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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 came 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.
Their friendship has always struck their circle as odd, considering that he is in his late-thirties while she is in her early-twenties. It is as odd as it is amusing, seeing her teach him modern slang and watch his face contort in disgust at the cocktail recipes that she pulls from her phone for him to try.
‘She makes me feel young,’ he mused one too many times, 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 monstrous concoction. Everyone would 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, to his bed where she would spend the night.
That was the before, before the shitty boyfriend came. The boyfriend who hated him with a bone-deep certainty that could only make him smile in the dark.
Little pups tend to bark the loudest after all, their inexperience making them insecure, and that results in foolish decisions.
Sylus did not even have to do anything, he only had to acquiesce to the demands of a controlling boyfriend to put some distance and bide his time, before she came back to him. He knew that she would, and she did.
Good girls never disappoint, and she just happens to be his best and only girl.
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, 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.
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 if she cleans the dishes considering that he is the one cooking.
Barely even touching 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.
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 cannot leave marks, not yet. 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 flunitrazepam, 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.
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 unravelling.
A hand reaches around to rub circles on the throbbing nub, breathing out a hoarse laugh when she tightens 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 cock, 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.
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.
Mission? Success.