#i don't think my lore drop is showing up on mobile unless u click view post but idk how this app works

[humanjarvis]

the fact that this still gets a couple of notes every day is so funny bc i originally thought everybody hated it and it sucked, i don’t think it had a single comment for a week or more, and i was like oh my gosh was it too far should i delete it should i delete my blog

but turns out it was just an extremely slow grower. writing for the arts not the charts lmao

bloodlust

synopsis: you’ve never known real power. sylus lets you taste it.

tags: nsfw & dark (mdni), sylus gravely injures people who upset you, you like it and fuck him in front of their writhing bodies, he then wipes them from existence with his evol, love confessions, avoidant reader is back, reader thinks they're weak, reader exalts sylus, reader needs therapy, size difference, fingering, vaginal sex, kinda? implied to be their first time but u can decide for urself bc what a first time this would be, blood, violence (obviously), sylus is still nice but definitely leaning into the legendary criminal persona, he’s also obsessed with you, i think that’s it?? pairing: sylus x reader word count: 2.7k

a/n: try psychoanalyzing THIS

You’d always known you were a vengeful person. 

From the day you’d started hating your babysitter for insulting your favorite toy, to the time you’d tried to explode your leech of a landlord with your mind every month, you’d been well aware: you did not take kindly to being wronged. 

You had no true power of your own, no—timid and unimposing, you’d been forced to restrict your retaliation to the hypothetical, the mental. Death wishes, prayers for misfortune, and fantasies of karma were your safe haven—the space in your mind where no one could reach you with insult or ridicule, where the judgment of others was your sole prerogative. 

For years, you’d lived this way, worked this way. Discredited and discarded, excluded and exploited, you’d sought comfort in your capacity to think, to imagine. To imagine retribution for those who would never be dealt it—at least, not from your inconsequential hand. 

But this time, your mere imagination would not be enough.

For the last month, a clique of obnoxious coworkers had been harassing you nonstop, stewing in jealousy after your recent promotion. Day after day, they’d tried to break your spirit, and day after day, they inched closer to success. The thinly veiled barbs, harsh criticisms, and shameless attempts to steal your work were eating away at you, no matter how vividly you imagined retaliating in the safety of your mind, dissolving each perpetrator to dust for their needless hostility. 

The dam broke the day they’d found your weak spot, launching a full-on attack on you. Not your skill, not your work, but the unchangeable traits that already kept you awake at night, wishing you could be something greater. Your shyness, your weakness, your simple approach to the world—everything that made you who you were, they’d picked apart.

You don’t recall how you’d gotten home that day—only the wings of a crow fluttering above you as you floated down the familiar streets on autopilot. You’d stepped through the door withdrawn nearly into catatonia, recoiling from sounds and flinching from touches. 

Sylus hadn’t liked that. 

After years of lonely independence—not what you’d chosen but all you could handle—you’re still adjusting to relying on someone else to preserve your honor. Especially when that person has everything you lack: an imposing form, an authoritative voice, effortless assurance, and unrivaled strength. 

Sylus can make your hypotheticals—your unfulfilling, pathetic hypotheticals—into reality. Without lifting a finger, without breaking a sweat. 

So when you return to his home in a shell of dejection, drained of the life you’d graciously breathed into his, that’s precisely what he plans to do.

Someone had upset you—terribly so. The moment he’d claimed you, held your trembling, uncertain form in his, he’d set a very high price for that.

In the back room of Onychinus’s main warehouse, your body tremors in anticipation. Tonight, your defenses are more than psychological. Tonight, for the first time, you’ll know the intoxicating security of capability. 

As you wait for Sylus’s cue, your mind wanders to the aftermath of that day. Once you’d come back to him, looked into his eyes with something more than blankness, he’d approached you. Gathering you into his arms, he’d asked what’d happened—who’d happened—pressing sweet kisses to your temple and lips whenever your voice would break. 

He’d holed up in his office after he’d seen you to bed, compiling all the information he could find—a lot, with his resources—on the three men who’d tormented you. Their names, addresses, roles in the company, aspirations—anything that’d be useful in luring them to his turf. 

And now, he’s asked you to stay out of sight and wait for his signal as he lulls his suspects with the false promise of a good deal. 

Just as you feel the familiar impulse to flee threaten your resolve, a too-realistic caw and the steady flaps of metal wings snap you out of your thoughts. As the omnipresent crow lands on your shoulder, nuzzling your cheek in programmed affection, you walk slowly to the heavy door, steeling yourself before sliding it open. 

In the dim light of the square room, you feel his presence before you see him, his cool authority drawing you to him like a magnet. You come to a soft stop behind his chair, draping one arm over his shoulders, the other on his chest, as he introduces you as his partner. And with a tense, shuddering breath, you tighten your grip on him as you raise your eyes to meet the men who’d nearly broken you. 

Apparently, though, your true reunion has been put on hold, as their careless eyes are busy ogling your body in proprietary glee. 

When Sylus clears his throat, they seem to remember where they are and who they’re with, and three pairs of eyes finally deign to meet yours. Almost immediately, those eyes flicker in recognition, the faces of their owners blanching with nerves.  

And that reaction is the smoking gun—the only evidence Sylus needs to enact their damnation. 

In an instant, crimson ropes with black undertones snake around the men’s immobilized bodies, suspending them in midair before inching up to muffle the groans that catch in their rigid throats. 

Rising from his seat, Sylus bends to kiss your forehead before blocking your view with his back. “Don’t peek, sweetie,” he hums as he extends one large hand, dancing his index finger in a line of X’s. As he moves, hundreds of tiny, twisting cuts appear around each man’s neck, their countless wounds dripping with thin streams of blood. 

Completing his design, he clenches his fist, and the ropes tighten to drain their prey at a much greater volume. 

A few seconds later and he drops his hand, the men’s half-emptied, half-alive bodies hitting the floor in one simultaneous thud. 

From behind the broad panes of Sylus’s back, you're not supposed to see his carnage, the way his victims can’t even beg him for mercy with the blood clogging their windpipes. 

But with your hands on his narrow waist, supporting you as you peek around him in disobedience, the image of what he’s done for you and its surprisingly comfortable weight settle on your now relaxed shoulders. 

It’s not the mess on the floor, but the principle of his actions—the urgency with which he moved to avenge his own.

You want to thank him. You want to worship him. 

Oblivious to the desire thrumming in your heart, Sylus finally turns around, ready to usher you out of the room. When he reaches for you, though, you intercept his arm, panting softly up at him with wide eyes.

Mistaking your expression as terror, he moves to step back, but you shake your head vehemently and tug him toward you, your feet firmly rooted in place on the tiled black floor. 

Wordlessly, you paw frantically at his shirt and belt—anything that can come off—with your usually nimble fingers trembling and clumsy from the rush of energy in your veins. 

As you manage to undo the first button of his shirt, realization dawns on his face, lightening his stormy garnet eyes in a mix of shock and relief. 

“You’re a naughty little thing, aren’t you?” he breathes, his large hand covering yours on his buttons and freezing your advances momentarily. 

With an impatient huff, you look up at him and open your mouth in protest, but he speaks before you can. 

“For a moment, I thought I'd made you fear me again,” he admits with a shaky chuckle. “Evidently I was wrong, and although I'm glad to know that…are you sure you want to do this here, sweetie?” he checks, peering down at you with a searching gaze. 

Finding your voice, you use his loosened shirt to pull him down to your height, caressing his chiseled jaw in your hand. “I want you to take me. Here, in front of all of them. I want them to watch the man who’ll take their lives take my heart in his hands. Will you do that for me?”

He’ll do anything for you. 

And so, softly maneuvering your body, Sylus repositions you to stand in front of him and angles your gaze to the reflective steel ceiling, not allowing the filth on the floor to enter your line of sight. He supposes they can look at you—it won’t matter for much longer, anyway—but he refuses to let you look at them any longer, to let your intimacy be tainted by the memories of what they’d done. 

Slowly, he trails his unoccupied hand down to grope your full breasts, humming in approval when he feels your pebbling nipples. Pinching your right peak softly, he murmurs into your left ear, surrounding you on all sides. “You like what I’ve done, I presume? Are you pleased with me?” 

Moaning softly, you arch back into him, pushing your chest further into his welcoming hand. Tilting your head back as far as his iron grip allows, you turn your face to brush his cheek as his fingers continue working your aching nipple. “It’s not what you’ve done to them,” you breathe against him, “it’s what you’ve done for me.” 

With another moan, you rock your hips back between his legs, feeling the sizable bulge that grows harder with each reaction you give him. 

With the strength in his one free hand, the other still aiming your gaze toward the ceiling, he tears the front of your flimsy dress open, your breasts spilling out in smooth bounces. 

Sylus groans deeply at the visual, his palm coming up to grope and knead your tender flesh between his calloused fingers. 

“Tell me,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the pulse in your neck. “How should I take you, hmm? Hard and fast, so they know I pace you, or slow and deep, so my love is clear?”

Leaving your breast with a last tug at your nipple, he lowers his hand to dip his fingers under the hem of your exposed panties, gliding between your glistening folds. Extending two long digits, he slips them into your fluttering entrance, sliding in and out with ease from the intensity of your arousal. 

As he pumps his fingers inside you, your walls clenching around him in search of something larger, you’re barely able to formulate a response. Luckily, your answer is simple.

“Everything,” you moan to him. “Everything you can give me—I want it all.” 

With a rumbling groan, Sylus gives you a final deep thrust with his fingers, dragging them inside your walls to collect all of your essence. Pulling them out of you with a wet pop, he swiftly sticks them in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digits as he savors your taste. Standing up on your toes, you push your mouth to his, slipping your tongue past his lips to steal what’s left of your flavor. A string of saliva connects you as you part, only snapping when Sylus shifts to free the heavy bulge from his straining slacks. 

Mewling, you try to push your hips back, desperately searching for whatever friction you can find. But with a light tap to your hip, he holds you in place, thwarting your attempt to bring him closer. “Be patient for me, won’t you?” he asks. “I’ve wanted you like this for so long—surely you’ll let me lead?”

And although you’ve vowed against letting anyone lead you, letting anyone take charge of you lest you get burned, you remember the power he’d gifted you only an hour ago, the writhing bodies still littering the floor behind you. His grand display of care, devotion, and understanding. Without a second thought, you find yourself nodding frantically in his embrace, his hand on your jaw briefly loosening with the force. 

With a soft, unnecessary apology, you still, allowing yourself to fall pliant in his hands. Against your ear, you feel his lips curl into a smile.

“Eyes up,” he whispers as he sinks into you.

The intrusion is slow, and thanks to the wetness leaking out of you, you suction in his oversized length with only a slight discomfort. With a gentle push, he fully seats himself inside you, and you both release a breathy moan—yours at the wholeness, his at the tightness.

After one sublime moment, your bodies almost merged with your closeness, he pulls out slowly, leaving just the head of his shaft inside you before surging forward in an all-encompassing thrust. Mouth falling open, you unconsciously tilt your hips back to meet him, and he growls his approval. 

“I’ll give you everything,” he rumbles with another deep thrust. “Everything you want, everyone you want it done to—that’s my promise to you,” he vows, biting your ear. “Not a single being will harm you without paying the price—the price they pay as they look up at us with their last glances, wishing with all they have left to be in my place instead.” 

As he speaks, he quickens his measured strokes into powerful snaps of his hips—pacing you, just as he’d said. His promise and his movements are all too much, and you feel a sweet ache start to spread within your lower belly. 

Trying and failing to match his bruising thrusts, you babble out your admiration, the words that have circled your brain since he’d first told you his plans. 

“Thank you,” you pant, drawing in shuddering breaths. “I-I know I shut down on you sometimes, but I’m not used to having someone to care for me—having someone who can. I’ve only ever protected myself, a-and only ever in my head. I’m not strong enough, or assertive enough, to do anything you do for me and I love you so much for it—love you so much that I’m jealous of you, and it only makes me love you more,” you finish with a whimper. 

At your confession, Sylus grips your hip in his hand and fucks into you with renewed fervor, jostling every part of your body but your head, still securely angled toward the sky. The pounding starts a quake in your legs, and you slump into his strong chest, entrusting yourself to him as he pushes you both over the edge. With a few more sharp thrusts and a stinging bite on your neck, he spills into you in thick, hot spurts, and the sensation has you gushing around him. With an unrestrained cry, you dig your nails into his arm, and he presses impossibly closer to you.

“However much you think you love me, know that it hardly compares to the obsession I feel towards you.” 

As you’re lost in the pleasure of your joint release, murky red and black wisps coil around the figures twitching on the floor, enshrouding them in an eerie haze. With near inaudible crackles, they erode the forgotten flesh of their targets, twisting and curling, bending and snapping, until the floor is cleared of sin. 

Sylus, who’d captured your attention with a devoted kiss in the comedown of your orgasm, slowly releases you once his work is done. Breathless, you hover near his mouth, eager to ask for more, when you notice his firm grip has left your jaw—you’re free to look as you please. 

With his length still inside you, pulsing softly and coated with your combined essence, you twist in his arms, expecting the lifeless shapes on the floor to sully the peace of the moment, to resurface the desolation in you that'd led to their demise. 

But as you peer down at the shiny black tiles, you see nothing but yourselves—a smaller figure entwined in the consuming embrace of a much larger one.

“How do you feel?” a deep voice purrs into your ear. Craning your neck to look at its pleased owner, you sensually press yourself back, burying his already hardening length deeper into its nest. With a soft smile, you claim his lips in an unhurried kiss, tender and reverent and lewd.

When you pull away, he splays a possessive hand over your abdomen. He rests his chin atop your head as he resumes his pumps in and out of you, gradually quickening his controlled movements. 

Fluttering your eyes closed, you breathe in with contentment. The air around you has grown a little lighter with the deletion of those who’d dared to waste it.