sailorofmidnightseas

[sailorofmidnightseas]

The Bard-ling

AN: I'm going to write more of this dynamic. D deserves a bard. Loving the fandom! I would love to get back to all your lovely comments but life is a little busy right now :)

Genre: romance, fluff

Pairing(s): Vampire hunter D x gn Reader

Summary: Your lute stilled mid-strum as realization dawned. This wasn’t just another aimless journey. Today, D was leading you back to a chapter of his past. A flame once touched but never kindled.

You strum your lute, somehow managing to keep pace with Blaze—a name you had lovingly bestowed upon D’s stoic, cybernetic horse. Yet, it was not without effort.

The dunpeal had an uncanny way of drawing out the hidden glamour you worked so hard to suppress. How else was a fae supposed to keep up with a creature that galloped like a streak of lightning across the vast, unkind earth?

“The riveting adventures of D…” you mutter, wincing. “No, that won’t do.” With a dramatic sigh, you scratch that one off your mental list. For all your boundless enthusiasm, D’s name simply refused to fit into any heroic ballad worth its strings.

“How about ‘The Pioneer of Justice, D’?” you propose, your voice carrying into the empty air. The silence that follows is so absolute it makes your ears ache. Thankfully, Blaze is kind enough to snort in response, as though sharing your pain.

“Vampire Hunter D?” you try again, squinting meaningfully at the dunpeal himself. But reading D’s expression is a hopeless endeavor. Where mortals were an open book, D was a locked journal whose pages you were forbidden to touch.

Your mind drifts, as it often does, to the journey that brought you here. It was the year 1230 of your beguiling, back in the shimmering court of Yjorn. How valiantly you had made the decision or so you told yourself, to leave the safety of faerie and step into the world of mortals. To witness their plight, to feel their fleeting joys and crushing sorrows, and to, perhaps, offer your kind’s endless empathy to those fragile, short-lived souls.

At least, that was the story you liked to tell.

The truth, however, was far less noble. As the darling 47th in line to the throne of Yjorn, you had been unceremoniously banished. The queen, your mother, had little patience for your "spoils"—the mortal lovers you’d so generously whisked away to faerie.

How unfair it had been! You were merely sparing them from their wretched lives, gifting them a place in your beautiful, eternal world. But, as it turned out, your mother did not share your vision.

And so, the treasured youngest of Yjorn found themselves wandering the mortal realm, now strumming a lute beside a dhampir who had less to say than the stars themselves.

How the mighty had fallen.

Yet all was not lost. Your beloved companion, though D would undoubtedly deny such familiarity, was a joy to travel with on the rare days he wasn’t bound by his oath of silence.

Your dhampir was, admittedly, a delight on most occasions. Watching the world of mortals and immortals alike stumble into smitten dazes at his mere presence was a treasure you held dear.

Truly, wherever D went, hearts followed. Men and women alike seemed to lay their emotions bare, falling at his feet with their hearts in their hands, eyes wide with awe.

The lovelorn, particularly young mortals swept up in the fervor of first love had a habit of complicating his already unromantic quests.

Seventeen-year-olds, intoxicated by their first taste of passion, often became the heroines of his adventures. How many times had you watched these youths mistake his stoic sense of duty for some deeper affection, their fervent hopes clashing with his unwavering silence?

Today, however, was different. Today, D had surprised you. For once, he wasn’t leading you toward an unknown skirmish or a shadowed corner of the world. Instead, the path he followed carried a peculiar familiarity, one that tugged at memories you thought long buried.

The road to the outskirts of Ransylva…

Your lute stilled mid-strum as realization dawned. This wasn’t just another aimless journey. Today, D was leading you back to a chapter of his past. A flame once touched but never kindled.

Today, you were returning to the home of Doris Lang.

The heroine of your infamous ballad, A Noble Bloodlust.

Through fields overrun and a village in plight, He rode into Ransylva beneath crimson light. With silence his answer, with steel in his hand, A protector of souls in a cursed, hollow land.

Oh, follow the shadow, where the moon lights the way, A stranger who lingers, ‘til the darkness must pay. No name to his legend, no tale to confide, The rider in shadow forever will ride.

A maiden stood waiting, her heart held by dread, Her family in ruin, her brother near dead. She asked for his aid, though his eyes were like stone, And found in his silence a strength all her own.

Oh, follow the shadow, where the moon lights the way, A stranger who lingers, ‘til the darkness must pay. No name to his legend, no tale to confide, The rider in shadow forever will ride.

The song was a marvel, its fame spreading far and wide, unmatched in its ability to immortalize D’s deeds. And for you, the bard of Vampire Hunter D, it had become your crowning glory.

Oh, the chorus! It was irresistible, a siren call to every tavern-goer, who eagerly joined in with booming voices. No crowd could resist singing those words, raising their mugs in tribute to the enigmatic rider.

It was a pity, however, that D himself didn’t share the same enthusiasm. He’d forbidden you to include certain “embellishments” like the Midwich Medusas, for instance.

How could you resist weaving them into your verses when they added such flavor? And yet, the dunpeal had tried, in vain, to hide that particular detail from your prying telepathic curiosity.

Ah, the woes of a bard! Had your mother granted you a touch more power in your exile, such slights to your artistry would never have been made.

But alas, here you were, forced to temper your creativity to suit your stoic companion.

As the road wound closer to Ransylva, you strummed the melody softly, humming under your breath. If Doris Lang remembered him, and oh, how could she forget? The silly mortal would not manage to forget your dunpeal in a thousand lifetimes.

You had no doubt that her story would inspire yet another verse. Perhaps, this time, you’d manage to keep the Medusas in.

D should be enjoying this. He truly should be.

Then why did unease coil in his chest? Why did every laugh, every earnest attempt from Dan to learn the basics of your lute, gnaw at his composure?

Dan was no longer the innocent boy D had once left behind. Time had carved strength into his frame, the gangly limbs of youth replaced by the solid build of a young man. A man who seemed far too comfortable in your company.

And it irked him.

So much so, that D found himself ignoring the familiar sight of Doris lingering nearby, her gaze lovingly flitting toward him. She might have drawn his attention before, but now, his focus was elsewhere.

It was on you. And on Dan’s fingers. Those far-too-close fingers brushing yours as he held your lute with clumsy enthusiasm.

You were his bard. You should be by his side. Next to him.

The sharp twang of a snapping string startled everyone. You froze, your head snapping up to meet D’s gaze, your eyes glinting with the mischievous light of someone who knew. Of course you did. The strain of his power, the invisible pull that broke the string, had betrayed him.

There was a whole other story unfolding, hidden from the eyes of Doris and Dan, shrouded in the veil of magic that bound you to D in ways no mortal could comprehend.

“Alas,” you sighed, turning to Dan with an exaggerated look of disappointment, “it seems our lesson isn’t meant to be.”

Dan flushed, looking sheepish, and fumbled with the lute as you reclaimed it. The smirk curling on your lips was a private dagger aimed at D, who tensed as you approached him.

The lute fell into his lap with a deliberate thud.

“A pity, right, D?” you teased, leaning in slightly, your grin sharpening as you closed the distance. Behind you, Dan shuffled awkwardly, his mind already racing for another excuse to draw your attention back to him.

But D would not allow it.

You didn’t belong with Dan. You were not human. A fae, with all the mischief and danger that entailed, had no place beside a mortal. You were a temptation, a force that could unravel Dan’s fragile humanity.

No. You were a danger, yes. But you were his danger. One that belonged by his side, next to him and Blaze.

Even Blaze, a disposable cyborg horse had become something more because of you. The name you’d given him, the way you spoke to him like he was a creature of flesh and blood, had seeped into D’s consciousness. He’d gone out of his way to care for Blaze, preserving the horse’s functionality against all odds.

Why?

Because it kept you there. Kept you tethered to him.

And as you hovered just close enough to test his already frayed restraint, D accepted the truth. Whatever else you were, you were his. And no mortal boy would change that.

So, when the midnight hour came, and D silently mounted Blaze to set off toward the next nameless town, you followed without hesitation.

The plans of vacationing in Ransylva were long forgotten, drowned beneath the unease that coursed through D like an unseen tide.

No question was carried on the winds, no protest rose from the shadows of the slumbering village you left behind.

All that lingered in the stillness was the victorious laughter of a smug faerie.

[sailorofmidnightseas]

Green-Eyed Monster

AN: gotta love D. Can't wait to get to Lawrence Valcua and be obsessed with him.

Genre: fluff

Pairing(s): D (Vampire Hunter) x gn Reader

Summary: Were you jealous? Absolutely. Would you ever let D know? Not in a million years.

“And then the girl… what was her name?” The hand prattled on, its voice ringing loudly in the attic as you wiped down the dusty relics D inexplicably loved to hoard.

“Doris Lang,” the dhampir replied without hesitation.

You paused mid-swipe, the lamp in your hand suddenly feeling a little too throwable. Of course, he’d remember her full name. That detail alone scratched at your every nerve, but you clung to your carefully constructed air of indifference.

With a nod, you pretended the name meant nothing to you. It was as though you hadn’t heard it at all, as though it wasn’t setting your teeth on edge.

Ignorant of your rising temper, the hand carried on relentlessly. D, naturally, made no effort to stop it.

“Yes, Doris Lang. A beauty, that one. Too young for my tastes, but sweet girl, really. She even offered herself! As if—”

Gods above, were they testing you?

He’d been home for less than a day after so long away, and this was how you were welcomed. The damned hand wouldn’t shut up about Doris Lang.

Were you jealous? Absolutely. Would you ever let D know? Not in a million years.

You turned, forcing a sweet smile in his direction. D sat nestled in the corner of the attic, blinking sleepily at you as if utterly unfazed by the chaos unfolding around him. Despite his exhaustion from the road, he had insisted on following you during your furious cleaning spree.

If only he’d just go lie down and let you stew in peace, you might have been able to let off some steam battling the cobwebs alone. But no, here he was, stoic, irritatingly perfect, and blissfully unaware of your mounting irritation.

So here you were, crammed into the attic you couldn’t air out, trapped with the relics, the moronic hand, and the infuriatingly oblivious man himself. The air itself felt suffocating, the weight of unspoken tension pressing against you.

“Did you end up eating that breakfast Doris made?” The hand rattled on, its grating voice slicing through the stillness of the attic.

D nodded, maddeningly calm as always. “I did.”

The hand snickered, clearly enjoying itself. “Of course you did. It wasn’t bad for human food. And the wine? Truly excellent.”

You froze mid-swipe, the rag trembling in your hand. Slowly, deliberately, you turned, your face a picture of sweetness masking the storm brewing beneath.

“Oh, did you?” you cooed, every word dripping with false delight. “How remarkable. Sounds like you had an amazing adventure. No wonder it took you so long to come home.”

D, oblivious or indifferent to the edge in your voice, nodded again. His expression remained unreadable, his calm utterly infuriating. “The sights were good. The girl was brave.”

For once, mercifully, the hand fell silent. Even it seemed to sense the danger in the air, though not for long.

You crossed your arms, leaning back slightly, still holding onto that too-sweet smile. “Brave, you say? And what exactly did this brave Doris Lang do to earn such glowing praise?” Your voice was light, almost teasing, but the sharpness beneath it cut clear.

D met your gaze, calm but deliberate, and the hesitation before he spoke was louder than his words. “She stood up to nobility. Foolishly.”

“Oh, how generous of her.” You tilted your head, the mocking lilt in your voice sharpening. “What was it, then? Battling monsters? Offering shelter? Or…” you waved a hand airily, “…pouring you more of that excellent wine?”

The hand seized the moment, its chuckle breaking the charged silence. “You forgot Larmica—the count’s daughter. Girls practically trip over themselves for D, you know. She—”

You didn’t take the bait, though your grip on the rag tightened until your knuckles ached. Instead, you arched an eyebrow, feigning disinterest.

“The count’s daughter? My, you’ve been busy.” The words came out smooth, but they left a bitter taste on your tongue.

D watched your back in silence, something about your posture gnawing at him. The way your shoulders were drawn tight, stiff with tension, told him it wasn’t just fatigue. You were upset. But why?

You smiled when you spoke, yet it wasn’t the same. The warmth he was used to had been replaced by something sharp, something brittle. His brow furrowed as his left hand rambled on, oblivious to the charged atmosphere. You nodded absently, but your focus wasn’t on the conversation.

And then it hit him, a stark, undeniable realization.

You were jealous.

The curt smiles. The pointed remarks at the recount of his travels. The restless energy of your impromptu cleaning spree. It all made sense now.

Straightening where he sat, D silenced the hand mid-sentence with a sharp glance, its chatter dying instantly. Rising from his seat, he crossed the attic in a few long strides, stopping just behind you.

You barely noticed his approach until he gently took the candelabra from your hands, setting it aside with care. His hands moved to your shoulders, steadying you as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours. The gesture was careful, deliberate. Without the brim of his hat in the way, it felt easier, closer.

The silence between you was thick, but unspoken words hung in the air. D studied you, the way your gaze stubbornly fixed itself to the floor as though it had personally offended you.

“I missed you.” His voice was quiet, a murmur just for you.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, the vulnerability in them unguarded for the first time all day. For once, D didn’t retreat into silence. He let the words come, steady and sure.

Cupping your cheek, his hand lingered as if grounding himself in the moment. He took in every detail, no longer content with the fleeting glances he’d stolen earlier.

“They don’t matter,” he said softly, his gaze unwavering. “I missed you. And I hurried back because I wanted to be with you.”

He paused, watching as his words sank in. The irritation that had hardened your expression began to melt away, replaced by something softer. And then, to his quiet wonder, your cheeks flushed with a charming red that warmed the cool air of the attic.

In the deepest recesses of his heart, D was surprised by the revelation. The realization of your envy, however, did not fill him with dread or discomfort. Instead, its sweetness lingered, an unspoken truth warming the cold edges of his being.

You desired him. You waited for him. And now, this was yet another undeniable proof of your affection.

You glared at him harmlessly, the irritation clear in the way your lips pressed together in a pout. The sight only made it harder for him to suppress the faint smile threatening to curve his lips.

“Don’t be so smug!” you scolded, swatting his shoulder with the dusting cloth. Your tone was sharper than your swing, but the effort to appear stern was betrayed by the slight flush in your cheeks.

It was already too late. The sudden giddiness of the realization had taken hold of him, a rare and quiet joy blooming in his chest. It was subtle, as everything with D often was, but it was there, unmistakable and steady.

He tried to rein in the smile, but the twitch at the corners of his lips betrayed him.

[sailorofmidnightseas]

"Silence"

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

ᯓ ⁺₊ ♱ .ᐟ || Where the dhampir finds himself yearning for something more with you, navigating his complicated feelings and doing so in a rather quiet way. <3 gn!Reader, mostly fluff, yearning, very mild angst, undetermined relationship,

╰┈➤ ❝ 1.5 wc ! ❞

The leaves glimmer with rainwater and moonlight, making the foliage appear like tiny fae had scattered fairy dust around. A bright waxing moon rests high in the sky, watching over sleeping creatures in a motherly fashion. It was silent, aside from the shuffling behind you. The dhampir shuts the carved wooden door behind him, taking faint steps towards where you're seated. He need not say a word, for he knows you'll recognize him through his rustling alone. As if mimicking you, he seats himself next to you on the damp step, bodies juxtaposed against each other. 

“Did you come outside to enjoy the scenery, D?” Your voice broke the silence, whispered and soft like a petal. His gaze did not leave the rain-covered lawn, blinking as he exasperated a faint sigh, only noticeable through the expanding of his chest.  “I came to see you.” His voice contrasted against yours, yet, it still held the softness he always carries. The few words he spoke held significant weight in your heart, knowing the dhampir's tendencies are solitude and tough walls covering his underlying vulnerability. “Why so?” Finally, he lowered his gaze onto you, watching how your skin appeared to have a cool tint from the faint twilight. He stares for a moment, thin lips sealed shut as his pupil flicks over your face, taking in the features now accentuated by the scenery. There was hesitation, you could see by the way his lips parted before immediately closing again, turning away from you. After a moment of internal contemplation, he decided it was best not to speak: per usual.

This didn't hurt you, as you knew D was not fond of using his voice for much of anything. Instead of trying to bait him into giving you an answer, like you used to, you opted for silence as well, gaze casting down to your hands where you adjust the cuffs of your attire. While you were distracted with yourself, he stole another glance at you, applying all your features to his memory to ensure he’d never forget your beauty, even when he was to outlive you. 

Before anything else could progress, you heard a small but rather obnoxious voice start to taunt the man next to you. “Really D? C’mon, why don't yo—” D’s brows furrow together as he squeezed his left hand into a fist, effectively stopping the parasite from causing him any more embarrassment. Your laughter is what brings him out of his state of annoyance, the sound much more delightful than Left-Hands. He turns his head to face you now, featuring softening into a pleased look. He’s glad you find it humorous rather than bothersome. 

“Left-Hand certainly likes to talk more than you do.” Your laughter fizzles out, a smile gracing your features now. D could feel the way his heart hammered in his ribcage, fearful you be able to see the sapphire-colored pendant throbbing against his chest from the intensity of his emotion. He knew what he was feeling, yet it felt so terribly wrong to do so. A human and a dhampir. He contemplated if this was as bad a vampire and a human many times, weighing the differences to try to perhaps justify himself. However, his brain could not come to a reasonable conclusion, as his heart had seemingly taken over. He felt incredibly drawn to you. Your presence, your beauty, your talent, your rarity— something about you was irresistible to him. Yet, he was able to conclude that these feelings were not from the vampiric side of him, but the human. He did not chase after you with the intent to feed or with lust, it was far different. This was the type of love humans felt. 

“I suppose he does,” D remarked, lips threatening to tilt up into a smile. The urge to reach out and caress your cheek took over him, imagining the softness of your skin, along with with warmth beneath his cold hand. “I apologize.” The words came suddenly, causing you to let out a puff of air, chuckling while you rested your face in your palm. “There's no need to apologize for that, he can be funny sometimes.” D’s brows lower, eyes thinning as he lowers his head a bit. He felt guilt creep up into his throat. He shouldn't let your palace of a body be tainted with his beastly nature, or so he thought. “No,” He interrupts you. His silence after speaking left you to decode his words, sifting through the phrases as you gazed at him with an attentive expression. 

As you realize this, you let out a soft sigh. “Oh, but there’s no reason to apologize for not talking.” His gaze drops to you, observing the way you speak so softly as if you were trying to lull him to sleep with a gentle lullaby. He wets his lips. “I don’t mind, D.” The stoic expression remains on his face, with the gentle breeze fluttering his hair being the only indication that he hasn’t turned into a statue. Once again, he remains silent.

Observing the steady drips of rainwater off of a cupped leaf, it falls quiet once more. This leaves the poor dhampir back with these raging thoughts, his heart aching to have something more with you, yet according to his morals, this is the exact opposite of something he should be doing. He is to prevent the spread of vampirism, to put a stop to the “disgusting” creatures. However, you didn't hold these same views as D. Always speaking about how you think the nature of vampires is something beautiful and romantic even, not disgusting. But with your opposing views on the topic, you would not try to stop his bounty hunting, as it is what he does. 

During the moment of peace, he recalls the time you had expressed interest in his fangs. He didn't understand why you would be so interested in something that alienates him from you, shouldn’t that be frightening for you? He allowed you to gawk and pry into his mouth, looking at the shape of his fangs and mumbling out questions akin to “Have you ever bitten someone?” As usual, he would not answer and let you continue. However, something about that was endearing to him. You simply were not scared of him. There was no fear in your heart for the daunting and rather tall dhampir, only genuine emotions that bordered on something more than friends. His introverted nature makes it hard for him to make sense of his feelings. He doesn't have many friends, or companions even. Before you started tagging along he was alone, with only his steed and Left hand. Coming to the conclusion he did was certainly a great achievement for him. 

He found himself yearning to be by your side, an ache in his chest when he thinks of you. Although he was more than capable by himself and had no problem being alone, his thoughts periodically drifted to what his life could be like with you. What would it be like waking up next to you? Would Left hand bother you too much? But the main question was always how do you feel that he is not human, but dhampir? Maybe this is how Charlotte and Meier felt. No— he mustn't think like that. 

His chest expands again as he sighs, the breath drawn from his lips as his deep umber hair falls over his shoulder, a little curl tickling his face. Hesitantly, his hand lifts off his lap, ever so gently placing on the back of your skull. You didn't flinch, nor act surprised, it was as if this was completely natural for you both. The cold, gloved hand tenderly slid down to the base of your neck, cradling your head with his large hand. Your gaze turned to him, lingering on the drip of the raindrops before meeting his dark eyes. His lashes were visible, his sclera pure and contrasting against the rich color of his iris. Coaxing you closer with his hand, his broad body leaned in carefully, his scent wafting over you at the proximity. He wasn't thinking clearly, it felt like Left hand had spread to his entire body. There was a slight pause before he closed the space, his lips resting against the crown of your head with a tender and light touch. You stayed perfectly still, relishing in the moment of his scarce affections. Eyes fluttering shut, he stayed there for a moment longer than he should've. This small, yet golden act of affection had you smiling under him, wanting to reciprocate your fondness. 

“D.”

His lashes fluttered open, just enough to meet your eyes while his hand rested at the base of your neck. You felt warmth in your face against the misty chill of the night, and D noticed the softness in your gaze. Tenderly, your warm hand reached up to cup his cheek, the coolness of his skin grounding you amidst the heat you felt. “Aren't you sweet?” Your teasing words made him shut his eyes, leaning his face into your hand. You gently swiped a curl away from his cheek, allowing your palm to rest flat against the plane of his face.

“I try.”

______________________________________________________________

⊹˚˙♱˙˚⊹

ty for reading ! <3

[sailorofmidnightseas]

Where Were You?

Sylus x Reader | Period pain | Worried Sylus | Teasing & Fluff | ~4,000 words

When Sylus can’t reach you for hours, panic takes over. Mephisto returns with no answers, and Linkon feels colder without you in it. But you’re not gone — just curled up in pain, silent and hurting. Sylus tears through the city to find you, anger and worry swirling into something far more tender. Because dragons don’t just guard their treasures… they hold them close.

The messages stopped.

The usual pings in Sylus’s inbox — your chaotic memes, blurry lunch photos, or your grumbling texts about Linkon traffic — had fallen silent.

It was unusual. No, unnatural.

At first, he shrugged it off. You probably had a long shift. Maybe you fell asleep. Maybe your phone died.

But then Mephisto returned.

Empty-clawed.

No signs. No trace. Not even the scent of your usual cinnamon shampoo drifting from your windows.

His fingers clenched around the phone in the N109. Jaw tight. Heart tighter.

“Try again,” he ordered Mephisto, voice clipped. “Scan every sector near her apartment. Again.”

Mephisto chirped in protest — already did.

Nothing.

You had vanished.

⸻

An hour later, Sylus was no longer calm.

Luke and Kieran around him gave him space. When Sylus got like this — tense, quiet, visibly seething — no one dared interrupt.

“Leaving,” he muttered, tossing aside his comms and grabbing his jacket.

“But Sylus, the zone—”

“I said I’m leaving.”

He was halfway across Linkon in ten minutes.

⸻

Your apartment door was locked.

But Sylus didn’t care.

He forced it open with a sharp twist of his wrist, his dragon strength making quick work of the stubborn bolt. The door slammed against the wall. The lights were off.

“[MC]?!”

His voice echoed.

Still nothing.

He stormed through the halls, his heart thundering in his ears — until—

He stopped.

There.

In the soft light of your bedroom, bundled in blankets with a hot pack resting on your stomach and tissues littering the bed, lay you — flushed, pale, clearly in pain… and utterly unaware of the chaos you’d caused in his mind.

He stepped forward, stunned.

“…You’re here?”

You blinked blearily. “Sylus?”

His jaw clenched. “You didn’t answer anything. Not Mephisto. Not my messages. I thought you were—” He exhaled sharply. “I thought something happened to you.”

You sat up slowly, grimacing at the cramps pulsing through your abdomen. “I didn’t mean to— I just… my period hit hard. I couldn’t move. My head was spinning. I didn’t know how to reply without throwing my phone.”

Sylus stared at you — relief bleeding into something deeper. And then—

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” he growled, voice low and thick with something between frustration and fear. “I thought you were gone. I thought I lost you.”

Your lip trembled.

And then you cried.

“I’m sorry,” you choked, wiping your eyes. “It just hurts so bad, Sylus. I didn’t think—I wasn’t trying to scare you. I just couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even think. I just… needed to hide for a bit.”

He was across the room in a second.

Strong arms wrapped around you. Warm and safe. His chest against your cheek as you sobbed quietly, his fingers combing through your hair.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” he murmured into your crown. “I didn’t mean to scare you more. I just… I panicked. I need to know you’re okay. That you’re here.”

You nodded against him, tears soaking his shirt.

“I hate that it hurts you,” he whispered. “If I could take it for you, I would.”

You sniffled. “Even the mood swings?”

A soft huff against your ear. “…Maybe not that part.”

You laughed, weakly, but it was enough. Sylus smiled — the soft kind, the rare kind, the only-you kind.

Without another word, he gently laid you back against the pillows and tucked the blankets around you. He kicked off his shoes, climbed into bed beside you, and pulled you into his arms again.

“No more N109 tonight,” he said softly. “Just you and me.”

“You’re staying?” you mumbled.

“Always,” he answered.

And with his hand resting protectively over your stomach, his warmth pressed against your back, and the steady rhythm of his breathing in your ear—

The pain began to fade.

[sailorofmidnightseas]

You weren't Rafayel's muse.

If there's one memory that always stuck with you during your relationship with Rafayel, it wasn't when he first touched your hand or first kissed you under the night sky.

It’s the way he looked at her. MC.

You told yourself it was just work. After all, she was the perfect muse—every art critic said so. She had that kind of effortless beauty people couldn’t help but romanticize. She was effortlessly beautiful. Ethereal. Flawless.

And she was so kind. You’d met her a dozen times in the quiet afternoons of Rafayel’s studio when you’d slip in through the door after hours, and she would still be there posing, laughing, telling stories as Rafayel painted her form in front of a canvas. She would offer you tea before she left. She once complimented the bracelet you wore, not knowing it was a gift from Rafayel himself.

You couldn’t hate her.

That made it worse.

And Rafayel—God, Rafayel. He’d try to reassure you.

“You know it’s you. It’s always been you.”

But how could it always be you, when the world only saw them?

Because while the tabloids speculated endlessly about how they had to be together: Rafayel Qi and his muse, the golden couple of the art world, he was coming home to you. He was pressing kisses into your shoulder at 2 a.m., murmuring your name in a voice that sounded like an apology.

Because you were his secret. The one thing he kept from the world's eyes.

—

You tried to pretend it didn’t bother you.

You tried to pretend you could share him with the world without losing your mind.

Until the night you couldn’t.

It was raining. Of course it was raining.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if you’d rather paint her forever than be with me at all,” you said, voice shaking.

He closed his eyes, exhaling hard. “Don’t start this again.”

You scoff, “Start what? The fact that she’s the one everyone thinks you love?”

He stepped closer. “I don’t care what they think.”

“But you care enough to never correct them.”

Rain was streaking down the window like tears you refused to shed. He looked at you, and for a moment you saw something in his gaze that terrified you. Not anger. Not guilt. But desperation.

Then he turned away, raking a hand through his hair. “Maybe this was a mistake,” he whispered.

You didn’t know whether he meant the fight or the whole, secret, hidden thing between you. But you couldn’t ask. You were too busy holding yourself together.

So you left.

—

Weeks passed in a blur. You avoided the articles. You ignored the opening invitations that arrived with your name written in gold calligraphy. But when you heard that Rafayel’s new art exhibition was finally open to the public, a one-day exhibit showcasing his greatest works, you told yourself you’d go, one last time. Just to see what he’d become without you.

The exhibition was held in a building converted into a minimalist shrine to Rafayel’s genius. White walls, black floors, spotlights catching every stroke of paint used. The guests murmured in awe as they drifted from canvas to canvas.

And there she was in most of his pieces, his muse, MC. People complimented her likeness. For a moment, your chest constricted again, that same old jealousy and shame boiling up. 

You drifted from piece to piece until your feet carried you to the center of the gallery.

There, in the tallest space on the central wall, hung a single, massive canvas.

It wasn’t listed on any of the guides or programs.

You.

Not MC. Not anyone else.

A painting of you in the old wool sweater you wore on cold mornings at his studio. You with your hair uncombed, your eyes sleepy, looking directly out at him—at everyone.

A placard rested at the base of the pedestal:

“My love, personified.” Not for Auction. This piece is not available for sale or private acquisition.

A gallery attendant noticed you staring, and she smiled sympathetically. “That one’s not for sale,” she said. “Mr. Qi insisted. He said it wouldn’t be right, not when it was priceless in his eyes, and that it was only for the world to see, but not to own. He worked on it for several months.”

Your throat closed.

You hadn’t realized he’d walked in behind you until you heard his voice.

“I was afraid,” he said quietly, “that if I showed this to the world, it would ruin you. That people would pick you apart like they did her."

Then a shaky sigh escaped from his mouth, "I couldn’t let them own any part of you. I couldn’t let anyone think they deserved you more than I do.”

You turned, tears brimming, to find Rafayel standing there, disheveled, exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept since you left. His eyes searched yours, desperate and vulnerable.

Silence stretched between you, you both stood there, trembling.

Then he reached for you, cautious, as if you might vanish. His fingers brushed yours—light as a question.

"If you can forgive me, come home. If not… I’ll keep the painting. So I never forget that you were mine."

[MASTERLIST]

[sailorofmidnightseas]

Where Were You?

Sylus x Reader | Period pain | Worried Sylus | Teasing & Fluff | ~4,000 words

When Sylus can’t reach you for hours, panic takes over. Mephisto returns with no answers, and Linkon feels colder without you in it. But you’re not gone — just curled up in pain, silent and hurting. Sylus tears through the city to find you, anger and worry swirling into something far more tender. Because dragons don’t just guard their treasures… they hold them close.

The messages stopped.

The usual pings in Sylus’s inbox — your chaotic memes, blurry lunch photos, or your grumbling texts about Linkon traffic — had fallen silent.

It was unusual. No, unnatural.

At first, he shrugged it off. You probably had a long shift. Maybe you fell asleep. Maybe your phone died.

But then Mephisto returned.

Empty-clawed.

No signs. No trace. Not even the scent of your usual cinnamon shampoo drifting from your windows.

His fingers clenched around the phone in the N109. Jaw tight. Heart tighter.

“Try again,” he ordered Mephisto, voice clipped. “Scan every sector near her apartment. Again.”

Mephisto chirped in protest — already did.

Nothing.

You had vanished.

⸻

An hour later, Sylus was no longer calm.

Luke and Kieran around him gave him space. When Sylus got like this — tense, quiet, visibly seething — no one dared interrupt.

“Leaving,” he muttered, tossing aside his comms and grabbing his jacket.

“But Sylus, the zone—”

“I said I’m leaving.”

He was halfway across Linkon in ten minutes.

⸻

Your apartment door was locked.

But Sylus didn’t care.

He forced it open with a sharp twist of his wrist, his dragon strength making quick work of the stubborn bolt. The door slammed against the wall. The lights were off.

“[MC]?!”

His voice echoed.

Still nothing.

He stormed through the halls, his heart thundering in his ears — until—

He stopped.

There.

In the soft light of your bedroom, bundled in blankets with a hot pack resting on your stomach and tissues littering the bed, lay you — flushed, pale, clearly in pain… and utterly unaware of the chaos you’d caused in his mind.

He stepped forward, stunned.

“…You’re here?”

You blinked blearily. “Sylus?”

His jaw clenched. “You didn’t answer anything. Not Mephisto. Not my messages. I thought you were—” He exhaled sharply. “I thought something happened to you.”

You sat up slowly, grimacing at the cramps pulsing through your abdomen. “I didn’t mean to— I just… my period hit hard. I couldn’t move. My head was spinning. I didn’t know how to reply without throwing my phone.”

Sylus stared at you — relief bleeding into something deeper. And then—

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” he growled, voice low and thick with something between frustration and fear. “I thought you were gone. I thought I lost you.”

Your lip trembled.

And then you cried.

“I’m sorry,” you choked, wiping your eyes. “It just hurts so bad, Sylus. I didn’t think—I wasn’t trying to scare you. I just couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even think. I just… needed to hide for a bit.”

He was across the room in a second.

Strong arms wrapped around you. Warm and safe. His chest against your cheek as you sobbed quietly, his fingers combing through your hair.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” he murmured into your crown. “I didn’t mean to scare you more. I just… I panicked. I need to know you’re okay. That you’re here.”

You nodded against him, tears soaking his shirt.

“I hate that it hurts you,” he whispered. “If I could take it for you, I would.”

You sniffled. “Even the mood swings?”

A soft huff against your ear. “…Maybe not that part.”

You laughed, weakly, but it was enough. Sylus smiled — the soft kind, the rare kind, the only-you kind.

Without another word, he gently laid you back against the pillows and tucked the blankets around you. He kicked off his shoes, climbed into bed beside you, and pulled you into his arms again.

“No more N109 tonight,” he said softly. “Just you and me.”

“You’re staying?” you mumbled.

“Always,” he answered.

And with his hand resting protectively over your stomach, his warmth pressed against your back, and the steady rhythm of his breathing in your ear—

The pain began to fade.

[sailorofmidnightseas]

the cure to his curse

sylus x non mc || angst & hurt || happy ending || mc is kinda pick me || drabble out of boredom that spiraled into a series while listening to linkin park's song - heavy || could be triggering for others so read at your own risk || this is not smut || story masterlist : love and deepspace

previous || the cure to his nightmare [zayne version]

ELEVEN

Your breath hitched as Sylus reached you.

You heard MC huff indignantly, a sound of profound displeasure, but you ignored her.

Sylus did too.

The world seemed to stop, shrinking down to just the two of you as he towered over you. Hesitantly, carefully, you reached out and rested your palm on his chest, right where his heart beat.

A sob, unwilling to be contained, escaped your lips as you felt the steady rhythm under your touch. He was alive.

He was truly, miraculously alive.

Sylus gasped as he felt your touch, his crimson eyes, usually so guarded, wide with disbelief. He watched your reaction, searched your face, a mirroring uncertainty in his gaze, as if he too was trying to determine if this was dream, illusion, or breathtaking reality.

Then, with a relieved sigh, he cupped your face tenderly, his thumb gently wiping away the tears that spilled from your eyes. You nestled your cheek into the warmth of his hand, relishing the familiar sensation.

He pulled you to his chest, and you allowed yourself to fall into his embrace, your legs finally giving way, unable to hold back the sobs that wracked your body.

His strong arms wrapped around you, his hand caressing your hair, your head, your shoulders, and your back.

"I'm back," he whispered softly against your temple, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry for causing such a scare. Thank you… thank you for holding everything together. For Onychinus, for me."

Suddenly, MC's voice shattered the moment, sharp and accusing, laced with victimhood. "Sylus! What is this nonsense? Why are you embracing her? I've always been your destined mate!"

Sylus turned, a subtle shift in his posture indicating he had regained some of his formidable balance, though still a bit unsteady. His gaze, piercing and calm, fixed on MC.

"Can you still feel the invisible cuff on your wrist?" he asked, his voice low. "The one that bound us together?"

With all her ingrained confidence, MC lifted her wrist, expecting to see the faint, ethereal shimmer of the bond.

But she saw nothing.

Her brow furrowed in confusion, then her gaze snapped back to Sylus, who had raised his own wrist, now conspicuously bare, free of any binding.

Sylus glanced at you, then back at MC.

"While I was slipping away," he began, his voice soft, almost melancholic, "close to death, I saw a vision. Chains being broken. And a new link forming."

His eyes, filled with an indescribable tenderness, met yours.

"The new link isn't heavy. It's… full of warmth."

It dawned on you then, a realization that hit you like a physical slap. The day you’d desperately saved him, in the chaotic adrenaline of the moment, you’d completely forgotten about it.

The glowing, pulsating bracelet, a cuff, chains, whatever it was, that had formed on your wrist, connected to an identical one on Sylus's.

The bond that linked him and MC had simply vanished.

'The fucking true love's kiss according to Zayne's ridiculous theories,' you thought.

MC stood in disbelief, muttering, "No… that's not how it's supposed to happen. Nobody can break fate. Nobody can bend destiny."

Tears streamed down her face, frantic and inconsolable, unable to accept that the curse she had placed on Sylus, the chains that bound him through lifetimes, were finally, irrevocably broken.

Sylus simply looked at her, his expression a mix of melancholy and a deep, resolute peace.

"Perhaps," he said, his voice imbued with a newfound clarity, "it's because she gave me all her love. Her undivided heart. Her life to me, and me alone."

He looked at you, his sharp features softened, "Even if I don't deserve her love, she still gave me her everything."

He paused, his gaze unwavering as he spoke to you directly, "I wish to reciprocate it. I wish to love on my own will, to be with someone I desire, with someone who forged connections from nothing, who fought by my side through hell and back."

His eyes held yours, filled with a quiet, powerful yearning. "I want that person to be you. Only if you accept me. My love. Despite everything."

MC was inconsolable, her sobs echoing in the room. Zayne, looking utterly exhausted, his own heart aching from MC's blatant disregard for his feelings, remained composed. He gently, but firmly, ushered MC out of the room.

Luke and Kieran, sensing the profound intimacy of the moment, also exited, positioning themselves as silent sentinels outside the door.

You and Sylus were left alone. You walked towards him, seeing him wobble slightly, his weakened body still protesting. You guided him gently back to his bed, and he pulled you into his arms, fully inhaling your scent as he nuzzled your neck.

"I missed you," he muttered against your skin, and you simply hugged him tighter, the warmth of his presence a comfort you’d craved for so long.

He pulled away slightly, still keeping you cradled in his embrace, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that laid bare his deepest emotions.

For the first time, there were no masks, no walls.

He was terrified, guilty, yearning, hoping, and most of all, his love for you shone brightly in those beautiful crimson eyes.

"Will you… give me another chance?" he asked again, his voice raw with vulnerability.

You couldn't speak. Words felt inadequate, lost in the overwhelming surge of emotion. But you knew what you wanted.

You wanted him.

All of him.

You nodded, tears blurring your vision as you managed a tremulous smile.

Then, you leaned forward, your lips finding his, pressing a soft kiss.

He gasped, a small sound of surprise, then kissed you back, and you melted into his arms, utterly consumed.

You both settled onto the bed, acutely aware of the countless challenges that awaited you once he was fully recovered.

But for now, in this moment, you had each other.

You gave yourselves this time, this space, until you were both ready to face the world together, no longer shadowed by a cruel curse, but strengthened by a love freely chosen, deeply felt.

★ 𝓯𝓲𝓷 ★

a/n : i've always wanted to write something like this, inspired by the lads x non-mc stories that i've read. i know its kinda rushed, a bit messy, but if you have reached this part — thank you for reading.❤︎ feel free to reblog, drop any messages and check my other stories.

edit : somebody asked how the nonmc looks like in my head. if you're curious, here is the link x

[sailorofmidnightseas]

You weren't Rafayel's muse.

If there's one memory that always stuck with you during your relationship with Rafayel, it wasn't when he first touched your hand or first kissed you under the night sky.

It’s the way he looked at her. MC.

You told yourself it was just work. After all, she was the perfect muse—every art critic said so. She had that kind of effortless beauty people couldn’t help but romanticize. She was effortlessly beautiful. Ethereal. Flawless.

And she was so kind. You’d met her a dozen times in the quiet afternoons of Rafayel’s studio when you’d slip in through the door after hours, and she would still be there posing, laughing, telling stories as Rafayel painted her form in front of a canvas. She would offer you tea before she left. She once complimented the bracelet you wore, not knowing it was a gift from Rafayel himself.

You couldn’t hate her.

That made it worse.

And Rafayel—God, Rafayel. He’d try to reassure you.

“You know it’s you. It’s always been you.”

But how could it always be you, when the world only saw them?

Because while the tabloids speculated endlessly about how they had to be together: Rafayel Qi and his muse, the golden couple of the art world, he was coming home to you. He was pressing kisses into your shoulder at 2 a.m., murmuring your name in a voice that sounded like an apology.

Because you were his secret. The one thing he kept from the world's eyes.

—

You tried to pretend it didn’t bother you.

You tried to pretend you could share him with the world without losing your mind.

Until the night you couldn’t.

It was raining. Of course it was raining.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if you’d rather paint her forever than be with me at all,” you said, voice shaking.

He closed his eyes, exhaling hard. “Don’t start this again.”

You scoff, “Start what? The fact that she’s the one everyone thinks you love?”

He stepped closer. “I don’t care what they think.”

“But you care enough to never correct them.”

Rain was streaking down the window like tears you refused to shed. He looked at you, and for a moment you saw something in his gaze that terrified you. Not anger. Not guilt. But desperation.

Then he turned away, raking a hand through his hair. “Maybe this was a mistake,” he whispered.

You didn’t know whether he meant the fight or the whole, secret, hidden thing between you. But you couldn’t ask. You were too busy holding yourself together.

So you left.

—

Weeks passed in a blur. You avoided the articles. You ignored the opening invitations that arrived with your name written in gold calligraphy. But when you heard that Rafayel’s new art exhibition was finally open to the public, a one-day exhibit showcasing his greatest works, you told yourself you’d go, one last time. Just to see what he’d become without you.

The exhibition was held in a building converted into a minimalist shrine to Rafayel’s genius. White walls, black floors, spotlights catching every stroke of paint used. The guests murmured in awe as they drifted from canvas to canvas.

And there she was in most of his pieces, his muse, MC. People complimented her likeness. For a moment, your chest constricted again, that same old jealousy and shame boiling up. 

You drifted from piece to piece until your feet carried you to the center of the gallery.

There, in the tallest space on the central wall, hung a single, massive canvas.

It wasn’t listed on any of the guides or programs.

You.

Not MC. Not anyone else.

A painting of you in the old wool sweater you wore on cold mornings at his studio. You with your hair uncombed, your eyes sleepy, looking directly out at him—at everyone.

A placard rested at the base of the pedestal:

“My love, personified.” Not for Auction. This piece is not available for sale or private acquisition.

A gallery attendant noticed you staring, and she smiled sympathetically. “That one’s not for sale,” she said. “Mr. Qi insisted. He said it wouldn’t be right, not when it was priceless in his eyes, and that it was only for the world to see, but not to own. He worked on it for several months.”

Your throat closed.

You hadn’t realized he’d walked in behind you until you heard his voice.

“I was afraid,” he said quietly, “that if I showed this to the world, it would ruin you. That people would pick you apart like they did her."

Then a shaky sigh escaped from his mouth, "I couldn’t let them own any part of you. I couldn’t let anyone think they deserved you more than I do.”

You turned, tears brimming, to find Rafayel standing there, disheveled, exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept since you left. His eyes searched yours, desperate and vulnerable.

Silence stretched between you, you both stood there, trembling.

Then he reached for you, cautious, as if you might vanish. His fingers brushed yours—light as a question.

"If you can forgive me, come home. If not… I’ll keep the painting. So I never forget that you were mine."

[MASTERLIST]

[sailorofmidnightseas]

the cure to his curse

sylus x non mc || angst & hurt || happy ending || mc is kinda pick me || drabble out of boredom that spiraled into a series while listening to linkin park's song - heavy || could be triggering for others so read at your own risk || this is not smut || story masterlist : love and deepspace

previous next

TEN

Sylus’s breathing was steady, a rhythmic rise and fall of his chest that was the only balm to your frayed nerves. But he was still unconscious, and like vultures sensing weakness, those who coveted his position and influence began to circle in the shadows.

You felt their predatory gazes, their hushed whispers, and knew instinctively that you had to step in. Again. For Sylus. For his people. For your people, your family, the displaced souls Onychinus had sheltered.

When you stepped into the executive meeting room, there were no arguments. The power you once held, the authority that came with being Sylus’s second-in-command, settled back around you like a familiar cloak.

The time away hadn’t dulled your senses; if anything, it had sharpened them. You stood before the board of executives – Sylus’s top forces, each indebted to his protection, each having sworn loyalty.

You decided then and there to keep everything under wraps, to maintain the illusion of business as usual until Sylus was back on his feet, strong enough to face the world.

Everyone agreed to keep outsiders at bay, tightening security, doubling surveillance.

Mephisto, Sylus’s steadfast crow, a mechanical marvel with a keen intellect and another recipient of Sylus’s saving grace, became your tireless courier, flying between your command center and Sylus’s recovery room.

No one was allowed to visit his room except Zayne, the twins, and yourself. Not even MC was permitted inside the base.

The underground society of N109 zone hummed with speculation. Some remained fiercely loyal to Sylus, others quietly hoped for his downfall, seeing an opportunity in his prolonged absence.

While Sylus recovered under Zayne’s watchful care, you stumbled upon an old, dusty journal tucked away in Sylus’s vast library. It contained notes from his past lives, and one entry, oddly specific, resembled Zayne.

Sylus had written about encountering a younger man with uncontrolled evol, the power to shoot ice, cold and deadly. Sylus, in a moment of his peculiar boredom, had somehow saved the man from his own demons, helping him accept his other form – the Dawnbreaker.

You recalled Zayne’s earlier theories, piecing them together. Perhaps fairy tales were true, or perhaps Zayne, brilliant as he was, simply masked these mythical truths in a language you, a ‘normal human being,’ could understand.

Maybe this was why he was helping Sylus, one of the most wanted man in Deepspace – a debt to settle, a different kind of connection than the fated string that bound five men to MC. It was all too much to fully grasp, yet it made a strange kind of sense.

You visited Sylus whenever you weren't in meetings or on a mission. You were always by his side, tending to him, wiping his body clean, changing his clothes, singing to him, talking to him about random things or sometimes about your happy memories together.

You wanted him to know, once he woke, that you were there, caring for him. You prayed every night as you retired to his bedside, prayed for him to wake so you could start again.

One day, you confronted Zayne, telling him what you'd found in the journal. He didn’t deny it. He simply stated that while he didn't share a deep personal connection with Sylus beyond their initial encounter and their shared entanglement with MC, he had a debt to pay, and this was his way of settling the score.

As he continued to run tests on Sylus, Zayne explained that the curse had been broken. "He said it, you just didn't hear him," Zayne mused. And he was right. In your panic, your exhaustion, your desperate focus on getting Sylus out, you hadn’t registered it.

You sat there, holding Sylus’s hand, grateful for its warmth, longing for his eyes to open. Days blurred into a grueling cycle of meetings, covert missions, and monitoring Sylus.

You were exhausted, but no longer hopeless. The twins were invaluable, guarding Sylus in your absence, while Mephisto surveyed N109 for trouble. There were attempts – assassination plots, break-ins – but you and your team stood firm.

Then, she came. MC. Frustrated, enraged, demanding to be let in. She caused a ruckus, using her evol to blast her way through the first layer of security. But before she could reach the next floor, you stopped her.

You stood apart in the gleaming lobby, glaring at each other, disdain and contempt sparking between you, evol crackling at your fingertips.

You knew she possessed two Aether Cores, knew she was stronger than you in pure evol power.

But you also knew your own strength. Combat-wise, you were lethal, experienced, not just with Wanderers but with anyone who dared threaten you.

You’d killed men twice your size — taken down a whole organization alone, single-handedly handled aberrations, even won Dimitri’s hunting contest by accident after a drunken stumble led you into its arena — the sensors automatically registering you as one of the participants, driving Sylus mad with worry as he saw your name appear on the hologram that can be seen throughout the entire zone.

You got the highest bets, also became the biggest target by players and wanderers. But you were smart, deadly and also refused to die in a stupid way. You won, and you got an earful of combined nag and affection from Sylus.

MC demanded you move. You remained rooted to the spot, standing your ground with confidence and composure. She threatened you again, this time pulling rank as an elite Hunter under the Special Forces team. It didn’t scare you.

"The decision to keep all outsiders out is not mine alone," you said calmly, your voice a cool, cutting edge. "It was the board of executives."

You explained, your voice betraying no emotion, "You will have to be patient. Even if I hated you with passion, I won’t stand in your way if Sylus wanted you."

Then, a sting of truth you knew she wouldn't like: "But not at this time. He has to recover. And you have to be patient. And learn to understand, and not be selfish, for once."

The air shifted. In a blur, MC was in front of you, a blade gleaming, inches from your neck. Your evol flared, and blocked her just in time, the force sent her staggering backwards.

The guards, loyal to you, had their weapons drawn, all pointed at MC. You waved them off, and they lowered their weapons slightly, still poised to fire.

You regained your composure, your mind solely focused on protecting Onychinus, hoping your resolve would shake her back to sanity. The guards sensed their cue: no interference unless necessary. Their priority was the base, their leader, the organization.

MC did not withdraw her weapon. She attempted to swing again. You were ready, committed to defense, though your desire to rip her to shreds burned fiercely.

After all, she was the reason for Sylus' misery, his chains, his near-demise. You wanted her to suffer, not die; death would be too easy.

Before her blade could connect, Zayne’s evol flared between you, a powerful, invisible force that echoed his command.

"Stop!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the lobby. He turned his stern gaze on you, then leaned in, whispering, "Sylus is awake."

But MC heard.

To your dismay, her eyes widened, and without a warning, she slipped past Zayne and bolted for the elevator. You chased after her, but she managed to slam the doors shut frantically.

You swore, pounding on the door before pivoting and racing for the stairs, willing your legs to move faster than ever before.

By the time you burst onto Sylus’s floor, MC was already inside his room. You heard her affectionate tone, her sighs of relief, her broken apologies, her guilt for hurting him.

Then, that entitled voice, as if fate had finally gifted them: "This is the first time you've ever come back to life! This has to be it, Sylus. This is our reward after everything!"

You stood at the door, catching your breath, watching MC, watching Sylus. He was sitting up in bed, looking pale and a bit weak, but his chest was rising and falling steadily.

He's alive.

Tears brimmed in your eyes as relief washed over you.

And then, his eyes met yours. You hadn't realized you'd sighed loud enough for him to hear. You were scared, rooted to your spot, terrified he would choose MC again.

He was free now, no longer bound by the curse.

But a foolish, stupid part of you, the part still deeply in love with him, hoped.

Prayed that Zayne’s theories were correct.

That your true love, your essence, was enough to save him.

That there was one thing MC could not give him, one thing that would make him choose you.

You stared at him, unable to look away. You had longed to see those sharp crimson eyes every minute he’d been in a coma. You didn't realize Sylus was gesturing to Luke and Kieran, who immediately moved to help him up.

They guided him, supported him, as he slowly made his way towards you, walking past MC, who looked utterly hurt and betrayed by his sudden shift in attention.

You remained rooted, unable to breathe, focusing on keeping your knees steady, on keeping your body from trembling. This couldn't be real. This had to be an illusion, a dream.

Sylus was walking towards you, eyes fixed solely on you, looking impossibly handsome even in his weakened state, as if you were the only person in the entire room.

[sailorofmidnightseas]

the cure to his curse

sylus x non mc || angst & hurt || happy ending || mc is kinda pick me || drabble out of boredom that spiraled into a series while listening to linkin park's song - heavy || could be triggering for others so read at your own risk || this is not smut || story masterlist : love and deepspace

previous next

FIVE

The world swam back into focus with a dull ache that seemed to emanate from every cell in your body. Four days. Four days in a coma, a silent battle waged against the very edge of oblivion. You'd lost so much blood, almost slipped away, kept tethered to life only by the sheer, stubborn will of your evol.

Sylus was there, of course. His hand, warm and trembling, yet surprisingly steady, rested over yours. You instinctively tried to recoil, but your body was too weak, a leaden weight that refused to obey. He saw the flicker of your eyes, a wave of relief washing over his face, mixed with that familiar, heavy guilt. "Doctor!" he called out, his voice sharp with urgency.

Moments later, the familiar figures of Luke and Kieran appeared at the door, their faces a mixture of worry and profound relief. Then came Zayne. MC’s 'friend,' the calm, unreadable doctor. You knew there was more to their connection, just as you knew of her tangled web with Skyhaven’s Colonel Caleb, the enigmatic Rafayel, the elite hunter Xavier… and your own lover. You remained silent, your head throbbing, your body protesting every movement, every flicker of consciousness.

"Her evol is unique," Zayne murmured, his voice professionally detached yet tinged with a hint of awe. "It's already begun to completely heal the scars. They will fade because of the nature of her evol." He ran a diagnostic tool over your arm, his expression thoughtful. "She's responding well. We should expect a full recovery, Sylus."

You simply nodded, the only response you could muster. The physical pain was sharp, but manageable. The ache in your heart, however, felt like a gaping wound, far more debilitating.

You just wanted to fade, to never wake up from this nightmare. You closed your eyes, drifting back into the dark embrace of sleep, intentionally shutting out Sylus, Zayne, and the twins. You didn't want to see them, to acknowledge the world that had become so painful.

After weeks of slow, arduous recovery, you were back on your feet, but the person you once were felt like a distant memory. Sylus tried to make it up to you, his attempts a clumsy dance between desperate yearning and ingrained stoicism.

Sometimes, you'd scoff at his efforts, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. Other times, you'd accept a meal he'd brought, or a quiet moment in his office, and for a fleeting instant, things would feel almost normal, almost like the lovers you once were. Then, just as quickly, the wall would descend, and you'd become completely withdrawn, a ghost in his presence.

He knew. He saw the shift in your eyes, the subtle contempt in your voice that no one else would detect, but he, who had known you so intimately, could feel it like a physical blow. He knew he'd messed up, knew why you were hot and cold, why your responses were laced with a hidden sting. He just couldn't bring himself to face the full extent of his mistake.

Then came the night that shattered everything. You were walking past his office, intending to drop off some urgent mission reports, when you heard voices. His voice. And hers.

"...it's the cursed loop, Sylus," MC’s voice, soft, almost regretful, drifted through the slightly ajar door. "Just like before, the curse of being fated."

And then Sylus, his tone so gentle, so utterly endearing, a softness you thought was reserved for you alone. "I know. It's just… complicated this time."

Your blood ran cold. You froze, every nerve ending screaming. You heard the hushed words, the undeniable intimacy in their voices.

‘Lovers in the past. Fated partners. Destined to love each other, yet kill one another.’

The cursed loop. It wasn't just a mission, wasn't just her evol, wasn't just his professional responsibility. It was history. It was destiny.

You didn't realize you were crying until the hot tears streamed down your face, blurring the edges of the corridor. Your chest burned, a volcanic eruption of pain and betrayal. At that exact moment, the office door swung open. Sylus stood there, his eyes widening in shock when he saw you, your tear-streaked face a silent testament to everything you’d just overheard. He knew. He knew you knew.

‘Where does this place me? What am I to him? Was I just a replacement? A fleeting romance? Once the curse is broken, will he leave me?’ The questions screamed in your head, a cacophony of agony.

Sylus moved, his hand reaching for you, his lips forming words you couldn't hear, couldn't process. They were just noise, drowned out by the deafening roar of your own despair. You looked past him, into the office. MC was there, her expression unreadable, not a hint of regret, not a shred of apology for the devastation she’d just wrought. ‘How greedy she is,’ you thought numbly, ‘not content with one, but wanting five.’

Absentmindedly, you held out the documents you’d come to deliver for the next mission. Your mind was numb, your shoulders slumped in utter surrender. You felt tired, profoundly, devastatingly tired, yet the tears wouldn’t stop.

Sylus, in a rare display of uncontrolled emotion, snatched the documents from your hand and hurled them to the floor. "Wait!" he cried, but you were already turning, walking aimlessly, your feet feeling like lead, each step an enormous effort.

It was too much. The voices in your head, the searing pain in your heart, the betrayal. Everything was running at once, a chaotic symphony of hurt and confusion. You felt everything, and yet, paradoxically, nothing at all. You just kept walking.

Sylus overtook you, his strong hands gently but firmly gripping your arms, stopping you. You stared at him, your eyes dead and dull, devoid of any light. His heart visibly broke as he saw your vacant gaze, guilt twisting his features.

He knew now. He knew he should have been truthful. His affections, his actions, had been treading a dangerous line between devotion and emotional disloyalty.

Through the fog of your despair, you managed to articulate one desperate plea. "I just want to sleep," you whispered, your voice raw, "and hope to never wake up again. Not in this kind of sick nightmare." You pulled free from his grasp and walked past him, your heavy feet dragging.

Sylus stood frozen, watching you go. He felt helpless, utterly broken, condemned by his own actions. He wanted to follow, to beg you to stay, to explain, but his legs wouldn't move, rooted to the spot by the weight of his guilt.

You heard MC’s voice in the background, a faint, sweet, worried tone calling his name. You didn't hear Sylus reply. You zoned out, focusing only on the journey back to your room, needing nothing more than to crash and stay in that oblivion, that dreamless slumber, forever.

[sailorofmidnightseas]

the cure to his curse

sylus x non mc || angst & hurt || happy ending || mc is kinda pick me || drabble out of boredom that spiraled into a series while listening to linkin park's song - heavy || could be triggering for others so read at your own risk || this is not smut || story masterlist : love and deepspace

previous || the cure to his nightmare [zayne version]

ELEVEN

Your breath hitched as Sylus reached you.

You heard MC huff indignantly, a sound of profound displeasure, but you ignored her.

Sylus did too.

The world seemed to stop, shrinking down to just the two of you as he towered over you. Hesitantly, carefully, you reached out and rested your palm on his chest, right where his heart beat.

A sob, unwilling to be contained, escaped your lips as you felt the steady rhythm under your touch. He was alive.

He was truly, miraculously alive.

Sylus gasped as he felt your touch, his crimson eyes, usually so guarded, wide with disbelief. He watched your reaction, searched your face, a mirroring uncertainty in his gaze, as if he too was trying to determine if this was dream, illusion, or breathtaking reality.

Then, with a relieved sigh, he cupped your face tenderly, his thumb gently wiping away the tears that spilled from your eyes. You nestled your cheek into the warmth of his hand, relishing the familiar sensation.

He pulled you to his chest, and you allowed yourself to fall into his embrace, your legs finally giving way, unable to hold back the sobs that wracked your body.

His strong arms wrapped around you, his hand caressing your hair, your head, your shoulders, and your back.

"I'm back," he whispered softly against your temple, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry for causing such a scare. Thank you… thank you for holding everything together. For Onychinus, for me."

Suddenly, MC's voice shattered the moment, sharp and accusing, laced with victimhood. "Sylus! What is this nonsense? Why are you embracing her? I've always been your destined mate!"

Sylus turned, a subtle shift in his posture indicating he had regained some of his formidable balance, though still a bit unsteady. His gaze, piercing and calm, fixed on MC.

"Can you still feel the invisible cuff on your wrist?" he asked, his voice low. "The one that bound us together?"

With all her ingrained confidence, MC lifted her wrist, expecting to see the faint, ethereal shimmer of the bond.

But she saw nothing.

Her brow furrowed in confusion, then her gaze snapped back to Sylus, who had raised his own wrist, now conspicuously bare, free of any binding.

Sylus glanced at you, then back at MC.

"While I was slipping away," he began, his voice soft, almost melancholic, "close to death, I saw a vision. Chains being broken. And a new link forming."

His eyes, filled with an indescribable tenderness, met yours.

"The new link isn't heavy. It's… full of warmth."

It dawned on you then, a realization that hit you like a physical slap. The day you’d desperately saved him, in the chaotic adrenaline of the moment, you’d completely forgotten about it.

The glowing, pulsating bracelet, a cuff, chains, whatever it was, that had formed on your wrist, connected to an identical one on Sylus's.

The bond that linked him and MC had simply vanished.

'The fucking true love's kiss according to Zayne's ridiculous theories,' you thought.

MC stood in disbelief, muttering, "No… that's not how it's supposed to happen. Nobody can break fate. Nobody can bend destiny."

Tears streamed down her face, frantic and inconsolable, unable to accept that the curse she had placed on Sylus, the chains that bound him through lifetimes, were finally, irrevocably broken.

Sylus simply looked at her, his expression a mix of melancholy and a deep, resolute peace.

"Perhaps," he said, his voice imbued with a newfound clarity, "it's because she gave me all her love. Her undivided heart. Her life to me, and me alone."

He looked at you, his sharp features softened, "Even if I don't deserve her love, she still gave me her everything."

He paused, his gaze unwavering as he spoke to you directly, "I wish to reciprocate it. I wish to love on my own will, to be with someone I desire, with someone who forged connections from nothing, who fought by my side through hell and back."

His eyes held yours, filled with a quiet, powerful yearning. "I want that person to be you. Only if you accept me. My love. Despite everything."

MC was inconsolable, her sobs echoing in the room. Zayne, looking utterly exhausted, his own heart aching from MC's blatant disregard for his feelings, remained composed. He gently, but firmly, ushered MC out of the room.

Luke and Kieran, sensing the profound intimacy of the moment, also exited, positioning themselves as silent sentinels outside the door.

You and Sylus were left alone. You walked towards him, seeing him wobble slightly, his weakened body still protesting. You guided him gently back to his bed, and he pulled you into his arms, fully inhaling your scent as he nuzzled your neck.

"I missed you," he muttered against your skin, and you simply hugged him tighter, the warmth of his presence a comfort you’d craved for so long.

He pulled away slightly, still keeping you cradled in his embrace, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that laid bare his deepest emotions.

For the first time, there were no masks, no walls.

He was terrified, guilty, yearning, hoping, and most of all, his love for you shone brightly in those beautiful crimson eyes.

"Will you… give me another chance?" he asked again, his voice raw with vulnerability.

You couldn't speak. Words felt inadequate, lost in the overwhelming surge of emotion. But you knew what you wanted.

You wanted him.

All of him.

You nodded, tears blurring your vision as you managed a tremulous smile.

Then, you leaned forward, your lips finding his, pressing a soft kiss.

He gasped, a small sound of surprise, then kissed you back, and you melted into his arms, utterly consumed.

You both settled onto the bed, acutely aware of the countless challenges that awaited you once he was fully recovered.

But for now, in this moment, you had each other.

You gave yourselves this time, this space, until you were both ready to face the world together, no longer shadowed by a cruel curse, but strengthened by a love freely chosen, deeply felt.

★ 𝓯𝓲𝓷 ★

a/n : i've always wanted to write something like this, inspired by the lads x non-mc stories that i've read. i know its kinda rushed, a bit messy, but if you have reached this part — thank you for reading.❤︎ feel free to reblog, drop any messages and check my other stories.

edit : somebody asked how the nonmc looks like in my head. if you're curious, here is the link x

[sailorofmidnightseas]

the cure to his curse

sylus x non mc || angst & hurt || happy ending || mc is kinda pick me || drabble out of boredom that spiraled into a series while listening to linkin park's song - heavy || could be triggering for others so read at your own risk || this is not smut || story masterlist : love and deepspace

previous next

FOUR

The chill of the Onychinus aircraft cabin settled deep into your bones, a stark contrast to the burning resentment simmering within you.

This mission, meant to be just for you and Sylus, felt like another cruel twist of the knife. Rare protocores, aether cores – the perfect cover for a truly exclusive operation, a chance to reconnect.

But then MC had pushed, her voice a relentless insistence through the comms, and much to your dismay, Sylus had conceded.

You watched them now, their heads close, a low murmur of conversation passing between them. Their chemistry was undeniable, a subtle current that crackled in the air.

Sure, Sylus still walked by your side, his long strides matching yours. He still sat beside you, his presence a familiar anchor.

And those tender, worried glances he'd cast your way, the quiet reminders to "keep yourself safe at all times" – they were there.

But you saw how different he was with her.

The easy smile that touched his lips when she spoke, a warmth you’d thought was reserved solely for you. The way he allowed her to lightly touch his arm, a gesture of casual intimacy that felt like a punch to your gut.

You gritted your teeth, the metal taste of it filling your mouth.

The pilot’s signal flashed, green light washing over your faces. It was time. You moved with Sylus, a practiced unit, his evol making the infiltration of the enemy aircraft almost effortless.

You slipped inside, MC right behind you.

It was going to be easy, clean.

Supposed to be easy.

Then, chaos. MC, in her eagerness, her recklessness, had alerted the enemy. The quiet hum of the plane instantly dissolved into the clatter of boots and the sharp crackle of evol discharges.

You cursed under your breath, drawing your weapon.

Another fight while floating in the sky.

Fucking great.

‘Fuck,’ you hissed under your breath, knowing that this is not gonna be pretty.

You moved like a phantom, your evol a blur of defensive and offensive energy.

One of the enemies, a hulking brute, managed to land a solid kick, sending MC sprawling to the floor. You reacted instantly, flooring him with a precise strike.

But as he fell, you caught the glint of metal in his hand – a grenade.

"MC!" Sylus's voice ripped through the din. He didn't even glance your way. He rushed past your still-crumpled form, his entire focus on MC, who lay on the floor, banged up but mostly unharmed, having rolled away from the blast. You saw him immediately assessing her, his concern palpable.

Instinct took over.

A split-second decision. You deflected it, your evol straining, but the surprise of the attack meant you couldn't contain the blast entirely. It tore through the side of the plane, a gaping maw that sucked at the cabin’s air, the sudden decompression pulling at you.

You were thrown backward, landing hard, a shower of light debris burying you. Nothing you couldn't handle, you thought, even as a searing pain erupted from your side, hot blood blossoming through your uniform. Shards.

Then, Luke and Kieran arrived, a welcome sight. Luke, ever rational, moved swiftly to secure the valuable protocores and aether cores. Kieran, his eyes wide with alarm, found you seconds after Sylus had abandoned you for MC.

"I'm fine," you choked out, a lie that tasted like rust in your mouth.

You groaned, a deep, guttural sound as Kieran carefully pulled away the debris.

"Hey, hey, hey… Are you alright?" he stammered, his voice laced with panic. It was the first time he'd seen you truly vulnerable, truly wounded. "Shit, you're… you're bleeding!"

"We're back," Kieran said, his voice a strained whisper as he finally got you through the hatch. "We're safe."

Kieran was remarkably gentle as he moved you, half-carrying, half-dragging you towards Onychinus’s waiting aircraft. The enemy plane was already listing, alarms blaring as it began its irreversible descent.

The pain was excruciating, a fiery agony that threatened to consume you, but you clung to consciousness, determined not to let it win.

You heard Sylus before you saw him. "Luke, keep an eye on MC!" he barked, his voice tight with urgency.

Then, his eyes fell on Kieran, and did a double-take.

His gaze sharpened, then widened in horror as it landed on you, cradled in Kieran's arms, your uniform soaked in blood, pale skin stark against the crimson.

The thought flickered through your mind, a cold, hard truth. Less like the person who craved his validation, who would silently break for him.

He was there in an instant, his face a mask of frantic panic, guilt etched deep in his features. He cupped your face in his hands, his touch surprisingly steady despite the tremor that ran through him.

His eyes scanned your body, taking in the jagged tears in your uniform, the blood that oozed from multiple wounds. "What happened? Why… why didn't I see…?" His voice was a raw whisper, filled with self-reproach. "You're bleeding! So much… Shit…"

You tried to speak, to tell him everything, to finally break through his denial, but the world tilted. Pain, exhaustion, and the bitter sting of his prolonged neglect finally overwhelmed you. You felt yourself falling, your vision blurring at the edges.

Both Sylus and Kieran moved, a synchronized lurch as they tried to catch you. But then, a faint groan, a soft, familiar voice drifted from the back of the cabin. "Sylus…?" MC.

And then, everything went black.

You felt his grip on you loosen, almost gradually, a hesitation in his panic. His eyes flickered towards the sound of MC's voice, a flicker of that familiar, immediate concern.

He looked back at you, a profound conflict warring in his gaze, before he reluctantly, painstakingly, left you in Kieran’s arms.

[sailorofmidnightseas]

the cure to his curse

sylus x non mc || angst & hurt || happy ending || mc is kinda pick me || drabble out of boredom that spiraled into a series while listening to linkin park's song - heavy || could be triggering for others so read at your own risk || this is not smut || story masterlist : love and deepspace

previous next

TEN

Sylus’s breathing was steady, a rhythmic rise and fall of his chest that was the only balm to your frayed nerves. But he was still unconscious, and like vultures sensing weakness, those who coveted his position and influence began to circle in the shadows.

You felt their predatory gazes, their hushed whispers, and knew instinctively that you had to step in. Again. For Sylus. For his people. For your people, your family, the displaced souls Onychinus had sheltered.

When you stepped into the executive meeting room, there were no arguments. The power you once held, the authority that came with being Sylus’s second-in-command, settled back around you like a familiar cloak.

The time away hadn’t dulled your senses; if anything, it had sharpened them. You stood before the board of executives – Sylus’s top forces, each indebted to his protection, each having sworn loyalty.

You decided then and there to keep everything under wraps, to maintain the illusion of business as usual until Sylus was back on his feet, strong enough to face the world.

Everyone agreed to keep outsiders at bay, tightening security, doubling surveillance.

Mephisto, Sylus’s steadfast crow, a mechanical marvel with a keen intellect and another recipient of Sylus’s saving grace, became your tireless courier, flying between your command center and Sylus’s recovery room.

No one was allowed to visit his room except Zayne, the twins, and yourself. Not even MC was permitted inside the base.

The underground society of N109 zone hummed with speculation. Some remained fiercely loyal to Sylus, others quietly hoped for his downfall, seeing an opportunity in his prolonged absence.

While Sylus recovered under Zayne’s watchful care, you stumbled upon an old, dusty journal tucked away in Sylus’s vast library. It contained notes from his past lives, and one entry, oddly specific, resembled Zayne.

Sylus had written about encountering a younger man with uncontrolled evol, the power to shoot ice, cold and deadly. Sylus, in a moment of his peculiar boredom, had somehow saved the man from his own demons, helping him accept his other form – the Dawnbreaker.

You recalled Zayne’s earlier theories, piecing them together. Perhaps fairy tales were true, or perhaps Zayne, brilliant as he was, simply masked these mythical truths in a language you, a ‘normal human being,’ could understand.

Maybe this was why he was helping Sylus, one of the most wanted man in Deepspace – a debt to settle, a different kind of connection than the fated string that bound five men to MC. It was all too much to fully grasp, yet it made a strange kind of sense.

You visited Sylus whenever you weren't in meetings or on a mission. You were always by his side, tending to him, wiping his body clean, changing his clothes, singing to him, talking to him about random things or sometimes about your happy memories together.

You wanted him to know, once he woke, that you were there, caring for him. You prayed every night as you retired to his bedside, prayed for him to wake so you could start again.

One day, you confronted Zayne, telling him what you'd found in the journal. He didn’t deny it. He simply stated that while he didn't share a deep personal connection with Sylus beyond their initial encounter and their shared entanglement with MC, he had a debt to pay, and this was his way of settling the score.

As he continued to run tests on Sylus, Zayne explained that the curse had been broken. "He said it, you just didn't hear him," Zayne mused. And he was right. In your panic, your exhaustion, your desperate focus on getting Sylus out, you hadn’t registered it.

You sat there, holding Sylus’s hand, grateful for its warmth, longing for his eyes to open. Days blurred into a grueling cycle of meetings, covert missions, and monitoring Sylus.

You were exhausted, but no longer hopeless. The twins were invaluable, guarding Sylus in your absence, while Mephisto surveyed N109 for trouble. There were attempts – assassination plots, break-ins – but you and your team stood firm.

Then, she came. MC. Frustrated, enraged, demanding to be let in. She caused a ruckus, using her evol to blast her way through the first layer of security. But before she could reach the next floor, you stopped her.

You stood apart in the gleaming lobby, glaring at each other, disdain and contempt sparking between you, evol crackling at your fingertips.

You knew she possessed two Aether Cores, knew she was stronger than you in pure evol power.

But you also knew your own strength. Combat-wise, you were lethal, experienced, not just with Wanderers but with anyone who dared threaten you.

You’d killed men twice your size — taken down a whole organization alone, single-handedly handled aberrations, even won Dimitri’s hunting contest by accident after a drunken stumble led you into its arena — the sensors automatically registering you as one of the participants, driving Sylus mad with worry as he saw your name appear on the hologram that can be seen throughout the entire zone.

You got the highest bets, also became the biggest target by players and wanderers. But you were smart, deadly and also refused to die in a stupid way. You won, and you got an earful of combined nag and affection from Sylus.

MC demanded you move. You remained rooted to the spot, standing your ground with confidence and composure. She threatened you again, this time pulling rank as an elite Hunter under the Special Forces team. It didn’t scare you.

"The decision to keep all outsiders out is not mine alone," you said calmly, your voice a cool, cutting edge. "It was the board of executives."

You explained, your voice betraying no emotion, "You will have to be patient. Even if I hated you with passion, I won’t stand in your way if Sylus wanted you."

Then, a sting of truth you knew she wouldn't like: "But not at this time. He has to recover. And you have to be patient. And learn to understand, and not be selfish, for once."

The air shifted. In a blur, MC was in front of you, a blade gleaming, inches from your neck. Your evol flared, and blocked her just in time, the force sent her staggering backwards.

The guards, loyal to you, had their weapons drawn, all pointed at MC. You waved them off, and they lowered their weapons slightly, still poised to fire.

You regained your composure, your mind solely focused on protecting Onychinus, hoping your resolve would shake her back to sanity. The guards sensed their cue: no interference unless necessary. Their priority was the base, their leader, the organization.

MC did not withdraw her weapon. She attempted to swing again. You were ready, committed to defense, though your desire to rip her to shreds burned fiercely.

After all, she was the reason for Sylus' misery, his chains, his near-demise. You wanted her to suffer, not die; death would be too easy.

Before her blade could connect, Zayne’s evol flared between you, a powerful, invisible force that echoed his command.

"Stop!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the lobby. He turned his stern gaze on you, then leaned in, whispering, "Sylus is awake."

But MC heard.

To your dismay, her eyes widened, and without a warning, she slipped past Zayne and bolted for the elevator. You chased after her, but she managed to slam the doors shut frantically.

You swore, pounding on the door before pivoting and racing for the stairs, willing your legs to move faster than ever before.

By the time you burst onto Sylus’s floor, MC was already inside his room. You heard her affectionate tone, her sighs of relief, her broken apologies, her guilt for hurting him.

Then, that entitled voice, as if fate had finally gifted them: "This is the first time you've ever come back to life! This has to be it, Sylus. This is our reward after everything!"

You stood at the door, catching your breath, watching MC, watching Sylus. He was sitting up in bed, looking pale and a bit weak, but his chest was rising and falling steadily.

He's alive.

Tears brimmed in your eyes as relief washed over you.

And then, his eyes met yours. You hadn't realized you'd sighed loud enough for him to hear. You were scared, rooted to your spot, terrified he would choose MC again.

He was free now, no longer bound by the curse.

But a foolish, stupid part of you, the part still deeply in love with him, hoped.

Prayed that Zayne’s theories were correct.

That your true love, your essence, was enough to save him.

That there was one thing MC could not give him, one thing that would make him choose you.

You stared at him, unable to look away. You had longed to see those sharp crimson eyes every minute he’d been in a coma. You didn't realize Sylus was gesturing to Luke and Kieran, who immediately moved to help him up.

They guided him, supported him, as he slowly made his way towards you, walking past MC, who looked utterly hurt and betrayed by his sudden shift in attention.

You remained rooted, unable to breathe, focusing on keeping your knees steady, on keeping your body from trembling. This couldn't be real. This had to be an illusion, a dream.

Sylus was walking towards you, eyes fixed solely on you, looking impossibly handsome even in his weakened state, as if you were the only person in the entire room.

[sailorofmidnightseas]

the cure to his curse

sylus x non mc || angst & hurt || happy ending || mc is kinda pick me || drabble out of boredom that spiraled into a series while listening to linkin park's song - heavy || could be triggering for others so read at your own risk || this is not smut || story masterlist : love and deepspace

previous next

FIVE

The world swam back into focus with a dull ache that seemed to emanate from every cell in your body. Four days. Four days in a coma, a silent battle waged against the very edge of oblivion. You'd lost so much blood, almost slipped away, kept tethered to life only by the sheer, stubborn will of your evol.

Sylus was there, of course. His hand, warm and trembling, yet surprisingly steady, rested over yours. You instinctively tried to recoil, but your body was too weak, a leaden weight that refused to obey. He saw the flicker of your eyes, a wave of relief washing over his face, mixed with that familiar, heavy guilt. "Doctor!" he called out, his voice sharp with urgency.

Moments later, the familiar figures of Luke and Kieran appeared at the door, their faces a mixture of worry and profound relief. Then came Zayne. MC’s 'friend,' the calm, unreadable doctor. You knew there was more to their connection, just as you knew of her tangled web with Skyhaven’s Colonel Caleb, the enigmatic Rafayel, the elite hunter Xavier… and your own lover. You remained silent, your head throbbing, your body protesting every movement, every flicker of consciousness.

"Her evol is unique," Zayne murmured, his voice professionally detached yet tinged with a hint of awe. "It's already begun to completely heal the scars. They will fade because of the nature of her evol." He ran a diagnostic tool over your arm, his expression thoughtful. "She's responding well. We should expect a full recovery, Sylus."

You simply nodded, the only response you could muster. The physical pain was sharp, but manageable. The ache in your heart, however, felt like a gaping wound, far more debilitating.

You just wanted to fade, to never wake up from this nightmare. You closed your eyes, drifting back into the dark embrace of sleep, intentionally shutting out Sylus, Zayne, and the twins. You didn't want to see them, to acknowledge the world that had become so painful.

After weeks of slow, arduous recovery, you were back on your feet, but the person you once were felt like a distant memory. Sylus tried to make it up to you, his attempts a clumsy dance between desperate yearning and ingrained stoicism.

Sometimes, you'd scoff at his efforts, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. Other times, you'd accept a meal he'd brought, or a quiet moment in his office, and for a fleeting instant, things would feel almost normal, almost like the lovers you once were. Then, just as quickly, the wall would descend, and you'd become completely withdrawn, a ghost in his presence.

He knew. He saw the shift in your eyes, the subtle contempt in your voice that no one else would detect, but he, who had known you so intimately, could feel it like a physical blow. He knew he'd messed up, knew why you were hot and cold, why your responses were laced with a hidden sting. He just couldn't bring himself to face the full extent of his mistake.

Then came the night that shattered everything. You were walking past his office, intending to drop off some urgent mission reports, when you heard voices. His voice. And hers.

"...it's the cursed loop, Sylus," MC’s voice, soft, almost regretful, drifted through the slightly ajar door. "Just like before, the curse of being fated."

And then Sylus, his tone so gentle, so utterly endearing, a softness you thought was reserved for you alone. "I know. It's just… complicated this time."

Your blood ran cold. You froze, every nerve ending screaming. You heard the hushed words, the undeniable intimacy in their voices.

‘Lovers in the past. Fated partners. Destined to love each other, yet kill one another.’

The cursed loop. It wasn't just a mission, wasn't just her evol, wasn't just his professional responsibility. It was history. It was destiny.

You didn't realize you were crying until the hot tears streamed down your face, blurring the edges of the corridor. Your chest burned, a volcanic eruption of pain and betrayal. At that exact moment, the office door swung open. Sylus stood there, his eyes widening in shock when he saw you, your tear-streaked face a silent testament to everything you’d just overheard. He knew. He knew you knew.

‘Where does this place me? What am I to him? Was I just a replacement? A fleeting romance? Once the curse is broken, will he leave me?’ The questions screamed in your head, a cacophony of agony.

Sylus moved, his hand reaching for you, his lips forming words you couldn't hear, couldn't process. They were just noise, drowned out by the deafening roar of your own despair. You looked past him, into the office. MC was there, her expression unreadable, not a hint of regret, not a shred of apology for the devastation she’d just wrought. ‘How greedy she is,’ you thought numbly, ‘not content with one, but wanting five.’

Absentmindedly, you held out the documents you’d come to deliver for the next mission. Your mind was numb, your shoulders slumped in utter surrender. You felt tired, profoundly, devastatingly tired, yet the tears wouldn’t stop.

Sylus, in a rare display of uncontrolled emotion, snatched the documents from your hand and hurled them to the floor. "Wait!" he cried, but you were already turning, walking aimlessly, your feet feeling like lead, each step an enormous effort.

It was too much. The voices in your head, the searing pain in your heart, the betrayal. Everything was running at once, a chaotic symphony of hurt and confusion. You felt everything, and yet, paradoxically, nothing at all. You just kept walking.

Sylus overtook you, his strong hands gently but firmly gripping your arms, stopping you. You stared at him, your eyes dead and dull, devoid of any light. His heart visibly broke as he saw your vacant gaze, guilt twisting his features.

He knew now. He knew he should have been truthful. His affections, his actions, had been treading a dangerous line between devotion and emotional disloyalty.

Through the fog of your despair, you managed to articulate one desperate plea. "I just want to sleep," you whispered, your voice raw, "and hope to never wake up again. Not in this kind of sick nightmare." You pulled free from his grasp and walked past him, your heavy feet dragging.

Sylus stood frozen, watching you go. He felt helpless, utterly broken, condemned by his own actions. He wanted to follow, to beg you to stay, to explain, but his legs wouldn't move, rooted to the spot by the weight of his guilt.

You heard MC’s voice in the background, a faint, sweet, worried tone calling his name. You didn't hear Sylus reply. You zoned out, focusing only on the journey back to your room, needing nothing more than to crash and stay in that oblivion, that dreamless slumber, forever.

[sailorofmidnightseas]

the cure to his curse

sylus x non mc || angst & hurt || happy ending || mc is kinda pick me || drabble out of boredom that spiraled into a series while listening to linkin park's song - heavy || could be triggering for others so read at your own risk || this is not smut || story masterlist : love and deepspace

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FOUR

The chill of the Onychinus aircraft cabin settled deep into your bones, a stark contrast to the burning resentment simmering within you.

This mission, meant to be just for you and Sylus, felt like another cruel twist of the knife. Rare protocores, aether cores – the perfect cover for a truly exclusive operation, a chance to reconnect.

But then MC had pushed, her voice a relentless insistence through the comms, and much to your dismay, Sylus had conceded.

You watched them now, their heads close, a low murmur of conversation passing between them. Their chemistry was undeniable, a subtle current that crackled in the air.

Sure, Sylus still walked by your side, his long strides matching yours. He still sat beside you, his presence a familiar anchor.

And those tender, worried glances he'd cast your way, the quiet reminders to "keep yourself safe at all times" – they were there.

But you saw how different he was with her.

The easy smile that touched his lips when she spoke, a warmth you’d thought was reserved solely for you. The way he allowed her to lightly touch his arm, a gesture of casual intimacy that felt like a punch to your gut.

You gritted your teeth, the metal taste of it filling your mouth.

The pilot’s signal flashed, green light washing over your faces. It was time. You moved with Sylus, a practiced unit, his evol making the infiltration of the enemy aircraft almost effortless.

You slipped inside, MC right behind you.

It was going to be easy, clean.

Supposed to be easy.

Then, chaos. MC, in her eagerness, her recklessness, had alerted the enemy. The quiet hum of the plane instantly dissolved into the clatter of boots and the sharp crackle of evol discharges.

You cursed under your breath, drawing your weapon.

Another fight while floating in the sky.

Fucking great.

‘Fuck,’ you hissed under your breath, knowing that this is not gonna be pretty.

You moved like a phantom, your evol a blur of defensive and offensive energy.

One of the enemies, a hulking brute, managed to land a solid kick, sending MC sprawling to the floor. You reacted instantly, flooring him with a precise strike.

But as he fell, you caught the glint of metal in his hand – a grenade.

"MC!" Sylus's voice ripped through the din. He didn't even glance your way. He rushed past your still-crumpled form, his entire focus on MC, who lay on the floor, banged up but mostly unharmed, having rolled away from the blast. You saw him immediately assessing her, his concern palpable.

Instinct took over.

A split-second decision. You deflected it, your evol straining, but the surprise of the attack meant you couldn't contain the blast entirely. It tore through the side of the plane, a gaping maw that sucked at the cabin’s air, the sudden decompression pulling at you.

You were thrown backward, landing hard, a shower of light debris burying you. Nothing you couldn't handle, you thought, even as a searing pain erupted from your side, hot blood blossoming through your uniform. Shards.

Then, Luke and Kieran arrived, a welcome sight. Luke, ever rational, moved swiftly to secure the valuable protocores and aether cores. Kieran, his eyes wide with alarm, found you seconds after Sylus had abandoned you for MC.

"I'm fine," you choked out, a lie that tasted like rust in your mouth.

You groaned, a deep, guttural sound as Kieran carefully pulled away the debris.

"Hey, hey, hey… Are you alright?" he stammered, his voice laced with panic. It was the first time he'd seen you truly vulnerable, truly wounded. "Shit, you're… you're bleeding!"

"We're back," Kieran said, his voice a strained whisper as he finally got you through the hatch. "We're safe."

Kieran was remarkably gentle as he moved you, half-carrying, half-dragging you towards Onychinus’s waiting aircraft. The enemy plane was already listing, alarms blaring as it began its irreversible descent.

The pain was excruciating, a fiery agony that threatened to consume you, but you clung to consciousness, determined not to let it win.

You heard Sylus before you saw him. "Luke, keep an eye on MC!" he barked, his voice tight with urgency.

Then, his eyes fell on Kieran, and did a double-take.

His gaze sharpened, then widened in horror as it landed on you, cradled in Kieran's arms, your uniform soaked in blood, pale skin stark against the crimson.

The thought flickered through your mind, a cold, hard truth. Less like the person who craved his validation, who would silently break for him.

He was there in an instant, his face a mask of frantic panic, guilt etched deep in his features. He cupped your face in his hands, his touch surprisingly steady despite the tremor that ran through him.

His eyes scanned your body, taking in the jagged tears in your uniform, the blood that oozed from multiple wounds. "What happened? Why… why didn't I see…?" His voice was a raw whisper, filled with self-reproach. "You're bleeding! So much… Shit…"

You tried to speak, to tell him everything, to finally break through his denial, but the world tilted. Pain, exhaustion, and the bitter sting of his prolonged neglect finally overwhelmed you. You felt yourself falling, your vision blurring at the edges.

Both Sylus and Kieran moved, a synchronized lurch as they tried to catch you. But then, a faint groan, a soft, familiar voice drifted from the back of the cabin. "Sylus…?" MC.

And then, everything went black.

You felt his grip on you loosen, almost gradually, a hesitation in his panic. His eyes flickered towards the sound of MC's voice, a flicker of that familiar, immediate concern.

He looked back at you, a profound conflict warring in his gaze, before he reluctantly, painstakingly, left you in Kieran’s arms.

[sailorofmidnightseas]

They Hear You Insult Yourself—and Decide to Correct It. Thoroughly

♡ ft. Caleb, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus x fem!reader ♡ cw: body image insecurity, soft angst, intense husband-core reassurance, protective hands everywhere, ends spicy ♡ a/n: it’s just a passing comment. a little sigh, a muttered insult, a careless pinch of skin in the mirror. You didn’t think it mattered. but to them? it’s the worst thing you’ve ever said, and they’ll prove exactly why you’re wrong—slowly, desperately, until you’re gasping their name and forgetting what you ever doubted. PC: @chiaki_0219_3 on X

Caleb

It happens in the bathroom.

You’re standing in front of the mirror in nothing but a pair of pajama shorts and one of Caleb’s old t-shirts. The cotton clings a little more than you’d like, highlighting the soft lines of your stomach.

You pinch at your side, frowning.

“Ugh. Could stand to lose a few.”

It’s quiet. Barely more than a mutter under your breath. The kind of thing you’ve said a hundred times before without thinking.

You don’t realize Caleb’s there until you hear the sharp inhale behind you.

You freeze.

Your eyes meet his in the mirror—and the look on his face guts you. Wide, shocked, almost hurt. Like he just watched you slap yourself across the face.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, voice so soft it nearly breaks.

“Caleb—” you start, cheeks hot, already trying to wave it off.

But he doesn’t let you.

In two strides, he’s right behind you. His hands slide around your waist, big palms splaying over your stomach like he’s trying to shield it from your own words. His chin rests on your shoulder, eyes dark as they meet yours in the glass.

“Don’t do that,” he whispers.

“Do what?”

“Say things like that. Look at yourself like that.” His arms tighten. “Talk about yourself like you’re anything less than the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You swallow hard. “I was just—”

“No.” His voice dips lower, a rough little rasp that turns your legs to water. “You were tearing yourself apart. And I won’t have it.”

His hands slip under your shirt, palms warm and reverent as they stroke over the skin you were just criticizing.

“Do you even know what I see when I look at you?” he murmurs against your neck. “Because it’s sure as hell not flaws. It’s this. All of this.” His hands squeeze, slow and adoring. “Soft and warm and mine.”

Your breath hitches. He catches it with his mouth, pressing a slow, deep kiss to your neck that makes your knees wobble.

“Caleb…”

He turns you gently, until you’re facing him. His eyes are molten—devastated and starving all at once.

“Say something good about yourself,” he whispers.

Your heart twists. “What?”

“Just one thing. For me.”

You hesitate. His thumb strokes your cheek, patient but insistent. So you whisper, “I… like my smile.”

Caleb’s face breaks into this soft, awe-struck grin. Like you just told him you love him for the first time all over again.

“There,” he says, breathless. “That’s the woman I married.”

Then he kisses you—slow at first, then deeper, hungrier, until he’s walking you backward toward the counter. His hands slide under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the cool surface. His mouth never leaves yours, a quiet promise against your lips.

“I’m gonna remind you how perfect you are,” he breathes, hands already pushing your shirt higher. “Until you never doubt it again.”

Xavier

You’re in the bedroom, fussing with the hem of your tank top, trying to decide if it looks too clingy over your stomach.

It’s not like you’re planning to go anywhere—you just caught your reflection in the mirror, and couldn’t stop the little frown that tugged at your lips. The soft exhale that came out more like disappointment.

“Should probably start running again…” you mutter under your breath.

You don’t expect anyone to hear it.

So you jump when a low, quiet voice says behind you:

“…Why would you think that?”

You spin around. Xavier’s standing in the doorway—half-shadowed, hair still slightly damp from the shower. He’s watching you with that usual calm, neutral expression… except his eyes are tight at the edges. Concern. Confusion. Something sharp he doesn’t quite know how to name.

“What?” you try to deflect. “It’s nothing, Xavier.”

But he doesn’t move. Just tilts his head slightly, studying you like he does when reading—like if he stares hard enough, he’ll understand the problem.

“You said you need to run again,” he repeats, voice careful. “Why?”

You shift awkwardly, arms coming up to cross over your stomach. “It’s not a big deal. I just… thought I was getting a little soft, that’s all.”

His brow furrows.

“Soft?” he echoes, like it’s a word he’s never heard before. Then even quieter: “Do you think I would care?”

You blink. “No, I just—I care.”

Another long pause. You can almost see the gears turning. Then he steps closer, hands coming up hesitantly to rest on your sides.

“You think your body is less than it should be,” he says finally. “That it’s wrong somehow.”

It’s not a question. Just this soft, sad realization.

Your throat tightens. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

Xavier’s hands slide up under your arms, slow and warm, until they cradle your face. His thumbs sweep lightly over your cheeks, like he’s trying to memorize every small imperfection you seem to hate.

“I don’t understand,” he admits, voice so quiet it nearly cracks. “When I look at you… all I see is mine. Exactly the way you are. Nothing else even exists.”

Your eyes burn. He dips his forehead to yours, breath stuttering.

“If you ever felt less, it means I’ve failed to show you how I see you,” he whispers. “I won’t let that happen again.”

You start to shake your head, but he stops you with a kiss—soft at first, then deeper, more insistent. His hands slide down to your hips, gripping them gently, pulling you flush against him like he needs to feel every curve.

When he finally pulls back, his mouth brushes your ear.

“Let me prove it,” he breathes. “Let me show you what you do to me.”

And by the time he’s done—lips trailing down your throat, hands learning every inch of you with reverent desperation—there isn’t a single part of you left doubting how wanted you are.

Rafayel

You’re alone in the studio—one of his old, paint-splattered shirts hanging off your shoulders, brushing your bare thighs. You’re not even really trying it on for him. Just grabbed it off a chair because you were chilly.

It doesn’t sit quite right, though. The hem clings a little. Your hips look wider than usual. Your stomach presses soft against the fabric.

You frown at your reflection in the smudged window. Tug at the shirt’s sides, sigh.

“Not exactly a masterpiece, huh?”

You mean it as a joke. An easy, self-deprecating little jab.

Then you hear it.

A sharp intake of breath—like someone punched the air right out of him.

You turn, startled.

Rafayel is standing a few feet away, palette knife still in hand, paint drying on his fingers. His eyes are wide. Bright. Almost glassy.

“What did you just say?” he asks, voice low, careful, but vibrating with something you can’t place.

“Raf, it’s nothing—”

“No, no.” The knife clatters to the floor. He crosses the room in three long strides. “Repeat it. I want to hear it again.”

You flush, heart stuttering. “It was just a joke—”

“Repeat it.”

“Not exactly a masterpiece,” you mutter.

He stares at you for a heartbeat. Two. Then laughs—short, breathless, completely humorless.

“You know what’s tragic, my love?” His hands slide up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek in this devastatingly tender way. “You stand there wrapped in my clothes, in my colors, and you dare insult the only work of art that’s ever mattered?”

Your throat tightens. “Raf—”

“No,” he cuts in. “No more dismissing it. Do you want to know what I see right now?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer. Drops to his knees right there on the paint-splattered floor, palms smoothing over your thighs. Tilts his head back, eyes dark and shining.

“I see curves that haunt my sketches. A mouth I’ve drawn a hundred times and still can’t get right. Skin that makes me want to abandon every canvas and worship only you.”

His hands slide up under the shirt, fingertips ghosting over your hips, your belly, reverent.

“You’re not exactly a masterpiece?” he breathes, voice breaking into a soft laugh. “Darling, you’re the only thing I’ve ever created that matters—and all I did was love you enough to be allowed this close.”

You shiver. One of your hands finds his hair, tangling there.

“Let me prove it,” he murmurs, lips brushing your stomach. “Let me show you what art was supposed to feel like.”

And then he’s pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your skin—slow and adoring, trailing lower until the shirt is bunched around your waist and you’re gasping his name.

By the time he’s finished with you, you’re breathless and wrecked—and there’s no room left in your mind for anything but the way his mouth keeps whispering, “perfect, perfect, perfect.”

Zayne

You’re half-dressed in the bedroom, standing sideways to the mirror—one hand resting on your hip, the other pinching lightly at the curve of your stomach.

You frown. Tug the skin a little. It’s soft. Softer than it used to be.

“God. Look at this—no wonder he doesn’t touch me like he used to.”

It’s barely a mutter. A little jab at yourself, not meant to be heard.

But then there’s a low, flat voice behind you.

“Excuse me?”

You whip around.

Zayne is standing by the door, tie gone, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His eyes are hard, narrowed, dark in a way that’s never been turned on you before.

“What did you just say?”

You flush, wrapping your arms instinctively over your stomach. “It’s nothing. I was joking.”

“Try again.” His voice drops even lower. “Say it exactly the way you did before.”

You swallow. “Zayne—”

“Say it.”

You breathe out, quiet. “I said… no wonder you don’t touch me like you used to.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you. Then something sharp, almost frightening flickers through his eyes—like you’ve insulted him personally.

“You think that’s why?” he asks, stepping closer. Each word slow, deliberate, dangerous. “You think I don’t touch you because of… this?”

His hands catch your wrists, pull them gently but firmly away from your stomach. Then he places them on his chest—over his heart, which is beating hard and fast beneath your palms.

“You are out of your goddamn mind,” he murmurs.

You try to look away. He tips your chin up, forces your gaze back to his.

“Do you know how many times I’ve stood right there,” he nods to the doorway, “watching you get ready, wearing less than this, and had to physically stop myself from bending you over the nearest surface?”

Your breath catches.

His hands slide down to your hips, gripping tight. “How many times I’ve laid next to you in bed and thought I’d give up everything I have just to feel your skin under my mouth again?”

You shiver.

“That softness you hate?” His mouth dips to your ear, voice rough. “It’s what makes you real. It’s what makes you mine. And it’s why I can’t keep my hands off you.”

His teeth scrape your jaw, the tiniest bite, enough to make your knees weak.

“Now,” he breathes, pulling back just enough to look at you—eyes dark, pupils blown. “Say it again. Tell me why I wouldn’t touch you.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Your throat is too tight.

He smirks. Leans in until his lips just ghost yours.

“That’s what I thought.”

Then he kisses you—hard, deep, his hands already sliding under your thighs to lift you up, carrying you to the bed with single-minded purpose.

And when he finally lays you out beneath him, he doesn’t just prove how wrong you were. He makes sure you never dare to think that way again.

Sylus

You’re in the closet, half-dressed for bed. Just a tank top and your underwear, the overhead light stark and unflattering. You catch a glimpse of your reflection—skin folding a little where you’re bent, faint marks on your hips—and sigh.

Pinch lightly at your side, muttering under your breath:

“Looks worse every year.”

Then you hear it.

A low, dark chuckle from behind you.

Your heart jumps. You spin around—Sylus is leaning in the doorway, shoulder propped against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. Watching you like a cat watching a wounded bird.

“You want to try that again?” he drawls, one brow arching. “Because I must’ve misheard.”

You cross your arms, feeling small under that sharp red gaze. “Forget it. It was just stupid.”

“No,” he says easily, pushing off the door and sauntering toward you, slow and predatory. “Don’t walk it back now. I want to hear it.”

“Sylus—”

“Say it,” he interrupts, voice low and dangerous as he stops right in front of you. “Tell me exactly what you just told your reflection.”

Your throat tightens. You try to look away. He catches your chin between his fingers, forces your eyes to meet his.

“I said…” You swallow. “It looks worse every year.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then he laughs. Not warm or amused—dark. Almost cruel.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, mouth curling into a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You really don’t have a clue, do you?”

Before you can flinch away, his hands are on your waist—big, hot palms sliding up under your shirt, dragging you closer until your hips bump.

“You think this”—he squeezes lightly, fingers digging into the softness you were just criticizing—“makes you less? You think I look at you and see something aging, something spoiled?”

He ducks his head, lips brushing your ear in a breath that makes you shiver.

“No. I see something I’ve ruined so thoroughly you can’t even recognize your own perfection anymore.”

Your breath hitches. His teeth graze your throat, hands sliding lower to grip your ass, pulling you flush against the hard line of his body.

“Every year, every mark, every soft edge—proof you’re mine. Proof of how many times I’ve had you, bent you over this very dresser, made you scream.”

His mouth trails down your neck, biting softly.

“You think I’d ever want you any other way?”

You manage to shake your head, breathless.

“Good,” he growls.

Then he lifts you effortlessly—like you weigh nothing—sets you down on the dresser, steps between your knees. His hands bracket your thighs, thumbs pressing little bruises into your skin.

“Because I’m about to remind you exactly how beautiful you are,” he murmurs, voice like silk wrapped around steel. “And tomorrow? When you catch yourself in the mirror? You’ll remember who put that glow there.”

Then he kisses you—deep, claiming, a little rough—like he has something to prove. And by the time he’s done, your reflection is the last thing on your mind.

[sailorofmidnightseas]

Impartial Hearts | Sylus - Part Two

Pairing -> Boss Sylus x Non MC Reader

Parts -> Part One | Part Two

Synopsis -> You’ve been working as Onychinus’s accountant for two years, and you’ve been carrying two heavy secrets for a third of it. You were in love with your boss, and your mother was dying.

A/N -> I'm sorry it took so long. I have been obsessing over trying to make part two perfect but I don't think I can. It's time I share my baby with you, and I really hope you enjoy it.

Tags -> Angst, fluff :)

Trigger Warnings -> Character death, heavily mentions grief. Some parts are suggestive but there is no smut.

Word Count -> 18.8K (it got kinda crazy)

Late October

It was cold, dark and gloomy; the weather a perfect pathetic fallacy to the narrative of your life. The freshly disturbed patch of grass failed to convey the significance of who laid underneath it. It was vexing, how the world continued to spin on it’s axis despite the fact that it stopped spinning for you. 

It hurt to think about the events that led to your undoing. The weeks prior to the moment your mother drew her last breath. You were a cracked vase filled with wilting flowers and overflowing regret. Every breath you took consumed more energy than you could spare and yet the world just. Kept. Spinning. 

“I brought you flowers. Yellow tulips, by the way.” The words felt like lead on your tongue. It was one thing to accept your mother was never coming back, it was another to try to act normal about it. “I know you never cared for them, but I didn’t think leaving a pack of cigarettes on your grave was very tasteful.” You bitterly smiled to yourself at the memories of your mom sneaking a cigarette in the backyard when she thought you were asleep. It was a nasty habit you did everything to rid her of. A fruitless attempt to protect her from the inevitable. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t figured out your epitaph yet. It’s just so hard to condense your entire life into a few words. Plus, they charge by the letter, so I’m trying to be really selective.” It felt weird, speaking into empty space, but you read online that it helped with grief, so you tried anyway. 

That was how you approached most things nowadays. Eating, drinking, sleeping, they all seemed meaningless. But, you knew you couldn’t survive on just antagonism and mourning, so you did it anyway. 

“Zayne called again. I know you told me not to hate him and that it wasn’t his fault, but I can’t bring myself to agree.” 

The moment Zayne told you that the heart that could save your mother’s life was going to someone else replayed in your mind like a scratched vinyl stuck on an aggravating note.

“I got so frustrated by his constant calls that I threw my phone into the ocean.” You let out a sad laugh. “Guess that’s the last time I bring anything with me when I’m walking along the coast.” 

You paused for a moment, feeling stupid. But you had so much to say to her, it all just began spilling out.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I might lose the house. I burned through all my paid leave, and the idea of going back to work for Sylus makes me want to put my head through a wood-chipper. I know I have to, but how can I focus on work when I have nothing left to work for?” You tasted the tears before you felt them, the saltiness reminded you of your weekends at the beach with your mom. You did everything to get out of joining her, you hated the beach, but it was her favourite place to be and in a desperate attempt to cling on to whatever was left of her, you forced it to be yours too.

“I’m sorry I never got you that house you dreamed of, or the dog. I’m sure there are lots of dogs in heaven, and at least the dogs there have been screened. With my luck any dog I would’ve gotten you would’ve been evil.” You teetered around the grievance you truly wanted to apologise for. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t spend much time with you before you passed away. I was so sure you would get the transplant. I tried so hard to save for it. I should’ve been with you. If I knew—” The sobs raked through you with a force that knocked the air out of your lungs. You sat down next to her tombstone, leaning your head against the chiseled rock. 

There were moments when you’d wake up, and in the haze of your muddled mind you’d forget she was dead. But then the ache in your body is deciphered by your mind, and you’re reminded of just how much you’ve lost. Maybe that’s why they called it mourning. Grief dawned on you like the rising sun.

Life had a way of being entirely unfair, and there was nowhere to hide from fate’s piercing claws. And as if to ensure you hadn’t forgotten just how cruel life could be, your head whipped around at the sound of footsteps behind you to find the last person you wanted to see.

Sylus was dressed in a long black coat hanging effortlessly off of his broad shoulders, a black dress shirt that really should’ve been buttoned up to the top, and a pair of black slacks that made his long legs look impossibly longer. He looked every bit the cunning grim reaper, and it wasn’t just because he was surrounded by graves.

“I didn’t know you were back in the N109 Zone.” The words came out harsher than you intended as your head returned to it’s position against the rock. 

Sylus stopped in front of you, lowering himself to his haunches so that you would be face-to-face. It stung to look at him, so you focused on picking at the grass instead. 

“I only got back a few hours ago. I heard about your mother. I’m sorry.” Having been deprived of his voice for over a month, you cursed the butterflies that coursed through you like muscle memory. Part of you wished he’d returned disfigured, but you knew it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. Ugly or devastatingly beautiful, the storm that was Sylus could not be stopped, only weathered. 

“Sorry that she died or sorry that you weren’t there?” The bitterness in your tone was unfamiliar to you. Even though you knew it was unfair of you to expect him to have stayed, he left immediately after he dropped you off at the hospital and you hoped he’d have been there just a little longer. It didn’t help that you didn’t hear from him until two weeks later, and by then you were too engrossed in your battle against Akso hospital’s medical board to respond. 

“You haven’t been answering my calls; they’re not even going through anymore. You haven’t blocked me, have you?” Sylus countered your question with one of his own. If you cared enough, you might’ve called him out on his diversion. 

“No, my phone broke.” That was an understatement if there ever was one. 

“How long ago?”

“A week.” That much was true and since you couldn’t afford a smart phone, a shitty $30 flip phone weighed down your pocket. 

“And all the times I called before then?” Sylus’s eyes perused you with intensity, and you suddenly felt self-conscious. You weren’t dressed well, in a pair of black sweatpants that were too big on you and a matching hoodie. Grieving people were allowed to dress terribly without judgement, Y/N. It’s okay.

“I didn’t feel like picking up.” The grass continued to bare the brunt of your nerves as you answered. The you that wasn’t effectively an orphan would’ve made up some excuse to protect his feelings, but you were resolved to change that. Your mother was strong, independent, and she never backed down from a fight. Not against men like Sylus, and not against her illness. If you wanted to honour her memory then you had to live your life the way she’d want you to.

“Do you have a phone now?” 

You reached into the pocket of your sweatpants to take out the grey flip phone. You watched as Sylus bit back a laugh.

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“I don’t need you to get me anything.” You quickly retorted.

“You’re going to need a phone from this century if you’re working for me, Y/N.” He said it so casually, as if you were put on this earth solely to serve him as his accountant. 

“Right, about that…” Your determination to be confident and unapologetic began to dwindle as you wondered how to tell Sylus you needed more time.

“No. Resigning is not an option.” Twelve minutes. It took Sylus twelve minutes to return to his usual controlling self. You were impressed, truly, it was a new record after all. 

“We don’t have a blood pact, Sylus. I can resign if I want to. Besides, that’s not what I was going to say. I need more time off.” You didn’t sound very convincing, but it wasn’t like you could change who you were overnight. It would take a lifetime to unlearn your bad habits. 

Sylus looked conflicted, as if he didn’t know what to say. When he chose to finally open his mouth, you wished he hadn’t.

“I’ve given you a month, Y/N. That’s enough.” His statement came out so matter-of-factly, you wondered if you had imagined it. A month was not nearly enough to recover from losing your mom, but you figured a man who killed people for a living wouldn’t understand. 

“It’s only been two weeks since she died. And I’m sure the temp you’ve got is perfectly competent.”

“The temp doesn’t know the company like you do and I haven’t bothered teaching him on the premise that you were returning. If you’re not back soon I can’t promise you’ll have a job to come back to.” 

The tension in the air dissipated as you began to laugh. Loudly. Obnoxiously. Hysterically. 

“You— You seriously think I care whether or not I have a job? I can barely will myself to eat right now—employment is not my priority.” You wiped back the tears that began to spill out. Their origin unknown, between your hysteria and sorrow, your eyes were constantly puffy.

“People die all the time, sweetheart. It’s no reason to throw your future away.” Sylus stood up straight at the end of his statement, holding his hand out to you. 

The angel on your shoulder whispered that in his own peculiar way, this was his attempt at comforting you. But you stopped listening to that angel when they buried your mom under six-feet of dirt, and you couldn’t help the word vomit that escaped you like water barrelling out of a splintered dam. 

You pushed away his hand, and stood up to look at him with a ferocity you didn’t know you possessed.

“I get that something really dark and twisted must have happened in your youth to make you so heartless, but most people have shitty childhoods, sweetheart. We choose not to be terrible, insufferable people because of it.” The unbridled rage you’d spend so long trying to suppress seeped out of you uncontrollably as you screamed at Sylus. You walked toward him, your anger taking hold of you as you began to push him away. A few months ago you would’ve given anything to touch him, now all you cared about was making him feel a semblance of the pain he instilled in you. 

“Some of us choose to feel our emotions in their entirety, regardless of how much it hurts, because we’re not scared to love and lose. You’re a coward, Sylus and you may think that my mother dying is just an inevitable consequence of life, but my world will never be the same.” In an attempt to calm down, you took a deep breath.

“You can judge me all you want, but it won’t change the fact that when you die, no one will mourn you.” The word vomit continued, and when you saw the hurt flash briefly within his eyes, you felt the arms of regret begin to sink their claws into you. 

You shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t you.

But before you could take it all back, Sylus’s phone began ringing and you figured from the urgency in which he answered it must’ve been her. 

“I lost track of time, I’ll be right there.” He spoke in a low voice in what you could only assume was an attempt to mask the fact that he was leaving you for something more important, again. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

“Just go.” You waved him off and turned back around to face your mother’s grave, though now the tears welling up in your eyes couldn’t be entirely attributed to the grief. 

Early November

You weren’t sure time could heal the gaping wound your mother’s passing left behind, but grief had settled into your life like an imposing aunt. It was in your home, touching your things, ruining your food, and never once leaving you alone. It didn’t feel so all-consuming anymore, but it clung onto you constantly like a shadow. 

You were watching the third Harry Potter movie at 8am when you received the eviction notice via Email. You’d been expecting it, ultimately you were behind on rent, but the reason plastered on the paper was exponentially worse than your own incompetence.

…Selling to developers…suburban expansion project…

As if losing your childhood home wasn’t bad enough, they were planning on destroying it. Memories were bound to decay with time, that was an inevitable consequence of being human. Sooner or later you’d forget the way your mom dressed, or the smell of her perfume. Tangible things like photographs, places, they kept those memories anchored. You couldn’t lose the house, it wasn’t an option. 

You spent the next hour trying to reason with your landlord over the phone, but he was committed to selling. He rejected every single one of your proposals, though even you knew they were weak at best. The developers were offering significantly more than market value, there was no way you could beat that. Stupid gentrification. But, your landlord told you he was sympathetic, and the deal hadn’t been finalised just yet. If you could match the developer’s offer by the end of the month, he’d gladly sell it to you instead.

Of course the developer’s offer was $800,000, and by the looks of your financials, you were about $796,312 short. 

Desperate for a catharsis for your unending frustration, you screamed into the throw pillow on your couch until your throat felt raw. Then, you opened up your laptop to figure out a plan. 

30 minutes later you had:

Sell your kidney to an organ broker and use the money to get a loan from any dodgy bank that would accept your mediocre credit score. 

Dabble briefly in prostitution and use the money to get a loan from any dodgy bank that would accept your mediocre credit score.

Become a squatter and protest the demolition of your home environmental-activist style. 

“Wow, Y/N. Graduated top of your class and this was all you could come up with, huh?” You muttered to yourself as you stared at the list of terrible ideas. Your mind hadn’t come up with something so horrific since the bed-in-breakfast Mother’s Day fiasco when you were 11. 

The only option that didn’t end in bodily harm or a prison sentence was to work as many jobs as humanly possible for the next few weeks in hopes you could somehow manage to accumulate the deposit for a loan. You could probably sell some appliances too, and maybe revisit the kidney idea if it came to it. 

Despite it being a long-shot, you had to try. You changed into a pair of flared leggings and a sweater. It was basic and borderline mismatched but traversing your explosive closet was a large undertaking you tended to avoid. You dug a copy of your old resume out from your file drawer, after all, it wasn’t like your experience as Onychinus’s accountant was going to do you any good. Further, listing Sylus as a reference would ensure you never got a job again. 

You figured the easiest place to start was the central district of the N109 zone, bars and restaurants there were constantly hiring and from what you’d heard their only requirement was that you had two functioning legs and arms. But when you tried to leave through the door to begin the job search you collided with a formidable wall. 

Since when was there a—

“Where you headed to, Y/N?” The familiar voice was so surprising it made you jump, the action accompanied by a shrill scream.

“What the fuck? Why are you just standing outside my door?” You rarely ever swore and you were sure that if your mother was still alive she’d throw her shoe at you for using the devil’s language. But of all the things you expected to see that morning, Sylus outside your door was not one of them. 

“Is that any way to welcome your old employer?” Sylus stepped into your home without an invitation. Conclusive proof against your theory that he was secretly a vampire. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked again, still staring at Sylus like he sprouted a second head. You couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d show up at your place of residence, he never did while you were still his employee.

“I need you to come back.” You choked back a laugh at his ridiculous request. Was he insane?

“Go to hell.” Your vicious response didn’t sway Sylus. 

“I’ve fired an accountant every week since you left. The accounts are in complete disarray, half my businesses are behind on their bills, the other half have been paying the wrong amounts to the wrong companies. My investors are unhappy, my debtors are one week away from assuming I’ve gone bankrupt and I haven’t slept in weeks. Come. Back.” While it stroked your ego to hear that the organisation was suffering in your absence, you couldn’t just forget the terrible way he’d treated you in and out of the workplace. 

“You insisted I was especially replaceable and now you’re saying you can’t replace me?” You chose to remind him of just how horrid of an employer he was, an action he didn’t appreciate. 

“If you’re going to dwell on the semantics I’d rather just cut to the chase. What’s it going to take to get you back?” Sylus’s tone suggested he was truly trying to negotiate with you. Of course a man like him didn’t know how to take no for an answer. 

“Pigs to fly.” You quipped, opening your door in hopes he’d get the hint and leave. 

“Y/N, I’m serious. We can’t survive without you.” His desperation went straight to your head, but you stood your ground. 

“Then die.” You tried to shove him out of your doorway, but he was about as easy to move as a truck. 

“Everyone has something they desire, sweetheart. Name your price.” While you were ready to fire up a quick retort, his suggestion reminded you of the very reason you were about to leave the house. 

Perhaps this was a sign; you could swallow your pride if it meant you got to keep your home. 

You pretended to give it thought, sighing loudly in contemplation. “Fine. I want a sign-on bonus. Or in this case, a re-sign-on bonus, I guess…” You trailed off, unsure if he would agree. 

“Alright, how much?” He was quick to accept your terms, and you decided to test the waters of just how desperate he was for your return. 

“A million dollars.” 

“Done.” 

Dammit, you should’ve asked for more. 

“I want a personal driver too, I’m sick of biking to work.” You would’ve been okay with just the bonus, after all, it was insanely generous. But you’d be a fool not to milk this opportunity for what it was worth.

“Anything else, princess?” The condescending nickname only added fuel to the fire as you fired off more requests. 

“I don’t want to share my office with the twins anymore, they’re loud and annoying and they have no respect for the sanctity of my monthly budgets.”

“Okay.”

You masked your shock at his sudden magnanimity. “One last thing. Since you’ve come to the realisation that I am, in fact, a valuable asset to your organisation, you’re not allowed to be a dick to me anymore.” 

“Elaborate.”

“No more calling me stupid or other degrading insults, threatening my job security, threatening my life — just no more threats in general — and if you’re going to assign me extra work that is beyond the scope of my job description, a please and thank you would be nice.”

“You’re pushing it, Y/N.” Of course treating his employees like human beings was the most difficult request. 

“You just agreed to give me a million dollars and being nice to me is where you draw the line?” 

Sylus sighed, deliberating in silence for a moment. When he saw that your resolve was unrelenting, he begrudgingly agreed. He wasn’t sure where your newfound confidence was coming from, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t find it the slightest bit attractive. 

“Alright, you’ve made your case. I’ll agree to your conditions. Now, please fix it.” 

It took every fibre of your being not to break out into song and dance at your victory. “Let me get my coat.”

______________

You stared at the horrific mess your beautiful spreadsheet had turned in to. This was a disaster. A colossal, unfathomable disaster. “How could you let it get this bad?” Your voice was dripping with fear, it was like staring a train wreck. 

“It wasn’t like it happened on purpose. Besides, if you’d never—” Sylus interrupted his own sentence which you were sure contained an insult, and you could almost hear the evil chuckle resounding in your head at the sight of his obedience. This was going to be fun. 

“This is going to take forever to fix.” It would actually only take the day, but you didn’t need to tell him that.

“I need it fixed by the end of the week. Please.” He looked pained as he added the nicety. Soooooo much fun.

“Add on a massage chair for my office and I’ll get it done by Wednesday.” You wondered just how far you could push his desperation. 

“Deal.” He held his hand out for you to shake and when you did, you felt a strange sense of accomplishment. Now you could tell people ‘How to Tame Your Dragon’ was loosely based on your life. 

“You know, Sylus, I’m liking this new dynamic.” Your shit-eating grin couldn’t be wiped off of your face no matter how hard you tried.

“Oh I can tell. Now, get to work.” Sylus made a show of pulling out your office chair for you, and when you sat in it for the first time in two months, you felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. And for once, the recollection of your past didn’t hurt as much as it usually did.  

Mid-November

This time around, your employment under Sylus was much more pleasant. Surprisingly, he’d actually adhered to your conditions. 

The twins were slightly offended that you no longer wanted to share your office with them, but their gratefulness for your return trumped any antagonism they had for you. You were kind of a celebrity in Onychinus’s executive team, their saviour, if you will. 

But, the enjoyment of your newly established status could not be savoured. Undoing months of mistakes was turning out to be positively exhausting. You were an accountant; socially awkward, stuck to her Excel sheets, spent most of her free time indulging in shitty rom-coms. You were not built for briefing CEOs, Chairmen, investors, subsidiaries and of course, debtors, on your commitment to stability via video call.

Sylus insisted it had to be you, even though he usually handled the bureaucratic part of the organisation. Something about him not being able to answer their questions regarding the numbers. You told him you would tell him what to say through an ear piece like a spy movie, but he responded with a resounding no. 

It was more like ‘hell will freeze over before I turn into a glorified puppet, Y/N, blah blah blah’.

Every single one-on-one conference call made you feel like you were getting hives. Not to mention the active effort it took you to refrain from making stupid jokes at every opportunity. When the last one with the representative from Onychinus’s main bank was over, you had officially smoothed over all bad blood between Onychinus and it’s stakeholders.

Giving yourself a moment to recalibrate from the sheer amount of social interaction you had been subjected to, you glared at the shared calendar event. ‘Miss Hunter’s Birthday in 13 days’.

You tried to distract yourself from that familiar sinking feeling in your gut with your work. Sylus never remembered your birthday, but it wasn’t like it mattered. You were his accountant, he was your boss. That was the extent of your relationship, even though you’d both said things to each other that would cause your HR department, if you had one, to self-emulate. But in the chaos of buying your home, going back to work and learning how to navigate life with your unwanted companion; grief, you’d forgotten all about your feelings for Sylus.

They weren’t gone but they were muted, like a voice screaming out to you while your head was underwater. Most of the time they were easy to ignore, but in times like these they were too loud to overlook.

You couldn’t dwell on your self-pity for long because there was a knock at your door. No one ever knocked on your door, people just tended to barge in.

“Come in?” Confusion dripped from your voice. When the door opened to a pair of twins with shameful smiles, you knew they were about to ask you for a favour.

“We… fucked up.” Three words you never wanted to hear coming out of either Luke or Kieran’s mouth.

“What have you done?”

“Long story short. Boss sent us to pick up a gem for Miss Hunter’s birthday. It’s really rare. The man who owns them is this older, heart of gold type old guy who refuses to sell to nefarious people because of his outdated principles. He wouldn’t give it to us, said something about us being part of Onychinus. We knew if boss didn’t get this gem today he’d have our heads displayed on mantels in his office, so we threatened the old man with a gun and then an entire arsenal of security appeared out of thin air and we were blacklisted from the property.” Kieran’s explanation left you astounded. 

The twins had their fair share of asinine mistakes, but this one might have taken the cake. 

“You threatened an old man with a gun…” 

“Yes.” Kieran responded. 

“Over a gem?” You asked in disbelief. 

“A very rare gem!” Luke corrected. 

“Huh. How am I supposed to help?” It was a genuine question, you didn’t really see a way out of this one. 

“Can you go and convince the old man to sell the gem to you?” Kieran’s request made your eyes widen in protest.

“No way! I’ve had my fill of uncomfortable business meetings.” And wasn’t that the truth. If you had to see one more man in a business suit ask you ‘if you even knew what you were talking about’ you might throw your laptop into the first body of water you could find. 

“Please, Y/N. Sylus will kill us. Do you want our deaths to hang over your conscience?” 

Luke’s question was an innocent hyperbole, but at the mention of deaths hanging over your conscience, you were reminded of your mom. Your face dropped, your fingers slowly forgetting what they were supposed to type. Kieran, the more observant twin, elbowed Luke.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me, I’m not going to burst into tears.” You weren’t sure that was true quite yet, but fake it till you make it, right? 

“Will you help us? Please. We’ll owe you big time.” The line was clearly rehearsed since they said it in unison, or maybe it was some weird twin telepathy thing. Either way, it freaked you out so much you agreed. 

“Fine, what’s the address?”

_____________

You knocked on the large wooden door of a beautiful home. It was classically designed, a perfect intersection between modernity and the timeless complexity of archaic house designs. It was rare to see homes like these in a society that prided itself on progress. 

When you heard the sound of soft feet shuffling toward the door, you felt the guilt eat at you internally. You were tricking an old man into selling a gem to people he very reasonably did not want to sell to.

“Y/M/N?” 

Did he— why did he call you by your mother’s name?

“That was my mother, I’m her daughter, Y/N.”

“Oh, thank god, I was beginning to think I’d finally lost it. Come in, come in.” 

Your interest had been piqued, and you forgot all about the gem as you entered the old man’s home.

“I must say, I’m surprised you’re here. Did your mother send you?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “She passed away just over a month ago.”

“Oh god. I’m so sorry, dear. Are you alright?” The question was filled with so much warmth it made tears well up in your eyes. Your mother never had any friends, and you were estranged from your extended family. You were all alone in your grief, and hearing someone who knew your mom in some capacity ask you if you were alright felt bittersweet.

“Yeah. I’m doing okay. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you know her?”

“You don’t know? I figured that was why you were here.” 

Right. The reason you were here, the gem.

“No, I’m actually here entirely coincidentally, I came to acquire a gem.”

“Which gem were you after, dear?” He asked the question as he looked around his living room for something.

“The Painite one.”

He stopped pacing and turned to you with an accusatory stare. “This wouldn’t happen to be related to those two rowdy boys who came by earlier, right?”

“Well…” You couldn’t lie to him. He looked like the old man from ‘Up’, it was entirely unfair. 

“I’m afraid I can’t sell to you. I’m concerned you’ve even gotten yourself wrapped up in such a terrible organisation.” He shook his head, his disappointment evident in his tone. 

“Look, I know what you’ve heard, but most of the rumours you hear about Onychinus don’t have a modicum of truth to them.”

“Then why hasn’t your boss cleared them up?” A great question. 

“In this business its good to have a reputation that instills fear in others. You’ve seen what people do for Protocores and black-market items. Onychinus serves as a… regulatory body of the underworld, the only people they harm are those that harm others.” The practiced speech came from years of listening to Sylus give it to yourself and others. 

“I don’t know dear, I’ve heard some horrific things about their leader, Sylus.” You were probably responsible for a few of those rumours…

“The only horrific thing about him is his sharp tongue. Seriously, he has a way of finding your worst insecurity and then using it to drag you through the dirt.” Recognising the unhelpful tangent, you digressed.

“But when it comes to business, he’s fair and when someone hurts the people he cares about, he’s merciless. He has a good heart, it’s just encased under a very thick layer of stone.” When he didn’t look convinced, you continued. 

“In fact, he wants this gem for a woman. She’s special to him and its her birthday in a few days. She’s a hunter, by the way, she saves lives. So, even if you don’t want to sell to Sylus because he’s probably half demon, you should sell it to her. You know, by proxy.” The argument was a stretch but you couldn’t help your rambling. 

“You are the spitting image of your mother.” 

The comment caught you off-guard.

“You think so?”

“I knew your mother when she was your age. She used to sing live at a bar I frequented with my friends. It was a simpler time, before wanderers attacked. I was head over heels in love with her, and I knew she felt the same way about me. But, she got wrapped up with the wrong guy, a real bad man, and it took finding out she was pregnant with you to break it off with him.” He recounted his past as he continued to search his drawers for something, when he came back to the couch in front of yours, he handed you a photo.

It was of your mother, except she was much younger. She was on a stage performing, a part of her life she never told you about. She looked happy and was glowing with the kind of ethereal beauty that never dwindled with time. He was right, you looked a lot like her. 

“Can I keep this?” You looked up at the man, and he gave you a small nod. 

“Of course. You know, I offered to help her when I found out, said I’d raise the baby as my own, but she told me I was destined for more than she could give me. Said she had to do this on her own. She was stubborn but she loved boundlessly, Y/N, just like you.”

You were confused, this man hadn’t known you for very long, how could he know such a thing? “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what that Sylus man has done to deserve your adoration, but I can tell you love him. And for you to come here on his behalf to convince me to sell him the rarest gem in the world for another woman? You truly do have your mother’s heart.” 

His words sprouted doubt and introspection. Why were you trying so hard to get Sylus such a romantic gift when it was meant for someone else? Were you secretly a masochist?

“If it’s alright with you Y/N, I’d love to get to know you. Your mother was my first love, and it’s nice to have someone to talk to about her.” 

You gave him the sincerest smile you could come up with. “I’d like that. I don’t really have anyone to talk to about her either.”

“As for the gem, I’ll sell it to you but only if you promise to love a man who will go to these lengths for you, not someone else.” 

“I promise.” You’d promise to try, at least. You told the man, who you now knew was Dr Jeffery Hunt the geologist, that you needed to get back to work. You exchanged contact information with a promise to catch up later and trade stories about your mom. 

You left the house with the rarest gem in the world in one hand, and an infinitely more valuable picture of your mother in the other. 

___________

You walked toward your office where Luke and Kieran should have been to find the door slightly ajar. You stopped just outside the door when you heard Sylus’s voice from inside your office.

“You sent Y/N to get the gem? Was the task too difficult for the two of you?” You tried to sympathise with the twins, but it was kind of funny to see Sylus berate someone else for once.

“The owner said he wouldn’t sell to Onychinus—” Kieran’s attempt at an explanation was shot down instantly.

“So you pick some random person off the street and send them in instead. You don’t send the girl the gem is for to go retrieve her own present. You have completely ruined the surprise.”

Wait, what?

“No, it’s fine, we sent Y/N not Miss Hunter.”

“Miss Hun— why would you assume it’s for her?” The question hung in there for an uncomfortable moment, after all you assumed the same thing. 

“Her birthday’s in a few days.” Luke timidly added. 

“How do you know that?” 

“It’s in the shared calendar.”

“Fuck.” 

With your ear plastered shamelessly against the door, you smiled to yourself. He had a bad habit of putting personal events in the shared calendar.

“The gem was for Y/N. Thanks to you imbeciles I have to figure something else out.” 

Why was the gem for you? Was it poisonous? You started down at the velvet box in your hand and wondered if the gem was secretly a teeny tiny bomb. 

“Is it Y/N’s birthday soon too?” Kieran’s question offended you. Your birthday was in March and both he and Luke were at your celebratory birthday dinner last year. 

“No, that’s in March. It’s to celebrate her 3rd year with Onychinus. Although now I’m wondering if your time here has come to an end.” It was kind of sadistic, but it was comforting to know that Sylus threatened other people’s job security over minor inconveniences too. 

“No! Please, we promise we’ll make it up to you.” 

You stopped listening to the conversation as you opened the box in your hand. The gem glistened under the artificial lights as questions fired off in your brain. He wanted to give this gem to you? How did he even remember the day you started at Onychinus? And he knew your birthday?

Before you could search for the answers, the sound of footsteps approaching the door made you panic. You tried fruitlessly to escape the long hallway but Sylus stormed out before you could.

“I um, got that gem for you.” You pretended you weren’t eavesdropping and held the gem out to him, but he pushed it back toward you. 

“Thanks. I was going to have it turned into a necklace, but since the cat’s out of the bag, you can decide what to do with it.” He clearly knew you’d heard everything and gave the twins a pointed glare as they scurried out of your office. 

“It’s really too much. Most employers get their employees a gift card or something.” You tried to hand it back again, but he was unrelenting. 

“I’m not most employers, and you definitely aren’t most employees.” The loaded compliment made you bite back a smile. 

“In that case, a necklace would be nice. I have a photo of my mom when she was my age, she wore a necklace with a similar looking gem. Do you think you could find someone who can copy the design? It would mean a lot. I’d pay for it, of course.” You kept the photo in your wallet now, it quickly became one of your favourites. When you passed the photo to him, he looked at it for far longer than necessary. 

“Consider it done, and your money’s no good with me. Save it for something else.” He paused for a moment, took a photo of the necklace on his phone and returned the photograph. “I see where you get your beauty from.” The comment was so nonchalant and inconsistent with Sylus’s usual dialogue that you were left speechless. Your heart battered against your ribcage as if it were trying to escape and mount itself onto him instead. Traitorous organ. 

You watched him turn around and walk toward his office. The sight of him walking away from you brought back memories of that day in the graveyard and what you’d said to Sylus before he left. 

“You can judge me all you want, but it won’t change the fact that when you die, no one will mourn you.”

The guilt was eating away at your conscience, and you knew you had to let him know that you didn’t mean what you said. Especially not now. 

“Sylus, wait.” He stopped just as his hand reached the doorknob of his office door and looked up at you expectantly.

You raked your mind for the right thing to say, and Sylus didn’t make a sound as you prolonged the silence. 

“If you died, I’d mourn you.” And you meant it. You maintained eye contact despite the urge to look away from his intense gaze in an attempt to convey your sincerity. 

He shook his head with a slight chuckle in response, and walked into his office wordlessly. 

You figured he hadn’t given what you said a second thought. It was foolish to think you could ever hurt the impenetrable Sylus’s feelings. You weren’t even sure he had feelings. 

But, unbeknownst to you, when Sylus closed the door behind him, he felt himself let out a breath that alleviated a pressure in his chest he didn’t know he’d been carrying. What you’d said to him in the graveyard weighed on him like an uncomfortable tumour. 

Sylus knew you were right, but the idea of no one caring for him never bothered him before, not until you said it. It dawned on him that the only person who’s idea of him actually affected how he thought of himself was yours. 

Late-November

“Finish up, we have a reservation at six.” At the sound of your boss’s  voice, you looked up from your computer screen. Your eyes were watery from staring at the ledger for hours but you still couldn’t reconcile the $15.70 that was missing. It was driving you insane.

“Was there a meeting I forgot existed?” The calendar looked empty from where it stood on your second monitor. Well, it was empty now that Sylus deleted the shared calendar event for Miss Hunter’s birthday which should’ve been yesterday. 

“No, it’s just us. I’m taking you to dinner. Now hurry up.” You couldn’t help the frown on your face. There was surely an ulterior motive. 

“Taking me to dinner? Are you asking me out on a date?” You were teasing; hell would freeze over before Sylus would ask anyone out on a date. Though, maybe he already had, after all he was busy yesterday…

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re celebrating your third year with Onychinus. As an employer I believe rewarding long-term employees can strengthen their loyalty to the company.” He regurgitated the words like they were toxic. 

“You stole that from the last issue of Forbes magazine. I would know since I was the one who gave you the article.” It was titled ‘Ten foolproof ways to make your employees like you’ and you thought it would be funny to leave it on Sylus’s desk. 

“And I’m responding to your feedback like number 4 on that list suggested. Now, do you want to go to this dinner or should I ask someone else?” 

You quickly scrambled out of your seat, you couldn’t miss out on a chance to see Sylus actively try to be a regular boss. Who could say no to dinner and a show?

“No, no, I’ll go.” You grabbed your bag off of the floor and followed Sylus out of the building. You asked him a series of questions about where you were going, when you’d be back, if you were getting paid for the time you were forced to spend with him, but he answered none of them. 

Sylus was driving for all of 2 minutes before you began to draft an appreciation letter to the inventor of seatbelts in your head. 

“You know, you may be harder to kill than a regular person, but I will die if you crash this car.” Pleading for your life in an expensive sports car was not how you expected to go. 

“It’s a little early in the night for your theatrics, Y/N.” Sylus’s deadpan tone did nothing to soothe your concerns as he turned yet another sharp corner with aggressive speed. 

“It’s also a little early in my life to die.” You unhelpfully added.

“Relax, will you? I’ve never crashed before.” 

Well, there’s a first time for everything. You thought as you tightly gripped the handle of the door. You found yourself suddenly missing the middle-aged man who would grouchily drive you to and from work. At least he drove like he valued his life. 

 _______

When you arrived to the place in one piece you felt severely under dressed. Sylus was wearing his regular attire, a suit without the tie, and you were dressed in linen pants and a turtleneck. Sylus never enforced a business dress code, though in that moment you found yourself wishing he did.

The restaurant was multi-level and sat at the top of a mountain. The exterior screamed affluence and you were sure everyone who dined there was in a different tax-bracket. Sylus reserved a table on the rooftop which unfortunately meant you had to ascend four levels in your mediocre outfit that made you stick out like a sore thumb. 

When you eventually reached your table, you quickly hid in your seat. While it was unrealistic to assume anyone would pay you any attention but your embarrassment was usually irrational. Nor, did it help that Sylus naturally made heads turn wherever he went. He was freakishly tall and unnervingly handsome; next to him anyone struggled to look attractive.

“You’re in a rush. Hungry?” Sylus asked across from you as you buried your face in the menu. You didn’t feel like explaining how being out with him made you feel insecure, so you forewent a response. 

The waiter quickly returned with a bottle of wine. Of course Sylus’s favourite wine was known universally. Why wouldn’t it be? He practically ruled the N109 Zone.

“Thanks, she’ll have a mojito.” Before you could tell the waiter not to bring you your favourite cocktail, he was gone.

“I’m not drinking.” Your protest fell on deaf ears. “Drinking with your boss is like number 1 on the list of things you shouldn’t do if you value your job.”

“You don’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself in front of me, Y/N. You’ve done that plenty of times sober.” Sylus smirked as he made the dry joke and you held back the urge to step on his foot under the table.

Never mind. You needed a drink pronto.

“Asshole.” You muttered under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Artichokes! I said the artichoke salad looks good.” You could tell Sylus wasn’t convinced, but he dropped the matter anyway. 

“Order whatever you’d like.” 

“There’s no prices on the menu.” You flipped it around every which way but not a single price appeared.

“Sweetheart, the people who can afford to dine here aren’t too concerned with prices. Don’t worry and order what you wish.”

Aw, how sweet. Sylus thought you enquired about the prices because you were concerned about overspending. As if. You knew that man’s financials inside and out, if anything, you wanted to order the most expensive things on the menu. 

“Jeez, my bad Mr One-Percent.” Your joke was not well received.

“Can we have one night without your incessant sarcasm?” The plea sounded genuine, but it was denied. 

“We could, but that’s no fun.”

“I find you painfully unfunny, Y/N.” You smiled to yourself at his blatant lie. Everyone found you funny. 

Before you could think of a retort, Sylus pulled out a large velvet box and slid it toward you on the table.

“What’s this?”

“The necklace.”

You opened it up eagerly and the sight of it brought pure bliss to your heart. It was exactly like the one your mother wore, and it was even more beautiful in person.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” Feeling slightly remorseful for your attitude prior to the gift-exchange, you gave him a sheepish smile.

Sylus watched you lift it up to put it on, but quickly interjected. “Allow me.” He stood up, walking toward your seat. Flushed, you clumsily turned around so your back was facing him. You felt goosebumps on your skin when his cold hands bunched your hair away from your neck, the tips of his fingers leaving a trail of wired nerves in their wake.

You took your hair from his hand to hold it up, the mere feeling of your fingers brushing his gave you heart palpitations. The act was way too intimate, and despite how it good it felt to have him so close, your brain knew it was safest to pray it would be over soon.

When Sylus was done he spun you around to face him and shamelessly observed his handiwork. “It looks good.” Your brain short-circuited the moment your eyes met his, so you sat in front of him in complete silence.

The moment was rudely interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice.

“Sylus? Y/N? Fancy seeing you here!” You both turned to the source of the voice to see Miss Hunter in a beautiful baby blue gown. As if you didn’t feel bad enough about your choice in attire. You began to smile until you noticed that the arm linked with hers belonged to your mortal enemy. Dr Zayne. 

You got up to greet them, despite your primal urge to push Zayne off the roof, but Sylus beat you to it. “Miss Hunter, always a pleasure.” You tried not to gag at the sight of Sylus being so gentlemanly. It became particularly hard when he kissed the top of her hand. 

“I didn’t know you knew Dr Zayne.” The comment slipped out of Sylus’s tense smile with a twinge of what you thought was hostility. Was he jealous that she was with Dr Zayne? Were you jealous that he was jealous? Are you in a soap opera?

“Oh, he’s a childhood friend andmy doctor! I’m very lucky. How do you know him?” Before you could whisper to Sylus to make up some excuse, he was firing off information about your personal life to the last two people you wanted to discuss your personal life with. 

“He was Y/N’s mother’s doctor.” Everyone went tense, everyone except for Miss Hunter, of course. 

Your eyes followed her as she turned to you, praying she wouldn’t ask about your mother’s health. Instead, she praised your nemesis. “He’s brilliant, isn’t he?”

You wanted to scream in protest. You wanted to swing a chair into Dr Zayne’s head, and then use the broken scraps to beat him to a pulp. But you opted to force a painful smile instead. 

“He’s definitely something.” You looked right at Zayne, hoping he’d understand the implications of your backhanded compliment.  

“Well, we were just here to celebrate my birthday yesterday, but the hostess said it was all booked out and silly Zayne forgot to make a reservation. We just came up to the rooftop to get some pictures, but you guys should enjoy your dinner!” Miss Hunter’s polite dismissal was the perfect opportunity to end the painfully awkward interaction and move on with your night. 

“Thanks.” You were about to return to your seat when Sylus decided to continue with his commitment to ruining your life.

“You guys should join us, the more the merrier, right Y/N?”

The question you had no idea how to answer only poked at the jar of pent up murderous rage you were trying to suppress. It wasn’t like you were subtle about your hatred for the Doctor, why the hell was Sylus inviting them to stay?

“Right.” You couldn’t have sounded less sincere if you tried, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You had to focus on making it out of this building without a homicide charge.

When Miss Hunter happily agreed, Sylus quickly waved down a waiter and made them transform your two-seater table into a four-seater. Unfortunately for you, the seating arrangements somehow ended up with you next to Zayne and Sylus next to Miss Hunter . 

Zayne could feel the hostility radiating off of you in waves, but he was too scared to do anything about it. 

“Happy birthday, by the way.” You offered Miss Hunter the nicety, since she was really the only innocent person at the table. Your unfounded hatred for her took the back-burner when Zayne was around. 

“Thanks, Y/N. I love your necklace, where did you get it?” Yet another question you didn’t know how to answer. If this was how the entire night was going to be you might as well cut your losses and take your chances with jumping off the roof.

“It’s um, custom made.” You avoided Sylus’s glare. 

“Well it’s beautiful.” You couldn’t help but smile at her compliment. Her sunshine-y attitude could rival yours. 

“Sylus knows the guy who made it, I’m sure he could get one for you too.” You glanced at him only to see him quirk an eyebrow at your response. Was he seriously mad? You were practically the world’s greatest wingwoman. 

When Miss Hunter turned to look at him, he quickly shut her down.  “He retired right after making that piece, actually. Something about getting arthritis.” 

He was definitely lying. You weren’t sure why he was gatekeeping this jeweller and you never got the chance to ask. 

“Oh, that’s unfortunate. Hey Zayne, you’ve been awfully quiet. Say something!” Miss Hunter gave him a playful push on the shoulder as she teased him. The sight would’ve been adorable if it weren’t for satan’s incarnate sitting inches away from you.

“Yeah Zayne, how was work? Steal anymore hearts lately?” You asked the deceivingly innocuous question while breaking apart a piece of bread. The double-entendre was like a secret you both shared; though the idea of sharing anything with that waste of space made you inscrutably angry. 

Sylus silently observed the interaction with curiosity. Your passive-aggressiveness was a trait he thought you only reserved for him. You were always nice, to everyone. Seeing you treat Zayne so coldly was like witnessing a beaver play the piano. It was unnatural. 

“Work went as well as expected.” Zayne’s clipped reply left no room for further discussion. The conversation came to do a lull, and you took it as the opportunity to excuse yourself to the bathroom. You immediately beelined away from the table that currently situated your nightmare blunt rotation and toward the women’s bathroom that was positively Zayne-free. 

The bathroom was just as extravagant as the rest of the restaurant but you didn’t get to admire it before you splashed water on your face in an attempt to cool down. There was no way you could last an entire dinner next to Zayne. Maybe you could say you were feeling sick. Probably a bad idea when he’s a doctor. Work emergency wasn’t plausible, your boss was at the table. What if you just ran away? You could live with the shame and embarrassment.

You looked up at the ceiling and silently cursed the heavens for your terrible luck. Seriously, you must’ve been a serial killer in your past life to deserve this fate. It was a never-ending series of unfortunate events, and you were desperate for a break. 

When you eventually left the bathroom, Zayne was standing right outside the door. He startled you, but the moment the shock wore off your face morphed into a deadly glare. 

“Look, I know you think I’m a terrible person but—”

“Monster is the term I’d use, but go on.” You rudely interrupted Zayne. He chose not to acknowledge your comment. 

“I rarely get to spend time with MC and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t ruin her birthday dinner because of me.” It didn’t take long for you to realise that MC must’ve been Miss Hunter’s first name. 

Zayne ruined everything he touched, he needed no help from you. 

“I’m sorry, does the fact that I’m angry at you for letting my mother die put a damper in your dinner plans?”

“Yes it does, actually.” Zayne responded quickly. He either didn’t understand sarcasm or was an even bigger dick than you thought.

“Then might I suggest you take her someplace else. It’s your fault you couldn’t get a table here. Why should I have to suffer because your incompetence knows no bounds?” You couldn’t think of a time you’d insulted someone so much in such quick succession. Dr Zayne brought out the worst in you, but you could reflect on your actions later. Right now you were at war. 

“We are perfectly capable of having an amicable dinner.” 

You rolled your eyes at his condescending tone. “You might be, I’m not that mature.” 

“Y/N. We’re both adults.” He pleaded.

“Bite me.” 

Before Zayne could open his mouth again, Sylus interrupted.

“Everything all good here?” For once in your life, you were grateful for Sylus’s interruption. 

“No.” You said.

“Yes.” Zayne also said, at the exact same time.

“Zayne you should head back to the table. Miss Hunter's waiting for you.” Zayne didn’t think twice before taking the out and you internally flipped off his retreating form.

Sylus grabbed you by the forearm, his grip tight as he dragged you to a secluded part of the rooftop and away from the bathrooms. 

“What’s going on with you?” He asked the moment you stopped moving, his hand still gripping onto your arm like a vice. 

“Can you let go? You’re hurting me.” He quickly released you, his eyes washing over with something you couldn’t recognise as you soothed the part he’d rubbed raw. 

“Why are you acting so childish?” His question would've angered you had you not been angry already.

“I hate his guts.” The response did not help your case, but you weren’t very articulate when you were upset. 

“What did he do to you?” Sylus’s eyes narrowed, and he spoke in a low tone that was laced with danger. You didn’t think too much of his strange reaction, Sylus acting strange was pretty much the only consistent thing in your life lately. 

You gnawed on your lip, unsure of how to respond. Your grievance against the world-renowned doctor was one you’d always kept to yourself. After all, everyone had nothing but praise for the brilliant Dr Zayne. 

“Y/N, if he touched you I’ll—” Your eyes quickly widened in shock at his interpretation.

“No! Nothing like that. It’s just, a few days before my mom died, a heart came in that was a match. But there was this other guy who was younger and needed it just as badly. The policy was that the hospital's medical board would vote on who got the heart and the entire board, Zayne included, unanimously agreed that the heart should go to the other guy.” They said it wasn't personal, that it had everything to do with survival rates, but there was no way to detach personhood from medicine.

You realised that when you said it out loud, your hate seemed unfounded. “I know it wasn’t entirely his fault, but he didn’t even try to give my mom a fighting chance. He didn't say anything to sway them, he just silently agreed. He was supposed to be her advocate.” The frustration began to boil over, and before you knew it there were tears welling up in your eyes.

“God, I spent every last dollar of my paycheque to make sure she got the greatest medical care money could buy. Everyone said he was the best, but when it really mattered, he did nothing for her. I was such an idiot.” There was an uncontrollable fountain of tears streaming down your face, and you were grateful for Sylus’s decision to drag you to somewhere secluded. 

The familiar tendrils of an oncoming panic attack began to wash over you as you began to hyperventilate. No matter how much you wanted to blame Dr Zayne, or the universe, or your shitty luck, the only person you could really blame was yourself. You sent her to that hospital, you convinced her to hold on for a transplant, you spent her last months on this Earth slaving away in another city instead of by her side. There was no way to get that time back. 

“Y/N, look at me. It’s not your fault.” Sylus’s voice was like a beacon of light that led you through the dark tunnel you were trapped in. He cradled your face in his hands, wiping away your tears as they continued to stream down your face. But when your tears showed no signs of slowing, he pulled you into his arms, his hands holding your tear-stricken face against his chest.

He ran his long fingers through your hair as he whispered everything you wanted to hear. "It’s not your fault. It’s okay to hate him. It will get easier."

You weren’t sure how long you spent with your face buried in his chest, but by the time you’d returned to reality, his white dress shirt was slightly transparent where your tears soaked through the material. 

You laughed a little at the sight, and the corners of Sylus’s lips raised ever so slightly at the sound. When he saw you were okay, Sylus began to speak. “Don’t move. I’ll grab your bag and we’ll get out of here.”

Before he could leave you tugged on the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Hey, I’m sorry I ruined your dinner.” You truly were. Sylus did not deserve to be subjected to yet another one of your meltdowns, but he seemed to have a habit of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

“No it's my fault, I ruined it by inviting them to join us. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Sylus then manoeuvred through the restaurant toward the nightmare table. When he returned with your bag in one hand and the other outstretched toward you, your heart skipped a beat. Or two. He played the role of the knight-in-shining-armour quite seamlessly, and he looked every bit the handsome prince charming. You tried to remind yourself why it was so dangerous to be attracted to a force like Sylus, but when he smiled at you like you were the only two people in the room, all caution was thrown to the wind. 

_____________

In the spirit of making things up to you, you made Sylus take you to a restaurant of your choosing. It was a hole-in-the-wall dumpling place that charged so little one would question if they were serving real meat. But you never found better dumplings, so you took the risk anyway.

The dynamic was completely subverted as you sat on the table that was slightly sticky with cheap cleaning chemicals. Sylus was the one who looked out of place, his suit was unarguably the most expensive thing in the room and it brought joy to your miserable night to see him out of his comfort zone.

“How did you find this place?” The question was warranted, other than you two, the only other occupants in the restaurant were a few middle-schoolers.  

“I used to come here a lot with my friends in high school.”

“Did they all die from food poisoning?” Sylus seemed proud of his quick-witted joke. You gave him a pointed glare to convey just how unfunny that joke was. 

“Funny, but no. We just drifted apart after we graduated.” The clipped reply shut down any further inquiry. You thought back to the fond memories you had in that restaurant. Things were different when you didn’t yet know the cost of failure; before you knew what you’d be losing. And while everyone may have moved on from this small town in the N109 Zone, you never left. 

“Do you even have any friends?” You choked on your drink at the question. He was genuinely asking and the worst part was, you really didn’t.

Your constant struggle to make ends meet and maintain a high GPA for your academic scholarships made it impossible to have a social life. It didn’t help that you went to a college you couldn’t afford. It was hard to find people to relate to when everyone had grown up with silver spoons. Then after you graduated you landed at Onychinus, and it wasn’t exactly a friendly environment.

“Of course I have friends.” Your lie was a feeble attempt to preserve the last of your dignity. Sylus had seen you at your absolute worst, but there was something extremely dehumanising about letting him know you were insanely lonely.

“Really, who?” His genuine surprise only made your insecurity worse.

“You don’t have to sound so shocked. Plus, you wouldn’t know them.” 

“Try me.” Of course he wouldn’t drop it. When has Sylus ever let something go?

“Well, there’s Mr Demir, and Luke and Kieran, and my newly acquired friend Dr Hunt.” In a desperate attempt to keep up your lie, you pretty much just named all the people you knew. 

“Y/N, that’s the man who sells you your sandwiches, my assistants, and a geologist who sold you a gem.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that no one likes a know-it-all?” 

“I think you should get out more. Maybe tone down the sarcasm and you might just make a friend or two.” Your jaw-dropped in faux shock at his unsolicited advice.

“You’re one to talk, your best friend is a mechanical crow.” You snuck a dumpling off of his plate while he was distracted.

“I don’t need friends, they’re unnecessary burdens.” He took a swig of his beer. You thought he’d burst into flames if he drank anything other than red wine, but he adapted to his surroundings with little effort.

You put a hand on your heart as if in pain and jokingly gave him a solemn look.“Then why would you wish such a cruel fate onto me?”

“Because I hate seeing you this miserable, Y/N.” The amusement from your banter died a quick death at his confession. You thought you kept it together most of the time, though bawling your eyes out in the N109 Zone’s hottest restaurant probably didn’t do that facade any good. But for the most part, you handled the death of your mother relatively well. 

“I’m not miserable. Not all of the time at least. Like right now, I’m only mildly annoyed!” You tried to change the topic the only way you knew how, with humour, but Sylus wasn’t budging.

“You take care of everyone but yourself and all it’s done is isolate you. There needs to be a give and take, sweetheart. People don’t like feeling useless.” He spoke to you softly, as if he was scared the timbre of his voice would cause you to shatter into a million pieces. 

There was a sinking feeling in your stomach that followed his oddly specific guidance. He seemed to know more about you than you thought he did, and you were torn between feeling seen and feeling judged. 

“That’s sound advice. Guess you’ve been reading more magazines.” You were grasping at straws, willing to try anything to get the unwanted spotlight off of your inadequacies. 

“You also need to learn how to accept help without downplaying your problems.” 

“Okay, okay. You sound like my mother. Has her soul possessed you?” There you go Y/N. Play the dead mom card, that’ll work. 

He chuckled at your joke. You knew he found you funny.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Yeah, the manufacturers didn’t include an off-switch. No refunds, sorry.” You stuffed a dumpling in your mouth as the tension subsided. 

“Oh, I’m not returning you, sweetheart. They’ll have to pry you from my cold dead hands.” While you knew he was probably referring to the value you brought his company as his accountant, you couldn’t stifle the butterflies that wreaked havoc in your stomach.

You didn’t move when Sylus’s car stopped outside your house. 

“Thanks for tonight, I had fun. Sorry it didn’t go to plan.” You turned to him after you unbuckled your seatbelt and the tight confines of the car felt even smaller.

“It’s fine, I liked this version of events better anyway.” His low voice reverberated through the small distance between you, nestling in your heart that was beating unhealthily fast. 

“Me too. Next time you take a girl to dinner you ought to let her know if she’s supposed to dress like she’s going to the met gala.” Your advice had a bitter undertone because part of you still wished you could be the only girl he’d take to dinner. 

“I usually do, but this particular girl doesn’t need a fancy dress to be the most beautiful girl in the room.” The candid compliment made the butterflies do summersaults, and while their gymnastics routine continued, you found yourself at a loss for words.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Sylus leaned over the centre console and opened the door for you, completing the chivalrous act of opening the door for you in his own unique fashion. He was so close, all it would take was one small move and his lips could’ve been on yours.

“Goodnight.” You barely got the word out through the sudden bout of breathlessness you were experiencing. And when you were finally encased in the familiar four walls of your home, you thought about every moment you shared with Sylus and how different he seemed from the man you knew before. 

The weekend passed by in a blur. The necklace that looked like a carbon copy of your mom’s was nestled on your neck. A permanent reminder that made ‘Operation Sylus: No More’ infinitely harder to achieve. 

Perhaps you shouldn’t have asked him to stop being a dick, because what you thought would be an easy feat was beginning to feel like climbing a mountain with a peak you couldn’t even see. 

You were staring at the list on your notes app on your brand new phone in hopes of searing it into your memory. 

Operation Sylus: No More

The foolproof guide of getting rid of all feelings Sylus related by the end of November. 

Step 1: avoid Sylus and all thoughts of him at all costs.

Step 2: no more funny jokes, his laugh is seriously deadly. 

Step 3: force yourself to remember Miss Hunter in moments of weakness. She’s the one he really wants. 

Step 4: try to find love elsewhere, like the corner shop owner, he may be in his 50s and happily married but he’s kind of a silver-fox!

Step 5: do not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be alone with Sylus for too long.

You violated step 5 that Friday when you let him take you to dinner and you were reaping the consequences of your mistake. There was no way you could survive the free-fall if you couldn't get your heart to obey your mind. The disconnect between the two vital organs might be the thing that kills you.

When you heard something shatter in the hallway, you quickly put your phone down and went out to investigate.

The door opened to Mephisto standing on a side table where an empty vase used to sit. The vase was now on the floor in pieces in front of your feet. 

“You did this on purpose.” You pointed an accusing finger at the bird, but all he did was tilt his head to the side as if he couldn’t understand you. You knew he could understand you perfectly well.

The cold war between you two started in your first week at Onychinus when he would swoop at your head spontaneously for no reason. Sylus told you he did it to everyone he didn’t trust and that he’d be over it in due time, but you were too vindictive to let it slide. 

Several back-and-forth pranks later, the bird seemed to have remembered the tradition you managed to forget. “If this is your way of saying you miss me then you take an awful lot after your owner.” Your words faded as you made your way to the kitchen to find the broom. However, upon your return you saw that the floor was flawless and the door to your office was closed.

You rushed in with unparalleled speed to see your worst nightmare; Sylus leaning against your desk in his usual model-like fashion with your phone in his hand.

Panic coursed through you like never before as you remembered what had been left open on your phone when you set it down and the painful fact that you left it unlocked. 

Prayers for a sinkhole to open up and consume you in that very moment went unanswered as Sylus looked up at you with a smirk on his face.

“Is my laugh really deadly?” He looked amused. 

Come on sinkhole. Anytime now. 

When you didn’t answer, Sylus moved toward you. When he was close enough to touch you, he leaned down to make sure your eyes were on his.

“Your deadline is fast approaching, Y/N. Care for a progress report?” The taunting question made heat rush to your face.

“It was stupid, I wrote it months ago.”

“Then why did you have it open?” 

You couldn’t exactly tell him that his willingness to change his cold and cruel demeanour just to keep you as his accountant revived the feelings you thought were long dead. You definitely couldn’t tell him that the necklace that suddenly weighed down your chest made your heart skip a beat every time you touched it. And there was no way you were telling him that the dinner you shared was the happiest you’d felt in a long time.

“I was going to delete it when I heard Mephisto break something in the hallway.”

“Delete it? Guess you don’t need it anymore.”

“Nope.” You popped the P on the word for emphasis. “Can I have my phone back now?” He placed the device into your outstretched hand. 

“So how do you feel about me now, sweetheart?”

You tried your best to appear unperturbed by his taunting. “Mad at your blatant violation of my privacy.”

“Forgive me. I saw my name on your phone when I went to check in on you and I was curious.”

“Mephisto told you I broke the vase, didn’t he?”

“Don’t deflect. Do you still have feelings for me?”

“No, they’re gone. Can we please drop this? It’s embarrassing.” You lied in favour of self-preservation and hoped he wouldn’t be able to see through your act.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Y/N. Many women confess their love for me every month.” You rolled your eyes at his ardent display of over-confidence and narcissism, though you knew he wasn’t exaggerating.  

“Okay, brace yourself there bachelor. No one said anything about love.” It was true, you never said you loved him. Whether or not you did, well that was a secret you’d take to the grave. 

“So then which feeling are we discussing?” The loaded question came out of his mouth so casually, like someone ordering a latte. A display of power that reminded you of just how little this mattered to him. 

Your feet felt like they were grounded in their place by an invisible force and you were sure your cheeks were beet red. You knew your mouth was slightly agape in shock, but you couldn’t even close it. Meanwhile, Sylus was unfazed, treating your feelings like a game. 

“Since when do you even care about how I feel?” The sudden outburst was accompanied by your hand running through your hair out of frustration.

Sylus’s jaw clenched and for a moment he said nothing. There was no hint of amusement left on his features. 

“You think I don’t care about you?” He seemed irritated by the premise, but you couldn’t figure out why. You thought Sylus was proud of his clear disregard for other people’s emotions. 

“You treated me like gum stuck to the bottom of your boot for years. What reason did you give me to think otherwise?”

“I don’t know, maybe the fact that I pay you more than my highest ranking footmen. Or that I had Mephisto tail you when you used to bike to and from work to make sure you got home safe. Hell, I invented the lunch budget when I hired you just to make sure you were eating— I even banned mushrooms from my kitchen in case you wanted to eat here. Not to mention the bullshit extra work I’d assign you just so you would stay longer.” 

Choosing not to dwell on the implication of his silent acts of kindness, you interjected. “Hey, I took those tasks seriously!” The twins thought you were crazy when you asked if Sylus was making those assignments up. You knew you were right. 

“Don’t interrupt me.” Your mouth clamped shut at his rather reasonable request. Sylus wasn’t a big talker, so when he monologued, it was important. 

“Your kindness, your humour, it all caught me off guard. No one ever treated me like you did and I had no idea how to feel. The little doodles you sent back to me on the notes I left you delineating tasks? I kept every last one. When Mephisto complained to me about that time you put corn-starch in his water fountain and almost destroyed his wiring, all I could do was laugh. I treated you like I treated all my men because I didn’t want people to find out that you were my weakness.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but the pressure wasn’t budging. There was so much you didn’t know about Sylus, so much you completely misunderstood. This revelation caused a series of chain reactions to go off inside your brain and the weight of what he was trying to say felt suffocating.

You dreamed of a time where Sylus would reciprocate your feelings, but the reality of it was more daunting than you realised.

“All my threats are empty with you, Y/N. You’re the only one who gets away with the attitude you give me. You tell me you crashed a car worth over half-a-million dollars and all I could think about was if you were okay. I even offered to buy your house for way more than it was worth just to get you back. Do you seriously think I don’t care?” 

All sound came to a stifling halt. 

“Wait, you were the ‘developer’?”

The inklings of betrayal wove their way through your skin as the pieces began to fall into place. The timing of the eviction notice, the fact that he’d shown up at your house the day you received it, the way he was so quick to agree to the ridiculous bonus. 

He manipulated you like a puppet on a string and let you think you were in control the entire time.

“Don’t look at me like I’m some traitor.” His audacious demand made your blood boil.

“You are a traitor! How could you do that to me?” You yelled.

“You were going to leave me like I was nothing!” For the first time since you’d met him, Sylus raised his voice to match yours. Your entire body went cold at his vulnerability. He was afraid of being abandoned, and that was a fear you both shared.

“Not seeing you every day made my heart feel like it was being ripped out of my chest. I could barely focus, all I could think about was what you were doing, who you were with. So imagine my surprise when I come to find that while I’m being tortured every minute I’m away from you, you needed more time.

“I knew I was being selfish, I knew that your grief had nothing to do with me, but I’ve never been good at putting my feelings into words. That day in the graveyard when you wouldn’t even look at me, I thought I’d lost you for good. It ate at me like a parasite. I had to get you back and I won’t apologise for not playing fair. There isn’t a rule I wouldn’t break for you, Y/N.”  

It was hard to hate him for what he did when you understood where he was coming from. You were two sides of the same coin. While you overcompensated for the lack of love in your life by becoming the ultimate people-pleaser, he avoided it at every turn, saw it as a weakness. But at the core of every human being was an innate desire to be loved and an inherent fear of being abandoned. 

People couldn’t leave your life if you never let them in. That was a philosophy you saw both your mother and Sylus live by. It was lonely and difficult, and if you had the power of hindsight you would’ve tried harder to convince your mother she was worthy of love. You couldn’t make that same mistake again. 

You loved Sylus, that much was ingrained into the flesh of your heart. For all his rugged edges, he had a way of making things happen that was akin to magic. His determination, his grit, it was admirable.

His intelligence was infuriating, you couldn’t get anything past him. If he received the Greeks’ horse instead of the Trojans, you were sure he’d have seen right through their ruse. 

His desire to make the N109 Zone a better place stemmed from a sense of altruism you could only hope to possess. And when Sylus did things for others, he never expected anything in return. 

But for all his greatest traits he had some difficult ones too. He’d hurt you more times than you could count, and even if he’d changed drastically since your mother’s death, you couldn’t quite trust that he wouldn’t hurt you again.

“You already know how I feel about you.” You confessed. It was no secret you wore your heart on your sleeve, despite your mother’s constant reminders that the world was filled with terrible people who’d take advantage of your candour. You chose to see the good in others, it boded better than the grim lifestyle that came with perpetual pessimism. 

“Then why are you fighting this?” His question came out pained, and it was one you could answer. 

“I’ve loved you for a long time, Sylus. I loved you even though you insulted me, ignored me, reminded me I was replaceable every chance you got.

“I told myself it was just how you were, that it wasn’t personal. But when you walked out on me in the hospital when I needed you the most, I loved you a little less.”

Sylus felt an unfamiliar twinge in his chest, like someone took a needle to his heart. He left that hospital because he wasn’t sure you’d even want him there, and it pained him to see you so distraught over a problem he couldn’t fix. When MC came to him with an important mission in Skyhaven, he saw an out, and like the coward he was he took it. If he knew that you’d lose your mother while he was away, he never would have left your side. 

“When you didn’t call until weeks later, when you showed up only to tell me I was being dramatic for grieving, I loved you even less. Every time you screwed me over you made it easier to live without you.”

It hurt to remember the pain you were in back then, the immense pressure of the burdens you carried. But if there was ever a chance of you and Sylus working out, he needed to know the truth. 

“I’ve only ever loved two people, Sylus, and in one month it felt like I’d lost them both. I still love you, I’m afraid I couldn’t stop if I tried, but I don’t know if I can be more than your accountant right now.” You couldn’t survive another heartbreak, that much was for sure. 

Even though Sylus looked like he was going to be sick, you continued. 

“I thought I was okay with you treating me like everybody else, thought I was strong enough to take it. But when I saw you with Miss Hunter and the softness with which you spoke to her, it broke me. I saw that you were capable of being gentle. You just didn’t think I was a worthy recipient of your kindness.”

He was quick to correct you. “That’s not true, sweetheart. Not at all. She has something I need, something I can’t take with force. It’s why I’ve had to adopt unusual methods. If I’d known it was causing you so much pain I would’ve explained. Fuck, Y/N, you deserve so much more than just my kindness, more than I could ever give you. I can’t even think of a person on Earth who deserves you at all.” 

When Sylus saw the tears begin to slide down your cheeks, he resisted the urge to wipe them away.

“I’ll give you anything you ask for, anything but letting you go. There’s nothing so broken it can’t be fixed, Y/N. You taught me that. Let me fix this.” He tested the waters by taking your hand in his and when you let him, he pulled you into his arms. 

For a moment, the room was silent. You listened to his heartbeat through his chest and it might have been even faster than yours. It felt like deja vu, reminding you of that moment in the restaurant, or that time in his hallway after Zayne’s phone call. Sylus was there to comfort you more often than not, why were you so scared of letting him in?

“I want to believe you, I just don’t know that I can.” Your voice was small, timid. As if you were afraid something you’d say would shatter the sanctity of this moment and you’d find out it was all a dream. 

“I won’t stop trying until you do, sweetheart. You’re it for me, there’s no one else.” He kissed the top of your head with a softness you didn’t know he possessed and the words were like bandages wrapping around the wounds inflicted by your own envy.

In the comfortable silence, Sylus made a vow. “I don’t have regrets — you know that quite well — but I regret the way I treated you. I’ll spend every lifetime repenting for my mistakes, Y/N, and I promise I’ll never let anything hurt you again.” He squeezed you tighter and the comfort his warmth brought you was a welcome change to the cold you lived in all the time. 

Desperate to diffuse the overwhelming angst of the situation, you pulled away from his embrace and clapped your hands together. “Okay then, as of today we commence ‘Operation Sylus: The Redemption'.”

His loud laugh resounded through your office, and it was a sound you’d never get tired of hearing. He grabbed your chin. “Have you always been this corny?” 

“I watch a lot of movies, okay? Now, shake on it.” You shook his hand off your face and held out your hand with an invitation that he instantly accepted. With his warm hand encasing yours, you whole-heartedly hoped this operation would be a success. 

Late December

You assumed the dynamic between you and Sylus would drastically change following your impromptu heart-to-heart. But the changes came in small waves. 

It started with the middle-aged man who silently drove you to and from work with a permanent scowl on his face being replaced by Sylus himself.

Then there was the sticky notes he’d usually place on documents explaining the task and deadline, now with an added addendum.

— That necklace was the best decision I’ve ever made.

— Your hair looks especially nice today.

— Did you switch perfumes? I like it.

— That new lipstick suits you. Your lips are all I can think about. 

You saved all of them in a drawer at your desk. 

He had someone bring you your lunch every day and spent your entire lunch break with you. Somedays you talked until your tongue felt like it was going to fall off, other days you just sat and ate together in silence. And every Friday afternoon, instead of taking you straight home, he’d take you to visit your mother’s grave with a new bouquet in his hands. 

You were glad he was taking things slow. His small gestures made your heart flutter without overwhelming you, but it had been a month since your confrontation, and he didn’t even try to touch you. 

While your inexperience with love, lust and romance never impacted any significant aspect of your life before, it was growing increasingly difficult to wait for Sylus to make the first move. He didn’t want to scare you, that much was understandable. But you were growing angsty waiting for him the tension between you two hit a boiling point.

The glorious plan came to you while you were shopping with Luke and Kieran for Onychinus’s annual Christmas gala. It was a networking event masked under the guise of a holiday celebration where the people hiding in the shadows of the underworld could spend one night communicating on the surface.

Every year, Sylus insisted he couldn’t outsource waiters for the event because of potential security leaks, so you, the twins and a couple other of his staff were forced to fill in as the help. Sylus told you that you wouldn’t have to participate this year, but you began to look forward to the event. It was like an unorthodox Christmas tradition.

Your eyes drifted to the costume section of the party store, and when they landed on a short red Santa’s helper dress, you felt a lightbulb turn on in your head. Maybe you had to give Sylus a little nudge.

“Hey, aren't you guys kind of bored of the slacks and the dress shirts he makes us wear?” You sowed the seed of doubt into your unwilling accomplices.

“Duh. I hate dressing like a butler.” Luke’s eyes continued to scan the aisle for decorations. The hall was professionally decorated, but you added your own little details every year. It made things less drab and it gave the twins an excuse to spend hours in the party supply store. 

“What if we went with Christmas themed costumes this year?” The twins turned to look at you with confusion, but they quickly warmed up to the idea when you pointed at the wall of seasonal costumes.

“I’m Rudolph!” They made their declarations in unison before breaking out into an argument in the middle of the party store.

“Just flip a coin!” You desperately suggested, taking a coin out of your wallet and placing it on your thumb, ready to flip. People were beginning to stare.

“I’m heads!” They said in unison, again.

“Kieran you’re heads, Luke you’re tails.” You assigned them the parts of the coin alphabetically and watched it flip through the air. When it landed in your hands, it displayed tails. You silently hoped they would move on from this unnecessary battle and restore peace to your shopping trip again.

“Sorry Kieran, Luke’s Rudolph.” Kieran complained for the rest of the day about how annoying being an elf was, and how, since he was an inch taller than Luke, it only made sense for Luke to be the elf instead. 

They argued like the siblings you never had, and for all the pain and suffering they caused you, there was no denying you loved having them around. Besides, working for Sylus left the three of you trauma-bonded for life. There wasn’t really an out from this unconventional friendship. 

_________________

You failed to remember to clear the costume idea with Sylus before the gala. He was just so busy trying to organise the event, and you were similarly swamped with ensuring all the invoices were sent out on time to the right vendors. You barely saw each other in the days leading up to the big event.

The dress was shorter on you than you anticipated. Coming up just above mid-thigh, it was nothing like anything you owned in your closet. The little hat it came with was cute though and you pinned it to your hair. The make-up you wore was the same as your everyday makeup, barring the eyeliner you’d spent way too long trying to perfect and your lipstick. 

Other than the dress, you really did look the same as you did most of the time. Would Sylus even notice?

Right on cue, a knock on your door snapped you out of your train of thought, and you took a deep breath before opening it. 

As you expected, Sylus looked unfazed by your choice in attire as you moved out of the doorway to let him in.

“I see we’ve foregone the uniforms this year.” His comment was a welcome distraction from your insecurities.

“Whimsy is part of the Christmas spirit, you know.”

“It’s cute. Did you get that dress from the children’s section?”

The question came so out of left-field it left you were stunned. Once the shock settled in, you suddenly felt self-conscious.

“No… Why? Does it look childish?” You couldn’t help the vulnerability in your voice. 

Sylus closed the distance between you in a few long strides, his hands were on you in an instant. His palm was holding onto your waist the other tracing alone the edge of your dress. 

“Quite the opposite, I’m just wondering why they’d make a dress so short for adult women.” 

“Adult women can dress however they want, Sylus.” You chided.

“I know, but I’ll have my hands full if I’m trying to host this event and take care of the hoards of men that will be chasing after my girl at the same time.” He whispered the words seductively into your ear, the hand on your thigh slipping ever-so-slightly under the dress.

You ignored the warm, fuzzy feeling that bloomed through you at the sound of Sylus calling you his girl.

“There won’t be ‘hoards of men’. This will be the third time I’m working your annual gala and I’ve only ever gotten hit on like four times.” You knew from the way his eyebrows furrowed that you shouldn’t have told him that.

“Four times? Men hit on you four times while I was in the room and you didn’t tell me?” He was clearly angry, his rage unwarranted since it happened right under his nose. 

“I didn’t think you’d care. Most of them were like fifty, anyway!” That was true, and every time one of them placed a hand on your shoulder or your forearm, it made you grimace. 

“If men approached you in long pants and a dress shirt with a plate of refreshments in your hand what do you think they’ll do when they see you in this get up?” He walked you back until you were standing against the wall.

He had a point. Maybe it was too suggestive.

“I can change—”

“No. You never have to do that with me, baby. Just stay where I can see you, alright?” 

“Okay.” You felt a blush paint your cheeks. The tension was bubbling up between you. His hand was searing into your waist, his other one moving dangerously high on your thigh. You really thought this would be the moment he kissed you. But then the warmth of his hands was abruptly gone. 

“Okay. You ready to go?” He held the door open for you. That was it? Frustrated at your lack of results, you silently walked out of your house.

__________________

“Did you see Sylus’s date?”

“Of course, she’s definitely the hottest girl here.”

“I bet she’s had work done.”

“If so, I need the name of her surgeon.”

You eavesdropped on the hushed whispers of a group of women who were gossiping in a corner near the kitchen. The second you walked through the doors of the extravagant event hall, you both went your separate ways and you hadn’t seen him since. So much for not letting you out of his sight. 

All you heard about the entire night was his mysterious date and her envious beauty. He never told you he was bringing one, nor did he ever ask you to fill the spot. But before you could completely spiral, you reminded yourself of Sylus’s promise. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. There had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation. 

“Now what’s a pretty girl like you doing working here?” Your train of thought was interrupted by the voice of a man. You turned around, expecting to see one of the many sleazy old men who frequented these events and saw you as an easy target, but all you saw was a young, attractive guy in a three-piece suit. Huh.

“Hors d’oeuvre?” You offered the plate to him in place of a response. 

“No thanks. I’ve had my fill, though I must say, the other servers aren’t quite as easy on the eyes as you.” His eyes shamelessly scanned every inch of you, head-to-toe, and you felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his gaze. 

“Oh, um thanks.” The blush on your cheeks was an unwanted biological reaction, you weren’t used to attention from men within your age range. It wasn't like you thought you were ugly, you were just a bit of a hermit.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” You were about to answer his question when someone did it for you.

“Y/N.” The voice belonged to the man of the hour who seemed to have appeared out of thin air. 

“Sylus, hello. Hors d’oeuvre?” Clearly you were running out of things to say if your default reaction was to offer everyone a snack, but it was hard to find the voice to speak when you saw the girl who had her arms wrapped around his. 

Miss Hunter. You should’ve known. Your eyes passed over her beautiful dress and pinned up hair. She lived up to the rumours, she was definitely the prettiest girl in the room. Next to Sylus the pair reminded you of a renaissance painting. They made sense, and clearly not just aesthetically if he brought her as his date instead of you.

Sylus saw the way your eyes trailed off to MC standing next to him. He saw the self-doubt turn your eyes glassy, and all he wanted to do was whisk you away to a private room where he could show you just how badly he wanted you, and no one else.

But his enemies were in attendance tonight, it was part of the reason he didn’t want you there. Sylus’s only weakness used to be his mortality, and even that was debatable. But now his biggest weakness was tangible, and she wore an adorable Christmas themed dress that made every man in the room brim with desire. Miss Hunter may have been the focus of all the women in attendance, but all the men could talk about was the sexy server in the little red dress. It was driving him insane. 

But MC was a hunter and if he endangered her, she could get out of it unscathed without his help. Their enemies were the same, which made them perfect allies, but it also made their loved ones easy targets. Sylus would never forgive himself if he let someone hurt you. So despite the excruciating pain that coursed through him at your hurt expression, he did nothing to quell your concerns.

But he couldn’t idly stand by and let this man make a pass at you either. It was clear Henry was not aware of Sylus’s newly established no-fraternising-with-the-staff policy. 

“Henry, not distracting my staff, are you?” Sylus directed his attention to his business associate. Henry ran a security company which supplied a large portion of their weaponry from Onychinus. The contract they shared was a substantial source of revenue that Sylus couldn’t afford to compromise. 

“I’m just wondering where you found such delectable staff.” Sylus felt his jaw clench at the way Henry undressed you with his eyes and your consequential discomfort. Fuck the contract, he was going to make that man pay. But he couldn’t inflict his revenge quite yet, so he played nice. 

“Unfortunately my staff are exclusively mine. I’m sure you understand how difficult it is to find loyal help.” Well, at least he tried to play nice. The subtle jab at Henry’s recent whistleblower scandal was a low blow, but he wasn’t above kicking below the belt.

Annoyed and slightly confused by the exchange, you rolled your eyes at the testosterone-fuelled men bickering and cleared your throat.

“I think I’m needed in the kitchen. Nice meeting you, Henry.” You gave him the kindest smile you could muster and gave Sylus no smile at all. It was the least he deserved for blindsiding you with his date. 

“I should check on the catering, excuse me.” Sylus followed you to the kitchen and the second he caught up to you, he pulled you into a nearby storage closet.

There was barely any room for the both of you in there, so you were pressed up against his body. You tried to create some distance between you two, but he just pulled you back in by your waist.

“What are you doing? I’m supposed to be working and you’re supposed to be socialising. We can’t do those things from here.” You berated him quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t really need anyone from the staff discovering you in this compromising position. You’d had enough embarrassment in one night for a lifetime.

“Miss Hunter is just here with me on business.” Sylus’s statement did little to comfort the tumultuous storm in your mind. 

“I don’t care.” In a sense, it was true. It seemed your mind didn’t care whether Miss Hunter was there with him on business or not, it still hurt all the same. 

“Don’t lie to me, I can tell when you’re upset.” Sylus tried to caress your cheek but you pushed his hand away. 

“Okay, fine. I’m upset. Now will you let me leave?” You tried to wriggle out of his grasp but to no avail. His hand squeezed your face as he forced you to face him. 

“If you’re upset, talk to me about it. Don’t antagonise me by flirting with other men. It won’t end well for them.” The fire in his eyes swore retribution and you did not want to be Henry right now.

“I wasn’t flirting!” You tried to defend yourself but you knew he’d see straight through your ruse. 

“That sweet smile of yours is reserved for me and me alone.” There was no way Sylus would’ve let that over-the-top smile slide and this was exactly how you expected him to react, but it only made you more upset.  

“Right, but I just have to make do with sharing you with Miss Hunter.” The irony of the situation was not lost on Sylus, but he had a laundry-list of crimes, hypocrisy was the least of them. 

“I’m all yours, baby. I promise it’s just business.” He sounded sincere, and you trusted him to tell you the truth. Sylus never lied unless it was out of omission, but when you asked him a direct question, he never failed to answer honestly. 

“I can help you with business.” You tried to reason, your palm resting against his pounding heart. 

“Not this kind, sweetheart. I’m just trying to protect you. I need you to trust me.” You trusted Sylus with your life, with your heart. Which was why you knew you wouldn’t like the answer to the question you asked next. 

“Did you sleep with her?” The mere thought of it tasted like acid on your tongue. It wasn’t like you weren’t aware of Sylus’s past, but where the other women in his life came and left like the tide, Miss Hunter’s presence was persistent. 

You needed to know just how far they’d gone, even if it might destroy you. 

“Yes. It was one time when we first met in September. Before I realised how I felt for you.” The words pierced straight through you like bullets of radiation. Your palm slowly slipped off of his chest and you diverted your gaze to your heels. “Y/N, you know I only want you. It meant nothing to me.” 

Perhaps it wasn’t the fact that they’d slept together that hurt you so deeply. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, the way she got under his skin. Sylus may love you, but what if he wasn’t attracted to you?

The thought slipped out of you before you could mull it over. “How am I supposed to believe that when you were all over in seconds and you won’t even kiss me?!” 

A hint of recognition flashed through Sylus’s eyes as he realised the catalyst behind your frustration. For some odd reason that he could never figure out, you were insecure. Even though your charm bordered on lethal and your beauty was unparalleled, you still felt inadequate. It perplexed him how someone could look so divine and not be aware of it.

“I haven’t kissed you because I wanted to make sure you were ready, sweetheart. I was worried I’d scare you away, because I’m sure if I got a taste of you I wouldn’t know how to stop.” He sounded strained when he spoke, as if he was recalling his frustration at having to hold back. 

You watched him intently, his words dripped with a desire you both shared. With his body so close to yours, it was hard not to wish he’d just act on his primal instincts. 

“You’re entirely unaware of your affect on me. You have no idea how precarious the string holding me back from insanity has become. When I saw you in that dress, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to hold back. But then you'd look up at me with those angelic eyes and I realise I can’t risk losing you.” 

Before you could even think it through, your desire became overwhelming and your lips were on his in an instant.

It was nothing like you expected, nothing like the chaste, sweet kisses you saw in your movies. It was heated, messy, desperate. His lips ravaged yours like a man on death row devoured his last meal. You felt his desire with every movement and all the doubt you had dissipated instantly. His hands were all over you, one softly held on to your neck, while the other held on to your waist like you might disappear. 

His lips moved to your cheek, your jaw and eventually the sensitive skin on your collarbone. When he bit a particularly sensitive part of your neck, you let out a whine. You hoped he hadn't given you a hickey. His face came up to yours as he looked at your lips which were red from the impact and the desire running rampant in your eyes. It might’ve been the most beautiful you’d ever looked.

“Well? I’m still here.” You whispered against his lips before giving him a chaste peck.

Sylus knew you weren’t just talking about this moment. You never left, even when he gave you a million reasons why you should. He didn’t know what he did to deserve such luck, but he knew he’d never give you a reason to walk away from him ever again.

“We should get out of here.” Somehow you knew he didn’t just mean the storage closet. He shifted to lead you out but you quickly stopped him.

“You can’t leave your own party! What about your date?” As much as the idea of MC hanging off his arm made your skin crawl, it wasn’t right to just leave her alone. 

“She’ll be fine. The only woman I care about is right in front of me, and I want to do so much to her than kiss her in a storage closet.” There was an underlying promise in his tone, and you felt the slightest bit of fear that you might’ve bitten off more than you could chew.

“You’ve lasted this long, what’s one more night?” Your last ditch effort to escape the dangerous situation was unsuccessful. 

“Sweetheart, I can't wait another second.” He gave you a soft, gentle kiss that conveyed his fraying restraint. Your fear felt inconsequential when he was with you, you knew you could trust him wholly with every part of you. 

So, when he led you out of the storage closet and all the way to his bedroom, you never once felt scared. Or insecure. Or inadequate. Sylus worshipped you like you were his salvation and he never once let you doubt yourself again.

Later that night, as you laid in his bed underneath his covers, staring over at his peaceful sleeping expression, you realised he was your salvation too.

Christmas Day

“What’s the surprise?” You asked the same question for the umpteenth time. 

“Just be patient, we’re almost there.” You let Sylus lead you through what you thought was a building while you obediently kept your eyes shut. Eventually your feet came to a halt, and you were bursting with anticipation. 

“Alright, open your eyes.” When you opened them you were in the living room of a charming beach house. It was so bright it took your eyes a while to adjust, but when they did you noticed that it was decorated with splashes of your favourite shade of yellow. The large balcony doors opened to the sight of a familiar beach, and you felt a range of emotions wash over you all at once. Sadness, nostalgia, yearning. 

“Merry Christmas, baby.” Sylus’s voice behind you snapped you back to reality. 

“What is this place?” The awe in your voice could not be concealed.

“It’s yours. I know how much you hate being on the beach, but I also know it meant a lot to your mother. From this balcony it’ll be like you’re right there without actually being there.” He sounded almost nervous while presenting his gift to you, worried you might hate it. But there wasn’t a word that could describe the pure gratitude and love you felt for the man standing in front of you. 

“You bought me a house on my mother’s favourite beach?” The disbelief in your voice was almost tangible. 

“Yeah.”

“Sylus, all I got you was a pocket watch!” You thought that since you were both not very big on Christmas, you would exchange small gifts. Clearly small wasn’t a word Sylus kept in his vocabulary. 

“You gave me so much more than that.” The suggestion in his voice did nothing to soothe your guilt. 

“This is too much.”

“Y/N, you’re more familiar with my assets than I am, if this made a significant dent in my bank account I think you would’ve noticed when I bought it a month ago.” 

“You’ve had this for a month?” The shock persisted, but he was right. His expenses ranged from a box of paperclips to the purchase of a two-hundred-million dollar industrial complex. 

“Yes, I bought it the first time you asked me to take you to the beach after work.”

“But what if we didn’t work out?” A month ago that seemed like a palpable possibility, but now you couldn’t imagine your life without Sylus in it.

“I’d find a way to trick you into taking it anyway.” 

You all but rolled your eyes at the memory of his less-than-graceful plan to acquire your house until you ended up working for him again. 

“Right, of course. You’re quite good at that I hear.” 

“I’m good at many things, I’ll remind you later.” He drawled against your ear, but before you could force him to act on his promise he spoke up again. “For now, there’s one more surprise.” 

You let Sylus lead you out to the balcony with his hands on your shoulders, driving you forward. He stood behind you, his chest to your back. He pointed to a hill on the left of the house where a beautiful willow tree sat atop the beach on a cliff.

“I bought that plot of land too. I don’t want to overstep, but if you’d like, we could move your mother here. Have her final resting place be at the place she loved the most.” His voice kept you anchored as memories of your mother threatened to pull you away. It still filled your chest with overwhelming sadness when you thought of her, but the thought that she could spend forever in the place that brought her the most joy filled you with relief. You didn’t get to give your mother much, but at least Sylus helped you give her this. 

You couldn’t stop the tears streaming down your face if you tried.

Sylus had come a long way from that day at the graveyard, an even longer way from the day you met him. The fact that he grew to care about your mother as much as you did made your heart swell with love for him that expanded every day. Something you didn’t even think was possible.

“She would love that.” Sylus wrapped his hands around your waist, placing an ever-so-gentle kiss on your temple. “I wish you could’ve met her when she was alive, you would’ve loved her.” They were both the strongest people you knew, and it pained you that they never got to meet. 

“I’m sure I would have. After all, I am a huge fan of her work.” You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you at his cheesy joke. You were rubbing off on him, that was for sure. He peppered kisses all over the side of your face at the sound of your joyful laugh and you had to squeeze out of his grasp to make him stop. 

While you wished you didn’t have to lose someone so important to you to gain another, things always had a weird way of working out. Your future was still murky, but what you did know for sure was that ’Operation Sylus: No More’ could officially be declared a massive failure. And even though the physical hole in your heart still existed, the proverbial one shrunk to half it’s size; and you had the silver-haired man with the stone-encased heart of gold to thank for that. 

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