#mypen

So you tucked yourself in red, clad in his signature theme, and made yourself pretty. A door clicks shut a few metres away. It stirs something giddy in your stomach. It’s happened far too often to slip your attention.

“Alright, Mephisto. What’s the goods today?” Spying a small, cuboid box in his beak, hanging off an intrinsically strung ribbon—you raise an eyebrow. “New gemstone?”

He merely blinks. It’s almost mocking, like he’s in on some joke you’re not supposed to be a part of. But before your inquisitive mind can conjure a story to accompany your guess, the crow tosses the box up and over your head.

Damn that man and his programming.

It’s caught and you know it is, because no dull clatter strikes the floor. Regardless, you haven’t come to face the intruder, tossing one last look to your reflection in the window. A flicker of carmine glow bounces off the glass.

“Am I to infiltrate another auction with you?” Keeping your back to him proves to be tremendously difficult. Whipping around, you continue, “I’ve got plenty of cover stories!”

His face sweeps with that shine, that radiant smile—like he’s been made whole just by setting eyes on you. Like he’s seen the light of a thousand stars, torn space open himself to kiss the glow. Like he’s earned it.

“Developed a hobby for playing pretend I see,” he chuckles. “I do hope you don’t intend to fool me, sweetie.”

With a smirk, you approach him and hold a finger to his lips. “I could play your perfect little wife,” Something dances in his eyes. “Quiet, reserved— nobody will suspect anything.”

Sylus swallows. His thumb on the box twitches.

“My… perfect wife.” One of his quick little laughs slips by. “And you go with a silent puppet?” He’s amused, but there’s something beneath his words.

“Well, I can play any part you want me to be. I could even be the type to not even be seen with you.” That earns you a grimace.

“Sweetie, if you’re going to play my wife, I’d prefer it to be somewhat accurate.” 

“How do you want it, then?” you pout. 

Sylus’s gaze flicks to the window, Mephisto’s long since departed. “Well, for starters, not a shadow.” Onichynus’ boss never stumbles over his words.

Alas, with the glint in your eyes, he considers it an inevitability. Wouldn’t have it any other way. This path of conversation seems rather damning. Too fitting for coincidence. Fate, of course, has its own ways of tormenting Sylus.

“But don’t you relish the dark?”

You’ve got him there. “What I cherish is balance,” he answers. “the light to whatever sunless abyss I might find myself in.”

Blinking, you cock an eyebrow at him. “Aren’t your eyes sensitive?”

And Sylus laughs. Hard and loud, and so full of his heart.

“Alright, alright! Point taken. Metaphor. Got it.” Embarrassed, you break eye contact—but he doesn’t hesitate to meet your gaze again. A finger hooks under your chin, to bring your eyes back to him.

He continues, “Not clingy—” Seeing your brows furrow, he smirks. “—out of obligation. But because she wants to be.”

Brief annoyance cracks for something a little more affectionate. “So, like, you want me on your arm?” Sylus’s nickname suddenly becomes far more incriminating. “Poised and ready to strike?” Your fingers are outstretched now, curled over like claws.

Now, Sylus has seen the extent of the stretch of human flesh. Evaporation, disintegration, nothing really phases him. But now? He’s suddenly concerned with the imminent explosion of his heart. “Kitten, I don’t want her behind me, doing my bidding.” He’d have spluttered the words, if he were a weaker man. 

His hand snakes around your wrist and kisses the tip of your index finger. “I need her beside me, in tandem. Our bodies shall dance as our hearts do.”

“Alright, I get it.” Something is bubbling in your chest. It’s warm and heavy, but you can’t quite name it. It sits close to anticipation, and might barrel towards longing if you’re not careful. “What else?”

“Outspoken, a clamour that interrupts the monotonous drone of small talk.” You swear you can see a brighter crimson in his eye. “Never afraid to exist for herself, and yet for others as well.”

A flush might be creeping up your neck, but his gaze is far more bewitching. The lull of this fiends gaze triumphs over any inhibition, and invites you to breathe with it. 

“She takes what’s mine for herself,” Your eyes dart from his eyes to his lips, to the arm that hides the hand with the box, tucked behind his back. “and adores it like her own.”

Hand shifting a little, he thumbs at your knuckle. “An endless amount of love to give, but her heart has been mine to conquer.” A gentle kiss is pressed. “And it’s been written in time.” he whispers against your skin. “Fate itself has carved it in the universe.” His eyes flick to yours, blown and uncertain.

“I want the world to know it.” He smiles. “Know I’m hers, not through branding or accessory,” Sylus flushes a deep red. “but by our magnetism. I want to be so drawn to her that people will question my existence without her.”

Lips pressed tight together, you feel a little dig in the skin.

“And when we’re apart, it feels like the sky has shifted. The heavens might split open.” He laughs quickly, “For without her, my world is knocked askew.” 

Your world might tip in a second. It’s a small, sweet tremor in your knees—but your heart still pounds a mile a minute.

“And I want it to be real.” His voice drops to just barely a breath. “Not a show for the public.” Starting to shake, now. “But a promise that’s mine.”

Resounding in your head, realisation comes abrupt and in a whirlwind.  Almost like a punch to the gut. You’re not sure whether to embrace him there, run, or scream. You settle for letting him finish.

“And rings, sure. And vows, of course.” Everyone knows he can afford lavish, but it all pales against the wealth of his devotion. “But even without them, I want to always know what her soul says. And what’s written in mine will be etched into her very being.”

There’s tremors along your body, part excitement, part unpreventable concern.

“Even if she can’t believe it, I’ll worship her until it sticks to her like skin.”

The box pops open, and the shimmer is astonishing. You’ve seen it coming for a while now, but the gasp comes regardless. Inky, abyssal black sits neatly in a silver frame. Tidy. Perfect. But you pay it little head. For nothing in this moment could shine brighter than Sylus.

The words stick in your throat, jaw slack, eyes beginning to water—but your soul sings it all. And you know he feels it, every part of you that wants him, needs him—all to yourself.

Sylus notices how your synapses have seemed to lock themselves rigid. “But I suppose I already have that, no?” Shock dances in your eyes, in spite of the conclusion drawn on your own. “The only thing missing is the ring on your finger,” He kisses your cheek, now flushed and heated. “and a promise that you’ll be at the altar, love.”

There’s an attempt made to work your mouth around the words. It’s more of a garbled squeak that leaves you.

“What, no answer?” He teases, but his voice is starting to crack. Boss-man’s not all rigid on the outside. “And here I thought you said you could play the—”

You can’t take it anymore. Barely any distance between you anyway, but you close what’s left in one fell swoop—cutting him off with a press of your lips to his. The box snaps shut again.

Melting against him, the rampage of your heart almost stills entirely—like slotting the last piece of a puzzle in, that brief moment of equilibrium. “I fucking hate you.” you shudder into his mouth.

“You don’t, though.” He smiles back against your lips.

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It’s almost horror in your eyes, as he practically thrusts his black card in your face. Fuck’s sake.

“All yours.” It sits there—robust, shiny and glinting. 

The very essence of his soul could shiver and shift the cosmos, and here he stands—offering you more money than you could fathom. On his birthday. The paucity is damning. It’s not an outlandish thing for him to do, seeing as he waves the plastic in your direction almost daily—but you feel sheepish regardless.

“…Thanks.” is what you mumble, fumbling with the stupid rectangle and turning away. Sylus quirks an eyebrow. 

Like muscle memory stretched across timelines, his hand snakes past your hip, arm cradling your waist. You’re spun back to meet his inquisitive gaze.

“Is something the matter?”

“Sylus…” Voice dropping to a mutter, you bring a hand to your temple. “I was going to buy you something. It’s your birth—“

“None of that.”

“What the hell do you even get out of–!?”

“I want to see my beloved in diamonds.” He says it so matter-of-factly, like you decked in the value of millions is as natural as a breath. Like you truly are worth the moon, the stars, and every speck of existence between them. “Won’t you indulge me?” His lips press your jaw, feather-light. “It is my birthday after all,” He murmurs against your skin, “let me see my world shine.”

And your heart might burst here. You yield to the sweet of his soul, as if any resistance could stand for long, “Alright, beloved.”

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You’ve lost track of time for a while now and the carat count evaded you far before then. It’s dizzying, how focused he is on you, how razor sharp his glare is on every gemstone—like a dragon hoarding treasure.

But you know you’re his favourite. The daggers he shoots in his inspection of each jewel softens immediately the second he sets eyes on you. It’s nothing foreign, a private suite for picking out jewellery, but the energy today seems more buzzed. Charged like something’s about to keel over and snap.

That and the way he kisses you in between fittings. He swallows your noises like air, presses against you like a lifeline. You find the rubies drag a particularly heady shudder out of him, as his fingers dig into your waist, and he has to tear himself away—lest the two of you debauch the whole damn store.

Emerald sees him kiss your hands more than anything, reverence found in each of your fingertips. Amber drives a softness in how he pecks your lips, warm and familiar.

Kiss-swollen and itching for another sort of relief, you find Sylus particularly enamoured with a set in his hands. Another emboldened ruby, this time vividly bloodred and seemingly imbued with something else.

Any other piece at his behest doesn’t hold a candle to the glow of this one. Sylus acts as if possessed by something, switching out your previous set for this one. Clasping it with care, you hear him actually gasp at the sight of you. God, your knees are weak.

Turning to the mirror beside you, you realise why. It’s devastatingly beautiful.

The fall of the chain is so loosely intricate, it’s like a bloodied, silver spill on your neck—earrings flowing with such ease, catching the light with a flash damn near blinding.

The store’s lights have already begun to irritate Sylus’ eyes, but oh how worth it is the pain. How worthwhile this minor vexation is, in the face of the grandeur that stands before him.

And how clueless you try to be, how simply you smile at him, with a “do they suit me?” How you catch his awed silence, in how he’s suffocating in his own desire—and smirk, that addictive, knowing smirk.

He will die if he doesn’t have you in the next five minutes.

Sylus doesn’t even ask for them to be packed, simply handing you his card and watching you swipe it is enough to turn him truly mad. O, he is finished.

Skipping over to him once done, chest heavy with something caught in your chest, about to spill—you extend your palm to take his hand, light shining at your neck and ears.

“Shall we?”

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The drive back is almost a blur, a muddled haze of desire in limbo and a tempest on its way.

You barely get a chance to get your bearings as you return to base before you’re whisked into Sylus’ arms. His desperate needy arms.

“Ah, let me take the—“

“No.” he practically begs. “Please.” Actually begging then. And fuck, you’re still weak.

It’s a mess of tongue and breath as you stumble into his bedroom, practically a cascade of desire has lodged itself between you—and you’re insistent on feeding it.

To push and pull, and swim in the mist of your passion, to the point where you don’t know where you end and he begins.

Though as he lowers you onto the bed, arm wrapped around your waist as he continues to ravage your mouth—a little logic strikes you.

“Sylus, they’re going to– ah— snap.”

Your warning does little to deter the torrent at your neck. Sylus nips and licks like he’s competing for best neck accessory, the villain. Ever the fanatic to brand, like his name hasn’t been etched in your soul for millenia. 

“Now why would that matter to me,” A briefly sharp bite drags a choked whimper out of you, “when my canvas lies here, shining brighter than anything out there?” Any homage Sylus gives just has to be uttered pressed against you, one way or another. It tickles a little embarrassment, and you clench your thighs instinctively.

“Then why are these on me?” Your inhibitions wane with each swipe of his tongue—but oh, the way he laughs into your skin, strips that in seconds. It strikes you deep in your core, a tiny shudder escaping.

“I want to relish in how they pale against you.” Sylus’s words drip with the purest affection. It’s dizzying, how the world brands him conceited, all while his soul rips itself bare for you. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t stroke your ego. Entirely yours for the taking, and your greedy heart is all too happy to oblige.

“And you look exquisite in my colours.”

The moan you swallow doesn’t slip by him in the slightest, and he chuckles.

“It’s my birthday, remember?” He stares you right in the eyes. “I want everything from you. Don’t hide from me, sweetie.”

So you don’t.

You let him undress you, he somehow manages not to tear the cloth from your skin in one fell swoop. You’ve always admired his restraint. But what you crave is when it frays at the edges, eventually crumbling.

But the two of you play fair. You might be perched in his lap, tongue down his throat, pussy achingly neglected—but you palm his dick through his slacks and swallow the groan that drops out.

“You don’t get to hide from me either.” you pant into his mouth.

So he shucks off whatever barrier remains between the two of you—now coming skin to skin.

Shifting to set you in the pillows, he kisses down, down past your sternum, against your hip—and dipping to your cunt.

You lean forward in confusion that entirely evades Sylus. “But it’s y—“

He cuts off whatever nonsense was about to leave your mouth with a kiss to your core. The sharp whine that drops out of you is perfectly loud as you drop back into the pillows.

“Am I not the one who should be indulging?” He lifts your thigh and kisses it firmly. “Let me take my sweetest gift of all, sweetheart.”

It’s unexplainable, the passion that takes Sylus every time he settles between your legs. The desire of something hellish, mixed with the veneration of something that could only be described as sacred.

“Just look at the shine on you,” he emerges briefly to say, lips sheen with how wet he’s already made you. 

It’s a sight that makes you light in the head, how drunk he looks at just the taste of you. How far gone he can seem just by touching you. 

Your mind practically melts with each swirl of his tongue—you come fast and hard, god knows all his kisses spun a heat in your core long before you got home.

And Sylus looks dazed. Absolutely enthralled at the sight of you. He hasn’t even cut his cake yet and he’s beaming like he’s won the world.

“You already sparkle enough to tear the sky apart, sweetie.” Another kiss to your thigh. “These pieces are just the spotlight and stage but you,” His hand glides up to your waist. “my darling, are the main act.”

His words never fail to get a smile out of you. Even when misery sticks in your bones, even when his tongue has poked practically every crevice inside you, the giggles are inevitable. Absolutely fucking giddy for him, you are.

He laughs—a long, breathless one, “You’re just perfect aren’t you?”

Your thigh twitches, as if it’s answering him.

“Would you like to see when you absolutely dazzle?” 

Hazed in the throes of desire—eyes glossing—you pant at him, barely holding on. “Enlighten me.”

Deft hands at your thighs, he masterfully shifts positions, perching you on his lap—his own legs bracketed between your knees.

It’s a tease, the way his cock slides between your folds—pushing close, but refusing to satisfy entirely. It aches. You whine and rut against the scarce friction, matching the twitch of Sylus’ hips and the groan that slips him.

“Sylus.”  Tears threaten to spill. And how could he resist?

Snarling crimson tendrils slither, and you can feel the tug in your heart, but not before the lift of your hips, pressing his cock inside. The breach is bliss, but you fear you’ll be defeated far too quickly. Which is why you allow the energy within you to stir. Something clicks, a silent understanding, and the ribbons of energy dissolve. So you slam down entirely.

Sylus’ expression is wild. Mussed and adoring, like all restraint has tumbled out of him. 

“No gem in this universe could touch this.” he mutters, candid and utterly, utterly lovestruck. Staring you in the eyes, nothing lost between your locked gazes, he bucks his hips up—relishing in how you scramble for purchase.

How you clamber for a grip to steady yourself, as he meets your deepest end with the familiarity of worlds beyond this one.

“Fuck– fuck– yes, finally—”

Chuckling, Sylus’ hands find their rightful place at your waist. “Impatient kitten,” He rolls his hips, “aren’t you?” The following clench is damning. “Go on then, darling. Take all of me.” A groan is punched out as you’re itching to oblige. “Let me see that greedy shine of yours.”

Eager to live to the glitter of your brand, you’re taken with something unprecedented. It’s nothing new, him having you on top of him—bracketed below and transfixed by your control. But the need that sweeps you now is somehow more feverish than ever. 

And it could be chalked up to frustration, at how you’d set out to treat him—and instead had the tables turned, dressed up and dripping on his dime. So now you will treat him, quash any ill thoughts or swarms of vitriol slithering in his mind.

What seems to go amiss in that witty little head of yours, is that there’s no greater treat for Sylus—you taking what you need from him, so easily, so perfectly. As has always been your right.

No mental poison can touch him here. Here, where all he can comprehend is how beautiful you are. And as the rhythm of yours wanes with fatigue—he relishes in the next greatest pleasure you could give him, ensuring you’re satisfied.

“Sylus…” you groan, despite the tremors in your thighs. You know what he’s thinking.

It’s more akin to hyperbole, for nothing can satiate that gorgeous, gluttonous soul of yours. But Sylus can damn well quell the tide for a bit. The hand at your waist hasn’t moved, moving to guide you down—facing up at those devilish eyes.

“Is there something you’d like to say to me?” The guile in that mouth of his.

You know. You’re wholly aware, there’s nothing he’d rather do than give himself for your satisfaction. “Fuck me, then.” You surrender. The winner here is unclear. Two halves of a whole, neither can triumph over the other—the most you can do is compromise. Let your hearts dance in tandem and your bodies move mirror-like.

A damning flicker in his eyes sees him pick up a steady speed immediately, and oh how you melt into it. Back arched, core hot and aching and so perfectly matched.

Coherence slackens, as you mostly reduce to a mess of screams and shouts of Sylus’ name.

One particularly loud moan has him bite into your shoulder, like all he knows what to work his jaw around is you.

“I know, baby,” He kisses over it. “I know– fuck— you feel perfect.” He peppers your skin with more. “You’re wonderful, so– ah— so good for me.”

His words drip with adoration while the rest of him comes in a cascade, unrelenting and so perfectly filling.

“Do you see now?” His thrusts don’t relent, and he snakes a finger down to circle your clit. “How dazzling you are when you come undone?” Your gasp tells all. “How fucking easy it is for me to get lost in your glow?”

“Sylus, Sylus— ohmygod—“

“Let go for me. Shine as you were always meant to.”

So you do, ungraciously and wholly, like your heart’s been erased by touch and rewritten with love, raw and simple.

“My patience knows no bounds,” he says, to which you scoff. Of course, it’s feigned nonchalance. His eye twitches. Now, you might not have the core in yours but the shine of this man’s aching rivals the sun. Something pulls at his lips, the twitch of his fingers on edge.

Sylus feels lambasted. He’d waited lifetimes to have you, truly have you. And he’s about to crack with a few featherlight kisses and rocks.

Pathetic.

But hasn’t he always been so? No matter, he’s lying anyway—ever the desperate, clinging fiend he is. Pursing his lips, tense against the next press of yours to his neck— he fucking juts.

The noise it shudders out of you doesn’t help much either. Naïveté in your squeak, like something pinched you.

“Oh, Sylus.” Playing dirty, now. His eyes narrow and he doesn’t let up further. Not until misty tendrils slither up and over his shoulders, sliding round your waist—dragging you into the air.

You almost bark a laugh. “That’s cheating.”

“Really? I’d call it pest control.” A small smirk tugs at his lips and your brows furrow.

“So, I’m an insect?” you poke at him.

Sylus scoffs. “If you were an insect, I’d have you squashed against the wall.” Gaze dropping to the way your thighs clench, there’s a tick in his jaw.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“There’s something terribly wrong with you,” His voice drops, but his Evol tightens.

The way you meet his words with a giggle is dizzying, each laugh spilled out of your mouth meets his ears like honey, and he’d like nothing more than to drown.

“I said you couldn’t touch me.”

“And here I am, sweetie,” his smile teems with the countenance of a man fraying at the edges. “not touching you.”

Energy slithers up your thighs and sneaks around your neck. A steady hold, as always.

“Put me down.”

“As you wish.”

In seconds, you’re slid over to land on his lap, slot perfectly around his legs. Like you were always meant to be there.

“Where were we?”

This bastard.

The tracks of his Evol tinge a lingering slide underneath your skin, a tickling desire—one that bounds red hot under your veins, and can only seem to calm with one solution.

Your bastard, you affirm.

He expects your next move, moves pliantly to welcome your crushing kiss.

“Beautiful fucking asshole,” you whisper against him, and he huffs a tiny laugh as you swallow the rest of his noises.

“Yours,” he swears breathlessly, and you feel it in your core.

You crumple his poise and crease his shirt in your attempt to practically lock your souls. Like you could bare even an inch of distance in your hearts.

Like this little game could hold for much longer.

It’s almost frustrating, how such a damned man practically kneels at the sight of you. A fiend, put to worship of his own volition.

“And who am I, but a mere sinner?”

Licking a stripe across your clit, your back arches fast and hard—hands scrambling for purchase in his hair. Tugs at his scalp don’t relent his speed, in fact it spurs him—pushes him to tongue at your cunt with nothing short of delight.

“Oh my god, Sylus—“

A low chuckle vibrates against your core and your thighs inch closer to clamping around his head.

“Certainly a high title, sweetie. I’ll do my best to live up to it.”

“Don’t fucking say things like— shitshit–”

Sylus starves without this. Doom passes over him in shivers, but this? You? You stave off any ache he may have had. Truly, he could live here.

An unrelenting force, he is. No heed paid to the stiff cock in his own pants, no—all the strive is for your pleasure. In his plight for you to reach your peak, his own desires have no place. Thighs shaking around his neck, he can’t help but revel in how open you are.

One moment, his teeth scrape like he truly wants to crack you open, the next he drools and kisses—practically drunk off the taste of you. 

And aren’t you precious, in how you take it all in stride. How you indulge his need to fulfill your needs. Just a darling you are, letting him lock your souls once more—press skin to skin, core to core and let him taste how perfect you are.

Everything here, raw and sweet—ready for him to devour. Even your embarrassment; he’ll meet it with reverence on his tongue. The only coherent word left that you can splutter out remains his name. His alone, and it stirs something heavy inside him. 

You don’t even warn him that you’re close, he can feel every inch of his pleasure in your soul, a knowing mark under his skin forever.

One final clamp, tight and desperate, around his face has you seeing stars. You unravel, and Sylus’ face is soaked.