sylus likes using a leash when he fucks you. it was so satisfying, being able to pull you as he wished, dragging you from room to room and watching how you followed on your knees, intent on doing anything it took to please him.
the first time he brought it up was after he had already purchased the collar. sylus never coerced you into anything, but he had a knack for knowing when you would be interested in stuff—and this was right up your alley. he watched you open the packaging, stifling a laugh when your eyes widened while pulling out the leather collar, baby pink with fur lining the inside. you turned it in your hands, heart racing at the engraving “sy’s girl” along the bottom.
before he even had a chance to speak you were unbuckling the accessory, moving between his thighs so he could help put it on. your breath caught after it clicked shut, mind feeling hazy as you turned to him and nuzzled against his thigh. his cock twitched at how easily you slipped into the role, attaching the leash to the collar and pulling gently to watch as you obediently moved, pliant in his hands.
since then, it had become routine to wear the collar. you weren’t the only one that got immersed in your role though—sylus took being an ‘owner’ very seriously. he trained you, praised you, and made sure to punish you when he deemed appropriate.
“pets don’t talk, remember?”
“do you really think you’ve earned my cock? what are you gonna do for me if i fuck that needy cunt?”
“oh im sorry, did i tug the leash too hard? such a shame, look how you’re crying now”
he was so mean when he fucked you too, taking you from behind while gripping the leash hard and making you arch deep for him. his thrusts were just as harsh as they were deep, nearly bruising your cervix each time he fucked into your heat. it wasn’t like you hated it though, you would push back against him the second he started to pull out, begging him to fuck you through your heat and breed you.
“spread those legs wider, gonna fill you til’ it’s leaking angel”
he would press you even further into the bed, resting his full weight against you as he fucked every drop of cum into you, only pulling out after he was sure it took. he never stopped there though, sylus always made sure to clean you up, first with his tongue then a warm cloth—you were his kitten after all.
❥ pairing: sugar daddy/ceo!sylus qin x assistant!reader
❥ summary: “She has spent three years loving a man she cannot have. He has spent three years wanting a woman he won’t allow himself to reach for — until the day he decides, quietly and without hesitation, to reach anyway. What neither of them realises is that they’ve been finding each other all along. She just doesn’t know he’s the one on the other side of the screen yet.”
❥ genre: fluff + angst + smut (18+ mdni)
❥ word count: 50K+??? (I am insane and not normal about sylus <3)
❥ status: COMPLETED - 1st of April
❥ warnings/tags: sugar daddy!sylus, alternative universe, ceo!sylus, yearning/longing, sylus is 39 in this, assistant!reader, sugar baby!reader, power imbalance, eventual boss/employee relationship, idiots in love, mild hurt/comfort, emotional/sensitive!reader, very long fic, banter, sylus the rage baiter. mutual masturbation, sexting, size difference. reader is shorter than sylus. reader is always audhd coded in my writing but anyone can read it. sylus is soft for reader, flirting/teasing, inexperienced/virgin!reader. dry humping, grinding, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom sylus, just in overall soft!sylus. sub!reader, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, overstimulation, size kink, full on daddy kink… I mean… it’s a sugar daddy au. so… <3, oral fixation, breeding kink, praise kink, pet names (kitten. sweetie. sweetheart etc.), multiple sex positions, pleasure dom!sylus, aftercare. mc loves the color pink a lot.
⟶ a/n: HIIIIII here I am with a new fic. as of the moment I am writing this it's still a wip. this fic is probably gonna be over 60k words. either way I still wanted to share the post on tumblr already. I always wanted to write a sugar daddy au BUT didn't find inspiration until RECENTLY. so in the lads server I'm in they are currently doing a 'kink bingo'. it's a little event that writers can participate and write a story around a certain trope. I went with sugar daddy 🤭💖 I said I wasn't gonna write for a while but what can I say… sylus brainrot. he's literally my muse. EITHER way. I hope you enjoy this story. 🥺💖 for anyone wondering… this is how I imagine sylus his build. either way I never know how to write fic in a short format so enjoy another lengthy fic from me again! also because I don’t wanna post it in parts you’ll have a sneakpeek on tumblr but to read the story in its full length you’ll have to head to ao3. thank you and I hope y'all love it as much as I loved writing it! 💘 title inspired by the song 'provider' by sleep token. (I don't normally listen to that type of music but my bestie leah recommended me this song for the fic) 💕💕💕
ps: for anyone wondering… this is how I imagine sylus his build. (without the blood and scratches) 🤭😋🤤🥵🥴🫠😵💫
this goes without saying, but if you don’t like it don’t read it <3
AO3 • masterlist • extra part of the story here
New York City does not care about your feelings.
This is something you’ve made your peace with over the years — the way it moves around you without slowing down, all noise and glass and cold wind off the Hudson in the early mornings when you’re walking the four blocks from the subway to Linkon Tower, coffee cup in hand, trying to remember if you forwarded that document last night or only dreamed that you did. The city asks nothing of you emotionally. It simply expects you to keep moving.
You are, in this way, well-suited to New York.
What you are less well-suited to — what you have been quietly, privately, catastrophically less well-suited to for approximately three years now — is being in love with your boss.
The elevator opens on the fifty-third floor.
You are fine.
“Good morning.”
His voice reaches you before you’ve fully stepped through the glass doors of the executive suite — low and unhurried, carrying the particular warmth he reserves for very few people, and you are, for reasons that keep you awake sometimes, one of them. Sylus is already at his desk, as he always is, as he has always been every single morning in the three years you’ve worked for him, because the man apparently does not sleep like a normal person. The Manhattan skyline stretches silver and pale behind him through the floor-to-ceiling windows. In the early light, he looks almost painterly — silver hair, dark suit, those red eyes lifting from the document in his hand to find you the moment you walk in, the way they always do, like he has a sense for you specifically.
Like he was waiting.
“Good morning,” you say, and you are very proud of how normal your voice sounds.
“How was the commute?” He asks it with genuine interest, setting his document down, which is one of the things that got you in trouble in the first place. The way he actually listens. The way Sylus, who runs a multi-billion dollar enterprise from this office and commands rooms full of people who are intimidated just by his posture, always has time to ask how your commute was.
“Cold,” you say, unwinding your scarf. “The L train decided this morning was a good time to have an existential crisis.”
“The L train always does that.” He tilts his head slightly. “You should have taken the car.”
“I’m not taking your car to work, Sylus.”
“You could.”
“I know I could. I’m choosing not to.” You drop your bag at your desk and pull out your tablet, already scrolling to his schedule. “It makes me feel like a kept woman.”
The silence that follows is approximately one beat too long.
You look up. Sylus is watching you with an expression you can’t fully decode — something that passed through his eyes too quickly, smoothed back over by the composed, unreadable surface he wears most of the time. The corner of his mouth curves.
“Heaven forbid,” he says mildly, and goes back to his document.
You turn back to your tablet and breathe.
Three years, you remind yourself. You have survived three years of this. You will survive today.
｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡
Here is what three years has taught you about Sylus:
He takes his coffee black, no sugar, too hot for comfort, and he drinks it while standing at the window with Manhattan spread out below him like something he’s quietly fond of. He is pathologically early to everything and has zero patience for people who aren’t, with the single exception of you — for you, he simply comes to find you, appearing at your workspace door with that unhurried patience, as though waiting for you specifically is a different category than waiting in general.
He reads physical documents even though everything could be digital because he thinks better with paper in his hands. He keeps the office two degrees warmer than the building standard because he noticed, in your first winter working for him, that you were always cold. He has never once mentioned this to you directly. You figured it out yourself, six months in, when you checked the building’s climate control records out of sheer curiosity, and you had to sit with that knowledge quietly for a long time afterward.
He is privately, genuinely funny — not the performative wit he turns on in meetings, but something dryer and warmer that surfaces only in the quiet moments, usually aimed at you. He reads in at least four languages. He grew up far from here, far from any of this, and there are moments when something in his expression goes distant and careful and you sense the geography of everything he’s built between himself and whatever came before.
He has never raised his voice at you. Not once. In three years of high-pressure deadlines and impossible situations and the particular chaos that seems to follow a man of his ambition, he has never directed anything at you that wasn’t measured, and considered, and — underneath its careful composure — surprisingly kind.
He is also tall — unreasonably, almost absurdly tall, the kind of tall that means the rest of the world simply exists lower than him — broad-shouldered, white-haired, and red-eyed, and standing next to him, which requires you to tilt your head back at an angle you’ve gotten quietly used to, makes you feel both very small and, inexplicably, very safe.
This is the problem.
This is the entire problem.
｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡
“You have the Meridian Capital call at nine,” you say, following him into his office with your tablet. This is another part of the choreography — the morning briefing, where you trail after him and he listens without looking at you directly, which you have learned means he’s paying the most attention. “Board review at eleven. You have a lunch block—”
“Clear it.”
You glance up. “You specifically asked for that block last week.”
“I know what I asked for last week.” He settles into his chair, leaning back in that easy way of his, long legs stretched under the desk. Even seated, the man is an unfair amount of presence. “Book somewhere for lunch instead. Somewhere quiet — not the Meridian district, I’ll have been on a call with those people for an hour and I’ll want a change of air.” His eyes come to you, and they’re soft in the way they sometimes are when it’s just the two of you and the morning is still early. “Somewhere you’d like. You choose.”
You pause. “You want me to choose.”
“Is that not what I said?”
“You’re very particular about restaurants, Sylus.”
“I’m particular in general,” he concedes. “But I trust your taste.” A brief pause. The softness in his expression doesn’t waver. “Lunch for two, somewhere you’d like. That’s all.”
You look at him for a moment too long — which you do sometimes, which you’ve been doing for three years, and he always holds the look, always lets you, like he has nothing to hide and all the time in the world, which is terrifying because it makes you feel seen — and then you nod and look back at your tablet.
“I’ll find somewhere,” you say.
“I know you will.” He picks up his pen. “You always do.”
｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡
The Meridian call runs long, as you predicted, and you have reorganized two schedules and soothed one very anxious junior analyst by the time it wraps. Sylus emerges from his office at eleven-oh-three, jacket on, expression still and composed from the professional armor he wears in those spaces, and crosses directly to your desk.
He sets a cup of tea down at your elbow.
Your tea — your specific order, the one you’d mentioned offhandedly to him eight months ago and apparently never needed to mention again — brewed at the temperature you like, with the little paper sleeve because the cup gets hot.
“Your eleven o’clock moved to eleven-fifteen,” you tell him, not trusting yourself to acknowledge the tea directly, “which means you have twelve minutes, and also I found a restaurant — it’s on the Upper West Side, French-American, supposed to be very quiet on weekdays—”
“Perfect.” He’s reading something on his phone, already walking, and he pauses at the edge of your workspace and glances back.
“You barely ate this morning.”
You blink. “I ate some cereal. How could you possibly—”
“You have the look,” he says, simply, like this is a perfectly reasonable thing to say. “The one that means you ate something that technically qualified as food and decided it counted.” The faintest curve of his mouth. “It doesn’t count.”
“It absolutely—”
“Book a table for twelve-thirty.” He’s already moving again, unhurried, like the conversation is entirely settled. “I’m not signing a single thing until I know you’ve had a real meal.”
Then he’s gone, moving down the hallway toward the boardroom, and you’re left staring at the empty doorway with your mouth still open and the faint, traitorous warmth of being known so precisely by someone spreading all the way up to your ears.
You close your mouth.
You book the table and then pick up your tea.
It is perfect.
You are in so much trouble.
｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡
The restaurant he lets you choose is a small place tucked between a bookshop and a dry cleaner on West 74th — French in its bones but soft around the edges, the kind of room that smells like butter and old wood and feels completely removed from the city outside. You’re not sure how it stays so quiet in Manhattan. Maybe it exists slightly outside of time.
Sylus ducks slightly to come through the door.
He does this — accommodates the world’s architectures with a patient, practiced ease, as though he accepted a long time ago that most spaces weren’t built for him and has made his peace with it. You notice this more than you should. You notice the way he instinctively adjusts when he’s close to you too — angles himself, shortens his step, never makes you feel like the difference in your heights is anything other than simply the way things are.
The host seats you at a corner table. The light is golden and low.
“This is nice,” Sylus says, and he means it. You’ve gotten good at knowing when he means things.
“I thought you’d like it.” You unfold your menu. “It feels like somewhere you’d eat if you didn’t have to perform anything.”
He goes still for just a moment. Then, quietly: “That’s a very accurate read.”
“Three years,” you say simply.
Something in his expression moves — warm and careful at once, like he’s handling something he doesn’t want to drop. He looks at you across the small table, and in the golden light of this room outside of time he looks different than he does in the office. Younger, almost. Softer. Like the thing he usually holds back with both hands is closer to the surface.
“You’re distracted this week,” he says eventually. Not an accusation — an observation, offered gently, the way he offers you most things. “You hide it well. But I know your face.”
Your heart catches.
I know your face. Said like it’s simply a fact, something true and uncontested, filed away somewhere in him.
“I found something,” you say, because you can never not tell him things, in the end. He does something to your defenses — doesn’t dismantle them, exactly, just makes you feel like they’re not necessary with him, which might be worse. “An apartment. A loft.” You look at your water glass. “I’ve been dreaming about my own place for years. You know how New York is — I’ve been in the same sublet since I moved here, and it’s fine, it’s always been fine, but it’s not mine. Nothing in it is mine.” You smile, self-deprecating. “I walked past a listing last weekend. A loft in the West Village — high ceilings, big windows, exposed brick. There’s a little terrace that looks out over the rooftops and I just — I stood on the sidewalk and looked at it for a long time.”
Sylus is watching you with his full attention — the specific quality of stillness he gets when you’re saying something he wants to remember. His hands are folded on the table. He’s not eating. He’s just listening.
“It needs renovation,” you continue, quieter now. “A lot of it, still. Which is part of why the price is—” You exhale. “The price is a lot. More than a lot. My savings are good, I’ve been careful, but between the listing and the renovation costs it’s just—” You shake your head. “It’s not realistic right now.”
A long pause.
“Tell me about it,” Sylus says.
You blink. “I just—”
“Not the numbers.” His voice is gentle. “The place. Tell me about the loft.”
Oh.
Oh.
You look at him. He looks back, patient and entirely serious, and something in your chest aches in a way you don’t have good language for.
And so you tell him — the arched windows and the way the afternoon light would fall across the floors, the exposed brick that runs the whole length of the far wall, the little wrought-iron terrace barely big enough for two chairs and a plant but somehow perfect, the ceiling height, the bones of it. The way you’d stood on that sidewalk and seen, with a clarity that surprised you, exactly what it could become. What it could be. You tell him all of it, more than you meant to, more than is probably professional over a two-person lunch that you’re already trying not to read too much into.
Sylus listens to every word.
When you finish, he’s quiet for a moment. There’s something in his expression that’s gone a little careful.
“What’s the address?” he says.
You study him. “Why?”
“Because you’ve just described the place you want most in the world,” he says, very simply, “and I’m interested in things that matter to you.”
The ache in your chest deepens. You look at him for a long moment — this man who runs a company from the fifty-third floor of a Midtown tower, who is a decade older than you and a foot taller than you and should by any reasonable accounting be the most intimidating person in your life, and who instead feels, in moments like this, like the safest one.
You give him the address.
You don’t know what he’ll do with it.
You just know, the way you know most things about Sylus, that he’ll do something.
｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡
The afternoon passes the way good afternoons in the office do — with a steady rhythm of tasks and small exchanges, the comfortable back-and-forth that you’ve built between you over three years like a language that only the two of you speak fluently. He stops by your desk at three to ask if you want anything from the coffee cart downstairs, which he would never do for anyone else, and brings you back a hot chocolate without commenting on it. You catch him at five-forty-five standing in the doorway of his office watching you finish up for the day with an expression you aren’t supposed to have seen — unguarded, quiet, something in it that sits low and warm in your stomach for the whole subway ride home.
It doesn’t mean what you want it to mean, you tell yourself, earbuds in, Manhattan rushing past outside the windows.
He’s just kind. He’s kind to you because you work for him and you’ve earned it and that’s all it is.
Forty-three blocks uptown, Sylus stands at his office window with your address on a notepad in his hand and thinks, for a very long time.
Tags: Spanking, Aftercare, Sylus being a teasing little shit as usual, Gender-Neutral
Pairing: SylusxYou
Word count: 1,326K
I can just imagine Sylus itching to get his hands on you after a day of you fully teasing him.
He’d stalk slowly towards the couch, not a word said as he lays down his black coat neatly on the armrest of the couch agonisingly slow, slender fingers smoothing out the fabric and feigning flicking specs of lint, all the while a knowing smirk ghosts his face as you watch curiously from afar, each second of suspense increasing your heartbeat.
“Curious, sweetie?” His deep voice rumbles from the couch before he sits down, tantalisingly slow. That bastard manspreads across the couch, his tall ass figure taking up the whole space. He slides one palm down his left thigh, raising his hips to adjust his pants while his eyes are trained on you. Holding out his other hand, he beckons you closer. Only for you to stop right between his legs and think you’re about to cuddle on his lap, he pats his left thigh.
“Bend over.”
The two words knock the air out of your lungs, but something about his commanding voice makes you comply. You hesitantly climb up his lap like a kitten exploring its territory, with your ass perched up and on display for Sylus.
“Since you were being so bold the whole day, let me return the favor, kitten.”
“Sylus, I didn’t mean to—” Your words die in a hiss when you feel his right palm gently slide up the curve of your ass, and you can feel him relishing the feeling of the soft flesh under his fingers. No matter how beautiful you’d looked in those pictures you’d sent, it didn't hold a candle to the real thing.
“Didn’t mean to, huh?” He teases as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your flimsy shorts, tugging them down just below to rest on your thighs. You bite your lip, now exposed to the cool air of the living room, and you bury your face into the armrest right onto his coat, nervous for what’s to come.
“It’s just…you were taking so long, and I was…mmf–bored.” You try to reason in a meek voice but Sylus isn't fully paying attention to your words. He’s too busy enjoying the goosebumps leaving a trail on the flesh of your ass as he slowly glides his fingers across your bare skin.
“And just how many pictures did you send me while I was in the middle of a negotiation?” He asks cooly, but you can almost hear the crack in his voice, as if he were remembering the various pictures you’d sent him during the night. They’d begun cute, with you wearing just his grey sweatshirt, clearly oversized on you. One too many pictures later, the sweatshirt was long forgotten.
“I…umm, I think six.”
“Seven. You sent me seven pictures of yourself while I was in the middle of a deal. Each one more filthy than the previous one.” He reminds you. Sylus then grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes it, causing you to arch up into him as a muffled whimper leaves your mouth. He leans down right beside your ear to whisper, “So that means I get to give you seven spanks, yes? Seven times for being a diiirty little thing.”
You shiver when his warm breath ghosts your ear, your ass reaching up instinctively as if to present yourself more to the man looming over you.
“Baby, I didn't know you were in the middle of something importa–”
Your words die in your throat when the first spank hits, making you lurch forward a bit in his lap.
“Tch.” He responds, palm smoothing down the reddening skin lovingly, his actions a stark contrast to what he’d just done.
“You say you’re sorry. That’s your line, kitten.”
The next spank lands on your other cheek, making you clench the armrest. The sting only heightened the pleasure surging through your body. Your face was buried on Sylus’s coat that hung off the armrest, the smell of rich cologne and the faint smell of gun powder only making you slightly dizzy. Sylus stops his actions for a second to look at you from the side to ensure you’re okay, but his grin resumes when you lift your head up.
“S-sorry. I’m…sorry.” You pant out.
“I never doubted that you were a quick learner. No wonder you’re one of the Association’s top Hunters.”
“Don’t…don’t patronize me, Sylus.” There’s still fight in your voice, but you’re too busy being lost in the sauce.
The next three spanks come without warning, each one making you arch your back and shut your eyes as you take in the feeling of his large hand delivering them to you.
“Fuck! ’m sorry! I’mmm sorry…so sorry, Sylus.” You start babbling as his hands come down to smooth your skin again, his red eye now beginning to emit a faint glow. He couldn't help but huff to himself, noticing how your ass was now as red as the color of his eyes.
“Good fucking job, kitten. You’re taking them so well.” His voice comes out strained as his own breathing gets erratic.
He places his other hand right where your back arches to keep you in place and to ground himself. The desire that he could see sparking in you caused him to grow in his pants. The fact that the front of your hips ground on his clothed cock didn't help either.
“I’m starting to think that you’re enjoying this, kitten. Your desire is as clear as day.”
“Yeah? A fiend…such as yourself would…mmf–know that.”
Your response was rewarded with another spank, hitting you right in the middle of the flesh, making you yelp out and grab the armrest again, while the other hand dangled off it in defiance. Your toes curled as you sat in the after sting for a bit, tilting your head to take a peek at Sylus.
He looked absolutely blissful. With his ears a deep shade of red, his lips were slightly parted as his focus was solely on your ass as if he was contemplating something. The glow in his eye seemed to be brighter, and you couldn't help but muster a victorious smile.
Just as before you were about to deliver a clever remark, Sylus bends down and bites your ass, teeth sinking into your sore ass. He then sticks out his tongue, licking the blossoming teeth marks to soothe the bite. He smiles at it proudly for a second as your whole body clenches, having half a mind to wipe that shit-eating grin on his face.
“Hey! That doesnt count!” You breathe out heavily, tilting your head to look up at him.
“Is that so? And who made you in charge of the rules tonight?” He asks as he delivers the next spank without warning, again.
At this point, you give up. There’s no fighting this man, so clearly starved, hard, and down bad for you.
“I’m sorry.” You mumble softly, already dreading thinking about sitting down tomorrow normally.
“There we go.” He chides, before leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Last one.”
With that, he rubs your ass tenderly before delivering the last spank, making you let out a loud moan as you take it in, maybe a bit dejected that it was fully over.
Sylus leans down again, but this time, instead of biting your ass, he places small kisses along your skin as he mumbles, “You did so well. So fucking good for me, kitten.”
“I’m sorry, baby. Had I known, I wouldn't have sent that while you were in the middle of something so important.”
“It’s quite alright, sweetie. The twins took over. After all, it’s why I left the negotiation early so I could come see you.” He replied as he reached to the side to pick up some ointment.
“Now, sweetie, how sore are you, or can you still keep going for the second round?”
A.N: Well, this was supposed to be a short headcanon but turned into a full drabble. I can't wait for the new spring banner y'all. Thanks for trying this cookie!
Anyone saying the spank is OOC for Sylus- Im sorry to be the one to inform you, you don't know Sylus. He has literally spanked MC in a secret times already and has canonically fucked mc so rough she couldn't walk and needed 3 days off work. Just because he's a loving partner doesn't mean he can't fuck, Jesus christ. Seriously, if you believe someone can't be a good partner and be into rough sex, I need you to leave Sylus alone. Man can dote on, kill for, and die for his wife while still spanking her ass red, he has the range.
Are these the same fans that call Sylus a brat tamer and then are surprised that he spanks MC?? Girl 🙄
OP is 100% correct. Do ya’ll realise how many times I visualised Sylus spanking MC and being rough?? Because, surprise surprise, he’s done that already but we just didn’t have a kindle scene of it until this new banner. Also Sylus can see MC’s desires and she wants him just as much as he wants her, he spanks her because he can see that’s what she wants - if she wants him rough then that’s what he’ll be.
And she knows that Sylus can see her desires, so she doesn’t hold back.
If ya’ll think this is OOC then you haven’t been paying attention to the characters.
❝ When Sylus gifts you a credit card tied to his account, you told yourself you would only use it in emergencies. But a tiny little purchase of convenience spirals into you accidentally spending half a million on dresses—which leads to Sylus calling you, and is more than pleased.
For #sylusbday2026 - Day 4: Sugar Daddy ❞
— 2.6k words | One-Shot (smut) | Sylus x fem!Reader
[ cw: dom!Sylus, sylus gets off on you spending his money, phone sex, mutual masturbation, praise kink ]
Ao3 Link — ✦➳⋆
In the beginning, it had started out innocently enough.
You needed information for the Hunter's Association which meant going undercover at an event for the elite. Which…required you to wear clothes that cost more money than you made in a month. Probably even two months. There was always renting clothes, and you had planned on doing that, but once Sylus had caught wind of this, he had insisted on being the one to buy them for you.
"My treat," he said, eyes glinting. "But…there is one little condition."
"Oh?" you said, feigning innocence while your heart fluttered, familiar with this little dance.
He brushed his knuckle across your cheek. "I can only give you your gift tomorrow night, at eight. There's a new restaurant in Linkon I want to take you to."
You hummed sweetly. "I suppose I can manage that."
His smile was soft before brushing his lips against yours in a gentle kiss. "Then it's a deal.
Once that night came, and you ate a delicious dinner, he had surprised you. You had expected him to simply pick out a dress for you to wear and then gift it to you, but instead, what you received was a sleek, black credit card.
With your name on it.
You stared at him, mouth slightly agape. "I…"
He chuckled. "What's a matter? Cat got your tongue?" When you still couldn't come up with a response, only managing a half-hearted glare, he sighed. "I've been meaning to give you it awhile. I don't want you to have to ask every time you need me to pay for something."
That made you huff. "It's not like I do it that often."
His tone was surprisingly soft. "I know—that's what I mean. I'm hoping this will make it easier for you. I want you to spend my money like it's yours." He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "It's not just my heart that belongs to you, sweetie. Everything of mine is for you to claim."
Hearing words like that had made it impossible to argue with, so you had agreed. Later, buying the dress and dealing with the mission had gone smoothly, and you went back to your normal hunter routine. But the new card that weighed heavily in your wallet was now a permanent addition to your life. One that would take some getting used to.
You had planned to simply ignore its existence. To only use it in emergencies, like if your car or motorcycle got totaled.
And then you stopped at your favorite cafe, as you often did. But this time, when you opened your wallet to pay, your stomach dropped at the realization that the credit card you always used was currently sitting on the table of your kitchen back home—you had pulled it out to make a purchase online—and all that stared back at you was that black card shining with indulgence.
To be fair, this was an emergency. Just a very, very minor one.
With a sigh, you pulled it out and handed it to the cashier. Your stomach twisted as she swiped it, like somehow the computer would start blaring an alert that let everyone know that you weren't the one paying. That your morning treat was being bought by the leader of Onychinus instead. But she simply handed it back to you with a smile, letting you know it would be ready in a few minutes.
As you waited near the counter, your phone went off.
Sylus: I was starting to wonder if you had lost the card and were just too afraid to tell me.
You let out a huff, typing away at a response.
You: I just forgot my card today.
Sylus: You should do that more often, then.
You sent him a crow emoji with a deadpan facial expression and watched as three dots popped up.
Sylus: You were running low on body soap last time I was over. you should buy some more before you get home.
Sylus: The fanciest one you like.
Your name was called out, taking your attention away from your phone as you put it away. As you grabbed your order, his offer echoed in your mind. He wasn't wrong; you were low on soap, along with some other body care products. And there was a brand you had been wanting to try for ages, now, but could never justify spending that much. The temptation he had laid out for you was almost too hard to resist…
As you walked out of the store, your heart pounded. You would almost think you had stolen the egregiously expensive bottles of care products you now carried—but no, you had bought them. With a 250 dollar charge sent to Sylus' account.
And speaking of the devil, you felt a buzz in your pocket. With a sigh, you pulled out your phone.
Sylus: Was that so hard, kitten?
You: Extremely. My heart feels like it's going to explode.
Sylus: Poor thing. let me reward you for your efforts, then.
You: ……..You want to reward me for spending your money?
Sylus: Come to the base tomorrow evening. I have a few new records I want you to listen to.
Of course, you had happily accepted his invite. A nice, quiet dinner followed by him taking you up to his office. There, he played you the beautiful music while you slow danced in front of the fireplace. Which turned into a passionate exchange of kisses…Which turned into him fucking you on his leather couch.
"Sylus…" you moaned into his shoulder, clinging onto his back for dear life as he thrust into you relentlessly.
"That's it," he breathed out, lips brushing against your ear. "Come apart for me." His cock continued to rub against the spot inside you that had your eyes fluttering shut.
You thought he was just going to say more sweet nothings, but he surprised you. "You were so good for me yesterday. Spending my money like that. All I could think about was how much I wanted to have you—just like this."
Your breath hitched, both from his words of praise and the edge you were nearing.
"That's right. My good girl. Mine."
You gasped, followed by a string of moans and whines as you came on his cock, and he soon followed suit. Hips stuttering as he filled you to the brim, his orgasm forcing out a moan and a few muttered expletives.
The rest of the night was filled with only his soothing touch as he took care of you. Like you were something precious.
At the time, you hadn't realized what that night had changed for you. Had changed within you. But that didn't make it any less real, and it was now festering inside you.
You bought a few more little things here and there, and you found that the anxiety you felt before had been replaced by something else. Something a lot more terrifying.
Thrill.
And it was addicting. Especially with how Sylus encouraged it. Always praising you with a pleased smile, gently pushing you to crave for more, and those little purchases slowly grew more grand. A new TV, higher-quality shoes for going out on missions, treating yourself and Tara to extravagant lunches almost every week…
And now you were laid out on your bed, staring at your laptop screen as your skin buzzed with anticipation. You were about to go through with a purchase that was more ambitious than anything else you had bought so far.
You scrolled through a website that, a few months ago, you would have never even considered clicking on, and now all the designer dresses flew past. Every single one that caught your eye ended up in your cart which you would go through at the end and pick a few favorites. Your goal was to wear one to surprise Sylus with on one of your dates—like the time you had bought that one lingerie set that resulted in an inability to properly stand the next day.
A ruby red dress caught your eye, making you click on it. It was long and elegant, and was revealing in all the right places. You were certain it would get the exact reaction from Sylus you desired, especially considering it was in his color. But, since it was on the pricier side at fifteen thousand, you decided it would be the only one you would end up buying.
You clicked the button to buy it, which you thought had meant it would be separate from your cart. And, of course, since this was Sylus' money, you didn't bother to look at the final price before hitting the "confirm purchase" button, letting the saved credit card information auto-fill.
That familiar exhilarating feeling washed over you as you went back to the main page, and you were about to exit out before something caught your eye. A few moments ago, the red bubble over the cart icon had the number forty-nine displayed inside it…
…And now it was gone.
A chill ran through you, and with trembling fingers, you pulled out your phone to open your email. "No, no, no," you muttered under your breath. Surely it was just a glitch. A weird quirk of the website. Surely you hadn't just bought fifty dresses all well over a few grand each. But when you found the receipt, scrolling down to see the final payment, you felt your heart drop to your stomach.
557,678.87.
Half a million dollars. Spent on dresses. On a random Wednesday evening.
Maybe I can cancel it somehow, you thought, but before you could look into that idea, your phone started to vibrate. An embarrassing, frightened sound left your lips at the caller ID.
Sylus.
You couldn't just ignore him—as much as you wanted to throw your phone across the room—so, with hesitation, you swiped to accept.
"H…hello?" you said timidly.
"Kitten," you heard in response. His voice came out low, deep. Rougher than usual, and maybe even a little breathless. "Having a little fun?"
"Uh…um…" you stammered. "It was an accident?"
"Oh?" His tone took a little bit of an amused turn. "You accidentally bought a whole walk-in closet worth of dresses just now?"
You were lucky he wasn't here to see how your face flushed. "Well, I…I thought I was only buying one, but…I ended up buying the whole cart?"
His chuckle sent a shiver down your spine. "I see. Easy mistake."
"I can return it—!"
"No," he cut you off, and you wondered if you imagined the desperate edge. "I want to see you in all of them—and I want to be the one that takes them off of you."
His voice had become sensual, and as always, the lower part of your body responded, growing warm. Then, with a startling realization, you said, "When you say you like me doing this…you mean you like it."
He let out an actual laugh this time. "Took you this long to figure it out, sweetie? Maybe I should have been more obvious." A few moments later, he asked softly, "Do you like it?"
You buried your face in your free hand, mumbling.
"What was that, kitten?"
You let out a long sigh. "…Maybe."
"Then why stop at just dresses?"
"…What?"
"Surely you need some new shoes to go with them."
You swallowed as your mouth went dry. "Right now?"
"Mmhm," he hummed. "Buy whatever piques your interest. No hesitation."
As you started to navigated to the website that had the brand of shoes you had longed for for years—you heard it. So faint over the phone you almost missed it. But it was undeniable: the sound of a zipper being undone.
Your breath hitched, and suddenly, you were aware of the way your cunt was aching, desperate for relief. But despite that, you tried to stay focused on the task at hand.
As you sifted through the selection, picking out whatever caught your eye, you rambled to Sylus with a shaky voice about the things you were selecting. Telling him about the finely cut diamonds encrusted in them. And he hummed along, as if he was drinking in every word. And finally, once you selected everything you wished for, your body was flushed all over with need pooling in your gut.
"Now, go on and buy them, kitten," he breathed out. "Be a good girl for me."
You couldn't stop the whimper that escaped you, and your self-restraint finally snapped; one hand slipped into your underwear while the other clicked to complete the purchase.
Only a few moments after the payment went through, you heard Sylus let out a low moan. "Yes," he whispered. "Just like that."
"Sylus," you whined, fingers easily slipping into your entrance with how wet you were.
He took a shaky breath. "You also need some new things to wear underneath, right? Another layer for me to spend my time undoing?"
You nodded even though he couldn't see you while opening a new tab. "Y…yes. I need…" you trailed off, body shuddering as you rubbed over a sensitive spot inside you. "I need you," you whined.
"Fuck," he muttered before moaning. His voice was strained as he continued to speak in between harsh breaths. "Next week. After your new things arrive. I'll give you what you desire, kitten. I promise."
Those words intensified the needy haze in your mind. You were no longer truly thinking as you selected various lingerie. Your decisions were based solely on how much you wanted to see Sylus take them off you. Then, you stumbled upon a piece that had a hole in the underwear—made to be worn while he fucked you—and you let out a surprised, needy moan.
"What—fuck—what is it, sweetie?"
Through words that you weren't sure were all that coherent, you explained what you found. And you could easily imagine the way his head tipped back as he let out a deep, desperate sound that rumbled through his chest. That was all the encouragement you needed to make it the final thing you added to your cart, and you purchased it all without a second thought.
Sylus' reaction through the phone settled deep in your chest, making you thrust helplessly into your own hand. "Oh, kitten, yes. Good girl. Doing so good for me."
"Sy…Sylus. I'm…" You had started rubbing your clit with your palm as you fucked yourself with your fingers, and you could feel your climax approaching soon.
Based on how he sounded, he wasn't fairing much better. "Just…just hold on a little longer for me, sweetie. You need jewelry, don't you?"
You let out a whimper as you obeyed. Ruby necklaces, emerald encrusted chokers, diamond earrings, 18-karat gold rings—you added them all. It didn't take long for the total to reach the millions. The cost of a modest mansion sitting in your cart.
With your orgasm approaching, any hesitation that would have normally been there was absent as you clicked to purchase everything. Once you did, you whined out, "Sylus."
A string of noises were forced out of him, tumbling past his lips as the dam broke. "Oh, fuck. Fuck—ah, ah, good girl, my good girl…"
You let his words of pleasure wash over you, basking in the praise. And that was all it took to join him with your own climax.
As you both took time to catch your breath, all you could think about was how much you couldn't wait for next week to come. To see all the ways he would indulge you—and how you would indulge him.
tags: drabble, sfw, fluff, drunk! sylus, clingy! sylus, love confessions, sylus cries (he’s being a little dramatic), basically you babying sylus for the entire fic
you’re not quite sure how it ended up like this.
you know that sylus’s alcohol tolerance is average (he had told you so himself), but you didn’t imagine that it’d be anything lower than yours. it had started as a joke, while the both of you were slightly tipsy; you had said something about wanting to see him drunk, curious about if he was sleepy, clingy, or whatever else while in that state.
and now, you’re here with your giant, six-foot-three boyfriend who is hanging his head over your shoulder and clinging to you like a weighted blanket.
“sy, baby, you’ve got to get up,” you rub his shoulder, “i think you need some water, honey.”
sylus grumbles in that low, frustrated tone that you only ever really hear when he fails to get a plushie for you at the claw machine.
“no,” he says, stubbornly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as if he can avoid responsibility by hiding there.
you have seen sylus tipsy before, but not quite as drunk as he is now. he’s flushed from the tips of his ears and down to his chest, mumbling and groaning like a tired kid after a full day at the amusement park. not only has he been stubbornly sitting on your lap for the past two minutes, but he’s been leaving little wine-stained kisses all over you face.
“i’m serious, sylus. i think you’re a little too far gone.”
“ ’m right here, kitten,” he slurs. “how can i be far?”
“exactly my point, my love.”
with a heavy head, sylus looks up at you, gaze a little unfocused from the buzz. there’s an almost youthful innocence to him, his eyes round like a big cat; the complete opposite of the internationally-wanted criminal the world knows him as. you’re tempted to call him adorable.
“i could never be far away from you, ever. it’d kill me, kitten.”
you raise a brow at him, “that was quite dramatic there, sy. are you sure you don’t need the water?”
sylus frowns, “don’t.”
you laugh, “don’t what? give you water?”
he purses his lips in a way that looks like you’ve offended him. soon, unsteady, large hands come up to cup your face, staring into your eyes with a softness.
“my feelings are real. i belong with you in every lifetime.”
sylus has always had a habit of confessing his love to you at the most random time of day–you like to call it his shakespearian impulse–but you didn’t think it’d stay while he was intoxicated.
“oh gosh,” you laugh, truly taken aback. “even when you’re drunk, you’re a romantic! this is so cute.”
sylus, however, does not find this situation to be cute at all and frowns at you, his brows squished in frustration. at first, you think that he’s just pouting, the way drunk people tend to. but when you see the watery shine in his eyes, you soon realize that you are completely wrong.
“oh my god, sylus, are you crying?” you panic, grabbing a small napkin from amongst the mess of half-eaten steak and sticky wine glasses and bringing it to his face.
“no… it’s the sun. it hurts my eyes,” he mumbles, despite the fact that you are, in fact, wiping away the tears running down his cheek.
“the sun, right…” he is way, way too far gone. “why are you upset, my love?”
sylus stares at you in an almost accusing way. you’re sitting there in silence for an awkward five seconds before he leans in, pressing his face into your chest.
“yudisayit.”
you blink, “say that again for me, baby?”
he sighs as he pulls back, just enough to look you straight in the eyes. there’s a very determined look on his face, though you still feel like you can’t quite figure out what’s going on in his mind.
“you didn’t say it,” he repeats, “say you belong with me.”
the serious tone of his voice makes it near impossible to stifle the laugh that comes out of you. that’s what he was so upset about? thank goodness no one has ever seen him drunk but you.
“oh, sylus,” you coo, tilting your head so that you can plant a soft kiss to his cheek. “of course i belong with you. i’m sorry i didn’t say it back quickly enough.”
“in every lifetime,” he insists, “together.”
he’s so terribly cute.
you pull him in for a hug, kissing his forehead, then nose, then lips. he stares at you in awe, like you put the stars in the sky and the ocean on earth, full of love for you, like he always is.
The number of people I’ve blocked here for twisting Sylus’s character into something he would never be, To be clear, I’m talking about canon misrepresentation, It’s so frustrating seeing canon misrepresented, especially with his Catch 22 card. He would never be the adopted father, groomer, or rapist that some people try to claim from this card 🙄 and even though this rumor has been debunked countless times, they still spread it. No matter how much we debunk it with proofs, some people will always misrepresent him, it honestly hurts and makes me so angry. I’m this close 🤏🏻 to leaving the fandom and enjoying Sylus privately, because all this negativity about him in the fandom affects me despite my blocks Bc i love him so much and no one would tolerate something negative about what they love. But I still stay here because I love posting about him and yapping with people who genuinely love him.
not only that but sylus is constantly mischaractised on booktok and it's so annoying. as a bookseller and always trying to get books that people want, the characters these girls comapre him to is disguting and awful. if sylus ever came acorss those characters he would find them sick.
just had an idea of a sylus fic. it's regency vibes and you are a maid to a wealthy family and they're trying to get their daughter to marry sylus, who was never once thought about getting married - until he met you. he's kind to all the maids and servants but he's espcially kind and gentle to you - and god he loves he banter, the way you always answer back and never back down. he doesn't care about socitey, he's gonna marry you and that's that.
do you guys rememeber that post i made about dragon!mc finding out she's pregant with dragon!sylus' child after he sacrifised himself for her and she raises their child without him?
I’m gonna be even more annoying to the people in my inbox, complaining about my complaining.
WE NEED TO KEEP SYLUS AWAY FROM PEOPLE WHO MISCHARACTERIZE HIM ON PURPOSE AND WITH MALICIOUS INTENTIONS!
people who reduce him to a mafia boss (when that’s not even the entirety of his character) and still bring up what he did in “long-awaited revelry” to say that he’s the “noncon king” (if i said what i wanted to say, it wouldn’t be pretty).
How many years has it been and Sylus is still getting mischaracterised. I don't even enjoy the jokes about him being "old" when he's only a year away from 30. 30 isn't old!
I work in the book industry and the amount of people on booktok mischaracterising him is through the roof and it's more than annoying now. Sylus is nowhere neat the characters they compare him - he;s so much better than them bot for some reason these people want to keep him in the "madia boss/daddy" bubble which is highly insulting to his character.
Sylus was called a monster in his myths yet was nothing of the story, and here is a green flag character that people keep mischaratersing as a red flag, something he isn't.
I will never stop defending Sylus from these allegations.
your phone calls were appreciated and loved by sylus. he was always reassured by them, that no matter where you were in the world, you would always reach out to him, always need to be connected to some part of him.
"i'm going to kill you."
while not exactly the lovey dovey sentiment he craved, his lips still quirked up in excitement, the greed for everything about you making him hang onto every word.
including your threats, apparently.
"did i do something wrong, sweetie?" his smooth and amused voice slipped through your ears, and you wanted to wipe the shit-eating grin you could so clearly hear from his face. "what happened to hello? not even an i love you?"
"you're dead the next time i see you." you hissed into the phone, already too riled up to properly respond to his teasing, "this is all your fault!-"
"as amusing as your spite is, i can't help but be confused." he tilted his head, fidgeting with a coin as he looked at his phone. "what exactly is my fault, kitten?"
"that!" your raised voice drew the looks of your co-workers, and you ducked your head lower to your desk. "i just humiliated myself at work because of that!"
there was silence on the other end, before you heard his barely concealed attempt at hiding his laugh. you narrowed your eyes, scowl set in place. "it's not funny!"
"i'm sorry, sweetie, just-" he snickered, wiping at his eyes, "how exactly did you pull that off?"
embarrassed, you told him what had happened. one of your co-workers had just recently adopted a baby kitten, but every time she had said the cursed word, you had perked up. nobody noticed at first, but then you fully slipped up.
another co-worker of yours had complimented the kitten, and you absentmindedly mumbled, "yes, sy?" tara and simone, who had been sitting next to you, immediately jumped at your slip of tongue, teasing you relentlessly for the instinctive response.
at that point, sylus was full on cracking up on the other end, and you were definitely set on killing him now. he would look nice in your freezer, even if his freakishly large body wouldn't fit. "it's not funny! you need to stop calling me that, i'm not going through this again!!"
"but it suits you so well, sweetie." sylus managed to get a tease out in between his laughs, red eyes sparkling with mirth. "would you prefer some other cat? how about a lion? or a tiger?"
"i'm never talking to you again."
"you and i both know that's not true, kitten."
"i'm going to hurt you."
"what makes you think i won't like it? besides, i've always preferred a kitten with claws-"
"bye, sy!" you had never slammed your finger down on the hang up button so fast, ears burning as his laughter was all you could hear.
