wonryllis── reblogs. @wonryllise - Tumblr Blog

His Watchful Eye

Word Count: 8.9k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, noncon, dubcon, drugging, kidnapping, tw vomit, sharp objects, forced breeding, forced pregnancy, drugged reader, stalking, pet names like kitten, sweetie, ownership, Xavier appears for a bit

AN: Hi all! Im SOO excited to be writing this. Its refreshing to add to the lack of yandere fics for the boys! I’m unsure if I will make this multi chaptered but if there’s enough demand I won’t want to disappoint! PLEASE read the tags. This is not for everyone, and if your sensitive to the topics that show up then I would advise skipping this story because I did not hold back and it only gets worse from here! (*^ ‿ <*)♡

Edit: If you're coming back to reread this and notice chapter one is different, no you aren't crazy! Its been completely rewritten with more dialogue and more scenes. Its also longer! Enjoy :)

"Good girl, keep chewing. Don't bite your tongue" All you could mutter was a moan, unable to think straight in your drug hazed state. You managed to swallow. All you felt was warm heat radiating off of slightly pale flesh. You blushed and planted your face in his neck. Sylus put the spoon down, amused by your affection. Getting up from the sofa in the room, he laid you down on his bed. He began unbuckling his belt.

Read part 2, pt 3

You press your finger to the scanner outside your apartment door, the faint blue glow lighting up your fingerprint as it recognizes you. With a soft click, the lock disengages. A wide grin spreads across your face as you step inside, the day replaying in your head. Xavier. Xavier, of all people. You can hardly believe it. His sudden confession still rings in your ears, sending an excited shiver down your spine.

You hadn’t expected it at all. The night had started so normally. Xavier had asked you to accompany him on a late night food run, the air between you light and filled with that easy camaraderie you’d always shared. And then, without warning, he’d looked at you, really looked at you, and the words had tumbled out, almost like he couldn’t hold them back anymore.

“I like you,” he’d said, his voice steady but his eyes betraying a hint of nervousness. “I…I think I have for a while now. And I just…I thought you should know. I don't want to pretend to be just your friend anymore.”

For a moment, you’d been too stunned to respond, your brain short-circuiting as you tried to process what he’d just said. Xavier, the man who’d haunted your thoughts ever since you had joined UNICORNS, who you’d convinced yourself could never see you as more than a friend, had just confessed he liked you. It had felt surreal, like something out of a dream.

When you’d finally found your voice, you’d stammered out some kind of nervous response, your cheeks burning as you tried to keep your composure. But he’d just smiled, that small grin that always made your heart skip a beat, and you’d known he understood. The rest of the night had passed in a blur, his confession playing over and over in your mind.

His ash-blond hair, always well maintained, and those piercing blue eyes that always seemed to look straight through you—they’d haunted your thoughts for so long. And now, finally, after so much time agonizing over whether he felt the same, he’d just come out and said it. He likes me too.

You close the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment as your heart does a little flip. You want to scream, to laugh, to dance around your apartment. But first things first. You untie your shoes, fumbling slightly as you’re distracted by the memory of his smile, that faint blush on his cheeks when he spoke. But just as you’re about to pull the second shoe off, a sound stops you cold. A creak, faint but unmistakable, comes from somewhere in the corner of your apartment.

Your breath catches. You straighten up slowly, heart already starting to pound. It’s nothing. Probably just the building settling, you tell yourself. Don’t be paranoid. You take a deep breath and focus on your shoes again, setting them neatly by the door. But the moment you step into the kitchen, the unease creeps back in. The silence feels too heavy, pressing against your ears.

You grab a glass from the cabinet, pouring juice into it with trembling hands. The cool liquid against your lips does little to soothe your nerves. You take another sip, trying to shake off the tension, but then you hear it. Shuffling. Faint, deliberate, coming from your bedroom. This time, there’s no mistaking it.

The glass nearly slips from your hand as your body goes rigid. Your mind races. Someone’s in the apartment. Someone’s in the apartment. The thought hits you like ice water. Adrenaline surges through your veins, and you feel every beat of your heart like a drum against your ribs.

You glance around, eyes darting to the couch. You know what’s there. Your hand dips under the cushions, fingers wrapping around the cold, solid grip of your pistol. It’s not the first time you’ve been on edge living alone, but it’s the first time it’s felt like more than paranoia.

Gun in hand, you move silently toward the bedroom, each step deliberate, your breaths shallow. Don’t panic, you tell yourself. If there’s someone there, you’re ready. But no amount of mental preparation can stop the trembling in your legs as you approach the slightly ajar bedroom door. You push it open slowly, every nerve screaming, every muscle taut. With one swift movement, you dart into the room, gun raised, finger hovering over the trigger.

Nothing.

The room is empty. The bed, the corners, the shadows—all unoccupied. Only your large collection of plushies stare back at you. You lower the gun slightly, a nervous laugh bubbling up in your throat. God, you’re such an idiot. Scaring yourself over nothing.

Still, you can’t shake the feeling of being watched. You check the closet, under the bed. Nothing. Your shoulders relax a fraction. Okay. Fine. False alarm. You reach for your phone, instinctively wanting to text Xavier. But your hand comes up empty. Right. Left it in the kitchen.

You sigh and head back toward the kitchen, rolling your eyes at yourself. Paranoid. Just paranoid. But before you make it two steps out of the bedroom, arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you off your feet.

You scream, thrashing wildly, but the grip on you is unyielding. Panic floods every corner of your mind as you manage to kick backward, your heel connecting with a solid shin. A grunt of pain follows, and the arms loosen just enough for you to twist partially around, only to see another figure—a second assailant—moving toward you.

“Idiot! Boss said gently! Gently!” one of them hisses, his voice muffled and harsh.

“She’s fighting too much for gentle!” the other snaps. You’re screaming now, kicking and clawing, desperate to get free. But they’re too strong, their weight pressing down on you as you’re forced to the ground. You can barely breathe, the pressure on your chest crushing.

Your vision blurs as tears sting your eyes. Desperation claws at your throat. No. This can’t be happening. Fight. Keep fighting. But the second figure pulls something from his pocket, a white cloth, and your stomach drops. You know what’s coming.

“Now, now, miss,” he says, his voice mockingly soothing. “No need to make this harder than it has to be. This will all be over soon.”

You twist your head, trying to bite, to scream, anything to stop him. But the cloth is pressed over your mouth and nose. A sickly-sweet smell fills your senses, burning your throat and nose as you try to hold your breath. Your body bucks and writhes, every instinct screaming for oxygen, but the fight is draining out of you.

Your limbs grow heavy, your vision darkening around the edges. No. Not like this. Not like this. Xavier… His name flashes through your mind, a beacon of warmth in the suffocating cold. You try to hold onto it, to him, but it’s slipping away, drowning in the black void swallowing you whole.

The last thing you see is the gleaming black beaks of two bird-like masks staring down at you, swirling together in your vision until your ultimately consumed into darkness.

Sylus was not a man who entertained the idea of relationships. Such luxuries were foreign to him, out of reach for someone whose life was dictated by danger and unrelenting speed. Relationships required trust and time—two things Sylus had no room for. More importantly, they required vulnerability. And vulnerability in his world was a weakness that could and would be exploited.

Even if he allowed himself to care for someone, he knew the inevitable result. They’d become a target, a pawn in the high-stakes game he played daily. Snatched, ransomed, used, discarded. It was a cruel, predictable pattern. So, Sylus lived without attachments, surrounded by layers of calculated isolation.

The closest things he had to "trust" were Luke and Kieran, his most loyal henchmen. Their loyalty was borne of utility and mutually assured survival. And then there was Mephisto. The crow was his creation, a mechanical marvel with sharp instincts and unwavering obedience. Mephisto wasn’t just a tool—he was an extension of Sylus himself, flawless in execution and incapable of deceit. The bird’s artificial intelligence made him a reliable companion, though Mephisto’s disdain for being called a “pet” often brought a faint smirk to Sylus’s lips.

But even surrounded by this curated circle of functionality, there were moments when the solitude gnawed at Sylus. A faint, unspoken yearning that he buried deep. He didn’t have the luxury to dwell on it…until the day Mephisto’s surveillance captured something that unexpectedly caught his eye.

A man that had sold him a subpar protocore was hiding from him. Sylus had known from the start but sometimes he liked to play little games with his prey. He wanted to see if the man actually had the guts to lie to the leader of Onychinus. And lo and behold. Sylus could barely hold back a grin when shaking the man's hand to seal the deal, who was wistfully unaware of the torment to come his way in the next few days.

Sometimes, watching prey squirm before the inevitable reckoning brought a kind of satisfaction. This man would learn, as all his enemies did, that Sylus always collected his debts…and always in blood.

Mephisto tracked the target effortlessly, his mechanical eyes capturing every movement, every desperate attempt to evade Sylus’s reach. The feed was sharp, clinical, until something unexpected happened. The dealer collided with someone in the crowded streets of Linkon, sending their belongings scattering. She was extremely apologetic, helping pick up the scattered belongings he had dropped.

Sylus’s attention was immediately drawn to the woman the dealer had bumped into. She crouched swiftly, apologizing as she helped gather the scattered items. Her gestures were quick but deliberate, her expression earnest as she returned the belongings. The dealer sneered at her, grumbling something vulgar before storming off, but Sylus didn’t care about him anymore.

His eyes were locked on her.

This feeling.

Someone like her wouldn't have caught his attention normally. Simple clothes...a uniform? But there was something…something in the way she carried herself, in the way her lips quirked in a self-conscious smile after the encounter. Sylus couldn’t place the feeling that stirred within him, but it was foreign and intrusive, like a fragment of a dream he couldn’t quite recall.

But what he did know how to do, was gather information. He quickly directed Mephisto to follow his new "target".

“Mephisto,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the still air of his office. “Follow her.”

He would deal with that man later. This girl, this random, insignificant girl had caught his attention. And he would figure out why. He was very good at problem solving. This issue would be over soon. She was just another average Linkon citizen after all, she couldn't be that interesting. He would get bored soon.

The bird shifted focus immediately, trailing the woman with silent precision. Sylus leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her every move. She walked with purpose, her steps quick but not hurried. There was an air of quiet determination about her that intrigued him.

He noted the uniform she was wearing once again, the puzzle pieces clicking in his head she approached a tall window filled building.

“Zoom in,” he murmured, his gaze locked on the insignia that gleamed faintly on her chest. The image sharpened, revealing the badge she had on her chest. Of course. She's apart of the infamous Hunter's Association.

With a few deft commands, Sylus accessed the Association’s data streams, pulling her name from the badge and cross-referencing it with everything he could find. The information flowed like water: her name, her division, her recent assignments. She was relatively new but already distinguished, working with one of the Association’s top teams. Impressive. Too impressive to be ordinary.

He couldn’t send Mephisto into the building, but it didn’t matter. He entertained himself by combing through her digital footprint, piecing together the puzzle of her life. Medical records, former addresses, archived conversations…he devoured it all. And yet, the more he learned, the more questions arose.

Mephisto signaled to him that she had left the building and he promptly turned his attention to his camera again. She walked out with a slightly bubbly, shorter haired girl. The pair were deeply engrossed in conversation before an ashy blonde fellow joined them and touched the girls arm.

“And this is...?” he muttered, his tone sharper than before. Mephisto, as if sensing the shift in his creator's mood, zoomed in on the man. Sylus studied the new arrival’s features: lean build, soft blue eyes, a demeanor that radiated comfort. It made Sylus’s skin crawl.

The trio parted ways with the shorter woman, and Sylus’s unease deepened as the man and the girl continued walking together. Their interactions were light, natural…intimate in a way that Sylus found intolerable. She laughed at something the man said, her hand brushing his shoulder briefly, and Sylus felt his stomach churn.

Were they going in the same direction?

This was once confirmed once they both got off at the same stop, walking the same path towards a set of shiny apartment buildings.

Sylus felt his jaw tighten. He wasn't sure why but seeing her this close to this soft gazed man was eliciting dangerous urges in him. The pair both went up the stairs, and out of his view.

It didn't matter. He would find your apartment number with ease. Even if it meant having Mephisto perched on the same tree branch for days. Sylus questioned his sanity for just a bit. Was he really getting this worked up over a woman he had simply happened to glance at? He closed his eyes before chuckling.

Yeah. This wasn't normal, no. But nothing about Sylus was ever normal anyways. Why would this be any different?

And so the following weeks were spent on nothing but you. He'd eventually mustered the courage to see you in person (at a distance of course) and watch you a few feet away. Your voice was even more beautiful in person. And the sounds you would make when trying new sweets elicited very...intense reactions in his lower groin. He watched you and your female coworker eating sweets at a bakery. You moaned in delight as you chewed a frosting covered pastry, a bit of the white frosting dribbling down your chin. You and your friend giggled as you wiped it up, all the while Sylus felt like he was about to burst in public.

How could a scene so innocent get him going so much?

"Oh! I have to go! I have a hair appointment! Bye Tara!"

You hurriedly hugged the girl before licking your fingers and sprinting off. Sylus quickly and quietly followed behind.

Eventually, Sylus found his way into your apartment during the hours he knew you were away on missions. It wasn’t to do anything overtly invasive—at least, that’s what he told himself. He simply wanted to get a more personal look into your life, to see the pieces of you that weren’t on display in the digital world. Yet, that resolve didn’t stop him from letting his fingers graze over your clothes as he rummaged through your wardrobe.

Your taste was exactly as he’d imagined from the fragments he’d seen on your socials: practical, yet tinged with understated personality. It spoke of someone who balanced strength and beauty effortlessly. Sylus made mental notes of everything before meticulously putting it all back, ensuring not a single trace of his presence remained. Still, he wasn’t blind to the toll it was taking on him. The more he thought about you, the more he allowed himself these stolen glimpses, the deeper his longing grew.

But reality loomed over him like a dark cloud. Courting you in any traditional sense was an impossibility. It was far too dangerous. The moment word spread that Sylus, leader of Onychinus, had someone he cared about—and someone with an Aether Core, no less—it would spell doom. You’d be taken, tortured, used against him, perhaps even killed. He couldn’t let that happen. The thought alone was enough to send a shiver of fury and fear down his spine.

And yet, your Aether Core only deepened his fascination. It felt like destiny, a sign that you were meant to be intertwined. Two halves, separated only by circumstance, waiting to be connected. Was it fate, or mere delusion? Sylus didn’t care anymore. He would have you. He had to. Even if it took drastic measures.

You would remain oblivious to his plans until the time was right. That was the strategy. Yet, fate had a way of undermining even the most meticulous schemes.

It happened at a grocery store. He’d let himself get too close, drawn by the magnetic pull of your presence. Standing among the frozen foods, his gaze lingered a moment too long. When you turned, catching sight of him, his heart leapt into his throat. He quickly averted his eyes, feigning interest in the nearest shelf. But it was too late.

“Are you following me?” you asked, your tone sharp, yet your eyes betraying curiosity as they flicked over him.

Sylus laughed, a calculated, disarming sound. “I’m merely going in the same direction,” he said, his voice calm and smooth. “I suppose that’s all it takes to catch a stalking charge these days?”

You blinked, caught off guard by his tone, and then a sheepish smile broke across your face. “Ah, sorry… I guess I’m just a little jumpy lately.” You laughed lightly and extended your hand. “I’m…”

I already know your name, he thought, but he swallowed the urge to say it. Instead, he grasped your hand briefly, his composure betraying none of the fire that sparked at your touch.

“Sylus,” he said simply, the word leaving his lips like a prayer. Your touch felt electric, almost painfully vivid against the chill of the freezer aisle.

“Well, Mr. Stalker, I’ll let you off the hook this time,” you joked lightly, bowing your head apologetically. “Have a good day.”

And just like that, you were gone, your cart rattling as you pushed it down the aisle. Sylus’s hand hovered for a moment, half-reaching toward you before he clenched it into a fist. He didn’t want you to leave. Not yet. Not ever.

But this wasn’t the time. He reminded himself of the preparations still unfinished. Soundproofing, enhanced security measures, tools. Every piece of the plan needed to be perfect before he could make his move.

Unfortunately, time seemed intent on working against him.

One night, while keeping Mephisto stationed at a distance to monitor your apartment, Sylus saw something that sent a fresh wave of rage through him. You descended the stairs with the ash-blond man from before—Xavier. The pair stopped to chat, their body language familiar, intimate. Immediately, Sylus’s jaw tightened, and he barked an order to Mephisto.

“Zoom in.”

The feed tightened, the grainy image sharpening. He could see the faint smile on Xavier’s face as he spoke to you.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep at this time? Why are we getting food now?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

Xavier shrugged, his expression casual. “Didn’t get to eat today. Besides, I know you didn’t either. Makes sense to go together, right?”

Sylus’s stomach churned as he watched you laugh softly and adjust the zipper on your jacket. He could practically feel his pupils dilating as he watched the metal of the zipper run over the soft tissue of your breasts, covering them completely out of view.

“Yes, but…what did you want to tell me? Surely you don’t need to drag me all the way to a convenience store just for that,” you teased lightly.

“Two stops,” Xavier replied. “Food, and then the park. Then I’ll tell you. Deal?”

You sighed, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Always so mysterious,” you said.

Sylus’s mind raced. He wasn’t a fool; he knew what this was. A ploy. A ploy to get you alone, to plant some foolish idea of romance in your head. The thought of Xavier touching you, of drawing you closer, ignited something feral inside Sylus.

He clenched his fist, his gaze hardening. Enough.

“Luke. Kieran,” he called, his voice cold and commanding as he stood and reached for his coat. “Prepare the items I requested. It’s time.”

Your heart pounds violently in your chest, the sound roaring in your ears as you jolt awake. Your head feels like it’s been split in two, the throbbing pain making it impossible to think clearly. Colors and shapes swirl chaotically behind your eyelids, the remnants of a dream that slips further away the harder you try to grasp it. Groaning in pain, you turn your head slightly, every movement sending shockwaves through your stiff muscles.

“Tylenol,” you mutter weakly, your voice barely audible and raw. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, and your throat is dry. The thought of the medicine—normally stashed in your bathroom—pulls you into action. You push yourself to sit up, the sheets tangled around you. Your limbs feel sluggish, your coordination off, but you manage to shuffle toward the edge of the bed. As you stretch out a hand to steady yourself, your fingers collide with something…cold. And fleshy.

“Wasn’t expecting you to be so handsy so soon, sweetie,” a deep voice says, smooth and laced with teasing amusement.

Your breath catches in your throat. A scream bursts from you as you jerk away instinctively, the adrenaline coursing through your veins propelling you off the bed. You crash to the floor, the sharp pain of the impact radiating through your hip and shoulder. Dazed, you try to crawl backward, your hands scrabbling against the smooth, cold surface of the floor.

Before you can get far, strong hands wrap around your arms, lifting you effortlessly as if you weigh nothing. You thrash against the grip, your instincts screaming at you to fight, to escape.

“Hey, calm down, honey. You’re going to hurt yourself,” the voice says again, calm and steady, but there’s an edge of command beneath the surface that makes your skin crawl.

“No! Stop! Let me go! Get out of my apartment!” you cry out, your voice breaking as your vision blurs with tears. You blink furiously, desperate to clear your eyes, desperate to see who’s holding you. Slowly, your surroundings begin to come into focus, and what you see makes your stomach twist with dread.

This isn’t your apartment.

The walls are black, their sleek surface reflecting the faint glow of the dim lights overhead. Heavy drapes hang from tall windows, blocking out any view of the outside world. Modern and sleek decor adorns the room: dark, ornate furniture with intricate carvings, sharp angles, and cold surfaces. The air smells faintly of something rich and unfamiliar, like expensive leather and faint traces of cologne. Everything about the space radiates power, wealth, and menace, a stark difference to your cozy and simple decor at home.

The arms around you loosen, and you’re placed carefully back on your feet. You stumble, pressing yourself instinctively against the nearest wall as you turn to face the man who’d spoken.

He’s very tall, his figure casting an imposing shadow in the low light. His sharp features are striking, almost too perfect, giving him an air of something inhuman. White hair with grey undertones falls just above his ears, framing a face that’s both elegant and cruel in its beauty. His eyes…they’re the worst part. Piercing and a crimson red, they seem to see through you, like a predator sizing up its prey.

“W-who the hell are you?” you demand, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound strong. Fear claws at your chest, making your breathing shallow and quick.

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Sylus,” he says simply, as if that single word answers everything. His voice is low, smooth, and unhurried, each syllable dripping with confidence.

“Where am I?! Where am I??”

Sylus takes a measured step closer, and you press harder against the wall, your palms flat against its cool surface. He notices your reaction but doesn’t stop. If anything, his smirk widens slightly, his amusement barely concealed.

“You’ve had a rough night,” he says, his tone almost soothing. “You should sit down before you hurt yourself again.”

You shake your head frantically, your heart hammering against your ribs. “No. I’m not sitting down. I don’t even know where I am or why you’re…” You trail off, your eyes darting around the room, desperately trying to piece together some explanation. The ornate furniture, the oppressive darkness, the sheer opulence of the space… none of it makes sense. Finally, you force the words out: “This is your place, isn’t it?”

Sylus nods, his expression unreadable. “You catch on quickly.”

“Why am I here?” you repeat, your voice rising as panic floods your senses. The weight of your fear feels suffocating, pressing down on you with every passing second.

His smirk grows sharper, a glint of something dangerous flickering in his eyes. “Because you belong here sweetie.”

His words hit you like a blow, the weight of them sending another wave of terror through you. Your mind races, searching desperately for a way out, for some chance to escape. But Sylus doesn’t move, his dark gaze fixed on you like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

You’re trapped, and every instinct in your body screams for you to run, even as you realize there’s nowhere to go.

Then it all comes flooding back. The grocery store. The sharp, piercing eyes that seemed to linger too long. The white hair framing a face you couldn’t have possibly forgot. Your heart sinks as you connect the dots.

“It’s you,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “You were there, at the grocery store.”

Sylus tilts his head, the faintest flicker of amusement playing across his features. “You’re sharper than I thought,” he says. “Yes, we’ve met…though I’m sure you’ll agree this setting is far more…intimate.”

You feel your stomach twist in disgust, more tears beginning to pour from your face as you tremble,

“So…you were following me,” you whisper, the words trembling as they spill out. Then, louder, you scream, “I knew it! I fucking knew it… you sick fuck!”

In a desperate bid for escape, you lunge toward the bedroom door. But before you can reach it, a cold, red mist envelops your body. Your momentum is halted midair as the mist tightens around you like an unbreakable grip. A startled yelp escapes your lips as you’re lifted effortlessly and set gently back onto the bed. You twist and thrash against the invisible force, but it’s no use.

Sylus moves with unhurried precision, climbing onto the bed and pinning you down with his weight. His hands grip your wrists, pressing them firmly against the mattress and above your head. His face hovers close, a small smile playing on his lips as he watches you struggle beneath him.

“No need for such vulgarities, sweetie,” he says softly, his voice calm but with an undeniable edge of control. His hand moves to your face, brushing away the tears streaming down your cheeks. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

His words feel like a mockery, their gentleness only amplifying the terror gripping you. You try to twist away, your heart racing as his red eyes bore into yours, unyielding and unrelenting.

This power…you’ve never seen an Evol quite like it. The mist that held you, the way he’s able to keep you restrained without even breaking a sweat—it’s terrifying. The strength in his grip feels unmovable, like you’re struggling against solid rock. Your voice cracks as you demand, “What do you want from me?!”

You thrash harder, pouring every ounce of strength into breaking free, but it’s futile. Sylus doesn’t even flinch. If anything, he seems amused by your attempts.

“You’ve always been meant to be with me,” he says, his voice low and steady, as if explaining a universal truth. “By circumstance, we were kept apart. But none of that truly matters now.”

His grip tightens slightly, grounding you to the bed as he leans in closer. “We’re together now. Don’t fret. I’ll take care of you.”

Your mind races, a torrent of thoughts crashing together in chaotic waves. Always meant to be? The absurdity of his words claws at your sanity. How could someone you’ve never known—never even spoken to—believe something so delusional? Panic flares again as his words settle deeper, the full weight of their meaning pressing against your chest like a suffocating fog.

“You’re insane,” you hiss through gritted teeth, your voice trembling with fear and defiance. “We’re not meant to be anything! I don't even know you! Let me go!”

Sylus shakes his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “I know change is hard. In time, you’ll understand.” His gaze softens, but it’s not comforting. It’s the gaze of a predator, satisfied with its catch. “This is overwhelming for you, but just trust me."

Before you can voice another protest, Sylus leans down suddenly, his lips crashing against yours in an abrupt and unwelcome kiss. The sensation is overwhelming, his grip unyielding as he presses you into the mattress. Your body stiffens instinctively, and a wave of revulsion washes over you. The intimacy feels like an invasion, every fiber of your being recoiling at the unwelcome touch.

His lips are warm, firm, tender with a possessive force that makes your skin crawl. Your mind screams in protest, a cacophony of fear, anger, and disgust that drowns out all rational thought. The coppery tang of blood fills your mouth as you bite down hard, desperate to sever the connection.

Sylus pulls back slightly, and for a moment you see it—a flicker of darkness in his expression, an almost imperceptible crack in his composure. The bloodied mark on his lip stands stark against his pale skin, but he doesn’t flinch. Instead, his eyes meet yours, sharp and cold, with a faint glimmer of something unspoken.

He raises a hand slowly, brushing his fingers over the mark as though testing its reality. Then, his gaze darkens, amusement fading into something more dangerous. The corners of his mouth curl into a faint smirk, though it no longer holds even a trace of warmth.

“You’re feisty, kitten” he murmurs, his voice low and controlled, but with an edge that sends a fresh wave of terror through you. “But I wouldn’t keep testing me. This…resistance?” He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “It won’t get you anywhere.”

Tears sting your eyes as you glare up at him, trembling with equal parts fear and fury. “Just let me go,” you spit through gritted teeth, your voice shaking but defiant. “I’ll never—”

His finger presses gently against your lips, silencing you with unnerving ease. “Hush, honey” he says, his tone soft but carrying the weight of unspoken command. “Just lay still and behave."

Confusion grips you as his words hang in the air, their meaning slowly dawning with horrifying clarity. His hand moves to the hem of your shirt, lifting it slightly. A wave of dread crashes over you, threatening to drown you. No…no, he’s not going to…he can’t be serious. No!

“Stop!” you scream, your voice cracking as panic surges through you. “No! No! Please, stop!” You thrash violently, every muscle in your body straining as you kick and twist in his unyielding grip. “Please, I’ll do whatever you want—just don’t—”

Your pleas are met with silence, his focus unbroken, his grip like iron. His eyes focused, yet amused, as though your outburst is just a silly tantrum. He continues, undeterred, his hands steady as he unbuckles the buttons of your pants. “This is what I want,” he says, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the weather.

Your heart pounds erratically, terror clouding your thoughts. The room feels suffocating, the air too thick to breathe. Think. Think! Your mind races, desperate for something—anything—to stop him. Then, an idea strikes, reckless and impulsive, but it’s all you have.

You gather all the spit you can muster, clenching your jaw, and hurl it directly at his face. The saliva splatters across his cheek, glistening in the dim light. Time seems to freeze as you watch for his reaction, your breath caught in your throat.

His hand stills, his entire body going unnervingly still. Slowly, deliberately, he raises a hand to his face, wiping the saliva away with a measured swipe. His movements are unnervingly calm, controlled, as though he isn’t furious—but you know better. His lips curl slightly, and then he chuckles. It’s a low, rumbling sound, one that vibrates through the air like distant thunder.

The chuckle deepens, growing into a full, genuine laugh that echoes through the room. It’s unsettling—wrong. You stare at him, confused, your heart pounding as fear knots your stomach. Why is he laughing? The sound is too real, too unguarded, like he’s genuinely amused.

Finally, the laughter subsides. He straightens, towering over you with that same unsettling smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes are sharp, glinting with something you can’t place. Slowly, he leans down, his face inches from yours. You freeze, unsure whether to lash out again or flee. Before you can decide, his lips meet yours again.

The kiss is deliberate and slow, a mockery of tenderness that sends a shudder of revulsion through you. His breath is warm against your skin, his movements calculated, like he’s savoring the act. You remain stiff beneath him, your mind screaming in protest as your body betrays you, locked in place by terror.

When he finally pulls back, his smirk remains, though his eyes darken slightly. “I’ll let it go,” he murmurs, his voice smooth and calm, but with an edge that sends chills down your spine. “This time.”

He straightens, his presence still looming as he towers above you. “Food will be ready soon,” he says, almost casually, before turning away, leaving you trembling, breathless, and more terrified than before.

Sylus watched you from across the room, the faint smile on his lips betraying none of the thoughts swirling in his mind. He realized, with a hint of satisfaction, that you weren’t weak. It pleased him in a way. Breaking down someone strong was far more satisfying than toying with the feeble. He had learned that much throughout the years. But breaking you down was necessary, bit by bit, until he could mold you into something entirely his.

It wasn’t really control he wanted. No, there was something deeper, something that he buried beneath layers of cynicism and cruelty. Sylus wanted a family. The idea of a child, a creation of him and someone he loved, had lingered in the back of his mind for years. He’d resigned himself to the impossibility of it—his life, his enemies, his choices made it a fool’s dream.

But then he had seen you.

Following you, studying you, uncovering every detail of your life had planted the seed. You were everything he could want: resilient, intelligent, beautiful. The more he watched, the more his desire solidified into something almost obsessive. A child…with you. The mere image of you with a swollen belly, pregnant with his baby, panting in whining underneath him as he thrusted deep into you was enough to make him excited. The thought gnawed at him, sweet and insistent, until he couldn’t ignore it anymore. But he knew it wouldn’t be easy. Nothing worth having ever was.

The first real challenge came when you refused to eat or drink. Sylus had ordered his chefs to prepare the finest meals: delicacies from every corner of the world, plated and presented with meticulous care. Yet, you rejected it all. You sat in the corner of his room, sobbing and shivering, your defiance evident in every tremble of your body.

At first, he tried to force it. He held the food to your lips, his patience fraying as you turned away, your sobs breaking the silence. And when he did manage to get you to swallow, you vomited it back up almost immediately, your body rejecting his attempts as violently as your will.

“Alright,” he sighed, his voice cold, masking the frustration and the faint pang of something else—guilt, perhaps. “Have it your way.”

He stopped pushing, but he didn’t stop providing. Every meal, a plate was prepared and set in the room alongside his own. He would sit at his chair, eating with deliberate ease, his gaze occasionally flickering to where you huddled. He said nothing, made no effort to coax you. But he knew. He was patient. The long game was his specialty.

And slowly, it worked. Day by day, he saw the toll it took on you. Your movements grew slower, your defiance quieter. The strength that had burned in your eyes began to dim, replaced by the hollow shadows of exhaustion. It was only a matter of time. It worried him, your worsening state. He even begun to question whether you would be determined enough to actually starve to death. Not that he would ever actually let you.

That moment came when you finally crawled to him. It was agonizing to watch—your frail form dragging itself across the floor, every inch a struggle. Sylus’s chest tightened, a pang of something raw and painful blooming within him. He wanted to rush to you, to lift you up and hold you, to soothe the trembling wreck you had become. But he didn’t. Instead, he remained seated, feigning indifference, his eyes never leaving you.

When you finally reached him, your voice was a fragile whisper. “Okay…you win. Please. Food. Water.”

Inwardly, he smiled. Outwardly, he remained composed, but instead of motioning to the untouched plate, he lifted it himself and placed it on his lap. He carefully cut a small piece of the salmon and held the fork out toward you. “Go ahead, kitten,” he said softly, his voice calm but laced with a tender insistence, as if coaxing a skittish animal.

For a bit you didn’t move, just staring blankly at him. He chuckled before motioning the food towards your mouth again.

His movements were slow and deliberate, almost gentle. “You look worse for wear,” he murmured, his tone softening further as his gaze locked onto yours. “You need your strength. Let me take care of you.”

You blinked, confused, before you weakly whispered, “I…I can do it…” But your arms barely moved, your body trembling from exhaustion.

“Clearly, you can’t,” he replied smoothly, brushing a lock of your disheveled hair aside. “Now, open.”

Hesitating, you finally relented, your lips parting slowly as you allowed him to guide the fork to your mouth. The taste of the salmon was exquisite, perfectly seasoned, but it was overshadowed by the surreal intimacy of the moment. His hand lingered near your chin as you chewed, his gaze steady but strangely warm, as though he truly believed you’d shatter at any second.

“That’s it,” he murmured encouragingly. “See? It’s not so bad.”

Sylus watched you intently, cutting another piece with meticulous care before offering it to you. “Now swallow,” he said softly, his voice filled with an unnerving tenderness.

You obliged in weak silence, each bite fed to you with deliberate care. Your body, too weak to resist, obeyed out of necessity, and yet his lingering touches—his hand brushing your cheek, the way his eyes softened with each bite—left you unsettled.

Little did you know, the food had been altered.. Rohypnol, a common date rape drug, slipped into the delicate glaze on the salmon. He saw the moment it began to take effect—your movements slowed, your blinking grew heavy, and your body swayed slightly. Your chewing began to falter. You didn’t even realize what was happening as the sleepiness crept over you like a warm, suffocating blanket.

Sylus leaned forward, his gaze softening as he whispered, "Good girl, keep chewing. Don't bite your tongue"

All you could mutter was a moan, unable to think straight in your drug hazed state. You managed to swallow. All you felt was warm heat radiating off of slightly pale flesh. You blushed and planted your face in his neck.

Sylus put the fork down, amused by your affection. Getting up from the sofa in the room, he laid you down on his bed.

He began unbuckling his belt.

You were rendered completely helpless to his advances now. You didn't protest when he removed your shirt, didn't squirm when your pants and underwear came off. He felt almost breathless as the sight of your pristine cunt came into view, already beginning to glisten with your slickness. You whined as he began to circle your hardening nipples, and practically squealed when he put one his mouth, swirling around it with his tongue.

You were just divine. In every way. Your body, the sounds you made. Even despite the weight loss, you were beautiful. You looked up at him with beady and glazed over eyes as he finished removing his own pants, his hardened cock coming to your view.

"I..don...feel well.." you muttered, closing your eyes and weakly moaning to yourself as he lined up against you.

"I know sweetie, this won't take long I promise. Just lay there okay?" he said, pulling a nearby pillow over to better support your head.

He rubbed his tip against your entrance a few times but Sylus's control snapped, his need for you overwhelming any restraint. With a low growl, he pushed into you, his body claiming yours in swift act of possession. The sensation of being filled, of his hardness stretching you, caused your body to shiver, and you arched to meet him, your hands gripping the sheets as you welcomed him.

His senses flooded with pleasure as he sank deep within you, your wetness enveloping him, your body accommodating his size with a tightness that drove him wild. It was almost like you were made for him. He paused, his breath ragged, savoring the moment before he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one eliciting a sleepy moan from your lips. By the way you seemed to be tightening and untightening around him, you were clearly already close.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his voice strained. "Fuck...even better than I imagined."

His words were a plea, a surrender to the pleasure you both were experiencing. As he moved within you, his pace quickening, your bodies became a symphony of skin on skin, your moans and his grunts filling the room in a primal chorus. The morality of the situation seemed to fade into insignificance as you both succumbed to the raw, unadulterated pleasure of the moment, your bodies moving as one.

He wanted a baby in your womb.

His baby.

As Sylus's thrusts quickened, his control began to unravel even further, his body moving with an urgency that matched the escalating pleasure. Your body responded in kind, your hips rising to meet his, your legs weakly wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper into the cradle of your thighs. The room echoed with the sounds of your pleasure—your breathy moans, his guttural grunts, the wet, slick sounds of flesh meeting flesh.

"Mghn...ah..." you whined out, your voice hoarse, your body on the precipice of climax. It wasn't too long before you began to shake and pulse around his length, coming undone with a symphony of even loader moans and whines. It was like music to Sylus's ears, and enough to begin his own undoing. He gripped you firmly, shoving himself as deep as he would go as waves of hot semen began to shoot into your womb, only releasing you when he felt he had no more to give.

He sat up a little more, staring down at your sweat stricken body. You hadn't opened your eyes at all, now clearly dosing off into slumber. He smiled, eyes turning down to see that some of his semen was beginning to slip out of you. He was quick to catch what he could, and gently scoop it back inside.

Soon. Just a few more times of this tonight, and he would repeat the process tomorrow. And the next day. And however long it took. He wasn't a monster. He was doing this with purpose. Even if things had to be a little hard right now, it would all be worth it in the end.

You were starting to catch on. The food, the water…something wasn’t right. Each time you ate or drank, the same unsettling pattern unfolded. Your eyelids grew heavy, your thoughts muddled, and then…nothing. You’d wake up hours later with a pounding headache and a vague, gnawing ache between your legs. The lack of concrete evidence was maddening, but the suspicion burned at the edges of your mind, refusing to be silenced. You couldn't find any traces of...that. Were you just going crazy?

With time, you regained some of your strength. The helplessness that had once consumed you began to ebb, replaced by a simmering defiance. You were no longer the trembling figure huddled in the corner. You spoke less, but your gaze carried fire again. Sylus noticed, of course. He always did. It was impossible to hide anything from him for long.

One evening, he brought you dinner and a glass of water, just as he always did. The spread was exquisite—pan-seared duck, roasted vegetables, and a fine wine reduction drizzled over the plate. He set it down in front of you and waited, his piercing eyes fixed on you.

You hesitated, the now-familiar unease creeping into your chest. Then, you decided to test the waters. “Is there…bottled water?” you asked, your voice steady but your pulse racing.

Sylus’s brow arched slightly, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Bottled?” he repeated, amusement lacing his tone. “Why?”

You shrugged, trying to appear casual. “The tap water tastes…off. Weird.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “The tap water here is the purest you’ll find. It shouldn’t taste weird.” His tone shifted, growing firmer. “Now eat.”

The command stung, his dismissal of your concern fueling the anger bubbling inside you. You glared at the plate, but you didn't comply. The taste of the food, once a source of faint comfort, now made your stomach queasy anyways.

Before he could start eating, Sylus’s phone buzzed. He stood, glancing at the screen before answering with a clipped, “Yes?” His voice, usually measured and calm, held a note of irritation. “And you need me to come down why? You two can handle him.” There was a pause, followed by an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Be there soon.”

Sylus hung up and turned back to you, his expression unreadable. “I’ll be back shortly,” he said, his voice void of warmth as he left the room. He was clearly irritated.

The second he was gone, your heart raced. This is it. You glanced at his plate, untouched and pristine. Your suspicions flared. If he was drugging you, this was the chance to prove it. Quickly, you switched the plates, swapping yours with his. If he ate it and succumbed, you’d finally have the upper hand. Freedom dangled tantalizingly before you, so close you could almost taste it.

Moments later, Sylus returned, his dark coat trailing behind him as he resumed his seat. His gaze flicked briefly to the plate before he picked up his utensils, cutting into the meat with precision. You watched him, your nerves a live wire as he lifted the fork to his lips.

But then he stopped.

Setting the fork down slowly, Sylus tilted his head, his eyes locking onto yours. His expression remained calm, but there was a faint edge of mockery in his smirk. “I’m honestly impressed,” he said, his voice low and smooth, each word deliberate. “But I’m a bit offended you think I’d fall for such a simple trick.”

Your stomach dropped, dread flooding your veins.

He leaned back slightly, his fingers steepled as his gaze bore into you. “You know how many times someone’s attempted to drug or poison me, sweetie?” His smirk widened, the darkness in his eyes deepening. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

You break into a nervous sweat, the panic bubbling over. How could he have possibly known? But it did confirm one thing. Your voice wavers with a mix of rage and fear as you growl, “So…you have been drugging me! I knew it!”

Slamming your fist on the table, your whole body shakes with the weight of your anger. The thought of what he’s been doing to you sends your mind spiraling, but you shove it down, refusing to let yourself break in front of him.

Sylus, however, remains completely unaffected. His expression doesn’t shift as he simply switches the plates back and cuts another bite of his food.

“Eat, kitten,” he says, his tone firm, commanding. “I won’t ask again.”

That nickname—it ignites a fire of fury in your chest. You’ve tolerated so much, but this, this is too much. The rage surges, hot and unrelenting.

“Don’t…call me that!” you scream, the words tearing from your throat as you shove the plate off the table with a sharp motion. The food tumbles to the floor, the glass of water follows, shattering into countless jagged pieces that scatter across the room.

The sound echoes, loud and jarring, slicing through the tension like a blade. You freeze, staring at the mess you’ve created, your breath caught in your throat as the reality of your actions sinks in. The anger begins to fade, replaced by a creeping wave of fear as Sylus’s eyes narrow, his expression unreadable. The room grows oppressively silent, the sound of your rapid breathing the only thing filling the void.

“Maybe I’ve been too nice to you,” Sylus says plainly, his voice calm but bleeding with anger. The subtle shift in his tone sends a chill down your spine. You freeze, the realization hitting you like a freight train—there was no getting away with an outburst today.

“Wait…I’m sorry,” you say shakily, your voice trembling as you crouch down, reaching for the shattered glass. “I’ll clean it up. I’m so, so—”

Before you can finish, his hand snaps out, grabbing your arm in a vice-like grip and yanking you roughly back to your feet. A sharp cry escapes your lips as pain shoots through your arm. You struggle, his grip unwavering, and then you notice it—the birth control implant bulging against your skin where his fingers dig in.

“Don’t bother,” he growls, his tone as cold as his touch.

“Ow! My birth control!” you scream, tears springing to your eyes as you try to pry his hand away. His movements falter for the briefest moment, his grip loosening slightly as confusion flickers across his face. He lets go, his crimson eyes narrowing as they focus on your arm. Carefully, he turns it over, his fingers probing the area until the faint, hard line of the implant becomes apparent beneath your skin.

A dark realization dawns on him, and his expression hardens. “You didn’t tell me about this,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. His voice carries a hint of accusation. “No wonder it wasn’t working.”

“What? What wasn’t working?” you exclaim, your voice rising as panic grips you. You try to yank your arm away, but his hold tightens again, his gaze never leaving the implant. The intensity in his eyes makes your stomach twist into knots.

“This needs to come out,” he states flatly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“No! No, no, no,” you stammer, your voice breaking as you shiver violently. “It’s fine! It’s probably expiring soon anyway, I think! Please, just leave it!”

The weight of his words sinks in, barely giving you time to process what he means. He wants you to carry his child. The thought sends your mind reeling, a sickening blend of fear and disbelief twisting through you. Your breaths come quicker, your chest tight as the reality of your situation settles heavily over you.

Sylus doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looks up, meeting your panicked gaze. His eyes soften slightly, though not with kindness—it’s more like exasperation, as though this little implant was a major obstacle. He sighs, his grip easing but not releasing.

“You’re making this very difficult for me,” he says, his voice low and measured. The subtle edge of irritation only makes his words more chilling. You can’t tell what’s running through his mind, but the uncertainty is enough to make your knees tremble.

“All you have to do is sit around looking pretty, have my children, and you’d have everything you could ever wish for,” he says, his voice calm and almost conversational. “Is that truly so hard?” He doesn’t even look at you directly, his gaze distant, as if the answer were obvious.

You can't even speak. Have his what? You don't even know this man. You don't even want to be here. He sounds absolutely insane.

He calmly glances down at the floor, his eyes settling on the largest shard of glass among the shattered remains. Your heart drops as dread floods your senses. When his hand reaches out for the shard, you thrash violently, using every ounce of strength you can muster to pull away from his grip.

“Sylus! Please!” you cry, your voice breaking. “I can get it removed! Don’t-!”

But your protests are cut short as he produces a cloth from his pocket and presses it firmly over your mouth. The fabric muffles your screams, your muffled cries reverberating against the walls as he backs you against the bed. Your knees buckle, and you collapse backward onto the plush mattress. Before you can scramble to your feet, he is on top of you, his weight pressing you down. His Evol snakes out, an ominous red mist that coils around you, pinning your arms and keeping your struggling body firmly in place.

Panic consumes you as he leans in, his shadow looming over your trembling form. He holds the shard of glass delicately, almost reverently, examining its sharp tip as though weighing its utility.

His gaze flickers to your terrified expression for a moment, and then he does something that makes your stomach turn. He presses a quick, chillingly gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Be still, sweetie,” he says, his voice deceptively soft. “I’m doing this for us.”

Before you can even react, he lowers the shard of glass to your arm, pressing its tip lightly but firmly against your skin, right over the implant. The pressure sends a bolt of pain through you, tears streaming down your face as the room spins around you.

You scream.

He cuts.

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