𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒐𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒆

𝑴𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏. 🪻 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒅.

[chao-sweetie]

Kindly read my Carrd below for disclaimers, and a bit about myself before adding me. 🤍

Chaosweetie.carrd.co

I’am available on X as ‘Chaosweetie’.

25+ | She/Her | DNI: 🔞, Fandom Police

My “Love And Deepspace” blog —

Crimson Soul ♥︎

✒️ Origin of Vedic cultures 🕉️

✒️ Understanding Devās and Asurās 🕉️

[snoozer-crow]

i wantttt sylus to stich up my wounds. or snap my dislocated limb back in. or set my broken bone. i want him to hurt me and comfort me through it. give me something to bite down on and tell me to lean into him while he works, because he doesn't have any available anesthetic. wipe my tears and hold me tight and praise me after it's all over. rub my back until i fall asleep. type shit

[deepspacenova]

Your dry lips split open on a deep moan of anguish, a hitching sob forcing its way out as Sylus finishes flushing out the wound at your side.

"Shhh, I've got you." The heat of his breath stirs the hair at your temple, the gentle press of his lips contrasting the rough movements of his blood-soaked fingers at your waist. "You're doing so well, kitten."

You whimper and pant as he continues to prod at the tear in your skin. Your aching fingers grip at the forearms encasing your abdomen, doing your best to keep from squirming while he digs the bullet out.

"Those pretty little claws." He laughs through a hiss, reaching for your hands and dragging them to his thighs below yours. "There. Dig them in- yes, just like that. Don't be shy, I can take it."

His murmurs trail off as he resumes the task of hurting you and healing you in equal measure. You resume yours, bracing and bleeding each time your skin sears at his touch. Biting down on your noises to help him concentrate.

You draw out a groan, a clenched jaw away from a growl, when piercing pain suddenly fissures through your muscles like broken glass, freeing a stream of liquid from each eye. Looking down, you barely catch the blurry wink of gold-tinted metal before a sticky hand grasps your chin, a tongue wipes your cheek, and your wet face is forced into Sylus' neck.

"None of that, now," he chides softly. "None of that, my little fighter. Everything's under control, trust me."

You open your mouth to gasp out something sarcastic, something about trusting a man that can't even be killed by a bullet, when he cuts you off with a command, something that sounds a lot like "bite down."

You do, even if you were mistaken, if he hadn't said those words, you wouldn't have been able to stop yourself from sinking your teeth into the salty satin of his neck when the rhythmic puncture of sutures overwhelms you with a new wave of shivering agony.

Your jaw clenches and the metallic taste of blood blooms on your tongue as your ravaged skin tightens and closes, prompting another hiss and chuckle from Sylus. "Claws and teeth, hm? Fair's fair, sweetie. I've gotten more than my fair share of your blood, haven't I?"

He ties the last one off and flushes away the blood to examine his handiwork, continuing his praise and reassurance all the while.

"Shhh, breathe with me, kitten." The rumble of his voice and the rise of his chest hums through your back, soothing your frantic heartbeat like a lullaby as you mimic him with a shaky inhale of your own. "That's it. Now out-" a press of his lips against your forehead punctuates your exhale "-beautiful. Perfect. You're perfect. You did so well."

You’re horribly aware of the drying sweat and blood on your skin, the mud caking your clothes, the tears tracking hot and quiet down your cheeks. But it’s the steady drum of his heart pounding into your back, the metallic taste of survival in your mouth, that makes you feel less like something broken and more like something reforged by him.

[deepspacenova]

sweetie

"Where do you think you're going, kitten?"

A tug on your belt loop brings you to a stop right before the threshold of the no-hunt zone. You turn, coming face to face with sharp, scarlet eyes and a raised silver brow.

"Uh, to finish this mission?" you remind him, muting the beep of your Hunter's Watch. "That you promised I'd get done on time," you add, aiming a pointed glance at the muscular arm still restraining you.

"I did," Sylus concedes with a guiltless smirk, "And you will. But while we're on the topic of promises, what was it you promised me again?"

"Sylus, they're loaded." You don't even bother sighing anymore as you let him pull you back into the shadows and take one of your guns from its holster. "I checked before we even left the base."

"I know, I trust you, sweetie." He starts examining it anyway, taking his time with the chamber, the safety, the charge. "But you have me here, so why not use me, hm?"

You've understood since you told him the news why he needs to do this, why he needs something to take charge of. It's why you promised him you'd be extra careful in combat, why you promised you'd let him take the measures he needs to ensure your safety.

But as you spot the movement of your targets through the chain link fence that marks the barrier of the no-hunt zone, you can't help but start tapping your palm against your thigh in impatience when he takes his time looking over your other gun, checking your weapons for a second time that night.

At first, it was fun having him join you on your missions again. It's been a long time since you've had the chance to work together, and you almost forgot how much you enjoyed hearing his dry commentary in your comms channel, feeling his steady presence behind you during confrontations, seeing the way he moves and supports you during combat.

Now, though? You aren't sure you can take five more months of reminders, warnings, weapon checks, and Mephisto tailing you to work.

A work you might not even have much longer if you keep completing your missions late. Last week, it was delayed because Sylus wanted to double-check your (perfectly reliable) intel with his "sources." The week before that, you had to take sick leave because he wouldn't let you get out of bed after your first battle with morning sickness.

"Sylus," you bite out, watching the wanderers edge closer to vanishing out of your sight. "They're getting away."

He scoffs, unconcerned. "As if we can't catch them."

"We won't have to go catch them if we hurry up!" You snatch the weapon from his hand and reholster it yourself before stepping around him, only to run into an outstretched arm that sweeps you in front of him once again.

This time, you do sigh. Loudly. Sylus' mouth quirks as his hands start to examine your Hunter's uniform.

"Everything is fine, Sylus," you add softly, tone sincere. "You need to have at least some faith here."

"I do have faith," he drawls, tugging at the ties of your utility belt, tightening the straps along your sides, lingering over the plate covering your abdomen. He locks eyes with you, the seriousness of his gaze contrasting with the crooked grin digging into his cheek. "In myself."

You gather a breath, opening your mouth to tell him that isn't what you meant, when a distant roar rolls through the field, stealing your attention and springing you back into action, urgency coursing back through you.

"Let's go." You grab his hand and tug, raising a brow at the man who can practically teleport, moving like molasses behind you until he brings you both to a standstill at the entrance. "Sylus. They're getting away, what now?" you groan to the sky.

"Sweetie, did you check the-"

"Yes, I'm sure I did."

"Well, what about the-"

"Yes. I'm sure you did."

"I'm being serious, sweetie, what if your-"

Another roar echoes around you, further this time, and your patience finally snaps.

Ripping your hand out of his, you rise to your toes, take the edges of his tense jaw between your hands, and blurt out, "Sweetie, I'll be fine."

Both of you pause as you realize what you said. For half a second, panic flares in your chest as his jaw slackens in your palms, afraid he's thinking you're mocking him, that you're trivializing his concerns, ignoring his fears.

But then the dim light of the street lamps catches the shades of pink blooming along his cheekbones. The way his eyelids lower, flickering to your mouth and back up again. One of his hands coming up to cup yours against his cheek.

Oh.

You do as your husband taught you and press your advantage against your opponent, capturing his lips with yours in a slow, reassuring kiss. You pull back slowly to place his palm over your abdomen and murmur, "We'll be fine. Okay?"

Not wanting to give your overbearing guardian any more time to recover or delay you, you break away and start jogging toward the distant roar of wanderers, calling out jokingly, "I thought you said we can catch them!"

"Hm." He shakes his head with a fond smile. "Guess who else I can catch?"

And with one step forward Sylus vanishes, a haze of black-red mist the only trace of the man ready to protect the two most important things in his world.

➻➻ MORE SYLUS FICS

➻➻ MASTERLIST/TAGLIST

TAGLIST | @mythblossoms @cutiepips @starmocha @lunarify @heartyluv @applecaviar @souliloqui @cateleya21 @pomegranatesnapples @kingraspberry12-blog @thatweirdomidas @tboy-sylus @wetforsylus

[deepspacenova]

BEAUTY VERSUS BEAST

1000 words. Banter. Tension. Hurt/comfort. AU (not as much anymore, I guess).

Note: Had this ready to go and then our actual beast Sylus was announced so let’s just roll with it xx

"Ow. That hurts," he bites out, the lines of his forearms tensing against the pressure of your palm.

Rolling your eyes, you dips the blood-soaked cloth in water and wrings it out before gliding it over the same spot.

“Stop, I said that hurts.” Sylus snarls, yanking his arm from your grasp.

“Well maybe if you’d stop jerking your arm around it wouldn’t hurt so much,” you fire back.

Swiping your hair from your eyes, you ignore his warning growl, grabbing his arm back and holding it toward the icy white light filtering through the velvet curtains.

“You should’ve listened when I said not to go in there.” He repeats, the words grating like stones against each other. But there's something... softer beneath them.

As if you hadn’t heard him the first three times. You snap, “Well maybe you should’ve listened to me, instead of unleashing your damn temper.”

You’re locked in a silent battle, anger and confusion and... gratitude swirling together like the snowflakes outside. You still can’t believe he’d saved you like that — so viciously, so single-mindedly.

“But, um—“ you trail off. You look down, blowing another piece of hair from your face as you press the cloth down once again.

There’s a sudden warmth against your cheek, brushing the offending strand from your face and tucking it away behind your ear. The care of the motion entirely at odds with the sharpness of his tone moments ago.

The shell of your ear is traced by what could only be the heated pad of a finger for just a heartbeat longer than necessary before it vanishes, leaving cool air in its absence.

You look up, eyes wide just as Sylus snatches his hand back. A faint pink tint deepens on his cheeks and he clears his throat.

“Thank you. For saving me.”

“Don’t mention it, kitten.”

Your lips part, a retort forming, but the words catch in your throat. The nickname lingers between them, heavy and electric, sending a flush crawling up your neck. You should roll your eyes again but instead, you find herself holding his gaze.

“I really wish you’d stop calling me that,” you mutter, your beating heart pounding away the biting tone you’d intended.

His lips tip up, eyes flicking to the heat you can feel spreading across your cheeks. “Why’s that?”

“Because it’s ridiculous,” you sigh, focusing back on the wound, though your hand hesitates mid-movement. “I’m not some- some pet, Sylus.”

“No, you’re not a pet.” He lowers down, the sudden proximity capturing your next inhale. He'd been sitting in his chair, elbow resting on the arm for your ministrations, but now his forearms are on his knees, and the faint scent of leather and smoke cloud your senses. “But you’re fierce. And you’re beautiful. And you’re… mine.”

Your hand stills completely, the cloth slipping from your fingers and into the bowl with a soft plop. You look up at him, your heart thundering against your ribs. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I?” he asked, his expression softening. He reaches out again, more confident this time, his knuckle brushing your cheek. “You don’t see it, do you? The way you throw yourself into danger without thinking."

His knuckle traces the curve of your jaw. "The fire in your eyes when you’re yelling at me."

"The way you make me feel like I’d burn the world down to keep you safe.” The knuckle comes to rest below your bottom lip.

“Sylus…” your words get lost in the breath, leaving your lungs in a shaky exhale.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he reassures, your pulse thundering in your ears as his words wrap around her, thick and heavy. His gaze dips to your lips. “But if you want me to stop, you’d better do something about it now.”

You swallow hard, the air between you thick and meaningful and loud in the absence of your words.

His hand slides to the back of your neck with a firm, almost possessive grip. His thumb brushes against your skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “Good."

Before you could reply — or protest, though you aren't sure you want to — he closes the distance, the space between you vanishing with a tension that feels like the air before a lightning strike.

The kiss isn’t soft or tentative; it's raw, consuming. A declaration as much as it's an action. His mouth claims yours with a fervor that leaves no room for doubt, his hand fisting in your hair to hold you exactly where he wants you. The warmth of his body radiates against yours, his uninjured arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you up onto the chair, erasing what little space had remained.

You gasp against his mouth and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss with an urgency that matches yours. His teeth graze your bottom lip, a teasing nip that makes your muscles loosen and you have to lace your fingers into his hair to restrain yourself, to make yourself remember he's hurt.

“Mine,” he breathes against your lips, his voice a husky growl.

Your mind spins, your heart racing as you try to push back the swirl of emotions overwhelming her. But when your hands grip his shoulders, instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer, matching his intensity with a fierceness of your own.

For a moment, nothing else exists — just the warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips, and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you aren't as alone as you thought.

[deepspacenova]

between the strokes of midnight

it starts out with you doing your best to pull sylus out of his cynicism at a new year's eve party. it ends with you succeeding.

➻➻ ABOUT | 1500 words. sylus x gn!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | new year's eve. flirting. banter. fluff. first kiss.

NOTE: Just a little something while I get in my feels about how thankful I am for this little corner of the internet. Wishing everyone a peaceful and happy year ahead xx

"One hour 'til the countdown starts!"

Sylus rolls his eyes at the cheers and squeals that erupt through the room when the arbitrary announcement reverberates its way through the balloons and decorations that swath the hotel lobby. As if there isn't a device capable of tracking the passage of time in every pocket of the increasingly stifling room.

“Oh don't be such a grump. Even you must find some redeeming qualities about New Year's Eve."

The melody of that voice is an invisible string, trailing its softness along the shell of his ear before it tugs up the corners of his downturned lips. "Hm," he considers. "I guess it does end with explosions."

He turns to face you right as you stumble into him, the scent of the warm spice clinging to your hair curling around him when he frowns in the direction of the passerby who'd bumped their weight into yours. Pressing his palms into the back of your bare arms, he pulls you both back a few steps until you're closer to the wall and further from the chaos.

He watches laughter flicker through your eyes before he hears your soft giggle. "You know what I mean! The allure of it, the romance." Sylus raises his brow in amused confusion, eliciting an admonishing huff from your lips. "Don't tell me you've never taken advantage of telling some nameless beauty that she'll be the 'first thing on your to-do list' in the new year."

The incredulous sound that slips from his mouth is somewhere between a scoff and a guffaw. "Was that an insult, kitten? You think my romancing skills are so banal and cliché?"

"No, the opposite actually." Your face comes closer to his when you shift your weight to your toes and a small ember breathes to life where your palm connects with his chest. "It just seems like you'd have the perfect formula to make sure you ring in the new year with... a bang. And yet, you're avoiding the question," you tease, a gleam of mischief bounces off the apple of your cheek.

“I didn’t hear a question,” he replies. A shadow appears behind you and Sylus pauses to glare daggers at a vaguely familiar Hunter hesitantly approaching you from behind. By the time you turn around to see what has him distracted, your hopeful colleague is long gone.

When you turn back to face him, the sequined, silver ‘Happy New Year’ headband that crowns your updo bounces with the movement. “You’re telling me you’ve never kissed someone at midnight on New Year's Eve?”

Sylus hopes his casual shrug distracts you from the way his weight shifts from one leg to the other. “You know how I am about my investments, sweetie. And tying my luck to someone whose name I don't know for a whole year doesn't sound like a good one.”

The distant sound of his name seems to distort around the edges when he watches your bottom lip disappear behind your front teeth and your head shake. "Luck? You're the least superstitious businessman in the whole city. You literally only came here with me because you're trying to strike a deal. Try again."

His fingernail scratches at a piece of lint in the pocket of his charcoal trousers. And maybe it's the gold color of your dress that unexpectedly matches his tie. Maybe it's the two glasses of gin fizz already sending bubbles of air through his body. Or maybe the way you keep getting closer to him is interfering with the amount of oxygen making it to his brain. But the next words that stagger out of his mouth come a bit closer to the truth than he means them to.

"I just haven't liked anyone enough to make a commitment like that," he drawled. "Happy now, sweetie?"

Sylus thinks he sees surprise soften your eyes but when you open your mouth to respond, his name is called — this time clear and insistent and right behind him.

When his business for the night is finally concluded, you've melted into the crowd. No longer in the spot he left you.

You take another sip from your flute, watching the champagne swirl around like liquid starlight. The cityscape is on display before you, the windows from the buildings reflecting the fractured patterns of light that dance around you as impatient revelers set off bursts of fireworks a few minutes before the city's are meant to debut.

And though the balcony you stand on is largely empty — too cold to be hospitable for most — it still feels enchanting, as if nothing can siphon the magic from the space. 

"Had a feeling you'd be out here."

You startle as the rasp of Sylus' voice rouses you from your reverie, your hand flying to your chest to keep your heart from fluttering away. Smiling at him briefly, you turn your attention back to the performance of color around you.

"Didn't you hear our fiftieth reminder of the night?" he quips dryly. "Five minutes until the countdown."

Your brow lifts slightly. "I did. But I'm surprised you came out here to tell me, Mr. Cynical."

The snowflakes dust his face like kisses of frost, standing out against the dark fabric of his suit while melting into the strands of his silvery hair. When his body is close enough to heat the air around you and he leans an elbow against the railing, he sighs.

"Maybe I just need someone to explain it to me." He gestures to the city in front of them. "The 'allure' of this night, as you put it. The... romance." He leans toward you and watches your face intently, like your answer holds its own gravitational pull.

Seeing his sincerity, that he isn’t being sarcastic or facetious, you stare out at the skyline and start slowly. Drawing out your words as if speaking too quickly might break the spell. "It's not just the night itself. It's... the feeling. Time seems to, to hold its breath for a moment. There's this magic in the air and the world feels... softer somehow. That's the romance."

As you finish your thought, you shift your focus from the view in front of you back to him and you're struck simultaneously by the intent yet inscrutable expression on his face, as well as how striking and dear that face is.

You wait for him to break the strand of lightning that crackles between you, but he doesn't. He just stands there gliding his garnet gaze over your cheeks, your lips, your shoulders. Like a thread of silk, tangling your ribs and heart and lungs into knots until it's almost too hard for you to breathe.

"And there's this anticipation," you say, giving into the dizzying feeling. "Waiting for the stroke of midnight like it's a portal to something new. A chance to start something. It’s the belief that anything can happen." Your words trip over the gasp of air he steals. "And maybe it will."

You jerk in surprise when a shrill Ten!... Nine!... Eight!... Seven! buzzes its way across the balcony.

Never taking his eyes off you, Sylus takes a slow, deliberate step closer. "A chance to start something...” he considers, his voice low and velvety, the gin fizz on his breath painting the skin of your cheeks pink.

Six!... Five!... Four!

You frown in confusion when he reaches out and plucks the flute out of your hand, carelessly disposing of the glass on the railing behind him. His gaze drops to your lips, a flicker of hunger in his eyes.

"Three!… Two!… One!… Happy New Year!"

He surges forward and catches your lips in his. Your pulse quickens, the world outside blurring into a backdrop of lights and fireworks. Each explosion and pop harmonizes with the fizzing heat that's crackling through you every time he lets your lips go and recaptures them at a new angle.

You don't remember how the strands of his hair slither their way between your fingers, or how the softness of your thigh comes to hug the hard ridge of his hip, or how the inside of his forearm becomes a band that slots you so tightly into him, you can feel his shirt buttons branding your chest, your diaphragm, your navel.

All you know is the intoxicating taste of his tongue. The vibration of his groan.

All you know is the rhythmic sound of your panting. The heat of his fingers and then his mouth stamping their prints into your cheek and jaw.

All you know is that the strokes of midnight seem to suspend you both in that moment in time.

➻➻ MASTERLIST

[deepspacenova]

for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you

sylus invites you to a valentine's-themed event in Linkon City to help him acquire a a piece of jewelry he'd been eyeing... or does he?

➻➻ ABOUT | 2100 words. sylus x gn!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | mutual pining. daydreaming. valentine's day. inspired by hozier lyrics.

NOTE: Happy Valentine's Day from my corner of the world! xx This one's dedicated to my kindred spirit and fellow lover of hozier, mutual pining, and good ol', sick-to-your-stomach yearning @mythblossoms <333

The heart of Linkon City beat like a hummingbird’s wings, a light but invisible force that made the air feel like a kiss against your skin instead of a bite. Made the bustle of the city sound melodic rather than cacophonous. 

Funny, how one day in February could be a pair of rose-colored glasses — slipped on by even the most cynical, turning their surroundings soft and sweet, if only for a day.

You stepped out of the elevator, still debating why you’d agreed to this in the first place. 

Or, more accurately, why you hadn’t found a way to decline before Sylus effortlessly maneuvered you into being his date for tonight. 

The invitation had come in typical Sylus-fashion — a late-night call, his tone coy and coaxing as he relayed only the vaguest of details. He’d been hunting a rare piece of jewelry, his chance to acquire it would be at a Valentine’s Day event in Linkon City that required a plus-one. You were coming with him.

“And you can’t invite someone else because…?”

“You’re the only person I trust to have my back in Linkon, kitten.”

Matter-of-fact. Little fanfare. And yet…

“And… I wanted to see you in the dress I bought you — the one you still haven’t worn?”

And yet every ‘request’ of his was coated in a helpless, almost longing undertone. It dripped with yearning and tasted like honey. 

And you, in turn, became helpless too.

Now, hands hidden within the pockets of his trousers as he stood near the event’s entrance — a rooftop greenhouse decorated in a garden of pink and red — you proved yourself to be the worst person to have Sylus’ back, unable to tear your focus away from him long enough to notice anything else around you.

Despite being possibly the biggest outsider in the room he carried himself like a man who belonged, like a man who owned the room. And as his eyes trailed from your black-heeled feet to your pink-tinted cheeks like two ruby spotlights, he straightened, stepped forward, and wrapped your hand around his bicep like you were the person who owned him. 

“I was starting to think you’d stand me up.” His voice was low and warm and just a little teasing. 

"And throw you to all these bloodthirsty wolves?" You gestured at the mellow cocktail party in front of you and arched a brow. “The way you made it sound, if I didn’t show up, they’d be scraping you off the dance floor by midnight.”

He quirked those deliciously full, infuriatingly symmetrical lips. “It’s a good thing I have a beautiful and fierce date here to keep me in one piece.” His gaze dragged over you once more, slower this time. And though nothing outwardly changed about his expression, his voice infused more warmth into your cheeks when he murmured, “I knew it’d suit you.”

You fought against the pull of yourself, cleared your throat as every drop of you ached to surge toward its moon, toward him, and entered the room with as much poise and aloof confidence as you could pull together. 

The flowers surrounding them were bathed in the light of candelabra stationed around the room. The air was thick with the tang of their perfume and the sharp din of a room full of business-minded guests. These weren’t just wealthy socialites; these were people who knew the game — dealers, informants, fencers, smugglers. 

And they were all watching Sylus.

He’d played with this crowd long enough to know exactly how to charm, how to influence, how to make people feel like they were the most important person in the room while revealing nothing of himself. 

To them, he was an enigma—a man with resources and influence, yet no verifiable past. They would’ve loved nothing more than to pick him apart. Which meant that any crack in his carefully crafted exterior of ruthless corporate tycoon would draw their attention like blood in water.

He knew how to keep himself possessive but detached. Light touches at the small of a back, gaze wandering when he passed over a glass of wine, no part of his attention ever lingering too long.

But you were more than a crack. 

You were a fracture, an earthquake that threatened to shake him, split his chest open, and reveal the fragile, fluttering thing inside of him to the whole room with one glance. One blush. One breath. 

Because tonight, you weren’t just a fixture by his side. You were something else entirely. The only scent in his nose, the only sound in his ears, the only sight in his dress. 

He should have been focused on the man in front of him, the one he was here to meet, the one whose words he was supposed to be committing to memory. 

Instead, his mind spiraled away from him, caught in a tailwind of hallucination. 

One that captured the details of your rising and falling chest, your bitten lips, your shifting stance. Coalescing them into the feel of your hand is his when he’d lead you around the corner, away from prying eyes. When he’d feel the heat of your body flush against his own, your fingers branding the nape of his neck, the center of his chest, the waistband of his trousers. 

When he’d taste your lips, your wine-tinged breath, the petal-soft skin of your neck beneath his lips. When he’d swallow your gasps and moans with panted, open-mouthed kisses. 

When he’d press you into the low garden wall, hoard you in the corner to himself. Not like an object or possession, not you were something. But like you were everything. 

Would you want that? Would you let him?

The man across from you both was still talking. 

Sylus clenched his jaw, tried to redirect his focus. Forced himself to nod at something and offer a well-placed hum of interest. 

But the words blurred as you pulled his attention taut like a rope, fraying it at the edges. 

And Sylus wasn't sure he could keep it from unraveling completely.

The evening continued to pass in a blur of wine, small talk, and stolen glances. Sylus played his part perfectly, charming everyone he spoke to and keeping the attention firmly on himself. 

But every now and then, you’d catch him looking at you, his eyes dark and unreadable, and you’d feel that same pull between you, the one that made it so hard to remember why this was such a bad idea. That you were a resident of Linkon City, not some anonymous figure who could disappear into the crowd if things went sideways. 

If anyone from Linkon recognized you here, if they saw you with him—

Sylus leaned down, breath ghosting over your ear as the owner of Sylus’ mysterious piece of jewelry lead them to another group of tuxes. "Relax, kitten."

"You brought me here, remember?" you said under your breath. "If I get recognized, that's your problem."

"Hm." Sylus seemed to consider what you thought were very valid concerns, until he said, “It's a good thing you’re the only problem I don’t mind having.”

Though he kept his gaze forward, his lips quirked in expectation. Like he was trying to burn the paper-thin wall between you into wisps of smoke.

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. You were already standing too close, already betraying yourself too much. In the way you had to keep forcing yourself to stop glancing at his face. In the way your palm kept tightening around his bicep. In the way your other palm itched to grasp his, which swayed gently between your bodies. 

"You keep looking at me like that," he murmured, his voice a smooth, knowing drawl, "and I’m going to start thinking you enjoy spending time with me.”

Your amused scoff does nothing to banish the hot and fluttery thing that unfurls in your stomach. ”I’m looking at you like that because I’m wondering how much trouble you’re going to get me into."

His voice was all sand and gravel. “If I wanted you in trouble, sweetie, we’d be moving away from this crowd not closer to it.”

It was dangerous, how easy this was. How he always knew exactly what to say to keep the sound of your heartbeat echoing in your ears and make the rest of the world fade into the background.

"Besides there's nothing to worry about," Sylus continued, dipping his head just slightly, his breath warm against your temple. "No one here is paying attention to you."

You arched a brow, refusing to let him be the one to make you break character as the tuxes morph into men with voices and bodies and faces. "Except for you."

Again, no change in Sylus’ expression, but his final murmur before he greeted the new group was smug and wolfish. "You say that like I could help myself."

The conversation around you drifted in and out of your focus. A blend of polite pleasantries and measured negotiations that you only half-listened to, which, you supposed you should’ve been grateful for since it only strengthened your role as arm trophy. 

Logically, you knew there were eyes on him—some curious, some wary, some openly hostile. Not everyone in this room admired Sylus. Some feared him. Some wanted him gone.

And yet. Despite knowing that keeping your distance kept you both safe, your thoughts grew increasingly more dangerous as you succumbed to the consequences of him. 

You imagined Sylus’ hands in your hair, cupping your face and easing your legs around his waist. His voice a low murmur, you have no idea what you do to me, kitten. 

You could almost see his shirt hastily unbuttoned and feel fabric bunched at your hips by rough, dominant fingers. You could almost feel his skin against your own, just as flushed, just as feverish.

His lips would descend upon yours, hot and insistent. Your eager fingers clutched at his nape, tracing the broad plains of his shoulders. Your chest could almost feel the expanse of Sylus’ chest pressed against yours until— 

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms, desperately trying to detach yourself from the daydream. You had to push it down, lock it away, keep yourself in check. Because if you didn’t—

You might do something reckless.

Like, close the space between you. Let yourself forget what he was, what you were, and what it would mean to want him.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you forced yourself to look away, to breathe. The heat in your skin, the ache in your gut — it was just the atmosphere, just the act.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

And yet, as Sylus turned his head slightly, his gaze catching yours with something dark and knowing, you had a feeling he wasn’t fooled in the slightest.

The crisp night air did little to cool the heat still thrumming beneath your skin as Sylus led you outside. The sounds of laughter and clinking glasses faded behind you, replaced by the quiet hum of the city. A sleek black car idled at the curb, its glossy surface reflecting the glow of streetlights.

Sylus walked you to the back door and opened it, one hand resting on the door, the other slipping into his pocket. 

“See? No troublemaking needed,” he murmured, his tone light, almost teasing. “We make a good pair.”

Before you could respond, something cool brushed against your skin. A whisper of metal sliding around your neck, the weight of it settling just above your collarbone. Instinctively, your fingers lifted to touch it—a delicate chain, smooth and fine, and at its center, a pendant that felt solid against your fingertips.

You look up at Sylus, brows knitting in question, but he only watched you with that same unreadable intensity he had all night.

“What is this?” you asked.

He reached out, his fingers brushing over yours where they rested against the pendant. “A gift,” he said simply. “I… hear you’re supposed to ask when you want someone to be yours on Valentine's Day.”

“You…” you exhaled in disbelief. “You planned this?” 

“Silly questions don’t deserve answers, kitten.” His smile was all wicked amusement.

Something fluttered in your chest—part irritation, part something much more dangerous. “So, you didn’t actually need me to get this.” You gestured to the necklace, fingers still resting lightly against the pendant.

“No, that sale was made last week. Tonight was just a hand-off.” Sylus leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted over your cheeks, his voice dipping into something nearly tender. “Like I said, I just wanted you to be mine tonight.”

A half-hysterical laugh bubbles up from your throat. “What if I’d said no? That I don’t belong to anyone?”

"It's alright," Sylus shrugged as if he’d already taken that into consideration, stepping back with one last squeeze of your waist.

“Wouldn't change the fact that I’m already yours."

➻➻ MASTERLIST

[deepspacenova]

a soul cast in shadow

small moments with you that make Sylus realize that maybe the distance between his life with you in Philos and his life with you now aren't as far apart as they seem.

read on ao3

➻➻ ABOUT | 2000 words. sylus x gn!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | light angst. banter. hurt/comfort. modern day. references to Sylus' myth.

NOTE: A small and self-indulgent little thing inspired by this ask. It's also Sylus Month™ and I'm finding that dragon!sylus is plaguing my mind a little more than usual.

Sylus had long since accepted his new reality. The absence of horns and tail, the vulnerability of his missing scales and wings, the dullness of human nails in the places his claws should’ve grown. Gone were the days of flight and fire and fight, towering over civilization and reveling in raw power in his truest form. 

In their place stood the burden of fitting the jagged contours of a dragon’s heart and torn soul into a fragile layer of human flesh.

He’d gotten used to it over time, of course. The phantom traces of those limbs were like smoke after a fire, diluted by air and time until he could inhale with almost no trace of his past self tainting his breath. 

And while he was now indistinguishable from mortals on the surface, could now walk among the sheep in their own clothing, there were a few moments when he couldn’t help but let the past waft through his senses — the clattering sound of bullet shells that reminded him of counting gold, the bitter scent of fear that tempted the predator inside to chase, the feeling of phantom heat curling in his lungs when emotions flared. 

And then there was the sight of you. 

The one who’d once been his treasure and his heart all at once. 

With you the past was a wildfire, a smoke so all-consuming and dense in his lungs that it was almost impossible to concentrate on anything but the past. 

On the way your eyes used to melt around him like sunshine, the way your hands used to gently lay flowers on his horns, the way your lips stamped kisses into his scales. It was bigger than him, this feeling. So tangible, that the thought of you not feeling it across lifetimes never even crossed his mind. 

Maybe he’d been a fool to believe that what you had could transcend time. That what you shared could ever be forgotten. 

But as he ducked his head into your bedroom and took it in for the first time, that foolishness seemed to dissipate before him. 

There was a bookshelf by your bed, acting as more of a display stand for well-worn fantasy novels than book storage. Each cover was beautifully bound, embossed with horned beasts, wings spread in majestic flight. 

Artwork adorned the wall around your desk, displaying dragons of all kinds — fire-breathing beasts, silhouettes flying serenely in the moonlight, oversized reptilian bodies curled protectively around sleeping maidens.

Small figurines of dragons crafted in ceramic, glass, and metal were scattered across surfaces like small sentinels guarding your domain. 

You were surrounded by dragons.

“What are you staring at?” you asked, your voice cutting through his thoughts.

His eyes darted over to you, watching as you tucked your boots into your closet and hung your bag over your desk chair. Loose strands of hair framed your face, damp with the rain drops you got caught in a few minutes ago.

“Your obsession, kitten.” He gestured to a figurine of an onyx-scaled dragon by your door. “Don't you think it's a bit... pervasive?”

You grinned, making your over to him and adjusting it. “I'm not obsessed, I'm fascinated. Dragons are powerful and majestic and protective of what’s theirs. What’s not to like?”

Sylus’ exhale sounded more unsteady to his ears than he was comfortable with. He shook his head in response. “It’s just that most people would stop at a book or two. A statue. You, however…” He glanced around, eyebrows raised, “This is something else entirely.”

Tilting your head, you look up at him with a teasing glint in your eye. “Well that’s rich coming from a man who collects jewels and weapons and displays them in literally any free space he has.” 

Sylus chooses to ignore that, cocking a brow in a wordless question instead.

You ran a hand along the spine of the onyx-scaled dragon between you. Sylus ignored the phantom shiver down his own spine as you continued, “It’s just… always been like this for me. I drew them all the time when I lived with Gran. I even had dreams about dragons. I couldn’t remember anything when I woke up, but it felt so… real when I was asleep.” 

His mind raced with the impossibility of this. Of how, even without knowing, you’d still found a way to remember something about the connection you had with him. Still managed to find the piece of him he gave to you.

You’d surrounded yourself with a synthetic imitation of those memories and yet, you were entirely unaware that you were standing before the only dragon that you’d ever truly owned. 

It was after a long mission that Sylus found himself tending to your wounds. 

He knew it had been a good call to invite himself along when you’d mentioned it was on the outskirts of the N109 zone, no matter how many times you’d protested otherwise. Your missions were becoming more frequent, he’d noticed. The Wanderers more aggressive. Tonight had been no exception. 

And while his wounds and scrapes had mostly healed themselves, yours were still bleeding by the time you both made it back to the safety of your flat.

Uninterested in craning his neck while he tended to you — or in verbally sparring with your protests — he closed his fingers over each side of your waist, lifted you onto the corner of the bathroom counter, and turned you to face the wall, opening the gash on the back of your shoulder to his view.

“Sit still,” he muttered, dabbing a wet cloth over the torn skin.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, hissing at the scrape of contact.

“You’re still bleeding, sweetie,” he shot back, unimpressed but unsurprised. “That’s the opposite of fine.”

You grumbled something under your breath but let him work. He couldn’t help but study the way your muscles flexed under your skin, a tapestry of tendons and sinew that weaved together to move you through the world delicately, gracefully.

A complete contrast to the way Sylus moved through the world. He plowed through it, direct and forceful, conquering anything that didn’t move out of his way in time.

You were flesh and bone, more fragile than most, yet full of fire. Sylus was a creature of violence, fierce and unyielding. And yet here, with you, he was something pliant, something… softer.

With you he felt a need to shield, to hold close, to be the one to move you out of the way. And with every pass of his fingers, he realized he would conquer the world itself if it meant preserving you from harm. 

It wasn’t until he reached into your cabinet for the bandages that he saw it. An inked dragon flying across the middle of your back, tucked under the sheet of your hair and normally hidden beneath your clothes. 

His hand, which had paused mid-air, tightened around the bandages he held as he took it in. 

Its wings were extended, its tail coiling down the knobs of your spine. The details were intricate, painstakingly precise, as if the artist had been given detailed instructions on the way you wanted to memorialize this particular beast. 

But it was the shape, the tilt of the horns and the familiar pattern of the scales that zapped a bolt of something through him. Something sharp and aching. Something like… homesickness.

Noticing his lack of movement, you craned your neck and teased, “Everything okay back there?”

Sylus forced his limbs to move again. Though he swore he could feel blood surging through his veins slightly quicker than it had a moment ago, within one blink, his expression returned to its usual casual stoicism. 

“Just admiring the view, kitten,” he drawled. He leaned in, so close that his nose nearly brushed against yours, your breath warm against his lips. The slight lowering of your lids told him he’d succeeded — you’d forgotten his brief hesitation.

“Now, sit still,” he murmured, nudging your chin with his finger until you faced the wall again. “And don’t make me say it a third time.”

The sight of the tattoo had struck him harder than he expected, a visceral reminder of the past you had shared. You had no memory of it, of him, but some part of your soul had clung to the essence of that lifetime. This tattoo was proof.

As he resumed tending to your wound, you remained still, breathing even despite the sting of antiseptic in the air. All the while the dragon on your skin seemed to watch him, its eyes eerily alive in the dim light.

“Nice ink,” he said casually, finally breaking the silence.

You smiled faintly. “He’s beautiful isn’t he? I got it done a few years ago. Remember those dreams? This dragon was always there like I’d… seen him before? Figured if he wasn’t going to stop haunting me, I might as well keep him close.”

Sylus swallowed down the words forming in his mouth and made his focus narrow to the simple ministrations of tending to you. Wiping away the last of the antiseptic. Gently pinching the torn flesh together, securing it with a butterfly bandage. Placing a bigger bandage over your shoulder blade. Savoring your breath hitching when his fingers grazed the sensitive skin of your side.

He could say nothing—what would be the point? It wasn’t his place to force memories upon you that you no longer held. Telling you the truth would only confuse you, or worse, push you away. And after all this time, after everything, losing you again was not something he was willing to risk.

So he simply said, “It suits you.”

You huffed a surprised laugh. “It does?”

He’d already come close once when he’d first found you again. Before he realized that not only did you not remember him, you didn’t remember yourself.

“Hm.” A small twitch of his lips. “You’ve got a lot in common. Stubborn. Dangerous. A tendency to leave a trail of destruction in your wake…”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “If anything, I clean up your destruction.”

He’d searched for you across lifetimes, certain that when he found you, you would look at him and know. That something in your mind would stir, that your heart would recognize his, that the piece of his soul within yours would call out to you. 

But when your eyes first met his in this lifetime, there had been no flicker of recognition, no echo of the bond that had once tethered you together. You didn’t look at him like his sorceress, not even like his archnemesis. You’d glowered at him, angry and disgusted, like every other human that had ever set eyes upon him. 

You turned to face him when you no longer felt his touch on your shoulder, giving him an unguarded, eye-level view of the happiness that conjured your smile. “So if I’m the dragon.” You nudged his knee with yours. “What does that make you?”

It had been a cruelty he hadn’t been prepared for. To find you again, only to realize you had been wiped clean of everything you once were. The memories, the love, the weight of all that you had been to each other — gone. 

But after all this time, after finding you only to realize the past was his burden to remember, he knew some things were better left unspoken. 

Some part of you had brought the dragon back, only in your mind, on the surface of your skin. And if that was all he could have, he won’t risk losing it.

“Maybe we’re both dragons,” he mused, hiking your shirtsleeve back over your shoulder. Tucking away your source of pain. Tucking away his. “Maybe we’re meant to be stubborn and dangerous together.” He wrapped an arm around you, laying his palm over the resting place of the ink-born dragon. “And the things we thought we destroyed just cleared the way for a kingdom of our own.”

➻➻ MASTERLIST

[deepspacenova]

hoodie

There's many reasons you love it when Sylus wears his your hoodie.

read on ao3

➻➻ ABOUT | 2000 words. sylus x gn!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | slice of life. domestic fluff. established relationship. teasing. banter. self-indulgent. (very self-indulgent).

NOTE: Sylus in a hoodie has plagued me for more than 24 hours now so I had to do something about it xx

He was almost always in suits.

Sharp, dark, tailored swaths of high-quality fabric that pressed him into the shape of a man meant to intimidate. Meant to dictate, govern, and rule.

Everything about him was buttoned up, molded into perfect presentation, each polished pleat a reminder that he belonged to no one in the room. That he was steel-edged and unreachable.

Sylus was a man born to battle, his clothing was his armor.

That was, until he knew he had a day at home with you. That's when it all fell away. That's when the head of Onychinus became Sylus. Casual, no pretenses, no reputation or intimidation to uphold. The belly of the beast exposed only to you.

Sometimes it was sweatpants, sometimes silk robes. Sometimes it was his boxers and a cotton tee. Sometimes he even kept the fuzzy socks you'd slip onto his feet, quirking a brow in amusement but doing nothing to take them off.

But your favorites were his hoodies.

Thick, warm, oversized in a way that only seemed to magnify every inch of his broad shoulders, sturdy chest, and wide biceps, Sylus' hoodies were perfect for admiring, laying on, burrowing into, and, of course, stealing.

His hoodies signified comfort. Home. And most importantly, that he was staying with you.

“That’s definitely the same model I showed you the other week. Look at the grip.”

“No, it isn’t. The barrel’s too long.”

The film on the screen was half-forgotten, its pivotal scene just background noise as you and Sylus debated, your attention far more on each other than the plot. His arm was stretched across the back of the couch and you were curled into space it made at his side. Head nestled into the warm notch between his neck and shoulder, the hood of his hoodie serving as your pillow while you finished off your carton of ice cream.

You were enjoying the feel of his rumbling voice, but you straightened at his remark, gesturing toward the screen with your spoon before you set it and the carton down on the coffee table.

"That's just the angle of the camera," you asserted, stretching feeling back into your frozen fingers as you leaned back into him. "I promise you, it's the same one."

"Sweetie, I've handled more weapons than you can name. Are you really trying to argue about guns with an arms dealer?" Amusement painted his expression as he pulled his phone from his pocket and started typing. "Here, I'll just check the production company's website. I'm sure the list of every model they've used has been-" A quiet pause.

Your grin widened. “Say it. I was right.”

Sylus pursed his lips, an attempt to hide his rueful smile, you were sure. Though, there was a spark of admiration in his eyes as well when he cleared his throat, theatrically took your cold hand into his warm palm, pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles and humbly admitted, "You were right, kitten." He glanced back up at you, a thread of sincerity lacing between the humor. "I'm sorry for doubting your gun knowledge. Now... how can I make it up to you?"

"Hm," you mused as your hand, still not fully thawed from your frozen indulgence, slipped out of his grasp and straight into the wide sleeve of his hoodie, pressing against the hard lines of his forearm. "I think this'll do."

The heat radiating from his arm soaked into you instantly, soothing the chill in your skin.

He quirked a brow. "And what, exactly, is 'this'?"

"You stole my moment of genius, I'm stealing your body heat to avoid frostbite." Your fingers rubbed back and forth along the path of his veins, the muscle there flexed instinctively. "I feel like it's a fair trade."

Sylus exhaled through his nose, shaking his head affectionately when you nestled yourself back into his side and faced the screen.

He looked at you, down at two forearms in one hoodie sleeve resting in his lap, and muttered, "First deal I've ever made where I wanted my opponent to ask for more."

The morning light slanted through the windows, painting the room in muted oranges and pinks as the shadows in the living room lightened. Sylus was stretched longways on the couch, his long legs making his feet press up against the arm rest as he read to wind down his day. The hoodie he wore hung comfortably over his frame, sleeves slightly pushed up, the soft fabric tracing the lines of his shoulders and arms in a way that made him look relaxed but still impossibly appealing.

His eyes had been skimming the pages, but he looked up, features softening when you approached. "You alright, sweetie?"

"Yeah, I just thought I'd join you."

“I'll move over." He started shifting to make room when you stopped him.

"No, no need." You motioned to him to still his movements. "I don't want to disturb you."

Then, without another word, you reached out, plucked the book from his grip, and placed it onto the coffee table. He let out a quiet hum of confusion when you lifted up the hem of his hoodie as high as it would go and started sliding underneath, staying utterly still the entire time you wriggled through it until your face popped out of the (now rather constricting) neck hole and pressed your face into the contours of his throat.

You couldn't move, what with your arms trapped at your sides by the straining fabric of his hoodie, but you couldn't deny the comfort of being pressed so closely to him, warm, languid, connected.

Suddenly, tucked into your new shell with your chest pressed against his, your whole torso shook as a deep, rich chuckle rolled from him, crescendoing into a hearty laugh. “Is this your way of not disturbing me?” he asked.

You hummed in agreement as you felt the weight of his surrendered arms finally secure around you — one hand splayed across your back, the other cupping the base of your skull — completing your cocoon.

He chuckled once more, low and amused, before tugging gently at the lobe of your ear. “I could just get you a blanket, you know. Something designed for this exact purpose.”

You tipped your head back enough to meet his eyes, stubborn fire in yours. “No blanket. Just this.”

"As you wish, kitten." Sylus let out a resigned sigh, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before letting his cheek rest against yours, his warmth and steady heartbeat lulling you both toward sleep.

His hood was slung over his head, revealing only a few tufts of white hair and shadowing his face while the late afternoon sun stubbornly broke through the blinds. On weekdays, he used this time to nap before you arrived home from work, but today was Saturday and his focus was locked on the screen and his thumbs flying over the controller.

His character was winning.

You narrowed your eyes at the screen, not willing to glance away as you pushed your character to catch up. “Don't look so smug."

“I'm always smug when I win,” he quipped back, eyes also glued to the screen. “You’re being too predictable.”

"Predictable," you scoffed, leaning forward and mashing the buttons with sharp precision. "Just because you know me well doesn't mean I can't still keep you on your toes."

He tilted his head, the hood slipping lower over his forehead as you closed the distance between your characters. “Is that so? Then why has your character been two steps behind mine this whole game?"

That's what pushed you over the edge. What made you spring from the comfort of your custom gaming chair, lean into his beautifully surprised face, and pounce on the dangling drawstrings of his hoodie to yank them taut.

"I'll show you predictable," you muttered. The hood was cinched shut, leaving only a nose and lips poking out of the circle of fabric as you plopped back into your chair and grabbed your controller.

He was frozen in place, to your delight, showing no evidence of predicting your move as he dropped the controller to release his hood.

"Seems I've drawn out the kitten's claws." Laughter shook his chest as he tugged at it to loosen the strings. The chant of your character's in-game victory resounded from the screen. "Are you sure you're prepared for the consequences of this declaration of war?"

Content with your win, you stood up and bent down to kiss the top of his fabric-covered head. "If the war's against you then victory is my only outcome."

With a low huff, he finally tugged the drawstrings loose, pushing the hood back into place the nape of his neck. His eyes caught yours, gleaming with promise.

Before you could react, his hands found your waist and, with one fluid movement, lifted you up and threw you over his shoulder.

“We’ll see about that," he growled through your squeals, the game screen still showcasing replays of your win to the empty room.

It was an object of curiosity for him, your knack for stealing his hoodie. Freshly laundered from his closet, off the back of a chair after he'd already worn it. At first, he thought little of it. Just one of your habits, like leaving a half finished drink on every surface of the flat, humming under your breath when you cooked.

But the more it kept happening, the more the curiosity had lodged itself in his mind. You’d worn the damn thing more than he had at this point, he was sure of it.

His phone buzzed in the pocket of his sweatpants and he swiped it open. "Sweetie."

“Hey,” you greeted. “Sorry I'm late, I’m on my way now. Shouldn't take me too long to get there."

"You don't need to apologize to me," he said warmly. "Luke and Kieran on the other hand… they might need more than that. They were excited for you to be the guest while they attempted cooking tonight."

Your laugh crackled through the speaker. "Suddenly, I'm kind of glad I got held back at work."

He’d offered to buy you one of your own on more than one occasion. The same cut, the same color, brand new and all yours, but you always refused and he wasn’t sure why. You’d matched clothing with him before, wearing similar cuts or styles and didn't seem to mind. In fact, you were the one who'd encouraged it and the more he'd thought about it, the more he'd liked the idea of you wearing the same garment he wore.

So he didn’t understand. Not until this moment, when he’d picked it up from the bathroom counter—left behind after you’d slept in it the night before—and pulled it over his head to wear before you arrived.

Because as the fabric fell into place, the scent of you ensconced him. Your shampoo, your skin, your sweat. And beneath both, subtle but unmistakable, the added scent of him. Both of your fragrances swirling around him into something familiar and unique and special. The lingering ghost of you pressed against him as surely as if you were still there, crammed into the torso of the garment with him.

"You guys want me to bring anything?" you asked.

"No need," he reassured, taking his phone from the counter. "Once you arrive, we’ll have everything we need here.”

A faint smile tugged at his mouth as he found the website on his phone with one swipe. And with one more, he cancelled the order for the hoodie he'd ordered for you.

This one was the only one he wanted you to wear from now on.

➻➻ MASTERLIST

[deepspacenova]

Draped in Devotion

He pauses then, studying your reflection with a slight curl of his lip, a sharp contrast to the intensity in his gleaming scarlet irises. “Want to know which of these jewels is the best treasure I’ve ever gotten?”

➻➻ ABOUT | 1800 words. sylus x gn!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | emotional hurt/comfort. light angst. insecurity. fluff. flirting. affection. words of affirmation. self-indulgent.

NOTE: My writer's block for my kinktober series is so bad I cried earlier today lol.. SO i decided to switch gears and popped this out instead. A combo of my interpretation of the upcoming 4 star card as well as my intense need for sylus' comfort rn xoxo

The dress doesn’t sit right.

You feel it the moment you look in the mirror, the way the emerald satin catches the light wrong, how it hugs your ribs and your thighs in the right places, but it somehow still feels shapeless.

Your first four dress attempts already lie discarded on the bathroom floor in a shimmery heap of defeat. You tug at the bodice, press a hand over your waist, tilt your head, add the black, elbow-length gloves that pair with it, fiddle with your hair to make it fall around your face differently.

Nothing helps.

The reflection continues to stare back in judgment. You, a statue of frustration and half-pinned hair, brows pinched, eyes dim.

The door opens behind you.

“Almost ready, sweetie?” Sylus’ smooth voice echoes in the tiled room.

You meet his gaze in the mirror and see he’s leaning against the door frame, his red shirt buttoned only three-quarters of the way up, his camel-colored jacket draped loosely around his shoulders. Handsome and confident. Effortlessly put together. He always is.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You force a smile, drop your hands from your sides. “Maybe you should just go without me. I can stay at the base tonight, play that new game with Luke.”

He hums low, crossing the room in a few unhurried strides until he’s behind you, his reflection standing tall and determined while yours seems to shrink and pale in comparison. “I'm afraid that won’t do tonight." He bumps his chin into the crown of your head playfully. “They’ll be expecting their biggest donor.”

“Exactly," you affirm with a small shrug. “That’s why you should go.”

Sylus’ lips curve with a secret smile. “Hm, no. See, that’s the problem.” He reaches out and gently strokes a loose lock of hair near your temple, focusing his gaze on the strands. “The donation was anonymous, but their 'mysterious benefactor' has made you his stand-in, kitten.”

Your mouth opens, closes. “You… What?”

"Well.. there's no way Skye the humble fruit vendor would be chosen as the stand-in for someone who's sponsored an entire wing of Linkon's newest museum."

"Sylus!"

“Don’t look at me like that,” he chides gently, brushing a finger along the seam of your satin glove. “You signed the papers.”

“You didn't let me read the papers!”

He pauses for a few seconds, then meets your eyes again with a mischievous grin. “Oops."

Sylus steps back a bit as you turn away from the mirror, exhaling through your nose as your frustration builds again. The frustration isn't at him, really, but at the ache in your chest and the memory of your drab, out-of-place reflection. “This dress doesn’t belong on me.” The words spill out before you can swallow them. “None of them do. I’ve tried four so far, and I still look—”

“Like yourself,” Sylus finishes quietly. The amusement from before has been wiped from his face; this time, his smile is affectionate, sincere.

“Exactly,” you mutter, spreading your arms out and dropping them at your sides. “That’s the problem.”

Sylus pauses at your words, tilts his head back in surprise, and looks you over. It's a slow and deliberate perusal. Lingering on every detail of you from your wrists to your collarbone and even your shoulders and ears, before his study ends at your eyes.

You're captivated by the heat in them, turning the dark scarlet irises into the red of molten lava. Just as you prepare for him to say something seductive, some double entendre that would leave you blushing and bashful and take your mind off your worries, if only for a few minutes, Sylus reaches out to brush a thumb along your jaw, holds up his pointer finger, and strides out of the bathroom.

You blink at the doorway. “Sylus?”

No answer. Just the fading sound of his footsteps down the hall.

You sigh, reaching for your phone. The screen lights up with a notification about the event and reminds you just how little time you have left.

If people are going to be looking at you tonight because of the donation, because of him, maybe you could at least make the most of it by distracting them all with some makeup. A darker eye, maybe, something bold. You lean toward the mirror, sweeping shadow across your lids, focusing on the small, controlled motions instead of the gnawing anxiety in your chest.

By the time you’re done, you almost feel composed again. Until you see him reappear in the mirror.

Sylus stands in the doorway, hands full. Velvet boxes of various colours, shapes, and sizes, rest in his palms and even between his fingers. Without a word he walks up behind you and starts setting them down. His arms come up on either side of you to open one, two, three… until there are at least a dozen jewelry boxes open and gleaming in front of you.

You blink, unable to tear your eyes away from the sight. “What are you doing? What is all this?”

Your gaze lands on a necklace of pearls, each orb the size of your fingertip, surrounded by a halo of small diamonds. You hover a hand over it, afraid you'll soil its value with just your touch. “I can’t-”

“You can, kitten,” he interrupts, abrupt and assertive, picking up the necklace that had just caught your eye and laying it gently across your throat.

"Sylus, this-"

“This,” he says, talking right over you as he clasps it at your nape, “was acquired from the vault of an embezzler in Skyhaven." He rubs a finger over the clasp as the cold kiss of the pearls settles against your skin. “They’re worth about five hundred thousand Linkon gold. Maybe more now that I've determined these are Lemurian pearls.”

You swallow, eyes wide in the mirror.

He reaches for another box, revealing a diamond bracelet shaped like a constellation of stars. “This was a thank you gift," he murmurs, sliding the delicate strand over your glove, his lowered head brushing the apple of his cheek against yours. "For stealing a few priceless artifacts from Chansia."

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “You stole them?”

“And gave them back." He nods, lips curving. “To their rightful owners. An island off the coast.”

The next box holds an intricate ring of interlocking platinum vines. “From a black market auction in the N109 Zone. Nearly started a riot getting it.” He slides it over your middle finger, letting his lips oh so casually brush against your open neck. “Probably worth more than all of Linkon's museums combined.”

He keeps going. Another necklace from the usurper of a small country in the north. A hairpin carved from meteoric crystal. A small brooch shaped like a snowflake from Snowcrest. Each piece comes with a story that's dangerous, wicked, and yet still shaped by Sylus' unique sense of altruism.

By the time he’s done, you’re dripping in treasures, and your reflection in the mirror looks like a painting of a royal in a gallery. The emerald silk of your dress glimmers beneath cascades of silver, diamond, and pearl.

You're draped in the kind of beauty you associate with artwork, not people.

Through it all, Sylus has continued to stand behind you, inlaying you with some of the world's most beautiful and sought-after jewelry like a live model. His touches are soft and reassuring, knuckles grazing your arms, lips pressing kisses into your hair, collarbone, the shell of your ear.

"That's strange." His hands come to rest lightly on your shoulders, voice wavering and raspy. "These all look much more dull than I remember.”

You lean back, your back meeting his chest as the words catch you off guard. He’s watching you, really watching you, the rubies in his eyes bright and alive.

“Everything you wear belongs on you,” he continues, quiet but firm. “Because you belong anywhere you choose to be. Even in a room full of ignorant people, trying to measure your worth by what’s on your body.” He leans closer as if imparting a secret, his palm sliding over your waist. “Let them try. They’ll never get close.”

He pauses then, studying your reflection with something soft and affectionate curling at the corner of his mouth. “Want to know which of these jewels is the best treasure I’ve ever gotten?”

You're caught between laughter and disbelief. “Which one?”

He takes your gloved hand, turns it over gently, and presses his lips to the top of a ring gleaming there, the gesture elegant, almost courtly. But when he looks up again, his eyes catch yours in the mirror, and he leans in, lips brushing your temple with a feather-light kiss as he whispers, “This one.”

The words melt into you, and you almost forget to breathe for a moment around the lump that's formed in your throat. His reflection, close and steady behind you, anchors you there.

“Take them off, and you’d still have the same eyes,” he murmurs after a beat. “The same voice. The same stubborn, so very human heart that somehow deemed me worthy of holding it.”

You laugh softly, a little watery, and shake your head. “Only sometimes.”

His smile deepens. “Then let me make the most of one of those rare occasions then. Don't hide yourself from the world tonight.”

His hands settle at your waist. “Now. Look.”

You do.

The person staring back doesn’t look lost anymore. They look… determined. Powerful. Even a little… intimidating. The emerald dress suddenly makes sense, like it was waiting for this exact moment to come alive.

Sylus meets your gaze through the reflection. “You see it now, don’t you?”

“See what?”

“That there’s nothing I could put on you,” he says with a voice like smoke, “that could ever make you worth more than you already are.”

And when he turns your head to slot his lips against yours, you believe him.

➻➻ MASTERLIST

[deepspacenova]

best laid plans

You turned around to find yourself looking up at Lord Sylus: disreputable rogue, calculating scoundrel, and, regrettably, the man which your newly chosen fate hinged upon.

➻➻ ABOUT | 1700 words. sylus x fem!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | historical AU. victorian era AU. rivals to lovers. banter. first kiss. marriage of convenience.

NOTE: I think I've read one too many historical romances lately, please forgive me. But also, Sylus in a cravat, eh? Eh?! Hope you enjoy xx

You observed the crush from your position at the balcony, tapping a fingertip anxiously against the glass of the watered-down swill tonight’s hostess passed for wine.

Below you was a horde of blushing, simpering debutantes, fluttering about the ballroom floor like frantic rabbits, hopping to and fro in hopes of attracting a mate. And, of course, there were the desperate, unfortunate gentleman putting every effort into dodging their advances — and who’s fathers (or dwindling coffers) had, quite probably, imposed the lodestone of “marriage” around their necks this evening.

If you had to hear a fortune-hunting matron say the words “secure your future” to her daughter once more you'd strangle herself with your corset. The damned thing was one tug away from asphyxiation anyway.

Though your grandmother had every reason to believe it, too, was your time to secure a husband with a shiny title, there was only one problem: you didn’t want a blasted husband.

Sometimes you were glad Caleb wasn’t around to see the caring woman who'd raised you both turn into the unyielding, enterprising scholar she’d become. Her sole focus reduced to being accepted into any scientific society or academy if only they'll fund her research — research once intended to save you, to understand the fragile heart you were born with — even if it meant throwing that same child into the lion’s den.

Unfortunately for her, you refused to be reduced to an obedient piece of chattel for the sake of elevating her social standing. Refused to allow anyone, even if it was your grandmother, to dictate your life. Refused to sit back and just let it all happen.

Which is why you had plans to take your fate back into your own hands. You tapped the glass harder until a staccatoed tinkling echoed from the glass.

“Good evening, my little huntress,” drawled a low voice from behind you. A large hand wrapped in a snowy-white glove curled around the railing by your side.

Your tapping abruptly stopped. Speaking of lions…

You turned around to find yourself looking up at Lord Sylus, the Duke of Charon: disreputable rogue, calculating scoundrel, and, regrettably, the man which your newly chosen fate hinged upon.

Though he was a duke in name, he had an ignominious reputation preceding him that inspired both fear and awe. Frantic whispers clung to him in every room he entered:"man of business" they claimed, with "unknown origins" and "questionable pedigree." The braver souls dared utter things like "monstrous" and "murdered the last duke to claim his title." Yet the same nobles who sneered at him by day, spilled their already-dwindling fortunes into his palms every night when they gambled at his gaming hell, Onychinus.

Lord Sylus thrived in contradiction, you'd gathered. A gentleman and a businessman. Magnetic and dangerous. A demon cloaked in an angel’s clothing.

And though none of this information was ever recited in the presence of a lady, the past few weeks you'd spent scheming toward your own freedom had forced you to arm yourself with every scrap of knowledge about the predator whose cage you were about to enter, and they had opened a secret door to new skills. Like eavesdropping.

Tall and big-framed, every line of him was taut with feline grace. The twinkling chandeliers overhead highlighted the moonstruck silver nestled within the whiteness of his hair. His eyes were a fiery red, cheekbones high and arched, and the full curve of his lips sparked a note of erotic dissonance to his otherwise aristocratic features.

You arched a brow in an effort to dispel the heat unfurling through your chest as he caught your appraisal of him. “'Huntress? My lord, who’s given you permission to address me with such- such familiarity?”

“I did." He stepped closer, twisting his lips into a sensuous smirk. “Is it not a husband’s right to shower his bride in meaningless endearments?”

You looked around to see if there were others about, lowering your voice. “That may be, but I’m your soon-to-be bride, Lord Sylus. So I’d appreciate it if you avoided saying things that might raise suspicion before we… before any deals are agreed upon.”

Your irritation seemed to bounce right off of him as he pulled the glass from your hand and downed its contents, grimacing when he swallowed. "Hm, what sharp claws you have. Maybe you're right, you're no hunter." He set the glass on a nearby table and leaned his elbow against the rail, aligning his striking, assessing gaze with yours. "You're a kitten."

Your control snapped. Of course he wasn’t taking this seriously, wasn’t taking you seriously. No one did these days. "I will not-" you broke off, looking around again before taking his wrist and dragging him into the nearest open door. "I'll show you kitten," you muttered, stepping into what seemed to be the lord of this estate's personal study.

“I will not have you compromising my plans before I can even set them into motion,” you finished, pointing a finger in his direction. “We need to be careful and subtle and discreet.”

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he meandered toward you — a lion preying on a rabbit — before he stopped right in front of you.

“Maybe if I’d been informed of any of your so-called plans, I might’ve found it in me to pretend some semblance of either of those.”

His nearness was enough to make your blood beat against your veins, but you didn’t back down. This was too important to you, your own fate, your own freedom. No lord, no matter how he came by his title, could ever understand the concept of not having freedom, and you weren't about to let one get in the way of your plan.

"I told you, the less it looks like this has been premeditated the less likely my grandmother is to stop this." You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes. "Though, I still don't understand why marriage has to be involved."

He raised a brow. "And I told you — after Luke caught you sneaking into the club a third time, mind you — that if you want to keep sticking your nose where it doesn't belong and consort with people who wouldn't leave you alive if you asked them the same things you asked my men at Onychinus, you'd need the protection of my name. The underbelly of this city doesn't follow the same rules as society. Being 'a lady' won't protect you there."

"I know the terms of our deal," you bit back. "But there's a problem on my end of it. My grandmother has been hiding her research from me for several months now, and I'm unsure whether I'll be able to find it to share it with you. That's why I've been planning an alternative, one where you get permission from my-"

“Alternative? Permission?” He leaned a forearm against the bookshelf, causing your back to collide with the wood behind you. Reaching a hand out, he tugged at the strand of hair by your cheek, the satin of the glove dancing over your heated skin. “Where’s the fun in any of that, hm?”

“Fun?” It came out in a mixture of outrage and breathlessness. “My plan isn’t meant to be fun, it’s meant to be a meticulous-“

He captured your next words with his mouth. Kissing you once, twice, before he murmured, “Let’s try my plan instead.”

He devoured the gasp you pressed against his mouth, your mind spinning with the way it tried to keep track of all the sensations he’d brought out of you: irritability and anger and disbelief and wildness and… and desire.

You'd never felt so much at once. And while you knew in the back of your mind that your life, your future was in the balance, you couldn’t help but want to explore the tempting chaos he’d just teased you with.

You yanked his collar to pull him closer and he huffed out an unsteady chuckle.

"See? Kitten." He pressed his body into yours and slipped into your mouth, teasing your tongue while he held your close. You gasped at the intrusion, never having felt something like this, like him before. Your breathing was heavy when you tried to pull yourself away, only to crash back into him as the books' spines met yours.

The hair at his collar was soft. The pulse under his cravat was fluttering. Your lips were swollen — and he kissed your harder still. Sucking at the skin beneath your jaw, down to the dip in your throat. Letting his tongue trace your lace collar until you whimpered and pulled him back to your mouth.

He was devouring you against the bookshelves, like the heroines you'd read about in the novels you'd kept hidden beneath your pillow.

And you couldn’t get enough of it.

You were still happily drowning in the new sensations he’d conjured within your body when he pulled away again. He stared at you intently, almost wonderingly-

Something caught his sharp gaze over your shoulder.

And your twirling heart plummeted because, even before you turned around to see the hostess of this very ball standing at the open door of the study, you wouldn’t have ever been able to mistake her shrill, overly-loud, “By the gods, what is going on in here!” echoing through the room.

And then, “I hope you’re planning to do right by this young lady, my boy!” A gruff man’s voice joined the shrill one, unsurprisingly more dramatic than the lady’s.

And instead of showing even an ounce of chagrin or remorse, instead of stepping away from you for propriety’s sake, he ignored the gathering crowd by the study door to lean his face close back into yours.

He took in the storm of anger and betrayal and desire in your eyes to whisper, “My plans are always better, little huntress.”

➻➻ MASTERLIST

[deepspacenova]

When One Door Closes..

Another birthday with Sylus means another celebration full of scheming, subterfuge, the twin's shenanigans, and unfortunately, getting trapped together. Again.

read on ao3

➻➻ ABOUT | 4400 words. sylus x fem!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | forced proximity. banter. fluff. sexual and romantic tension. slight emotional hurt/comfort. kissing. frottage. fingering. idiots in love.

NOTE: Happy Sylus' birthday to all!! This is a slight spin-off of my bday fic for him last year. Absolutely no need to read it but it might make the read a lil extra fun if you do xx

You step away from the car and see Sylus lean in to say something to the wide-eyed valet at the same time a stack of folded bills appears between his fingers.

When the valet nods, he hands both the bribe and the keys to his obscenely expensive car to the young man, who's doing his best to hide his enthusiasm behind careful deference and his repeated, “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Right away, sir.”

Grinning as Sylus pats his shoulder and strides your way, you dramatically hold out your elbow as the valet gets into the car. “Hello, sir. Are you ready to go, sir?”

He shakes his head with an amused smirk as he reaches you, taking the duffel bag Luke and Kieran had packed (hopefully correctly.. and without any explosives) and folding your elbow back into your side by looping an arm around your waist, pulling you into the warmth of his side.

“You’re the one who said this… disguise would work," he drawls, tugging on the collar of his "low-quality" shirt for the second time in as many minutes.

Then again, he'd been in a slew of Skye's clothing this week so maybe his delicate skin was chafing by now.

When your Watch pinged with the news that the Association was revamping its search for the Leader of Onychinus with "all hands on deck" from all special units including the UNICORNS on the week of Sylus' birthday, you almost lost your mind on the back of his bike. And though Sylus assured you it was fine, that he'd turn around and you could celebrate quietly at the Base instead, you couldn’t bring yourself to give up On celebrating with him in Linkon, hand-in-hand, out in the open like you'd planned.

So with a few calls to Jenna, a text exchange with the twins, and a little creativity, you managed to turn the situation into a week-long itinerary of excursions around the city with your boyfriend.

Or, according to the ever-watchful gaze of the city's CCTV system: your favorite fruit vendor, Skye.

“Um, the disguise is not the problem,” you say, peeking over his bicep as his luxury car disappears from view with a raised brow. “The problem is the part where the fruit vendor stepped out of a car worth more than this building.”

As the doors to Linkon's most exclusive hotel are shut by the doormen behind you, the warm gold of the crystal chandeliers overhead illuminate his "humble" ensemble. You scoff internally when the light reflects off the buffed out tips of his simple leather shoes and the department-store belt dividing his plain, non-designer button-down and slacks. Because of course he still manages to look more like a model under a spotlight rather than a mildly successful entrepreneur in a lobby.

His chuckle fills the room, warm and syrupy and all too rich, wrapping around you in place of his arm as you approach the reception desk, greet the woman running it, and start the check-in process.

"What can I say, sweetie, my business ventures are thriving," he murmurs to the back of your head, quirking the corner of his lip up when the receptionist looks up and smiles at his approach. "Fruitful, some might even say."

You roll your eyes and lightly smack the back of your hand into his chest, hoping he's too busy teasing to notice her handing back your Hunter's Badge as well as your ID when you take your room key, your rooftop pass, and head to the elevators.

So far, everything had gone exactly to plan: escape rooms with the twins, a nighttime drag race, a shopping spree through Linkon’s antique stores, a sunset ride on your motorcycle. The fact that you and Sylus were doing all of it right under the Association’s nose only seemed to make it all the more enjoyable for him.

But today is Sylus’ actual birthday. And tonight is your big surprise.

An exclusive, invitation-only auction that just so happens to be featuring the protocore pair Sylus has had his eye on for months will be on the rooftop atrium this evening. You’d found out about it at work a month ago and managed to scheme your way into an extra invite by offering the organizer your services as an undercover Hunter, which not only let you keep the whole thing a secret, but also ensured none of your colleagues would be assigned here too.

Best of all, it meant that for one night, on a day dedicated entirely to him, Sylus wouldn’t have to be a fruit vendor. Or the Leader of Onychinus. Or the Association's most wanted man.

He could just be himself. Your handsome date at a fancy event. Your Sylus.

"So, do I get to know why we're spending the night at Linkon's finest hotel now–" a loaded pause as he holds up your pilfered Hunter's Badge with a flourish, "–Miss Hunter?"

You huff out an irritated breath as you reach out and snatch it back.

"No, you don't," you declare with a sniff. "Petty thiefs don't get rewarded."

Another one of his rich, syrup-sweet laughs pours over your skin as he leans a shoulder indolently against the wall and purses his lips in a pout. "Not even if it's the petty thief's birthday? That's just cruel, kitten."

You press the button to call down an elevator, brows raised. "It's also cruel to ruin other people's surprises."

"The twins only have themselves to blame for last year." He smirks at the memory of your time in the closet together. "And your surprise isn't ruined, if anything you're too good at them. Your schemes this week have been more elaborate than some of mine… even the fruitful ones."

"And thank the gods for that, mister businessman," you snort as the elevator arrives and opens with a ding. "Because you’d be a terrible comedian."

"Now that's just untrue." His palm steers you inside by the nape of your neck while you press your floor number. "Luke and Kieran think I'm funny."

"That's because you give them food. And sign their paychecks"

He hums.

A moment later you feel the warm brush of his breath over the curve of your ear, his low voice rasping over your skin like velvet. “You think I’m funny.”

The elevator’s stark lighting streaks through the swirls scarlet-painted mischief in his eyes when you turn to face him with a wicked smile, nose-to-nose.

"That's because you're good at giving me–"

Your sentence chokes off on a startled breath as the elevator suddenly jolts the ground beneath you and Sylus' arm instinctively pulls you into the shelter of his chest. His shoulders curl protectively over you, one of his hands pressing into your back, the other bracing against the wall behind you as the elevator shudders once more and then immediately whirs back to life.

“Alright?” he asks above your head after a beat, voice calm as the elevator continues its ascent like it hadn't been on the verge of dropping you and Sylus your deaths.

"I'm good." You press your palms into his chest to take a small step back and look around.

"Linkon's most exclusive five-star hotel," he mutters dryly, hand lingering at your back for a moment longer. He gives the ceiling a brief, unimpressed glance before retrieving the duffel he'd dropped.

"I'll call it into the front desk when we get to our room," you tell him, too focused on getting Sylus to the auction on time now to think about it too much more.

The elevator chimes pleasantly a second later, doors sliding open without a hitch so you and Sylus can make your way to your room.

But you get no more than two steps into the corridor before Sylus’ hand catches lightly at your wrist, turning you around when you turn to look at him by pulling it up to his chest.

“Now,” he says, silver brow raised, sinful lips curved as he leans in, “before the elevator so rudely interrupted you…”

He raises your wrist until it's caressing the side of his neck, his voice dropping along with his head as he brushes the words over your lips.

“What, exactly, were saying I was good at giving you?”

“So? Do you like it?”

Sylus looks up from the velvet box holding his new protocore pair when he hears your voice, his eyes like rubies as they take you in, edges cut into a sharp gaze that traces over the silhouette of your floor-length gown the colour of molten lava.

He hums, low and appreciative, as you sip from the glass of champagne you’d gone to get, your last for the night before you and Sylus head out.

“Yes. Beautiful,” he says, already reaching for you. His forearm catches the back of your hips, tugging you forward until the space between you disappears and the tip of his nose is dragging along your silk-clad stomach.

“Sylus—” You gasp out a laugh as the movement nearly spills liquid over the rim. Your free hand slips into his hair at the nape of his neck to give it a playful tug. “I meant your beautiful new protocore set, silly.”

“Oh, that.” He smirks, pressing his cheek to your abdomen to look at them, as if to refresh his memory on what they looked like. "I'm sure they'll satisfy me just fine."

He stands then, uncoiling to his full height, and the movement gives you the chance to appreciate him again.

Gone are Skye’s cheap cotton and department-store threads. In their place, a sharply tailored maroon and charcoal suit jacket hugs his muscular frame, the fabric rich and high-end, paired with charcoal trousers that fall cleanly over his polished shoes. A black silk button-down lies open just beneath it, enough to tease the line of his broad chest. A maroon silk ribbon wrapped loosely around his throat, an elegant leash that tempts you to try your hand at taming a beautiful beast.

But even that struggles to compete with the look in his eyes, you think, as you tip your head to study the angular lines of his beloved face. A sonnet of adoration that his irises have been reciting since the moment you'd opened the duffel bag in your "Fruit Vendor Budget" hotel room and presented him with your garments and plans for the night. Lingering, appreciative.

“But I can think of something far more beautiful and… satisfying to lavish my attention on.”

Maybe even loving, a small part of you, that warm, delicate flame rising through your abdomen, dares to hope.

As a shy smiles curls at your lips, you press your free hand to his chest, parting your lips to pretend to invite him back to your room when you spot a familiar figure in your periphery.

The smile on your face and the flame in your stomach wither at sight of one of your Association colleagues walking by a few feet away. He's dressed for the event. Like you, blending into the environment enough to make his undercover status undeniable.

No wonder you and Sylus hadn't spotted him.

Your eyes widen and your pulse spikes. “Shit,” you hiss under your breath, grabbing Sylus by the bicep and pivoting him so his back faces your colleague.

“What–"

"Wait," you whisper, leaning in as Sylus starts to turn. "It's one of my colleagues, a Hunter."

Sylus' posture straightens and he seems to get impossibly larger before your eyes as he steps closer to block you from view. "I thought you were the only Hunter here, kitten."

"I am. He's not even supposed to be here, he was one of the five deployed to the N109 Zone to find you," you explain. Your mind whirs, flitting through escape plans as you fiddle with the lapel of his jacket. "Unless they got called back because–"

"They think I'm here," Sylus finishes, brow and lips quirking into a wry expression. "I must say, kitten, I'm mildly impressed. I didn't think the Hunter's Association could be so…"

“Quick?”

His lips curve higher, dimpling his cheeks. “Capable.”

“Ass,” you mutter through your begrudging grin, setting your flute down. You grab the velvet box with one hand and Sylus' with the other, heart picking up as the familiar rush of adrenaline chases through your bloodstream. “Let’s get out of here.”

He lets you pull him out of the opulent room without resistance, lacing his fingers through yours and letting you set the pace as you do your best to make a hasty but silent exit in your impractical shoes.

“Not even going to buy me a drink first, sweetie?” he teases behind you, voice brimming with mirth. “How bold.”

You roll your eyes, turning your head to quip something back at him and–

Almost make eye contact with your colleague, who's eyes seem to darken in confusion when he spots the man at your side.

“Shit– Sylus,” you breathe, fingers instinctively tightening around his as you widen your eyes and shake your head subtly, the silent understanding, the mental lockstep, clicking into place as you find yourselves in a situation you know all too well: a chase.

Your heart is pounding now, every beat echoing in your ears as your mind races to calculate distances, exits, how long before–

You should've known it was only a matter of time before Sylus took the situation into his own hands, because suddenly there's an arm looping around your back, a familiar, black-red mist curling around your waist, and the power of Sylus and his evol warping you both away front he venue's entrance.

The world blurs as you’re whisked through the air, light smearing into streaks as your stomach drops and you shut your eyes on instinct. No matter how many times Sylus does this, no matter how controlled he always is, your body only ever trusts in the solid, unyielding security of his.

Within a split second you're both standing in front of the elevators, and Sylus is pulling you into one that's already open.

“Who needs a getaway driver when you have me, hm?” he quips lightly, guiding you inside with a reassuring hand on your back.

Your Hunter’s Watch beeps before you can answer and you mutter a curse when you realize it's a call for reinforcements.

The good news is your name isn’t mentioned anywhere. The bad news: Sylus using his evol has definitely confirmed their suspicions.

“Damn it, that was a call for backup. We need to go,” you urge, jabbing the garage button a few times.

Only when the doors slide shut with a soft ding just as a distant shout of “in the elevators!” echoes down the corridor do you release the breath your'e holding, a small amount of worry easing from your shoulders as the car begins its descent and the hum of motion grounds your racing pulse.

You turn to face Sylus who, of course, manages to look the perfectly inappropriate amount of amused and unbothered as he leans against the wall.

“Of course you’re not even winded,” you huff.

He chuckles, lifting his hands in a mock display of innocence. "You of all people know how much… exercise I get," he drawls, eyes darkening as they roam over your dress for at least the tenth time tonight. "Besides, I’d much rather–”

This time it's him who's cut off when the elevator jerks and what feels like a replay of the scene earlier tonight unfolds in front of you: Sylus locking one arm around your back, pressing you into his chest as the car shudders, and curving his shoulders to shelter you.

The only difference is the loud metallic screech that rips through the elevator and your eardrums, the lights flickering overhead, and the car lurching two more times before coming to a dead stop.

Oh, and the fact that when you both look up, the lights have cut out. And the only thing illuminating the space is the soft glow of the panel with every single button lit up.

You'd definitely gotten into the wrong elevator.

Slumping into Sylus’ chest, you bury your face into his throat and groan, “Not again.”

The elevator sits in a strange sort of quiet, the soft glow of the panel making the space feel relaxing and ambient when on the inside, you're feeling anything but.

Because without the rush of movement, the adrenaline of the chase, or the immediate threat of Sylus (or you, for that matter) being seen, your thoughts are taking up all the leftover space as they spiral.

"You know, if we'd stayed in the N109 Zone…"

You groan, thinking about how quickly your plans had crashed and burned. About how every detail you'd mapped out with the sole intention of giving him something normal, something indulgent, something that belonged entirely to him, had been unraveled.

"No Hunter's Association..."

You lean back against the wall, curl your fingers over the railing, and sigh. If you'd just turned around on your way to Linkon earlier that week like he'd suggested, he wouldn't be caught in the middle of a hotel filling with Hunters who wanted him dead.

"Top-of-the-line elevators..."

You roll your eyes through a smile, knowing he's trying to lighten the mood despite all of your grand ideas slipping further out of reach by the second. Replaced with contingency plans and escape routes again. On his birthday.

"One of the twins' surprise parties..."

You huff out a small laugh despite yourself. “That they’d trap us in a closet to keep a surprise.”

"That's a lil ironic coming from someone trapped in an elevator right now."

The unmistakable sound of Luke's voice crackles through the space, drawing your and Sylus' gazes up at the camera.

“Luke,” you bite out. "Was this you? You were supposed to make sure everything went smoothly tonight!"

An indignant gasp fizzles through the speaker. “Boss-lady, you wound me. I would never jeopardize your plans for—”

Static cuts him off, replaced by Kieran’s gravely tone. "Don't worry, we've got it all under control. All footage of boss-man looking like boss-man has been wiped, and the hallway or elevator CCTV won't be 'working' until tomorrow.”

You exhale, tension loosening slightly in your stomach. But it does nothing to reach the knot that continues to tighten it's hold on your lungs as the guilt continues to fester.

You sneak a glance at Sylus, convinced he's at least a little ticked off now that the boys were roped into this mess too, but he's just staring at the ceiling with a half-amused, half-proud grin on his face.

"Everything's fiiiine. Promise." Luke's cheerful lilt chimes back in. "Kier and I just need a few minutes to create a little... distraction. Then all you two have to do is walk outta the elevator and high-tail it to boss-man's car when the doors open."

"And try not to be seen by anyone on the way,” Kieran adds.

“I think we can manage a little subterfuge,” he calls to them as his attention settles back on you. “Right, sweetie?”

“Sure,” you concede, tipping your head back until it bumps the wall. “Fine. Just hurry up.”

“Anything for you, boss-lady,” Luke sing-songs, and you can practically see the teasing wink he's shoot your way as the line goes dead.

Leaving you to stew in your guilt once again.

Though some of the anxiety is soothed — you know the twins are more than capable of getting you out of here, it's why you had tasked them with wiring into the hotel security system in the first place — it doesn't fix the fact that Sylus' birthday celebration has, once again, gone sideways in the worst way.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt to the ceiling, head still tipped back as you bump it against the wall once with a small thud.

A confused rumble. “Hm?”

“I just… I wanted to go to the auction with you,” you start, your voice picking up pace as the dam holding back the trickle of your thoughts cracks. “And watch you sweep those protocores out from under everyone else's bids, and–”

Thud.

"Hey. It's–"

“–and eat the birthday cake I smuggled into our room, and actually let you have a night where you weren’t worrying about being tracked or followed, and instead–"

Thud.

“Kitten, it's fine. I–”

“–and instead! I pulled you into a broken elevator and got us stuck.” Thud. “With the Hunter’s Association outside because I brought you here on your birthday of all days–"

"Sweetie," Sylus cuts in firmly, the warning rumbling in his throat a complete contrast to the soft way his palms cup your jaw and force your focus onto him.

“Deep breath,” he commands softly, thumbs brushing slow, grounding strokes along your cheeks.

Sylus joins you as you inhale a deep breath through the tightness in your throat, hold it for a beat, and then exhale.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, brushing your loosened hair away from your cheeks and behind your ears as you feel all the rush in your body, your thoughts, your breath, your blood, slow to a steadier pace.

"Are you really not worried?" you ask after another deep breath, fingers absently smoothing along the smooth silk of his shirt as he raises an arm by your head and settles into it, into you.

"Why would I be?" He quirks a brow, his other hand toying with the seam of your dress that splits a slit over your thigh. A spike of pleasure shivers its way upward. "You have everything under control, sweetie. The disguises, the room, the boys."

And despite the levity of his tone, the ease with which he says them and the the casual intimacy of his touch, his absolute conviction in his eyes, a warm, deep scarlet in the dim light, manages to calm your panic. To seal the deluge of doubts that had been cracking at your mind since the moment you spotted your fellow Hunter at the auction.

The tip of his nose bumps into yours. "I trust you."

As the guilty thoughts finally settle, your breathing unsettles as his pointer and middle finger trace the V of the seam of your dress up and then down in a steady rhythm over the sensitive skin of your thigh, the same way he parts and traces the slit between your–

"You do?" you ask breathlessly, sliding your hands up his chest until they rest on either side of his neck, thumbs settling into the soft hair behind his ears while his fingers on your leg continue their lazy path up your thigh until they hike it up and wrap it over his hip to open you.

He hums and leans down, resting his lips over your pulse. "With my heart."

He parts his lips, teeth closing gently over your fluttering artery before releasing it. "With my life."

His head comes back up and his lips slot over yours in a deep, languid kiss, pulling away with a teasing smirk. "Though, maybe not with my protocores," he muses as your eyes simultaneously catch on the velvet box on its side on the floor.

You giggle and he nuzzles your throat, like he's trying to inhale the sweetness of the sound.

“There you are," he rumbles through a stampede of kisses on your tingling skin, goosebumps rising to meet his lips on their journey up your jaw and over your cheek until they settle back over your mouth.

"Here I am." You pull away with an unsteady sigh as his fingers finally press over the lace gusset of your underwear. "Unfortunately. For both of us," you joke through a wry grin.

"Only I get to be the judge of that." He shakes his head and his demanding lips descend on yours again and again with a series of low, displeased growls. Nimble fingers sliding beneath wet lace and pinching at your slippery, sensitive clit, sending a whimper through your throat and a buck through your hips as he adds to the punishment.

“You haven't brought me anything but good fortune, kitten.” You sigh, eyelashes fluttering as he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and sucks, as if to siphon away the harsh words you dared utter. "Given me every gift, fulfilled every fantasy I've ever had."

A flick of your clit and your lower lip sends a shudder through your muscles. “A redo of our first auction.”

A stroke of your pussy and a stroke of your tongue sends heat through your blood. "The sight of you in this dress."

"Getting caught– hmm–" He stutters as you start to press into the root of his cock with each roll your hips over his thigh, pushing his thick fingers into your clit over and over again. "Getting caught by an award-winning Hunter."

His words are pure gravel now, rolling through your stomach, making you laugh breathlessly as you realize he technically did get caught by a Hunter. Yanking his head down, you capture his lips, his teeth, his tongue with another series of moan-filled kisses.

Sylus growls and you squeal as he brings your other leg around his waist, pins you to the wall, presses his chest and stomach into you, slotting the straining heat of his cock into the damp heat of you. "So, what are you going to do with me, Miss Hunter?"

“Uh– hopefully nothing, boss-man… Because this is your thirty-second warning before we send this elevator to the garage.”

Luke's voice crackles back through the room, a bucket of ice that instantly douses the blaze of heat between you as Sylus rips his mouth from yours with a curse.

Irritation followed by resignation flash through his eyes, the warm glow of the dim lights illuminating the flush on his cheeks as he growls "Luke."

Luke’s cackle bursts through the speaker, "Boss-lady was the one who told us to hurry up. I'm just glad I stopped you when I did, you guys already have a lot of explaining to do to Mephie, he saw the–"

"Get back safe, lovebirds," Kieran chimes in with a final laugh before cutting the mic.

Sylus drops his forehead to yours with a disappointed sigh, both your chests still heaving as he closes his eyes and drops a kiss to your nose.

But when he tries to set your feet back on the ground, you tighten your legs around his waist, lock your elbows behind his neck, lean with love shining in your eyes and say, "Happy Birthday, Sylus."

And on the way down? You tell him everything Miss Hunter is going to do with her captive when you guys get home.

➻➻ MORE SYLUS FICS

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[deepspacenova]

Behind Closed Doors

Thanks to two masked menaces, you and Sylus get trapped in a closet together. Tensions get larger as the space gets smaller.

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➻➻ ABOUT | 3200 words. sylus x gn!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | forced proximity. sexual and romantic tension. banter. fluff. first kiss.

NOTE: Happy Sylus' Birthday to all those who celebrate! This is my humble offering in honour of the big, bad, and beautiful man I downloaded this game for.

The rhythmic beeping of the front entryway’s keypad was a perfect representation of the last beats of your heart before it flatlined from a gory death instigated by the twin menaces currently on a rampage in the heart of the base. 

You’d barely set foot in the building two hours ago, ready with the excuse of talking to Sylus about a mission you were handed at the Association, when Luke and Kieran ambushed you with manic grins, dozens of streamers, and zero mercy. Insisting that you didn’t ruin the (eighteenth) consecutive surprise party they were throwing for Sylus.

Not wanting to break the news that surprise parties usually involved, well, a party of people, or to be caught in their questionable version of ‘tricking the place out for the boss,’ you’d volunteered to keep watch for Sylus and warn them when he arrived. Besides, today was the one day they’d gotten it right. 

Since then, you’d been posted up at your designated lookout — one of the black leather wingbacks in the foyer. You'd started by scrolling through the Association’s mission files on your watch, which lasted all of twenty minutes before a text from Sylus popped up: “Running late, sweetie. Minor complication involving amateur explosives and humans’ lack of self-preservation skills.” 

Knowing it could mean anything from a blown-up building to another assassination attempt — you were betting on the latter — you switched over to playing a new game on your phone and assured the twins he wouldn’t be due for at least another hour. 

Only now the door was opening, and the crisp, blossom-sweetened air of the spring evening was sneaking its way around the imposing and early man who filled the doorway, wrapping itself around you like the noose Kieran would probably fashion out of the blood-red streamers he’d been holding before Luke strung you up for breaking your promise.

The way you leapt from your seat and took a few beats to stop gaping at Sylus’ grinning face probably did nothing to disguise your guilty expression. So when he closed the door and leaned against it expectantly, hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, you let the silence stretch between you.

“Well, this is a… surprise,” he drawled out, his voice low and smooth. 

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then, regretfully, opened again, “No, nope. Not a surprise. Just, uh...“

“Something wrong?” Only the slight crease at the corner of his eye hinted at his amusement when he quipped, “Kitten got your tongue?” 

“No!” you asserted with a huff, indignation shaking you out of your surprised stupor. “I was… walking.”

“Walking.” He raised an eyebrow. “Through the foyer?”

Shit.

“Yes. I mean- you were supposed to…” You wave a vague hand behind you, where the archway to the main hall looms. “I was walking to come get you.”

He nodded as if he accepted your nonsensical answer and stepped forward, gently tilting your chin up with the inside of his finger. “And where are you taking me, sweetie?”

You swallowed when the pad of his thumb gently swiped along the edge of your jaw, the teasing affection in his gaze capturing yours like a hook. 

Your thoughts suddenly clanged around in your skull like loose screws. His fingers were warm. His breath was warmer. And your cheeks became hot. 

“Guess,” you managed after you suck in a breath. 

“Luke and Kieran,” he concluded, brows lifting slightly. “Hm. Well, at least they finally found the right distraction.”

Your sigh of his name was nestled somewhere between flustered and exasperated. Grasping to get your bearings back, you reluctantly pulled your face away and cleared your throat, “They… they just wanted me to make sure you weren’t, you know… late?”

“But I’m home early.” 

“I noticed,” you muttered to yourself. 

A mischievous glint flickered behind his lashes before he started backing up toward the hall, holding out his forearm like he was a gentleman escorting his partner for a dance rather than a man walking through his own home. “Let’s see what they need then, shall we?”

There was no way Luke and Kieran had finished whatever they were trying to do in that room. But, not trying to look more guilty than you already did, you hooked your arm around his and walked into the hallway, all the while racking your brain for more stalling measures.

The soles of your shoes were silent on the marble as you both walked. Moonlight spilled through the tall, reinforced windows, casting delicate, pale beams across the polished floor and climbing the walls in ribbons of silver. 

It illuminated the hair on Sylus’ temples, snowy strands glimmering like threads of constellations, taking any ideas your mind might’ve tried to form straight into the sky. 

He looked ethereal in that moment, too otherworldly to be walking there with you.

Which made it all the more disarming when he stopped in his tracks and turned to face you when you blurted out, “Could we, maybe, walk slower?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the door that led to the main room, the same door that stood between you and Sylus, the twins, and a ruined surprise. “You’re acting strange, kitten.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he said, the rasp of amusement unmistakable. “You’re acting suspicious.”

“Well then. I learn from the best.”

The smirk reappeared, and so did the inside of a pointer finger beneath your chin. “What’re you hiding from me?”

Your mouth went dry, your brain scrambling to come up with an excuse, when the door at the end of the hallway suddenly cracked open.

The unmistakable eyes of Luke went wide behind his mask when he saw the two of you stopped a few feet away, flitting his eyes between your awkward, half-stepped retreat and Sylus’ narrowed eyes before he barked out a sharp, “Kieran!”

You barely blinked before the door behind you opened and a pair of arms gently but firmly shoved you into a room- no, closet. Swearing sharply, Sylus lunged forward to steady you when the door behind him slammed shut and-

Click.

The pitch black room was filled with nothing but the heavy sounds of your breaths and absolutely stunned silence until Kieran’s voice broke it with a, “Promise you’ll thank us later, boss-man!” 

"Sylus."

You hadn’t meant to say his name like that again, all soft and breathy. Fanning each letter across the veined skin of his throat.

You were just trying to soothe him, to soothe yourself, as you both came to terms with your new… bodily arrangement for the time being. (And trying desperately not to harbor any murderous intent toward two masked teenagers.)

But you knew it had slipped out anyway when you felt his body tense against yours and a harsh breath escaped from his nose. 

Not that your position was doing either of you any favors.

Face to face. The thickness of his muscular thigh between yours, parting them around his trouser-clad leg to slot more comfortably into the tight space. Every breath shifting the delicate brushes of pressure between your chest and his black-silk dress shirt.

Your arms were pinned awkwardly behind you, trapped between the wall and the base of your spine. It wasn’t painful, but the weight of his body pressed against you gave you no room to move them. And while Sylus being an imposing figure wasn’t a new discovery, feeling the wide, broad, and powerful musculature against you was vastly different than admiring it from a few feet away. 

You sucked in a shaky breath to hide the way your heart slammed against your ribs, like pounding fists trying to reach him.

“Don’t move.”

All the playfulness from his earlier tone had disappeared, leaving behind a gravelly warning as you started to shift.

The closet that you’d been unceremoniously shoved into was barely tall enough for Sylus so he was left to slightly curl his body around yours. His right forearm held him up against the wall behind you, pushing his weight into the door while his left arm had your waist in a tight grip, pressing your hip against the wall. 

(Somewhere in the back of your mind, you weren’t sure whether to be insulted or grateful that he was practically contorting himself to put even a hairsbreadth of space between you.)

“Why?” There was a thread of concern in your voice. This was the Onychinus Base after all, it was highly unlikely something like linens were actually being stored in here.

Your eyes tried to shift back and forth to look around, but there was barely any room for you to move without brushing your nose against his cheek in this crawl space — closet was too generous a word, you’d decided.

“Don’t. Move.” He repeated, a strained kind of tightness in the words.

Now you were concerned about him. Sylus was the smoothest talker you’d ever met. You’d seen him schmooze his way through ego-infested arms deals, building explosions, and multiple shootouts. For him to be able to muster only a few monosyllabic words must’ve meant that—

It was like the twitch of a muscle, a minuscule movement that no one would ever notice if they weren’t in this exact type of predicament. But as your hips shifted the slightest inch, a sudden, hot, and unmistakable hardness from beneath Sylus’ trousers pressed into your lower stomach.

Oh. Oh. Your swirl of thoughts vanished as clarity hit you. As the heat of it made its way from your stomach to your cheeks. 

Sylus was decidedly not afraid. 

And suddenly… neither were you. 

Suddenly, you wanted to unpin your hands from behind you and slide them into his hair.

Suddenly, you wanted to push your hips in the opposite direction Sylus was pressing yours. 

Suddenly, you wanted to raise a leg and constrict the inside of your thigh around Sylus’ waist. 

Suddenly, you needed to get out of here. You needed more room. 

“Uh, can- can you use your Evol?” you stutter out. It might be too tight of a space for his body to dissipate but maybe he could use his mist to flip the lock on the outside?

A hesitation, followed by a resigned sigh. “I’ve been trying. It’s tapped out from my meeting earlier.”

“Meeting.” You huffed out a breath, stirring the strands of hair that had fallen across Sylus’ nose. “I knew someone was trying to assassinate you again.”

His eyes, which had been slowly tracing your features, locked onto yours. “You knew, hm?” His lips quirked. “And here I was thinking your fantasies about me had gotten less… bloodthirsty.” 

You gave him as much of a sharp and unamused look as you could muster while pinned centimetres away from his body. 

“Please. If anyone here is fantasizing about blood, it’s you, mister arms dealer,” you retorted, tilting your head to get your own hair out of your eyes. “What happened tonight, anyway?”

It was then that you had the strangest metaphysical experience of your life. Because reality kept progressing. Time kept moving forward. Sylus had started talking — you could tell by the way his chest rumbled against yours, by the way his rasped words started to soothe their way from his lips to your ears, like a massage designed to loosen your muscles — and yet…

And yet your consciousness couldn’t properly focus on any of that. Couldn’t remember or process any of the sentences he was saying. 

Because for the next few moments, every sensation, every nerve ending — your very existence — disappeared, except for the part of your body where Sylus' hardness pressed. 

Where the length and width and heat of it started to move lower and lower as he relaxed into his explanation. Where you desperately willed it to move lower still. And press harder. So that your body could memorize its shape from the outside. So that your body could recognize its shape once it was inside.

All the while, you did the best you could with the awareness you had. Humming faintly when there was a pause between sentences. Nodding slightly when the tone of a word lilted up in question like, “Kitten?”

Though it was only a matter of time before Sylus noticed and said—

“Kitten. Are you listening?”

“Yes,” you assured quickly. Probably too quickly.

Your consciousness was mercilessly yanked back into your body. Your cheeks were blistering with heat. The bones in your chest felt a little too big for your diaphragm.

Sylus had moved, too, you realized. The bicep holding his weight back had shifted closer to sort of cradle the side of your head. His head had lowered, his nose and mouth alternating between hovering by the skin beneath your ear and pressing into the space between your cheek and jaw. 

“Hm, alright then. Glad we both agree,” he said dryly. “I’ll start my explosives manufacturing venture next week.”

You blinked once. Twice. Then again. Before you turned his smirk into a low growl when you pushed your hips away from the wall and into his. 

You turned his growl into a startled grunt when you finally freed your hands from behind you, and thumped your fists against the only place they could reach — his lower back. 

“I’m going to kill Luke and Kieran for doing this to me,” you muttered.

“To you? Isn’t it me we should pity here, sweetie? Trapped in a closet with you on my birthday.” His body shifted again as he released your hip and slipped his arm around your lower back. “There’s only one part of this situation that fits into the celebration I had in mind.”

Shaking your head, you both let silence descend as the air in the closet seemed to charge, a current of electricity sparking from your bodies. 

The tip of his thumb, which pulsed back and forth over the edges of your spine. Your palms, which had surged up the straining muscles of Sylus’ obliques, re-trapping themselves between the door and his back. The mixture of your breaths, which zapped across the sensitive areas of your face — your eyelids, the corners of your nose, your eyelashes. 

Your gaze traced sharp cheekbones; hair so silver you had no trouble finding it in the dark; burgundy irises, the rich, muted red of decanted wine; parted lips, soft and pliant like a sweet that you wanted to taste. 

You wondered what it would be like to take them between your teeth. To see how the flavor would change if he were to bend down and kiss you, hard and slow.

Your thoughts blurred as those lips brushed yours, not a kiss, nowhere near as satisfying as a kiss, but enough to make you weave his name into the breath of space between you. 

This wasn’t the first time you’d been in this position either, the slightest movement away from kissing each other. For weeks now, your lips and Sylus’ had come so close, and then he’d break the trance. Like- 

“Why did you come tonight?” he rasped into your ear, as if the words had clawed their way out of him. He sounded almost desperate. Like if he didn’t say any words, he might do something he couldn’t undo.

A fond smile slid its way across your cheeks at his question, at his (very unnecessary) self-restraint. Tilting your head to face him to the best of your ability, you end up with the top of your head against the wall. His head tilted down in response, blocking your view of the ceiling with his intense expression. The height difference created the perfect distance to look into his eyes.

“What do you always say about silly questions I already know the answer to?” you asked softly, enjoying the way his cheek twitched with the ghost of a smile. "I wanted to celebrate your birthday with you."

A raised brow. "Luke and Kieran texted something about wanting to go over a mission?"

"That was for the boys' benefit." You shook your head. "I figured there was a reason you didn't tell them when your birthday was. That no one knew when it was. I didn't want to ruin that."

He stayed quiet, the intensity in his expression only growing, curling its way through the room and around you like vines of velvet.

“Besides,” you added with a wicked grin, “I kind of like being the only one who knows your birthday is today. I like being the only one who knows just how much brighter. Softer. Safer. The world became on this day.”

The skin of his throat moved with a swallow, his tone rough against soft words. “Always so greedy.”

A breath of amusement escaped your nose. “You should be the one who’s greedy,” you murmured. “It’s your birthday.”

“Hm.” He paused, eyes half-lidded, murmuring, “Are you sure you’re ready for my version of greed, kitten?”

Suddenly certain you’d be happy for eternity if you and Sylus remained in this closet forever — with his wit and his humour, with rasp in your ears and his body cocooning yours — you nodded. Vigorously. Decisively. Leaving no room for uncertainty or hesitation between you.

And there was nothing hesitant about it. 

His lips captured yours slowly, fully, the kind that ensured the only source of breath you could pull from was his. The kind that had teeth and hunger behind it, sucking and panting and nibbling and sighing. 

Groaning, Sylus slid his body down yours with desperate movements and awkward wiggles, aligning your heights.

So he could close the little space left between you — sliding his hands down your waist, down your back, down your bum until he pulled your legs up and around him and lifted you from the ground when he straightened.

So you could feel as much as you could of each other — the indents of his shirt buttons against your chest, the strands of his hair under your palms, the prints of his fingers on the nape of your neck, the slide of his zipper against your center. 

Lightning zapped through your stomach when Sylus growled another moan, which you attempted to redirect by taking his lower lip into your mouth and sucking it in. Inhaling sharply, he moved his hands to fist your hair, as if to hold onto something, as if to anchor himself because kissing you felt too much like flying. Like the inability to take a full breath because he was soaring so high. 

Your spine started arching. His arms tightened. The currents of his breath brushed your cheek as he exhaled your name and—

There was a rush of glowing light that flooded the space. “Alright, Boss-man and his precious cargo, we finished up and the room is-“

Luke’s words were cut off as he and Kieran took in your closeness, the way you were tangled into each other — Sylus’ arms wrapped around your neck and bottom, your hands caressing his cheek and his jaw. 

A mixture of discomfort, affection, and resignation flashed across both of their faces as Kieran closed the door and plunged you and Sylus into darkness once more with a, “Come to the living room when you guys are done!”

And as Sylus rested his forehead against yours and released a low, teeth-flashing, chest-rumbling laugh, all you could do was murmur, ”Happy Birthday, Sylus.”

➻➻ MASTERLIST

[deepspacenova]

Bloodlust

“I see you every time I close my eyes.” His voice is rough as you start ripping at his waistcoat, fumbling with the buttons and dislodging the jewels in your haste to part the garments and feel the muscled warmth of his pale skin. "Do you feel it too? Our bond pulling at your bloodstream?"

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➻➻ ABOUT | 4500 words. sylus x fem!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | MDNI. light angst. banter. blood drinking. blood kink. vampire biting. bloody kisses. altar sex coffin sex. cunnilingus. fingering. body worship. power dynamics. religious imagery. porn with some plot. shameless smut.

NOTE: I had a goal for this smut and, as usual, I got lost in the sauce and couldn't help but add plot (she'll never learn). There's no normal or sane way to explain how Vampire Sylus has affected my brain, so this is my humble attempt at it >.< Really hope you enjoy xx

The roses still bloom.

Even now, with the sky bruised scarlet and black, the Sacredcore’s poison trembles through the roots of the world, making the buds burgeon in obscene abundance as they claw their way through flagstone.

A garden of thorns, the prickle of eternity.

High above, the fractured stained glass catches what little of the Blood Moon remains, filtering it into warped color — indigos, reds, and golds spilling across the nave in trembling bands. The light moves when the clouds do, and the shadows move with it, crawling like living things over each pew you pass.

The saints have lost their faces. And half the angels burn eternally mid-fall.

The Archfiend waits at the heart of the church, lounging against the marble altar like a demon upon its pyre. You'd felt his attention wrap around you the moment you entered, pupils flaring like a beacon as your presence rippled through the air.

Eyes the colour of crackling embers singe each inch of your exposed skin as you near him. Dim light reflects the stark white of his garments, from the ruffled sleeves spilling down his forearms to the filigree embroidery threading gold through every seam.

The wildness of a predator in wait, wrapped in the restraint of an aristocrat.

“My sweet," he drawls, unfurling a corner of his lip to perfectly frame the tip of a fang. Each word is dipped in possessive hunger. “At last, you've decided to come.”

You come to a stop, just four weathered stairs away from each other. "Do you invite all those who summon you into your…" your eyes catch on the intricately carved coffin behind him "sanctum?"

The the other corner of his lip lifts too, engraving a predatory grin into his cheeks. “No. Just you.”

It hadn’t been long since you’d made the decision to betray your own kind.

Mages have long been brought into a world already caving in on itself. Twisting their power to defile their bodies into a state that refused to decay, while the rest of creation cycled through death and rebirth all around them.

Immortality has been their last miracle left to cling to, and they've grasped it in their desperate hands, even as they lured the planet toward its final sealing, toward doomsday. But doomsday to them is not an ending, it's an ascension — the Sacredcore. Where undying flesh anchors into permanence, and erases death and life and humanity as a concept entirely.

They saw crossing its threshold as a blessing.

Which is exactly why you'd decided to purge it as a curse.

Because what they worshipped as salvation had curdled inside you. You knew eternity was not a sanctuary; it was a purgatory where time itself gnawed at the soul, endless and unyielding.

You'd experienced the worst of its cruelty. No matter how many times your body was bloodied, broken, scattered, or burned to ash, it always returned, reassembled yet never fully reclaimed. And the torment of being torn apart would always linger in your nerves, a memory your flesh and bones refused to forget.

All the while, a true death remained locked away from you.

But where there’s a lock, there’s a key, and that's exactly what the Archfiend Sovereign was: not a ruler, not a god, but a mechanism of extraction in a world obsessed with infinite accumulation.

You found in an Old-World tome the mages had dismissed as archaic filth, that he feeds on not just blood, but on the very things that animate a life form. On the power that sustains an immortal body, that rebuilds it when it should have succumbed for good.

And when the Archfiend drinks from an immortal he is bound to, some of that power is permanently consumed until it thins, frays, and eventually, dies.

So, you summoned him to kill you.

Sylus straightens to his full height before you. “How may I serve you?”

The thud of his cane being set upon the opulent dais next to him seems to slow time. It becomes something thick and heavy between you, as if the entire universe is waiting for your answer.

"I need you to kill someone." Your fingers curl into your palms before you can stop them, and you curse yourself for leaving your coat, hat, and mage's scepter at the last pew.

The bargains had started a few days after you bound him with your blood in a ritual only few have survived. Sylus, Archfiend Sovereign, would fix any problem for the one that is bound to him, as long as they paid the price.

Information, riches, entire cities, it didn’t matter. He'd get it for you, as long as he got what he wanted in the end.

“Who?” It's his lack of hesitation that makes your stomach twist slightly. Of course he’ll do it, he’ll do whatever you want. All you have to do is fulfill your side of the bargain, whatever it is this time.

Still, you can't help but wonder. "Do you not care for the reason why?"

“Not at all." A flicker of emotion crosses Sylus’ face, breaking the illusion of calm indifference. Too quickly for you to see the depth of his feelings, but enough to seem almost human. "That is, not unless this person hurt you."

Your response shrivels in your throat, and suddenly you're doing your best to avoid his all-seeing gaze — an unforeseen side effect of being eternally bound to him, you suppose. You fixate on the blood-red jewels that cascade down the hollow of his throat.

"Look at me, my sweet."

You hesitate, your breath catching, and in a split second you feel the tether of your Linkage band around your waist and yank you up the steps. His hands are ungloved like he'd planned this ahead of time, removing one more barrier between your skin and his. One of them sheathes around your back. The other cups your chin and gently guides it until your faces are only a few breaths apart.

"Did this person who needs to die hurt you?" he repeats, and the brushstrokes of menace painting those coaxing words are unmistakable.

"Can immortals really understand true pain?" You see no point in lying, but you see no point in dwelling on the details either. "Now tell me my price this time so we can be done here, Archfiend."

""Archfiend' now, is it? That's not the name I usually hear when you're this close to me."

You can feel your blush spreading as he practically purrs the words. It only gets worse when you notice his nostrils flare as he scents the rush of your blood.

"Oh, spare me," you bite out. Pressing one palm to the silk of his waistcoat and the other into his wrist, you attempt to dislodge your chin from his grasp.

“Now, now,” he murmurs, finding joy in making you squirm. “That's not a kind thing to say to your saviour.”

Your salvation from immortality, with unforgiving claws steeped in sin. Prepared to lie and cheat. Prepared to kill. His inferno-red eyes and sin-blackened soul, ever waiting, willing to wade through the darkness, in the name of your desires.

Even after all these weeks, after all the times you'd felt his touch, his breaths, his bites, you still aren't quite certain how he feels about you. The person who awakened him. The immortal who set him free only to shackle him to herself. You're not really sure if you're as special or unique as he tells you, but you do know he'll still do whatever you ask.

In fact, even if you leave right now without fulfilling your end of the bargain, you know the person, who's name you hadn't even had a chance to utter yet, would still turn up dead. You might never speak to him again, and yet he'll always be there. Waiting in the shadows, willing to follow your bidding. Waiting to carve the world open for you until you're ready to let it go.

You aren't sure whether the flittering in your stomach at the thought of that is from the excited brush of moth wings or the fearful flap of bat wings. Trying your best not to dwell on the implications of either, you demand again. "My price?"

"Hm, just a little bite. Just a little blood." The wrist you hold lines up against yours, the pointed tip of his nose caressing your temple as he softly requests, "I've found myself a lot more... ravenous lately."

“You can have whoever you want." You remind him, eyelids heavy from his closeness.

“I told you. I don't want anyone but you, my sweet.”

You turn your head to meet the flaring red of his right eye, deliberately brushing your own nose across his cheekbone, knowing he must be enjoying the steady acceleration of your blood in your veins.

He inhales shakily, smelling the air, smelling you. “Please.”

Even his begging sounds like a command, but it's the crack that splits through the plea that does you in. To know that he'd rather starve than feast on another. To hear, explicitly, that he's hungry for you.

Keeping your gaze fixed onto his, you tilt your neck and tug your collar to the side. “Have your fill.”

His eyes are glassy when his hand moves from your waist toward your throat. Then, the brush of his heated fingers against your neck, leaving a prickle of gooseflesh in his wake. He presses them into your carotid, tugging his other hand from your grasp to cradle the back of your head. Those fingers wind into your pinned hair and clench, pulling your head further back.

“I keep dreaming of this.” He says thickly, mouth too full — his fangs look sharper, longer, ready sink into their home. “Since the first moment you summoned me, all I can think of is your taste.”

"Wondering if the mages have sullied my immortal blood?"

He huffs out a sardonic laugh, the shake of his head scraping a fang across your skin, a punishing caress of each nerve ending. “Wondering if your... lips taste as sweet as your blood."

“Don’t play with your food." It comes out too breathless to be scolding. “Get on with it so I can-”

He strikes before you can finish, incisors nestling firmly into your flesh. A familiar pain explodes across your skin, sizzling down your neck, spreading over each inch of your skin, and then- it dissolves into something else entirely, into something rapturous and head-spinning.

The scream that had been building up in your throat reconfigures itself into a long, drawn-out moan as you feel the pull of him, feel his tongue flattening across your neck, feel as he sucks mouthfuls of your blood.

An inferno spreads across your body like a fever as every emotion evaporates into pure pleasure. Your brain turns into static, nothing but sensation and compliance and blessed silence as you melt into Sylus who tightens his grip to steady you, shifting his hold so one powerful arm slides around the backs of your thighs and lifts you with effortless strength.

Your hands rise on instinct, tangling into the fall of his long, silvery white hair as you cling to him. Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist as he draws you flush against him, aligning your neck perfectly with his mouth.

You only faintly hear his responding groan into your throat as he lowers you onto the plush crimson satin of the open coffin, following you right down into it. All that matters is the rolling, bubbly feeling in your stomach, the grip of his strong arms, and the relentless worship of his mouth on your neck.

Sylus pulls away, mouth wet, eyes glowing redder than the rubies on his waistcoat. “My dearest wife,” the words are slightly slurred into your skin and you feel the warmth of blood spill across your flesh. 

Heart in your throat, you stare up at him. Your blood is smeared across his mouth, dripping down his jaw. He looks… euphoric. Like he'd tumbled head over feet into ruin. A fallen angel, beautiful as ever.

Suddenly, it's hard to remember why you've been unsure of him. Why you've struggled to enjoy each of his bites and how each one brings you closer to the death you desire. Why you hadn't come to him sooner.

Why you've been so hesitant to accept that word: wife.

“I see you every time I close my eyes.” His voice is rough as you start ripping at his waistcoat, fumbling with the buttons and dislodging the jewels in your haste to part the garments and feel the muscled warmth of his pale skin. "Do you feel it too? Our bond pulling at your bloodstream," he rasps, a droplet of your blood falling from his chin to your chest, which his own hands are deftly and skillfully baring. Ripping through each layer — shirt, corset, chemise — like the pages of a book, the fabrics fraying under his strength. When both of your torsos are finally naked to each other’s view, an unsteady, drunk hum resounds from his throat. "It's torture."

"Good," you choke out as he straddles your waist, overpowering what little resistance your writhing is offering. Fingers flex around your throat, almost an involuntary action, like he can't help himself. "I'm not going to make this easy on you."

Lowering his head, his long, iridescent hair spills forward like a curtain, framing your view as he licks the drop of blood that had fallen on your chest. "So cruel," he murmurs, dragging his teeth down tender flesh until he reaches a nipple. "So delicious," he whispers, pulling it into his mouth, and the gasp it tears from your throat has your fingers tangling themselves instinctively into the pale white strands at the base of his neck. He tuts softly in response as you try to pull his mouth toward the other. "So demanding."

He bites your other breast, striking again without warning, sucking gently as the blood fills his mouth. The tongue, thick across your nipple, is agony and ecstasy — you don't even feel the pain this time, only all-consuming bliss.

Your hands grasp fistfuls of his hair to clutch him closer to your body, your hips rolling against his own, rubbing against the hardness you find. He groans, hand moving from your throat to wind tightly around your shoulders, holding you back. A pile of twisted limbs and trembling bones, you feel nothing but the drip of blood between your breasts and the drip of arousal between your legs.

Staccatoed moans, sticky thighs, and pulsing muscles; your first orgasm comes without warning, hurtling up your spine, spreading across your body.

Overwhelmed with the feeling, you try to twist away with a cry, but the weight of his body, the strength of his arms, hold you still, as you quake against him, your inner walls clenching around nothing as he sucks your blood and chants words of possession and devotion. Your blood was made for me. You taste like bliss. My immortal. My wife. 

A breathless scoff escapes your lips. Multiple lifetimes spent around self-serving mages, surveying some of the most depraved behaviour from mortals and immortals alike, has long learned to be wary of flower-brushed words. "Is that what you tell everyone who summons you?" you gasp out, wishing the words came out more dry and less uncertain as your bones sag against the mattress.

He hisses, finally releasing your flesh with great reluctance to start yanking away your petticoats one-by-one. "Everyone who's attempted to summon me is dead, my sweet."

"How many?" A voice in the back of your mind warns about overindulgence. About the way immortality carves hollows into your chest, brimming with the ache of spending centuries alone. About your longing for someone who understands you, who stays. The way being called "wife" soothes the ache with the balm of companionship. Of belonging.

It's dangerous to fall for the one who feeds on you. The one you've instructed to kill you.

“Twelve.” His attention is all over your bared thighs now, branding indents of his teeth and bloodied lip stains into every part he kneads as he coaxes your unsteady legs open. “And I’d kill twelve more, if that's the price of finding you again.”

“What if-" a sharp inhale as he nips at your hip "-what if I don’t want to be found?"

"Then I'll have to earn my place as your saviour. Become the person you want to be found by." He says it so simply, so matter-of-factly, that you can't do anything but cry out when he finally leans down to suck at your center, scraping your sensitive clit with his sharp teeth as his tongue laves across the wetness, muttering a quiet "hm, yes, just as sweet" against your heated skin.

Sylus slips two fingers inside, twisting against the tightness, strands of his hair sticking to the bloody mess coating your thighs as he leisurely licks you. He curls his fingers as you start to cant your hips and rock them back and forth. "Yes, that's it, take what you need from me, my wife. Take everything I have to give."

It scares you how well you listen to him, how easily you let yourself fall into his attention, his care as you follow his orders, rising and falling steadily around his fingers, mewling louder and louder as you use his hand to pleasure yourself. Letting his grunts of approval settle in your stomach, letting the rare feeling of transience and peace pour over you.

His other hand creeps up your body to your breasts, to your neck, walking the trail of blood he’d left behind. Smearing it across your skin, painting shapes and patterns down your sternum that you don't understand — perhaps, Sylus doesn't fully understand, either. Instead, letting some primal part of his brain take over, letting the demon inside him lead.

Your second orgasm coils in your stomach, his tongue and fingers nudging you toward the precipice, but it's the third bite on your inner thigh that careens you over the edge, tumbling into darkness, bliss, and nothingness.

He’s leaning over your body, his hardness bulging through the now-unbuttoned opening of his pants, tattooing bloody kisses into your burning cheeks when you blink back into awareness. Your center is soaked from the slick and blood dripping from your bite, no doubt smearing the wetness into the satin below you.

Some distant, hysterical part of you wonders if that's the reason the interior of the coffin is red as you lift a trembling hand and fist it into his hair, pulling his face down to yours — and for the first time in your weeks of push and pull, of give and take, your lips meet his.

His fangs are insatiable again as you kiss, making themselves known on your tongue, your lips, even against your own teeth.

But he told you to take what he had. So take you will.

You tilt your head and bite down, sinking the blunt rows of your teeth straight into his bottom lip until the taste of your blood combines with his. But you don't anticipate just how much your bite will affect him until a gravelly, broken whimper spills into your mouth and his body seems to liquefy over yours.

You don’t stop kissing him. Don’t stop imprinting your teeth into his lips as you take your opportunity and shift your weight with a small grunt, rolling him beneath you until you’re the one laying on top of him.

Finally, you pull your lips away and ask, "Well?"

There's a dazed look in his eyes that fills you with self-satisfaction when he murmurs, "I didn't think you could get any sweeter."

"Are you full now?" you ask.

At your tone, at the prospect of this encounter ending so soon, his gaze sharpens and a cunning, wolfish smile overtakes his flushed cheeks. "Of you?" he pants, planting his hands on your hips to line up at your entrance and fill you with one thrust, his cock gliding through your blood-stained arousal. "Never."

You cry out at the feel of him, wonder and hunger and something deeper, more profound shudder their way through you. You know he's supposed to be killing you, but you never feel anything but formidable in his presence. Maybe this is what dying feels like.

But you don't let it stop you from catching his wrists, dragging his hands from your hips, and pinning them on either side of his head, forcing him to relinquish the control as you begin to move. “Not even after doomsday arrives?” you gasp.

He draws out a close-mouthed moan in response, half-lidded eyes drinking in your face, your breasts, the place your surging bodies join until his eyes flick to the side and he slowly stitches his long, powerful fingers between yours.

"Not even doomsday is permitted to sever this bond," he rumbles. He shuts his eyes then, as if in prayer, as if being so close to you is the only thing he needs to find salvation. And there’s something about that desperation, that vulnerability that catches your reflection like a mirror. The naked want to connect, to belong to someone for eternity, that hunger for more than flesh and blood.

You've known for a long time that the undying get lonely. Maybe the Archfiend Sovereign does too.

It's a revelation and a comfort, and you can't help but try to siphon more of those feelings from him when you add, “Not even when my power and my desire become yours?” You punctuate the question by pulling your hips back as far as you can and dropping down.

Those very things - power, desire - blaze in the abyssal depths of his pupils when he opens them and growls out without hesitation, "No." Suddenly, your Linkage flares to the surface, black-red mist dancing over your connected palms like smoke, and by the next time you blink, he's flipped your positions again, his thrusts deep and claiming. “Because you're not taking them from me. I'm giving you mine in exchange.”

One of his hands leaves yours, fingers smearing a path down your blood, down your slippery arousal, until they're unrelenting on your clit. You whine out a broken whimper, curling your calves around the back of his thighs. Desperately scrambling to pull his words closer. To pull him closer.

He obeys, pressing his forehead to yours, holding your gaze captive as he drives home each chant with a thrust. “My body. My heart. My desire. My power.” Behind him, through the haze of lust and the haze of your own racing senses, a shadow flares wider with each word, a hulking, supernatural presence you almost don’t notice until the last word escapes his lips on a strained groan. Only then do you register the wide, ash-coloured wings unfurling behind him, folding the air around you both into something sacred and inescapable. “Everything is in your hands."

His thrusts become harder, bordering on painful when he concludes- "I'm yours to command, my dearest wife" -and all hesitation, all the burdens of life and death and eternity leave your body as you sink into Sylus' embrace. You belong here, caged by the sanctuary of his wings, his cock between your thighs.

"Alright," you respond, vision blurring with pleasure. "Bite me again." You reach blindly for him and pull him down, sticking the flesh of your neck against his mouth, smiling dazedly when you feel his teeth catch at the thin skin. The noise of him groaning, of him sucking your blood is too loud to be ignored and you drown in the wet, desperate sounds, your ragged moans of pleasure as you both shatter.

As you burst over him, feeling the liquid seep into the satin beneath you, the heat of him spilling into you. Your movements feel sluggish and languid as you bring his lips back to your own, your kisses looking more like open-mouthed brushes of skin as you exchange panting breaths.

“Again,” you exhale shakily, extending your neck, using his hair to guide him back to your flesh for a bite that never comes.

Pulling away from you he shakes his head, hair following across his eyes. “No, my sweet, you'll lose too much."

You raise a lazy brow, determined to get what you want. "Bite me again… my husband."

The words visibly undo him as he rumbles out a whimpering groan, nicking his bottom lip with his fang as he bites down on it. His palm cups your cheek, thumb caressing the delicate skin beneath your eye. "I need to heal you first," he reminds you both firmly. "I need you to take from me now."

Everything is cloudy and darkness inches across your vision. You don't understand the depths of what just happened or even where his wings had disappeared to — but that bead of blood welling at the center of his lip is clearer than crystal, an intimate reminder of everything he’s laid at your feet.

You decide to concede to your husband's wishes, take his torn lip into your mouth and start drinking, filling your mouth until Sylus' blood spills over your lips. Drips down your neck. Smears over your stained flesh.

His eyes lock on yours, swirling with approval and satisfaction as you suck, moving his warm hand from your cheek to your stomach, where his cock is still nested. Assuring himself you're filled with his cum and his blood.

In the moments after, you feel yourself falling back together, like stained glass scattered messily across the floor, finally placed neatly back into its framework. He pulls out of you after you pull away, both of you settling into the plush satin of the coffin, the colour making the soiled fabric look pristine as it blends seamlessly with the bloodstains.

"I could get used to having the Archfiend Sovereign at my command," you murmur into his chest.

His rich, rumbling laugh echoes in the church like an angel's hymn until he muffles it into your hair. "Together, we'll bring the whole world to it's knees, my dearest wife."

Covered in blood, — his, your own — Sylus' release drips down your thighs as you settle into his side and let your gaze drift up. At the colourful glass that continues to beseech you with holy prayer. Imploring you to repent with images of angels and saints, scenes of salvation, the purging of sins, and the conquering of demons over your resting place.

You exhale a soft sigh at the irony as Sylus' arm curls more securely around you, patches of torn garments and bare skin, both saturated in the bond of your blood, shifting between you.

Unfortunate for them, you muse, since there's nothing holy about the demon you'd conquered tonight.

➻➻ MASTERLIST

[poisonf0rest]

Just thinking about Sylus giving you attitude when he mimics your words during the event, but he really hates when you flip it back on him... especially when it means you stop begging/talking to him next time you have sex as revenge.

Best believe he's pounding you deep into the mattress as soon as he realized what you're doing, nonstop filth coming out of his mouth as he begs you to forgive him and let him hear you once more as you fight nearly to tears to keep your sounds muffled just to torture him a little longer.

[poisonf0rest]

so beg for forgiveness

♱⋅── a/n: 2.4k of filth and Sylus being absolutely whipped for you, doing anything you ask just to earn your forgiveness.

♱⋅── mdni: smut, oral fixation, voice kink, he's repenting by eating you out tldr

He’s insufferable.

The way he mimics you—voice pitched high in a cruel, sing-song lilt—makes your blood boil.

"Sylus, Sylus," he taunts, leaning down to moan into the shell of your ear, "Please, Sylus, slow down. Too big, too much. Sylus!"

You shove him hard, your frustration met only with his low, infuriating chuckle as you storm away.

But later, when Sylus coaxes you back into bed as if nothing happened, as if his little stunt is already forgotten, you remind yourself that you haven’t forgotten.

And you certainly won’t let him go unpunished.

Sylus always fucks you like he loves you. Like he’s obsessed with you. Every hulking inch of his six-foot-something body pressed down onto yours in devotion only the vulnerability of skin on skin could provide. Every slow, languid thrust jostling your entire body, inching the two of you up the mattress until he drags you back down by the grip on your leg, leaving a kiss on your ankle as he does so. 

And god, he feels good. Always does. Hot and heavy, rambling praises and sweet promises into your neck as your nails dig bloody lines into every rigid plane of muscle across Sylus’s back. 

One of his hands cups the eternity of your waist, pulling your hips flush against his, the other gently tugging your chin up to his gaze, brows furrowed as his eyes dart between yours, clouded in confusion and concern.

Because despite his efforts, you haven't made a single sound for the past twenty minutes.

Good, he deserved to feel guilty. 

You huff, pouting, jerking your chin out from his palm as you swat his arm away. 

“You… Are you alright?” Sylus stops moving completely, cock throbbing against your walls, and the sudden lack of stimulation has you writhing. 

Before he can pull out entirely, you grab his shoulder as leverage, shooting him one last glare before beginning to fuck yourself against him. 

The man is merely stunned into silence, unsure whether to stop or continue as you continue grinding your hips up, chasing your own pleasure as you use him as little more than a toy—refusing to let even a whimper past your teeth as your thighs begin to shake.

Still chasing your own orgasm, you’re too busy to see the concern melt off Sylus’s face, quickly replaced with a wicked grin as he realizes what you’re playing at. 

Oh, so you’re still mad? Did he hit a nerve earlier? 

Sylus sighs, feigning disappointment as he watches you fight to keep quiet, poor hands clawing and grappling against him as you struggle to take him on your own. Effort straining your muscles, his cock a tight fit without his help. What a fussy little kitten he has. 

Sitting back on his heels, you hiss in frustration as the new angle forces his cock to slip right out, smacking against his abs with a lewd sound as your combined slick drips down his heaving stomach. 

“Are you still upset about what I said earlier?” 

You huff, turning your head to the side as you prop yourself up on your elbows, about to climb onto Sylus’s lap to finish yourself off something stops you halfway. A hand pushes against your chest, forcing you back down onto the mattress with an angry groan, already missing the feeling of him filling you.

Struggling is pointless, Sylus’s entire weight trained on keeping you pinned beneath him, palm large enough to encircle your neck as it travels up, squeezing ever so lightly. 

“Not even going to respond?” You bare your teeth in a mock snarl and Sylus laughs, that annoyingly arrogant grin back on his face. ”Where did all your manners go? This kitten sure knows how to hold a grudge.”

You know he’s baiting you, trying to get a rise out of you, goading you into talking.

And it nearly damn works, having to bite your tongue as you glare up at him with all the ferocity you can muster when he begins kissing around your knee and inner thigh, depriving you of his cock as he gets on his knees, leaning down onto his stomach. 

“Mhm, I’m sorry. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?” Sylus asks, sweeter than honey, words muffled into your inner thigh, each one coming out in between shaky breaths as he inhales deeply against you. “Please, let me hear you again.” another kiss, “Please let me hear your voice.”

He takes a moment to enjoy the view of you, spread open and desperate even as you stubbornly deny him his favorite thing in the world—your moans. He smiles, squeezing your hips and dragging you closer until your thighs are draped over his shoulders, knees bent. You shiver as his breath ghosts over your core, his thumbs pulling apart your lips.

The combined mess from earlier is still splattered across your skin, and Sylus wastes no time before dragging his tongue across it. He can’t help it, you taste so good. Sound even better, if only you’d stop this ridiculous game. 

Nipping and kissing into your thighs, Sylus never breaks eye contact as he works his way down to your poor fluttering pussy, blowing cool air just to watch you shiver. And when he suddenly latches his lips onto your clit, flicking his tongue up, you nearly forget about revenge. A moan rips from your throat, and only by slapping a palm over your mouth do you manage to muffle it, shaking into Sylus’s mouth as he growls between board strokes of his tongue. 

“Don’t. Do not hide them from me.”

Sylus’s hand immediately comes up, forcing your palm off your mouth. Still eating you out, his hand encircles both your wrists for good measure, pinning them to the mattress.

Sylus knows how to play your body too well, hot tongue circling your clit in slow, devoted motions until breaking away, fucking into your cunt as he watches in smug victory as you grind against the perfect arch of his nose in ways you know will bring you over the edge far too quickly. His usual patience is gone, only desperation remains. Desperation to prove himself, desperation to break you.

You swear you nearly taste blood with how hard you’re biting your lip. 

He's making out with your pussy like a man starved, the way he refuses to part even long enough to breathe, the way his fingers are still lovingly laced together with yours, the way he's still fucking begging you to let him hear your voice. You’re coming before you can help it, forcing your head to the side as you bite into the pillow, muffling your cries as you barely stop yourself from saying his name. 

Sylus doesn't miss it. He lets out a noise that's half whine, half groan, before sitting back on his heels, pulling his tongue out of your pussy and replacing it with two thick fingers.

"That hardly counts, I could barely hear you." You try to ignore the way he crawls back over you, swollen lips glistening with your release, his entire body trembling at the mere sight of you coming undone. "Was my apology not enough? I'll do more. I'd do anything to earn your forgiveness."

Sylus kisses your bruised thighs again, above your womb, your stomach, chest. It's a trail of fire up your body, worshiping every inch he can reach as the pads of his fingers curling to push against that spongy spot inside of you. It's so hard not to make a sound, especially when Sylus has the gall to press his forehead against your temple, whispering pleas in your ear as he continues fucking you with his fingers.

"I just need to hear your voice again, pretty thing, just a little. I want to hear how good I make you feel. Please."

“Sy—” Fuck. You barely stopped yourself, shaking your head violently as you claw at Sylus's biceps, pulling his arm in closer, faster.

Sylus all but whines at the denial of his name.

He lowers himself entirely, each ragged breath hot against your skin just like his neglected cock, twitching and leaking against your stomach.

“Please, let me make it up to you. I’d give you anything, everything you could ever want.” His fingers curl, hitting your g-spot with cruel accuracy even as he continues begging so, so sweetly. “I’ll be—“ a lick across your ear, “such—" sucking the sensitive lobe, “—a good boy."

Your moan is strangled, barely audible, breaking through your clenched jaw, but the way your whole body convulses lets Sylus know you're close. Again. He kisses you hard, swallowing every sound, his hand never ceasing between your legs.

"You're going to forgive me now, won't you, sweetie?" He coos, and when you nod desperately, Sylus pulls back to watch your face. "Say my name, say it, please. Please, talk to me. You know I can’t even cum anymore without hearing your voice. Hearing you ask for me, my cum."

The confession is filthy, and does horrible, terrible things to you.

“You—” you growl, frustration thick in your voice, hating how easily you gave in. “You’re disgusting. Mean.”

Sylus’s eyes nearly roll back at that—at the sound of your voice after so long. You sound divine, even when you're furious. He groans, rutting his hips against you, the underside of his cock dragging along your stomach as you hiss in faux disgust.

“Oh? So you are talking to me finally?” he moans, reveling in the feel of your heat wrapped around his fingers, your slick on his lips, the way your glare flickers between hatred and something far more dangerous.

"Again,” he pants, “call me that again."

"Disgusting."

Sylus bites his lip, moaning low into your ear as he grinds against you, his touch relentless.

"Mean," you sneer, trying to shove him away, but you are powerless against his hulking body, every inch pressing close enough to have you gasping for breath.

"Awful."

"You’re,” Your breath catches as his fingers quicken, thumb circling your clit with devastating precision. You’re going to come again. “Fucking evil.”

"Yeah,” Sylus repeats, chuckling, eyes half-lidded and dazed as he watches you convulse around his fingers with a smile. “I’m the big, bad, evil villain.”

So mean isn’t he? Cooing sweetly as you come undone, violently squirting as your cum drips down his wrist and forearm. If you want evil, then he can do that. He can earn your forgiveness and have you beg for it too.

It's all too much. The man is a demon, a monster, an angel, and his fingers are working you up to the highest heavens, the way he looks down at you in reverence as his hair falls in a messy curtain, a look of utter adoration on his face. And the way his cock, red and throbbing, presses against the juncture of your hip and thigh, dripping precum down the length as he neglects it all for you.

But you want him. All of him.

"Sylus."

He moans, loud and deep, like the sound of his name on your lips is enough to undo him. You can’t help it, you’re crying now, hot tears burning at the corners of your eyes as you gasp for air.

"Sylus, Sylus. Sylus." Your voice cracks, raw with need. "M’sorry. Please, I want—ah fuck—I need you, fuck. Want all of you. Sylus."

He’s on you before you can finish, mouth crashing into yours, kissing you with a feverish intensity that would bruise any other's lips. He kisses you like he’s starving, swallowing every syllable, every whimper, like he’s terrified you’ll take it all back.

And then, you feel it. The sudden, hot spray of his cum between your bodies, painting your stomach and chest with thick, copious amounts of it as he whines into the kiss. Untouched, undone just from your voice, from the way you’re finally his again.

"Thank you, thank you," Sylus groans against your lips, voice wrecked, relief pouring out of him like he’s been waiting an eternity just to hear you say those words. He’s still cumming.

He keeps his fingers moving, edging you dangerously close to another orgasm, until you're practically squirming in his grip. Even then, he doesn't stop, he doesn't remove his fingers. He pulls back just far enough to watch your face, eyes wide and searching.

"Again, kitten, again. Please, keep saying my name."

"Sylus."

Your body is trembling, and his hand doesn't stop until you're squirming away, the stimulation too much. Only then does Sylus finally pull his fingers out, licking them clean, the other hand cupping the back of your head as he kisses you again.

"Forgive me?"

You nod, and Sylus grins, fanged and fucked-out.

"Say it out loud for me."

You scoff, "Yes. I forgive you."

"Perfect. Then I might have to ask for your forgiveness again."

And just as he finishes his confession, your knees are pressed up to your ears, folding you in half as Sylus slides back into your dripping cunt. Without any resistance the entirety of his length thrusts deep inside of you, your lower stomach bulging ever so slightly from his girth, your mind blanking as you’re spread wide against the muscular jut of Sylus’s hips. His hands are everywhere, gripping your hair, squeezing your neck, grabbing at your waist and hips, pulling you up into every thrust. 

"Forgive me, you're so perfect. So beautiful." He kisses along your neck, whispering his praises and compliments, forcing his thumb into your mouth as he pries your lips open to hear you better. "Never keep these sounds from me again, understand?"

You moan a yes around his thumb, and Sylus growls.

"That's a good girl."

He doesn’t relent. Sylus effortlessly begins guiding you to meet his thrusts with one hand, the other remaining pressed against your abdomen, stroking at the outline of his dick pressing through with every rock forward. Large hands splay your thighs wider, closer, impossibly stretching you out until all you can feel is him. 

“Forgive me.” Your breasts jolt with each thrust and before he can stop himself Sylus leans down and bites, nipping and licking into the sensitive peak as you sob from the pain and pleasure. It makes you dizzy, the gentle licks and kisses over your skin in mock apology until he bites down again. And again. 

There’s no remorse in Sylus’s voice anymore, only pussydrunk and obsessed. “Please, forgive me.” Utterly obsessed.

Devoted, perhaps.

[poisonf0rest]

my bite of death ── ♱

♱⋅── sylus x reader

♱⋅── synopsis: the vampire sovereign sylus has known hunger forever, but not like this. you are temptation, salvation, and it will bring ruin to you both.

♱⋅── tags: MDNI, smut, lots and lots of cunnilingus, blood and cum drinking, overstimulation, choking, "my dearest wife", light predator prey, vampire venom- aphrodisiac

♱⋅── word count: 3.9k

The Archfiend Sovereign is not a patient man. 

This you realized quickly after awakening him. If not in the battle where he almost drank you dry, then in the days that followed. He tore apart every cursed church hunter who dared pursue you, a tempest of wrath and blood, and each time his lips found your throat, that vicious, reverent hunger seized him once more.

So it was only fitting that the first night you surrendered yourselves, body and soul, was as hungry and deprived and bloody as every encounter that had ever tangled your fates together.

Simply put, you were never a patient woman either.

The fire was burning low when Sylus rose from the chair you had pushed him into not an hour before. Fighting the latest group of church hunters had left both of you torn and bruised, your pulse still stuttering in that fragile, frantic rhythm that betrayed every flicker of pain and fear. He could hear it. He had been hearing it the entire time you dressed his wounds—every uptick, every stumble, every flutter. 

You had only just finished binding the torn flesh along his ribs, his own self-healing slowed from exhaustion and poison. The scent of your blood was faint, just a shallow scrape on your forearm, but the mere reminder of it was enough to have his control waning. Sylus had noticed it the moment the two of you got back.

He never hid it. That quiet, unsettling devotion. That razor-edge focus. That hunger that wasn’t just for blood, but for you, your warmth, your breath, your presence.

Really, he should have rested. Every rational instinct, every ounce of centuries-old discipline should have kept him in the chair. But the moment you stepped away, the moment your pulse lifted with the motion, he rose as if pulled by a thread, forever bound to you.

He followed you from the hearth to the leather-bound couch where you’re drinking wine, moving with a silent, predatory glide that makes the hairs at the back of your neck lift. You feel him behind you like a phantom, the cold embrace of his presence, the way the air stills as if it recognizes him as the more dangerous creature in the room.

Then, his hunger gets the better of him.

Sylus seizes you around the waist and drives you back against the couch, the force so sudden the candlewicks flicker in protest, and your glass drops and shatters. 

Your gasp wakes him like a jolt. His head snaps down, pupils blown wide, chest rising in a sharp, involuntary inhale as he drinks in the rush of your scent: blood, adrenaline, and the sharp scent of your arousal that makes his shoulders coil taut.

You’re about to protest in fear of reopening his wounds when Sylus forces your jaw up, kissing you deep enough that your teeth click, violent and desperate. 

He tried not to think about how he almost lost you tonight.

It’s pathetic how quickly you give in, letting Sylus steal your breath as he licks into your mouth, kisses along your collarbone, entirely unrestrained except for the precision with which he avoids your throat.

Another kiss followed, harsher. And another, and another, each one fueled by the scent of your blood pounding hotter beneath your skin.

The terrifying part wasn’t his strength.

It was the restraint.

You forget everything in your desperation to touch him, skin on skin, to feel the heat of life beneath his chilled breath. Grasping at him with restless hands, drawing his broad frame against your own until he envelops you entirely, pressing your lips into the sharp edges of his fangs as if goading him into biting you.

Sylus draws back with a soft hiss. "Careful," he cups your jaw. “Your impatience will spoil the both of us if you try to kiss me like that.”

“Then your restraint will be the death of us both,” you counter. 

Impatient, your lips brush against his, savoring every shiver it draws from him as you take Sylus’s bottom lip between your teeth, biting just hard enough to watch him tense.

A horrible, awful idea strikes you.

Your hand sneaks to the bottle of wine still left on the nightstand next to the couch, and, before you could overthink it, you tip the entire bottle, letting the wine douse your chest.

The vampire lunges to catch your wrist, but even with his reflexes he isn’t fast enough to stop you from drenching your nightgown dark with wine. 

“Little minx.” He clicks his tongue, leaning over you to place the now-empty bottle back onto the nightstand, and yet his eyes never leave the rivulets of scarlet dripping down the valley of your breasts, turning the silk into a tempting sort of translucent. 

He’s trembling, the table rattling with the force of his deteriorating self-control.

“Oh dear,” you blink up at Sylus with a sigh. “It seems as though I’ve made a mess. My beloved husband, would you be so kind as to help clean me up?”

Watching your every movement with the type of deadly anticipation only predators give their prey, he narrows his eyes. “Someone’s up to no good. Tell me, should I anticipate a blade at my throat again, my dearest wife?

You hum in consideration. “We shall see, won’t we?”

A laugh. That’s all the convincing he needs. 

Ever-so-gently, Sylus places his thumb beneath your chin, tilting your face to the side as his lips meet the wine-slick dip of your collarbone. You feel his breath, hot, hesitant, still holding himself back. But your patience is running thin, and you wrap your arms around his neck, one tugging into his long, undone locks as the other scratches down his back, pressing his body into yours. 

Gods, you know how big your vampire is, all thick muscle built from centuries of surviving, but his sheer size now bearing you down into the leather of the couch makes the power imbalance all the more obvious. 

Only, it’s him that’s completely at your mercy. What delicious irony. 

Humming sweet pleas and begging into Sylus’s ear, his self-restraint finally snaps. You gasp at the feeling of his tongue dragging down your neck to catch the dripping trails of wine. His tongue traces the column of your neck, across old bite marks, until he reaches that spot just below your ear that has you whimpering. 

“You test me,” he murmurs, voice rough enough to raise goosebumps along your arms.

“Is that not my duty?”

Your pulse flutters against his mouth, and Sylus loses himself. A groan vibrates deep from his chest before he begins licking and nipping down your collarbones and chest as he follows the red trickles of wine down every inch of your exposed skin. You taste sweet. Far too sweet.

But he’s careful not to bite, not for now. He’s saving that for later.

Far sooner than you would have liked, Sylus’s advances are blocked by the top of your nightgown, fangs tugging gently against the silk trim as he mouths over the top of your breasts and the gentle dip of your sternum. 

Like he knows it’s driving you mad, Sylus continues teasing the boundary of your nightgown, his hands tracing up and down your thighs, lingering only long enough to flit against the wet silk bunching at your hips. Each time his fingers dare edge under, they push the boundary just barely, exposing more skin mere centimeters at a time, up and up until he reaches your hip with a choked moan, realizing there was nothing else covering your bare skin.

One hand rests featherlight against your naked waist, and the other traces up your spine, coaxing you closer as Sylus dips his head under the bunched fabric of your nightgown. A groan, and his tongue darts out to meet the sticky residue of wine, tracing up your stomach.

Already making his way to your chest, Sylus pauses with a kiss to your ribs. “You are the one who awoke me after all.” His crimson eyes bore up at yours, darker than a pool of blood.  “So I only hope you don’t regret the consequences of your bargain anytime soon.” 

Leaning forward, the sovereign presses you into his body until there’s no space left. His tongue flattens against your nipple, moaning at the rich taste of the wine and your skin, careful to avoid piercing you just yet while you writhe and whimper. “Surely you are not thinking of retreating now?”

Sylus’s fangs graze your breast, and you arch into his touch with a gasp, the teasing prick disappearing as soon as it came, a low chuckle meeting your sensitive flesh instead. You glare down at the vampire, catching the sultry glow of his eyes as he grins a fanged smile back up at you.

Tracing your nipple again, he makes it a point never to touch you quite where you need, faux innocence in his words as he kisses up your neck, lips brushing by your pulse point as he licks up the sticky residue of wine. “Is this not what you wanted? Do you want more?”

You frown, attempting to bite back with a snarky comment until Sylus begins to thumb at your chest again, rough fingers pinching and pulling with every intention to distract you from your anger. 

He’s going to have to work a little harder to get you to yield.

Now, just to get him on his knees. 

Pushing Sylus down, the vampire stumbles backward into the arm of the sofa, surprise and arousal darkening his gaze as he pants up at you. Slowly, you climb onto his lap, stripping yourself of the wine-stained nightgown in one smooth motion, leaving your arms above your head as he stares at your naked form in silent worship. 

Sitting up on your heels, you drag your palms down your bare skin, giving Sylus the littlest peek of a show before you pull him up by the undone collar of his coat. He still has far too much clothing on for your liking.

Sylus’s pupils were rimmed in red, eclipsed by his blown-out pupils. You watch them dilate, his eyes flickering to and from hungry slits, lips parted as you catch sight of his fangs once more, the saliva dripping down. You place a kiss against his bottom lip, smiling to yourself when he doesn’t flinch, not even when your lips catch against the tip of his fangs. So you kiss him again. And again.

Cupping his jaw, you ask, “Tell me, how do men pray?”

He almost doesn’t seem to have heard you, still worshiping your body with his gaze alone as he instinctually chases after your lips, lamenting even a breath apart.

“Sylus,” Another kiss. ”Answer me, dear husband, how do men pray?” 

You ask again, but oh, he can hardly focus. He can’t even begin to find the words. How could he after all, with you looking down at him with all the promise of worship? A kind of reverence reserved for something holy, a kind of devotion a hellspawn like him could never have dreamed of in his cursed existence.

Lips of an angel and the tongue of a devil. 

And it is a privilege to kneel.

Sylus falls to his knees, a dull thud echoing across the chambers. His salvation, his damnation, he has always been at your mercy. In every lifetime, in every eternity.

Holding out his arm, the vampire presses a kiss to your knuckles, offering only himself.

Your body pulses with need, and you nearly give in to him then and there when he speaks, his rough voice falling into a familiar, almost hypnotic, cadence. 

“I pray to my god on my knees."

For a moment, there was only silence. But when Sylus looks up, you feel your chest ache. Thick brows are pinched together, almost pained, a visible strain around his eyes, a sight that has your core fluttering. Sylus lifts one of your legs and leaves a kiss, gentle and fleeting, on your ankle. He worships your calves, up your inner thigh, around the curves of your stomach, followed by chaste pecks, lower, and lower still. 

Yet, he’s still too far to do much else, the edge of the sofa a natural barrier between you both.

You think he may keep his distance until his hands, once tracing loving circles by your hips, squeeze down, dragging you to the edge of the sofa in one swift motion, forcing your legs around his shoulders as he mouths at your cunt. From the sheer force of the movement, you’re falling backward, scrambling for purchase against the leather as you let out a silent gasp, arching your back when Sylus’s warm breath ghosts over you. 

Without hesitation, Sylus parts his lips, flattening his tongue against your core, adding that thick, burning muscle to the caress of his lips as he groans at your taste. His eyes never leave yours. Every cry, every moan, every twitch, he watches your face blush with the intensity of it all, taking in your reactions with a greedy sort of hunger. 

When you throw your head back with a moan Sylus nearly growls in frustration, his hand forcing your chin back up so your eyes lock back onto his. “Keep your eyes on me. Let me see you.”

He feels your pussy flutter around him at that, and yet you push on your elbows, never looking away. Good girl.

Sylus can’t wait any longer, diving back in to fuck his tongue into your needy cunt. Gods, he must be drunk off the wine and the heady, addicting taste of your slick, because from the moment he had tasted you he’d lost all semblance of sanity. He’d turned into something just short of an animal, licking and nipping at your thighs, unable to think clearly beyond the base instinct to claim. 

And Sylus wants. He wants so badly it hurts. 

He can’t remember the last time he’d allowed himself to lose control like this. 

It’s filthy, how much you’re already gushing around his face, dripping down his chin and chest, your own cries muffled into your palm as your muscles spasm under his attention. The messy, slick sounds echo in the chambers as Sylus sucks against your clit, swallowing loud enough for you to hear and moaning all the while.

Locking his arms around your thighs, Sylus pulls you impossibly closer, crushing you to his face as his eyes roll back into his skull. More, he needs more.

“Sylus, wait, please—“

At your voice, his head tilts up, forcing the high bridge of his nose against your clit with every movement, turning your words into garbled pleas. With a desperate whine, you finally begin to grind down against his face, nails sinking into his scalp, pushing Sylus further to devour you, tongue no longer enough as he laps up your release, mouth and fangs coated.

His tongue once coiling inside your soaked folds slowly flattens against your swollen clit, and, lifting his head just the slightest, Sylus stares lovedrunk as he watches you unravel. Two fingers slide into you without any resistance at all, curling just right to have you screaming. Between the delicious friction and the attention to your clit, you’re losing control fast enough to be gurgling praise as something tight builds against your core. Sylus merely grins, drunk off the feeling as more ichor gushes from your cunt.

It was better than blood, rich, dense, and addictive on his tongue. 

To the saints and the stars, salvation is not deserved. And Philos be damned, his heaven is here.

You fall apart before his eyes. You cum violently around his fingers, writhing as his tongue takes mercy on you and helps your orgasm along by burying into your cunt again, fucking himself deeper with a fervent pace, never breaking eye contact. Your fingers tremble against his scalp, unable to tug against his hair as the strength flees your body, all sense of feeling replaced with heady waves of bliss as you watch yourself come undone atop your sovereign.

Still fucking you through your orgasm, Sylus watches you shake as he pushes his tongue deeper, kissing your cunt with the hunger of a starved animal, and, fuck, you feel just as ruined as you fall. Head lolling, your vision spins, barely registering the slight sting of fangs grazing your swollen, sensitive clit, your entire body convulsing from overstimulation as Sylus continues his devouring. Everything is so sensitive, and you try and squirm away only to have your legs yanked closer as Sylus growls against your cunt.

Knotting your fists against his ashy white locks, you try to wrestle his head away, but Sylus fights against your hold, addicted as you sob and quiver around him. “No, please," Gods, you sound like a mess. “Mhh—ah—too much.” 

Your voice breaks with another whine, hips jerking as your back arches off the mattress, almost escaping Sylus’s punishing hold when he moves faster than you can even perceive, palm going from your thigh to your lower stomach, pinning you back down to the couch as you sob, trapped. “Please, please, ‘m too sensitive.” 

Pupils blown wide with arousal, Sylus looks up at you with half-lidded eyes, the only thing on his mind being how fucking good his wife tastes.

“One more,” Sylus rasps against your heat, barely muffling a growl in the back of his throat as he licks his fingers clean. “Just give me one more. Just one more. You can take it.” 

He begs again and again, murmurs buried into your cunt before he goes back to kissing your inner thighs to cease their shaking, groaning when you try to force him off again. But his strength is unwavering, and you can do nothing but take it as his tongue goes back to fucking into you. 

It’s all so much, too much, and you can't wait any longer, so you ask. "Bite me."

“Getting impatient already?”

You yank on his collar, buttons popping open from the force. “I’m long past impatient. I need you. Desperately. So, won’t you please fulfill my wish and bite me, my dear husband?”

A smile, fanged and victorious. “As you wish.”

He meets you on the couch before you can even blink, the warmth of his breath caressing your throat. Sylus’s teeth scrape against the junction between your neck and shoulder, a twin to the old scar on the other side, and you brace for the sharp pin-prick of pain.

Only, it doesn't come.

You feel him smile against your skin, lips trailing up your jaw until he reaches your lips once more. His eyes are closed, lashes fluttering, and it dawns on you what he's trying to do.

Sylus was asking permission.

"Please," you whisper, and his eyes snap open.

They're no longer human.

He wastes no time, sinking his teeth into your neck and savoring the warm spray of blood mixing with your release on his tongue, and he shudders. 

At first, you think the sudden wave of serenity washing over you is just the lightheadedness of blood loss.  But then you recognize the lull, soft, coaxing, like champagne fizzing through your nerves. Something that quickly sharpens into animalistic desire. You're gasping, hot all over as the vampire venom seeps through your bloodstream with each mouthful of blood Sylus draws out, injected straight into your veins. 

Each heartbeat pumps it deeper. It’s not meant to kill—it’s meant to open you. To relax your muscles, cloud your pain responses, heighten your reward centers until the experience itself becomes unparalleled pleasure.

You're moaning his name, clawing at his back, and Sylus can't help but groan in reply, his fangs sinking deeper as the venom quiets your flinch, sedates your panic, sharpens your craving.

Then, he drinks.

It’s consuming, drawing the lifeforce out from your veins, your head slamming back into the couch as you arch up against Sylus, your body falling to ecstasy so raw it flickers into desperation. Your jaw goes slack as heat pools dangerously fast in your lower stomach, muscles quivering and relaxing under the venom, your body heating up as you want more, more, more—

Sylus has to silence your begging with his palm. He doesn’t trust himself to stop in time if you keep begging so sweetly. The most he can do is alleviate your poor empty cunt, grinding his clothed length against you, relishing in the feeling of your dripping pussy coating his bulge, in the taste of your blood on his tongue. 

He could stay here for the rest of eternity. Moaning into your neck, the lewd sucking and gulping at your skin does little to cover up your incoherent begging, and Sylus wants nothing more than to feel you around him in every way.

You, who was his only salvation, you, who has fallen with him.

"I love you," Sylus whispers, a half-formed prayer slurred against the hollow of your neck.

You smile without meaning to, swaying on the edge of unconsciousness, thoughts dissolving like blood in water, delirious and floating, sweetly undone, drunk on his venom.

“And I you.”

And it was enough.

You, your sovereign, and the world that is yet to fall.

After all, a world without you is no world worth living in.

Sylus finally pulls away with a gasp, the mix of wine and blood and your slick making him dizzy with need, the evidence of which was pressing painfully against the lacing of his pants. "More. You can give me more.”

The taste of you is like an addiction. He can’t get enough, licking and sucking your skin and getting himself higher as he bites you again, and again. His eyes roll back when you let out a long moan, when your body shivers beneath his fingertips and seeks him for release. He grinds his palm against his length, hard and twitching in his slacks, and groans.

You feel a flush rise up from the tips of your ears at the sight alone. “You’re as depraved as they get…” It’s meant to be teasing but it just comes out shaky, disrupted by your shudders as he nips at the closing wounds on your throat. 

“And yet you’re the one who stayed,” Sylus says without thinking. His body seems to move on its own, his hand slipping down to rid himself of his clothes until he is just as bare as you, ripping layers of fine silk and leather to the floor. “Do you want me to be brutish?” he asks, and the growl of the beast only just faintly veiled. He watches you bite your lip and feels your body shake with anticipation and desire. “Do you want me to claim you? To be every bit the demon this village fears?”

"Oh yes, I think so," you reply, grinning. "I swore we've had this conversation before, dear vampire. Be brutal. Be harsh."

His hands are at your neck before you even see him move, tightening, and you gasp as your vision blurs, something cursed tightening in your core. 

 “Then I hope you’re prepared to become my feast.”

[mwphisto]

Vampire!Sylus who loves to pierce your lips with his fangs when you kiss. Watching the crimson blood well up and dribble down your chin before he sucks your lower lip into his mouth and drinks.

Vampire!Sylus who can't get enough of drinking you nearly dry, watching you slowly lose consciousness before stopping all together. Mumbling sweet nothings in your ear as you cling to him weakly.

Vampire!Sylus who loves when you manhandle him, throwing him roughly against the bed he only keeps around for sex. Climbing on top of him before sinking your teeth into his neck.

Vampire!Sylus who covers you in bite marks from head to toe. Not quite piercing you skin most of the time, but leaving perfect indents of his teeth on your wrist, your forearm, your shoulder, neck...

Vampire!Sylus who loves when you yank his long hair as he fucks you into the mattress, your legs over his shoulders and both of your hands clenched around fistfuls of his slivery locks.

Vampire!Sylus whose wings flare to full mass when he cums.

[datura-jasmine]

The Archfiend's Dearest Wife🔞

🔞NSFW | MINORS DO NOT INTERACT🔞

Synopsis: You are the Countess who has married and summoned the Archfiend Sovereign. Now, the Silverwinged Fiend is your devoted husband, prepared to indulge your every desire.

Rating: Explicit (just straight up smut with no plot). This work is only intended for a mature audience.

Word count: 1k

Tags: Smut, PwP, vampire!sex, married!sex, P in V sex, missionary, vampire biting, blood drinking, bloody kisses, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare, clothed Sylus, naked MC, needy MC, Second Person PoV

You can also read this fic on AO3

"My dearest wife," Sylus purred, thrusting his hips deeper into you. He barely had any patience to unbutton his coat and push down his trousers just enough to free his length, before he took you.

After all, you were such a delicious feast, all sprawled out naked on your marital bed, the crimson sheets decorated with rose petals as you waited for your husband. The moment he drew away the curtain of the canopy, you had bitten you lip and whined how much you needed him. With inhuman speed, he obeyed your command.

Now his form towered over you, pumping his thick cock inside your slick channel, while you whined and whimpered beneath him. He wanted to make sure you felt all of him, everything he had to give, everything that was yours and only yours.

"My dear Countess, won't you talk to me? Or have I already rendered you speechless?" he continued to purr on a low, whispered level, his face lowering towards yours. This close, you noticed how bright his crimson irises glowed, focused to capture all of your littlest reactions.

"Ahh, Sylus, you're so… so big!" you moaned, barely able to speak as he pistoned into you, his large hands grabbing onto your hips to steady himself.

"What an astute observation, my Lady. It seems you're not too far gone. But fret not, there is still plenty of time tonight. Even as dawn crests into morning, we shall still be entangled as a wife and husband should."

Another high pitch moan left your throat as he pushed all the way inside and ground against your mons. His lips attacked your jaw, kissing and sucking on your skin. Your hands wrapped around his neck to keep him close. You never wanted to part from Sylus. Never. Your bodies had to be just as entwined as your souls.

"Bite me, Sylus, feed on me," you whispered, guiding his head further down your neck.

He chuckled against your skin, his breath hot. "You're greedy, my beloved wife. Only your blood shall enter my veins and sustain me. That is what you desire, right?"

He licked the sensitive skin of your throat, preparing the area for his feast. Kitten licks switched to gentle sucking, and then to blunt teeth trailing over the warmed up skin. His jaw opened wider, and finally his canines pierced your neck and drew out your delicious blood.

"Yes!" you screamed, and you didn't know if it was a response to his earlier question, or a shout of satisfaction as you reached the small death around the teeth in your throat, and the cock buried deep inside your cunt.

Sylus growled as he felt your walls pulsing around his length and hot blood pooling in his mouth. It wouldn't be long until he was overcome with pleasure too, as your body offered him the most sinful and delightful of ecstasies. His wife, half of his soul, his unforgivable sin in the fabric of eternity, the very thing that has imprisoned him. And freed him at the same time.

He feasted on the essence of your life, detaching himself just before he took too much, just after the venom of his spit made you pliant and so satisfied. You delighted in this hazy feeling, having lost enough blood to feel its absence, and given plenty to fill your lover. It was so exhilarating, to feel like you were dreaming, yet everything that happened around you was complete reality.

He still stretched you open, plunging into your warm depths as you still shuddered from your earlier orgasm. Your heart beat faster to pump new blood to replace what you've lost for the sake of your beloved. You loved the warmth spreading from your bite wound, encompassing your entire body with a longing desire to let your bloodthirsty fiend keep taking you and from you endlessly.

You didn't let your husband lick the blood from his lips and fangs, instead you crashed his mouth onto yours, so you both may share a bloodied kiss. He groaned and chased your lips, your tongue, as his cock stuffed you full of himself and rested there.

Your blood tasted of iron and salt as he whimpered on your tongue, pumping you full of his seed. He emptied inside of you all that he had to give, until it spilled out of your overfilled channel, his white essence dripping down your thighs to stain the crimson sheets below.

You two parted to inhale a fresh breath, the air around you thick with the scent of sex, blood, and your shared bliss.

Sylus smirked, and nuzzled the side of your neck, inhaling the sweet cherry wine scent of the dried blood on your throat. His saliva healed the wound, only twin pinpricks left behind, and a thin trail of your blood that spilled on the pillow beneath your head. He would never be able to satiate himself, not when you smelled and tasted like the most divine of ambrosia he had the pleasure of stealing from unworthy gods. He reveled knowing you were his and his alone, so willing to fulfil all of his desires.

As Sylus rested against the skin of your neck, you gathered him in your arms, carding gentle fingers through the long, soft, silky strands of his hair. His heavy weight on top of you, and the fact you were still intimately connected, blanketed you into a serene and complete aftermath.

"Sylus?"

He didn't respond verbally, just hummed, his face still buried in the skin he loved so much.

"Don't you want to take off your clothes?"

"Oh?" he chuckled, rising on his elbows to look down at you, at your flushed face and swollen lips. "I wasn't aware I had such an impatient wife. But I already promised you the entire night and morning, so it would be unbecoming of me to not do good on my word."

Sylus detangled himself from your body, leaving you empty and cold. He stood up and slowly shrugged off his coat, his waistcoat, his neck tie and blouse. His cock already stood thick and hard anew as he fully pushed down his trousers, joining you in complete nudity.

As he stepped onto your bed once more, your body heat up instantly. You could never resist the allure of your husband.

"You shall have everything you desire from me, my dearest wife."

Notes: Well, I cannot stop thinking about Sylus and his new Myth, so because I can't concentrate on anything else, I had to write some smut about it. Also, I'm perfectly normal about Sylus calling MC his "dearest wife", I am absolutely not feral over that line ever since I heard it. Anyway, I couldn't resist the deliciousness that is Vampire Fiend Sylus, and neither could MC. Thank you for reading!