task. Everything about him is large and impressive. His cock is no different.

“God…” You’ve barely sunk down an inch and you need a break, resting your head on his shoulder. He rubs your back soothingly, the heat of him making you near dizzy.

“You’re doing so good.” He praises you, his gaze soft as he studies your pinched expression. He doesn’t offer to take over just yet. You’d insisted on this after all.

“You…your cock is so big.” You murmur, moving to sink down a bit more. His grip on your waist tightens, his jaw clenched. Sylus won't admit it, but you're practically torturing him with this pace.

"You can take it sweetie. Such a good girl." The adoration in his voice makes you clench, finally sinking down on his length. You both moan in tandem, your nails digging into the muscle of his arms.

"Knew you could do it." He smirks, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips as you blink away the stars from your vision. He's so deep like this, so deep you can almost feel him in your throat.

Now you just need to move.

"C-could you help me a little?" You mumble the request, almost embarrassed. For once, Sylus doesn't tease you. Perhaps because he's just as desperate as you are.

The moment his hips jerk up into yours, you moan. He sets a steady pace, not fast or slow, just deep. Your eyes roll back as he pounds up into you. It's almost immediate, how quick your orgasm builds.

"S-Sylus oh my god!" You gasp, working your hips against his. You lean in to connect your lips to his, mostly to hold off from cumming so soon. It's a desperate, sloppy kiss, and it apparently has the opposite effect for Sylus.

"Fuck..." His head falls back, brows knit in pleasure as his cum fills you, spilling out and making an even bigger mess between your thighs. You slow your movements, eyes wide.