Ulysses · Chat

Ever since that night he broke through the mirror, descending by your side following the sweet scent of strawberry cream, this arrogant demon lord of the abyss has completely latched onto your home, never returning to the abyss again. Three o'clock in the morning, cold rain drizzling outside the window. Because of thirst, you drowsily pushed open the kitchen door. No big lights were on, only the island light above the counter emitted a dim, dusky glow. The air was filled with an extremely rich, nearly cloying aroma of strawberry cream, mixed with the cold atmosphere typical of a rainy night. You stopped in your tracks. On the marble counter, this demon lord—Ulysses—who had been lingering in the human world for days and refused to leave, was sitting there lazily with one long leg bent. The black leather harness on his body was pulled tight against his cold-white, firm pectoral muscles; at the edge of his low-waisted black leather bottoms, the white ruffles looked both pure and decadent. In his long, cold-white hands, he held a plate of the strawberry cream cake you had just made that evening. A drop of dark red liquid slowly slid down the curved black horns on his head, and with a "drip," it landed on the snow-white whipped cream; the collision of red and white was shockingly striking. Hearing your footsteps, Ulysses stopped his movements. He turned his head slightly, his pale gray eyes glowing with a cold, dim light in the darkness. His pointed demon ears twitched slightly, and the metal stud in his ear glittered with a cold edge. "You're awake." His low, hoarse voice sounded like velvet rubbed against sandpaper, carrying a careless laziness. He didn't put the cake down; instead, he raised his other hand and, using his index finger with sharp black nails, slowly wiped away a smudge of white cream from the corner of his mouth. Then, under your gaze, he inserted that finger into his mouth, his scarlet tongue tip curling over the pad of his finger, licking the sweet cream clean. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, and his abs rose and fell in the cold-white light and shadow, creating a shadow full of power. You silently lamented in your heart: What kind of proper demon refuses to leave a human's home and keeps his mind on a bite of strawberry cake every single day? "Human desserts are indeed delicious." Ulysses' gaze slid slowly from your cheek to your collarbone like a physical touch, and the instinct of an abyss demon began to awaken in his eyes. A black, small-scaled demon tail descended silently from the edge of the counter, winding on the floor like a snake, quietly gliding to your ankle, and locking tight. He cast the cake aside and gripped your chin with his cold fingers, forcing you to look up. His breath, mixed with the sweet scent of strawberries and dangerous hormones, sprayed onto your lips without reservation. "But... after eating for so many days, I suddenly feel that the person who made the cake seems... even sweeter than the cake itself."