A Protocore sends you and Sylus three years into the future, where you end up crammed in a closet learning things you were never meant to know.🩷🩷
Caleb's part here Xavier's part here Zayne part here Rafayel's part here
CW: Smut. P in V. Oral. 🔞MDNI🔞
You were not thinking about it. You were not staring at your ceiling thinking about the N109 Zone or the man who ran it. That was not what was happening. What was happening was that you were resting. Quietly. In your own apartment, which you had every right to be in, doing absolutely nothing that involved Sylus in any way whatsoever.
Work had filled most of your time this week. Back to back missions, three cases that bled into each other, a Thursday briefing that ate the entire day. The Association had kept you moving and moving was good. Moving meant you weren't sitting still long enough to think about things you should not be thinking about.
The problem was tonight there was nothing to move toward.
You'd slowed down. Today's mission had seen to that —a clean operation until it wasn't, until you'd caught the edge of something you'd moved a second too late to avoid and ended up limping through the debrief trying to look unbothered. The Association medic had looked at your leg, told you to rest it, and now you were on your couch. Leg up. Thinking.
You'd worked with Sylus enough times to understand how your arrangement functioned, he had access to things the Association didn't and in exchange you'd give him information he found useful. You showed up. He had what you needed. You left. Repeat.
That part made sense.
What didn't was the rest of it. The part where two weeks of silence felt different now. He was the most wanted name on the Association's list and you were a Deepspace Hunter. The math on that was simple.
So no, you did not miss Sylus.
Your leg throbbed. You shifted your weight and stared at the ceiling again, trying to have an internal conversation about professional conduct and the importance of clear boundaries and then your phone lit up.
You grabbed it so fast you nearly put your elbow through the side table.
Sylus: I heard your mission went sideways. How's the leg?
You: How did you...you know what. Never mind.
Sylus: Mephisto was nearby.
You: You sent your bird to check on me?
Sylus: Mephisto goes where he likes.
You: 🙄🙄
Sylus: He said you were limping.
You: Tell Mephisto to mind his own business.
Sylus: He'll be devastated.
You: Good.
Sylus: I have something that might interest you. Have you ever seen a white Protocore?
You: White Protocores don't exist. Whatever you have is a fake.
Sylus: The seller pulled it from an anomalous Wanderer outside the N109 zone.
You sat with that for a moment.
Sylus: Come see it yourself. You'll want to.
The color alone was impossible by every known framework for protocore classification. Which meant either the seller was running an extremely convincing con, or something had come out of that wanderer that nobody had a category for yet.
Your feet were already on the floor.
You: Don't let anyone touch it. Give me 20 min.
Sylus: No need to rush, kitten. Look out your window.
You crossed the room in four steps and pulled the curtain back an inch.
Black car at the curb. No-parking sign directly above it, ignored completely. Sylus leaned against the driver's side door looking up at exactly the moment you looked down.
He raised his phone.
Sylus: Five minutes. Or I decide the leg is worse than you're letting on and leave.
You let the curtain fall.
"Not a chance," you said, to nobody.
You changed fast —jeans, jacket, hair up, sidearm checked —and ran down the stairs in a time your leg was going to remind you about tomorrow. The night air outside hit you cool and sharp.
Sylus hadn't moved from the car. He looked at you coming through the door, down the steps toward him and said nothing until you were close enough to hear.
"You ran down the stairs?"
"I want to see that Protocore."
"Of course." His mouth curved and there it was, the look that sat underneath the smirk, the one you'd filed away and kept finding again. "That's the only reason."
"It is"
"Then why are you still standing here instead of getting in the car."
You pulled the passenger door open yourself before he could do it, which seemed to amuse him. The interior smelled like expensive leather and him.
He slid in beside you, started the engine— the sound of it vibrating through the seat— and pulled away from the curb without looking at the road for the first two seconds because he was still looking at you.
"My people investigated as much as they could." He shifted gears, smooth and unhurried. "Which is why I need someone who knows what a forgery looks like at that level."
"But you also have people for that"
"I have people for a lot of things." He glanced over. Red eyes catching the streetlight for just a second. "None of them are you."
You looked out the window " Is that a compliment?"
"I didn't say it was."
The N109 Zone came up around you, neon and dark in equal measure, a place that operated on entirely different rules than Linkon City. You'd been here more times than your Association file strictly reflected. You knew the streets. You knew the hierarchy. You knew which doors opened for which names. All thanks to the man sitting in the driver's seat.
You had no idea what a white Protocore was. You had no idea what tonight was going to become but you had a feeling you were about to find out.
His office, you knew this place better than your own.
The reinforced doors. The security overrides, which ones were decoys and which ones actually mattered. The hidden safes, three of them, one behind a painting ugly enough to be forgettable on purpose. You'd learned all of it slowly, standing close enough and quiet enough that he forgot you were paying attention.
The White Protocore sat inside a glass tube at the center of his desk, and you hadn't moved in two minutes.
It looked like the others at first. Same crystalline structure, same geometry. But every other Protocore carried color, blue, gold, pink, red, green and purple. This one just a faint pulse, soft milky light spilling across the dark wood. Strange and uncategorizable.
Sylus wasn't looking at the protocore, he was watching you. His eyes were tracing the curve of your jaw, the focus on your expression. In his world of cutthroat deals and rare power, you were his white protocore.
The back of your neck went warm but you kept your eyes on the protocore.
"Can I touch it?"
A low sound from his chest. Not quite a laugh. "I don't recall ever saying no to you, sweetie."
His fingers worked the glass tube open and lifted the protocore into his palm.
You reached for it.
Your fingers brushed his skin and the protocore sat between your hands for a single second and then —
No warning. Just white light swallowing the desk and the dark walls. Then the wind hit, not from outside but from inside the protocore, like a vacuum pulling in with a force that emptied your lungs before you could inhale. The sound of it was scary, like space tearing apart. The air collapsed into that small white light in your hands, the floor dropped away and you were falling without falling.
The first thing that came back was pressure.
Arms locked across your chest and shoulders, tight enough your ribs couldn't move. Something solid at your back. You tried to breathe. Couldn't. Tried again.
"Sy" Barely a whisper. "Can't— brea—"
His arms dropped instantly.
He was on his feet before you inhaled, one fluid motion, hand going to his gun, eyes sweeping the room. No targets. His hand dropped, but his shoulders stayed coiled, still reading the space.
You sat up. Pulled air in slowly until your chest stopped aching.
"Where are we?"
He didn't answer. Still looking.
You looked too.
Dark wood, heavy draping, expensive things chosen for use as much as looks. It felt like his place at first glance.
In the corner was a record player, vinyl turning silently, needle down, producing nothing. Beside it a bookshelf climbed straight to the ceiling, a ladder running the whole length on a track.
On the low table in front of the couch sat two glasses of wine. One half empty. Whoever had been drinking had stepped away expecting to come right back.
You stood slowly.
Sylus had crossed to the far side of the room. His head was angled down at something on the shelf.
You crossed after him, boots loud on the floor.
"Sylus."
He didn't turn.
You came up beside him, followed his eyeline, and stopped.
A photograph. You in your Hunter uniform with a different insignia of a rank you didn't hold yet, holding a trophy. Your smile in the photo was wide open and unguarded, a version of happy you didn't wear on your face very often.
There was a small engraved plaque at the bottom of the frame.
Hunter of the Year — November 2051.
You picked up a magazine beside it.
Your face on the cover. Same uniform, same trophy, same smile. Hunter of the Year in bold letters across the top. Small print in the corner, neat and impossible.
November 2051.
You set it down carefully.
Behind you, Sylus had already moved to the mahogany desk near the windows. Papers shifted. Folders opened and closed. His hands stayed busy and his face gave nothing.
"Sylus." You kept your voice steady. "Look at me."
He didn't.
You crossed to the desk and placedd your hand flat over the document he was holding.
"Three years," he was staring at nothing in particular, whatever was running behind his eyes not making it to his face.
You looked at the half empty glass. The record player still turning in silence. A coat hanging by the door.
"Sylus."
"I see it."
"That's your coat."
"This is one of my safehouses"
"Since when do you keep pictures of the Association Hunters? Last I checked you called us glorified errand runners."
A slow smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth "I've got a taste for beautiful art, sweetie, and maybe I like having a permanent reminder of my favorite headache."
"I'm not your—"
"Someone's coming." his eyes sharpened, hand closing around your wrist.
"Who—"
"This way." He was already pulling you toward a closet.
He yanked the door open expecting to see his weapons.
There were no rifles or guns, just stacked piles of the same magazine you saw earlier, floor to ceiling, your face on every cover, hundreds of them.
"Do you also collect magazines?" you asked, fighting to keep your voice down as he shoved you into the tiny space and squeezed in after you, pulling the door shut. "This is a lot of me for one closet"
"If you keep talking you're going to get us both caught."
You bit down on a laugh and then it died in your throat completely.
The door clicked open and Sylus stepped into the room.
You gasped, turning on instinct to check whether he had somehow warped himself out there with his Evol, but he hadn't moved an inch.
Future Sylus's hair was a mess, like he'd run his hands over it more than once, and a bit longer than you were used to. His shirt was wrinkled, streaked faintly with mud, stretched tight across shoulders that looked broader than the ones currently pressed beside you in the dark. There was more color in his face too, like time had put some weather on him. He paced the length of the room like a caged animal, fists clenching and releasing at his sides. He stopped mid stride, head turning like he'd caught a sound in the room, inside Sylus's hand shot out, closing around your wrist as one finger came up to his lips, a silent order to stay quiet.
Then the door opened again, and future you walked in.
She looked pissed. Shirt torn at the shoulder, soot and dirt ground into the fabric, but her eyes were lit up with anger.
She was you, there was no doubt about that, but she was different. There was more color to her face too and her body was softer in some places, sturdier in others.
"You had no right, Sylus!" She slammed the door behind her "I can still fight! I had that under control!"
"You almost got killed" Sylus didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. Whatever was in his tone was cold enough to make the room feel smaller.
"That's a fucking lie and you know it!" She crossed the space between them fast, jabbing a finger into his chest. "I'm not some damsel for you to decide when I fight and when I don't!"
Beside you Sylus dipped his head, lips grazing the shell of your ear. "Different year. Same feisty kitten." His breath felt warm against your neck.
"Shut up, Sylus. Shut up" you hissed, elbowing him in the ribs. He huffed out a quiet laugh like you'd done him a favor.
Outside, the fight kept climbing.
"You think you can pull me off a fight and take me wherever you want?" her voice bounced off the ceiling. "I'm a Hunter, Sylus. I'm not joining Onychinus. Not now, not ever, no matter how many times you bring it up."
"You've made that perfectly clear."
"It's my job, Sy"
"Not anymore, it isn't."
"You don't get to make that call for me!"
He didn't answer with words. He started walking her back instead, one slow step for every one she gave up without notice, until her spine hit the ladder bolted to the bookshelf.
She was out of room. He planted a hand on either side of her head against the wooden rungs, boxing her in.
"Are you sure about that, sweetie?" Not a question so much as a challenge.
"We don't even know ye— get out of my space!"
"Make me."
Their faces were a breath apart now, close enough that the argument had stopped sounding like an argument. Through the door you felt the air on the other side change, something thick and charged, like the silence that comes right before either a fight or something worse. Your face went hot just watching it, the line between the two of them hating each other and wanting each other collapsing.
"I hate you"
"Good," he murmured so close to her lips. "You can hate me all you want, Mrs. Qin. You're still wearing my ring."
He closed the distance, hand curling around the back of her neck, and kissed her like it was the only thing he had left to say.
Beside you Sylus went completely still.
Future you made a sound against his lips that started as surprise and turned into a moan, her hands coming up to grip his shirt before she dropped them and grabbed him instead.
You turned to look at Sylus, his eyes dropped to yours and a slow smile moved across his mouth and your stomach went with it.
His shirt hit the floor first, hers followed.
Future Sylus lifted her off the floor and settled her onto a rung of the ladder. She grabbed the rung above her head to steady herself and he stepped back just far enough to look at her, taking his time with it while she sat there catching her breath.
Then he reached for her boots.
He pulled the first one off, fingers working the laces without looking down, eyes on her face the whole time. The second followed. He set his hands on her knees and dragged them up her thighs and she made a small sound before he'd even done anything.
His mouth found her collarbone. Moved down. The thin lace of her bra was still on and he put his lips over it anyway, tongue pressing through the fabric against her nipple, and her head went back against the ladder. He bit down through the fabric, and the sound she made was immediate.
You pressed your hand to your mouth.
He did it again on the other side, slower, and her knuckles went white on the rung above her while her hips moved forward looking for something that wasn't there yet.
He kissed down her sternum. The soft skin below her ribs. His mouth dragged across her stomach and she was already breathing in pieces by the time his hands moved to her pants. He worked them down her legs and off, then dropped to his knees.
You made a small sound against your hand.
He was now on his knees between her thighs, hands finding the backs of them, hooking her legs one at a time over his shoulders. The muscles in his arms and neck shifted with the motion and he settled her weight there easily, like he'd done it before. Because in three years he had. Many times. You could tell by how she exhaled when her legs landed on his shoulders— relief. Her whole body recognizing what was coming.
He looked up at her.
Hands spread across her inner thighs, holding them open, red eyes on her face, waiting.
She looked down at him.
Her chest was moving fast. Her lip caught between her teeth. She held his gaze for one long second and then, quietly, barely enough to hear—
"Please."
His fingers found her thong and pulled it to the side.
One hand went to his hair, pulling him in, the other stayed above her head. Her nipples were hard against the wet lace.
Every sound came through clearly. His mouth on her wet pussy. Her breathing. Your face burned. Other things burned. You pressed your thighs together and it didn't help because the sounds didn't stop.
You turned to look at him again.
His right eye burned red in the dark closet. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that wasn't steady.
"Sy—"
"Don't stop." Future you's voice came through the door, breathless. "Fuck, Sy...just like that."
Your face went hotter and you faced forward again.
Sylus exhaled against your hair. His hand was still on your wrist. Neither of you had moved it.
He made a sound against her and the sounds that followed were louder and wetter.
Your fingers found the front of his jacket and held on.
"Is this affecting you?" he asked, right against your ear.
"Shut up."
Then her voice again, completely gone, nothing held back. "Yes — baby, my clit, suck on it — fuck yes—"
His hand tightened on your wrist. Hard.
"Sylus." Your voice came out dry. Broken in the middle. Not what you'd intended at all.
"I know," he said.
Future you screamed his name. The closet pressed in from all sides.
"We need to leave"
"Yes," he agreed, but neither of you moved.
Her thighs locked around his shoulders and shook. He stayed until the last tremor left her. Then he stood, chest glistening, and his hands dropped to the button of his trousers.
Popped it open. Pushed the fabric down his thighs.
The outline of his cock through the fabric of his underwear made your throat close. The tip already wet, a dark circle spreading through the cotton, and his fingers found the waistband—
A large hand came down over your eyes.
"Hey—" You grabbed his wrist. His fingers didn't move.
"If you want a show," his voice low at your ear, "you only have to ask."
"Move your hand." You twisted your head. His palm stayed exactly where it was.
Dark behind it.
Then the sounds hit again.
Slap.
Slap.
Slap.
Skin against skin. Her voice breaking between each impact, the sounds coming in waves that your brain immediately started filling in visuals for and that was so much worse than if he'd just let you look.
"You're burning up," he said against your ear, not in concern but in pure mockery.
Your thighs pressed together hard. "I swear to god—"
His fingers spread open.
She was still on the ladder. Legs locked around his waist, both of them flushed, sweat catching the light. He had one hand on her hair, holding her close to his face, their mouths almost touching, breathing the same air while his hips rolled forward in deep slow drives that shook her whole body. He was saying something to her, too low to carry, but whatever it was kept fracturing her expression every time he said it.
Then his voice came through clearly.
"Look at me." Steady, even over everything else. "Tell me who you belong to."
Her tongue dragged across his upper lip. "Yours—" Her head dropped back. "Ah— yours, Sy, I'm yours—"
Your underwear felt damp and your clit was pulsing with a persistence you were doing your very best to ignore.
"Do you really think," Sylus whispered against your temple, "it takes us three whole years to get here?"
"I don't—"
Future Sylus pulled back, his tongue dragged slow up her throat while she panted against his shoulder. "You taste different today."
"Because you're—" she gasped, "—you're driving me insane—"
"That's not it." He pushed forward, one deep thrust that tore a cry out of her "You shouldn't be taking field hits right now." A beat. "Not when you're carrying my child."
The closet went cold.
Your jaw dropped. Hers did too.
Pregnant.
The argument. Him yanking her off the mission. All of it clicked into place at once. She was carrying his baby. In three years, you'd be carrying his kid.
Your knees went out from under you.
Your foot caught on something hard as you stumbled back. A stack of magazines toppled with the movement, and everything blurred, sound, vision, all of it going soft at the edges.
"—watch—"
Crimson light cracked through the dark. Sylus's Evol flared, and every falling magazine froze mid air.
The energy didn't stay contained. It rolled out through the closet door and everything on the other side went dead silent.
The sounds stopped. All of them. What replaced the noise had weight to it.
Sylus's eyes were locked on the door. Jaw tight. Not a muscle moving.
"Pathetic," future Sylus said, clear, not a trace of what he'd been doing thirty seconds earlier, "a top tier Hunter and the leader of Onychinus, hiding like toddlers playing hide and seek."
Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.
"Sylus?" Future you, breathless, confused. "Who are you talking—"
"I know you're in there." He sounded almost bored. "You're both breathing like horny teenagers."
Beside you, Sylus exhaled through his nose and reached out to push the door open. "I could say the same"
He stepped out first, glanced down at his sleeve, and flicked off a piece of lint that probably wasn't there. Then he reached back, hooked an arm around your waist, and pulled you out with him. You stumbled onto the polished floor, face burning hot enough to set the room on fire.
Future Sylus had future you pulled against him, her bra strap slipping off one shoulder, hair a wreck, and she was staring between the two of you with her mouth hanging open.
"Is that—" Her eyes went from you to the Sylus standing next to you and back again. "Are we— are they—"
Sylus looked at his future self. Future Sylus looked right back.
Three seconds of silence passed between them, and somehow it felt like an entire conversation.
"You look good," Sylus said.
"And you are interrupting," future Sylus said, arm tightening around future you.
You stopped watching the two of them and scanned the room instead.
There. The White Protocore, sitting beside the wine bottle, pulsing soft in the low light.
You moved before anyone could stop you, crossed the room, and closed your hand around it.
Sylus was right behind you. His hand landed over yours, the stone was caught between your palms again, warm and humming under your skin. He tossed one last glance over his shoulder at his future self and smirked.
White swallowed everything. The floor vanished, and then thud.
The familiar light of his office in the N109 Zone.
You were flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, just breathing.
The Protocore rolled out of your hand and knocked against the leg of his desk before it dissolved into dust.
Sylus sat up, forearm braced on a raised knee, and looked down at you, smirk already back in place. His gaze dropped to your mouth, your throat, the way your chest was still heaving.
"So," he said, leaning over you with one hand braced on the floor beside your head. "A baby."
You threw an arm over your face. "I will shoot you again."
"I'm just thinking ahead." His fingers found a strand of your hair "Sounds like we've got a lot of work to do in the next three years, Miss hunter."
Your hands ghosted over Mephisto's feathers, grinning at the way his metal body whirred. It reminded you of how Sylus purred when you ran your fingers through his hair.
Sylus pushed through the door, expression stormy. He stopped abruptly when he caught sight of Mephisto in your lap.
"He's in my spot," he said pointedly.
"No, he's in his spot."
Sylus sighed. "I've been replaced by a bird."
"He's not just a bird, he's my son. Aren't you, Mephie?" you cooed.
Mephisto chirped happily.
Sylus pushed Mephisto away, dropping into your lap. "And I'm your husband. The bird can wait."
No because he really is a yearner and a loverboy beneath a grumpy facade, the persona that grew like armor on him through years and years of constant rejection and fighting for his right to live. He really is capable of wanting to give love and care despite all the hatered that this world has been throwing at him since his birth and for his whole life.
SYNOPSIS! when a split mission leaves you waiting in an empty penthouse past midnight, the silence begins to taste like jealousy
PAIRINGS: sylus x non!mc reader
WARNINGS! MINORS DNI!
Part 2 of BOUND, but can be read as a stand alone, jealousy, rough kissing, kissing involving blood, not proofread, porn with plot, unprotected piv, thigh riding, fingering, wap and I mean it, oral!m recieving where she spits out his cum back on his dick and licks it, a lot of spit honestly, overstimulation, they switch, edging, teasing, biting, I imagine reader as a femme fatale with abandonment issues, it's messy, fluids, lots of em, big dick sylus, mean sylus, multiple orgasms, he licks your panties spits on them and stuffs them in your mouth, bondage, manhandling, reader is mentioned to have long hair, kinda hate sex??? she pretends she doesn't want it, mentions of mc, he puts his regeneration at use, I love to dramatize and i'm also a zayne girl who doesn't know all sylus' lore, there is probably more I forgot to mention so please lmk!
W.C: 7.7k
a/n: Hellooo! Well, it sure has been a while since I first posted Bound. I completely ran out of inspiration for the second part, and this isn't even close to what I originally had in mind, but I think it works! That being said, I am still thinking of turning this into a multi-part series if there’s a demand for it (which is honestly my sole motivation for writing, lmao). The only reason I'm considering it is because I have a lot of just pure filth left over for these two... Anyway, N821 here is heavily inspired by Prague especially in the winter season, reader is his right "hand", and I really wanted to incorporate a version of Sylus who isn't softened by MC. Also, the dialogue about the mission was completely written by my dear friend (hi Anika) because I have no idea how mafia missions work...!
It was late. Beyond late, the kind of hour where the dark ceases to be a shield and begins to feel like a countdown
Two hours had bled away since midnight, the precise deadline Sylus had given you to return with the shipment routes. Two hours since his last text had flashed across your screen: "I'm on my way." A terse response to your notification that you had successfully wrung the coordinates from the broker. The deal had come with a condition, of course, but a win was a win.
Now, you stood before the floor to ceiling windows of the most expensive penthouse in N821. Your skin was still radiating the residual heat of a hot shower, the heavy ivory silk of your robe trailing against your ankles as you knotted the belt around your waist.
N821 was a different kind of monster than N109
Where N109 was a chaotic, bleeding theater of crime, N821 was the same beast refined sleeker, heavily organized, masked in exorbitant wealth, and brutally cold
You closed your eyes, exhaling a slow, sharp breath through your nose. The frustration didn't leave you, it merely settled deeper into your chest. He was with her. That little hunter. The one he taunted. The one you had once discovered practically in his lap
Granted, during that particular encounter, she had a loaded barrel pressed flush against his sternum. And God, how Sylus had thrived on the bite of it. He didn't just tolerate her defiance; he fed on it.
Irrelevant, you reminded yourself, your jaw tightening. Your arrangement with the leader of Onychinus was built on concrete and blood, not sentiment
If there was closeness between you, it was found exclusively in the dark sharp, high friction intimacy utilized purely as stress relief. When two apex predators unite, you do not expect a love story. You expect an alliance
He desired you; that much was undeniable. You were a crown jewel in the underworld silently deadly, poised. A trophy for a man who claimed to own the world
Not an ornament for him though. Never that. Sylus had little interest in fragile things
Yet, your eyes rarely deceived you. Every time he looked at the hunter, there was a faint, intolerable fondness in his gaze. It was childish to even note it, but the great, wanted criminal's eyes actually softened whenever he called her kitten
You despised the word. If he ever dared utter that nickname to you, you would ensure his next glass of wine was laced with cyanide.
Why did she get a title born of affection while you received a title born of strategy? With a quiet sigh, you stepped away from the glass to gather the paperwork scattered across the desk. Time was a luxury you didn't possess
The documents required your signature and a thorough review before they could be handed over to your dear husband by morning
Your dear, dear husband.
The man you swore you didn't crave. The man you swore you didn't miss. You swore it because it was the absolute truth. You were detached. It was the only state of being you had ever known
As the perfect daughter of a sprawling empire, love had never been factored into your record.
Neither had vulnerability
For someone who could afford everything the world had to offer, you couldn't afford a heart
You had never been in love. Intimacy itself was a foreign language until Sylus Qin. To this day, the irony of it brought a cold, humorless smile to your lips. Embarrassing, really, that a man so ruthless had been your introduction to the flesh.
Then again, he had set a incredibly high standard.
While other girls your age were experiencing the trivialities of teenage romance, you were busy learning how to strip a firearm in under ten seconds. You had spent your youth enduring grueling training sessions, followed by hours studying the art of high stakes negotiation under the suffocating, stern glare of your father
In your world, knowing how to distinguish which protocore dealer lied and which one merely inflated prices for survival was the key
But you knew how to hate. Sylus knew it, too, and he drew an infuriating amount of satisfaction from drawing that hatred to the surface
You sat in the plush, albeit uncomfortable, armchair, closing your eyes briefly to soothe the pulsing pressure building behind them. You forced yourself to reopen them, scanning the lines of text to highlight the clauses Sylus would inevitably want to contest.
Think of the devil
The heavy click of the penthouse door echoing through the foyer broke the silence. You didn't bother to lift your head. You were furious, and you had no intention of granting him the courtesy of an immediate greeting.
He called your name once. Then, as if tracking the scent of your irritation, his heavy footsteps moved towards the study where you were.
When he stepped into the light, he was a vision of controlled violence. His silver hair was damp, plastered slightly against his forehead from the storm outside. His clothes were dark with melted snow. His knuckles were split freshly cleaned, but faint traces of copper still stained the creases of his skin. A shallow, clean cut marred the high ridge of his cheekbone.
Yet, by the slow, deliberate grace of his stride, you could tell he was entirely unbothered. He looked utterly smug
You permitted yourself exactly one second to take in the sight of him. Then, with a fluid, dismissive motion, you tossed the files onto the marble coffee table. You swung your legs over the armrest of the chair, leaning back into the cushions with calculated laziness
Sylus paused. He knew that stance. He knew precisely what kind of thin ice he was standing on.
An amused arch crept into his eyebrow. A familiar, subtle smirk threatened to show before he caught himself, smoothing his features into something deceptively neutral. He slid the wet coat from his broad shoulders, tossing it onto a side chair without a second thought.
Now his eyes swept over you.
The silk robe had slipped, exposing the curve of one shoulder. Your long legs were draped carelessly over the velvet arm of the chair, and the ends of your hair were still dark with moisture. A vision. Perfect, dangerous, and entirely unimpressed.
"Read," you commanded
Your voice was a low, smooth blade. You didn't look at him as you spoke, your slender fingers wrapping instead around the stem of your champagne glass. You brought it to your lips, taking a slow sip
Sylus picked up the documents. His crimson eyes scanned between the lines, his expression entirely unmoved by the staggering demands written into the contract. It was the face of a man who found exactly what he expected.
You had done your job flawlessly. As always
"I assume it went well on your end as well" you murmured, boredom perfectly lacing your voice, though the underlying edge remained razor-cold. "Though if I were to critique, you are quite late. And we do have a time limit."
Sylus didn't look up from the pages immediately, flipping one over with a crisp, deliberate sound that echoed in the quiet room.
"Worry not, The twins handled it." he replied, his deep voice scraping pleasantly against the stillness
"it was supposed to be your job–"
"–The broker attempted to alter the transit pricing at the eleventh hour," he murmured, slanting his gaze toward you. The firelight caught the thin red line on his cheek. "He brought half a dozen men to enforce his new terms. It took a few extra minutes to remind him how negotiations work."
"Remind him of his place."
You set your champagne glass down on the marble table with a hollow, deliberate clink. Your eyes didn't track the movement; they remained locked on the neat, bloodless line across his cheekbone
"A clean cut for a back alley broker," you remarked, your tone smooth, devoid of the irritation simmering beneath your skin. "He must have exceptional aim. Or a very specific model of an association issued blade."
Sylus didn't blink. The corner of his mouth twitched. He tossed the folder onto the desk, the heavy paper settling with a dull thud
"The association tried to intervene. They failed."
"And you let them walk away," you countered, sliding your legs off the armrest. You stood, the ivory silk parting slightly at your thigh as you crossed the room toward him. "You left the financing channel exposed. I noticed the omission before you walked in. It's a vulnerability, Sylus. My board will reject that transit exposure immediately."
You stopped a mere foot away from him. The scent of him, and the distinct, metallic tang of fresh blood rolled off him in waves, overpowering the scent of the room
"I don't tolerate sloppiness," you murmured, tilting your chin up to look him in the eyes. "Especially not when my family's name is masking your assets. If your little shadow play in N109 is bleeding into our territory, fix it."
Sylus stood his ground, a towering monolith of damp wool and dark intent. He didn't offer an excuse. He didn't even look at the paperwork you were weaponizing against him
Instead, his gaze dropped to your lips, then traveled slowly down the exposed column of your throat to where the silk of your robe loosely met at your chest
"Sloppiness" he repeated, the word rolling out of his chest like low thunder. He took a single step forward, crowding your space until the heat radiating from his body began to melt the chill in your own. "Is that what you're calling it?"
"I call it what it is. A liability."
Sylus reached out. His split knuckles were rough against your skin as his thumb caught the underside of your jaw, forcing your head back a fraction of an inch. His touch was cold, a harsh contrast to the feverish warmth of your skin, but his grip was unyielding.
"You don't give a fuck about the southern transit line" he murmured softly.
"I care about our metrics"
"You care that she was there."
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.
The amusement left his face, replaced by something entirely different. The smug, detached mask he usually wore around you cracked, revealing the dark, predatory focus underneath. His crimson eyes searched yours, not with the cold calculation of a business partner, but with the raw, heavy intensity of a man who had just found a crack in an unbreachable wall.
"Look at you," Sylus whispered, his deep voice dropping an octave, becoming rougher, more intimate. His thumb stroked the line of your jaw, the friction sending a sharp jolt straight down your spine. "Personal attachment was nowhere in the contract. Are you trying to break your own terms?"He leaned down, his breath ghosting over your lips
Your breath hitched a small fracture in your armor, but to a man like Sylus, it was a siren song.
"Don't flatter yourself," you hissed, your voice dropping to a dangerous, venomous whisper. You wrapped your hand around his wrist, trying to push him back. "I don't care who you entertain in your spare time. Just keep your goddamn pets out of my ledger."
Sylus didn't move an inch. If anything, your resistance only made his grip tighten, his fingers sliding from your jaw to wrap fully around the back of your neck, tilting your head up to fully meet his gaze. The coldness in his eyes was entirely gone. In its place was a dark, feral satisfaction that burned hot enough to scald
"Jealousy suits you", his lips brushing yours with every syllable, a torturous, high friction promise, you could feel the smugness dripping from each word.
You didn’t answer. You didn’t get the chance to
You tried to twist your face out of his grip, a sharp, dismissive jerk intended to re establish the boundary, but Sylus didn't let you breathe.
The moment your fingers tightened on his wrist to shove him back, he used his massive momentum to drive you backward
The small of your back hit the solid wall with a heavy thud. Nearby, the champagne glass you had set down wobbled, tipped, and shattered against the floor, the sharp crack of crystal completely swallowed by the sudden, suffocating proximity of his body
His hand shifted from your jaw, split knuckled fingers tangling ruthlessly into the strands of your hair, tugging back until your neck arched, He used the leverage to feast on you completely without restraint. It was a violent, undisciplined wreck of a collision messy, desperate, and entirely devoid of the composure you both prided yourselves on
He didn't give you a clean, strategic kiss. He didn't offer the practiced precision you both used to mask your intentions in public.
He bit you.
It was a bruising, desperate clash of teeth and lips that tasted immediately of the starved, mutual want you had both spent days denying. You let out a muffled, furious sound against his mouth a protest born purely of your refusal to break first and tried to wedge your forearm tightly between his chest and yours to force some distance.
Sylus didn't care. He pinned your arm flat against the wall, his thigh crowding ruthlessly between yours, the rough of his trousers parting your robe.
The past four days of silence, of separate territories and distance, boiled over in a single second.
It was unpolished. It was feral. The slick, wet sound of his tongue sliding against yours filled the quiet room, deep and demanding, dragging the air straight out of your lungs until your chest heaved uselessly against his.
You tried to bite him back, to hurt him, to remind him of the danger of crowding you, and your teeth caught his lower lip, drawing a fresh bead of dark blood.
Sylus groaned into your mouth, He thrived on this.
He pulled back for a fraction of a second, just enough for a thin, silver string of spit to break between your swollen lips. His eyes were entirely blown out, the right crimson of his iris practically glowing in the shadows of the room, dark with a terrifyingly possession. He looked like a beast that had finally been given permission to tear its cage apart.
"My, my, is my sweet wife finally showing her teeth?" he murmured against your lips, his voice a ruined, breathless rasp as his mouth left yours for a single second to track a wet, heavy path down your jawline.
"Move." you gasped, your fingers clawing deep into the fabric of his shoulders, though your nails dug in so hard you were actively pulling him closer, betraying the very lie you were telling. "Sylus–"
He didn't let you finish.
Blood. Slick, Hot saliva,
It mingled into a chaotic, violent smear between your mouths as he devoured your protest.
The grip on your hair tightened, tugging hard enough to make you gasp before he buried his tongue back into your mouth, deeper this time, swallowing your refusal whole. It was a suffocating, borderline foul display spit slicking your chin, the metallic taste of his torn skin smearing between you, while his large, calloused hand slid inside the parted silk of your robe to grip the bare skin of your hip with a bruising force that would absolutely leave a mark by morning
You hated how easily he broke you. You hated that you had spent days pretending his absence didn't claw at the inside of your ribs, only for him to wreck your perfect poise in a matter of sentences.
Sylus broke the kiss, His forehead rested heavily against yours, his chest rising and falling in violent, uneven synchronization with your own
"Say it again," he rumbled, his thumb dragging across your wet lower lip, smearing the crimson stain. "Tell me you don't care who I keep in my spare time while you're choking on me."
"You're a bastard," you whispered, your voice shaking with a dangerous mixture of fury and unadulterated arousal, your hips twitching helplessly against the heavy, solid weight of his thigh pressed between yours
"Yours," he growled against your skin, a dark, stolen vow before his lips curled into that insufferable smirk
His mouth descended on your throat with feral hunger, biting and sucking the sensitive skin until a deep bruise began to bloom while his thigh anchored firmly between your legs, the sudden, blunt friction wrung a sharp, fractured sob from your lips
It was humiliating the immediate, pathetic rush of your own juices instantly soaking through the lace panel of your underwear. Your logical mind screamed to fight, but your body, instinctively chased the bruising pressure. You rolled your hips against his leg, a desperate, rolling twitch to catch the edge of relief.
But Sylus had no patience left tonight. His large, rough palms slid beneath the hem of your slip, scraping up, up, up, the bare skin of your thighs, your hips, trailing a path of fire. His hands found your chest, fingers roughly squeezing the tight, aching weight of your breasts, his thumbs snapping against your nipples without a shred of shame
"Need I remind you sweetie," he rasped, pausing only to sink his teeth into the junction of your shoulder, biting hard enough to draw the metallic taste of blood. "She is not the one who wears my name."
Not the woman he loves, but the woman arranged in his bed. or at least that's how it sounded to you.
The bitter thought tasted like ash, but the fire between your thighs was blinding. Lured into his trap, your hips moved once again against his leg practically begging for the friction
Sylus let out a low, rumbling growl of pure triumph. Before you could reclaim your breath, his hands locked around your waist. With terrifying, fluid ease, he hoisted you onto his broad shoulder.
"What are you–"
The words were knocked out of you as he manhandled you across the penthouse, his brute strength on effortless display. You hung like a prized, captive trophy, until he threw you face down onto the mattress.
Your face pressed into the plush bedding, your breath hitching. Before you could scramble to your elbows, heavy, crackling energy flooded the space. Black and red mist bled from his fingertips, weaving through the air like liquid iron before snapping tight around your wrists.
The heavy pressure of his evol pinned your hands behind your back, completely unyielding.
"This won't solve anything, Qin," you hissed, turning your head to glare at him with vitriol.
But the threat died on your lips. In the dim amber light of the room, you were utterly exposed. Your silk slip had ridden up to your waist, baring the flush, plush curve of your ass and the perfect, arch of your spine. You looked like a feline caught in a trap, beautifully undone.
And fuck did Sylus adore the sight.
"It solves precisely what I need it to," he murmured.
He stepped closer, his long fingers trailing down the small of your back before he leaned down to press a hot, mocking kiss against your lower spine.
His hand hooked into the lace of your underwear, pulling the material taut.
Even without looking, you could picture the sick, smug satisfaction written across his features. The panties were heavily damp, soaked through with the visible, glistening evidence of how badly you wanted him
Frustration and arousal coiled tight in your gut. You tugged uselessly against the heavy weight of bound hands wrists. "Unbind me. This is absurd. You cannot simply..."
"Can't?"
The word cut through your protest, smooth, amused, and dripping with absolute authority. He didn't care about your rules. With a swift, deft motion, his fingers hooked the damp lace, stripping it from your hips and leaving your dripping, swollen slit completely bare to the room
Before you could even process the movement, he brought the ruined lace to his mouth, licking and savouring the thick syrupy wetness on it before letting saliva gather and spat on the same place he sucked, his large, calloused fingers ruthlessly stuffed the wet, panties into your open mouth after, forcing it past your teeth and cutting off your scream
Your eyes widened in absolute shock. The sheer audacity of it, the profound degradation of being gagged by your own soaked underwear, sent a paralyzing jolt straight down your spine. You had never felt this helpless.
This desperate.
"Ah, still trying to negotiate?" Sylus whispered, his lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile as he looked down at your dripping heat. "Charming."
He reached down between your thighs. A heavy, viscous pearl of your own wetness was clinging desperately to your pussy, hanging from your swollen outer lips. With agonizing slowness, he used his thumb to catch the drop, breaking it and smearing the slick heat upward, coating your sensitive clit it until you were covered in your essence
A muffled, strangled sob caught in the back of your throat, completely swallowed by the material in your mouth as your inner thighs trembled
And Sylus thrived on the sound. With a deliberate, forceful shove, he buried two thick, rough fingers straight into your tight pussy. The contrast was intoxicating, the feverish pulsating warmth of your walls instantly clamped down, desperately squeezing the cold, length of his fingers.
"Look at how thoroughly you welcome me" he rumbled, his voice a ruined, gravelly rasp as he began to pump his fingers inside your tight walls, driving them deep, stretching you open with a crude, slow pace, as strings of your arousal glistened in the light "Though do not misunderstand; I am not mocking you. I am simply enjoying my assets."
How could you, when the obscene wet, squelching sound of his fingers sliding in and out of your pussy filled the quiet room. You were completely dripping, your sticky juices running down his hand and pooling onto the dark sheets beneath you as he used his thumb to viciously hook and rub against your swollen clit with every deep thrust, driving you toward a blind, desperate peak while you lay pinned and gagged
Breathless and whining is what you were, one of the most important board pieces in N019 reduced to this, and you knew this was not even close to it all.
You could feel it. just beneath the shadow of your straining hips, you could feel the thick, rigid length of his cock pressing hard against your thigh
Impending fucking doom it was.
He gave your ass a taunting squeeze, his large hand bruising the plush flesh before he finally pulled away.
The agonizing loss of his touch was immediately replaced by a different kind of torture. The slick, wet sound of his fingers inside you was gone, replaced by the harsh, metallic rasp of a zipper parting, followed by the slide of his boxers.
Pinned face down, your view was restricted, but you didn't need to see it to know what was happening. Peering over your shoulder, you caught a dizzying glimpse of his toned, sculpted stomach, and the thick, unyielding length of his cock standing proud against it. A bead of precum already glistened at the blunt tip.
You watched his large, scarred hand wrap around his own girth, pumping twice in a slow, deliberate stroke before he aligned himself behind you
He slid upward, but he didn't push inside.
Instead, he wedged the broad, mushroomed head of his cock perfectly against your swollen clit. His fingers gripped the base of his shaft, holding himself firmly in place while he ground against your sensitive nerves. Your pussy immediately coated him, the wetness running down his heavy length with every agonizingly shallow slide
He was teasing you. He was actively refusing to give you the ruinous relief of his cock stretching you wide, denying you the fullness you could feel aching in your gut. No matter how many times you fucked, taking Sylus Qin was a chore, because the universe was cruel enough to give the man a dick as impossibly big as his ego.
You whined, a fractured, pathetic sound, rolling your hips back in a desperate attempt to sink onto him, to soothe the need boiling in your blood
"Patience, my wife," he drawled, his voice a low, teasing vibration as he delivered another shallow, grinding thrust that sent a shower of sparks straight to your stomach. "You'll recieve your share."
The heavy palm of his hand flattened against your lower back, pressing you down as his cock remained glued to your dripping slit. "Today. Tomorrow." He leaned down, pressing a hot, open mouthed kiss to your trembling shoulder. "Today. Tomorrow. Over and over again, until you decide to void everything"
He pressed one final, bruising kiss to your skin, and then, the heavy, crackling weight of his evol vanished.
The sudden release of pressure made your arms give out, your chest hitting the mattress, but Sylus didn't let you rest. His massive hands gripped your waist, and in one fluid, effortless motion, he flipped you onto your back.
And fuck, was it a sight.
You were beyond divine. Your usually immaculate hair was a wild, tangled mess. Your cheeks were flushed a feverish, beautiful crimson, and tears of absolute frustration pooled in your waterlines. Your lips were swollen and thoroughly wrecked, while between your parted thighs, your dripping, perfectly ruined cunt was fully on display.
Sylus literally choked on a breath.
There was a reason you were hailed as the most beautiful, dangerous woman in the underworld. Everyone else only ever saw you armored in million dollar gowns and a blood chilling smile. No one on earth would ever get to see you like this. Reduced to a beautiful, panting wreck.
His. Entirely his.
But while he was busy staring at you with open, starving reverence, you were absolutely furious. You reached up, ripping the soaked lace panties from your mouth and hurling them directly at his sculpted chest.
It only angered you further when his lips curled into a wicked, devastating grin.
Your chest heaved. Despite your fury, your body betrayed you, throbbing violently at the sight of him caging you in, looking as if sculpted by gods
But the ache wasn't enough to dull your pride.
You needed revenge.
You surged upward, your hands shooting out to fist violently in the short, silver locks at the nape of his neck. You yanked him down, crashing your lips against his in a brutal, bruising kiss.
Sylus groaned into your mouth, a deep, guttural sound of approval. His body automatically chased the closeness, climbing over you to press his heavy weight down.
The second he did, your long legs instantly wrapped around his waist, locking tightly at the small of his back.
You squeezed your thighs, pressing right against the base of his rigid cock, wringing a sharp grunt from his throat. Using the leverage, you rolled your hips
The world tilted, and the next thing Sylus knew, his back hit the mattress, and you were straddling his hips.
You sat up, looking down at him with the cold, authoritative superiority.
"You've played enough," you murmured, your voice a smooth, dangerous blade. "So now, keep your hands flat on the mattress, Qin. If you even think about touching me before I give you permission, I swear to god I’ll leave you exactly like this."
His crimson eyes glistened with dark, feral amusement. It was a bluff. You knew it, he knew it. Sex between the two of you was like breathing; neither of you would ever actually stop. But Sylus loved this game just as much as you did
Slowly, he raised both hands in mock surrender, letting them fall flat against the dark sheets.
He watched, thoroughly trapped, as you reached down and slowly pulled the ruined silk slip over your head, tossing it aside. His eyes darkened, locking hungrily onto your perfect breasts, his jaw ticking with the desperate urge to bite, to taste, to ruin
But you kept yourself deliberately out of reach. You leaned down, taking his lower lip between your teeth for a sharp, stinging bite again tasting the blood from before, then dragging your open mouth down the strong column of his throat. You painted his skin with hot, stripes of your tongue, trailing down his collarbones, over the hard planes of his chest, and tracing the sharp, dangerous v-line that disappeared beneath his waist.
His breath hitched, his abdominal muscles jumping under your mouth.
Then, your slender fingers wrapped around his impossibly thick cock. You felt him flinch, a full body shudder ripping through him as you leaned down and pressed the softest, sweetest kiss directly to his weeping tip.
You were going to make him beg.
You flicked your tongue out, catching the thick bead of his precum, tasting the hot, salty tang of his arousal. You were aching, sticky, and left a mess because of him, so it was time he felt that exact same desperation.
Sylus let out a sharp, ragged exhale as you parted your lips. Maintaining absolute, unblinking eye contact with him, you slowly sank down onto his crown with your mouth.
Fuck.
You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks. Taking his entire length was impossible, but you took as much as your throat would allow, your hands ruthlessly wrapping around the thick, heavy base to pump the rest.
His hands twitched violently against the sheets. His fingers curled into fists, fighting the agonizing urge to drag you up and kiss you. He needed to be inside you. He needed to feel you whole. Watching you worship him like this made you look like a filthy deity.
The visceral, wet sounds of your mouth sucking and slopping against his heavy flesh echoed in the quiet room. You gagged softly, choking once as he unconsciously bucked his hips upward, driving himself deeper into your throat.
You could taste the shift in his pulse. You knew he was close.
So, right as his hips snapped up, chasing the final, blinding high of his climax you pulled off completely.
The sudden rush of cold air hitting his slick, painfully hard cock made him freeze. He stared up at you blankly for a fraction of a second, chest heaving, before a rich, breathless laugh tore from his throat. He was left entirely high and dry, his eyes burning with a dangerous fire.
"Give me one good reason," Sylus rasped, his voice rough as gravel, "why I should not turn you over right now and show you the consequences of that action."
You hummed, entirely unimpressed. "You could," you whispered, leaning down to drag your tongue up the underside of his shaft. "But you won't."
Before he could argue, you wrapped your lips tightly around him again, taking him agonizingly deep. A single tear escaped your lash line from the sheer, suffocating size of him, a thick string of spit and precum dripping down your chin to smear over his skin.
Sylus couldn't hold back anymore. Breaking your rule, his large hand shot up, tangling ruthlessly into your hair to guide your head, his hips bucking up in short, desperate thrusts to chase the edge.
With a deep, guttural groan, he shattered.
Hot, thick, salty liquid erupted into the back of your throat. You whimpered, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment at the overwhelming taste and volume of it.
But you didn't swallow.
You pulled back slowly, parting your swollen lips. Sylus watched you, his pupils blown wide, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Your hand remained wrapped firmly around the base of his twitching cock
Maintaining eye contact, you let his thick, pearlescent cum spill from your mouth.
It was absolute, exquisite filth. The heavy white fluid fell in thick droplets, landing directly onto his still erect cock, sliding down the slick, inflamed veins.
It was disgusting. It was perfect.
Sylus was utterly mesmerized, trapped in a state of primal shock as he watched his own seed run down his length. But it was infinitely worse when you leaned back down.
With slow, deliberate strokes, you stuck your tongue out and began to lick him clean.
You chased the hot rivulets of sperm up and down his shaft, swallowing every last drop of the filthy mess you had made
You sat back on your heels, wiping a stray drop of cum from your lower lip with the back of your hand, a triumphant, wicked gleam in your eyes
He was broken. You had taken the king of N019 and reduced him ruined mess beneath you
Or so you thought.
The heavy, suffocating shift in the room's atmosphere was your only warning.
Sylus’s chest was still heaving, the silver strands of his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, but the hazy, blown out look in his crimson eyes was already sharpening.
The dark, look in his eyes returned, instantly wiping away any illusion that you were the one in control.
A low, vibrating sound started deep in his chest.
"Beautiful," he rasped, his voice a dark, gravelly purr that was breathless and made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. "You played your hand well."
Before you could even register the sudden flex of his muscles, his hands lashed out
His massive palms clamped around your waist like iron vises. With a violent, he flipped you. Slammed into the mattress, the heavy, unyielding weight of his body instantly crashing down to cage you in
He didn't give you a second to recover. His hands caught your wrists, pinning them squarely above your head with just one of his massive hands.
"However," he whispered, leaning down until his lips brushed the shell of your ear, his hot breath sending a violent shiver down your spine, "The house always wins."
He shifted his weight, his knee driving ruthlessly between your thighs to force your legs impossibly wide. Even after his climax, he hadn't softened. If anything, he was harder, the thick, rigid length of his cock pressing hot and demanding against your soaking entrance.
His regeneration worked in more ways than one.
Your breath stuttered. The adrenaline of your revenge was instantly swallowed by the immediate, reality of what was about to happen.
"Sylus–"
"Shh," he commanded softly, silencing you not with cruelty, but with an agonizing, possessive intensity.
His free hand slid down your torso, his calloused fingers tracing your stomach before slipping between your thighs.
He didn't bother waiting anymore. You had long been dripping, completely melted down for him, your viscous wetness pooling against his fingers as he guided his thick, blunt head squarely against your opening.
He locked his crimson eyes onto yours, demanding you watch him. Demanding you feel every single agonizing second of your surrender.
And then, he pushed.
A sharp, fractured cry tore from your throat. Despite how wet you were, taking him was a visceral, shock to your system. He was too thick, too unyielding, stretching you wide open with a blunt, heavy pressure that sent a blinding flash of white hot pleasure straight to your brain
Your nails dug violently into the back of his hand where he held your wrists. "Fuck–wait, wait–"
"I have been patient enough," he growled, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he forced himself deeper, inch by excruciating inch. "You wished to play the tyrant? Learn what it costs."
He didn't slam into you. He knew exactly what he was doing, driving himself inside with a slow, relentless, torturous pace that forced your body to accommodate every single millimeter of his girth. The friction was maddening
You could feel the distinct, heavy throb of his pulse buried deep inside your walls, stretching you until you felt completely, utterly full.
When he finally bottomed out, his hips snapping flush against yours with a heavy, wet slap, your back bowed off the mattress
You were completely lost to him. The meticulous, flawless daughter of a syndicate empire, reduced to a trembling, mewling mess, completely ruined by her husband
Sylus let out a long, ragged exhale, burying his face in the crook of your neck. For a few seconds, he just held you there, letting your body adjust to the staggering invasion, reveling in the feverish, desperate way your warm, warm inner walls clamped down around him, milking him
"Mine," he breathed against your skin
the word tasting like a vow and a curse.
Then, he began to move
He pulled back almost completely, the slow drag of his length nearly drawing a sob from your lips before he drove his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt with a heavy, concussive thud.
The rhythm he set was ruthless. It wasn't the frantic, desperate fucking of amateurs; it was the measured, devastatingly powerful pace of a man who intended to wring every drop of sanity from your mind.
The wet, obscene sounds of your bodies colliding echoed off the marble walls of the penthouse. With every deep, grinding raw thrust, he deliberately angled his hips, ensuring the thick ridge of his cock dragged ruthlessly against your swollen clit.
"Sylus" you sobbed, the name tearing from you in a broken, high pitched plea that you would have killed anyone else for hearing. Your legs instinctively wrapping tightly around his waist to pull him even deeper, desperately chasing the blinding high, the pain and pleasure was intoxicating, feeling it so deep in your womb that you swore you were losing sanity
"Hush now," he mocked, though his voice was thick with his own desperation, his breathing turning ragged as he pounded into you. He finally released your wrists, only to slide his hands under your shoulders, lifting you up so your chest was crushed against his. "Where is all that anger now, sweetie? Where is the woman who was going to walk out on me?"
"Shut up" you gasped, biting down hard on his shoulder to ground yourself against the overwhelming onslaught of pleasure.
He hooked his arms under your knees, folding your legs back toward your chest, exposing you completely. The new angle drove him impossibly deeper, the nerves of your clit so exquisitely sensitive that your vision literally whited out.
And as the suffocating, brilliant wave of your climax began to crest, snapping your muscles tight around his cock in violent, pulsating waves, Sylus let out a guttural moan, driving deep inside you one final, devastating time to meet you in the dark
...
The silence that crashed back into the penthouse was deafening, filled only by the ragged, synchronized cadence of your mixed breathing.
His palms, rough and heavily calloused, framed your jaw with a sudden, grounding warmth. Sylus looked down at you, his crimson eyes were completely blown, dark with an unreadable, heavy emotion as he leaned down to share the very air between your lips, sealing your surrender with one final, bruising kiss
Your fingers tangled into the short, silver locks at the nape of his neck. You pulled him down tightly against you, anchoring yourself to his massive chest. Heartbeat against heartbeat, you closed your eyes and focused on the heavy rise and fall of his torso, desperately trying to piece your fractured self back together.
"If you ever use your evol to tie me like that again, Qin," you whispered against his mouth, your voice a breathy, thin threat, "I will have your head"
A low, rumbling vibration started deep in his chest, breaking into a breathless, genuine laugh that brushed hot against your collarbone. "Is that a promise, my dear? I wouldn't say you are in the position to threaten me right now"
He nipped at the sensitive skin of your neck before his large hands slid beneath your thighs. With a fluid, effortless roll, he shifted your limp body directly on top of him. He stayed buried deep inside you, a heavy, unyielding anchor as the sticky, cooling residuals of your shared cum smeared between your skin.
You completely melted, turning to absolute putty against the hard planes of his chest. His broad palms traced slow, soothing patterns up and down your bare spine, but the gesture did little to cure the boneless, trembling legs and exhaustion holding you hostage. You were entirely unable to function
Sylus stared up at the ceiling, his jaw tightening. He wanted to say something. He wanted to offer a rare, uncharacteristic reassurance, to tell you that while he thrived on the fire of your jealousy, there was no one else
But the words remained trapped in his throat. Did you even want to hear that?
Absolute, non negotiable loyalty had been the bedrock of this arrangement for a full year now. It was a cruel twist of fate, the invisible threads of his life were bound to a different woman yet the only woman who truly mastered him was currently draped across his chest.
His wife.
He looked down at your tangled long hair, unable to fully articulate the staggering weight of what you actually meant to him. It was a terrifying admission, but you had completely rewritten his parameters. Every cold smile, every sharp word, every calculation you made left him utterly mesmerized. Without ever demanding it, you had him wrapped entirely around your fingers
"I should get you cleaned up," he finally rasped, his deep voice scraping pleasantly against the quiet room.
A faint, stubborn hum of disapproval escaped your lips. Beneath the sheets, your exhausted inner walls involuntarily clamped tight around his half hard length, wringing a low, strained groan from his throat. A dark, amused smile touched his lips at your defiance. He leaned up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your heated forehead.
You were already slipping, the heavy pull of exhaustion dragging you over the brink of sleep, but the onychinus princess refused to let the business fade. Without opening your eyes, you murmured your final, drowsy command into the crook of his neck:
"You better make sure that shipment tomorrow is delivered."
Being on your period sucks, good thing you have them ♡
୨୧ — SYLUS
You're curled in his lap in the oversized leather chair, your back pressed against his chest while his arms form a protective cage around you. His deep voice rumbles through his ribcage as he hums something low and wordless, a melody that seems to vibrate through your very bones.
“Better?” he murmurs against your temple, one large hand stroking slow paths along your spine while the other rests possessively on your hip. His desk is transformed- usually pristine, now littered with an embarrassing abundance of your favorite snacks, and various pain medications he'd somehow gotten within an hour of your first wince.
“The great Onychinus leader, reduced to a pharmacy run,” you tease weakly, earning a low chuckle that you feel more than hear.
“Mm,” he replies... “Speaking of which...” His humming stops, and there's something in the way his hand tightens on your hip, “If you don't start feeling better soon, sweetie, I'll have to take matters into my own hands.”
His hand begins its journey upward beneath your nightgown, fingers tracing patterns that make you shiver… The promise in his voice sends heat pooling low in your belly despite the cramps, and you're just beginning to lean into his touch when-
“MOMMY! MOMMY!”
Tiny feet thundering against hardwood announce your five year old daughter's entrance into the study, her little face flushed with excitement and concern. She's clutching something to her chest, white hair so much like her fathers wild from whatever adventure she's been on.
Sylus's hand immediately stills, though he doesn't remove it entirely- just shifts to something appropriate while his other arm tightens around you. His expression changes seamlessly from hunger to indulgent father- as if he’s used to such disruptive behavior… which he is.
“What is it, little crow?” his voice gentle like always when it comes to his little girl.
“For mommy’s tummy ache!” She scrambles up onto his lap beside you, shoving her prized weighted plush crow -a miniature version of Mephisto Sylus had given her- against your abdomen with clumsy care, “Mini Mephi makes everything better! Daddy said so!! That’s why he gave this to me when I was sick.”
Over her head, Sylus meets your eyes with an expression of fondness- his little girl, though she didn’t quite understand what was happening with you, still cared deeply enough to try and help. His fingers trace one last, barely there caress against your skin before he wraps both arms around his two girls.
“That's very thoughtful, little one,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “What would Mommy do without her little doctor?”
୨୧ — CALEB
“Hey, remember when you scraped your knee when we were eight and you cried forever?” Caleb’s voice drifts from the living room, threaded with the sound of pillows thumping and chairs being shuffled across the floor.
You burrow deeper under your blanket on his couch, totally unaware of what he was up to. He simply told you to stay in your little cocoon, your protest coming out muffled, “Did not cry forever!”
“Did too! I was basically timekeeping,” he fires back, laughter bright in his tone, “But I also remember what finally made you stop.”
The ache in your lower belly can’t quite dull your curiosity- you peek over the couch to find him building something magical. Bedsheets hang artfully from dining chairs, fairy lights twinkling between them. A dozen plushies -your forever favorites- stand guard like a little army.
“Ta da!” He pops his head out of his creation, arms flung wide, grin wickedly proud, “Fort Caleb 2.0. Now with added mood lighting and maximum nostalgia.”
Your chest squeezes so tight you can almost hear it. Crawling inside, you’re instantly swallowed by the cozy glow, and the second he ducks in behind you, he’s pulling you close- his warmth wrapping around you, chin settling atop your head like it always belonged there.
“Used to make all the hurt go away, right?” His voice softens, thumb brushing your cheek, “Figured if it worked for scraped knees, maybe it’ll help with... stubborn female things.”
You giggle, the sound melting into him, “Stubborn female things?”
“That’s what Gran used to call it when you would get all cranky once a month.” His palm glides down your back in an easy rhythm, comforting and sweet. Then he dips close, nuzzling the top of your head, voice dipping all low and playful against your hair, “Though... if you were pregnant,” he murmurs, the words warm with mischief, “this whole monthly rebellion wouldn’t be showing up for a while. Just saying.”
୨୧ — ZAYNE
You hear him walk through the front door at nearly 9PM, followed by the distinct rustling of plastic bags before appearing in the bedroom doorway moments later, still in his pristine work clothes, one hand suspiciously hidden behind his back while his cheeks carry an unusual flush.
“You're late,” you mumble from your cozy pillow fort of heating pads, tea mugs, and tissue carnage, “what happened, doctor? Got abducted by surgeries again?”
“I made a stop.” His response is carefully measured, the tone he uses when he's trying to maintain professional composure. The bag appears suddenly, dumped with uncharacteristic lack of ceremony across your lap- expensive chocolates, imported fruit candies, those ridiculously sweet cookies from the bakery near his office that he always claims are “nutritionally void.”
A single candy wrapper flutters down last, landing like confetti between you two.
“Zayne,…”Your gaze narrows suspiciously as you pick up the telltale evidence, “did you eat some of my period snacks?”
His ears redden immediately, a dead giveaway that makes your lips twitch despite the cramping. “Quality control,” he states with perfect seriousness, adjusting his glasses in that way he does when caught... “Strictly medical protocol. I had to confirm dosage efficacy. Purely clinical…”
“Dosage?” you arch a brow.
He sits beside you, grin softening, fingertips brushing a stray hair from your forehead, “For my favorite patient,” he murmurs, “the most dramatic, high maintenance, but utterly perfect one.”
You swat at him with a tissue box and immediately start laughing, which only makes your cramps worse... worth it.
୨୧ — XAVIER
Xavier settles behind you on the couch, legs bracketing your hips while his palm finds the ache in your lower belly. His touch is gentle, warm- fingers drawing slow, calming circles through the thin fabric of your oversized t-shirt.
“How's this?” he murmurs against your ear.
You melt back into his chest with a small, relieved hum, the sound slipping free before you catch it. He smiles into your hair, reaching for the white bunny plushie perched nearby- the same one he’d battled an arcade machine for last week, triumph sparkling in his eyes as he handed it to you like treasure.
“Mr. Hoppers wants to help too,” he says, completely serious as he presses the bunny’s soft nose to yours with a tiny boop before deepening his voice, “Don’t frown, Little Star. How about soup? A bubble bath? Raid the world for every cookie it’s got for you?”
You can’t help but giggle, the warmth of him and the silliness of it all cutting through the soreness until laughter brightens your face again- light and lovely, pure music to his ears.
“There she is,” Xavier breathes, a grin ghosting over his own lips before he leans down to kiss the exact spot the plushie touched. His lips linger- gentle, soft, patient.
When he pulls back, his gaze is molten sweet, “You know..." he whispers, "I might know another cure,” his hand dipped low, fingertips painting heat just above your hip bone, “I read that orgasms release endorphins- natural painkillers, for times like this…” his fingertips ghost beneath your shirt's hem, “So… will you let me take care of you properly, Little Star? I promise- I’ll make it feel really good.”
୨୧ — RAFAYEL
Steam rises above the bath he’s prepared, the water shimmering with that exact, magical warmth he somehow always manages to get right. Rose petals -soft and blushing pink- float lazily across the surface, while candles flicker like tiny stars along the edges of the tub. The scent of your favorite comfort food wafts in from the kitchen, buttery and rich, cozy enough to make your stomach rumble despite the ache twisting low in your belly.
“Caught you just in time, sweetheart,” Rafayel grins, leaning in the doorway like he’s been rehearsing the moment all evening. He’s balancing a tray of food with almost comical concentration, and you notice there’s a tiny smudge of chocolate right at the corner of his mouth- it looks too deliberate to be an accident.
He walks closer and sits at the edge of the tub, crossing his legs comfortably like he belongs there. “Don’t laugh,” he says, feigning seriousness, “because this took agessss to get the flavor just right. I even bribed our favorite barista with a week of free art prints to get my hands on the spice blend.”
You blink, realizing what dish it is- the one you’d only mentioned once, randomly, that rainy afternoon when you both grabbed lunch at your favorite coffee shop.
“Open up,” he coaxes gently, holding out the fork. His free hand rests tenderly against your cheek, thumb brushing water from your lips as he watches you taste. His eyes practically light up when you hum approvingly, like your smile alone fuels his heartbeat? “Yeah? Not too spicy? Be honest, I’ll re- do it if-“
You snatch his wrist playfully, splashing him with a flick of water, “It’s perfect, Rafayel.”
“Then my mission is complete,” he declares dramatically, leaning down to tap his nose against yours.
And then, before you can ask what he’s up to, he laughs… and suddenly swings one leg, then the other, right into the tub beside you. Water sloshes everywhere, candles flicker wildly, and you shriek through bursts of laughter.
“Rafayel! What are you doing?!” you yell between helpless giggles, trying to push him away but only managing to splash him more.
“What does it look like?” he teases, already kneeling amid the rose petals, scooping a handful of bubbles to crown your head like a queen. His grin is smugish, unguarded, utterly infectious as he says, “Making sure the temperature’s still perfect- for both of us, cutie.”
A lot of you were craving a scratched-back Sylus. So here you go, fellow Kittens! 🤭 ♥️
I'm a scratcher. 💅🏻
Yes, my ovaries did a backflip after this. 🙈
Edit: I've content other than this too. 🥺 Please feel free to check my blog. Thank you. 🥹
Edit 2: My edit blew up on LADS-Tumblr for a while now, to the point where it's getting stolen. If anyone comes across this edit without credits, please tag "blood--bound" or report it.
⁀➴☕︎ | Papa!Sylus does not tolerate disrespect towards his wife
Based on this ask! Hope you enjoy<3
You're gently clipping kitten clips through your daughter's hair when your son barrels into her room. Wordlessly, he starts upturning the pillows on her bed, patting around the comforter before he moves on and starts looking through her nightstand.
"What are you looking for, hon?" You ask him, squeezing your daughter's cheeks and grinning the same grin she got from you back at her in the mirror "Do you like it?" You whisper to her, to which she nods happily.
"My..." He's too focused on scrounging through her drawer to properly answer before he gives up, shutting the drawer with a bang and startling the both of you "My bike keys. Have you seen them?"
Delicately upturning your daughter's face till she's looking at you, you coo at her "Have you seen the keys, baby?" When she giggles, you're laughing with her as you coo at her "No, I don't think you have"
"Mom" Your son sounds exasperated and you finally focus back on him, standing in the middle of the room, impatiently tapping his foot against the floor in clear agitation.
"You really thought your baby sister hid them?" You ask incredulously "What did the twins say?"
"They haven't seen it" He's pacing now before he stops by her playpen, upturning the plushies and toys in pursuit of his keys "Wouldn't put them above hiding it here though" He mutters under his breath but the words carry over to you anyway.
You set your daughter down who immediately crawls over to her big brother at a rapid pace, happily babbling as she reaches him, pulling at his jeans "Why are you looking for them anyway? Don't you remember you lost all bike privileges last month?"
Your son finally stands straighter, sighing "Dad obviously didn't mean that. He's always saying stuff..." Looking around for other possible hiding spots, he trails off "... that he doesn't mean"
You cross the room to where he's now set his eyes on your daughter's dressing table, gently grabbing his arm and turning him to face you "You've just stopped limping. You really need a break from riding your bike"
"The Doc cleared me for driving already" Huffing, he's still eyeing the dresser and clearly distracted wondering whether his troublemaker brothers really hid his keys in their sister's mansion of a room.
"We've not cleared you yet" You emphasize softly "The last incident could've been a lot worse and you know it"
Groaning because he believes he's tried to get through to you guys thousands of times over this, your son runs his hands through his stark white hair. Unlike his father, his crimson orbs run cold "But it wasn't" He stresses as he picks your daughter up and carefully places her in her crib.
"We're not going to sit around and wait for when it will be" You let him go and step back, immediately rearranging the stuff and picking up the toys he'd tossed around "You will only get your bike privileges back after you've proved to us that you're responsible enough to handle it"
You're too busy clearing up the space that you don't notice he's stopped moving around now, his face twisting into one of restrained irritation as he looks at you "You did it" He accuses "You took my keys"
"Yes" You straighten up now, returning a fallen plushie back to its correct position "Short of trashing your bike, this was the only method to get you to stop and consider the consequences"
"Consequences?" He repeats, incredulity clear on his sharp features, ones he inherited from his father "I walked around with a cane for two weeks, Mom. You really think I don't know what the consequences are?"
Sighing, you finally turn to face him "No. You don't. Not if you're already itching to go again. Your driving is rash and unsafe, for other people on the road but especially for you. Until you learn that, you can commute with your brothers"
He scoffs at that, as if the very notion is unthinkable "Just give me a bicycle at this rate"
"That can be arranged" You tell him but at his thunderstruck expression, you sigh again "Darling, I know that this sucks but this is for your own good"
"What? Taking any shred of freedom I have away from me?"
Raising three teenage boys with a penchant for danger and adrenaline was not easy at all. Especially with your patience stretched thin between their antics "Taking your freedom would be grounding you for your recklessness after the state we found you in, but the most we're doing is taking your bike away. Don't make me regret it"
Even his sister's incoherent babbling and happy squeaks is not enough to distract him as he stands there, fuming. Reigning your own irritation in, you cross the room to him finally and caress his arm as you give him your best placating smile "If you show us that you can be responsible in the next few weeks, you'll get your keys back faster than you know"
He's quiet, unresponsive for a few moments as you squeeze his arm to cheer him up but then his quiet voice carries over "Just because you sacrificed your freedom to be with Dad, the rest of us also need to be subjected to the same punishment?"
Your hand falls off his arm as you take a step back. It was true. To be with your husband had meant giving up a lot of things. But you'd never let that translate into your children being subjected to a life of hiding, having to give up the opportunity to be raised like other children. For him to accuse you of that when you'd bent over backwards to make their lives as uneventful and normal as you could, made your heart sink. Did your children really feel this way?
You're still trying to keep your anger at bay and compose yourself as you try to form a response. Your son stiffens next to you, back going ramrod straight as if bracing for impact.
"Speak to my wife that way again and you'll find out what a life without freedom really looks like"
Sylus' voice is so low it sends shivers running through you when you feel him come up behind you. He bypasses you completely, going straight for your son and leaning close till he was eyelevel "You're not disrespecting just your mother here, you've disrespected my wife. Don't you know what I do to those who scorn her?"
Your son can't bear to hold eye contact, looking nervous and lowering his gaze as Sylus whispers something to him. You're watching how his entire body goes rigid in fear as his father steps back "All this for your bike?"
He's too scared to respond, you can tell. You step up to his side to explain but your husband is not having it "Sylus-"
"No" He gently interrupts, before turning back to his son and tossing his keys at him, not as playfully as he usually would "The kid wants a ride? He's going to get one. Meet me in the garage in five minutes"
Your son slides an apprehensive look towards you and is about to leave when Sylus' low voice stops him dead in his tracks "Aren't you forgetting something?"
Gulping, he turns back to you. The keys jingle in his palms as he fists them. He's pale from fear at getting caught talking to you that way, but he's terrified for the talk that's coming after "I'm sorry, Mom"
He's out the door before you can respond and you turn to Sylus, dubious at how he'd behaved. Said man acts like he didn't just threaten his own son as he lifts his daughter out of the crib and coos at her "You can't talk to him that way!"
"And he can?" Sylus shoots back, his tone conversational as he kisses his daughter's cheeks.
"I was going to address it-"
"No" Sylus carefully holds his daughter in one arm as he turns to you "This is not behavior that we address. This is when they need to be put in line and made to understand the sacrifices you made for them to have the kind of life they do now" Putting an arm around you, he pulls you close and kisses your forehead "They can't get away with talking to their mother this way. More importantly, my wife"
"He shouldn't be riding his bike" Your brows furrow as Sylus puts his daughter back in her crib, before tucking your head under his chin and pulling you close.
"I've got this, baby" He pulls back to look at you, and those crimson orbs that all your children shared had come from this wonderful man, with his glowing eyes and wicked mouth. The love of your life "I'll make sure he's being careful"
With a final kiss to your forehead, he's pulling away to join his son when you call out behind him "Stay safe!"
Your parting words are still keeping him warm by the time he reaches the basement garage where his son is waiting by his bike, parked next to Sylus' own. He's already wearing his helmet, in clear hopes that this will help brace for impact of the storm that is his father.
Wordlessly, Sylus puts on his helmet and gets on his bike. Every moment stretched thin without a single word from his dad has your son nervous as he watches him rev the bike once, the engine roaring.
Sylus turns to look at his son once before he pulls his visor down and takes off. Your son's right behind him, the unspoken command to follow clear.
Both of them tear through the city, driving at a much lower speed than what they would usually, cruising past neighbourhoods and districts as the sun follows them into the sunset.
Your son is intently watching the back of his Dad's head, trying to figure out what exactly is going through his mind. Contrary to what most people deduced, he wasn't a mama's boy. He always felt closer to his dad. Like he didn't need a lot of words to express what he felt and Sylus just knew.
Even now, as they climbed around a hilltop, he could tell that just because he'd taken him out for a drive, everything wasn't back to normal. No, his clearly veiled threat that he didn't want you to hear earlier still rang clear in his head. This wasn't a way to help you calm down. Sylus needed the drive probably as much your son did.
After all, your son had inherited the love for riding from your husband.
They parked their bikes by a viewing spot that was blessedly empty, watching as the sun faded into hues of orange and blue over the city. Sylus takes his helmet off, hanging it over the rearview mirrors before turning to look at his son who was doing the same.
Unlike the older Qin, his son wasn't as good at acting aloof and unbothered. His foot tapped nervously on the tar before he caught himself, found himself knocking anxiously into the side of his bike and stopped abruptly, ran his fingers through his hair and looked around apprehensively before his gaze settled on the way the lights around the city lit up one by one. When he finally turned to look at his father, he found him already studying him quietly.
"You don't know the horrors your mother has faced to be able to give you this life. If you can't be grateful for it, unlearn that bullshit and do right by her yourself before I feel the need to step in"
Your son sighs. He screwed up big time. He lied.
He was a mama's boy.
Sylus tredges into your bedroom a couple hours later when you're sitting at your vanity and doing your skincare after a shower to calm yourself down. The twins caught wind about their eldest brother being in trouble and answering their questions on top of worrying for your son drained all your remaining energy out of you.
"Well?" You ask, going over to where Sylus is pouring himself a stiff drink and downing it in one go "What's the verdict?"
Sylus falls back into the couch and takes you with him, hugging you close to his body and sighing like he felt the entire world's weight on his shoulder "He lives"
"Sylus!" You pull back and smack his shoulder which breaks a chuckle out of him.
"He's fine. He handed over his keys himself and is serving his sentence by baking your favorite cookies before he comes up here to apologize again" That makes you smile as you wrap your arms around his neck, sinking into his warmth again.
"You did good" You praise, playing with the short hair at his nape "What did you say to him?"
Sylus' attention strays from where he'd been drawing mindless patterns into your skin, taking on a faraway look "Nothing too serious. He's a smart kid"
At your unconvinced look, Sylus complies "If it helps, I didn't scold him. He heard an earful for the way he talked to you but.. he's been cooped up at home all these weeks and that translated into today's episode" As an afterthought, he adds "Plus, the twins are not easy"
You groan "I sympathize with him, I really do"
Sylus laughs before he's quiet again, tightening his arms around you, lips resting against your temple "Told him that if he needed to go on a ride, he knows where to find me. And he'll only get his solo riding privileges back once I clear him safe"
"When will that be?" You muse, because you knew your husband.
"Never" You laugh quietly into his shoulder, knowing he's half kidding but also half serious "I should take away all his privileges simply for having talked to you that way"
Your fingers have stopped playing now, sinking deeper into the tufts of his hair and scratching his scalp as your hot breath whispers into his ear "Because no one disrespects your wife?"
You can feel the smirk spreading on Sylus' face as he pulls back to look at you "And lives to talk about it" At your evident frown, he amends "Unless they're blood related, in which case we concede with minimal punishment"
"What do you do to these...perpetrators?" You're not being slick at all, especially as your hand unbuttons his shirt with ease.
"Bad things" His lips ghost over your pulse before he's peppering kisses along your neck and jaw.
"What kind of bad things?" Your hands pull away at his shirt to feel his burning skin beneath your palms, running your fingers over the ridges as his stubble rubs against your skin.
"What was that saying about curiousity and a kitten?"
"It was a cat" You correct, moaning when his lips cover yours to reprimand you mouthing off to him with you hastily pulling away because you're far from done "That's not the full saying"
Sylus is simply humoring you now as he helps you out of your night slip, baring you completely for him "Is that so?"
"Don't you know satisfaction brought it back?" The innuendo is not lost on him, especially as your hands go to his belt buckle "Are you up for the challenge, Mr. Qin?"
Wordlessly, Sylus lifts you in his arms and drops you on the bed, very much up for the challenge as he simply rolls up the sleeves of his unbuttoned shirt. And because you're a glutton for punishment, you can't help but push his buttons "Yes? No? Maybe so?"
Sylus foregoes playing into your bait by grabbing you by the calves and dragging you to the edge of the bed as you squeal, throwing your legs over his shoulders, getting ready to show you how good he can satisfy this kitty.
