#about.sylus

[sylure]

── ❦. Insatiable Variant. | Sylus x f!reader

─ ❧ GENRE: smut, pw/op

─ ❧ READ WITH CARE: mdni, Sylus under the influence of his Aether Core, power play, power struggle (obviously they are both stubborn), begging, cum play, multiple rounds, manhandling, reader is being carried around, Evol play, energy manipulation as a stimuli, marking, minor hunter / prey, slightly filthy language, finger sucking, spit, overstimulation, Sylus can be a bit pushy / needy at times but you gave consent, almost squirting, pet names (sweetie, kitten, baby, good girl, sweetheart, little dove, little fool, the list goes on), praise, many different positions, cockwarming, aftercare

─ ❧ WORD COUNT: 17k

─ ❧ LINKS: sylus masterlist | general masterlist | AO3

𖤝 PREMISE: When the Aether Core demands for more than Sylus was ever willing to give, his most beloved treasure walks in on him looking like a lamb ready for the slaughter. Sick with worry for your dearest, you decided to put his wellbeing before all warnings and isolations he imposed upon himself—and therefore you as well. But now you are here, in his hidden lair filled with useless trickets and a bottomless pit of desire flaring brightly. Please, won't you help him feel better?

𖤝 A/N: I was always curious to figure out why exactly MC is THAT wrecked after a night with Sylus. And I guess a whole year of being teased by Infold about those secrets happening behind closed doors, I needed to bring my own interpretation to life...

Love. Devotion. Desire. Lust. Fulfilment. Madness. Sylus no longer bothers separating the words. Whichever one may choose for the feelings plaguing his mind, Sylus is a willing victim. A fool most rejoicing at the hunger his mind succumbs to once his Aether Core needs more than silly little trinkets to prevent it from turning against Sylus himself, and his weakest link.

It all blurs together behind his right eye, which throbs in a slow, merciless rhythm that has nothing to do with reason and everything to do with want. The Aether Core plagues insistently, like an unrelenting presence deep in his skull that gnaws at the seams of his restraint until even discipline begins to feel like a fragile, foolish thing.

He has been trying his hardest to let it hurt, to ignore the pain. But for a man who prides himself on control, Sylus stands motionless in the low light, his body barely covered, spine straight as if firm posture alone might save him. And yet, beneath his skin, something boils harder with every breath he takes, heat blooming where there should be nothing at all.

The darkened room he retired to is immaculate—too immaculate. Still air, drawn curtains, every decoration where it belongs. A sanctuary built for control, though his eye burns even brighter in the dimness. Soft at first, then more intense, like a slow, living being that stains the angle of his cheekbone in crimson.

Remnants of prior attempts to quench its hunger lie abandoned on the table, from fractured stones emptied of their shimmer to useless little things that once held enough energy to satisfy lesser desires. Sylus had consumed them without hesitation, one after another, chasing the dull relief they promised. It lasted seconds. Minutes, maybe, but never long enough.

It can never be enough again. The ache sinks deeper now, no longer content to linger just beneath his skin. It slides inward, wraps around thought and instinct alike, tightening until even breathing feels difficult. His fingers curl slowly at his sides, though not in anger, at least not yet, but in a battle for dominance and restraint—a restraint so sharp it borders on pain because this thing wants what Sylus tries to protect most.

And you are too close. He knows it the moment you step into the room, before you speak, before the door even finishes closing behind your heavenly figure. The Aether Core reacts instantly as it flares in an eager, unmistakably alive sensation. His jaw tightens as the sensation surges through him, a painful swelling of need that has nothing to do with sanctity at all.

Oh no, this hunger has a shape now. A name. A face.

You.

Slowly, Sylus exhales through his nose; it is another measured attempt to stay aware, to remain almost defensive against your worry for him. For once in his life, he even refuses to turn; he cannot afford to look at you. Not when the core strains so openly, so greedily, as though proximity alone is the most unholy relief for greed.

"Don't come any closer," he says at last, attempting to keep a low and even tone for your compassion to ease. A pause follows momentarily, a crack stirred by your scent slowly creeping its way over towards nerves that are far too receptive. Then his voice turns quieter, almost pleading. "I'm serious."

"Sylus," you begin your argumentation, but the man in question refuses with a shake of his head. The glow beneath his eye pulses again, brighter this time, responding to your presence like a heartbeat gone wild. He swallows hard and forces his eyes to flutter shut as the control he is known for across planets slips in places he refuses to name.

His hands have moved over the silken robe that barely manages to keep his body covered. Has the temperature inside the room risen? Everything feels too tight, too small, he needs to…

Sylus flexes his fingers just as they are about to drift over his thighs, almost as if to remind himself they still belong to him. "It wants more than trinkets," he admits while finally turning to face you. His gaze locks onto yours with an intensity you haven't caught before.

He looks distressed, to put it nicely, flushed from the tips of his ears down to his chest, where you can see every heavy drag of air he seems desperate to inhale. "More than consumption." A brittle smile curves at his mouth at that, accompanied by that charming tilt of his head as he studies you. "It wants you."

The confession hangs heavy between you, thick enough to choke on. The core flares in response, heat rippling through him in demanding, relentless waves which are no longer content to be ignored. Sylus feels the true danger then; which is not the loss of control, but how willingly his body leans toward it. Toward you.

And you, silly little fool, you do not step back. That, perhaps, is what surprises Sylus most.

Though the tough act is becoming more difficult to uphold once you feel the pressure in the air, the heat rolling off him in waves, almost like some entity stirs just beneath the surface of his composure. You don't understand all of it. Not his core, not the depth of its hunger, not the way it pulls at him. But you understand him and the fear that wraps so tightly around want it almost hurts to look at.

"Sylus," you say again, softer this time, as the man in question takes another step closer despite his warning. Your gaze remains unwavering as it lifts to meet his. "You keep telling me to leave, but you're the one closing the distance between us."

Caught red-handed, you see fear flicker across his expression. Though not fear of what he might become, rather fear of how much he already wants to let it happen. "If you stay," he murmurs while taking yet another step despite himself, "you don't get to pretend you don't know what you're offering."

You feel the hunger of the Aether Core, how (im)patiently it waits, watching you through his eye.

"I know," you answer simply, boldly. Perhaps normal Sylus would call it rash. The light beneath his eye burns brightly, straining against its human cage. "And if I fail," Sylus continues, his voice is rougher now, stripped of its polish, "I need you to understand this—" His hand lifts, hovering just shy of your skin, trembling because he still tries to keep it under control. "I won't stop myself from devouring you, little dove."

You remain where you are, close enough for him to feel the warmth of your body, close enough for the Aether Core to know you're not going anywhere. "I won't leave you tonight," you promise with an unwavering gaze.

"Reckless girl," Sylus exhales under his breath, a strained huff that might have been a laugh, turning his tone almost amused. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"

You know deep down that you should be afraid, or at least worried for yourself. Somewhere, reason demands it. But all you feel is that familiar, steady pull between two bodies, two souls of one. "No," you admit softly. "But I'm not leaving."

The Aether Core behind his eye pulses brightly in response, but the relief your presence offers only deepens the hunger beneath. Because now it not only knows what Sylus wants, but worse, it knows it can have it.

Sylus takes a step closer before he realises what he's doing until the space between you collapses. His presence feels oddly heavy and overwhelming, the heat which is rolling off him coming into your awareness. "If you had any sense of self-preservation," he mutters, just before a thick swallow forces him to pause, "you'd be running." His hand lifts again, and it hovers just shy of your waist. "But now I would chase you," he adds in a heated breath across your jawline, "and I would catch you, my beloved."

The light beneath his eye taints your softer features. "And I haven't figured out whether to curse you for it," a groan flows free from the breath hitching as the pull deepens between you, "or thank you." He does not give you time to answer; he does not even hesitate any longer. Whatever fragile line Sylus had been clinging to snaps the moment you remain where you are, unflinching and unafraid. He closes the distance in a heartbeat, firm hands coming up to take, to claim the space you occupy as his own.

His mouth finds yours like he has been starving for you, slotting his lips over yours in that familiar second-nature type of way. There is nothing careful about the kiss, no pause, no hesitation. Sylus devours you, a crashing of lips into yours like a bruising force. Heat spills from his body in waves, overwhelming your cool touch as large hands grasp into your clothes and pull you into a sweat-dampened chest.

The taste of want is sharp on his tongue, and the sound he makes is low and wrecked, torn from deep in his chest as he pulls you closer, closer, until there is no space left at all. Teeth graze and breaths stutter as the kiss turns desperate and consuming, as if he intends to swallow you whole and finally be sated.

For only a breather, Sylus presses his forehead to yours before another kiss chases you like oxygen. His lips return to yours immediately, rougher now, needier, every movement speaking of a man who has already lost and no longer cares to recover. Control is leaving his body—burnt away by the move of your mouth beneath his.

When he finally tears himself back just enough to inhale, his voice is undone by his woman. "…You should have run," he murmurs against your mouth, and you willingly swallow the warning down with the next kiss.

It happens too soon, suddenly your feet leave the floor as he encourages you to wrap your legs around his waist. The motion knocks the air from your lungs in a startled sound that he devours greedily, using the moment to slip his tongue past your parted lips to steal any sense of self from you.

The room blurs just as your skin begins to tingle from Sylus's heated figure before the cold press of leather meets your back. Your combined weight causes the couch to welcome you with a soft creak as Sylus settles over you, caging you without breaking contact. His kisses are all messy, teeth tugging at your lower lip as if to prove his hunger with every press of his mouth.

One hand slides into your nape to tilt your head back for him to admire his ravished Magnum Opus. "Still not running," Sylus murmurs between kisses peppered all over your pretty features. The other hand drags slowly along your side, lingering just a moment beneath the swell of your breast, your waist, mapping your body through fabric and lust. "You're so very brave," he all but purrs as he leans towards your lips again, brushing soft, split-slick flesh against another. "Or very imprudent."

At that, his thigh slots between yours as he leans closer, perfectly applying pressure where you will soon ache for him most. The gesture coaxes soft sounds of pleasure from your chest before you can think of stopping them. Attuned as Sylus is to you, he feels the shift immediately. How you move against his muscles without hesitation causes a low hum of approval to vibrate on your lips.

Unrestrained hands roam over your lands, sliding down your hips, where he pulls you closer until there is no escape for you but to press into his defined thigh muscles. You never would have imagined that kisses could be even more demanding than they usually are with your passionate lover, but Sylus is always there to surprise you still.

He kisses you harder, slower and deeper while cherishing every single reaction you reward him with. Until your breath stutters against his mouth, until your body feels almost equally as heated as his own. His kisses lead south, then, moving sloppily along your jawline and down your neck. "Do you want more?" Sylus merely murmurs, the question slipping in between those devious marks of devotion until his breath tickles your ear.

Here, his voice drops to a softer tone as he adds, "Do you want me?"

Though the tightened grip of his hands speaks of possessiveness that urges movement, coaxing you into the slow grind along his thigh. "Say it," nothing but honeyed words that drip along your fluttering pulse, "tell me you'll take care of me."

Unfortunately, you don't often do what's wise for you. Which is why you leave him hanging in suspense, forcing Sylus to feel a hesitation in your demeanour that causes him to pause, to reconsider even as he fights that raging hunger within.

It is most unbecoming, most ridiculous. That giant of a man is at the mercy of you, your dignity. But when you finally speak, your voice is almost amused—one might argue. "Ask nicely," you murmur. "Or beg."

For a heartbeat, Sylus's posture stiffens, pride rearing its head. He leans back just enough to look at you, to reveal the war waging inside him. "Careful," he murmurs against your mouth, already trying to regain the upper hand. "You're making unreasonable demands, kitten." He is beautiful this way, all flushed features and heaving chest with that intoxicating cockiness in his gaze. "I don't beg," flows free almost automatically, though the words lack conviction even as they leave him.

Provoked, that is what you are. So you raise your chain slightly in answer, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes while the silence stretches. It coils tighter, ever tighter, since neither of you wants to surrender.

But Sylus is always prepared to fight for what he wants, to get his way one way or another. Even if it's foul play. His hands move again, sliding between your body and the couch to hoist you up, easily managing to guide you until you find yourself straddling his lap. He sinks back into the leather, long legs spreading just enough to force you to settle on his aching bulge. You can feel how hot his body is now that you're pressed against him, arched forward through the glide of his palm down your spine.

The greedy mouth never leaves your skin for long; kissing, nipping, dragging along your jaw, throat and cleavage because he intends to make you forget that you even asked him to beg in the first place. Sylus grips you firmly enough to remind you how easily he could take control if he chose to.

By now, he conquers your waist, your back and hips as long fingers easily reach around the swell of your ass to pull you just a little bit closer still. His very being makes it difficult to think, guiding you into movements until the heat between you becomes undeniable.

He shifts beneath you in a subtle movement, just enough for the provocation to draw a reaction from your body before your mind can catch up. Your covered pussy drags perfectly along his aching erection in a slow grind that causes his breath to stutter. A low sound mixed by equal measures of pleasure and desire leaves him, his lashes already fluttering from the stimulation. Bless you for wearing a skirt, bless you for wearing those lacy little things that do nothing to soak up your arousal.

"That's it, sweetie. Don't think. Just feel me." His hands slide higher, then lower, mapping you, coaxing heat into your limbs, into your breath, as if tainting the way you melt against him, so convinced that he has already won.

"You don't need me to beg," Sylus continues the sugarcoating of his stubbornness while softly trailing his mouth along your throat. "You want this just as much as I do." He tilts his hips again beneath you, just to prove his point, because he is so sure you will react with the same level of want he feels boiling inside himself.

Ah, but you… you don't give him the satisfaction. Instead, you still on top of him and lean down close enough that your lips brush his ear as you speak with an infuriatingly steady voice. "I said ask nicely."

For a moment, Sylus doesn't know how to react. His hands tighten at your waist, pride flaring one last time as he considers his options, and then he cracks under the weight of his want. Checkmate. His head falls back against the couch, eyes half-lidded from lust, though his jaw remains clenched as if the admission might actually physically hurt.

But you wait, run your fingers through his dishevelled hair while giving him a look that calls for surrender. In the worst possible moments, you're suddenly the human personification of patience.

Then, a sound torn from a place that might actually leave Sylus wounded, he sighs as his forehead drops to your shoulder. A laugh under his breath follows before you can feel silver strands brushing along your skin through his nod.

To hell with kindred spirits, to hell with anyone thinking you're the innocent one in your pair.

"Damn you," he mutters without any real heat. His hold on you tightens then, as if that gesture alone may be the only thing keeping him together. He looks back at you then, really appreciates the demon you have become since desire turned into a shared experience.

The sound of his voice causes your core to flutter; you feel yourself tighten around nothing due to that soft, defeated rasp. "Please." Light as a feather, his fingertips move up beneath the hem of your top, teasing along your lower back as if ready to strike. "I need you. I want you to take care of me," he adds then, but Sylus never half-asses anything in his life, and if somebody already managed to make him beg, he might as well hit them with the full force of his need.

The nibbles he leaves along your neck turn deeper then, needier as his trimmed nails tease your skin until you shiver. "Won't you help me?" His forehead presses to yours then, his nose nudging yours in the sweetest attempt to give in. You feel his shaky breath fan across your lower face as his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. "Tell me you will, hm, kitten?"

You don't pull away from him again, not this time, not ever again. If anything, you give him more. Your mouth opens willingly, and Sylus groans into the kiss like the sound is dragged out of him against his will. You feel the size of his hand at the back of your head as he deepens the kiss—tongue pressing, stealing, chasing yours every time you try to breathe.

There is no grace left in it now, only want, wet and desperate, paired with the faint sound of shared air and swallowed moans that fill the space between you as your bodies grind together.

"Fuck—" Sylus exhales against your lips in the most wrecked and shaky state you have witnessed. "That's it. Don't stop." His hips roll up instinctively beneath you, and he doesn't apologise for it anymore; doesn't slow down. Instead, he only drags you closer, encouraging the friction by guiding your hips on top of him, pressing you down harder into his lap and rocking up into you.

Leather creaks beneath you as your weight shifts, your bodies finding a rhythm that's messy and thoughtless and far too good to stop. Sylus makes a sound every time you move, low, needy, embarrassingly honest, as if he's forgotten how to be quiet entirely.

His mouth leaves yours only to press hot, open kisses along your jaw, down your throat, lingering wherever your breath stutters the most while his hands tug at fabric, at flimsy nuisances keeping his treasure hidden.

He mutters against your throat as he works on your body, half-coherent and entirely needy. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."

There's impatience in the way he handles you now, a rough urgency as your top is pushed up over your head and thrown carelessly aside. You feel his muttered curses vibrating softly into your skin when something slows him down, feel the sharp tug as he gives up on playing fair entirely and tears your skirt off in one skilled move.

"Sylus!" You gasp in shock, no matter the way your hips had shifted against him harder from how much the gesture aroused you. A broken laugh leaves him at your reprimand, though his mind is occupied with the perfect feel of your ass cheeks in his palms, settling firm and possessively for him to squeeze the globes.

"Perfect," he breathes, praising and filthy all at once. "You're so perfect," he continues with half a mind, entirely ignoring the chance you might mourn your clothing item. His fingers flex around your ass just as he dips his head to drag his tongue along the swell of your breasts until your moans dust over him like powdered sugar—sweet and addictive, and never enough.

He chuckles once more at the sound you make when he guides your hips again, leaving you both utterly aware of lace and cotton being soaked in pre-cum. "There," Sylus murmurs. "Just like that."

It might be your imagination, but the pressure beneath you feels heavier tonight. The size of his bulge is impossible to miss, impossible to ignore, causing you to drag yourself along his length without shame, and letting Sylus feel exactly what you want.

"More," you demand softly, unembarrassed by the need threading through your voice as your hands slide to the tie of his robe, fingers already fumbling to undo it and free him from those last scraps.

At last, he feels a pair of familiar claws streak along firm muscle, carving lines down his abdomen and drawing shuddering breaths past his lips. The sounds Sylus makes are hot and wet, muffled by your cleavage as he tastes your skin, bites your tits, and presses himself into you like he means to disappear there entirely.

Vocal and responsive, every sound spills freely from him in broken breaths, murmured praise, and quiet pleas breathed into your skin like secrets he's been waiting lifetimes to confess.

"More?" Sylus echoes while his fingers make quick work of your bra, an effortless snap allows his hands to take its place for him to cup your breasts. His thumbs brush over your sensitive nipples, teasing them into even harder points until you whimper in the cutest way possible.

The sensations cause your core to flutter, making you squirm as he toys with you. "Like this?" Sylus murmurs with a coaxing tone. "Is this what you need, my princess?" His thumbs are awfully slow, entirely cruel in their precision as he teases you with circles drawn around your nipples. "Do you need me to touch you like this? To tease your pretty nipples until you're writhing and begging me?" The rebuke follows immediately, since you push your hand weakly against his chest in protest at his choice of words. "Don't call them that," a mutter quietly and utterly embarrassed.

But when Sylus looks up at you again, all protest dies thanks to the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What? You don't like it when I call your nipples pretty?" he all but coos with faux compassion before nuzzling into your neck. "But they are, they are just as pretty as everything about you. They are perfect, how they strain against my fingers, begging for more of my touch… so cute, I could devour you."

His words are punctuated by a sharp bite to your neck while his fingers continue their slow torment of rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. One hand then slides down to your hip, pulling you more firmly on top of him.

His mouth returns to you again and again to press kisses wherever he can reach, wet and open and desperate as he guides your hand down to his bulge. "You said you'd help me," Sylus murmurs, voice low and pleading without shame now. "Don't stop now. Please—"

There's no resistance left in you, allowing for Sylus to move your fingers along the bulge straining against the cotton of his briefs. Not because he asks so prettily, but because you want to see how badly Sylus can further unravel as he moulds your palm to his aching length.

"That's it, sweetie." The pleasure begins to lower his guard, causing his voice to feel heavier and more coaxing while his hips jerk up in a sharp, unguarded motion. A low sound tears free from his chest before he can stop it, because whatever composure he had left splinters at the contact, his body answering yours with embarrassing honesty. "Just like that."

His hand remains over yours in an effort to encourage your touch, to show you exactly how much he wants this, how badly he needs you to feel the effect you have on him. Every drag of your fingers draws another breathy sound from his lips, another tense flex of muscle beneath your palm as he gives himself over to the sensation.

Sylus lets his head fall back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut in sheer bliss now that you're finally here to take care of his ache. His chest rises and falls in heavy inhalations of air, his body reacting to you without restraint, without pride. In this moment, Sylus is nothing but warmth and need, so responsive, so very easy to read.

Though he could never forget about the relentless assault on your breasts, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh, rolling and plucking at your nipples until you, too, are whimpering from pained pleasure.

One stiff little peak is captured between his teeth, drawing quiet sounds from your throat as he nips lightly, then soothes the sting with a lap of his tongue. Sylus takes his time, mirroring the leisure of your stroking hand, to leave you equally as dizzy and overstimulated.

"You're perfect," his voice vibrates where his mouth presses into your soft flesh.. "I could stay right here forever."

You snort at that, a small breathless sound.

Liar.

And sure enough, he doesn't stay like this much longer. Not because Sylus doesn't want to, but because he can't.

His attention shifts back and forth between giving and taking, between driving you closer to the edge and rocking helplessly into your touch. With every passing second, it is becoming more difficult to keep the Aether Core in check. Crimson colour casts over your entwined bodies, painting you both in the light of his hunger while he needs to watch your smaller hand move across his bulge.

Fabrics grow damp, straining over his throbbing erection as it leaks pre-cum into the soft clothing item, his need palpable in every movement, every sound. The control slips through Sylus's fingers like sand, the glow in his eye flaring brighter as you bring him closer and closer to the edge. He can feel how close he is, how close you are, and how thin the line between teasing and cruelty has all but vanished.

He wants you to lose yourself in it first. Wants your breath gone, your thoughts scattered, your body aching before he allows himself anything resembling relief.

That is, until you can't take it anymore; until the heat in that small space between your bodies becomes unbearable and you dare to tease him. "How much do you need me?" you whisper, your voice barely there, wicked in its timing, while you tease the evident stain of pre-cum.

How you rub that spot with the perfect amount of pleasure ignites tingles low in Sylus's back, leading his breath to turn ragged, his urgency tearing through him with no mercy. He wants you, he wants to be in you, to be one with you. His fingers toy with the thin strap of your panties before repaying your cruelty in kind with the perfect pressure of two digits tracing the shape of your pussy through silk.

"All talk and no bite, sweetie," Sylus manages to tease with a mocking lilt to his voice despite the torture. "Aren't you just as desperate as me?" he goes on with a sigh, rubbing his fingers along the fabric until it moulds to your pussy lips.

You bristle at that, even as want throbs low in your core. It rewards Sylus with a glare, one that speaks of pure need and pride. He loves you like that, snarky, lust-filled, insatiable, just like him, while this dance between you continues. "Hmm… you are so cute," Sylus breathes you in at that, shamelessly inhaling your perfume mixing with the distinct scent of your arousal for him to moan low.

Pale lashes flutter shut momentarily as soon as Sylus feels your touch through the damp fabric of his briefs. His hands reach around your hips, firm enough to pull you down into him with little hesitation to grind the heavy weight of his arousal against your barely covered pussy.

After all, it is only fair that you feel what you have created. You need to be held accountable for the ache only you can craft. "Come on, conquer me," Sylus coaxes, while slipping his fingers beneath your panties to tease you more. "Take me down with you."

His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them aside just enough for his hand to slide between your bodies, a single finger dragging through your slickness. The moves are painfully slow, intentionally taking his sweet time thanks to the language your body speaks. "You're so wet already," he murmurs, while his thumb finds your clit to make you squirm. "Seems we're in the same trouble."

The space between you grows unbearable. Every small movement feels magnified—the way your weight settles, the way his body reacts instantly, helplessly, to the closeness. But you let him touch you, let him tease you, allow him to settle you right down on his bulge for him to gasp.

"Boss-man, you're so sensitive," you purr lightly, teasingly, just like you have learned from your lover. His breath stutters when you press down just a little more, and you can feel Sylus trying to regain composure, trying to act like he's still in control, and it makes your grin widen wickedly.

"Then do something about it," he says instead, whispering the challenge against your mouth, as his eyes remain locked on yours. "Show me you can handle me." His palm slides up your back, his fingers spreading over your shoulder blades as he pulls you into a kiss that's all heat and need.

The sight you are greeted with once you pull back is beyond the paintings people pay heavy sums of money for. Sylus's robe hangs open, his sweat-damp chest rising and falling with each exhale and topped off with his cock heavy and flushed, leaking against his stomach. He looks like a man consumed, a man driven mad with desire, held back only by the thinnest shred of control.

"Come here," he urges, softer now, coaxing instead of commanding. "Use me. I want to feel you."

His hands slide over your ass, lifting you with ease and settling you over his groin. The head of his cock nudges against your entrance, slick and insistent, impossibly hard. "Sweetheart," and what's left of Sylus is only need, pure need for you to take care of him, to settle on top of him. "I already begged. Don't make me do it again." The red glow in his eyes flares faintly, bright with focus as his hands guide you.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you shift, and for a moment (just a moment) your touch softens, your hand wrapping around his length gently as you grasp him for support.

Sylus shudders at the bliss of your soft hand wrapping around his aching cock, stroking him with a gentleness that belied the desperation in his eyes. The contrast of your delicate touch against his throbbing, rigid flesh sent a jolt of electricity through his body, making him grit his teeth and suck in a sharp breath through clenched jaws.

Your hand is so cute, so much softer than his own, so graceful in its touch. Even in a most filthy situation like this, do you stroke his cock like it's some sort of treasure to you.

"Fuck, your hand feels so good." his hips jerk involuntarily into your touch. "So soft and perfect, like the rest of you." He can't take this, can't take how sweet and caring you can be when he least expects it.

You lean down just enough to brush a playful kiss along the edge of his jaw, making him hiss softly and smirk when his fingers tighten. Exactly as planned.

All of this, only to wreck him further as you guide the tip through your slick folds, rubbing it against your clit for sweet moans to ring right beside his ear. Sylus watches it all with a near transfixed attention, paying witness to the view as you rub the swollen head of his cock through your slick folds and coat him in your arousal.

The feel of your pussy lips parting around his tip, the sounds of your sweet moans falling like music into his ears, it all pushes him to the brink of madness. He can feel the heat of you, the slick, silken walls that would soon be gripping his length most perfectly, and it makes him throb and leak all over your fingers.

His hands slide along your waist, coaxing you closer with a gentleness that seems at odds with his needs. But then, thank the heavens, you finally move, even if just a little, and Sylus shudders.

"That's it," he exhales, and sounds almost grateful. "Just like that." His eyes roll back from pleasure, his thighs flexing in response–he almost feels like tearing off his own skin.

But Sylus needs to watch, needs to peel his eyes open again to take in the way your body hovers over him, the way your breasts sway, the way your slick coats him as you rub him where you need it most.

Whether it's mercy or your own lust that finally tips you over the edge hardly matters, not when you finally lower your hips, not when all that is wrong in the world might finally be right thanks to the perfect hug of your walls around Sylus's cock.

His ragged, broken exhales of relief and want tangle together so tightly there's no separating them. "…There," Sylus exhales through his nose, then takes a moment to compose himself before he adds. "That's where you belong."

You grin at his most filthy words because you always find amusement in the lack of filter once he gets like this. But the brush of a fingertip along the tense line of his jaw reminds Sylus of how very much you are in charge, even in the moment he's lost completely. The Aether Core pulses in his gaze in response to the way you take him in inch by inch until there's nowhere else for either of you to go.

Your breath stutters the moment his hands lock around your hips, almost as if Sylus is daring you to try and escape. Not that you would. Not when every movement beneath you steals the air from your lungs and leaves your thoughts scattered.

Every drive of his cock pulls a breathy tune of pleasure from your chest, every drag of his length stretches you open, filling you so deeply it borders on overwhelming. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, then, matched only by the way his breath breaks against your throat and your own voice slips loose without restraint.

"That's it, sweetheart," and Sylus sounds almost drunk on the moment. "Take what you need. Use me. Don't stop until you can't anymore."His words are filled with confidence in how well he knows your body. "I want you right here. With me. On me."

His hand slides up your back, dragging you into a kiss that is all heat and teeth and impatience. You answer it on instinct, fingers fisting in his hair to tug just hard enough to draw a broken sound from him. Your body tightens as sensation builds, and you hate how easily Sylus reads it. The cocky knowledge swirls in his gaze, it curves his mouth like he has already won.

"Come on, baby," he coos near your ear. "Take care of me. Don't tell me you're already satisfied."

"You're annoying," you pant as the urge grows to bite him, the words slipping out on a groan because you know he's teasing you on purpose.

A crooked smile pulls at his mouth, then his cock throbbing inside of you all because of the banter he is so addicted to. "Annoying, huh?" His voice drops, smug and wicked. "Seems like it's working then."

It does work, and you hate that he knows it. Your body reacts instantly, betraying you as the challenge in his tone sinks under your skin. Everything tightens, slickens, draws him in closer with each movement. He watches it all—every shudder, every gasp—eyes dark, intent, devouring you without mercy.

"Fuck," he breathes out in complete disbelief. "Look at you." It becomes a shared effort as Sylus helps lift you off his cock and sink back down. The couch groans beneath you, the sound obscene enough to make heat flood your body as you lift yourself just enough to feel him stretch you again before sinking fully, making him bottom out. It stings, yes, but you don't stop, and the sound he makes tells you he wouldn't want you to even if you could.

"You're an expert by now," Sylus murmurs with a wrecked voice. "All those test rides paid off." Your lips part on a sharp breath, a grin tugging at the corner of your mouth despite the offence you should perhaps be taking.

And then you take control, lifting yourself and sinking back down on him for Sylus to admire. Your back arches, your breath stutters because your body struggles and yields in equal measure as you take him again. Slowly, you let him feel it all—every inch he has claimed flutters in a tightening hug, every breath he has stolen now heats his sensitive skin as you let your body collapse on top of his.

When you start to grind into him, pressing your clit forward before lifting again, he finally tightens his grip, helping you move and guide you just enough to keep you steady. Sylus is drunk on the sight of you working yourself on his cock; how your chest rises and falls fast, breasts bouncing with each determined drop of your hips, and the look in his eyes turns dark with appreciation.

The glow beneath his eye flares brighter; it pulses in time with his uneven breathing now that whatever restraint he had left is burning away slowly but surely.

Sylus begins to meet you halfway, thrusting up to match your rhythm. He's breathing hard now that your body tightens around him again and again. And you feel it building too— the tension, the pressure. He pulls you down into another kiss to steal and savour every sound you make.

Every movement feels sharper now, every response amplified until it is impossible to tell where one of you ends and the other begins. "You feel too good to be true," he groans, so greedy, so needy as his face ducks into the crook of your neck, pointy teeth teasing your skin, wet tongue tasting your sweat.

Maybe this is all a fever dream conjured by the Aether Core. But your ass feels too good in his hands, too perfectly squeezable to be a dream. He lifts you just enough before letting you drop back down on him, over and over, until the sensation builds too high to ignore. "Come on," he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. "Let go. I've got you."

It feels almost ridiculous how those few words make you come undone. But the pressure snaps all at once, and your body tightens hard around him as you break. Sylus follows you with a final, deep thrust where he buries himself inside you, his body shuddering as he fills you, holding you there like he needs the closeness as much as the release.

Then, for a charged moment, he doesn't move at all—just stays pressed against you, lost in tranquillity, while breathing you in. When he finally exhales, it's long and ruined, his body still shuddering beneath you while his forehead falls to your shoulder.

"…You really are going to ruin me." Though he sounds like he's already long accepted such a fate.

Just as Sylus has accepted, no embraced the delicious sting of your fingers now that they tighten in his hair, tugging at his roots as you tilt your head just enough to lean in further, to look a bit like a hunter eyeing her prey. "Good."

But it doesn't just stop there–not tonight, no, that was just the beginning. It's way more fun to nudge your hips into lazy motions while you remain pressed against Sylus's chest, still warm and oh-so pliant from the aftermath of the first round.

It's subtle at first, just enough movement to make you register it, to realise he isn't done with anything at all. His chest rises against yours, slow and controlled breaths of rich air, while his fingers curl with intent now that they guide you again before you can decide whether to resist.

There's no mistaking it, not with the sound that falling past Sylus's lips. A groan so utterly debauched upon that first flutter, you reward him with. Warm breath brushes past your temple, then down slowly along your cheek, jaw and throat as Sylus nuzzles into you.

"You have to forgive me, kitten," he murmurs into your ear. "But I don't think I can be satisfied with one round." The breath he blows against your ear is cruel in how effective it is to make you shudder, and you hate how quickly it works as well.

His hands slide beneath your thighs, squeezing as he lifts you without effort. Paired with the murmured command for you to "Wrap your legs around me, sweetie," your body betrays you instantly. Locked around him, Sylus begins to carry you through his sanctuary leisurely.

Settled deeply inside you, you feel every step Sylus takes. With each step, you feel the tip of his length pressing insistently into you, demanding more and more. You squirm, whine under your breath, claw at him in protest—though that only seems to encourage him further.

"Where should we go, hm?" Sylus muses aloud, mostly to himself, but with all the time in the world. He knows you're past offering any useful input now that you're clawing at him. Your arms are already around his neck, holding on too tight for someone who plans to argue.

Strong hands light you a little higher then, before letting you sink down on his cock again, to allow a beautiful and softened moan to breathe across your naked skin, thanks to how perfectly you hug him.

Could he put you down on the TV cabinet? No. How about the bathroom? Hm… That's better for an afterthought, Sylus decides.

By now, you press your face into his shoulder, equal parts annoyed and breathless, while painting pretty little streaks of red along his shoulder as you struggle for any small amount of moral support.

"Careful," you grumble so incredibly sweet, that it is impossible for Sylus not to chuckle softly in response, then brush a kiss to your temple where he whispers, "you're not very convincing..."

You're just about to snap back when cold meets your spine without warning.

The shock draws a sharp gasp from you, your fingers clawing into his arms as that familiar, and awfully arousing, glare is pointed in his direction. How you hiss his name, enunciating each syllable with venom makes Sylus throb inside you.

He laughs then and there. That unmistakable, rich and deep laugh from the depths of his chest as he presses you into the window, caging you in completely with his body. "Mhm, I love it when you look at me like that, kitten…" he murmurs while drinking in your angered look.

His eyes gleam when he feels you tense, when he feels how quickly shock turns into something entirely else. "What's weighing so heavily on your heart, sweetie?" He purrs along your throat. By now, you're pressed up against the glass to the point it's hard to breathe, two sweat-slick bodies flush against another with the icy touch of the glass along your back. "Oh. I get it. You want more, right?"

He presses a soft kiss to your jaw—mockingly gentle. The familiar, and deeply appreciated, sting to his scalp welcomes Sylus in response as your nails scrape just hard enough to get your point across.

"Don't you dare mock me, Sylus," you warn him with that utterly cute and breathless stutter you only use when arousal and anger war inside you. "Sylus~" A sigh of his name thanks to a potent shudder lapping at your sanity.

"Sylus, Sylus, give me more, Sylus~" he dares to mimic your voice with a lovesick sigh before burying his face in the crook of your neck. "Don't worry, I'll warm you up soon enough," he murmurs with another stupid smirk on his face. His hands have long since started roaming along the goosebumps covering your skin, drawing teasing circles around your hardened nipples.

How can a man wreck you this much time and time again? Most humiliating about this scenario is how you swear to yourself not to stoop to his level again, never again. And yet you find yourself in his trap, a willing victim despite the teeth you try to use on him. "Screw you," it could have given Sylus pause, were it not for the strain in your voice and the weakened attitude.

His laughter vibrates through you where he's pressed so close. "Oh, I intend to, kitten," it's sinful amusement weaving its way through his voice."I will screw you over and over again, as you so eloquently put it."

He draws back slowly out of your dripping cunt, just enough for you to feel the absence, just enough to make you tense and miss the stretch. Nuzzling against you, with his lips brushing chaste kisses against your glossy, kiss-swollen mouth, Sylus takes his time, letting you feel the loss, the emptiness.

"Right. Now." The movement that follows knocks the air from your lungs, drives a sharp sound from you that you absolutely do not mean to make.

Sylus pulls you closer, closer, closer until there is nowhere left to go. He begins to move in earnest, pulling your body down as he thrusts up into you, this time less relenting and entirely conquering. Warm hands grip the backs of your thighs, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he hoists your legs up and over his elbows, letting your ankles dangle uselessly like a pretty accessory as he looms over you, his broad chest heaving with each ragged breath.

A softened command breathes gently over your lower face when he leans in for silvery strands to tickle your forehead. "Arms around my neck, sweetie," to then wait until you comply, until your arms rest securely around him, nails digging into his shoulders.

He is so very drawn to you that every sound will play in his mind forever, unfiltered and raw. "And let me hear that pretty voice of yours," he adds while tickling the shell of your ear with a blow of cool air. "You're holding back." Take the nip of his teeth as encouragement to part your lips.

It's cold at your back, and unbearably hot everywhere else. The dual sensations cause dizziness, and your vision blurs from the intensity of the moment. Sylus is overheating from his desires, and the heat seeps into every curve of your being as well.

You don't even know where else to put your hands because just holding him isn't enough, and well, holding onto Sylus for long isn't as exciting as being pressed into the window. So, your palms push him away only to draw his face right back against yours to chase a kiss that is all teeth and tongue—nasty and untamed. The pulse behind his eye flares at that, thrives back to greedy life and seems to burn ever brighter at the sinful view that you make.

"Come on, sweetie," so rough, so raspy that nobody could resist him now. "Tell me how good this feels." But you, ever the hissy little thing, refuse to answer properly—of course you do. The sound you make instead is sharp and breathless, pulled out of you when Sylus shifts again, when the pressure builds in a way that causes your thoughts to scatter.

Delicious, how your body reacts, how you tremble even as you try to hold onto that bite of attitude.

It only makes him worse. Makes Sylus want you way worse. He keeps moving, relentless without being hurried, though buried to the hilt with each thrust. His movements are designed to push you to the brink of madness, to make you squirm and use those little claws to make him yours.

The sound of your breath mixes with the low, broken noises Sylus makes when his control slips further and further through his fingers. That's when his mouth finds yours, silencing whatever sharp remark you tried to throw at him. It's a deep kiss, all-consuming in its intent until you are left dizzy.

Though you bite at his lip in retaliation, which prompts a pleased sound from deep within his chest. Despite yourself, your body betrays you anew as it softens where you tried to fiercely to remain sharp. You lean into Sylus's onslaught on your senses, clawing and pawing and hugging his figure like your personal canvas in desperate attempts to anchor yourself.

Sylus just grins wider; that triumphant smile sends a shiver down your spine. He loves seeing you like this; so lost in pleasure, drowning in the sensations of him inside you, around you, consuming you utterly. "I know you're tired," he says softly, almost indulgent. "But your body disagrees with you here."

Your back arches off the slippery glass, a sharp inhale sounding in the small space between your lips when the tension coils too tight to ignore. You glare at him through it, furious at how right he is, at how easily he reads you.

"Don't deny it, kitten," Sylus murmurs. "I can feel how much you are enjoying this."

Smug bastard.

Your walls clench around him then, gripping his cock in the most perfect way to put Sylus in a situation akin to yours. So close to sweet release, to pure bliss. So he can't stop chasing it, chasing you, driving his length into you with increasing fervour. Each thrust pushes you higher, tighter, until you are teetering on the brink of ecstasy.

"Fuck, yes. That's it, sweetie. Let go for me," he groans into your chest after his face collided forward, lips dragging across the swell of your breasts. The lust has roughened him, has shed off the layers of restraint Sylus usually likes to don. Each thrust settles him snug against you; he craves to grind his pelvis against your clit–eager to hear those pretty whines and breathy moans until the pleasure borders on pain—but you crave it, need it, ache for more.

Uneven waves of satisfaction ebb and flow inside you, causing your nails to dig into his skin as softly spoken curses rain in on his parade for how good he makes you feel, for how impossible it is to stay defiant when he knows you this well.

His hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts, kneading the pillowy flesh as he rolls your nipples between his fingers. Sylus pinches and plucks at the sensitive buds, sending jolts of electricity shooting through your body, stoking the flames of your desire to a fever pitch. Teeth graze, then sink into the hollow of your throat just enough to leave you gasping, marking you in ways he simply can't resist.

"Come on, baby. Give me everything," he urges in a low and seductive rumble. "Let it happen. Allow me to feel you come undone in my arms again."

Ah, how perfectly your breath stutters, how loudly your pulse drums in his ears, how your blood races underneath your heated skin. Muscles tense, then give as the second release hits hard enough to leave you shaking against him. You don't scream his name, but it's right there on your tongue, swallowed only because he steals your mouth again and keeps you close, keeps you right where he wants you with your nails raking down his back most deliciously.

"That's it, kitten," Sylus moans right beside your ear, panting roughly from the art of your pussy clenching around his cock, gripping him and throbbing so perfectly until your juices coat his shaft and balls. "Give me everything," he adds quietly, forehead resting in the crook of your neck. "I want all of it, just like that."

Gone is the pride, to hell with the attitude, all that remains are breathless calls of "Sylus!" in trembling variations as you cling to him while riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm. In the same moment, his composure finally shatters for good. He continues to thrust into you and prolongs the ecstasy with every deep, grinding stroke. The Aether Core blazes, light flaring bright enough to paint the glass and the room and your skin alike. Sylus groans long and low as the tension finally breaks, leaving him just as undone as you are.

Buried securely inside you, his cock throbs and pulses, accompanied by shudders wrecking his broad frame from the force of his release. "You feel so good, sweetheart. So perfect around my cock." He praises in the most sweet, most filthy way possible with a love-drunk expression on his face.

He keeps you close while the aftershocks move through you both, with firm arms locked around your body because Sylus has no intention of letting you drift even an inch away. "You tremble so much because of me," he observes, not to mock you, but more so to stroke his own ego. "It's… charming."

But you lack time to respond since his mouth finds yours again in a slow, claiming kiss that lingers. Fully satisfied, though still very much hungry. The movement of his lips on top of yours makes your head spin almost as much as the release did, for your thoughts to scatter again.

When he finally pulls back, Sylus rests his forehead against yours, noses brushing softly. It's apparent that the glow in his eye hasn't faded yet, the Aether Core still very much alive and feasting behind his gaze as he takes in every single detail about your debauched state.

Sylus indulges in the lingering heat of you, in the way your body still responds to him despite the fading tremors. Despite your satisfaction, he knows that he can push you for more eventually. This moment, this night is far from ending—though he momentarily considers a respite.

"We're not done, kitten." The words are low and assured, touched with a hint of amusement and a hidden care behind them all. "Not yet." His tone turns almost deceptively sweet as his gaze roams over you openly, affectionate and hungry all at once.

"Do you want to lie down for a bit, hm?" But you don't even have to respond for Sylus to move again. You're being carried across the room until your back finds comfort in silken sheets while Sylus remains snug inside you, giving you a lazy thrust forward that causes you to squirm as he shifts his weight on top of you.

The protest is cute, how your palms push against his chest. It earns you a low chuckle that vibrates through him. "Too much," it's barely louder than a breath, in a way that causes Sylus to take pity for his hand to smooth over your hair and his lips to press a gentle kiss against your forehead.

"Okay. Okay," he concedes then and eases back agonisingly slow.

Oh, but the noises. You're so sweet; the sound you make leaves his composure visibly frayed. So stuffed with your mixed juices that Sylus can't help but lean back on his shins instead of pulling away completely. His hands continue to hold your thighs open so he may appreciate how warm and soft you are, so full of his cum that he can't look away as it slowly spills from you while your body flutters around nothing now.

A slow exhale of a deep breath seems to echo in the quiet of the room. "Shh, I know, baby," he murmurs gently as he brushes your hair back when you squirm. "I know," added with a gentle trace along your thigh. "You did so well for me."

The feel of two long fingers moving through your folds to gather some of your mixed juices makes you squirm, makes you whine out his name in a way that causes his heart to stutter. "And look at you," he continues, because Sylus can be so sweet, so praising and proud of you. "Look at the mess we made." The unmistakable note of possession that he never bothers to hide softens his words.

But he can't stop, can't turn away from you, can't let go of his dearest treasure. He much prefers to bring his fingers to his mouth without breaking eye contact, sucking on them with all the time in the world until he pops them out once they stop tasting like you.

"But I can see that you need a little break," he says softly. "Don't you, kitten?" His lips curve upward, a smug little smirk tugging at his lips, savouring the exhaustion of your body. "Don't worry. I'll take very good care of you. I always do."

His hands move back to your body then, settling over your breasts in a warm embrace meant for comfort. He feels your pulse beneath his palms, the heat of your skin, the way you respond even now.

Unable to resist you for long, Sylus leans down again to place a trail of soft kisses along your collarbone, down the valley of your breasts, where he decides to linger, to mouth against the giving swells. His tongue flicks out, tasting the salt lingering on your skin from your intensive endeavours until you shift against him.

"You're insatiable too," Sylus murmurs, close enough that his words brush your ear. "I can see it in the way you react to me, even now." His thumb circles your sensitive clit, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips before he stills again—he is so pleased with himself.

"Mhh… but I promised you rest," he whispers into your breasts. "Regain your strength, kitten." Sylus's eyes flick back up to your face, a wicked grin spreading across his handsome features. "And once you're better… then, kitten, I'm going to make love to you again. All. Night. Long."

Sylus pulls back at last, finally taking pity on you. He massages your calves first, where his thumbs work in steady strokes, then he moves up to your thighs, to press slow circles into your hips until the tension eases little by little.

You huff quietly at the attention, half spent, half stubborn about how much you still want him, even as your body betrays you by relaxing beneath his touch.

Sylus tracks every shift in your breathing, every flicker of expression as the post-fuck haze settles in beautifully. That is when his focus drops, his gaze following the path of his hands down to watch how your mixed juices create a perverse masterpiece as it slowly pushes out of you.

You tense instinctively, thighs twitching as if to close while a heated wave of embarrassment washes over you. It's obscene in its intimacy, the way it tells on you so openly, revealing the evidence of what you have shared, like a private testament to the way Sylus has taken his time with you.

He feels his body respond instantly, his cock twitching against his thigh as a hummed tone of want rumbles and rises in his chest as he tries to behave. "Beautiful," Sylus sounds low and rough with rekindled lust. "Look at your pretty pussy, so stuffed with my cum."

You will never grow accustomed to that shift in him, to the way the polish and decorum can peel away once he allows himself to indulge. Beneath all those layers of outward control, there is a creature made entirely of lust and desire—and it has a filthy mouth.

Worse now, with his breath hot against your sensitive flesh as Sylus inhales the musky scent of your essences deeply. The awareness of his touch slides up your thighs again, nudging them wider, and opening you fully beneath his ravenous gaze. He takes his time looking, drinking in every small reaction you give him, and you feel every second of it.

"Tell me, kitten," his fingers trace a teasing path through the glistening folds there, gathering proof that you are not nearly as done as you pretend. You gasp sharply with trembling thighs , and mutter something under your breath that might be his name or might be a warning.

With a smirk to his lips, Sylus lifts his hand and swipes the tips of his fingers across his lips. His tongue flicks out slowly to taste you, to make a show of your flavour as his eyes flutter shut most theatrically. A low moan of content leaves his chest before he looks back at you again.

"Do you see the problem?" he inquires, and suddenly Sylus sounds almost casual. "How am I meant to give you a break when your body looks like that?"

He leans down as he speaks, close enough that you can feel the heat of his mouth as he just hovers right above your clit in a most maddening way. "I want to taste you," Sylus confesses with a featherlight caress of his lips along your outer lips.

A quiet whine slips free as he hovers right there, impatience growing with every quickening beat of your heart. Sylus is excellent at coaxing you to give him just a little more, give him the filthy view of your pussy clenching around barely more than his cum… And the chuckle he offers in return is rich with satisfaction.

"Ah, but I promised," there, mocking compassion with an almost airy delight to his voice. His lips move continuously against your pussy, each word a well-chosen test of your composure. "Patience, baby."

The kiss he presses there is barely more than a suggestion, light enough to make you gasp sharply and send a jolt of electricity through your figure. You try to bite back a moan and fail miserably.

"You're not ready for more, are you?"

But in reality, the bastard got you worked up all over again with nothing more than teasing touches and those almost-innocent kisses. That look that tells you plainly he is nowhere near finished with you, that his mind is still full of filthy plans he intends to carry out at his leisure. You play directly into his hands now that you find your spark again to glare up at him with a sharp huff of breath.

"You're so annoying," you complain flat out right into his face as your brows knit together in irritation. They create that look Sylus adores so much. "Aww, kitten… none of that," Sylus cuts in immediately, silencing whatever protest is about to slip past your pretty lips by kissing you instead.

You are not entirely sure when or how he manages to move above you once more, when his weight settles over yours and pins you back into the mattress, but it hardly matters now that all you can register is the taste of him, the lingering mix of you both on his mouth. His lips move against yours with need, the heat of his body seeping into you all over again now that you are pressed back down almost too eagerly.

Seems like the promise of a break lies forgotten in the depths of his mind now that Sylus drags his length through your slick folds again. The sensation is impossible to resist, and each thrust brings his tip to catch against your clit—almost like he is trying to stir you awake.

"You feel heavenly, baby," he praises, and then he reaches for your hand, guiding it down between you, dragging your fingers through your own folds for you to realise how soaked you are, how messy, how completely filthy.

It is nasty.

It is so hot.

You barely have time to register it before he lifts your hand again, though not to allow you to pull back, no, but to allow Sylus a moment to appreciate the sheen clinging to them. His attention makes your tummy flutter with want as you appreciate him—just Sylus. How pretty he is in these low lights, how sharp and beautiful his features align. But you also know exactly what he is thinking without Sylus having to say a word.

Then, warmth encloses your fingers without warning, and the sensation makes your breath hitch sharply in your chest. "S-Sylus-!" Is nothing more but a cute stutter upon the drag of his tongue along your digits, through each gap. He takes his time and thoroughly coats your fingers with spit until drops of it run along your knuckles.

You can feel it everywhere, can hear the slick sounds of him sucking in your fingers paired with his softly muffled moans that move through his chest. You feel the heat in your face, feel the tightness in your throat due to the way Sylus lingers long enough for your hips to twitch, for your thighs to tense as if your body is trying to follow where your hand has gone.

Drunk on the view Sylus presents, you are caught on the sight of silver hair falling loose, lashes low, and his usually smart mouth occupied with sucking your fingers. The gesture works you up so fast it makes you feel near lightheaded as you feel your pussy throb in response, needy and insistent for more again and yet again.

Sylus reluctantly releases you, allowing a trail of spit to connect his lips to the tips of the well-coated digits to exhale a low drag out of his mouth. "So responsive…" he murmurs, and sounds incredibly pleased with himself. "You liked that, didn't you? Liked seeing me suck on your fingers," while already guiding your hand back down where he positions them right above your clit.

It's almost ridiculous how you only manage to moan his name, to groan his name, to try and warn him by hissing his name because your mind lags behind most terribly. But what else could you do when Sylus orchestrates that wet slap caused by your fingers connecting with your pussy? He makes you slap your clit once, twice, even with that crooked smirk on his lips.

His own hand replaces yours then, middle and ring finger sinking into you without hesitation, and you take him right back in, your body fluttering and squelching greedily around the intrusion as his mouth trails kisses down your chest.

"Tell me you want more. Tell me you are ready," Sylus nearly pleads with you. Though you are so far gone that you barely register his words, barely register your own fingers moving, rubbing your clit until his voice cuts through the haze and pulls you back just enough to hear yourself answer.

"Uhm, I want it, I want you," you admit, softer than anything you have said to him since this whole ordeal began, while your free hand tangles into damp silver strands.

Sylus's pupils dilate at the sight of you touching yourself so unashamedly, feeling your body arching and tightening around his fingers. He has never seen a masterpiece to equal the beauty of your need, written there across your face without shame.

"That's it, baby. Touch yourself for me," his voice feels near decadent. "Get yourself nice and worked up again." He begins to pump his fingers slowly, letting you feel every inch of the intrusion as he coaxes you back into relaxation. "I want to hear my little dove. Can you moan for me? Can you make those pretty noises, kitten? Don't be shy." He purrs into your neck, his breath layering hot and heavy on your skin like the most powdery perfume.

Desperation rolls off you in waves now that you tremble anew, your body betraying you for Sylus to drown. His cock throbs and leaks against your thigh as he grinds into you, smearing you with the proof of how badly he wants you. Please, won't you take him out of his misery?

"Fuck, I can't wait to be inside you again," his hips drag against you while his fingers pump relentlessly into you. They curl just right, brush that sensitive place inside you that makes you moan out loud, and suddenly you are too aware of everything, of the way your body tightens, of how close you are tipping.

There is a sudden and new sensation to it all as Sylus starts to circle your G-spot and presses into it to feel it harden and grow bigger. "That's it, kitten," he encourages as well, eager to watch you come undone once more. But the pleasure builds too fast, too sharp and overwhelming to make your breath break into short gasps.

Why does he keep stroking that spot? Why does the pressure make your thighs twitch? It pulls that strange, dangerous sensation up from deep in your stomach, close to something you are absolutely not ready to give him—or anyone.

Perhaps it's the sensations that overwhelm you too soon, another orgasm threatening to crash over you in mere moments after he swore you would have a break. But you move without thinking, planting the sole of your foot against his abdomen and pushing away from him before scrambling as your fingers dig into the sheets. Swiftly, more swiftly than Sylus would have ever expected in this scenario, you twist and try to turn away from whatever madness is about to overtake you.

However, you forget briefly that Sylus already promised he would chase you.

Before you can even get your bearings, the familiar red mist coils around your ankles, sliding up your thighs with just enough pressure to wrench a moan from your chest now that you are dragged across the bed, your body pulled inexorably toward him.

"Kitten…" His voice is almost scolding, but the pleasure he takes in this is unmistakable. Your fingers' strength as they cling to the mattress holds no candle to something as unfair as energy manipulation, causing you to be tugged back across the giant bed until your ass bounces against Sylus's thighs.

And then he is there, all of him, draped over you like a heavy blanket of muscle and heat as he pins you in place. Lazy kisses trail up your spine until his chin hooks over your shoulder and the tip of his nose nudges your cheek. "Running from me? Really?"

"Fuck," you curse out quietly because of how much his Evol always turns you on, without fail. Then, slowly, carefully, you turn your head just enough to meet his amused expression—already knowing you have walked straight into exactly what he wanted.

You do not expect the sound he makes then, that soft click of his tongue paired with a crooked little smirk, as though he has any right at all to judge you when he is the one who set this in motion, who tugged and coaxed and pressed until your body reacted before your thoughts could catch up.

"You said you wanted to continue," he murmurs while peppering the sweetest kisses all across your cheek and eyebrow; they feel almost unfair in their sweetness. "And now you're trying to run from me? You shouldn't play with me like that."

"'S just… what you did, you…" You stumble over your words like a fool, the dread of embarrassing yourself causing your thoughts to tangle on your tongue as the memory of that overwhelming sensation swirls in your mind. "I mean—"

A sound that becomes a mix between a hum and a laugh vibrates against your back, and his mouth slides down the line of your throat to your shoulder. "Mhm… forgive me. Perhaps I should have warned you," he concedes softly. "I suppose my surprises don't always land quite the way I intend."

His Evol tightens around your thighs then, a gentle pressure at first to coax rather than confine. And it works, oh, does it work wonders now that the red mist moulds to the shape of your breasts and cups them. The flow of energy is delicious; it's warm yet cold at once, sometimes almost suffocating before its touch threatens to vanish.

It makes you squirm back, causes your hips to shift on instinct to seek the familiar solidity behind you. "You're teasing me again," is your softened, breathy complaint, followed by a whimper that makes Sylus's eyes roll back in pleasure before nuzzling into your nape.

"Okay. No more teasing, sweetie, mh?" He gives in with a roll of his hips, using the red mist to swiftly position his cock to glide through your folds. "Better now?" Sylus whispers gently while allowing you to work yourself up along his length as it slides through your folds.

A chuckle rumbles through his chest when he feels the tension drain from you. "Shh. It's alright, kitten. I've got you," he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. "I know I can be… a lot. But I'll always catch you when you fall. I'll always chase you and make it all better again."

His hands settle on your hips, squeezing the soft flesh enough for his fingers to sink into your skin as he holds you close. He encourages you to draw back until you can feel every inch of his body pressing against yours, from his broad chest to his muscular thighs bracketing your own.

"You feel that? Feel how much I want you, always?" he purrs, seductively needy and full of love. "I can't get enough of you, can't stop touching you, tasting you, fucking you." His mouth returns to your neck, slower this time as plush lips map familiar paths. His Evol follows the motion of his body, guiding the way you move, the way your hips respond.

"Just like that," an encouragement accompanied by his touch sliding between your thighs to rub your clit in slow, gentle circles. "Let yourself feel it. I'm right here." Your body trembles in response, the hitch in your breath a traitorous sound that begs the fiend to rub you faster.

His cock throbs against your ass, leaking pre-cum and smearing it across your skin as Sylus grinds into you—seeking friction, seeking relief. "Feels good, baby?" His breath is hot against your ear. "Let yourself enjoy this, let yourself feel every inch of me. I want to be inside you again, may I?"

Sylus's hands slide up to your breasts, where you feel the warmth of his palms cup your soft shape to knead slowly and just enough for your nipples to stiffen. The small sounds you try and fail to keep entice him to give you more—always more. Because those sighs and breathy moans do something to him, he likes them. Likes how easily he pulls them from you, how your body answers him without hesitation now.

His fingers pinch your nipples properly then, rolling the peaks just enough to make your back arch and your hips shift restlessly against him. Until your breathing stutters as you squirm restlessly, helplessly. You're caught between wanting more and already feeling as if this is too much.

Why is it too much?

Because Sylus's Evol relentlessly conquers your figure, the red mist curls close, holding your back pressed firmly to his chest for the tendrils to slide over your breasts and hips. They guide the slow push of your body back into him while his lips scatter soft, however indulgent, kisses over your shoulder.

That's where Sylus decides to settle, savouring the alluring scent of your perfume and the drumming pulse of your little heart. His hands drift down to your hips, fingers sinking into the pliant flesh as he draws you back against him, encouraging a steady grind against his cock.

You're slick, so very wet and warm and messy from your earlier shared bliss, that it makes everything glide far too easily. With each roll of his hips, the thick head catches on your entrance, teasing you both with the promise of being filled once more.

"Fuck," Sylus murmurs in that uncharacteristic rough tone before it is softened by a huffed chuckle. "I can't get enough of you." Aware of how much you enjoy hearing his sounds, to lose your mind in his pleasure, Sylus moans softly right into your ear. "Can you feel how wet you are, kitten? Feel what we did to you?" His tone softens at that, at the memory of making love to you time and time again.

A shuddering breath causes goosebumps to trickle down your skin then, before Sylus's hips press forward just enough for his cock to nudge inside you, only a fraction, before he pulls back again. Over and over. A fiendish cruelty to make your body ache with the lack of it—the lack of him.

The force of his Evol vibrates against your skin as it lifts and kneads your breasts, making them sway with the slow drive of his hips. Heat and energy crackles across your skin, though ultimately it's the familiar roughened touch of Sylus's fingertips that causes you to give in.

He drags them down your stomach, finding your clit where he circles the nub in leisure patterns. Just enough pressure to make your thighs tremble and your breath hitch, your body reacting openly as his cock throbs against your ass cheek, where pre-cum leaks and smears across your skin as he moves, chasing friction, chasing you.

"That's it," he encourages. "Grind back on me. Show me how much you want it… how much you want me again." The red mist tightens around your breasts, squeezing gently but insistently.

Your skin feels too sensitive, every nerve alight at once. Empty, swollen, your body clenches around nothing, fluttering in a way that draws a sound from you Sylus will store in his mind for eternity.

He feels it all, the way you start to shake, the way your breathing breaks into desperate little pants as your hips rock back into him with growing urgency, the head of his cock catching at your entrance again and again, teasing the stretch you crave without ever following through.

"Come on, sweetheart," Sylus coaxes softly like the devil upon your shoulder out for redemption. "Don't be shy. If I can beg, so can you."

"Sylus," you moan, but your voice is strained. You already present yourself in the most admirable arch, open for him to take you again if he wasn't so terribly proud at the worst times.

He knows what he has done to you, knows that he finally managed to break down your walls. "I know, baby," Sylus whispers as his lips move along your jaw and pepper kisses across your cheek. "You're tired." A pause, it's almost playful how he leaves you in suspense. "And now you want to play princess with me after trying to escape me."

With a shake of your head, you finally give up and say the word he has been longing for, the retribution for the way you earlier dared to tease him. "Please," nothing but a mumble regarded at the mattress underneath you.

But you can't seriously expect this to be enough for Sylus? No way would a whispered 'please' satisfy him after the show he put on for you.

"You know that's not enough. Don't you?" A breathy chuckle warms your skin as his fingers leave your clit, and his Evol takes their place. The energy swirls through your folds, pulses directly against you in a way that immediately makes your thighs shake harder than his fingers did.

It draws moans from you whether you want them to or not, your grip tightening in the silken sheets as your words stumble out. "P-please, Sylus, please, ngh-, just," your voice falters, pride warring uselessly with the way your body gives him everything anyway. It's never been clear whose pride runs deeper—yours or his—and moments like these prove it.

But the pressure doesn't relent. Neither does the sensation of his heavy cock, so warm and hard, nestled right against the soft flesh of your ass. Sylus is draped over you like a meaty blanket, squishing you not just with muscle but also his stubborn will.

"Please, Sylus," he murmurs the words right beside your ear, instructing you to repeat them.

And when you do, when you grind your teeth before mumbling another, "Please, Sylus," he grins and can't help but nip into your neck, right where your traps are. A slow lick of his tongue soothes the burning pain a moment before he resumes his guiding words. "Fill me, make me feel... whole," is almost a purr now, the way he pronounces the word 'whole' carries an entirely unique meaning for you and him. For your souls are one.

You turn your head then and meet the wicked glint in those crimson depths. "Kitten…" the asshole in question breathes into your ear. How on earth Sylus suddenly possesses this much restraint is a conundrum to you. Just this afternoon, he nearly wanted to devour an entire planet.

Though your pride finally gives way to lust when he dares to move his Evol along your slit, over your hole dripping with his cum, to push in slowly.

"Please. Make. Me. Whole." You bite the words out he longs to hear, and are rewarded with a groan and the feel of his hips finally moving. "That's my good girl," he purrs in the most seductive tune. "Such a good little kitten, begging so sweetly." He murmurs in victory over having finally managed to make you crumble.

His Evol throbs against your pussy, the red energy curling low and close, swirling and tingling against skin that already feels too sensitive—pushing more heat, more want through you until your thighs tremble. You feel it everywhere, not just where it touches, but deeper, coiling inward as Sylus's hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to anchor you there, to keep you open.

"You want to feel whole, baby? I'll make you whole, I'll complete us both again." There is affection in his words despite the promise threaded through them. When he finally pushes forward, it happens smoothly, almost effortlessly, your body stretching without resistance thanks to how wet you are.

You feel him sink into you at once, buried to the hilt in one long motion that pulls a sound from your chest as your walls clamp and flutter around his thick shaft, as if trying to pull him even closer.

He stays there for a moment, fully seated, hips pressed flush to you, to make you aware of how full you are, how stretched, how your body keeps reacting on its own. "That's it, kitten. Fuck, you always feel incredible."

When he starts moving, it is slow and steady, his hips rolling and rocking into you with an undeniable intention to make you feel everything—each thrust pushing you further up the bed, your body jolting with the force even as you try to brace yourself.

Every press, every pull, courses through you like the most potent liquor. The sounds that fill the room are messy and intimate, your breath breaking apart alongside his very own until you feel close to giving up. With his weight settled over you, Sylus presses his chest into your back, one hand moving until his palm may rest flat against your stomach to keep you stable.

His mouth finds your shoulder, where he nips and kisses before lingering on exceptionally sensitive spots, while his Evol slides up your sides to cup your breast. You hear your own breathy sounds slipping with every press of his hips.

"That's my good girl," he murmurs in a voice strained with lust. "Always taking me so well. Because you're made for me. And I'm made for you." His other hand slides around to your front, fingers finding your clit and rubbing firm, fast circles that make your body tense immediately, your walls fluttering tighter around him as the pressure builds yet again.

Strained little moans fall from your lips as Sylus fills you like this, stretching you in a way no one else ever could, but your thighs are burning now, muscles trembling after everything he has already taken from you on the couch and against the window. Being held up, folded around him, takes its toll.

Sylus knows it too. You become aware of that fact once his chest presses more firmly into your shoulders, encouraging you to give in without asking. His Evol steadies you where your strength falters. "You don't have to act tough with me," he promises through shaky moans from behind your shoulder while you feel his touch travel down your side until he guides your body to lie down.

The mattress receives you a moment after the red mist tucks a pillow beneath your hips, raising you just enough for your back to fall into a natural arch. It eases the strain, even as the new angle pulls a gasp from your lips. Sylus straddles you from behind, large hands moving along the curve of your ass, gripping your thighs and watching the way the flesh gives under his touch.

"Yes, just like that, sweetie," he coaxes as he settles you fully into prone bone, while keeping himself elevated. A firm hand is planted beside your head, the other secure around your hip as he begins to move again.

You feel his weight more fully now, almost as if you are pinned beneath him, though it feels far too good to resist. Sylus moves deep and slow as he takes you, gentle even in his strength. Curiously, you turn your head and press your cheek into the sheets as you glance back just enough to see the strain in his muscles each time Sylus draws your hips back against him.

You feel just how deep he is through every slow movement brushing against your cervix, and still, he stays close, almost needy. Sylus's body shields yours while he moves in deep, languid strokes for your softness to give easily beneath his strength. His hands wander across your skin, squeezing, soothing, leaving goosebumps wherever they may pass.

His hand slides around to your front, finding your breast and cupping the soft mound as he continues to rock into you. "That's it, baby. Just like that," Sylus encourages while pulling you back onto him with each thrust. Your body trembles now, muscles aching from the overwhelming pleasure you have given yourself over to.

Sensing it, Sylus gentles his pace until his movements are little more than a steady rhythm meant to keep you right here with him. "I've got you, kitten. I've got you," he murmurs. "Just relax and let me make you feel good. Let me take care of you, like I always do."

His hand slides up your thigh, cupping your pussy for his fingertips to rub slow circles against your clit that make your breath hitch again. His hips roll steadily, filling you so completely you can't think past the sensation. "That's my girl," he praises. "My perfect love."

The urgency builds anew when his thrusts grow harder, faster, causing the bed to creak beneath the force of your passion. Your body tightens again, your walls fluttering around his shaft most encouragingly. "That's it, sweetie. Come for me," he coaxes so gently, almost like he wasn't the one thrusting into you from behind. "I want to feel this pretty pussy squeezing my cock, want to feel you coming undone around me."

He feels his own climax creeping closer, his body tightening as the pleasure gathers low and heavy. But Sylus holds himself back, determined to give you the release you crave first.

He wants to watch you break apart beneath him, to hear you cry his name when the pleasure finally carries you over the edge once more.

"Come on, kitten. Give in to it," he urges, his voice strained and rough with lust. "Let go, baby. I've got you. I'll always catch you." With a final, hard thrust, Sylus buries himself deep inside you, grinding against your cervix as he rubs your clit firmly. Your orgasm is a sensation to him as well, the way your hips lift to escape the insistent circling of his fingertips around your clit as that tidal wave of pleasure drowns you whole.

You feel yourself clench around his cock, your fingers curling into the satin sheets as crumbled moans of his name in variations are breathed from your lips.

Through ragged breaths, he praises you as the aftershocks of your shared climax roll through both of your figures. "I love you so much, sweetie. More than anything in this world or the next." He sounds almost sated now…

Sylus’s hands do not settle, not even after everything he has already taken from you. They keep redrawing the deeply cherished shape of your body like he wants to explore you forever. Your skin gleams beneath the soft glow of the lamp, sweat catching the light along every dip and curve, and the sight alone keeps his fingers wandering.

When he finally pulls out, he cannot resist squeezing your ass, watching the flesh give and shift beneath his palms. Only then does Sylus guide you onto your back, though his hands never leave you. They slide over your waist and upward to cup your breasts as he leans down.

His mouth is still warm when he begins to kiss along your collarbone, then the soft curves of your breasts, almost worshipfully.

But desire runs too hot in his body; it is never-ending for you. Not when your thighs are so squishy beneath his firm grip now that he kneads the sore muscles. He can't get enough of you, not when you spread your legs so willingly for him to nuzzle into your slick folds and breathe you in slowly.

The mingled scent of sex and heat drives him to groan against your flesh. "Kitten," he murmurs in guilt, with lips pressed close enough that you feel the heat of his words. "I don't think I can ever be sated."

His tongue slides over your pussy in slow strokes to taste and linger where you are most sensitive. Its warmth and pressure cause your hips to squirm and shift as if to escape, but his hands tighten on your thighs to hold you exactly where he wants you.

The sensation is too much and not enough all at once, his lips sealing around you as he sucks gently, then firmer in an unbroken rhythm. Your breath stutters for his name to release like a whimpered prayer. "Sylus, please." You really can't do this anymore; you feel like you will melt if he keeps going.

But Sylus, Sylus has full trust in you. And if anything, he presses closer as his mouth works you steadily, relentlessly, as if his whole purpose in life is to pull every sound and sensation from you. Beneath him, his own arousal stirs again from the taste of you, hips pressing down into the mattress for friction he barely registers while his mouth stays devotedly between your thighs.

His tongue pushes deeper then until your vision blurs. Your body begins to tense around the rising pleasure, breath breaking into short, uneven pulls as the edge draws closer.

"Please—Sylus—I can't—" Your hands fist in his hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away.

"Shh," he breathes softly now, but no less certain. "You can handle it. I know you can." The moment he adds is fingers, something snaps loose inside you. With two digits sliding into you and curling just right, you are helpless against the onslaught as pained pleasure builds too fast to track.

"I've got you," he murmurs, tongue lashing your clit while his fingers work on you. "Let go for me, kitten." Sylus feels it when you start to tighten, the way your body stiffens from pleasure coiling too tight to hold. "There you are."

Your body convulses as your orgasm crashes through you, your hips lifting helplessly as you come apart beneath him. You feel everything: his mouth, his fingers, and his hunger. Through it all, Sylus stays with you, in you, drawing the pleasure out slowly until your thighs tremble and your breath breaks into helpless, uneven sounds.

Only when it starts to ebb does he slow, gentling his touch while pressing soft kisses along your inner thighs and up to your mound, before easing his fingers out carefully. "That's my girl," in a honey-warmed voice.

Now that he is on top of you, darkened eyes gaze fondly over that sated look on your face. Then, at last, he kisses you gently for you to taste yourself on his tongue, to feel the lingering proof of what you have done together.

"I'll never get tired of you," Sylus repeats quietly against your lips. "Not ever."

Once you are in his arms, he holds you close as if he strives to keep you there. With absentminded strokes along your skin as if stopping is imply be unfathomable. "Now rest," he whispers. "Let me take care of you."

He carries you to the bathroom when your legs won't quite cooperate to the bathtub that is already beginning to fill by the time he lowers you into it. The heat warms your sore muscles and draws a soft sigh from you.

Only once he is entirely sure that you have settled does Sylus allow himself to follow. Settled behind you, he pulls you back against him with his arms securely around your waist.

"Is this alright?" He allows the question to be barely more than a breath brushing your ear. And you respond with a nod while already sinking into him, into the warmth of the water and the comforting strength at your back. His hands set off to ease and ground your figure until the last of your tension slips away. For a long while, Sylus simply holds you as he tucks his face against the curve of your neck to press lazy kisses into your skin.

Beneath the water, his hands roam you without purpose beyond touch itself; he simply follows the shape of familiar ground. Until his fingers find your breasts to cover them in the warmth of palms and draw you closer until your back is flush with his chest.

When his lips brush your ear, his voice is quiet and pure. "I love you more than anything, kitten. In this world, and whatever comes after. You're mine—and I'm yours. Always."

Now, unable to resist your gentle giant, you turn in his arms to look at Sylus and raise your hands for a cradling touch to his cheeks. His eyes are so soft whenever he says things like that that you cannot resist the urge to kiss him. Slower than before, a silent way to reciprocate his confession.

Firmly, his hands slide down to your hips until your body finds itself pressed so close that there is no space left between you. When you part, you let your fingers drift down to confirm what you already felt.

Sylus is still hard.

His length juts against your tummy in an attention-demanding way. But for once, he won't push for more, won't hope for anything. Perhaps that is the reason why his breath catches when you wrap your fingers around his shaft to stroke, squeeze, and deliciously torture him until you feel him throb in your hand.

Sylus lets out a low sound of restraint, though his hips shift instinctively into your hand. "You feel what you do to me?" It's a complaint accompanied by a willing body as his forehead rests against yours. "You're enjoying this a little too much."

But he enjoys it too. He guides your hand, encourages the motion without rushing it due to the gentle touch he keeps. "Yes, just like that," he murmurs. "You always know how to touch me."

His hips begin to move with your hand, causing the bath and bubbles to awaken around your bodies. And then he succumbs as he pulls you on top of him and ducks his face into your neck for another confession. "I want you," he says softly. "Let me feel you around me. Sit with me like this, will you?"

The way he asks sends a pulse of heat through you before you even give your consenting nod. His fingers tighten at your hips as he guides you back down onto him, and your breath catches as your sore body adjusts to his size all over again.

But your typical attitude is long gone by now. What remains is an undying ember of lust and love for your Sylus, and the terribly gnawing desire to forever feel as one with him.

Here, he doesn't thrust, nor does he roll his hips or move at all. He just lets you feel every inch of him while holding you as close as possible. "Stay with me," he murmurs. "I only want to feel you."

There is no rush in him now, only want and warmth while he keeps you tucked against his chest. You stay there with him, his cock throbbing faintly inside you as his hands soothe and trace you. Eventually, when you are both loose-limbed, he lifts you easily from the tub and dries you off with a careful hand.

With your signature robes draped over your bodies, Sylus carries you back to the bedroom, settling onto the mattress with you straddling his hips. The gentle pressure of his thumbs easing the tension from your shoulders brings your cheek to rest against his chest, and you let his heartbeat be your lullaby for the night.

"That's my girl," he murmurs softly. "You're so beautiful." He tilts your chin up once more, crimson eyes softened until they look like candy as he leans in to kiss you again, slow and tender and so dearly filled with love.

As he kisses you, Sylus’s hips begin to roll beneath you, his hard cock stirring inside your still-sensitive core. A soft groan escapes him now that his hands guide you to move with him. The robe around your figure falls open, baring your breasts to his hungry gaze and pressing them flush against his own now that you are lying down.

Together on the mattress, you find yourself cradled against his chest with his cock resting deep within your warmth. Through it all, he lets his fingers brush along your hairline and gently massage your neck until you manage to doze off. When sleep finally takes you, Sylus feels it immediately, your body relaxing fully against his.

In response, he holds you a little tighter and cradles your head while his lips rest on your temple. "Sleep," he whispers. "I've got you. I'm sorry for taking it all out on you."

He lets his eyes close soon after, with arms securely wrapped around you. The last thought in his mind before slumber claims him is of how utterly perfect this moment is—holding you, being one with you, in every way possible.

i'm so done with this man 🫩

[kannady]

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 2.6k

a/n: ehhhh just a random idea. not too proud of it. listening to cinnamon girl prompted me to write this. ive never written or read anything angsty. its not great, just my first attempt. lemme know your thoughts! would you wanna read more?

I

The hallway stretched before you, dim and silent except for the muffled creak of the floorboards beneath your boots. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and something sharper, gun oil, maybe. You exhaled slowly, your breath barely disturbing the stillness.

And then you heard it.

A laugh, bright and effortless, ringing through the house.

You froze.

You didn’t need to follow the sound. You didn’t need to see her draped over Sylus’s arm, her fingers curled around a wine glass, her lips parted in amusement. You knew. You had always known.

Sylus had loved her long before he’d known you. Not in this life, perhaps, but in another, one where they were bound by something deeper than reason. You had sensed it the moment you first saw them together, the way his gaze lingered just a second too long, the way his voice softened when he spoke her name.

And you? You had been careful.

You never let your hands tremble when you handed him reports. Never let your voice waver when he stood too close, his presence like a storm pressing against your skin. You were smarter than that. You had to be.

The file in your hand suddenly felt heavy. You set it down on the side table, the sound swallowed by the thick silence of the house. 

A few steps farther, and there he was. Mephisto, perched on his stand like a sentinel, his feathers catching the faint glow of the hallway sconces. Sylus’s ever-watchful spy. 

Your fingers closed around the bird’s body before you could second-guess yourself. Cold metal bit into your palm as you twisted its neck, pressing the hidden switch beneath its wing. A faint click, and the red light in its eyes flickered out.

No more watching. No more recording.

You didn’t walk to your room so much as you drifted there. The corner by the window looking welcoming, the floorboards smooth beneath your knees where you had sat so many nights before. You didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound. Just waited, as if some foolish part of you still expected.

But no. Of course he didn’t come.

Why would he? You were just an asset. A tool. And tools don’t warrant concern when they go quiet. They’re replaced.

The realization settled over you like a weight.

You stood. Your bag was already half-packed from some forgotten mission, duffel shoved beneath the bed, dust clinging to its straps. You yanked it free, tossing in the essentials: cash, a knife, the forged papers you’d been smart enough to prepare months ago. No hesitation. No second thoughts.

You didn’t bother with stealth. Didn’t tiptoe past his study, didn’t glance toward the wing where her laughter still curled through the air like smoke.

He wouldn’t notice you were gone.

***

Two years. 

Two years since you'd walked out of that gilded prison with nothing but a half-packed duffel bag and the clothes on your back. Your plan had been absolute in its simplicity: vanish from the N109 Zone completely. Disappear into some forgotten corner of the world, someplace so remote and inaccessible that not even Sylus with his vast resources would think to look.

But you were never naive enough to believe it would be that easy.

In the silent hours before dawn, when the city outside your new apartment windows hummed ever so softly, the truth would wrap around your throat like cold fingers. If Sylus ever truly wanted to find you, he would. No amount of running, carefully constructing false identities, calculating distance would stop him. 

The realization should have terrified you. Instead, it settled into your bones like an old scar, familiar, aching, but no longer sharp. So you did the only thing you could: you became invisible. Not by hiding, but by thriving in the last place anyone would expect to find you.

EVER Group. Those gleaming letters embossed on every lab door, every piece of correspondence, every business card that now bore your name. Eternity Vanquishes Evolution Restraint. A name as pretentious as it was accurate. They didn't recruit through job postings or career fairs. They hunted. For minds like yours. Sharp, adaptable, willing to dance on the edge of ethics if it meant progress. 

And when they'd found you six months after your disappearance, when they'd slid that first offer across the table with promises of resources beyond imagination and challenges worthy of your mind, you'd said yes without hesitation.

Your new title, Human Augmentation Engineer, rolled off the tongue with clinical precision. The work suited you in ways you hadn't anticipated. Your days were spent in sterile white labs where the air smelled faintly of ozone and disinfectant, your fingers dancing across holographic displays as you designed biomechanical enhancements that pushed the boundaries of human limitation. 

Cardiac regeneration systems that could theoretically keep a heart beating forever. Neural interfaces that blurred the line between human thought and machine precision. 

The ethical implications would have kept a lesser person awake at night. For you, it was just another equation to solve.

The irony wasn't lost on you. EVER was, by any reasonable standard, monstrous. Their research ventured into territories that would terrify most people. Resurrection protocols, memory extraction, experiments that could theoretically stop death. And yet, for the first time in longer than you could remember, you were happy.

Mornings began with the quiet ritual of coffee brewed exactly how you liked it, black with a single sugar, sipped while reviewing data from your latest prototypes. Your colleagues greeted you by name, their respect earned through competence rather than fear. Meetings were lively debates rather than tense performances, your ideas were met with genuine interest rather than dismissal. There was a birthday celebration for you, a real one, with terrible store-bought cake and off-key singing.

Your apartment, small but yours, became a sanctuary. The couch was worn in just the right places, the kitchen stocked with foods you actually enjoyed rather than what was expected. Evenings were spent curled up with research journals or trashy novels, the city lights painting shifting patterns across your walls.

No more straining to hear footsteps in the hallway. No more rehearsing conversations in your head, measuring every word before it left your lips. No more choking on the sound of her laughter ringing through the halls like wind chimes.

You thought about him, of course.

It was impossible not to.

Sometimes when you passed a certain shade of crimson in a shop window, his colour, your breath would catch just for a moment. The scent of expensive bourbon would still make you turn your head. And on rare nights, when sleep eluded you, you'd find yourself wondering. Did he still keep that ridiculous collection of antique pistols? Had he replaced you immediately, or had he waited out of pride, if not sentiment? Was she still there?

But the thoughts came less frequently now. When they did surface, you’d forget about them after a moment or two. Did it hurt? You weren't sure. More importantly, you didn't care enough to find out. This life, this messy, complicated, gloriously ordinary life, was yours by choice. Every late night at the lab, every terrible office party, every quiet evening alone was a decision you'd made for yourself.

And you didn't regret a single second of it.

The past was a closed door.

***

Two years.

Two years of silence.

Two years of waking up expecting to see you in the study, bent over reports with that familiar furrow between your brows. Two years of catching himself turning to make some dry remark, only to remember that there was no one there to hear it. 

He had to admit. You'd outsmarted him.

The realization still tasted like broken glass.

Sylus sat in his office, the glow of a dying fire casting long shadows across the mahogany desk. The room smelled of leather and gun oil, of expensive bourbon left untouched in its crystal decanter. His fingers traced the edge of a file, your file. The one he kept locked in the bottom drawer despite having memorized every word.

Page 37 showed your favorite café, the one with the terrible coffee you pretended to enjoy because the owner reminded you of your grandfather. Page 89 mentioned your habit of humming off-key when working late. Page 203 contained the little notes he’d leave for you around the house. He knew you loved his handwriting. He’d known the moment you asked him to write down everything he needed done instead of telling you. 

He snapped the folder shut.

Mephisto had been his masterpiece. Programmed to follow you silently if you ever left unannounced, to watch over you when he couldn't. A safeguard. A gift, in his own twisted way. But you'd known. Of course you'd known. The way you'd manually shut the bird down with the sole purpose of running away from him, haunted him more than any ghost ever could.

He'd searched every corner of the N109 Zone. Burned through favors, called in debts, even risked venturing into rival territories himself. Nothing. No whispers in the underground, no sightings in the usual haunts. Just empty leads and dead ends piling up like corpses.

His fingers tightened around the glass.

He'd been a fool.

All those carefully calculated moves, every strategic play, and he'd still managed to lose the only piece that ever truly mattered. Standing too close under the guise of examining your work. Leaning down just to catch your scent, ink, gunpowder and something faintly floral. Asking you to move in like some lovesick idiot instead of just saying it.

What kind of boss invites a mere employee to live with him?

The answer burned in his chest.

One who couldn't admit he'd rather die than watch you walk out that door.

His fingers found the scar along his collarbone. Four precise lines from when you'd stitched him up after a job gone awry. You'd been furious he'd gotten shot, even after seeing him heal himself, you still insisted on medical care. Your hands steady but your voice trembling as you told him exactly how stupid he'd been. That was the moment, if he was honest with himself. When he'd known.

Then, a knock came at 2:17 AM.

He didn't bother looking up. "If this is another dead end, don’t bother coming in."

The door creaked open, revealing two familiar silhouettes, tall, lean, their features obscured by those masks they never removed. Even in the dim light, he could tell them apart instantly.

Neither spoke.

Sylus set his glass down with deliberate precision. "Well?"

They exchanged glances, Luke's mask tilting just slightly left, Kieran's right hand twitching toward his hip holster. A full three seconds of silence.

The decanter shattered against the wall behind them.

"Where is she?"

Kieran didn't flinch at the spray of glass. "EVER Group's Bioengineering Division. Senior augmentation specialist." His voice was flat, but the way his thumb rubbed against his index finger.

A long silence. The ticking of the grandfather clock.

The name hit like a bullet. The irony was almost poetic. His brilliant, cautious girl hiding in the belly of the beast itself. His laughter cut through the silence, sharp and humorless. "Of course she is."

Luke’s gaze shifted from Sylus to his brother. Then, all of a sudden he blurted out, "She's happy."

Sylus' cufflink caught the light as he reached for his pistol case.

“Get the car.”

***

The alarm screamed at 5:00 AM.

Your hand slapped over it before the third shrill could shatter the fragile peace of your apartment. For three breaths, you lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling where dawn’s first light painted watercolor streaks through the stained-glass window. The sheets smelled of lavender detergent. Real lavender, not the synthetic crap they pumped through EVER’s ventilation systems.

The shower scalded just shy of painful, steam curling around the bullet scar on your left hip. You scrubbed with a lemon-scented soap, the odour sharp enough to cut through the chemical fog that clung to your skin after long days in the lab. 

The mirror fogged over, but not before you caught sight of the woman staring back. Nearly unrecognizable from the ghost who fled N109 Zone. Your hair was now cropped into a sharp bob, your cheekbones pronounced from actually remembering to eat. Only your hands remained the same. Steady, scarred, capable of both delicacy and breaking a man’s wrist in three places.

You dressed methodically. Black tailored slacks with the hidden knife slit in the right seam, a white blouse buttoned to the collarbones, a lab coat starched stiff as a corpse’s shroud. The ridiculous 3-inch Louboutins Luke stole for your birthday pinched near the pinky toe, but you wore them anyway. The coffee brewed strong enough to dissolve spoons, poured into the chipped World’s Okayest Engineer mug Kieran gifted after your first successful mission.

The elevator to Sublevel 7 smelled like antiseptic and ozone. You balanced the coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, scrolling through today’s schedule when Dr. Cho’s voice interrupted.

“Dr. (reader)!”

He clutched a sealed dossier to his chest like it contained nuclear codes, sweat beading along his receding hairline under the fluorescent lights. “You are reassigned,” he blurted. “Effective immediately.”

The coffee turned to acid in your throat.

Conference Room B smelled like, well, cool, clean air.

Twenty-seven faces stared back as Cho announced Project HDS-7213, EVER’s first live-subject augmentation trial. Your promotion to Lead Biomedical Engineer. The way his voice hitched on live sent a tremor down your spine.

“Congratulations,” Mara whispered, nudging a thicker dossier across the table. “You earned this.”

The file weighed more than it should’ve. Page 1: Subject M-7. Male. 28 years old. Page 3: Evol Classification: Energy Manipulation (Class VIII, potentially IX). Page 9: Containment Protocols: Electromagnetic shackles. Sedation drip. Two cranial failsafe implants.

Your thumb left a smudge on the surveillance photo, a blurred figure in black attire. “Why bother with a photo?” Mara commented.

“Mara,” you murmured, tapping the Evol classification. “We never worked with anyone above Class IV.”

Her knee pressed against yours under the table. “Remember those Tesla-looking monstrosities they brought in last week? Turns out they are portable suppression fields.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Nothing to worry about. I guess.”

Frowning, you turned your gaze back to the file. Your mission was clear cut. Suppress the subject’s Evol to null and transfer it to another subject. You gulped. Wouldn’t that kill him? What had you gotten yourself into?

The walk to Lab 7 took exactly 4 minutes and 37 seconds. You counted each step, each sip of now-cold coffee, each erratic heartbeat as clearance doors hissed open before you. The file revealed another horror. Subject resisted standard sedation (they switched to a veterinary elephant tranquilizer).

The final door required retinal scan and voiceprint.

“Dr. (reader), authorization code Rose-9-White.”

The locks disengaged with a sound like bones breaking.

Lab 7 was colder than the morgue.

Your heels clicked against frosted glass flooring as you approached the observation window. The suppression field hummed at a frequency that made your teeth ache. Coffee sloshed over the rim of your mug as your hands betrayed you.

On the other side of the glass was a man. Not just a subject.

Chained in a chair that looked more like a medieval torture device, his bare torso marked with fresh burns where the electrodes bit into flesh. Blood crusted along his split lip. Silver hair matted with sweat and something darker near the temple. His head lolled forward, chin nearly touching chest, but you could see the rise and fall of ragged breathing.

Then, as if sensing your presence he looked up.

Crimson eyes locked onto yours through the glass. Not the dull gaze of a sedated prisoner. Not the wild glare of a feral test subject.

Your mug shattered on the lab floor.

Because the man strapped to that chair, the man whose file now trembled in your hands, was Sylus.

[sylure]

── In Your Hand. From My Heart. | Hades!Sylus x Persephone! F!Reader

. ˳༚༅༚ explicit content, dark contentish, mdni: stalking, kidnapping, aphrodisiacs, dark magic, rituals, marking, loss of virginity, slight corruption, obsession, manhandling, multiple orgasms, pet names, size difference, praise, body worship

♱ word count: 16k

♱ synopsis: You never asked for the shadows to love you but the god who rules them has deemed you his obsession. Sylus watches, yearns, and finally steals what Olympus never deserved to keep. You should hate him. And yet, the underworld feels less like a prison, and more like a sanctuary awaiting your claim.

author’s note:  I’ve adapted the original Hades and Persephone myth to better suit Sylus’s story and personality. While I’ve strayed from the soulmate bond (since gods don’t have souls) I’ve imagined a sort of darker, ancient thread of fate to connect Sylus and reader

You are the kindest thing that ever happened to me, even if that is not how our tale is told. When everyone else told me i was destined to be a forgotten nymph that nurtured flowers and turn meadows gold, you saw that the ichor that resides in me demanded its own throne. You showed me how a love like ours can turn even the darkest, coldest realm into the happiest of homes.” ― Nikita Gill

Many wars begin with a whisper. Though the God of the Underworld may have never expected to wage war against himself. They are quiet at first, nothing but sultry temptations dancing at the edge of Sylus's mind, enticing him with promises of you, of fate, of the inevitable. Urging, no, commanding him to take what is his.

Sylus resists. For now. 

However, the whispers never cease. They dig their claws deep within his being, weave their way through his thoughts to haunt relentlessly until they become a part of him. All sparks kindle new flames, and this obsession sears, cuts, and bleeds into every waking moment, every fevered dream.

Always, her. Always, you. The girl embraced by sunlight. The daughter of sky and soil, too radiant to be held by either. She who treads through golden fields that bow to her, who crafts blossoms with her loving care, who beckons earth to summon spring and chase away the biting cold and darkness of winter. A pulse of new life, a being of warmth. Treasured, you remain untainted by darkness and desire, by everything that clings to Sylus like a second skin.

Though he has cherished you equally from the depths of his realm, the King of the Dead, meant for an existence without everything you embody, has watched your every moment. He knows you do not belong to the Underworld—you do not belong to him—and yet, he wants your divinity to grace his lonesome heart. 

Neither reason nor logic may be found behind his obsession. How could something so untouched by shadow, so wholly good, possibly stir the hunger inside him unbearably?

────────── ♱

To your ears, the whispers have always been there. They called for you in the rustling of the olive trees, in the wind slipping through wheat fields. But it is at the end of a long day, in the stillness settling just before dusk, when the whispers embrace finds you again. 

As a child, you mistook them for a fantasy of lonesome moments, an imaginary friend your mother brushed off. But time removed the layers that painted them an illusion. These are not the voices of fantasy. They sprout from something older, something waiting to welcome you home. They linger in the shadows, out of reach but ever near, watching you blossom, accompanied by ruby eyes piercing through the dark.

Two dots, burning like embers, keep you company as you dance through the realms of dreams. They first caught your attention while hiding in the branches of a forest. You told yourself that the moment had been a fleeting trick of the light. Yet the sensation of being watched continued to press against your skin and sink into your very bones. 

You never mention them, not to your mother, not to the nymphs, never to your father. Not after the debacle upon the confession of the whispers clouding your mind.

Agreed, it was foolish to believe something could possibly lurk in the corners of your world, to imagine that the unseen figure belonged to something more than a waking dream. But the truth had never been so simple: Mephisto has been watching you for years.

A shadow among fruit trees, a winged guardian keeping its master's gaze locked upon you. The crow found a home on your windowsill, in the canopy of trees—wherever you went, he was sure to follow. Each sighting, each fragment of your life gathered in the folds of darkness, only deepened Sylus's craving. 

Though he remained in his realm. 

After all, the God of the Underworld was not a creature of impulse, no, he was patient, methodical, and ruthless in his desires. 

From his throne cradled by blackened halls, Sylus watched you grow from an innocent flower into something untamed, something the gods of Olympus could never truly fulfil. It was not merely your beauty—yet he would never deny the allure of your glistening skin under the sun, your hair flowing in the air, or the delicate curve of your lips whenever you smiled. But it was the spirit beneath the surface.

You were no ripe fruit waiting to be plucked, not with the fire you carry within. A fire Sylus longed to set ablaze, longed to hold in his cold, empty hands.

It took him longer than he first anticipated to weave the strands of fate in his favour. His influence may stretch long and deep, seeping into the world above like rotten roots blighting the earth, however, abducting a goddess required planning. And he so yearned to see you through his own eyes, to touch you with his own hands, to hear your voice rise in ecstasy and anger. 

The golden light of the late afternoon leaves its loving kiss on your skin to craft a creature of warmth as you move through fields of endless gold. You stray far from the others, lost in the simple pleasure of the breeze, of the flowers, and of the rivers greeting you. 

The moment is peaceful until it isn't. 

Suddenly, the realm itself seems to shift as even the wind stills. A shadow darker than any you have ever witnessed spreads like thunderclouds over the once sun-kissed lands. They chase away the light and its warm hold, replacing it with something cold that wraps around your senses like a viper ready to strike.

A chill chases down your spine while your widened eyes search for the true reason for your distress. It is only upon another turn that you finally see him. 

Standing at the edge of the fields, as if undaring to breach the final boundary between your bodies, he watches you. A figure of impressive, near looming height, dressed in flowing black garments with shadows dancing at the edges of the seams. Long hair cascades down his back and frames his shoulders, its silver-tone a stark contrast against the twisted horns curved atop his head to frame a face too sharp, too cruel, too impossibly beautiful. His intense eyes smoulder like burning coals, causing your gaze to drop to the blood-red ruby in his chest.

Neither a fight nor a flight response kicks in as you realise his familiarity. Those eyes, you know them from the darkness of night, you remember them staring at you as you caught them from the corners of your eyes.

"You," nothing but a breathless whisper, but oh does it tug on Sylus's heart to finally hear your unfiltered voice—in recognition at that. He ignores the tentative step you take backwards. A part of him perhaps pities you for the freedom you are about to lose.

"You've been watching me," you dare to accuse. While your voice may not shake, the tremble in your hands is as evident as the longing in Sylus's eyes. But he can't lose his composure just yet. He can't scare away his prey through his own foolish greed. A slow, knowing smirk on his lips is his attempt to act nonchalant. 

"Of course."

Revulsion battles with another deeper, more twisted emotion buried in your bones. And finally, finally , your instincts scream at you to run, to flee, but upon the first turn of your ankle, a snap of fingertips follows, and darkness shoots out like tendrils all around you. Not to split the earth beneath but to finally bring his world into awaiting arms. 

The mist pulls you forward, closer to the being at the edge of the field. Panic claws up your throat, causing your voice to become a broken, raspy screech as you struggle against the pulsing shackles around your figure. "Let me go!" You try to warn him, fighting and clawing at nothing but shadows. But your struggle doesnt hinder Sylus. If anything, your fighting spirit amuses him. 

Yes, he seems magnified by the racing rise and fall of your chest, by the widened pupils and blazing anger flashing across your features. "You fight like a young wildcat," he muses in a sultry voice, tilting his head as if admiring you in deep thought. "Claws bared, teeth flashing."

A scoff follows from your lips while you twist and turn with all the strength you can muster up. And still, his expression remains one of idle fascination. As ifthis, too, was exactly as Sylus had imagined.

"Mhm, you shine brightly, my dear," Sylus teases before one finger curls in toward him. It is a simple gesture that sends another wave of black and red force to come crashing around you, steal the breath from your lungs, and cause your fighting spirit to falter in exhaustion. 

The world may turn blurry; your knees may give way, but you do not crumple into the ground. Not when strong arms can finally cradle you. Sylus moves fast, almost too eager yet incredibly fluid to catch you. One arm wrapped around your waist is enough to cradle you against him. A gentle, near-ticklish touch glides along the back of your thighs before lifting your feet off the ground. 

He carries you like an offering he already claimed, a possession already tamed. "Hush now," a mumble in a way that could render you willing, that should convince you to find comfort in his arms. 

At least to his calculations. 

But you do not.

How your body twists in his grasp, how your fists hammer against his chest—it is almost enough to infuriate him. Of course, it does not hurt, not physically, but your vehement rejections land piercing blows to his ego. Part of him believed you would willingly run into his arms and would recognise this connection you share.

Oh, was he wrong.

"Put me down!" Sylus assumes that the command is the first of many to follow in the future. But he is quick to understand the need to act it off. He has to pretend to be unbothered by your distaste for him. So, after steeling his resolve, crimson eyes glance down to face your glare head-on.

Newfound amusement dances across Sylus's features, accompanied by a burning passion whirling through glistening flecks of gold in his gaze. "I would, but I fear you might run."

"I will!" you bite back while struggling harder against the confident hold of your captor. "I will run, and I will never stop!" Something akin to a purr rumbles inside Sylus's chest. His smile widened, slow and indulgent, at the prospect of a game. "Don't tempt me so…" he mumbles in adoration while leaning in to nudge the tip of his nose against yours. 

Fury seems to burn brighter than your fear by now, though it does not change the scene that unfolds: The fields, the light, the warmth of the sun— everything vanishes into the abyss. Only him, only the darkness, the scent of smoke and myrrh remains as the blackened energy whips around your entangled bodies and pulls you down. 

Sylus hides his face in the crook of your neck, and as much as you drown in darkness and despair, does Sylus finally drown in warmth and sweetened notes of fruits and florals. 

No matter how much you struggle in his loving hold, ultimately, there is no escaping the force that drags you downward. The sun becomes a distant memory before it is gone entirely. The home you knew and cherished is no longer a place to return to.

────────── ♱

Now everything is new. No, it is not new; it is different. Other . This silence seems suffocating, so unlike the gentle hum of life or the breeze in the leaves, it feels like finality. It presses against your skin like the desperate hands of drowning souls trying to grasp their chance for life anew. 

Vast and endless, a silence that does not belong to the living.

"You're awake."

Your breath falters at the commanding voice reverberating inside these grand, dark halls. The only source of light falls from the flickering glow of lanterns filled with ethereal blue fire. The shadows in this realm appear to stretch longer across the polished floors, and at the heart of it all, he sits on a throne made to be feared and cowered before.

The figure that has stolen you from the world above. The God of the Underworld. Known to the mortals as Hades, known among gods as Sylus.

He waits for you with bated breath. Hoping for you to speak, to move, to give him anything he could work with. Perhaps you sense his hidden distress, at least that is what Sylus tells himself, since you finally part your lips. 

"Why am I here?" Your voice is hoarse, raw from the screams of your fight.  A careful smile tugs at the corner of Sylus's lips while he watches your impatience sprout like weeds. So unlike the gentle goddess, you present yourself to be. "I concluded it was time for you to come home."

The words slam into you, twisting and turning until anger surges to victory and leads you to stagger to your feet. "This—" You pause right after the first word to allow yourself another glimpse at these forsaken halls. " This is not my home!" There's so much bark for such little bite, you look entirely endearing to Sylus.

So, unsurprisingly, he does not fall for your temper. Instead, he remains unmoving. His lips are sealed, and no arguments follow. He only watches patiently, as if waiting for you to tire yourself out of this tantrum. 

It's almost like he already knew the end of your tale.

"Take me back." The demand leaves your lips with a confidence Sylus has not yet seen. Oh , and this look, the determination in your eyes, awakens the desire he tries to keep at bay. 

Why not coax the spark into a blaze?

A flicker of amusement crosses his face, followed by a gentle sigh of satisfaction. There is only one word, two syllables, and its meaning is distinctive: "No."

The thundering echo of father's famous rage appears to ring true inside your frame as your fingers curl into fists and the ground of the Underworld starts to shake. Perhaps it already recognises its queen. "You have no right!" Is your angered accusation towards the god who remains unbothered by your distress.

Sylus is indeed unbothered, but for differing reasons than one might suspect. His mind is distracted by how willingly his home, his realm, welcomes you in, bends to you, and kneels at your will. 

Shadows darkened his face upon the tilt of his head, and the amusement that once danced across his features vanished in the blink of an eye. When he speaks again, his voice is soft but cuts through the air all the same. "I have every right."

The weight of his words presses down on you, heavy as the walls of this palace. You try to find reason and desperately make sense of the situation you find yourself in. But there is none. Only panic, worry, and fear are your newfound companions through the dark reaches of the Underworld. 

Your mother will search for you; the gods above will not stand for this, and there will be consequences.

Yet any possible consequence means little to Sylus. 

Eventually, he rises from his throne in a slow and graceful motion, serving as a reminder of his prominence. He is tall, impossibly so, and his form casts a long shadow over you, staging as claws of a predator while they reach for his prey.

You flinch away from the outstretched hand, but something so feeble could never stop a god possessed. Sylus's fingers brush against your cheek in the faintest of gestures before he pulls back too soon. Though his eyes, warm and filled with unspoken wishes, remain on you, to study you like the most precious treasure. 

His treasure.

"You were always meant to be here," Sylus eventually murmurs, breaking this seemingly still moment between you two. Even if you don't see it yet," he adds, before halting not just his words but also the fingertips that almost brush against your shoulder. "You are made for me."

With these words, Sylus turns to leave and vanishes into the endless corridors beyond. Though your words of hatred become his companion, they echo off the palace halls.

"I will never belong to you!" A vow, a promise, a warning spoken with conviction. How much truth rings true may only be deciphered in the future, but Sylus seems already sure of the outcome, judging by the small, knowing smile spreading on his lips after he mumbles, "We shall see," like a secret between himself and the darkness around him.

You stand motionless, every muscle in your body tense, perhaps even trembling, as you remain stubbornly unwilling to accept the cold finality of your circumstances. The grandeur of the palace is impressive, though to you, it feels like a cage. The polished black stone reflects your form in taunting echoes as you wander through forgotten halls and corridors. 

Your anger seems to boil like a volcano about to erupt, a force even nature yields beneath. You are a goddess, not a helpless mortal ready to be toyed with. And yet, you were taken, stolen in the bright afternoon sun. 

────────── ♱

Time moves strangely here. Day and night have no meaning when neither the sun nor moon chase another across the sky. Instead, you are suspended in the void, accompanied by an ever-burning firelight. You have lost track of how long it has been since he stole you away, but the hunger inside you sharpens with each passing hour.

In silence, you defy Sylus. Sealed lips, empty stomach and eyes filled with hatred render the God of the Underworld near helpless. The plates of ripened fruit and honeyed delicacies tempt yet do not manage to break your will. The air, filled with sweet scents of pomegranates, figs, and golden-crusted bread, is in equal amounts ignored as the goblets of wine. 

Hunger gnaws at you; it scratches against the hollow of your stomach, but your resolve is stronger.

Through it all, Sylus watches. He does not force you, does not plead or beg for you to see reason. But he also does not take pity. No, he simply leans against the framed passage to your chamber, muscles bulging from the fold of his arms across his chest. 

He only watches.

It is infuriating.

"Refuse me all you want." Sylus's words snap you out of your trance-like state. You haven't even realised his movements, but he sits across from you by now. The ruby on his chest pulses in the dim light as though it has a heartbeat of its own. 

He might as well pass a statue, a thing of immortal beauty and cruel stillness, were it not for his eyes—those endless red depths, watching you with emotions akin to something patient and knowing.

"Starving yourself won't help," he continues in an attempt to break your silence. Perhaps you only need a nudge in the right direction? The domineering aura relaxes once Sylus leans back against the cushioned chair, literally opening himself up to you and your scrutinising gaze. 

There it is. That familiar glare he has come to appreciate. His fingertips drum against the chair's armrest, seemingly anticipating whatever you finally offer him. 

"I want to go home." The words surprise him, though do not infuriate. Instead, he appears concerned at your undying defiance. A slow blink follows a momentary freeze of his figure before a lick across his lips wet them. "You are home," Sylus reassures you with a quiet, seemingly compassionate voice.

It further fuels your anger. "This is not my home!" The words bounce off the palace once more, as they have for the past days since Sylus brought you here.

He exhales a puff of air while pinching the bridge of his nose. Silver strands of hair slip forward upon the tilt of his head, accidentally catching the firelight to illuminate the piercing rubies beneath his bangs. "And yet, you were meant to be here. Can't you feel it?"

You can, which is the most terrifying part of all. Something disturbs your peace within whenever Sylus is near you. It should not be there, this pull, this inexplicable gravity that makes it hard to look away. But it is always there, and it only grows stronger with each passing day.

You try to push it off as nothing but the old magic of this place, the way the very walls seem to recognise your presence. But it is not just the Underworld that calls to you.

It is him. And you hate him for it. Even more so hate the realisation of your influence over him: Sylus hesitates on the rare occasions you say his name out loud, as though it carries a power even he does not understand. His gaze always lingers too long; his fingers twitch as if resisting the urge to reach for you. He is the God of the dead, ruler of this forsaken realm, feared by all—and yet, you begin to wonder if you are the one meant to rule over him.

While these thoughts may not change your anger, grief, or longing for the world above, they shift something within you.

Until one night, your hunger eventually wins.

Perhaps the servants left the plates out on purpose. The truth may never be revealed, nor is it important in the grander scheme of things. The only thing that mattered now was the intoxicatingly sweet scent of fruits that lingered on throughout your sleepless night. The warning voice inside your mind rings hollow; it pales in comparison to the glistening cuts of fresh harvest tempting your restless figure teetering at the edge of your bed.

You should not. But your stomach twists, your body weakens, and the scent lures you in to take step after step until you stand in front of the silver platters. Without thinking or comprehending your mistake's finality, your fingers close around a small pomegranate seed, glistening like a drop of blood. 

The moment it slides down your throat, the air in the room changes. It is a subtle shift at first, a whisper, then a gust of wind, usually unbeknown to this isolated place.

One pulse is all it takes for Sylus to stand in the archway of your chamber once more, like he has done many times before—watching, waiting. Your breath is unsteady, the weight of your actions sinking into your stomach like lead. And unlike the despair coursing through your body, victory curls Sylus's lips into a small, satisfied smile.

"You understand now, don't you?" His voice is low, almost gentle, perhaps influenced by the horror visible in your helpless gaze. You swallow thickly as you try to find your voice, your reason, yourself . But the only possible solution is to blame it all on Sylus. 

"What have you done?"

Now you irritate him. His brows crease upon your accusation, though his calm demeanour does not crumble. "What have you done?" he much rather returns the question right back to its sender to watch your defiance finally break.

Trembling hands appear tainted to your blurry gaze as you look down in disbelief. They are clean, but to you, each tip seems stained with the juicy remnants of your sin.

The truth is an unbearable thing.

You cannot leave.

Not now.

Not ever.

Never again.

The realisation crackles like the fireplace, though you have never felt this cold. With slow steps, the distance you so fiercely fought for diminishes until Sylus stands right before you. 

This time, you refuse to flinch when his hand reaches for you; his fingers trace the air in between before closing around your wrist. Skin to skin, you realise the chill that clings to his touch, though an unfamiliar fire courses through your veins, a traitorous response you loathe yourself for. 

Sylus turns your hand over and lifts it to his lips. The first gentle brush of lips against your palm is enough to send shivers down your spine. It is a kiss as soft as the brush of a feather; however, the warmth of his breath lingers, seeping into your flesh and marking you in ways deeper than any chain could.

"You belong to this realm," he murmurs into your palm, his lips grazing each word into your skin. "And you belong to me."

Irritation in its purest form hardens Sylus's features as you yank your hand from his hold. You should really stop fighting; you should stop despising him. "The damage is already done," he whispers beside your ear, though he does not touch you this time.

You can feel it; can feel this invisible thread that ties you to him, to this place, to the very darkness that seems to sprout within you. "I hate you," you whisper in return.

Momentarily, a flicker of hurt passes through those crimson depths before Sylus takes a step back, and you might even start to regret your declaration until a slight smirk lifts the corners of his mouth.

"You say that now," he says softly, "but you have already begun to change."

────────── ♱

His words ring true.

The air in the Underworld is different now. It hums with an energy that wasn't there before, a certain pulse in the walls, the ground, and the air you breathe. You feel it around you; it seeps into your bones and reshapes something deep inside you. It is a dark and restless presence that lingers like the weight of your mistake, like the warmth of his lips against your palm.

There is no time to mourn your fate in silence and isolation, not with Sylus. He comes to you more often now, no longer content to watch from the shadows. His presence is as constant and inevitable as the burning torches that line the palace halls. 

Sylus never forces, but he does not relent either. He pushes, always pushing the boundaries you fight so hard to uphold. But his endurance might be one of his most impressive qualities. 

The pursuit is a slow, insidious thing that sneaks into your veins like the pomegranate's curse. He touches you more deliberately—a palm at the small of your back as he guides you through the corridors, fingers graze your wrist when you pass him in the grand halls, a featherlight brush of his knuckles along your jaw when you glare at him too fiercely.

It is maddening. And yet, your pulse races when his lips hover near your ear when his voice spills honeyed words against your skin. 

He seeks you out, always, even in your chambers, especially in your chambers, where the air is heavy with your sweetness.

"You are avoiding me," his musing tone catches you off guard. If it weren't for his proximity, for the body looming behind your back, you would whirl around to glare at the uninvited guest. "And you fight so hard," Sylus's breath is warm against the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

How his lips yearn to taste you. 

It's as though he enjoys your rejections more than an open welcome. You're too adorable this way as if you truly were to believe your acts of defiance could help against fate itself. 

"I have no desire to entertain you" is a grumble as you turn further away from Sylus. But for each step you take away from him, Sylus takes two in return. 

"That is a lie." His presence presses against your senses, unrelenting in his pursuit. Sylus happily witnesses the goosebumps his touch leaves in its wake with the gentle ghost of his fingertips along your arm. "Your body betrays you so very clearly, my beauty."

Your heart thrums within your chest, so loud it nearly succeeds in drowning out the teasing lilt in his voice—almost, but not quite. Because you're too attuned to him now, too ensnared by the pull of his presence to resist for much longer. Whether caused by fury or the desire to look into crimson eyes, you turn and face Sylus, drawn as if by fate itself to those infernal, beautiful features. "You tore me from everything—my life, my mother. How could I ever—"

Oh, you are ravishing like this, even more so with that sinful glare upon the knowing, near-cheeky smile on Sylus's lips. "Because you are mine." A light touch weaves its way through your fingers, tickling your palm and wrist to brand your skin with his longing. 

A nudge from Sylus's free finger tilts your chin up, effortlessly forcing your glare to focus back on his eyes. That little gasp from your lips beckons him to close the scant distance between your mouths. "Hate me, curse me, reject me," Sylus murmurs with a voice as dark as the abyss itself, "it will only deepen my love for you."

The heat in his stare makes your stomach twist in ways you fail to comprehend, in ways you refuse to acknowledge fully. You do not answer, cannot answer, because some terrible, secret part of you shudders in delight at how right his claim feels even as your mind rebels against him.

He is too close to the point that his scent clouds your better judgment while silver hair falls past his shoulders to tickle your skin. Momentarily, you consider running your fingers through the long strands.

Instead, reason calls upon you to press your hands against Sylus's chest to push him away. Buf he feels so good beneath your touch that you fail to pursue your goal. 

And he notices, of course, he does. His muscles give way beneath your palms as Sylus leans in a fragment closer. "You are fighting something inevitable, my love," he whispers against your temple. "Do you not feel it? The pull?"

You do, and you loathe yourself for it.

Long, greedy fingers trail along your collarbone; it's nothing but a ghost of a touch meant to unravel. "I could make this easier for you, little goddess," a gentle murmur of affection, though his voice remains laced with amusement, with something far more wicked. "Or you could keep resisting. Either way, you have me wrapped around your finger."

Despite the raging pulse that betrays your resistance, you snap at the God of the Underworld. Once more, forever more, Sylus's own heart skips a beat at the rejection of his feisty goddess. "I would sooner wither."

The words could have caused him to fall apart in this instance if he had lower self-control. Perhaps it is this very realisation that causes Sylus to chuckle. Low and deep and true, the sound vibrates against your skin. "Would you?" His lips nearly kiss the shell of your ear. "Tell me, do you truly despise this?"

Worshipping hands slide down your arm; they trace the curve of your wrists and ultimately entwine with your fingers. A moment passes before your hands are lifted to his mouth for Sylus to press kisses across your knuckles. 

Only now do you realise the beautiful and heavy set of his lashes and the gentle crease of his brows as if this act alone could convey the undying embers of his love, which burn hotter than his breath against your skin. 

The sensation sends a sudden jolt through you, something unfathomable if you remain insistent on denying your own affections. This tender moment ends with a sudden yank to free your hands from his reverent hold, though it does not darken Sylus's mood.

"You are insufferable," you grumble all over again, to which Sylus chuckles. The sound is neither cruel nor mocking. No, it is like the weightless reassurance of a man who knows you will come to him in the end.

────────── ♱

The Underworld is not the lifeless void you once assumed it to be. Its unexpecting offer is more impressive than what you first granted: Through the dark pits of Tartarus, the paradise of Elysium and the barely noticeable meadows of Asphodel flow rivers like silver snakes, their surfaces rippling with unseen currents, only disturbed by Charon transporting souls across the Styx. Shadows curl and move, whispering in the voices of the hopeless and lost. And the sky here? It's not black but a deep, endless twilight speckled with stars that do not belong to the world above.

And rather than simply accepting your fate, you embrace it now. 

Your reflection reveals it first. In the land of the dead, you flourish. Your skin shines with renewed energy while a new-found hunger lingers in your eyes, craving more than sustenance. Your gowns are also different now: darker, tighter, more opulent, and made for the station Sylus insists is yours. Jewels glint at your throat, wrists, hair, gifts, all of them, from him . 

You tell yourself you wear them only because you have no choice, but deep down, you know better.

The realm accepts you now. It bows to you in small ways—doors open before you touch them, whispers grow soft when you pass. The Underworld does not take just anyone. It takes queens. One queen. His.

Sylus does not bother to hide anymore. He is not just waiting for you to succumb—he is guiding you toward it, coaxing you, moulding you. His every interaction carries intent: every touch is a test, every word a step closer to something inevitable.

One evening, he corners you in the dim glow of the throne room to tease and tempt you until you want to flee. Your steps back ultimately cause you to stagger into his chest through the calculated tug on your wrist. Grasped between his thumb and pointer finger, your face is directed towards his own; your head tipped back for your lips to part invitingly.

"You wear my gifts well," Sylus murmurs the compliment while rendering you defenceless thanks to the simple brush of his thumb against the swell of your lower lip, "they were made for you, and you were made for me," a hushed promise spoken against the shell of his ear.

Shamelessly, his head dips lower, and you feel his nose against your jawline, feel him inhale your floral scent deeply as though attempting to fill his entire being with you before pressing a singular kiss filled with longing against the racing pulse dancing beneath the thin skin of your neck.

"What?" He continues this solitary conversation. "Are you not going to hiss at me?" The quirk of his brow is infuriating—infuriatingly attractive. 

"I was not made for you," you force the reply, a sweet attempt to seem as repulsed as before, but the words come weaker than you intend.

At that, Sylus can't help but laugh. The sound is low and rich, and it's exclusively for you. 

The grand finale of tonight's pursuit follows in the shape of Sylus's lips brushing the corner of your mouth—not quite a kiss, but rich enough in intensity to make you wonder what it would feel like if he truly claimed you.

────────── ♱

The arrival of Hermes shatters the fragile dynamic that has begun to blossom from your connection with Sylus.

He appears without warning, a figure of golden light and refined grace,  with flaxen hair and eyes of near-luminescent blue. Xavier. His movements are effortless, fluid, a beacon of hope in the heavy stillness of the Underworld. With him, he carries the expectations of Olympus, and for the first time in weeks, you remember what it felt like to breathe in fresh air, to feel the sun's kiss upon your skin.

Yet there is something sharper about him here in this place of no belonging—his smile is edged with mischief, his ivory tunic ripples with divine energy. A calculative gaze flicks to you, then to Sylus, who remains seated on his throne, utterly unbothered by the unwelcome interruption.

The messenger neither bows nor cowers. "Well," Xavier says, his arms moving to cross as he leans against a pillar. "The king of gods has spoken."

Sylus tilts his head at the mention of your father, clearly unimpressed. He eyes the messenger amid his grand hall, mustering the God of trade and luck. "Has he now?" Despite the calm tones in Sylus's voice, there is a dangerous edge lurking beneath its surface. By now, you can tell as much.

Xavier's gaze momentarily returns to you. Emboldened by the solemn vow to bring the harvest goddess's beloved daughter back to the realm of living, he speaks. "Your mother grieves. The earth withers in her sorrow. You are to be returned to Olympus immediately."

Freedom? A return… home? 

For a fleeting, breathless moment, the words cause a flutter to take wing inside your chest—like a bird stirring from its slumber after a long night. Hopeful, fragile, aching to believe. But then you notice how Xavier speaks of you. Not to you, no over you. 

To be returned, not to return.

You move slowly and find Sylus already watching you. His attention pushes down on you with unspoken words and painful longing while restless fingers drum against the jet-black glass of his throne. Then, without looking away, he plays his final card.

"She has long eaten the fruit of my realm."

Xavier sighs dramatically at the desperate antics from the God of the Underworld. "Yes, yes , and you've tied her to you now. Very clever." He glances at you once more before meeting crimson head-on with cerulean. "But the world above cannot survive without her. You know this."

Sylus lifts a hand, demanding immediate silence from the messenger without another glance in his direction. Rising from his throne, he crosses the chasm between your bodies with purposeful steps until the distance wanes and bends like fate itself. He does not stop until his presence surrounds you and his hot breath ghosts over your lips. 

Gentle fingertips find your jaw for a touch equally sinful as tender. Possessive. Worshipful. The pad of Sylus's thumb lingers beneath your chin, tilting your face for him to adore your every angle. "You are mine," he murmurs, low and intoxicating. "Even if I let you go, you will return."

The certainty of his claim causes your heart to falter, and you feel yourself falling apart. You hate him for it. You hate that a part of you knows he is right.

Xavier watches the exchange with an arched brow. "Charming as always" is a mockery of God, who never showed romance to any being prior to you. 

Though the words fly past the bubble created by Sylus's longing for you, you're enthralled by the hypnotising allure of tender lips that, once more, press slow kisses onto your hand. "My queen," he speaks the title into your skin as though searing your being with your future power and might.

Eager to escape this scene of lust and longing, Xavier attempts to break this tension by clearing his throat before speaking: "Then I assume we have reached a compromise."

"A compromise?" Sylus echoes in wonder, though neither of you flees from the ensnaring heat crafted through your eyes as if the very act of looking at another was a ritual in itself.

"You will release her," Xavier declares, the decision carried by the weight of Olympus. Sylus already parts his lips to retort, though the messenger beats him to it. "And she will return to her mother, as the divine law demands. However…” Xavier's gaze moves to you, seemingly softer, mournful almost. "Since she has tasted your realm, she is now tied to it. Therefore, she shall walk between both worlds. She will return to you for half of the year until duty calls for her to step into the light of Olympus for the remaining months." 

Sylus's grip tightens on your hand; a faint tremble to his fingers betrays his opulent presence. The smugness he wears like armour fades into a scowl. Turning to Xavier, Sylus pulls you to stand behind him with a possessiveness akin to a dragon threatened to lose his treasure. 

His body turns into a shield between you and the final sentence of Olympus.

"She will depart with me today," Xavier continues unconcerned, "And until her eventual, unfortunate return to the Underworld, you shall be tested. Your patience, your virtue, the purity of your devotion to the Goddess of Spring," 

Xavier's conclusion leaves no room for arguments. A flicker close to triumph dances through the messenger's eyes as the God of death and shadows has been brought to his knees, even if only for a season.

"So be it," Sylus murmurs before, all too soon, returning to gaze upon you. As though you are the only vision that matters, the only beauty worth witnessing.

His free hand rises for his fingers to trail along the column of your throat before curling around the back of your neck. However, he would never use force on you. No, instead, Sylus draws close to you, so close his words become a secret between you two. "Enjoy your time above, little one, while I wait for your return to me."

It's a promise, a threat, and a certainty all at once. And truthfully, a part of you already misses him.

────────── ♱

Sylus had never realised how deafening the silence of the Underworld could be. It stretches through the empty halls of his palace and seeps into the very marrow of his existence. Once filled with your anger and fire, the throne room is once more cold. The grand halls echo only with his own footsteps. And even the torches seem to burn a little dimmer.

You are gone, and he hates it. He should not feel like this. He has ruled the Underworld for aeons and has never known loneliness, not in a way that mattered. But now, now he feels it.

You are in the world above, in your mother's arms, beneath the golden touch of the sun. You are in a place where he cannot reach you, and the realisation gnaws at him like a slow, festering wound.

His patience wears thinner than ever thanks to sleepless nights or haunting dreams of nothing and no one but you. Always you. Of your lips parted in anger, in surrender. Of your fingers curling into his hair, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. He imagines your return and how you will look when you finally stand before him again. Will you be softer? Will your time above have reminded you of all the things you once thought you wanted? Or will you have come to understand the truth? That you belong to him.

He waits and watches once more. Never would Sylus have ever suspected to be forced to witness you again through the crow's eyes, but here he was—dependent on his messenger. Mephisto is his eyes in the upper world, a shadow against the bright skies. The crow perches in high branches, on windowsills, in the eaves of the great temple where Demeter holds you close, whispering reassurances that all will be as it once was.

But it will never be as it once was because you have changed, too.

While at first you revel in your freedom, the world above seems a little too bright, vibrant, and bursting with life in a way the Underworld never could. The fields bloom beneath your mother's touch, and the air is warm, filled with the scent of ripening fruit and fresh earth. You are surrounded by love, by the warmth of familiar arms, and by the laughter of those who missed you.

And yet, on the first night already, you awake to search for something which isn't there. On the second night, you dream of silver hair, hands trailing along your skin, and a voice murmuring your name in the dark. On the third night, you catch sight of a shadow moving along the tree line, and your heart stutters in your chest—not with fear, but recognition at the familiar gleam of red eyes.

Mephisto does not leave, and you do not want him to.

Days pass, then weeks, then months. You fill them with laughter, with long walks through sunlit meadows, with the comfort of your mother's presence. But there is a hollowness inside you now, a quiet, insidious ache that only grows with each passing day. It is not enough, you realise. 

None of it is enough. Nothing measures up to the feelings Sylus brought to life within your shell. You are not the same as you were before. Confidence, stubbornness, and greed are qualities you happily embrace by now. 

Your mother notices the change. One evening, she catches you staring out at the horizon with distant eyes while watching the setting sun. She sees how your hands trace absent patterns against your skin, as if recalling a touch is no longer there. She does not speak of it, but you can feel her watching, worrying.

When the leaves turn red and yellow, you wake with the remnant taste of pomegranate on your tongue, with an anticipation that brings your heart to pick up its pace at the prospect of returning to him .

────────── ♱

The descent is not the same this time. You are not stolen, not wrenched from the world above in a flurry of fear and resistance. No, this time, you go willingly. Your heart pounds with anticipation as the air around you grows heavier, the sun's warmth fading into the cold embrace of the Underworld's shadows.

And then you see him. He is there already, long awaiting. 

His silhouette emerges from the fog like a memory-made flesh, tall, terrible, and heartbreakingly familiar. His eyes devour you. They do not blaze with conquest, though they burn with aching relief, with desire tempered only by the agony of restraint. A god undone by the absence of the one thing he could not command: your return.

"You came back," he says, and it is not a statement of triumph. His voice sounds fragile, relieved. The evidence of a desire stretched too thin over too many empty nights.

All you manage to respond is a quiet "I did," since the weight of this moment, of your joy, presses into your lungs and bones. 

Sylus says nothing in return; the longing in his eyes is louder than any verbal confession. He rather steps closer, slowly, carefully, to chase away the forced distance of the past months. He has not changed, not truly. But the sharp edges of his obsession have softened. 

He looks at you like you are someone he is afraid to lose, which makes your next step easier as you extend your hand toward him. Without hesitation, he encases your offer in his palm and lifts your hand to his lips, though a deep exhale of relief escapes his lungs long before pressing a lingering kiss against your knuckles. 

This time, you do not pull away. This time, you let him. This time, you welcome him. 

The gates close behind you with a soft sigh, like a breath exhaled after being held for too long. The Underworld waits. Not as a cage this time, not as a prison of shadow and stolen freedom. No—it waits as something altogether different. Your kingdom to rule.

────────── ♱

For the first time, Sylus leads, and you follow. You allow him to bring you to a garden that does not need sunlight to blossom; it's hidden beneath a silken canopy draped in silver threads. It glows from within, lit by fireflies not belonging to the world above. The flower petals here are as dark as night, and their stems shimmer faintly with iridescent dew. They are beautiful in a way that defies logic.

You sit on cushions of satin and velvet, a low table between you, decked out with a feast of things not found in the upper world. Black figs, ruby-red pomegranates and cakes to satisfy all desires.

"Does it please you?" Sylus asks, with a voice as gentle as a lover's caress. You glance at the spread and then at the man sitting across from you, his broad frame draped in a tunic of deepest black threaded with the night sky that barely conceals his impressive build. Its cut exposes well-defined muscles inked with faint, ancient markings that invite to be traced.

Sylus's lips curl into a smile upon the motion of your head, the simple nod rewarding him with a sense of relief. "It's strange. But yes," you admit with a gentle tone. 

"One could consider yourself strange in this surrounding, too. And yet—you please me." Sylus's honesty strikes somewhere low in your belly. You should be used to his intensity by now, but thread by thread, it continues to unravel you. He is open with his intent, never hiding it, not the want, worship, or way his eyes trace the line of your throat or the corners of your mouth when you speak.

For a while, you sit in silence. A peaceful quiet, as though both of you are learning how to be something other than what you were. Not captor and captive. Not hunter and prey. Equals, lovers . The final thought may lead your fingers to finally reach for a slice of fig and hold it out to him. 

Sylus's gaze flicks to yours, something akin to amusement pooling in those crimson shades as he momentarily hesitates.  "You're feeding me now?" Though he regrets the words quicker than he has spoken them once, the sweet reward is being snatched away from Sylus's lips with a huff of mild exasperation over his daring, teasing response. 

Mind you, the God of the Underworld is not one to have his treats taken from him. A firm touch around your wrist, a breathed chuckle and a brush of soft lips follow all too soon before Sylus welcomes the fruit from your offering hand. 

His actions are deliberate and intimate, causing your breath to catch and your cheeks to grow warm beneath his intense gaze. Through thick lashes, his crimson eyes bask in your reaction, though his mouth remains occupied until a murmur of "Why, aren't you sweet tonight?" falls from glistening lips that seem to beckon you to lean in.

It is only at the last moment that you notice your desire. You catch yourself and pluck one grape off its vine instead of reaching for the God of the Underworld. 

However, Sylus takes it from your fingers and presses it to your lips instead. "Your turn," a gentle command and challenge dusted in this low, sultry tone.

Parted lips allow the grape to burst on your tongue—sweet and tart, while Sylus's attention remains on your mouth. He doesn't budge, not when he knows you have grown aware of his stare, not when you chew, not even when you swallow.

"I missed you," he says in a whisper that carries a longing stretched too thin. His expression is nearly vulnerable, tender, and a little insecure, perhaps. 

This newfound softness suits him. Leading you to allow your eyes to roam over his sharp features to find further gentle details. From his cupid's bow to the golden flecks in his eyes and the lines on his face when he smiles at you, for you. "Did you?"

"Every night," Sylus murmurs, possibly a little rueful. "I dreamed of you walking back into my realm, of your voice echoing through my– our halls. I imagined…" He stops himself at the last moment. A hint of a blush dusts his features, bringing a charm to his looks you would have never granted him before.  

"Imagined what?" The heavy set of his jaw causes his held-back confession to stir worry in your mind; Sylus can tell as much as he takes in the slight crease of your brows. It may be time to jump over his shadow. His smile returns, though it appears rather self-deprecating this time around while avoiding your gaze.

"You. Smiling at me like you meant it. Touching me because you wanted to," Sylus admits with a purse of his lips, evidently cringing at his confession. This was ill-befitting to the ruler of the Underworld. 

Yet, your fingers befit him very well. How they begin to trace the lines of his hand, from the back of his hand to the calloused pads of his fingers? Sylus stills beneath your touch as if afraid a single move might cause you to vanish again.

"And I missed—" he continues but swallows the rest. You didn't expect to coax so many confessions out of him tonight, though he appears to be in a rambling mood, which makes it impossible not to tease, not to probe and test your luck further. 

With a tilt of your head, you let your eyes flick up to his own, a glint of amusement dancing in your gaze. "Tell me." His eyes dart away almost immediately, lashes fluttering against flushed skin, while Sylus seems to contemplate whether or not he shall make a grander fool of himself. But you seem receptive, accepting of him... 

"I missed the sound of your voice even when you cursed me. Especially then." You smile at that, a smile that is more real than any other expression he was ever allowed to adore on your face. "You deserved every word."

"I still do," Sylus replies, unbothered at that and well aware of his own 'shortcomings'.  The conversation finds a tranquil close through shared chuckles and lingering eye contact before the fruits call for attention. 

You eat in slow, quiet indulgence. Feeding another slice of moon fruit and seeds of pomegranate accompanied by a brush of his thumb across your lower lip or the hitch in Sylus's breath as your fingers graze his mouth. 

The air seems to thicken with a truth you do not dare to address, a sweetness far beyond the decadence of the fruits. When juice glistens at the corner of Sylus's mouth, you reach without thinking to wipe it away. The gentle moment deepens once long fingers catch your wrist to press your palm against Sylus's cheek. 

He leans into the touch like a man starved of warmth and love, turning his head for his lips to brush against the warm skin of your hand. "I've waited," Sylus murmurs, "I've tried to be good. I did not drag you back, though every shadow begged me to," his words are paused to nip into your palm while amusement dances in his gaze upon your soft sound of surprise. "I wanted to see if you would choose me. Not as your captor—but as your other half."

Your heart stumbles at the confession, and you allow yourself a moment to look at Sylus, really look at him. He is still dangerous, still secure in his power and confidence, yet beneath it all, he is trembling.

"For nights, have I imagined this," Sylus continues upon your flustered silence. "This canopy. This moment. You, beside me. Willingly ."

At that, you finally reach out to brush a strand of silver hair from his cheek. Your fingers trail along Sylus's defined jawline, down his throat to witness him swallow before being drawn to the ruby in his chest, where you allow your fingers to rest.

Though the touch lasts briefly before you rise to claim your throne, Sylus watches you unmoving as you settle into his lap. His arms come around you as if instinctually, one hand splayed across your lower back, the other cradling your nape.

Surrender. You see it in Sylus's eyes, in his body language. So, you conquer. A touch along his cheek before your fingertips drag from his jawline forward to his chin to pull him in, to make him chase until your lips meet.

Soft. Tentative. A whisper of longing finally answered.

Sylus groans—it's a low, broken sound—and deepens the kiss, pulling you closer until there is no space left between your bodies. The heat of him surrounds your body; his hunger devours your lips while his hands glide along your waist, over your shoulders and back. 

Every touch is a question Sylus does not dare ask aloud.

You answer with your body, tilting your head and opening your mouth, letting him taste the sweetness you've withheld for so long. This ignites the deep pull of your bond, the magnetic ache that has hummed between you from the start. But now, it sings.

It is only once you're breathless that your lips part, though Sylus chases you once more—one more time to kiss you deeply until his confession clings to your skin as his mouth moves down your neck. 

"I'm shameless with you," nothing but a hot breath, a roughened rasp. "You've made me something undone." 

At first, only silence follows. A silence that seems to weigh down on Sylus's shoulders as he slumps into you, his embrace on you tightening as though he may fear you were to disappear into fine dust. 

But then he feels you lean in again and grants you complete control. So you guide his head to tip back while your lips brush along the curve of his throat, the edge of his jaw before your words find their way into his ear. "And I like it." 

You kiss him, not on the mouth this time, but under his ear, along the line of his jumping pulse. You mould him with every breath and shift of your body in his lap. 

"Is that so?" Sylus asks in quiet, curious amusement while shooting you that confident smirk alongside a quirk to his brow. He is powerful, yes—but tonight, you are the one who holds him in your palms.

And you know it, you abuse it. Leaning closer, you brush your lips against his again, gentle, faint, teasing as you whisper, "It makes me feel powerful." 

Sylus is patient. He waits years to welcome the lost to his realm, watches calmly over the mishaps in the upper world and waits for the cards to play in his favour. 

But your teasing? Oh, it all causes Sylus to grow impatient. 

He craves the promise of relief from your lips, wanting to taste the sweet haven. The denial is almost too much to bear when you lean back, the disdain manifested with a groan vibrating through Sylus's chest and the flex of his arms around your figure. "You are," he assures you so willingly, "you could command me with a single word."

"Then behave," you whisper before pulling away enough to let Sylus see your smirk and that awful challenge in your eyes. 

You didn't expect Sylus to laugh at your little display of power. A sound low and dark, self-indulgent even when he leans in to nuzzle your cheek. "I've been fighting my hardest. You have no idea how much. But you're not making it easy, my little goddess."

To make matters worse, you indulge Sylus by threading your fingers through his long silver strands, scratching past the base of his curled horns to steal a soft grunt as you whisper in his ear: "I'm not trying to." 

He hums in delight as though your torture was the purest love of all.  "Good." The tension snaps at that, causing your lips to seek out another kiss and another until pecks turn to a passionate exchange of breathless sighs and saliva. 

You guide Sylus's hands to your waist, your fingers curl into his hair, tugging gently as your kisses turn urgent. Sylus groans—an unguarded sound, shameless and beautiful—and his grip tightens again, grounding himself through you, needing you to anchor him as much as you need to feel him unravel.

You feel the restraint in him teeter on the edge of collapse, but it does not break tonight.

Instead, you curled up against him, your fingers brushing the ruby in his chest as if it were a second heart. He buries his face in your neck, his breath hot and ragged, but his touch remains gentle, cradling you like something sacred.

You lie together beneath the silken canopy as torchlight flickers against your skin. He tells you of the garden he grew while you were gone. Of the starlight dome he had built to mimic the sky you miss dearly. Of every small hope, he fed his heart in your absence like embers waiting to be fanned.

You listen, and you stay until sleep finds you. Enveloped in Sylus' arms, where you belong. 

Home.

────────── ♱

With that, the time has finally come.

Hades has passed his trial from the gods above and earned the right to wed his spring queen. He kneels before you, succumbing to his love and burning desire for the one true love. 

A pulse moves through the obsidian caverns, across black rivers and beneath skeletal trees. The dark realm stills in anticipation. Even the air tastes of omen. Stones whisper in a tongue long forgotten by Olympus—born of death, longing, and love.

Tonight, the god of the dead weds his queen.

There is no mortal spectacle, no divine applause. The ceremony unfolds deep within Domos Haidou, an ancient grove untouched by time, where even the moon dares not look. Only ghostly embers and violet fireflies shimmer, illuminating the sanctum where the veil between sacred and sinful has worn thin.

Here, beneath a sky of nothing but velvet void, where only the faintest glow from ghostly fireflies and floating embers light the scene, the ritual takes shape.

You are dressed not in fabric but in falling petals—obsidian lilies and pale mourning blooms cascading from your shadow-cloaked figure. The scent is intoxicating. Crushed orchids and roses bleed sweet perfume into the air, mingled with the deep, honeyed pull of burning amber, cracked myrrh, and the lush, ripe promise of pomegranates split open beneath a blade.

Incense swirls in winding tendrils around your ankles, carried by a wind that seems to breathe only for you.

Sylus waits.

He stands at the altar made of stone and root, his tall frame outlined by flickering braziers lit with violet flame. His tunic clings to him, dark as pitch, draped loose over his strong shoulders, revealing the ridged definition of his chest. A crown of black laurel rests upon his silver hair, his curved horns framing the impassive mask of his face—until he sees you.

And then he breathes again.

The firelight deepens the red in his eyes, and his gaze—tender yet hungry—devours the sight of you. Your steps, unhurried and deliberate, carry all the words your mouth does not say. You are no longer a frightened girl ripped from her world. You are a woman who has tasted the Underworld and claimed it alongside its ruler. 

You place your hands in his, and the world shifts.

From a chalice forged from crystal, you share the ritual drink—a dark elixir of wine and crushed blossoms, thick with enchantment and laced with the bite of something older than lust. It slides down your throat like fire, and immediately, the air changes. It prickles against your skin, its magic thickening like sudden fog. Your limbs are warm, your head light, and your breath shallow.

The circle around you ignites. Flame spirals from the ground, blooming outward, as though the Underworld itself recognises this union. Vines coil around the altar, pulsing in rhythm with your breath. The ruby at his chest flares, and a low hum answers from beneath your skin. You are bound now. Not by force nor by fate. By choice.

That choice leads you to step closer while Sylus remains still as a statue. However, his tension is unmistakable. His knuckles are white from holding back, yet his hands do not move without your invitation.

You lift one to your lips, leaving a kiss on his palm. Sylus exhales your name like a prayer, like a curse, as you trail your fingers up his chest, letting your touch linger to tease the dip of his throat and the line of his jaw. You watch how Sylus shudders under the weight of your attention. 

The power you feel is intoxicating. You realise now how far you've come: Once, he ruled the stillness where nothing grows. Now, you bring the bloom that breaks it.

Your lips brush the corner of Sylus' mouth—not quite a kiss, but the hint of one. In return, he tilts his head, drawn in immediately to chase more, but you retreat with a teasing smile. It wrecks him how helpless he has become, though Sylus can only laugh softly at his misery.

"You've changed," he murmurs, his voice is low and full of awe while his eyes and fingertips adore your beautiful features. "I had to," your touch leads down his ribs. "To match the man who waited for me."

At that, Sylus sways into you, the heat of his body bleeding into yours. You guide him down onto the silk-lined altar floor, settling in his lap as the folds of your ceremonial robes slip open around your legs. When your lips meet his—tentative at first, a question, a test—he doesn't devour, only responds with slowness. 

Then, the kiss deepens and shatters the last barriers of restraints.

His hands explore your waist, back, and hips as if memorising each curve. You feel his strength, not in dominance but in surrender. Sylus lets you set the rhythm and mould him into what you need.

And you do. Your touches are not hesitant anymore—they command. You tilt his head where you want it, angle his mouth to yours, and drag your teeth along the seam of his lips until he groans, gasping your name like it's his salvation.

And still, he waits because there is no rush to this moment. He has forever with you. But the Underworld grows impatient in the way magic winds around your entwined limbs, tugging, twisting, binding. Your hips roll together in an instinctive rhythm, and the scent of burning flowers and fruit envelops you like a shroud. 

You are both drunk—on love, on hunger, on power.

Sylus's mouth finds your throat, your shoulder, your ribs. He speaks your name between kisses like it is the only word he has ever learned. His restraint is thin, stretched taut with every passing breath, and when you push him beyond it when you finally press him down and whisper, "Take me," he falls apart.

The vines around your promised bodies seem to dance in a song older than the gods themselves. The flames bloom higher, flicking beautifully on the crimson depths of Sylus's eyes. You're magnified by the molten longing pooling inside, entranced and enthralled. You watch the way he looks at you.

His mouth parts like he wants to speak but cannot. Because how does a god, a ruler, a creature of death and punishment, explain what it means to be undone so completely by love?

"My love," you whisper as your fingers guide his palm between your breasts, lower to your belly. The air around you grows heavier as he follows the trail of your skin.

His hand continues downward. Over the rise of your stomach, the dip of your navel, the curve of your hips, until finally, finally , his fingers move between your thighs, cupping your most intimate part with the size of his palm.

When you arch into his hand, and your head falls back, Sylus watches it all with greed and worship. An approving, low rumble tickles your skin upon his discovery. You're wet, throbbing, already so unbearably ready—your arousal a product not just of the intoxicating magic in the air but the weight of everything that has passed between you. 

The ache, the longing. The vow that, tonight, you would be his. He turns you then, gently but without hesitation, lowering your back into the dark grass beneath like a holy offering. 

His figure looms over you—broad and protective—as if he wasn't the danger himself. Twisted horns cast long shadows that flicker in the torchlight, while silver hair cascades over broad shoulders like a waterfall spun from moonlight. 

The width of Sylus' thighs parts your own effortlessly once he settles. Accompanied by a gentle touch that glides along the sensitive skin of your legs, with fingers digging into the flesh of your inner thighs, his gestures are worshipful as he stares down at you, naked and glistening with want. Beautiful.

Yet still—he waits. 

He does not take.

You're the one to set the tone.

Your hands lead crimson eyes to follow the curves of your body, slow and shameless; you rake your nails down your chest, teasing your nipples until they pebble before dragging your touch lower over your stomach and down to the place that aches for him most. When your fingers dip between your folds, and you moan softly at the contact, you keep your eyes locked on his.

Sylus watches, transfixed and with monumental restraint, as your fingers work your slick folds. A traitorous flush spreads over his neck, across the sharp lines of his cheekbones, that almost makes him look innocent–if it weren't for the lust pooling in his eyes.

How willing you are for your husband.

And then, you reach for his hand. Smaller fingers lace around Sylus' wrist to guide him back to your body until his chest hovers just above yours. He is so close now; his breath mingles with yours, his lips barely grazing the corner of your mouth.

His eyes search yours, and what he finds leads Sylus to give in. Soft lips crash against yours in a deep, hungry kiss before his teeth nip at your bottom lip, demanding entrance and surrender.

A warmth spreads over your skin thanks to the heat of Sylus' palms sliding up your body, eager to replace every touch you have left on your figure with his own. He spoils your breasts with attention, kneading the soft mounds and tweaking your nipples until they are hard, aching peaks. 

"So soft, so warm and needy…" he murmurs against your breasts before his tongue drags heavy over skin littered with goosebumps. Sylus rocks his hips forward, the hard, thick length of him pressing against your core before staining your skin with more whispers of desire. 

"Tell me you want it," he mumbles while the delicious drag of his length would already be enough to make you say yes to all and any of his wishes. But he seems desperate for your consent, for your dependence on him. "Tell me how much you need me, my goddess."

Your thighs twitch from the delicious stimulation Sylus offers, the sounds following seem natural, like a sweet symphony of a tune you've never sung before. "Sylus," you sigh for him, so sweetly, so fragile, as your fingertips trace the ruby in his chest.  "I want to be one with you," you reach for his hand, lacing your fingers together.

"My love," you search his eyes with an expression so soft and tender that Sylus didn't even dare to dream of before. "Can you help me? Can you guide me? To be all for you, only you forever and always..."

It's incredible how you effortlessly play with Sylus' heartstring—a heart most people deem nonexistent. Yet here you are, toying with the God of the Underworld as though he could never be a real match to you. 

This is the power you hold over him, the control you have over the darkness that dwells within. You managed to tame the untamable, to make him kneel at your feet like a loyal hound. 

Sylus brings your entwined hands to his lips and presses a lingering kiss, gentle yet filled with love, to your knuckles. Crimson eyes remain glued to your own, as though his gaze alone could convey all the feelings he holds dear inside. 

"I will guide you, mould you, make your body fit mine like it was crafted for me alone," a whisper breathed along the veins running down your arm, sealed with kisses.

When he finally sheds his tunic, it is a teasing, slow gesture meant to draw your attention to nothing but him. The silver clasps snap open under Sylus's touch, revealing a defined figure made for your exploration. Every line seems to be carved by divine hands. 

But it's his length that steals your breath—thick and heavy; it stands proud and pulsing, the flushed tip glistening with need. It intimidates. It arouses. It makes something flutter inside you. Sylus's pupils dilate as he takes in the sight beneath him: His wife, his goddess, spread wide for him, your stomach stained by his fluids. 

"Beautiful creature of sin…" The words escape him in nothing but a whisper while his tip nudges against your entrance, teasing you, creating sounds of desire as he lowers himself again, positioning the head of his cock at your entrance.

"Breathe for me," he says, soft and commanding all at once, his thumb brushing your cheek. "Take a deep breath, and let me in. Let me fill you. Stretch you. Make you mine."

And you try. You truly try to obey. But the moment his thick head presses past your entrance, your muscles tense. The shock caused by the unfamiliar stretch steals your breath, and you let out a cry—not of pain, not quite.

With a gentle thrust of his hips, Sylus pushes forward, deeper into your velvety sweetness. He groans deeply, affected by the stretch of your walls when they try to accommodate him. Ah, the feel of you, so hot, so tight, so perfect . 

You're so wet; he can't refuse to push in deeper, to conquer places nobody has ever been.

Sylus groans—a sound torn from deep within his chest—as your walls flutter around him, your body drawing him deeper with each slow roll of his hips. Your heat envelops him like velvet soaked in flame, your core yielding and trembling around his cock. The stretch is near unbearable, your breath caught in your throat as your body struggles to adjust to his size.

He is thick, unrelenting, the burn making tears swell at the corners of your eyes, though you never look away from him. His hand braces your hip while the other cups your jaw with infinite care, his thumb sweeping away one of those traitorous tears.

"Wrap your legs around me," he breathes with his eyes locked on yours, hunger and adoration swirling in those crimson depths. "Pull me in deeper, let me feel you clenching around me. Let me fill you like I was made for this."

Your thighs move on instinct, curling around his waist, and he catches them with both hands, holding you steady. When your hips roll—desperate, seeking—you impale yourself further onto his cock, inch by aching inch, until you're gasping from the pressure, the fullness.

"S-Sylus," you sob, your voice trembling at the edge of a moan as he stretches you deeper, wider. Your head tips back into the ground, fingernails clawing at the obsidian cloth beneath you while the tremble of your thighs highlights the effort of holding back the pleasure threatening to consume you.

"Shh, my love," he murmurs in a gentle tone even as sweat beads on his brow from the effort it takes not to move too fast, not to thrust in and claim you all at once. "Breathe through it. You're doing so well. Taking me so deeply, so perfectly."

His lips brush your temple and jaw to soothe the tension wracking your trembling form. He presses his forehead to yours, allowing his breath to mingle with yours as he grounds you, anchors you, and helps you through the storm of sensation.

"How much more?" you gasp, though you do not dare look down—too afraid of the answer. Sylus huffs a breathless laugh, his eyes glinting with restrained mischief and adoration. "A little," he murmurs, lies, while distracting you by pressing kisses on your cheek. "I'm halfway in."

A sob melts into a moan as his mouth claims yours, a kiss that leaves no space for thoughts. Hungry lips swallow your cries while a domineering tongue explores your mouth with depraved hunger. Large hands never stop moving—stroking your thighs, palming your breasts, coaxing your body to surrender.

"Breathe with me," he pleads against your lips alongside the gentle rocking of his hips in a slow, deep roll, easing in. You feel every stretch, every throb, every heated inch as he fills you further. "Feel how your body welcomes me."

You try, how you try, but your breath breaks as his cock finds something inside you that makes you seize, makes your nails dig into his arms, dragging across the tense muscles of his biceps. "N-Not there—, Sylus, not there—"

But that's precisely where he presses again, with deliberate force, and the high, breathy sound that escapes you is half protest, half plea. His mouth trails down your neck, over your collarbone, with his tongue licking away the taste of salt from your tears as he groans against your skin. "There, right there," Sylus retorts with a sudden sharpness, causing his words to cut through your weak protests. 

The defiant words are punctuated with a selfish, more brutal thrust of Sylus's hips. The head of his cock kisses your velvet depths as he stills, gently rolling his hips against you to spoil the spot made for you to see stars even in the depths of hell. "That's it. That's your sweet spot, isn't it? The place only I get to touch."

He sets a steady rhythm then—thrusting deeper, grinding his hips in such a way that the head of his cock kisses that spongy spot again and again until your moans become desperate, until you writhe and pant beneath him, your body burning alive with pleasure too immense to hold.

"Let it take you," he urges, his voice low and thick, laced with command and affection. "Don't fight it, my love. Allow yourself to feel; take what you need."

Your fingers scrabble across his body in search of purchase—dragging down his forearms, gripping his shoulders, clutching at his back. You can feel how he stretches you, how you pulse around him, how your arousal coats his length in slick, shameless heat. And yet still, he moves, driving into you with the kind of worship only a god could offer.

"Too much," you whimper, though your hips chase him and reveal the lie all too soon. "So deep, Sylus… you're too deep." He groans in response, driven to madness by the way you tighten around him, by the way, your body submits and fights all at once. He watches your face, mesmerised by every flicker of pleasure, every helpless twitch of your body.

"Too deep?" Sylus breathes against the shell of your ear, his voice thick and rough, saturated with love and possession.  "I'm going to fill you so deeply that you'll forget everything but me."

With that promise, Sylus begins to move harder, faster. His hips snap forward, his cock plunging so deep it feels like he carves himself into you. And all around you, the Underworld responds—flames dancing higher, flowers smelling stronger, vines curling tighter around the altar in a frenzy of magic and bliss.

His moan makes you shiver, the vibration of his voice against your throat paired with the brutal honesty of his rhythm as Sylus continues to thrust into you with devastating precision. The words, the sounds, the act—all of it ensnares you, makes you pulse around his cock in pleasure, your body clinging to him like it's forgotten how to exist without him inside.

He hits that spot again and each time, your body tightens, jerks, your thighs trembling, your lips parting in a choked moan that only serves to spur him on. You scramble across your own body for support, your hands fluttering desperately over your breasts, your stomach, down the slope of your hips and thighs, fingers searching for anything to anchor you as Sylus's hips snap forward relentlessly.

Your moans, your cries—praise wrapped in trembling complaint—are music to his ears. And every word, every broken syllable, only serves to make you wetter, to make his cock slide in with less resistance and more heat, slick and obscene.

Sylus can feel everything—your desperation, your pleasure, your helpless submission to the sensations he's pulling from you—and he welcomes it all. He welcomes the pain you mark into his flesh with your nails, the way your pussy clenches as though trying to milk him, your walls fluttering as your orgasm builds. He knows your body is teetering on the brink, stretched and overwhelmed, yet still greedy for more.

"Shh," he murmurs into the shell of your ear, his voice a low, soothing rumble barely disguising his unravelling. "Let it happen, my love. Let it take you. I'll hold you through it—I'll catch you when you fall."

He leans down to let his teeth graze your throat before finding the tender juncture where neck meets shoulder, and he bites—not cruelly, not gently, but with the kind of claiming pressure that leaves no doubt: you are his. The pain sings through you, a sharp counterpoint to the constant, throbbing pleasure. 

Your body arches beneath him, shuddering violently as your nerves threaten to fray. At this moment, the only salvation seems to be proximity as your arms wind tight around Sylus's neck to tug him down, clutching him close, your face buried in his skin, your breath hot and gasping against his jaw. 

The drag of his cock over your sweet spot makes you cry out, helpless against the sensations that storm through your body. You cling tighter, whimpering, shaking, your sounds muffled against the column of Sylus's throat. You don't even try to speak anymore; you only feel everything he gives you: every thrust, every grind, and every pass of his length as it fills you.

And then, your head falls back into the grass, exposing your throat to him once more, surrendering everything. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, drunk on the sight. The moment you hiccup out one word: "Faster," in a voice small and desperate, Sylus's control unravels. "Your wish is my command."

Sylus's hands tighten on your hips, and he fucks you harder. Faster. The rhythm turns punishing, perfect . Each thrust slams into you with wet, smacking force, your breasts bouncing wildly from the force of it, your moans turning ragged and sharp. You think you might scream, might beg, but all you do is fall deeper into the heat, the rhythm, the filthy sounds of your bodies colliding.

Sylus's mouth finds your throat again, his tongue dragging up your skin, tasting sweat, tasting tears. His groans echo in your ears, low and hungry. You feel like you're being devoured—worshipped—and still, you crave more. With your body rising to meet his every thrust now, your walls fluttering around his cock in a rhythm that betrayed your surrender to him, to this act, to the darkness curling around your bodies. 

The ritual may have begun with tender love, but now it breathes life from the undeniable pleasure of possession and want. Sylus watches the hypnotic bounce of your breasts with every impact of his hips, watches the way your body arches and quakes beneath him like it was offering itself to be consumed. Sylus lowers his head, his breath hot and panting as he buries his face in the valley between your breasts, his lips and tongue worshipping your skin.

"You look divine like this," he whispers. The praise is nearly lost beneath the wet sound of skin on skin and your rising cries. "Undone. Broken open by me."

You gasp when his mouth latches onto a hardened nipple. A sharp graze of teeth follows, and his tongue soothes right after. You can feel it building again—not just the orgasm, but something darker. A bloom of divine intoxication takes root in your belly. Sylus finds that spot inside you once more, and the groan he lets out against your skin sends shivers down your spine.

You're slick, swollen, trembling, stretched to the brink and somehow still aching for more. You don't need to beg; Sylus would give you everything. And he was far from finished.

"My goddess," Sylus murmurs with lips wet from your sweat and the salt of your skin. "What a perfect vessel you've become." As his hips grind into your sweet spot again and again, the coil within you finally snaps with a sound of pleasure torn itself free of your throat. You clench down, pulsing in frantic waves as you come apart—loud, messy, utterly divine.

Sylus exhales a moan as you spasm around him, slick coating his cock whilst your cries melt into broken moans. The magic thickens in the air, the vines twist tighter around the altar, and flowers burst open in wild, fevered bloom. His hold on you becomes unrelenting, grounding you through your climax while Sylus continues to move, each motion pulling you deeper into bliss. You cling to him like your sanity depends on the rhythm of his hips.

And still, he moves inside you.

Hot, open-mouthed kisses hold a kind of hunger that strips the air from your lungs, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as though he owns the space, tasting every sound you try to make and swallowing them down like they are the only offering he has ever desired. 

"Again," he murmurs at your throat, dragging his mouth along the damp curve of your neck. "I want to feel you fall apart once more until your body forgets everything but me."

Sylus is everything now: your altar, your sin, the ruin you've come to love—and you, soft and pliant beneath him, offer yourself with nothing left to hide. He pulls back just enough to look at you. To admire the glow of your skin, the way your chest rises in shaky gasps, the tremble in your hands as you drag them over your own body like you can't quite believe how wrecked you have become, how much Sylus has wrecked you.

"There is nothing more beautiful than this," Sylus says, voice thick with something heavier than pride as his eyes drink you in. "Nothing is more beautiful than you."

Your lashes flutter as your body can no longer keep up with your mind, and though your limbs tremble, you manage to hold his gaze, even as his cock throbs inside you with growing need. The tension in Sylus builds steadily; his body is tense, his jaw locked, his control fraying beneath the weight of how badly he wants to finish inside you—but still, he holds back. Still, he is waiting because he needs more from you first.

"Tell me," he whispers, his lips brushing your cheek, your ear, the line of your throat where your pulse stammers beneath the skin. "Tell me what you want. Speak it, and it's yours. I only exist to please you."

Your vision blurs, your thoughts scattered by the intensity of him, but your hands still find his hair, threading through it as your legs curl around his hips, pulling him closer, offering yourself without shame.

"Show me," you breathe, your voice hoarse, and your mouth barely forms the words. "Teach me what you like."

Sylus stills for a heartbeat, something shifting in his expression into a flash of pure and empty-headed desire.

And then he moves. The shift is fluid, your world tilting as Sylus turns you onto your stomach, one hand guiding your hips back into position as if you were meant to be there, presented like an offering no god would dare refuse.

He watches for only a moment, taking in the arch of your back, the tremble in your thighs, the way you present yourself, and then he slides back inside you with one long thrust that punches the air from your lungs, steals the cry from your lips, and buries him in the heat of your body once again.

Sylus breathes your name into the crook of your shoulder as his pace deepens, your cunt clenching around him so tightly his hands have to grip your waist with bruising pressure.

"Yes… just like that," Sylus exhales, his voice rasping against your ear as your walls tighten around him. He leans over you to press himself closer, to reach around your front and embrace your breasts whole. His fingers knead your soft mounds, his thumbs rolling over your nipples until you whimper without meaning to.

Each cry feeds his hunger for more of you, for everything and everything. Your effect on him roughens Sylus's voice. "You're so soft... you take me so well..." he murmurs into your hair while he seems to drown in the sensation of your body welcoming him again and again. 

You can't reply. You can only gasp and sob as each thrust pushes you deeper into the grass, into the magic wrapping around your body, into the unbearable fullness that makes your thoughts scatter.

"Sylus—, Sylus—" your voice cracks as his name escapes you like it's the only word you remember how to say. And each time you try to repeat it, Sylus pushes in harder, dragging another broken sound from your lips until you fall apart in stuttering cries. "That's it… Come again. Let me feel you break for me. Let your body beg—so I can spill inside you like I was meant to."

You shake your head, though it's barely defiance. The pleasure is too close, too sharp, and your sobs spill between whispers of longing and disbelief. "It's too good… I don't want it to stop… I c-can't—"

"All night," Sylus breathes and sinks his teeth into the curve of your neck. Your entire body seizes as your release washes over you while his thrusts coax every pulse of your climax from you. The dark magic around you grows in its potency and ties you together in blood. "Forever," he whispers into your flesh.

While your shoulders slump into the grass, boneless with pleasure, your hips stay high, your walls still fluttering helplessly around him. Sylus towers above you, a monument of muscle and shadow, watching your arousal drip down your thighs, the scent of your union wafts thickly in the air. "A glutton," he murmurs, almost fondly. "Just like me." 

Then, ever so effortlessly, Sylus lifts you. One hand slides between your breasts to press you flush against his chest. Your head tilts back against a firm shoulder with a gasp as his cock pushes deeper from the new angle, the stretch all-consuming. His lips stretch into a grin against your temple, one hand slipping down to cup your breasts again, to tease your sensitive nipple until you moan, each twitch feeding his delight. "Truly insatiable," he hums in approval.

You clench around him without meaning to. He feels it—the tremble of surrender. The way your body opens for him all over again. "Tainted skin," Sylus whispers as his lips graze your ear. "Tainted body… all mine."

And then, he slips out, slowly, unbearably so, to leave you gasping as you grow aware of the emptiness inside you. Your body aches from the absence even while Sylus eases you down among the grass as though handling something sacred only he is allowed to touch.

There are no words left in you—only a breathless nod, parted lips, trembling limbs caught beneath the weight of everything he has given and everything he now promises to take. It is not just want. It is far more consuming—need and surrender in its most unholy, exquisite form.

"Please," you whisper, a word that sounds more like a prayer than a plea. A goddess's offering to her God, and of course, he responds. Sylus's hand wraps around the base of his cock as he strokes himself above you, the flushed tip leaking and twitching, swollen with pressure as crimson basks in the view of your awaiting body. Your skin is kissed with sweat, the grass clinging to your curves, the darkness wrapping around you like a blanket.

And then, Sylus's breath brushes against your ear. "Now... I will give you everything." Fingers trail slowly down the trembling expanse of your thighs, the tips of them sink into their softness as though he means to memorise you by touch alone. The contrast is stark—your yielding body beneath his strength, held back only by the need that you alone summon from him with every breathless sound you make.

"You offer yourself," Sylus murmurs, his voice hoarse and cracked at the edges, the kind of tone that drips not from worship but hunger. "Like a promise whispered where no god dares to listen."

He watches the way your hands lift to your chest, fingers trembling as they trace over the peaks of your breasts, your body bared to him not in submission but in power, in invitation, and he is helpless before it. His cock twitches in his grasp, flushed and throbbing, veins thick with desire as though every inch of him aches to return to the place he knows belongs to him. Sylus's breath stutters, his eyes hooded, his body tight and straining, forged by a need that only you have ever been capable of drawing forth without lifting a finger.

"Only you," he chokes out, the words scraped raw from somewhere deep and private, "Only you could bring me here. Pull me down. Make me beg. Make me break."

Sylus sinks into you again, his mouth seeking out the marks he left behind along the curve of your shoulder, the vulnerable dip of your throat. His teeth press into the skin not to wound but to keep, to seal, to remind you that you are his. His tongue follows and drags slowly over your heated skin until your fingers thread into his hair, pulling him closer and dragging him back deeper.

"My beloved," you whisper, your voice thick with amusement and awe as you glance back at him, your eyes catching his like a spark in the dark. Come for me."

The words send a shiver down his spine. "You're a vision," Sylus breathes against your neck. Sylus drives forward with sharp, selfish thrusts, then another, and another still, burying himself to the base with a force that knocks the air from your lungs.

The pleasure ripples through him. It scorches everything he is, everything he was and thought he will ever be as if your body is the vessel he was crafted to spill himself into. His release comes in waves, each thicker and hotter than the last—a vow carved into the softest parts of you.

He cannot be gentle. Not now. Not when your walls clamp around him like they never intend to let him go. His hands are firm on your hips, his teeth press into your shoulder again, and every motion of his body tells you the same thing—you are his. His end, his beginning, his undoing.

Your name slips from his lips, whispered in need for more.

And the Underworld responds.

The altar lights with fire too bright to be natural, and the vines wind around your entangled limbs as if even the ground beneath you seeks to hold you in place.

Voices long dead hum secrets beneath the surface, recognising what has happened for what it is: a binding not made with rings or sweetly spoken promises but with desire and darkness.

Still, Sylus moves. He shifts only slightly; his hips are rocking with slow, shallow thrusts as he rides out the last pulses of his orgasm. You feel the heat of his breath, the tremor in his muscles as firm arms curl you into his chest.

Forehead pressed against forehead, you remain as one. He is still inside, thick and full and twitching as if your body is the only place that can hold him now. You feel him leaking from you, slick and warm as it drips down your thighs.

"I am ruined," he whispers into your skin, the words frayed and aching with a breathless chuckle of disbelief. "And I never want to be whole again. Not if it means letting go of this. Of you."

He presses his mouth along your shoulder, jaw, and the corner of your lips as you finally turn into him, and the look on his face is no longer that of a god. There is no king here—only Sylus— yours.

He lowers himself beside you on the shadow-kissed grass, the dark flowers blooming around your tangled limbs as he pulls you into his arms. You remain joined, still one, and then he kisses you softly.

"I won't stop," he breathes against your lips, his voice uneven, deep with something he never says aloud. "Even if doomsday arrives outside this sanctuary. Even if the skies burn and the world forgets our names. I will still be yours."

Magic winds around you both like a second skin, soft and warm, akin to a promise that will never fade: you are his queen, and he is your king. Lost in the petals that never stop falling, in the heat between you, and in the spell crafted from skin and union, And Sylus holds you like the world has shrunk down to this—just you, just now. 

You are no longer something stolen, no longer taken from the world above. Now, you belong—you are his and he is yours, bound to another in a way that even eternity cannot sever.

feedback & reblogs would be deeply appreciated | dividers by @/cafekitsune

[sylure]

── the phrase ‘domestic cat’ is an oxymoron. hybrid! sylus x f! reader

. ˳༚༅༚ suggestive content, mdni: hybrid, dubcon, claiming, marking (biting, hickeys, scenting) possessiveness, jealousy

♱ word count: 1.6k

♱ synopsis: your cat doesn't like sharing

the title is from george will

The key clicks in the lock far too softly for what awaits beyond.

Sylus, your cat, with its pristine albino fur, is a feline fit for royalty, with ghost-pale lashes and eyes the colour of dried blood. The red gem dangling off Sylus's collar glints in the dim light of your hallway as he stares at you. He looks, as always, entirely too knowing.

Instantaneously, you are greeted by a brush of fur against your calves—soft, thick, expectant. He weaves through your legs gracefully, yet each pass is charged with something sharper, something that screams resentment. You can feel it in the tightness of his body, in the purposeful flick of his tail against your leg, and the low chuff of disapproval from deep in his throat.

It isn't affection. No, this is an interrogation.

"Sylus," you sigh his name before bending to remove your shoes. "Don't be dramatic."

He meows then, almost in protest. Accusatory. Even as a cat, his voice has a specific gravity, a low-pitched echo that makes your spine straighten more than you would like to admit.

"And don't start." You step over him as you try your best to ignore the weight of his gaze. "It was one evening."

Sylus follows, his tail twitching in irritation while he seems to glare at you like some disgruntled ex.

You have only been gone for a few hours; it was one evening spent with your friend… and her cats. Harmless, innocent—or so you thought.

But the moment you cross the threshold of your apartment, Sylus moves like a living question mark, silent and simmering. His nose brushes your hand, your wrist, your thigh, his scent glands marking you anew with obsessive diligence. Every pass reeks of jealousy, every brush against your skin a wordless demand: why them, not me?

"You absolute menace," you accuse with a pointed finger directed at your cat.

He chirps at that, a tiny, delighted noise that seems utterly smug.

"You're impossible, you know that?"

Sometimes, it truly feels as though Sylus understands you and communicates with you on levels that you shouldn't even try to explain to any sane mind.

The only sanctuary from your annoying cat is the bathroom, specifically the bathtub. Sylus hates water, the steam fogging up the room, and the lavender scents you sometimes use for deep relaxation a ward against your overbearing cat.

But not tonight, no, of course not tonight.

Just as you let your clothes fall to the floor, shedding them without much thought, you realise his presence. Perched on the edge of the tub like a gargoyle, Sylus stares at you. His large paws are perfectly balanced, while the red pendant still swings ever so slightly after his jump.

"Seriously?" you mutter before sliding into the water with a sigh. "What is your problem tonight? Stop staring at me, go, go play or whatever!" You practically snap at him by now with how perceived you feel.

He blinks slowly, judgementally, like you are the one being unreasonable. Like he can see straight through you.

"Are you going to stare at me the whole time? You hate water." The reminder makes you hesitate momentarily as you lift your hand dripping with bath water and contemplate throwing a few droplets in Sylus's direction.

No, no, you can't do that to him. But what you can do is turn the music up and let the soft tunes lull you into a faux state of relaxation. You fiercely attempt to ignore the heat of Sylus's gaze, the intelligence swimming in those uncanny eyes.

Eventually, he leaps down and pads out of the bathroom with another flick of his tail.

Finally, you exhale deeply and busy yourself with your routine. Sitting up, you begin scrubbing away at your arms and your shoulders. The heat is relaxing, the scented oils divine, but your shoulders won't unclench. Not fully.

Then, something drops into your bathtub, and not just the bar of soap that slips from your hand.

No, it is a presence. Something, someone slides into the water behind you. Familiar and foreign all at once. Before your startled gasp can tear free, strong arms wrap around your waist, pinning you back to a chest that is wet... human.

His voice vibrates against your neck like a low curse: "You let them touch you."

You freeze, your blood roaring in your ears. Sylus's mouth is at your nape in an instant, the breath he exhales dragging slow goosebumps across your skin. Every inch of you is suddenly aware of him; of the fact that Sylus (your cat) is no longer simply a little monster of soft paws and sharp eyes. He is a man now.

A man with cat ears twitching atop his head, fangs catching the edge of his lower lip and a white tail lazily curling around your thigh beneath the water.

And he is holding you.

His tongue flicks out against your nape. "You reek of them," he whispers, and you can practically feel his lips shape the word against your pulse point. He isn't angry, not exactly. He is... hurt. And far more than that, hungry. A hunger that has been restrained too long, hidden behind the mask of a domestic companion.

"Did they get to sit in your lap, too?"

You try to twist, face him, shove him away, or scream—you aren't sure which. But his arms only tighten, wrapping around you like the possessive choker around Sylus's neck.

The weight of him behind you is overwhelming. Wet hair brushes your shoulders, his nose is now buried against your skin, and he nuzzles along the slope of your neck.

"What's wrong, sweetie? Cat got your tongue?" he mumbles almost smugly, with desire hidden behind those words. "You're usually so talkative…" Sylus encourages you to speak as his nose nudges against your jaw, and fluffy strands of a shapely shag fall into the frame.

"I've let you pretend I was just your pet," he murmurs while those glaring crimson eyes come into view to pin down your wide-eyed stare. "Your sweet thing that curls up and purrs and waits. But I've waited enough."

His fingers drag slowly over your stomach, splayed wide across his territory. He isn't rough. But there is no gentleness in it, either. It is a certainty. A power shift that has been building for months, unnoticed or ignored, until now.

"You're mine," he breathes. "And I'm tired of pretending otherwise."

Your skin burns beneath his touch, and your heart thunders behind your ribs like it is trying to escape. But a part of you, the deepest, darkest part that has watched those strange eyes track you for so long, that part thrills at the finality in his voice.

He isn't going to let you go. And some secret place inside you doesn't want him to.

His hand, now splayed against your side, traces the warmth of uncharted territory without a hint of hesitance. Every brush of his fingertips leaves behind a slow-burning trail, claiming more than just skin.

"S-Sylus–" You mentally curse yourself for the stutter, for the way your heart seems to flutter because of your … pet. "You're naked, you—" You start to resist with a body taut from panic and a desire you don't want to admit.

"I'm always naked under all that fur," Sylus simply purrs into your shoulder. "You never seem to mind."

He presses his face deeper into your nape, breathing you in with obscene slowness. Every inch of him, long-limbed, bare-skinned, deliciously warm, moulds to your back while his scent wraps around you possessively.

"I should punish you," he whispers. "But I think this will do."

He mouths at your shoulder, slow and lazy as if savouring the act of marking you. Your skin blooms with heat where his teeth graze, and a pulsing sting remains.

You shiver from the way his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, his breath almost too warm, too close, as if he is still half-feral, restraining the full force of himself only because he delights in drawing it out.

"Do you even realise what you've done to me?" Sylus murmurs, voice low and rasped with emotion, nose pressing into your damp hairline. "All this time… watching you pet other creatures, speak sweet to them, let them on your lap…"

He trails off, the sentence disintegrating into a low growl of frustration and longing. One palm presses flat against your sternum, its fingertips brushing the swell of your breasts while the other, bolder, hand moves to your lower stomach, slowly reaching between your thighs.

Sylus pulls you back further into him, into his space, his scent, his heat, until you are caged without being held too tightly.

You can feel it, then. The way he inhales you, simply breathes you in like it is an addiction, and he hasn't had a hit in far too long. His tongue, warm and rough, darts briefly over your skin, tasting, claiming, marking. It sends a jolt through you, enough to make you squirm, and he chuckles low, pleased and utterly smug.

"Get out," you try to say, but it is a whisper. It is a lie.

Sylus chuckles at that—a purring, vibrating sound in his throat as he only pulls you into his chest tighter.

"Not a chance. I'll rub you raw with my scent if I have to," though he is only half-teasing. "Until there's not a trace of anyone else left. Just me. Only me."

"Sylus..." your breath catches however as you feel the sharp hint of fangs hovering over your neck, not yet piercing, just grazing, as if to remind you exactly of what he is. "Please, what is happening!?" Is basically nothing more but a whine that echoes off the bathroom tiles as you once again try to wriggle yourself free.

His cat ears twitch in response to every tiny gasp you make, every breath he draws out of you.

And when his mouth trails down your shoulder, dragging over bone and muscle with almost worshipful intent, he murmurs, "I could map you with my teeth if you'd let me. Say you'll let me," he urges with a nudge of his nose against your nape. "Hm?"

"Just, please… be gentle," you whisper before you can stop yourself.

The way he purrs at that, so loud, so deep, it feels like it is coming from inside your own ribcage. A vibration that doesn't stop at just sound but echoes through every nerve, every wet inch of skin touching his.

"You've just said my favourite thing," he groans, mouth returning to your neck like he means to write his name there. "Now, let me prove it."

You really should have known better. You don't just adopt a cat. A cat adopts you.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[sylure]

── ❦. A Habit of Haunting You | Sylus x f!reader

─ ❧ GENRE: smut

─ ❧ READ WITH CARE: mdni, explicit language, hunter/prey, somewhat hints at reader being extra horny during her ovulation, Sylus the good old cycle tracker, too much teasing and sarcasm, "independent" reader, praise, pet names, edging, a bit of Evol abuse, fingering, mentions of size difference, he's quite drunk on reader's scent

─ ❧ WORD COUNT: 4.4k

─ ❧ LINKS: sylus masterlist | general masterlist | AO3

𖤝 PREMISE: One night, Sylus snuck up on you while you couldn't sleep… which revealed more than one might have ever expected. How not just one part revels in the hunt, but another may enjoy being hunted, or at least entirely caught off guard by his sudden presence. It will lead to more instances of surprise, attitude, and desire.

𖤝A/N: I would like to entirely put the blame on @hayatoseyepatch for enabling too much Sylus talk in private and tickling my brain with her beautifully manicured claws

You should have realised much earlier that giving a man like Sylus access to every tiny reaction your body can offer was a catastrophic mistake.

You always knew he was perceptive. But who could have thought that a startled little whimper would be enough for the fiend to find this much joy in using his Evol less like a weapon and more like a personal tool for amusement?

That tiny sound you let out the first time he appeared soundlessly behind you was the starting shot to a wonderful little game. 

You are innocently standing barefoot in his kitchen at three in the morning, while wearing one of his shirts and absolutely nothing else.

The city glows beyond the penthouse windows, all red lights and distant traffic, while you lean sleepily against the marble counter as you wait for the kettle to finish boiling. You're half-awake at best, hair mussed from the bed and sleep, with an expression so soft that Sylus can't help but treasure it far too much.

You don't hear him arrive, which is barely a surprise since he likely snuck around a few places again. So, one moment you are alone while absentmindedly rubbing at your tired eyes, then the next, there is suddenly warmth. A solid, broad, masculine warmth which presses against your spine as an arm slides around your waist.

Your breath catches so quickly it is most impossible to hide it. 

"Sylus—" The sound leaves you embarrassingly soft. More breath than word, and in response, his grip tightens. 

"Oh?" His voice drifts against the shell of your ear, velvet-smooth and devastatingly pleased with himself. "That was cute."

The mist still curling around him dissipate slowly as his Evol fades, revealing broad shoulders draped in black and crimson eyes now fixed entirely on you as he perches his chin on your shoulder. His hand remains warm against your hip above the fabric of his shirt, his fingertips flexing once to test whether you'll make that sound again.

Heat flashes through your stomach at the shit-eating grin you can hear in his voice. "You absolute prick—"

"You were smiling before I interrupted you." His nose nudges slowly beneath your jaw, where he breathes in the lingering notes of your perfume with shameless indulgence. "You were thinking about me."

"I was trying to make myself some tea because I couldn't sleep in that big bed on my own." Nothing but a sweet attempt at keeping your dignity, if the intention wasn't so utterly charming.

"Mhm.. that's even cuter, kitten." The low hum vibrates with amusement. 

You hate how quickly you fold around him. The way your pulse flutters the second he touches you. The way your thighs threaten to press together when his mouth lingers too long against your neck.

His fingers flex once more at your waist before his head lowers slightly for his hair to tickle your temple as he inhales yet again—slower and far more obvious.

Mortification floods your body when you hear him chuckle.

"Sylus." You try to warn him, try your best at keeping your pride, but you both know very well what he is referring to with that amused tone. 

"You're rather sensitive tonight," murmured most charmingly with gentle lips that tickle the shell of your ear.

"I am not! You simply frightened me!" Your bravery roars into a hissy fit, though his chuckle practically melts against your skin. "But I love the fact that I can hear your heartbeat racing. It is adorable, sweetie."

You open your mouth to argue, only for his fingers to slide slowly beneath the hem of the shirt resting against your thigh. "Do you need me?" breathed along the curve of your neck, as if he can sense the slick between your thighs from his mere presence.

You try to twist away from him, only for his other hand to brace against the cupboards beside your head, so he may cage you in effortlessly. The movement is lazy and entirely too self-assured, because Sylus knows you won't get very far.

"Don't keep doing that," you mumble, but he cuts you off with a challenge. "Doing what?" He acts so sweetly innocent with his head tipped to the side while adoring that flustered anger in your expression.

"This creepy sneaking up on me and disappearing thing!" The fantastically composed explanation of his Evol causes Sylus to actually sound amused as he coos at you most sarcastically and echoes, "creepy?"

"You appear out of nowhere!" You begin in disbelief over the fact he seems so oblivious to what he does to your heart. "Yes, but…" he chimes in softly, "you made that pretty little noise for me. How could I not be tempted to do it more often from now on?"

Oh, he is unbearable tonight. You can feel the smugness radiating off him now.

Crimson eyes meet yours beneath the low lighting, though one of them radiates that energy that always pulls you in too deep.

Sylus enjoys studying every reaction he drags from your body, he is a collector of the finest and rarest things… and you fall right into that category, too.

"You know," he muses while lazily brushing his thumb along your jaw, "I originally only did it because you seemed so oblivious for once."

Your stomach tightens and your system feels like someone overfloods it with information. "Originally?" Barely more than a whisper as you stare up at his eyes.

"Mhm," Sylus hums for you while his gaze drops to your mouth.

"And now?" The question comes out even quieter than intended, causing one corner of his mouth to lift.

"Now? Forgive me, but it seems as though you want me to continue, sweetie." The honesty in his voice makes heat crawl all the way down your spine. "Ah, so you do want me to continue, as well." That dangerous, fascinated expression he gets whenever he discovers something new about you reappears upon those added words. Ruby eyes sharpen to the point Sylus looks like he wants to you pull apart and examine you with greedy hands.

"You're aroused already," he notes softly out of left field. That startles you for sure, and lands a punch against his shoulder paired with another warning hiss of "Do you have a death wish!?"

With a feigned look of hurt that is soon covered up beneath a satisfied smirk he continues his verbal attack on your dignity as he whispers, "will you make that sound for me again then?"

Then he leans down slightly to encapsulate your figure entirely while his lips brush near your ear. "Do it again."

The whisper alone nearly ropes you in. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the counter as his hand continues its slow path higher along your bare thigh beneath the oversized shirt. Not enough to truly touch, just enough to make your pulse race.

"Sylus," you warn weakly since your voice sounds more like desire than rejection. 

"Yes, sweetheart?" His nose drags lightly beneath your jaw as he inhales yet again, then, he sighs under his breath. "Oh, you poor thing," murmured almost sympathetically despite the smugness woven through every word. "Now I understand."

"Understand what?"

"Why I can't stop doing it." And before you can recover, he vanishes again.

You blink in disbelief before searching the kitchen for him. But there is no energy for you to expose, there is nothing but the beating of your heart at the sudden emptiness surrounding you. "Sylus?"

Silence. The penthouse suddenly feels too large and too quiet and too much.

You still don't understand what he was talking about, but you also leave yourself little time to wonder since your feet carry you through the darkened rooms.

Though you barely have enough time to blink before arms wrap around your waist from the opposite side of where you were looking. You practically jolt out of your skin with a sharp gasp that dissolves into another helpless whine when Sylus's chest meets your back again.

And this time? This time he groans, he actually groans right against your neck. "Fuck," a low muttered curse to himself rather than to you. His pants feel uncomfortable already thanks to the sound of your fear.

Your face burns hot enough to melt steel due to his antics. "You are genuinely sick in the head." But your body reacts just as much as his to this game of hunter and hunted—far too much for your liking.

Plus, you can't possibly say such mean things and expect Sylus not to revel in it. The back-and-forth, the hissy sound of your voice, the smell of your arousal… it is all most adorable. "And yet, you like it," he whispers into your soul before pressing a kiss against your neck.

"I do not."

"Sweetheart." His lips brush the sensitive spot beneath your ear. "You're trembling with want."

Unfortunately, you are. Because something about Sylus focusing on you like this feels catastrophic. His attention is overwhelming on a normal day; but when he becomes fixated on something, it turns dangerous very quickly.

And right now? Right now he seems utterly obsessed with the way your body reacts to him.

— ❦

The second notable instance happens weeks later, after Sylus has become utterly intolerable about it. By now, he sneaks up on you constantly; be it in corridors, in lifts, in the foggy bathroom.

Sometimes he will simply do it to amuse himself. Other times because he enjoys watching your composure collapse the second his voice appears beside your ear. But the worst of all? Your body has started anticipating him. And you hate that he has caught up on that.

Tonight, you're searching for him in one of the clubs he owns, the shared tracker led you here after the hour ran way later than what was agreed on. The lower floors are still alive with music and chatter, all gold lights and expensive perfume, but the private halls upstairs remain dim and quiet.

Here, you round the corner toward his office with careful steps, because something has been feeling off ever since you stepped foot into the location. As if many eyes were already on your back; and that feeling didn't stop. Not when you ascended the stairs, not even when you made it into the furthest corner of the building.

Rather than knocking, you freeze in the darkened space because you realise exactly what just happened. You anticipated to be scared again, a little part of your brain hoped for Sylus to step out of the shadows and overwhelm you again.

You want to curse yourself for it, but there is little time for such a gesture once a familiar laugh sounds from the darkness ahead; a low and knowing sound that pricks at your pride.

"Kitten…" The voice drawls most smug and so satisfied that heat floods your face and a snarky little "Shut up," follows right away.

Sylus emerges from the shadow near the doorway, tall and unbothered as always, though the loosened collar and rolled sleeves suggest a very long evening.  "You slowed down," his gaze sweeps slowly over you before it lingers on your expression with unconcealed joy.

"I did not." The retort makes him smile; smile in a way he never would in front of anyone else because you are simply too cute to resist.

"You did," Sylus whispers as he boops the tip of your nose like a man ready to die. "You expected me tonight. Or did you miss me too much? Is that why you came out here? At this an hour?"

Creased brows, a down-turned mouth, and lastly a roll of your eyes. All signs of danger a wild animal would understand and grace you with space. Sylus, instead, crowds you further.

Because you grow so cute when he pushes just a little too much. When the walls crumble from the sheer attention he places solely on you now that you are once again trapped between his body and the next best object.

"N-no," Curse yourself and that little stutter Sylus steals from you. With a sigh you gather your wits and add, "I expected you to be annoying. But you didn't come back to the base at all."

"Mhm, similar things." He leans towards you leisurely, with hands tucked into his pockets while you instinctively retreat a single step. The smile that spreads across his face is catastrophic. "You were supposed to be tucked away in bed. And yet you're out here, looking for me. You're a little too brave."

"And you're impossible," yet another defenceless however defensive grumble.

"And you," he murmurs with almost too much love laced into every syllable, "have become very snappy again." He notes while his hand reaches up to cup your face and lightly squeeze your cheeks.

The hallway suddenly feels too narrow, much too warm. Slowly, Sylus adjusts his hold to brush his knuckles along your cheek with infuriating gentleness. "You know what interests me most?" he asks quietly.

You don't mean to entertain Sylus further, you know these trick question will always lead to your downfall. And yet here you are, much less like the feisty kitten and more like a lamb led to the slaughter, as you tilt your head up and ask, "What?"

His thumbs drags over your lower lip first while his gaze follows the movement with envy, then Sylus speaks. "The anticipation before I touch you," mentioned casually while he still admires the softness of your lips before finally focusing on your gaze again. "You have started reacting before I even lay a hand on you now."

Your body shifts instinctively, which turns out to be an immediate mistake on your part as you can witness in real time how his expression changes. 

A flutter of your lashes is needed to adjust your sight, because momentarily you imagined his pupils to look like thin slits before they suddenly dilate. Intrigue or perhaps possessiveness flickers across his features before being buried beneath calm amusement once more.

And something about your reaction seems to wreck Sylus equally so. Perhaps it was that soft inhale of air, or the fact he can feel your cheeks burning against his fingertips.

"Sweetheart." The pet name snaps you out of it, brings you back to focus on the man standing in front of you now that Sylus leans in closer and brushes his lips against yours. "You're making it very difficult to behave."

Your stomach swoops dangerously at the roughness in his voice while a nervous chuckle seems like your best attempt at a reaction as your bravado flutters away in time with your heart. "You never behave."

A chaste kiss that leaves you starving for more and a almost guilty sounding murmur of "True," are the last traces of Sylus before he suddenly disappears inside the club. You stumble forward into the space he just occupied, your mind still clouded by the kiss before the cold reality of emptiness greets you.

There is a split second after Sylus vanishes where your body betrays you completely as anticipation crackles through your bloodstream before your mind can catch up. 

"No, Sylus!" You hiss out into the thrumming boom of the music below and the empty space on the top floor. You know what he wants, you know he wants you to go find him, to stumble around again only for Sylus to sweep you off your feet. And you're having none of it, nothing at all.

"I'm not falling for this!" You speak more to yourself than to the man in question. Every nerve ending lights up at once as your palm presses against the wall for some fickle sense of security. You said you wouldn't fall for it, and yet, your feet have already begun to move.

You quietly follow along the carpet-lined hallway that should lead to Sylus's office. You know he's close, you are very sure he is watching. And the worst part? You wait for him too, because you like the game he plays.

But his office is empty and almost entirely dark safe for the desk lamp which flickers lightly. It bothers you more than you would ever care to admit that Sylus did in fact not startle you, that he didn't reappear and drape himself over your back like a weighted blanket.

Yes, you feel disappointed and a little empty… and quite impatient. Until warm hands slide up your curves and around your waist from behind, which causes your spine to stiffen. Sylus's chuckle is muffled as his forehead settles briefly against your shoulder. "Boo."

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, try to compose whatever joy you felt and instead sigh deeply to feign annoyance. "Please stop sounding so pleased with yourself."

"But kitten, I am pleased." His fingers flex against your stomach again to hold you just a little tighter against himself then. "Very." He adds for you to understand how much he means these sarcastic words.

Then, Sylus exhales harshly against your neck. "God." Your knees nearly weaken at the sudden shift of his tone again, and perhaps it is a good thing he has already been eager to stabilise your weight.

"Sylus…"

"Your scent…" His hand splays against your stomach possessively while his lips travel slowly along the curve of your throat. If he could, he would most likely savour the way your breathing keeps falling apart for him. "You smell incredible when I catch you off guard," he admits quietly. "Not just then, but especially tonight again..."

The confession sends heat spiralling straight through you down to your core, where you tighten around nothing and yearn for everything Sylus could give.

Unfortunately for you, you fail to notice the way your ass rubs against his crotch. Fortunately for Sylus, he is very much aware of the way you're grinding on him. "Oh, sweetheart," he says softly, though you feel the amused huff of air he exhales. "Have I trained you already?"

Before you can recover, he shifts again. What was once solid, has turned untouchable as red mist swirls around you in an almost playful way. It feels warm yet cool all at once, and the breath leaves your lungs in frustration. "Sylus, don't you dare—"

Of course he wouldn't dare too much, not when you sound this needy. Right away, he stands between the cramped space of the desk and your body to wrap his arms around you and pull you flush against him. It's a delicious feeling now that your breasts are squished against his own and your breathing mingles in the scant space between.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part? The sound that leaves you then. So needy and soft enough to barely exist. But Sylus hears it anyway, actually, his entire body registers your desire. "You are so cute," he murmurs.

"Sylus…" Then one large hand slides up the back of your neck, for his fingers to thread into your hair as he searches the depths of your soul with pupils blown dark beneath crimson irises. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

You can't think of a witty response. Not when he's looking at you like he wants to consume you whole. His thumb coaxes your mouth to open, for him to tug lightly on your bottom lip. "I could spend hours sneaking up on you just to hear it again."

He notices your fluttering pulse too, obviously. It's the sole reason for that brief smirk ghosting across his mouth before he leans down. "Poor thing," he whispers against your mouth, then nudges the tip of his nose against yours. "We should go home now, wouldn't you like that?"

— ❦

The third note-worthy time happens late at night in his bedroom after an argument. Not a serious one. Just enough bickering to leave tension simmering beneath your skin.

You're irritated with him. Sylus is entertained by you being irritated with him. A disastrous combination.

You finish changing in the adjoining bathroom before stepping back into the darkened bedroom while wearing little more but a thin camisole and shorts. The curtains remain open for crimson moonlight to spill across the sheets and dark furniture.

The room appears empty, which causes your eyes to narrow immediately. It's suspiciously empty. "Sylus?"

When no answer follows, you feel your pulse beginning to flutter. It's like your willingly stepping into yet anotjer trap, because this is exactly the sort of thing he would do.

"You're childish," you mutter while climbing into bed anyway. Yet the silence remains.

While you pretend at ignoring the awareness prickling over your skin, your mind is running at top speed. He could be anywhere—watching, waiting for precisely the right moment to pounce.

The thought alone sends warmth curling low in your stomach. Which is exactly why you're doomed. 

But you fail to notice the flicker of the bedside lamp before strong arms suddenly cage you against the mattress.

A gasp tears from your throat as Sylus materialises directly above you, one hand planted beside your head while the other catches your waist beneath the blankets.

And the sound you make, that helpless, breathy whimper absolutely ruins him. His eyes close briefly as though physically pained by it. "Again," he says immediately, voice rougher than you've heard all evening during the tense conversation.

"Sylus!"

"You can't be angry with me anymore." He exhales shakily against your cheek before ghosting his lips far too close to yours. "Not when you react so perfectly still."

The familiar temperature spike greets you once more, as the hand resting on your waist slides lower beneath the blankets. Sylus traces slowly over your hip through thin fabric while his gaze remains fixed on your face.

"You anticipated me tonight," he murmurs. "I could smell it the second I walked into the room."

Mortification crashes through you because you would never want to admit such a thing after an argument.

"You're awful," is your best chance at denial.

"And you're very… instinct-driven tonight," Sylus whispers before kissing your cheek. You know immediately what he is referring to. How your emotions were a little more aggravated again, how the entire argument even took place, and how you now look at him like his attention would be enough to fix your attitude.

His mouth brushes yours lightly to coax you further into forgiveness. "Should I make it better?" Sylus whispers into your ear in that suggestive tone he reserves just for you, no mocking to be found at the moment.

He hears the breath leave your lungs, feels your fingers trail along his biceps before they come to rest at his nape and curl into his hair.

"Yes."

The whispered consent is enough to bring a smile to your lover's lips.

There is a brief pause before his fingers finally slip beneath the waistband of your shorts. You gasp softly into his mouth, and he groans in response to finding out just how wet you are.

"There," he mutters, while peppering kisses left and right against your cheek and throat. "You like it this much when I scare you?" he can't refuse but tease you just a little to feel your hips buck against his fingers. "Or is our argument to blame?" he muses while gathering more of your slick.

"Sylus…" You already sigh his name in that slightly annoyed however needy way. His forehead presses briefly against yours, offering you comfort while a single digit pushes into you.

By no means deep, and never enough to satisfy the aching warmth pooling low in your stomach. "You become so soft when I surprise you," he says quietly. "And so responsive, kitten."

Your fingers fist against his shirt as another trembling sound escapes you the moment his touch grows firmer. "I know," he breathes most comfortingly while visibly losing his composure now. "Sweetheart…"

The tension in the room thickens rapidly after that. Every small reaction of yours feeds him. Each gasp and startled little whine, every shaky breath he manages to drag from your lungs with those torturously slow touches that rub your clit so perfectly. 

One second his mouth is against your throat, then a soft smack against the sensitive bundle of nerves startles you to claw lightly at his broad shoulders before all sensation vanishes entirely.

You're panting now, heart hammering not just from excitement but the realisation that this… charming asshole has edged you just to get a rise out of this once more. Like he hasn't been able to enjoy overwhelming you enough as of late. 

A groan of annoyance cuts through the stillness of the moment as you try to find your big girl voice, not the trembling mess Sylus has made of you. But before you can truly will yourself up, before too much lust between your thighs disappears, you are pulled back when you least expect it. 

Suddenly you're not just held against Sylus, but seated on top of him with your legs spread wide over his own and your ass nestled against his aching bulge. The momentum steals another helpless cry from your lips as his hands roam your body.

"Sylus—" Though by the time you manage to moan his name, his fingers have long reclaimed all he abandoned before. His big hand covers your pussy, where his fingers dive deep into your fluttering walls while his palm pressures relentlessly against your clit for your body to quiver and twitch from pleasure.

"I've got you," Sylus murmurs so softly, while kissing along your neck like the sweetest angel. You feel his touch change, the intention behind it shifting for waves of pleasure to ripple inside your core. 

Like a man utterly consumed by the sight before him, Sylus lingers on your profile as he watches every expression that crosses your face like it's an unholy confession.

The slight parting of your lips followed by the devastatingly cute gesture of you pressing your mouth shut once you try your best to suppress those exact noises he feeds off. Though it's the telltale sign of your thighs tensing whenever the deep thrusts of his fingers catch you off guard again, that frees them.

Those sweet, involuntary little noises he has grown addicted to. "Beautiful," he murmurs as your breathing finally breaks apart completely. "Look what happens when we play together," Sylus goes on, though his whispers are almost overshadowed by the squelching wetness of your pussy as he works you towards your high.

You can barely think by then. Especially not when he keeps mumbling into your skin about how good you feel and how sweet you smell with a voice warm enough to melt ice while sensation winds tighter and tighter inside you.

Your head falls back against his shoulder in surrender just as your legs snap shut around his thrusting fingers, burying the cruel instruments of pleasure until his knuckles are coated in your juices and the tremors of your orgasm squeeze tightly.

A whiny cry, much louder than those adorable noises he's been enjoying so very much as of late, follows upon the coaxing, "There you go," Sylus says quietly.

"That's my girl." The final startled whimper he pulls from your throat sends you completely over the edge. And Sylus looks devastatingly satisfied about it as he helps you work yourself through your high and come down from this intoxicating little game.

please consider reblogging if you managed to read up to here :)

[kannady]

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 1.8k

a/n: so sorry for the wait! tbvh i completely lost track of time and didnt realise its been over TWO WEEKS since the last update. i really hpe you enjoy this chapter. lemme know your thoughts! suggestions are always welcome <3

read rest of the chapters here!

V

Your heart hammered against your ribs, the echo of Dr. Voss’s words “the cell’s still locked” reverberating in your skull. How was that even possible? Sylus vanishing from a sealed cell wasn’t surprising. He was like a shadow, and for God’s sake, his Evol was Energy Manipulation. Energy, whether you liked it or not, was pretty much everywhere. But the how gnawed at you. Last you saw him, his screams had clawed through the lab, raw and ragged, as the serum tore into his evol. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, and the memory surged: his body arching against restraints, veins stark under sweat-slick skin, crimson eyes blazing with pain and something like betrayal. How did he have the strength to pull this off?

You sighed, shoving the thought aside as you gathered your things, the lab’s chaos fading behind you. Mara’s voice, sharp and insistent, argued with Voss, demanding answers, but it drifted into static as you pushed through the locker room door. Researchers scurried past, their faces pale, some clutching tablets, others making a beeline for the central exit. 

Panic buzzed everywhere, but you weren’t scared, not really. Deep down, you knew you were safe. Sylus, dangerous as he was, wouldn’t touch you. Not like that.

In the locker room, the air was stale, heavy with the tang of metal and disinfectant. You stepped to your locker, fingers steady as you unlocked it. Your hand closed around the bracelet, red and pink gemstones catching the dim light, a birthday gift from Sylus, heavy with memories you couldn’t shake. 

Of course, you’d kept it. You’d taken it when you fled N109 Zone, along with his handwritten notes, their elegant scrawl tucked away like a secret formula to a bomb. As you turned to close the locker, a folder caught your eye, its edge jutting out. 

You frowned. You never kept work related documents here.

You pulled it free, the title stark: Project Umbra. 

You turned the page, the paper crinkling under your trembling fingers. Objective: Extract and weaponize evol. The words burned into your retina, sharp and cold as the lab’s sterile air. What the hell was this? You’d never heard of Project Umbra, not a whisper in any of the endless meetings or encrypted files. 

You turned another page, and there it was: Secondary Subject: Former Onychinus operative. Role: Stabilizer for Evol  transfer. Your name stared back, clinical and damning. So, they knew all along. They knew everything about you and were using you for something, but what exactly?

Haphazardly, you skimmed the next few pages, your eyes darting over clinical instructions, containment protocols, serum ratios, timelines for Evol transfer. Then, a name stopped you cold. Lead Specialist: Dr. Voss. You gasped, glaring at the folder, nearly letting it slip from your grip. No, that couldn’t be right. Voss, the man who’d praised your work just days ago, was spearheading this? Not transferring Sylus’s Evol to another subject, but turning it into a weapon?

Anger surged, hot and jagged, tangling with confusion and a sickening sense of betrayal. Your pulse thundered, drowning out the distant clamor of evacuating researchers. Just what was EVER doing? How long had they been weaving this web? Was this why Voss had been sweating, his hands shaking like a man staring down his own execution? 

You scoffed, bitter. What had you expected? This was EVER, ethics didn’t exist here. You should’ve known better by now. Tucking the folder under your arm, you locked the locker with a sharp click, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the empty room. Your next step was clear: the archives. Gather evidence. And then? You’d figure it out just like you always did.

As you stepped into the hallway, your comm buzzed, sharp and jarring. “Still digging where you shouldn’t?” A voice slithered through, velvet and mocking, sending a shiver down your spine. “Predictable, even after two years, kitten.”

You froze, breath catching, fighting the urge to scream, to curse him, to rip the earpiece out. “It was you,” you hissed, voice low but shaking with fury. “You did this. You planted that folder.”

His rich laugh crackled through, and you could picture his smirk, those crimson eyes glinting with infuriating amusement. “Your new bosses did this. To me.”

The words hit like a slap. You stood there, the folder heavy under your arm, the bracelet’s gemstones biting into your wrist. “What’s Project Umbra, Sylus? And why the hell is my name in it?”

“Curious, aren’t we?” he teased, but his tone sharpened. “Sector 9, warehouse district, 1 AM. Don’t keep me waiting, sweetie.” The line went dead.

Your breath hitched in your throat, the sound jagged in the locker room’s stale air. Sylus’s voice, that sinful velvet laced with mockery, was the first you’d heard in two years. The first time you’d spoken to him since you’d fled N109 Zone, duffel in hand, his handwritten notes tucked in your pocket. And yet, the moment his words slithered through your comm everything vanished. 

The hatred that had fueled your escape, the agony of his silence, the grief of being his shadow. It all dissolved, leaving you mute, your tongue heavy as lead. Just like always, he held the upper hand, issuing another order: meet him in Sector 9, 1 AM. 

Your name glared from the file’s pages, a secondary subject in EVER’s scheme to weaponize Sylus’s Evol. They’d used you. No matter where you went, Sylus followed, an unshakable specter. You were irrevocably his shadow, tethered by some cruel gravity you couldn’t escape. 

You looked down at the bracelet in your hand, its red and pink gemstones catching the dim light Then at the folder in your other hand. You tucked both close and left

If you’d had any sense, you’d have ripped the earpiece out, burned the Project Umbra folder, and run. But against your better judgment, you decided to go.

***

At precisely 1 AM, you placed your hand on the warehouse’s rusted door handle, its cold metal biting your palm. The door creaked as it gave way, the sound slicing through the silence like a betrayal. You flinched, cursing under your breath. 

Great, exactly what you needed. 

Sylus’s head snapped up, his crimson eyes locking onto yours across the dim space. Your heart skipped a dozen beats, bile surging in your throat, your stomach churning as your palms grew clammy. Your legs trembled under the weight of his gaze, those eyes that had haunted you for two years. 

Just yesterday, you’d sworn to let him rot in EVER’s lab, certain he’d claw his way out as always. You’d built walls to keep him out, to stop caring. Yet here he was, caving them in with a single look.

You gritted your teeth, anger flooding the hollow where hope had dared to flicker. You marched toward him, the folder clutched tight under your arm. A subtle shuffle of feet made you glance sideways, locking eyes with Luke and Kieran, their masked faces barely visible in the shadows. You’d been worried sick, imagining them dead or worse, and here they were, lounging like nothing had happened. 

You scoffed, shaking your head, your voice sharp. “Well, well,” Sylus drawled, stepping closer, his scent:  leather, bourbon, gunpowder, flooding your senses like a drug. “You didn’t run this time, kitten. I’m almost impressed.”

“I’m not here for your sly remarks, Sylus,” you snapped, throwing the Project Umbra folder onto a warped table between you. Its pages splayed, your name glaring in the dim light. “Care to explain?”

He tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes like a blade. “So demanding,” he murmured, voice low, teasing, as he leaned over the table, fingers brushing the folder’s edge.

“Your new bosses were ambitious,” Sylus said, his voice a low, mocking drawl that curled through the warehouse’s stale air. “They planned to rip out my Evol and turn it into a weapon. But it’s volatile on its own and needs stabilizing.” He stepped closer, towering over you, his crimson eyes glinting under the flickering bulb. “That’s where you come in, sweetie.”

The words clicked like a key in a lock. You remembered, years ago, Sylus’s Evol spiraling for a fleeting moment, a chaotic pulse that had nearly torn the room apart. You’d stabilized it, somehow, your hands in his, your mind a blur of instinct. But how? You frowned, racking your brain, sifting through fragmented memories. Nothing surfaced. 

After many futile attempts, you looked up, catching Sylus staring, his gaze intense, unyielding. How long had he been watching? Your confusion twisted into a scowl. “You could’ve told me some other way,” you snapped.

He smirked, unfazed. “Certainly, I could've, but I’m in a bit of a pickle, kitten. I’d really love your help.”

You glared, disbelief burning in your chest. A whole agonizing minute, you held his gaze, his smugness infuriating. Two years. You were strangers now, your life rebuilt from ashes without him. You’d never agreed to help, never implied you’d stand by him. Why couldn’t he just let go? Let go of the fact you’d left, that you were free, that you could, as absurd as it may sound, make your own choices? 

“What help?” you spit out.

“Surprisingly, they managed to extract a fragment of my Evol,” he said, voice dropping, teasing edge fading. “But it’s destructive on its own. Would you help me retrieve it, kitten?”

“You didn’t get captured?” you asked, already knowing. His chuckle confirmed it. “So you waltzed in, let them strap you to those machines, and now you’re busted.” You stepped forward, standing under the flimsy bulb, forcing him to see you, hear you. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Sylus? Did you think you could crash back into my life, and I’d just let it slide? Boss me around again, and I’d obey like some loyal dog? Get over yourself.”

His smirk vanished, replaced by a stern, unreadable expression. You weren’t a face reader, but you knew he hadn’t expected that. Your words, too harsh or too truthful, hung heavy. “I spent two years building my life from scratch,” you continued, voice shaking with rage. “Building myself without you. I don’t want to be near you, associated with you. Respectfully, no. I won’t help. You’ve got your henchmen, your tricks. I’m not dying for your arrogance or whatever the fuck it was that made you come here.”

He didn’t respond, just stared, his silence deafening. You scoffed, turning to leave, the bracelet heavy in your hands. “You,” he said, stopping you cold. You turned, confused. “What?”

A step closer. “It was you I came here for.”

Another step. “It was you I tried to protect.”

Another step, his voice low. “It was you I couldn’t lose.”

He stopped, inches away, his gaze piercing. “So why can’t you see? Everything I do, I do it for you.”

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[kannady]

Genuinely love the Ever, Ever After series. Reading every paragraph of it has me clutching to my pearls <3 I LOVE IT SO MUCHH SHIWJEIEJW

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 4k

a/n: okay so! an early update cus ill be super busy and tired tomorrow, then squid game s3 will be coming out AND a lads update is coming out on friday with fans heavily speculating we'll get a sneak peak of the sixth li. so im guessing we'll all be super busy. i really hope ur enjoying this series and TYSM ANON you literally made my day!! i hope you enjoy this chapter as well. lemme know your thoughts!

read rest of the chapters here!

III

Your heart sank like a stone in water as Dr. Voss’s expression shifted. A slow, chilling transformation from  curiosity to something far more dangerous. His cold eyes flicked from you to Sylus, still restrained behind the glass, then back to you, and in that split second, you knew. 

Oh, shit. I’m done for.

But survival instincts kicked in, sharp and automatic. You straightened your spine, forcing your voice into something resembling professionalism.

"I was just checking his vitals before lunch," you said, gesturing to the monitors with a steadiness you didn’t feel. "His levels plateaued. The serum isn’t affecting his Evol anymore. I thought-" A breath, calculated. "I should ask if he was experiencing any side effects. Protocol 9-D, right? Patient-reported data?"

The lie slithered out smoother than you expected. Voss’s eyebrow arched, his gaze lingering on you for a heartbeat too long before he stepped closer to the observation window. The silence stretched, suffocating, as he scrutinized the vitals himself. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, the suspicion coiling tighter.

Then, miraculously, he nodded. "You’re right." His voice was clipped, but the tension in your shoulders eased a fraction. "We’ll halt administration. Clearly, this batch isn’t potent enough." He turned to you, and for the first time in your two years at EVER, something resembling approval flickered in his expression. "Good catch, Dr. (Y/N)."

The praise should’ve felt like a victory. Instead, it sat heavy in your chest. You nodded stiffly, avoiding Sylus’s gaze, but you could feel it, burning into you like a brand. Even now, even half-drugged and strapped to a chair, he was watching. Waiting.

You mumbled an excuse about lunch and all but bolted from the lab, the doors hissing shut behind you. The hallway was deserted, the fluorescent lights humming softly overhead. For a moment, you just stood there, pressing your palms to your eyes until stars burst behind your lids. 

What the hell am I doing?

Your phone was in your hand before you could second-guess it. Luke’s number rang once, twice, then disconnected. Kieran’s didn’t even go through. You stared at the screen, your reflection warped in the black glass. A new, ugly thought slithered into your mind. What if he didn’t come alone?

Sylus didn’t do anything without a plan. And if he was here, in EVER’s clutches, then where was she? The woman whose laughter had haunted you long after you’d left. The woman he’d loved in some other life, maybe even in this one.

Your fingers tightened around the phone. What if this was all part of some elaborate scheme, and you were just a pawn again? A distraction. What if she was waiting in the shadows, ready to step in the moment EVER’s defenses crumbled?

The idea should’ve infuriated you. Instead, it just made you tired. Two years of running, of building a life where you were finally someone else, and here you were, right back where you started. Caught between Sylus’s games and EVER’s cruelty, with no idea which side would destroy you first.

You shoved your phone back into your pocket and started walking, your heels clicking a sharp, staccato rhythm against the tile. It didn’t matter. None of it did. Because whether this was a trap or some twisted reunion, one thing was certain. You were already in too deep to walk away now.

Your lungs burned with the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The immediate crisis was over, Voss had bought your lie, at least for now. But the relief was temporary, fragile as glass. You knew what came next. A stronger serum. A more aggressive extraction. And Sylus, proud, untouchable Sylus, wouldn’t survive it.

The thought sent a fresh wave of panic crashing through you, your pulse hammering so loudly you were half-convinced the entire lab could hear it. What do I do?

Luke and Kieran weren’t answering. That left only one option.

Her.

Her very presence had been like a blade pressed to your ribs, a constant reminder that no matter how close you stood to him, you would never be the one he truly saw.

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching at your sides. She worked at the Hunters Association, you remembered that much. But you couldn’t go now. Not in broad daylight, not when you didn’t even know her name. The realization was a bitter pill. Two years of resentment, of stolen glances and silent comparisons, and you’d never even learned what her name was.

No, you’d have to wait. Slip away after hours, linger near the building’s exits like some kind of stalker, and hope to catch her leaving. The idea made your skin crawl, but what other choice did you have?

For now, you forced yourself to move, to slip back into the rhythm of your day like nothing was wrong. Mara had mentioned a new restaurant, some place with dumplings she’d been raving about. You went, more out of obligation than hunger, sliding into a seat just as the lunch rush began to thin.

The food arrived, steam curling off the plates in fragrant spirals. You picked up your chopsticks, took a single bite, and then just stopped. The flavors blurred together, tasteless as ash. Your mind was elsewhere, spinning in frantic circles.

What if she doesn’t help? What if she laughs in your face? What if she’s the reason he’s here in the first place?

You pushed the food around your plate, your appetite long gone. Around you, the restaurant buzzed with conversation, the clatter of dishes, the occasional burst of laughter. None of it reached you. You were trapped in your own head, drowning in scenarios that all ended the same way, with Sylus’s lifeless body on an exam table, and your hands stained with the consequences.

By the time you made it back to the facility, lunch had bled into the afternoon, the sky outside the windows already darkening toward evening. You barely had time to stash your bag at your workstation before the alert chimed on your tablet.

“Emergency meeting. Conference Room A. 5 minutes.”

Your stomach dropped.

You knew, even before you stepped through the doors, what this was about. The room was already half-full, researchers murmuring to each other in hushed, excited tones. Voss stood at the front, his expression unreadable as he tapped something into a holoscreen.

Then he looked up, and his gaze landed squarely on you.

“Now that we’re all here,” he said, his voice cool and precise, “let’s discuss Phase Two.”

The screen behind him flickered to life, revealing a new formula, twice as complex as the last, with a list of side effects that made your blood run cold.

Cardiac arrest. Cerebral hemorrhage. Ischemic stroke.

Voss’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “We begin testing tomorrow.”

Across the room, Mara caught your eye, her brows furrowed in concern. You realized, distantly, that your hands were shaking.

You curled them into fists.

The meeting passed in a blur of muffled voices and flickering holoscreens. Words like "enhanced serum" and "immediate testing" caught your attention once in a while, meaningless noises against the roaring in your skull. You sat stiff-backed in your chair, fingers clenched around your tablet hard enough to leave imprints, your mind a thousand miles away, trapped behind that observation glass, watching Sylus’s body convulse under the serum’s assault.

When the meeting ended, you stood mechanically, following the stream of researchers out the door like a robot rehearsing actions. Your footsteps echoed down the hallway, perfectly measured, your body moving on autopilot while your thoughts spiraled.

What were you going to do?

The question looped in your head, but there was no answer. No plan. Just the crushing weight of what was coming, the knowledge that tomorrow, they would strap Sylus back into that chair and pump him full of something even worse. And you would have to watch.

A hand closed around your wrist, yanking you sideways into a dim storage room. The door hissed shut behind you, and you blinked, momentarily disoriented, as Mara’s face swam into focus. Her usual playful smirk was gone, replaced by something sharp and searching.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, voice low. “You’ve been zoning out all day. And in there?” She jerked her chin toward the conference room. “You looked like you were about to vomit.”

Your throat tightened. I can’t tell her. The truth was a grenade in your hands, pull the pin, and everything would blow apart. Mara was your friend, maybe the closest thing you had to one in this place, but this? This was too big. Too dangerous.

“It’s just…” You swallowed, scrambling for something, anything, that wasn’t a lie but wasn’t the whole truth either. “This is serious stuff we’re doing now. I can’t- I don’t know if I can take it.”

Mara’s eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?” She crossed her arms, leaning back against a shelf of sterile supplies. “What about the other experiments you performed? The neural overwrites? The memory wipes?” Her voice dropped, almost mocking. “Those didn’t bother you?”

The words hit like a slap.

She was right. You had done worse. Writen protocols that scraped a person’s mind clean, designed machines that could drain the blood out of the subjects with a few clicks. But those subjects had been monsters, rapists, murderers, traffickers from the N109 Zone’s darkest corners. You’d seen their files. Known what they’d done. It had been easy, then, to tell yourself you were making the world better.

But Sylus? Sylus was different.

What exactly was he to you?

The question lodged in your chest like a bullet.

Mara sighed when you didn’t answer, pushing off the shelf. “Look, I won’t push. But get it together.” Her gaze flicked to the door, then back to you, uncharacteristically serious. “I noticed first because we’re friends. The moment someone else does? You’re in trouble.”

She left without another word, the door clicking shut behind her, and just like that, you were alone.

The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating. You slumped against the wall, your legs suddenly unsteady, the cold metal biting through your lab coat. Your tablet slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor, but you didn’t bother picking it up.

You couldn’t walk away now. Couldn’t pretend you hadn’t seen him. Couldn’t let them kill him.

But helping him? That meant betraying EVER. Meant throwing away everything you’d built, your career, your safety, the fragile peace you’d carved out for yourself.

And for what?

For the man who’d watched you walk away two years ago and hadn’t followed?

Your hands trembled. You pressed them to your face, your breath coming too fast, too shallow.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, a voice whispered. You already know the answer.

You’d known it the moment you saw him behind that glass.

You were going to burn your life to the ground for him.

And the worst part was you didn’t even know why.

You slipped out of the storage room with measured steps. The hallway was empty, the hum of distant conversations and clicking keyboards the only sounds. Okay, you’ve got this. 

The plan formed in your mind like a lifeline. After work, you’d go to the Hunter’s Association. Even if Sylus had some grand scheme in motion, you needed to know. And then? Then you’d step away. Wash your hands of this mess.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before pushing open the lab doors. Inside, the scene was exactly as you’d left it, researchers hunched over glowing screens, fingers flying across tablets, the air thick with the sterile scent of ozone and disinfectant. No one looked up as you entered. No one except Mara.

Her gaze met yours for a brief moment before she deliberately turned back to her work. The unspoken "get it together" was evident on her face. You forced yourself to move, crossing the room to your workstation.

The observation window drew your attention like a magnet. Empty, of course. Sylus wasn’t there, why would he be? The serum testing was done for the day, and EVER had no reason to keep him in the lab when they could stash him in some high-security cell instead.

You sank into your chair, fingers hovering over the holoscreen as your thoughts churned. None of this made sense. If Sylus was here, it had to be part of a plan. That’s how he operated. So where was the cavalry? Where were Luke and Kieran, bursting through the doors with guns blazing? Where was the distraction, the sabotage, the anything that would explain why the most dangerous man you’d ever known was sitting in a cell instead of burning this place to the ground?

Unless he wanted to be here.

The thought sent a chill down your spine. You shook your head, as if you could physically dislodge it. No. That was a rabbit hole you couldn’t afford to go down right now.

You threw yourself into your work, losing hours to data streams and prototype schematics, your hands moving on autopilot while your mind raced. The second your shift ended, you were out the door, your coat barely shrugged on as you all but sprinted for the transit station.

The Hunter’s Association loomed ahead, its sleek facade lit by the dying light of the sunset. You hesitated at the entrance, suddenly unsure. Were you too late? Too early? Would she even still be here?

You planted yourself across the street, leaning against a lamppost like you had every right to be there, your pulse thundering in your ears. Minutes ticked by. Ten. Twenty. Just as you were about to give up, to turn and walk away, you saw her.

There she was.

She stepped out of the building beside a coworker, a tall man with silver hair and piercing blue eyes, his posture relaxed, his laugh carrying across the street. And her. Even now, after all this time, the sight of her hit like a punch to the gut.

She was beautiful. Effortlessly so, her hair catching the golden light, her smile easy as she listened to something the man said. You’d spent years trying to forget the exact curve of her lips, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed.

Your feet moved before you could stop yourself, carrying you across the street. The man noticed you first, his gaze sharpening as he subtly shifted his stance, one hand drifting toward his hip. A weapon. Of course. Hunters were never unarmed.

She followed his line of sight, and her eyes locked onto yours.

For a heartbeat, the world stopped. Her smile froze, her breath catching audibly. You saw the exact moment recognition dawned, the way her eyes widened, her lips parting in something like shock. Then she  turned to the man, murmuring something too low for you to hear. 

He hesitated, his gaze flicking between the two of you before nodding and walking away, though not without a final, lingering glance in your direction.

And then she was walking toward you, her steps measured, her expression unreadable. Up close, she was even more striking. The scent of her perfume hit you like a memory. The last time you’d been this close to her, you’d been standing in Sylus’s study, your hands clenched at your sides as they stood side by side. 

Now, she studied you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

"You," she said finally, her voice softer than you remembered. "I wondered if I’d ever see you again."

The words settled between you, heavy with unspoken questions.

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

What the hell were you even supposed to say?

Your mouth went dry. The words tumbled out before you could stop them, awkward, stilted, painfully inadequate. "Um… hi?"

Her expression softened, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Then, to your absolute shock, she stepped forward and pulled you into a hug.

You froze.

Her arms were warm, her perfume dizzyingly familiar, something floral and expensive, the same scent that had lingered in Sylus’s study long after she’d left. Your hands hovered uselessly at your sides, your brain short-circuiting. What the hell was happening?

She pulled back first, her smile small but genuine. "Where have you been?"

The question threw you. You blinked, scrambling for words. "I just… left. For work."

"Work?" Her brow furrowed. "You worked for Sylus."

"Well, yeah. And then I left."

She studied you for a long moment, her gaze sharp in a way that made your skin prickle. Then she gestured across the street to a dimly lit coffee shop. "Let’s talk there."

You followed her numbly. This wasn’t how you’d imagined this going. You’d braced for hostility, for cold indifference, not this. Not soft smiles and casual hugs and a conversation you had no idea how to navigate.

The coffee shop was nearly empty, the air thick with the scent of roasted beans and burnt sugar. You slid into a booth by the window, the vinyl seat creaking under your weight. Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. You couldn’t stop staring at her, the way her fingers tapped absently against the table, the way the dim light caught on her hair.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. "Have you been in contact with Sylus?"

She raised an eyebrow and then laughed.

The sound was bright, effortless, just like you remembered. It sent a sharp pang through your chest. You frowned. "What’s funny?"

She wiped at her eyes, still grinning. "I haven’t talked to him in, let’s see, over a year now. And the last time we did talk?" She leaned forward, her voice dropping. "He called me in the middle of the night asking if I knew where you were."

Your heart stuttered.

The world narrowed to the sound of your own pulse roaring in your ears. He’d asked about you. Not just in passing, not just as an afterthought. He’d called her. In the middle of the night.

Your voice came out strangled. "What did he say?"

She shrugged, stirring her coffee idly. "Like I said, he wanted to know if I’d seen you. And honestly? We never talked, so I was no help. But I have contacts, so I tried looking for you anyway." A pause. Her expression shifted, something almost wistful creeping in. 

"It was like you’d vanished. The last I heard, Sylus ransacked the entire N109 Zone trying to find you."

Your stomach twisted. You’d known, on some level, that he’d searched. But hearing it out loud, hearing her say it, made it real in a way you weren’t prepared for.

"I’m sorry," you said automatically. "I had to go away."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Not my business. But what does catch my attention…" She tilted her head, studying you with renewed interest. "is why you’re asking if we’re in touch."

You stiffened. She laughed again, softer this time. "Why would we be? We’re hardly friends. He just helped me out when I needed assistance, and that was it."

Something fragile and hopeful fluttered in your chest. You crushed it immediately. "Aren’t you two…" You trailed off, gesturing vaguely. "A couple or something?"

This time, her laughter was outright delighted. "Oh, come on." She leaned back, shaking her head. "He’s a criminal. The most wanted man in Linkon City. Not exactly my type." A smirk. 

"Besides, why would we be a thing when he always had eyes for someone else?"

The words hit like a runaway train. Your breath caught.

Someone else.

The implication hung in the air between you, thick and undeniable. You opened your mouth to say something, but words were lost to you.

She took pity on you then, her expression softening. "You really didn’t know?"

You couldn’t answer. 

After all this time?

You sat there, stunned, the words "he always had eyes for someone else" ringing in your skull like a gunshot. The coffee in front of you had gone cold, untouched. She watched you with something between amusement and pity, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her cup.

You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "I have to go."

She didn’t stop you. Just arched a brow as you fumbled for your bag, your movements jerky and uncoordinated. "Sure," she said lightly. "But he did find you, didn’t he?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat had closed up, your pulse hammering so violently you were half-convinced she could hear it.

The walk home was a blur. The city lights smeared into streaks of gold and neon, the sounds of traffic and chatter fading into white noise. Your mind was a storm, thoughts crashing into each other with brutal, unrelenting force.

Sylus had eyes for you.

The idea was laughable. Absurd. And yet not so impossible to imagine.

Memories surfaced. The way he’d linger just a little too close when reviewing your work, his breath warm against your temple. The way he’d leave notes in his precise, elegant handwriting, notes you’d saved, tucked away like some pathetic secret. The way he’d asked you to live with him, for fuck’s sake, as if that was a normal thing a boss would do.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

There was a time, a time when you would’ve begged for this. When the mere possibility that he might feel the same would’ve sent you spiraling into dizzy, reckless hope. But now?

Now you didn’t know what to feel.

Because it didn’t matter. Not really.

You’d help him. Of course you would. You’d get him out of EVER’s clutches, and then you’d move on. Both of you. That was the plan. That was the only plan.

So why did that thought make your chest ache?

A gust of wind cut through you, sharp and biting. You barely felt it.

Why the hell is he even here?

The question gnawed at you. If Sylus had orchestrated this, if this was some elaborate scheme, why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he fighting? Why weren’t Luke and Kieran kicking down doors? Why was he just sitting there, letting them pump him full of serums that would kill him?

You scoffed, raking a hand through your hair. Hypothetically speaking, if you didn’t help him, if you walked away and let EVER do what they did best, he’d die. Just like that. No grand escape. No last-minute rescue. Just a cold, clinical death on an exam table, his body discarded like faulty machinery.

The idea was so wrong it made your teeth hurt.

Sylus shouldn’t die quietly. Sylus shouldn't have to die at all. He was a force of nature, a storm given human form. He didn’t just let things happen to him.

Unless he was here for you.

But no. That was insane. That was pathetic.

You shook your head, but the idea stuck, stubborn and insidious.

Because if he had come for you, if he’d let himself get captured, knowing you worked here, knowing you’d see him, then he’d gambled everything on the hope that you’d help him. And that meant he’d gambled on you caring. Did he not think of the possibility that you might not? That you might walk away? That after two years of silence, you might look him in the eye and let them take everything from him?

A bitter laugh escaped you.

Of course he had. Sylus thought of everything. That was the problem. Which meant maybe this wasn’t a gamble at all. Maybe it was a test.

The realization settled over you like a cloud.

Tomorrow, they’d give him the stronger serum. Tomorrow, he’d die, unless you did something. And he’d known that. He’d known. But why was he putting you on the spot like that?

You stopped walking, your apartment building looming ahead, its windows dark and empty.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

She wasn’t involved. You couldn’t and wouldn’t drag her into this. But that left you with exactly zero allies, zero resources, and zero time.

You exhaled sharply, your breath fogging in the cold air.

Things weren’t any better than they’d been this morning. If anything, they were worse. Because now you knew and that changed everything.

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[kannady]

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 3.8k

a/n: HOLY SHIT! i did not expect that many people to read the prev part and actually like it???? thank you so much to all you lovely people. seeing everyone excited for the next part just lit me on fire. hope you'll like this one. lemme know your thoughts!

read rest of the chapters here!

II

The mug shattered on the floor.

The sound was too loud in the silence of the lab, ceramic shards skittering across the frosted glass tiles. Coffee pooled dark and bitter, seeping into the panels. You stood there, frozen, fingers still curled around the ghost of the handle, your pulse a frantic drumbeat against your ribs.

Behind the observation window, Sylus didn’t move.

His crimson eyes stayed locked onto yours, unblinking, like a predator eyeing his prey. Even through the distortion of the reinforced glass, you could see the way his chest rose and fell. Too steady for a man strapped to a chair, electrodes burrowed into his skin, a veterinary-grade sedative no doubt pumping through his veins. His lips were parted just slightly, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

"Dr. (Y/N)?"

Mara’s voice cut through the ringing in your ears. You hadn’t even noticed her approach, but now she was right beside you, her gloved hand hovering near your elbow like she wasn’t sure if you’d bolt or collapse.

"What happened?"

Your tongue felt too thick in your mouth. "It.. Um.. It was too hot," you murmured, the lie slipping out before you could stop it. "I dropped it."

Mara’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t press. Around you, the other researchers had paused in their work, some staring openly, others pretending not to notice the way your hands trembled as you bent to pick up the broken pieces.

"Leave it." A senior researcher, Dr. Voss, dismissed you with a flick of his clipboard. "I’ve called for someone."

A cleaner arrived within minutes, silent and efficient, sweeping up the evidence of your momentary lapse. You barely registered their presence. Your entire body was wound tight, every nerve was burdened with the weight of Sylus’s gaze.

Someone handed you fresh lab glasses, gloves, and the file. Thick, heavy, the words SUBJECT M-7 stamped across the front in bold black letters. You took it mechanically, flipping through the pages without really seeing them.

Evol Classification: Energy Manipulation (Class VIII, potentially IX). Containment Protocols: Electromagnetic shackles. Sedation drip. Two cranial failsafe implants.

Your stomach twisted. A cold chill slithered down your spine.

You tilted your head, just a fraction, just enough, and there he was. Still watching. Still waiting.

What the hell are you doing here?

The question screamed inside your skull, a frantic, looping mantra.

How did they catch you?

Sylus didn’t get caught. Sylus was the trap. Right?

Why are you here?

Your fingers tightened around the file, the edges digging into your palms. Was this a trick? A doppelgänger? Some sick game EVER was playing to test your loyalty?

But no. No, you knew those eyes. Knew the way they darkened when he was amused, knew the way they gleamed like fresh blood under sunlight. Knew the way they’d followed you, even when you thought you’d vanished completely.

He found you.

And now he was here, strapped to a chair in your lab, at your mercy, and the irony was so sharp it could have drawn blood.

You forced yourself to turn away, to focus on the vials in front of you. But your hands weren’t steady. The chemicals sloshed dangerously as you measured them out, your thoughts a hurricane of panic and disbelief.

Then Mara nudged you.

She leaned in, her voice a whisper against your ear. "Do you… know this guy or something?"

Your grip faltered. The vial slipped, just for a second, before you caught it, your breath hitching. "No," you said, too quickly. "Of course not. Why would you think that?"

Mara’s gaze flicked toward the window, then back to you. "I dunno. He keeps looking at you." A pause. "Like, only at you. He hasn’t looked anywhere else since you walked in."

Your heartbeat stuttered. You didn’t dare look again. But you could feel him.

The weight of his stare. The unspoken question in it. The accusation.

"Dr. (Y/N)?" Voss’s voice snapped you back. "We’re waiting on those samples."

You swallowed hard. "Right," you murmured. "Sorry."

But as you turned back to your work, your hands moving on autopilot, your mind was somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere with crimson eyes and a voice that still haunted your dreams.

Somewhere you’d sworn you’d never return.

And yet here he was.

***

The lab was silent now, the usual hum of machinery and murmured conversations long faded into the night. You sat alone, bathed in the sterile glow of your computer screen, fingers stiff from hours of typing reports you barely registered. When you finally looked up to stretch, your eyes immediately darted to the observation window, only to find it empty. The reinforced glass reflected back your own tired expression, the chair beyond it now vacant, restraints dangling uselessly from its arms. A cold shiver traced your spine as you realized he was gone.

Fumbling for the tablet, your fingers left smudges on the screen as you pulled up the subject logs. The blue text glared back at you: SUBJECT M-7: TRANSPORTED TO SECURE HOLDING. Scheduled for observations and procedures only. 

Your breath left you in a slow, unsteady exhale. Of course they wouldn't keep him here overnight. EVER wasn't foolish enough to leave a Class VIII Evol subject unattended in a standard lab. But the realization did nothing to ease the tightness in your chest.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. 

What were you even doing? 

Two years. Two full years you'd spent building this new life, carving out a place where no one knew your past, where you could finally breathe without calculating every word and gesture. And yet, the moment those crimson eyes had locked onto yours through the glass, it was as if no time had passed at all. 

You were right back where you started. Heart racing, palms sweating, that familiar ache settling deep in your bones.

The worst part was the ridiculous, traitorous thought that had flashed through your mind when you first saw him. Did he come here for me? 

The idea was laughable now. Sylus didn't chase. Sylus didn't get captured. If he was here, it was because he wanted to be. Part of some elaborate scheme you were never meant to understand until it was too late. 

Unless…

Your fingers stilled on the keyboard as the alternative occurred to you. What if he hadn't come willingly? The thought sent an entirely different kind of chill through you. You knew what EVER did to high-value subjects. You'd seen the files, signed off on procedures that had kept you awake at night. If they had truly captured him…

Your gaze dropped to your phone lying beside the keyboard. Two years since you'd last heard their voices. Two years since you'd walked away without looking back. Did you even have the right to call them now? Would they answer? Would they care? Your thumb hovered over Luke's contact, the number you'd never deleted, no matter how many times you told yourself you were done with that life.

The call didn't connect. Just a robotic voice informing you the number was switched off. 

Kieran's was the same. The hollow ache in your chest expanded, though you couldn't say whether it was from relief or disappointment. This was stupid. Completely, utterly stupid. He was the reason you'd left. The reason you'd spent nights staring at the ceiling, wondering if you'd ever be more than just another asset in his carefully calculated world.

And yet here you were, ready to throw away everything you'd built. Your career, your safety, your hard-won peace, all because of one look from those damned crimson eyes. You shoved the phone into your pocket with more force than necessary, pushing back from the desk so abruptly your chair nearly toppled. 

No. You weren't doing this. You weren't that person anymore.

Except if this wasn't part of his plan. If he really was trapped here, at the mercy of the same organization you'd seen tear subjects apart molecule by molecule. Your fingers curled into fists, nails biting into your palms. Damn it. You were going to regret this. 

The phone felt heavy in your hand as you stood frozen on the sidewalk outside your apartment building, your thumb hovering over Luke's contact for what must have been the twentieth time that night. The wind bit through your thin lab coat as you pressed call again, listening to the hollow ringing that seemed to echo in your bones. Two rings. Then silence. Just like before. Just like every other attempt you'd made since leaving the lab. 

Kieran's number didn’t even connect. That infuriating automated voice informing you the number was unavailable, the robotic tone doing nothing to mask the panic rising in your chest.

You shoved the phone back into your pocket with trembling fingers, your breath fogging in the cold air as you finally turned toward your apartment building. The walk up the stairs felt endless, each step heavier than the last. Some foolish, traitorous part of you kept expecting to see him. To turn a corner and find Sylus leaning against your doorframe with that infuriating smirk, crimson eyes glinting in the dim hallway light as if this were all some elaborate game. The thought made your pulse stutter, equal parts dread and something else you refused to name twisting in your gut.

But of course, he wasn't there.

You'd seen him with your own eyes just hours earlier. Strapped to that chair in the lab, electrodes buried in his skin, his silver hair matted with sweat and blood near his temple. The image burned behind your eyelids every time you blinked. 

Yet when your key finally clicked in the lock, you still hesitated, the door creaking open far too slowly as you peered inside like some frightened child checking for monsters.

The apartment was exactly as you'd left it, your half-finished coffee still sitting cold on the counter, the blanket you'd used last night draped haphazardly over the arm of the couch. Normal. Safe. Empty.

The breath left your lungs in a rush as you stepped inside, kicking off your heels with more force than necessary, watching them skid across the hardwood. You collapsed onto the couch without bothering to turn on the lights, the dim glow from the streetlights outside casting long shadows across the ceiling. The silence pressed in around you, heavy and suffocating.

What the hell were you doing?

Your fingers twitched toward your phone again before you could stop yourself. There was no one else to call. No one trustworthy, no one who wouldn't ask questions you couldn't answer. The realization settled like a stone in your stomach. Where were they? Luke and Kieran never turned their phones off. Never. Not unless something was very, very wrong.

The thought followed you into bed, clinging like a second skin as you tossed and turned beneath the sheets. When sleep finally came, it was fitful and haunted. Flashes of a too-familiar mansion, the scent of gun oil and expensive bourbon, the sound of her laughter ringing through the halls like wind chimes. 

***

You woke with a gasp, your body drenched in cold sweat, the digital clock on your bedside table blinking 4:47 AM in harsh red numbers.

For one disorienting moment, you didn't know where you were. The dream still clung to you, the weight of his gaze making your skin prickle even now. You fumbled for your phone with numb fingers, your heart hammering against your ribs as you checked for missed calls. 

Nothing. No messages. No signs that either of them had even seen your attempts to reach them.

The shower was ice-cold, the water biting at your skin until it was numb. You scrubbed at your arms until they were pink, as if you could wash away the memories, the doubt, the creeping sense that nothing had really changed at all. That no matter how far you ran or how well you hid, you were still tangled in the same web.

The morning passed in a blur of too-strong coffee and mechanical movements, brushing your teeth, pulling your hair back into a ponytail, buttoning your lab coat with fingers that refused to steady. Before you knew it, you were standing outside the lab doors, your hand frozen halfway to the access panel.

You didn't want to go in. Didn't want to see him again. Didn't want to know what they were doing to him. But the weight of your keycard in your pocket reminded you that you had no choice.

"Dr. (Y/N), authorization code Rose-9-White," you murmured, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears.

The locks disengaged with a hiss that seemed far too loud in the empty hallway. You stepped inside, your eyes immediately darting to the observation window before you could stop yourself, only to find it empty again. The chair stood vacant, the restraints hanging loose. Your stomach twisted.

Mara glanced up from her workstation, blinking at you over the rim of her glasses. "Oh, you didn't check the morning logs?" she asked, her fingers never pausing as they flew across her keyboard.

You forced your hands to stay still at your sides. "No. What happened?"

"We finished the preliminary assessments last night," she said, turning back to her screen. A few quick taps pulled up a file labeled SUBJECT M-7: PHASE TWO. "Today we're administering the first round of the Evol-transfer serum. We'll be monitoring his vitals closely, but we've got a stabilized backup dose prepped in case his system rejects it."

Your stomach dropped like a stone.

The words Evol-transfer serum echoed in your skull, each syllable sharper than the last. You knew exactly what that meant, you had helped design the protocols yourself. The process wasn't just painful, it was excruciating. Like having your very soul ripped out piece by piece. And if his body fought it? If the serum destabilized?

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms hard enough to leave crescent-shaped scars. The sterile air of the lab suddenly felt too thick, too warm, your lab coat constricting around your shoulders like a straitjacket. What had you gotten yourself into? More importantly, what had you allowed them to do to him?

What if you were standing on the wrong side of the glass this time?

 The thought made you sicker than anything EVER could have dreamed up in their labs.

The sterile hum of the lab equipment filled your ears as you mechanically sorted through data files, your fingers moving across the holographic display with practiced efficiency despite the storm raging inside your chest. Thirty minutes had passed since Mara's revelation about the serum, thirty minutes of forcing yourself to focus on anything but the empty observation chamber and what was coming. 

Then the doors hissed open, and your entire world narrowed to the sound of rolling wheels and the sharp, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor.

They brought him in, still strapped to that damned chair, his arms secured with reinforced electromagnetic cuffs, the electrodes embedded in his skin now surrounded by dried blood from yesterday's tests. 

The medical team moved with clinical precision, adjusting IV lines and checking readouts, but you barely registered them. Your breath caught painfully in your throat as your pulse skyrocketed, the sudden rush of blood in your ears nearly drowning out all other sound. It felt like your heart might actually tear through your ribcage.

And then he looked up.

Those crimson eyes found yours instantly, as if he'd known exactly where you'd be standing. But unlike yesterday's hollow stare, today his lips curved into that infuriating, knowing smile. The same smug smirk that had haunted your dreams for two years, the one that said he'd already calculated every possible outcome and yours wasn't the winning move. 

Your fingers spasmed around the tablet you were holding, the screen cracking slightly under the pressure before you forcibly turned away, shoulders rigid as you pretended to study a meaningless data stream.

Wait, no. The realization hit you like a bucket of ice water. This was your lab. Your workplace. Your life that you'd built painstakingly over two years of early mornings and late nights, of proving yourself again and again. 

He didn't get to waltz in here and ruin everything with one damn look. Squaring your shoulders, you inhaled deeply through your nose, the sharp scent of antiseptic helping ground you as you turned back to your workstation with renewed determination.

The next hour passed in a blur of hyper-focused activity. You moved between stations with uncharacteristic efficiency, running calculations faster than the system could typically process them, catching errors in the serum compound ratios that had slipped past three other researchers. Even Dr. Voss, the senior researcher whose narcissistic tendencies made him universally avoided, paused by your station with something resembling approval in his cold gaze. "Impressive work today, Dr. (Y/N)," he remarked, the rare praise making several nearby heads turn. "Your focus is... exceptional."

You barely registered the compliment, your entire being focused on the presence thirty feet away behind the observation glass. Every nerve in your body was aware of him, of the way his breathing changed minutely when someone approached with a new instrument, of the faint tension in his jawline that no one else would notice. You'd spent too many years studying those microexpressions, learning to read what he'd never say aloud.

"Alright," Voss's voice snapped you back to the present. "Now go and get the serum prepared. We'll begin phase one administration in five minutes."

The words sent a jolt of ice down your spine. Your feet carried you to the refrigeration unit on autopilot, your hands moving to retrieve the small vial of glowing blue liquid that represented months of your team's work. The serum felt unnaturally cold through your gloves, its faint luminescence pulsing almost like a living thing. You stood frozen for several heartbeats, staring at the vial as conflicting impulses warred in your chest.

Voss had to physically step into your line of sight before you reacted, his impatient "Well?" making you startle. When you still didn't move, he strode forward and practically snatched the serum from your grip, his sharp features twisting in displeasure. "Unusual hesitation from you today," he remarked coolly before turning away.

But you weren't looking at Voss. Your gaze had snapped back to the observation window, to the man strapped in that chair. And for just a fraction of a second, so brief you might have imagined it, you could have sworn something flickered across Sylus's face. Not anger. Not pain. But disappointment? 

The possibility sent an entirely different kind of ache through your chest, one you refused to examine too closely.

As the medical team prepared to administer the serum, you forced yourself to turn back to your workstation, your fingers flying across the controls to pull up his vital signs on your private screen. Every beep of the heart monitor, every fluctuation in brain activity would be recorded here. You told yourself it was professional curiosity. That you were simply monitoring a high-risk procedure. But when the first drops of serum entered his IV line and his body arched against the restraints with a silent scream, your nails dug into your palms hard enough to draw blood. 

And when his eyes, those damned crimson eyes, found yours through the glass once more, blazing with pain and something dangerously close to betrayal, you realized with dawning horror that you might have just made the biggest mistake of your life.

The serum's effects were worse than you'd imagined.

Each scream that tore from Sylus's throat felt like a blade twisting between your ribs. You'd never seen him like this, never heard him make a sound of pain, let alone this raw, ragged agony. His body strained against the restraints, muscles corded tight, veins standing out in beneath sweat-slicked skin. 

The monitors screamed alongside him, his heart rate spiking dangerously high as the serum worked its way through his system, attacking his Evol at the cellular level.

You stood frozen at your workstation, fingers clenched around the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles turned white. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to do something, to stop this, to rip the IV from his arm, to fix what you'd helped create. 

But you couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't tear your eyes away from the way his head finally dropped forward, his body going limp as the worst of the pain subsided into shuddering tremors.

That serum was designed to rip it out of him entirely, to transfer it to someone else. And by the time the process was complete, he'd be dead. 

Your stomach lurched. You'd known this. You'd helped develop this. But seeing it happen to him…

Your vision blurred.

Around you, the lab continued as if nothing were wrong. Researchers murmured notes to each other, adjusting dials, recording data. No one else seemed to hear the way his breath came in short, pained gasps. No one else flinched when his fingers twitched against the restraints like he was still trying to fight.

This couldn't be happening.

Sylus didn't lose. Sylus didn't scream.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look back at your screen, at the readings that confirmed what you already knew. His Evol levels were dropping. Fast.

A few hours later, the lab emptied for lunch.

Mara lingered by your station, nudging your shoulder. "Come on, let's go. You've been staring at that screen for ages."

You shook your head, not trusting your voice. "You go. I need to finish this report. I'll catch up in a minute." She hesitated, then shrugged. "Suit yourself. But if you take too long, I'm eating your share of the dumplings."

The second the door hissed shut behind her, your head snapped up. The lab was empty. Almost.

Your gaze darted to the security camera in the corner, its red light blinking steadily. You should have cared. Should have hesitated. But right now, you didn't give a damn.

"Fuck it," you muttered under your breath. You'd come up with a lie later.

In three quick strides, you were at the observation window. Sylus was slumped forward, his head hanging low, silver hair obscuring his face. You couldn't tell if he was unconscious.

You pressed your palm against the glass.

"Sylus."

No response.

Your chest tightened. You tapped the glass sharply, once, twice.

"Sylus, look at me."

For a heartbeat, nothing.

Then, slowly, agonizingly, he lifted his head.

His crimson eyes were duller than you'd ever seen them, his pupils blown wide with pain, but they locked onto yours with terrifying focus.

And then, he smirked.

That damn, infuriating smirk, even now. Even like this.

Your breath left you in a rush.

"You idiot," you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper. "What the hell are you doing here?"

His lips parted like he might answer. But then the lab door hissed open behind you.

You whirled around.

Dr. Voss stood in the doorway, his cold eyes flicking from you to Sylus and back again.

"Dr. (Y/N)," he said slowly. "Care to explain why you're talking to the subject?"

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