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skyizhou · 1 month ago

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╰ 3,020 words · ˚ ༘ ꒱ Beg? She thinks to herself through the haze of pleasure, sniffling so pathetically that she can even feel the smallest tendril of shame creeping in. Damn him, she has been begging for months. No one in their right mind would be playing the role of a housewife in all but name, wearing the shortest dresses known to man, and not have something they want to get. She wants him, always has and always will.

part two of dearest, darling, my universe ╱ alternate universe — no powers. female reader. third person. age gap ( sylus is in his late thirties, and reader is in her early twenties ). friends to lovers ( real, this time ). light angst. freak for freak dynamics. unnamed shitty ex for reader. sugar daddy dynamics, heavy power imbalance. masturbation. mentions of somnophilia, drugging. creampie. fingering. cockslapping. ( !! ) dubious consent + consensual non–consent, reader protests and sylus ignores / mocks her for it. domesticity as a kink. hints of predator and prey dynamics. sylus has a wife kink that reader is too willing to use against him. allusions to size difference where reader is smaller than sylus.

There is an ache, somewhere deep in his chest. A gnawing kind, enough that it makes his breath catch like something unyielding is stuck in his throat; it worsens to the point of making his ever-confident steps to falter. She is avoiding him, he would be far too stupid to not notice that.

She is not even trying to hide it, and Sylus does not know if that is worse.

A pair, that is what they have always been. One plus one everywhere they go, someone jokes once, and they did not let go of that notion — never let it go since it had been first spoken within reach. The only time that it ever changed was when that stupid boy came into the picture, but he left, and for a year, all was well in Sylus’ world once more.

He had her in his vicinity once more, dancing around him, but closer. She lived in his home, wore clothes he bought for her, and swiped his black card with hesitation then with ease.

It was bliss, even more when he had her in his bed.

Drugged out of her wits, unconscious, but still greedy when it comes to sucking his cock deep inside of her pulsing wetness. Sylus did not just cum once or twice, thick ropes of his seed flooded her womb several times over, enough that when he pulled out, he was aching and sore.

Something should have changed afterwards, even if she did not know of his violation. Something should have changed for the better, not for the worse — not this, never this.

He is confident that she does not know, chalks the ache of her cunt to a drunken rub that her little fingers did when she thought of him asleep. Many nights have passed like that after all, her breathy little whines and moans echoing through the microphone hidden behind her headboard. He had spent those times with a hand around his girth, pumping with every obscene squelch that her cunt makes. She does not know a thing, none the wiser of how much he already memorised every dip in her curves, the softness of her skin, and the scent that blooms when he bends her to his whim.

But she still pulls away, slowly, as if he is not looking at all times.

Sylus does not see red.

He sees black.

The tablet — that his money bought, the primal part of his soul whispers in delight — is snatched away from her fingers. It is with a sense of detachment that he watches how she startles, not having realised that he already arrived home from whatever his work is, and that bothers Sylus greatly. She is his good girl, his best and only girl, who was so attuned to his presence that he could never surprise her with his arrival before.

Before, but it seems, not anymore.

And oh, does that not just sting?

“You have been avoiding me,” a statement and not a question; the way he speaks betrays the severity of the situation, Sylus is never formal with her — always slurring words in an accent that exists only to him and contractions of his own that would never make sense to anyone else. “Did you think of me to be so stupid as to not notice?”

That right there, that is the question. Albeit, a rhetorical one. Even in his deepest hurt, he still tries to ensnare her in a trap, box her in a corner with nothing else to do but speak. It feels like if he does not, then he will lose her. He will lose her and never get her back, not like in the past where all it took was paying a pretty dumb thing to go crazy on her drunk boyfriend. If he loses her this time, he fears that he will never get her back. It feels like it will be permanent this time.

She looks at him, wide-eyed and surprised. Sylus does not miss the tremble in her gaze, how it flickers to the side in an attempt to not meet his eyes. He cannot lose her. It is desperation that makes him reach out, ever gentle when his hand cradles her cheek.

“Why?” A question that is more of a plea for understanding, for clarity.

Silence takes hold, and it feels like a noose tightening around his neck with every second that passes and she does not speak.

A shuddering breath from lips that tasted sweet as ambrosia, more succulent than the ripest of fruits. “I’ve been taking advantage of your kindness,” she whispers in a voice that sounds near tears, pearl-like droplets trickling down her cheeks to land on his hand like boiling water. “It’s not r-right, you take care of me so well, and I don’t even do anything to contribute to this house.”

He wants to laugh, to cry, and call her a silly girl for worrying over it. Not once has she ever taken advantage of him, when all that he gave her were things that he gave freely. But her tears make him stop, the ache in his chest swelling to monstrous proportions that it nearly threatens to swallow him whole. “I-I don’t want to depend on you so much,” but I want you to, “let me do something— anything, please. I don’t want to be a-a burden to you.”

You could never be one, Sylus wants to bare his teeth in a snarl and insist. You can spend the rest of your days attempting to empty my bank accounts, lay on my couch— my bed, and I would be happier for it.

This is a fight that he will not win, he knows that much.

Sylus has always been weak to those eyes of hers, that glassy shine that makes him feel so utterly human.

“Whatever you want,” he whispers, tilting her face to press a kiss to her forehead — feeling so fucking grateful that she lets him and does not pull away. “Anything that you want, my darling. Anything at all.”

They do not return to the comfort of the before, but the tension that hung in their home begins to dissipate. Baby steps, Sylus whispers to himself when she gives him a shy smile when her eyes catch his, standing before the stove as she has been doing for a few weeks now.

He does not intrude, only returning her smile with one of his own.

She begins to run around the house like a little wife, his little wife, and he feels utterly pleased by that thought; even if a part of him remains seething at how she keeps her distance.

On the bright side, the one that he chooses to look at, they establish a routine of their own in this change. His return home is always welcomed with a chirp from the kitchen and the scent of something delicious permeating the air. She goes to him within minutes, warmth in her eyes and a skip in her step. Her hand takes his briefcase and sets it aside, reaching for his tie to loosen the knot before making him sit on the couch — a glass of scotch already awaiting by the coffee table.

The pitter-patter of her delicate heels echo, her perfume filling his lungs when she walks away, and something in Sylus begins to ease.

Right here, this is where home is.

All relationships have their ups and downs, and while they remain in the vague territory of friendship, they are no different. It does not escape his notice how the further their routine becomes solidified in the foundation of their lives, the more domestic it becomes.

He does not speak of it, and neither does she, even as the weeks turn to months and her dresses become shorter and shorter under the frilly white apron that she seems so fond of. On the downside, Sylus has to keep making excuses for the amount of times he retreats to the privacy of his bedroom throughout the day.

The moment the door closes, his hand will always be wrapped around the steadily hardening girth of his cock. He rarely bothers to push his pants down, opting to just pull himself out and give it punishing strokes to bring the edge off.

It never works, even as his cum spurts so soon with his brain reeling from the images of her.

Pure torture, that is what it is.

Until it is suddenly not, his control fucking snaps one day when she bends in front of the oven — clad in nothing but her short fucking black dress and that fucking frilly apron. His mouth turns dry, and everything becomes a blur from how fast he prowls to her like a predator would to prey.

She is barely upright before Sylus has an arm wrapped around her waist and his other hand on her face, covering her mouth and nose, as he all but drags her struggling and screaming form to force her to bend over the dining table. It is so cute how she tries to resist, to flail and fight against him like her weak limbs can do anything. It is nothing short of adorable how she tries to scream her protests, her curses, and her pleas that come out muffled beneath his palm.

He should have done this earlier, Sylus thinks to himself. He should not have used the drug and just fucked her to the mattress, held her down when she woke, because her resistance is so delicious.

“No?” A breathless laugh to the back of her ear, tongue flicking out to lick the lobe at the same time the hand around her waist dips underneath the skirt to pinch her thigh. When she jumps and a squeak escapes her lips in surprise at the flash of pain, he becomes lightheaded from how quickly his blood travelled south. “If you really didn’t want this, then you should be wearing your pretty panties.”

Even his words do nothing to stave off his arousal, when the mere utterance of her undergarments make his spine tingle with pleasure at the memory of personally buying each piece of clothing that touches her skin.

Only the best for his perfect girl, after all.

“But you’re not,” Sylus continues, letting his hand travel higher at the same time he releases her mouth to press her head down the table. He keeps her pinned down as he dips thick digits between the seam of her cunt, smearing her arousal all over her mound before bringing it to his lips.

An obscene suck, the taste of her perfect pussy blooms in his tongue.

His schemes, his plans, all of them fly out the window alongside his self-control.

Still holding her down, he flips her skirt up and pushes down his pants. It has barely dropped to his knees before the head is already pressing to her clit in a mimicry of a peck. He slaps the nub with the tip of his cock a few times, delighting at the panicked way that she squirms and babbles pleas that he does not bother hearing.

It feels like he is underwater, all of his focus trained on her sopping wet cunt and his cock mere centimetres away. Is it even a surprise when Sylus begins to push in?

Her cries increase in volume, but he does not care, not when she gets wetter and wetter at the same time. “Dirty girl,” he laughs underneath all her begging, watching in fascination as her arousal coats his thickness so thoroughly and then drips some strings of it down the floor of their kitchen. “You like this, don’t you?” Another push, her walls clenching in response. “Dirty girls like you like to be forced to take cock. Oh, baby.”

Pressed to the hilt, he stays there just to bask in the warmth that he missed.

For her, this will be their first time together. But for Sylus? This will be their second, and it will not be the last, not when it feels infinitely better to have her cunt while she is awake. It feels so fucking good to feel her struggle at first, then for all her protests to slowly melt away with each press deeper.

“You’re so fucking perfect for me.”

Her pussy positively throbs around Sylus, breaths coming out pitched while crying her little heart out.

This position is so reminiscent of the time he took her savagely, thinking that she had been drugged to her wits, in her bed too. Their first time together is memorable, she can admit that much. But not having to hide all the sounds that creep from her throat and her body’s reaction to him is infinitely so much better.

She feels so exposed like this, bent over the table they have been taking their meals together for over a year now. A small sniffle comes pitifully bubbling out of her lips, tasting the salt of her crocodile tears, and clenches even tighter around him. “M-Mercy,” she begs sweetly, pretending like her hips are not rocking back and forth on his cock, moving all on her own without even a bit of his help. She can feel his amusement at her continued protests, how he twitches inside of her, and has to warble her voice in the following cry to hide how she wants to moan at finally having him where she wants him.

His hand moves from the back of her skull to press between the blades of her shoulder, an unrelenting pressure that makes her gasp and spasm around his girth. “Mercy? Hm,” his voice trails off at the same time he pulls out, until only the tip is left and she weeps at the loss — unable to hide her need for him any longer.

“Maybe if you beg nicely for me, darling.”

Beg? She thinks to herself through the haze of pleasure, sniffling so pathetically that she can even feel the smallest tendril of shame creeping in. Damn him, she has been begging for months. No one in their right mind would be playing the role of a housewife in all but name, wearing the shortest dresses known to man, and not have something they want to get.

She wants him, always has and always will.

The masks have fallen, all of her is bared to all of him — primal and rotten to the very core. Soulmates, she thinks hysterically to herself. What a perfect match they make. She has always been greedy, always wanting more, always needing more. Yet, for all of her faults, he indulges her again and again, how can she not fall for him? Sylus is the only one who can ever have her, she has vowed this to her heart all those months ago, when his door opened and she immediately found herself swept in his arms like nothing ever changed between them. Sylus is the only one that she will ever have, the only one she will allow to have her.

It is Sylus or nothing.

“Please,” she breathes out, desperate to have him back and clenching around the sensitive head. “P-Please make me your wife.” There it is, her heart’s wish laid bare. She whines, tries to weakly raise her hips and push him back inside to the emptiness in her cunt.

For a moment, all is still, like even the very air is watching with bated breath. She tries not to panic, he is still pressed to her, even if he remains unmoving. Her tears are renewed, no longer playing a role, but feeling wounded at the thought of being rejected after all this time. Her heart skips a beat, not in the way that romance novels talk about, but one of tragedy. She hitches a breath, whimpering to herself and tries to squirm away, put some distance between them—

Only to scream when Sylus shoves his cock back inside the velvety depths in an almost violent press of his hips to her behind.

It feels so intense, too much and too fast that her head nearly spins from the sudden onslaught of pleasure assaulting all of her senses. Earlier wish for mercy is granted when he does not wait for her to adjust, settling into a pace that nudges that tender spot deep inside every time that he presses back inside. The edge of the table digs into her skin, making her teeth chatter with every little “ah, ah, ah” that escapes. Mercy is when he folds his body on top of her, his chest to her spine, like he cannot bear the thought of having space between their bodies now that he finally knows the truth.

Mercy is when he reaches down, pinching her clit and tapping it insistently like his cock is not stirring her very guts to the point that she can feel him in her throat.

She hears nothing but the sound of his grunts, his praise, and the slap of skin-on-skin.

At some point, she must have reached her high before blacking out, because the next thing that she knows is that she is on her back, the mattress soft but already drenched in fluids, with Sylus still inside her cunt — her very tender cunt that is practically oozing cum from how much he filled her.

“It’s okay,” the man coos sweetly, reaching a heavy palm to press against the bulge in her belly that is in the shape of his cock. “My little wife should go back to sleep and let her husband fill her up, hm?” It feels like a threat, a promise that only he is privy to its true meaning.

She wants to protest, but she feels so warm all over, from his presence and the warmth of his cum inside of her. Everything feels so muddled, like she is wading deep in a pool of thick syrup from all of his love pouring into her; exhausted eyes close once more, and she feels him press a kiss to her sternum.

“That's my perfect girl.”

#⠀-ˋˏ⠀𝓼𝐤𝐲𝐢𝐳𝐡𝐨𝐮⠀ ⟡ ׅ ﹙ 🪽 ﹚#love and deepspace smut #lnd smut #sylus x you #qin che x reader

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skyizhou · 1 month ago

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╰ 4,114 words · ˚ ༘ ꒱ When the doorbell rings after a few months, Sylus does not hesitate to put down his glass of whiskey and smile to himself in the darkness. Good girls never disappoint, and she just happens to be his best and only girl.

alternate universe — no powers. female reader. third person. age gap ( sylus is in his late thirties, and reader is in her early twenties ). friends to lovers. freak for freak dynamics. mentions of alcohol and violence, an unnamed shitty ex for reader. caretaker ! sylus. sugar daddy dynamics, heavy power imbalance. masturbation. somnophilia. drugging. babytrapping + breeding. fingering. cunnilingus. dubious consent, includes groping and manhandling.

For as long as anyone can remember, she had always been with Sylus.

They are not together, not even in the slightest, but they are friends — one would even say that they are the best of friends. The difference in their ages never bothered either of them. Sylus may have been in his late-thirties, and she, in her early-twenties, but that never had been a problem.

‘She makes me feel young,’ he mused one too many times, always after a few too many glasses of straight vodka emptied on the table. ‘You’re not even that old, oh god,’ she would groan to his shoulder, the fabric damp with a mess of her sweat and tears and more than one of the numerous alcohol in her glass that barely cradles the full volume of her monstrous concoction. Everyone in their circle would always end up laughing, and he would spend the night trying to bribe her to get down from the table before bringing her to his home, and to his bed where she would spend the night.

Nobody even knows how they began, not that they can answer it either. One day, they were both alone, until one day, they were not. It just felt — and it still feels — like the most natural thing in the world, being with Sylus and having him by her side.

After all, where one goes, the other follows.

He picks her up after class, and she visits him at work. He brings her to the restaurants that she wants to try, each one she talked about before having seen it on her social media; she brings him food, a sandwich or a few pastries that he mentioned once before that he wishes to try.

If one sees Sylus, then it is of no surprise if they end up seeing her too.

Some people even say that if they cannot find her, then just look for Sylus; chances are, she will be hanging off his arm with the brightest smile that makes even the sun pale in comparison. On the other hand, if they cannot seem to find Sylus, then just look for her; more often than not, he is definitely trailing after her with a besotted curl of his lips.

Eventually, his things end up mixing with hers, a sweatshirt hanging on the back of her couch, his imported sauces that find a home in her kitchen cabinets, and even bottles of his toiletries in her bathroom. In the same vein, her things find their way to his home too, a few of her stuffed animals on his bed, more than a few days’ worth of clothes in his closet, and her own fluffy robe that hangs right beside his.

Just like it has always meant to be.

She ignores how much the mere sight of their things mingling with their respective spaces makes her preen, just like how she has been ignoring how his mere presence is enough to cloud her senses in a rose-coloured haze.

It is easier this way, to pretend that nothing is out of the ordinary.

Her feelings do not matter when compared to their friendship. She is a big girl who can swallow the affection that threatens to spill from her lips every time he looks at her. She can take having to bite down the words that wish to interrupt whenever someone approaches Sylus, but she cannot resist the smugness that drips out of her whenever they all always end up rejected and his attention is returned to her like nothing ever happened.

Sylus is what home should feel like, warm and safe.

His plans shatter the moment a yapping pup enters the picture.

The man-who-should-never-be-named enters with all the bluster that comes with youth and more bark than bite, arrogant little shit. Sylus is not afraid of his proximity to his darling girl, not when she is far more clever than anyone — save for himself — gives her credit for. His presence in her life means that her standards should have risen to bars that only he can surpass.

Unfortunately, for all his foresight, such a thing did not happen.

Sylus can do no more than watch from the sidelines as she falls way too quickly, way too deep, that he can no longer bring her to the surface. It makes something in his chest ache, his teeth to dig into his cheeks until the taste of iron is all-encompassing. From the tightness of his clenched fists, pomegranates bloom from burst blood vessels until half-moon indents turn red from the blood.

Everything is fine, all of it is fine. He can be patient, especially when it comes to her.

But he is no saint, not when this stupid mutt keeps on testing him.

When she comes to him, eyes heavy with weariness and resignation, giving voice to words that do not belong to her heart — we should probably keep distance, it wouldn’t look nice to anyone if they see me hanging around you while I have a boyfriend — Sylus has to resist the urge to rip that bastard’s head off of his neck. All he does is smile, eyes curled into crescents to mask the rage that simmers deep inside of him, and agree.

He can never deny her anything after all.

So, he bides his time.

Foolish boys like that piece of shit can never take care of girls properly, can never spoil them the way they should be, can never fuck them the way a real man could. Little mutts like him tend to bark the loudest, knowing that it is all they have when their fangs will never be sharp enough.

He keeps his distance, watches through the sidelines, and waits.

When the doorbell rings after a few months, Sylus does not hesitate to put down his glass of whiskey and smile to himself in the darkness.

Good girls never disappoint, and she just happens to be his best and only girl.

When the worst happens, there is only one place that she knows to turn to.

The breakup had been a long time coming, everyone who knew her and the ex-who-must-never-be-named have always said that she was too good for someone like him. It is only now that she finally let those words sink into her brain and packed her bags, but not without leaving him with a parting slap — right above the kiss mark on his jaw that was not done in any of her lipstick shades.

She breaks up with him in the morning, and finds herself on Sylus’ front porch before evening falls completely and drowns the rest of the city in darkness.

There is no way that she will stay in that shitty apartment of his, not when she was paying more than half of the rent on top of the electricity and water bills. Let him be kicked out, he should not have cheated on her in the first place anyway.

She is here because she knows Sylus, knows that she can stay for a few weeks just to get her bearings back, and knows that he would be delighted.

He is kind to her like that.

It has barely been a minute since she rang the bell, but he is already there, windswept and breathless as if he ran just to open his door so she would not have to wait. Her heart aches with the fondness, but it is overtaken by the weight of her sorrow.

“We broke up.”

Three simple words that fall from her lips unbidden, her first words to him in months, but Sylus does not even falter when taking her into his arms and letting her cry on his chest over the time wasted on a man who did not see her worth and the time they had to spend apart because of his fragile masculinity. She weeps and clings to Sylus like a lifeline, like he is an anchor to her life that is splintering at the seams, then she lets herself rest.

He will take care of her, he always does.

They are friends, nothing more and nothing less.

Now though, everyone knows that it is only about time before it turns into something more, with the upstart pup finally out of the picture and she is finally in his home. The arrangement was only meant for a few days, then it extends to a few weeks, and when it turns to a month, she tries to offer him payment for the rent he never asked for that he snaps his teeth at playfully.

His eyes remain cold, however.

“Do you think I can’t take care of you?” He asks, teeth bared in a playful snarl but the threat of his bite is true. “Do you think I’d need your money to take care of you, hm?”

It is offensive, how she thinks that she owes him money after everything. As if he demands monetary compensation when her presence in his life is more than enough. She brings light to his days, a stability to the chaos that runs around his mind. She is all that matters, much more now that she is finally in his grasp.

She shrinks at his words, and he feels something inside of him turn cold. He was too much, too fast, too harsh. His arms reach for her almost immediately, tucking her underneath his chin for an embrace. Sylus is careful to not hold her too tight, to not hold her too loosely either. “Baby, really. I’m sorry for snapping at you like that. You understand, don’t you? I can take care of you, of this house, and everything else. All you have to do is to be pretty, safe, and happy. Can you do that for me, darling?”

When she nods hesitantly, he relaxes and presses a kiss to her crown.

“Good girl.”

For a few weeks, that is that.

Sylus thinks that peace has finally returned to their home, because this entire space that belongs to his name is shared by another — the only one that he wants to stay here forever, and she is finally letting him take care of her.

Until he stumbles upon her one night, scrawling on her notebook with her money separated into bills and coins. Something like irritation builds in his stomach at the mere sight.

“What are you doing?” He keeps the tone of his voice even, red tracking the way she jumps in surprise and tries to hide the notebook before giving up with a sigh. She gives him a small smile, shaky at the corners, but he is not fooled in the slightest.

The silence stretches, becoming filled with tension.

She gives in, breaks her gaze to look elsewhere. “Budgeting,” she whispers, but to his ears it sounds like a scream.

His eyebrows furrow, meeting in the middle. A frown finds its way to appear on his features. “Budgeting,” he repeats, not even as a question but as if a statement on its own. For a moment, he sees red. This stubborn little girl, really. Sylus does not know if her youth is equal to this behaviour or if it is simply in her nature, he does not know, and that lack of control and knowledge over one thing so dear to his heart is enough to rattle him.

Instead of letting it turn into another argument when she does not answer, he only pulls out his wallet and plucks a black card to lay it flat on the table.

“Use that,” he smiles, despite the way his teeth ache from the tightness in his jaw. “Don’t tell me no, darling. I don’t care for your protests and cute little refusals. You live under my roof, you better spend my money. That’s the rule. There is no such thing as having to budget for things here, alright?”

The only consolation he gets is the delightful flush on her cheeks, the widening of her eyes, and the clenching of her thighs to one another.

“I said, alright?” It was a demand for a response, one that makes her breath hitch before she gives him a frantic nod. A pretty little thing so desperate to please. Sylus watches as she reaches for the black card, holding it close to her chest with something like awe and finds something in him finally settling.

Her thighs pressing against one another under the table does not go ignored, not when all of his senses are intimately attuned to every movement that she does.

Sylus can feel his mouth go dry at the sight, daring himself to move, and when he does? It is all pure instinct. He takes a seat beside her, places one palm over her knee — dangerously close to the lace of her shorts adorned with a little bow at the waist. It is something that can be considered a friendly touch, nothing more and nothing less.

But his brain is whirring with images from his deepest fantasies, each one more depraved than the last when her legs automatically part the slightest bit in response.

[ … ] sharp spots of a kaleidoscopic lights bursting before his eyes, heaven in the shape of her perfect fucking cunt squeezing him tight with each inch that he presses deep inside her. Their lips are pressed together, her face scrunching rather adorably as sobs come spilling straight from her mouth to his—

[ … ] hair bunched between his fingers, his hand nearly engulfing the back of her head from the force of his hold. Each pull makes his bed squeak, the expensive springs making noises in protest from the ferocity of how he loves his sweetheart. His hips snap, delighting in the obscene squelching of her wetness and the copious amounts of cum he pumped into her—

[ … ] a comfortable weight above his lap, her legs spread wide open with the help of his knees so that they can both see the reflection they make in the mirror. His fingers are knuckle-deep inside her folds, skin pruned from how drenched she is. Lips to her ear, filth comes pouring out of his mouth, and he delights in the blush that overtakes her features—

[ … ] weighed down by sleep, she barely stirs when he falls to his knees between her slightly parted legs. His hands spread her open, thumb rubbing soothing circles on her knee. There’s no hesitation in the way his tongue hangs out, a starving dog and nothing more, and presses flat against the honeyed tang of her arousal—

There is no point in speaking, not when that touch is all he does. Sylus does not bring his hand higher, to the heat he can feel emanating from between her legs even this far down.

Anticipation makes everything much sweeter down the line.

Something is definitely wrong with her.

That is the only thing running through her head as she watches Sylus move around his state of the art kitchen with ease to prepare her a meal.

She has been living in his home for nearly a year now, all of her food is prepared by him or bought by his money, everything that touches her skin is paid for by the swipe of his black card that sits heavy in a bag that he bought for her. Everything that she has now all came from Sylus, and something about that makes her head spin with pleasure.

It feels nice to be taken care of like this, to have nothing to worry about.

Her footsteps bring her to the sink, knowing that it is only right that she cleans the dishes considering that he is the one cooking.

Barely even managing to touch the ceramic bowl before a hand immediately wraps around her wrist, halting all of her movements. She has always known that Sylus is big in the very literal sense of the word, he is tall and heavy and bulky, but this is the very first time that she has actually felt so little when compared to him, with his hand dwarfing the circumference of her wrist.

“Sit down,” he murmurs to her temple, pressing a quick kiss there before returning to the stovetop as if nothing happened while she remains frozen for a few more seconds.

Her heart is pounding, like she just ran a ten-mile marathon, and her legs shake when they bring her to the dining table. There is a haze setting into her brain, like she is floating but not quite. Her eyes remain trained on Sylus as he cooks; back, ramrod straight. She does not even fidget or squirm, does not even try to protest, she just sits.

“Good girl,” he praises with a smile, giving her a bowl of pomegranate seeds drizzled with honey. “The food’s gonna be done in a few.”

A part of her likes this about him, the ease in the way he makes her do things. The fact that he does not need to actively order her to do them before she does. It makes a part of her brain go numb, just hazy in the delight that comes with obeying, and being good for him.

So that is exactly what she does, she eats, spoonful after spoonful. She licks the honey from her lips, and scrapes the bowl when she is nearly done. She makes sure not to leave a single seed behind. Unlike Persephone who only had six months per year, she will be spending all of her time in the Underworld by choice and with no regrets.

Winter can come for the rest of the world and never leave, she does not care. She will stay with him, inside this home that he rearranged just for her — safe and sound, happy and warm.

The meal arrives after the press of lips to her crown, and a part of her just takes great pleasure in being taken care of by him. She does not have to think, to fret, and to stress over even the smallest of things when Sylus is around. When he tugs on her wrist, she goes and sits above his lap. He does not ask, she does not refuse. No words are necessary, not when he takes such great care of her. A tap on her lips with the fork gets them parting, accepting the offering of meat in bite size pieces. A finger on her throat makes her head tilt, taking small gulps of water then wine then water again.

Dessert is in the form of chocolate-covered strawberries, one that he taps against her bottom lip with hunger in his eyes. She looks up at him, meets his gaze, and bites. Pale red juices come dripping, down her chin to her neck, and even between the swell of her breasts.

Sylus looks at her, eating from his hand, like a man half-starved and half-feral. It is not a bad feeling; in fact, it feels delightful to be wanted in such a way.

Their gazes locked, she lets her tongue dart out to press against the pad of his fingers, tasting both him and the strawberry. It is such a heady combination that it makes her giggle, part-drunkenness from the wine and part-drunkenness from him.

“I really like you,” she murmurs the confession, blunt teeth nipping at his skin. “I really like being with you like this.”

She can see the way his pupils practically dilate upon hearing her words, a shaky exhale coming loose from his throat like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders at the admission. “I really like you too,” he whispers, leaning in close to let his forehead rest on hers.

He does not kiss her, and when night falls, she has to cum several times by humping her pillow — one that he bought for her — before she can admit that she was disappointed.

A part of him knows that he should not be doing this; unfortunately, it just so happens to be a very small one.

Blood rushes even further south, and Sylus can feel himself going dizzy. When he pulls his hips back, there is a very loud squelch that drowns out the sound of her even breathing. His fingers twitch from where they hold her by the waist, resisting the urge to hold her even tighter — he does not want to leave marks, not yet, but his control is a rapidly fraying rope. She is so fucking tight, he thinks, panting like a feral dog that turns to a drawn-out moan when she clenches around him subconsciously.

She was so naive, so willing to trust everything he says. All it took was a few pretty words, a gentle touch here and there, and she was so eager to down the offered glass. A few milligrams of the drug, crushed and mixed into the juice, is enough to knock an average adult for eight to twelve hours. But she has always been smaller than him, more delicate — not that it is even a significant point considering that everyone is smaller than him. It only took thirty minutes before she stumbled on the steps, a few more before she completely dropped faint in his arms.

It was so easy to lay her on his mattress, where she should have been since the very moment she stepped foot in his home. Perhaps, even way before that. His bed is where she should have been the first time they met, he should have been Troy to this Helen of his, whisked her away to his kingdom at first sight without care for the repercussions.

What was not so easy was stripping her out of the clothes that she bought using his money. It felt like a waste, to not be able to fuck her in things that basically scream of him, but there will always be a next time.

‘And there will be a next time,’ Sylus vows to himself, mouthing the words to the skin of her nape like he wants to imprint the very intent of it into her. He can feel the tightness in his lower abdomen, the warning of an impending climax.

He does not want this to end just yet, not when she feels too good around him. But it is precisely because she feels too good that he feels himself beginning to unravel.

A hand reaches around to rub circles on the throbbing nub, breathing out a hoarse laugh when she squeezes even more around him. Even in her state of unconsciousness, she is too good— too perfect for him, and he loves her all the more for it. The sound of amusement turns into a groan, his hips stuttering in their pace.

Reluctantly, he pulls away from where he has been slobbering all over the back of her neck to lean backwards and watch how puffy her folds have become.

Sylus is mesmerised, moving his thumb to trace the outline of her pussy wrapped snugly around his cock. There is already a frothy ring around the base of his girth, and he wants to make her into an even bigger mess. He needs her filled with him, leaking of him. ‘Maybe it will get her with a baby,’ he thinks with grim pleasure, eyes alight at the thought of seeing her womb swell with his seed taking root.

She is so sweet, so delicate. Someone like her will always try and refuse him, out of some misplaced sense of independence — damn, he needs to fuck that thought right of her head soon. This is where she belongs, in his house, in his bed, with her cunt wrapped around his cock. Having a baby with him will break her, but only just a bit, Sylus will never let her be completely broken by his hand. Just enough to make her malleable, to keep her with him forever.

She is so good like that, so perfect for him.

His pace quickens, almost frantically. It is of no surprise how quickly he finishes, he holds on to her tight and brings her close as he pumps her full, hissing under his breath at the intoxicating heat.

Unaware of the fluttering lashes that roll in the back of her skull and the grin she hides on the pillow, still pretending to be asleep on her stomach.

Like calls to like after all, and too much time spent in his company has made her all the more similar to Sylus to the point where even their schemes have begun to synchronise, striving for the same goal.

Not that he is aware of how much she knows.

How much she wants.

#⠀-ˋˏ⠀𝓼𝐤𝐲𝐢𝐳𝐡𝐨𝐮⠀ ⟡ ׅ ﹙ 🪽 ﹚#love and deepspace smut #lnd smut #sylus x you #qin che x reader #rewritten from an old work @ lishens

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