I've been lookin for a writer who takes reqs for lnds 😭 Can i req sfw hcs/one-shot (choose which one u prefer more) for sylus & fem/gn reader?
I remember there was one call for zayne x mc where mc called zayne accidentally because mc was drunk & mc called zayne (accidentally) instead of booking a cab (mc did book a cab but w/ a wrong destination).
Can i maybe req what if the scenario is like that but it's w/ sylus instead? Feel free to tell me if this req is too much or if u wanna decline it, thanks a lot!
My first Sylus fic! Yay! (Don't look at me Rafayel 🥰)
Anon your mind is so powerful! This prompt was so much fun to write, so thank you, hope you enjoy!
Wrong Number
Sylus x Reader 🩸
Summary: You're having a bit of trouble getting hold of that taxi you booked, but more trouble help is on the way...
Genre: fluff, kinda ends on an angsty note (sorry 😇)
Warnings/Additional tags: drunk reader, some swearing, humour, uses of 'sweetie' and 'kitten', threat of violence/death at the start, a slight bit of suggestion (it's Sylus, ok? He's having ✨fun✨)
| Word count: 2k | Masterlist |
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!
“Mr. Sylus, please! It was an honest mistake— almost indistinguishable from a genuine protocore, I swear!”
Sylus is lounging back in a plush leather armchair, feeling thoroughly short-changed as he turns about a fake protocore with his fingers. He’s been listening to this noise for almost a full minute, growing awfully impatient, though he did like the last excuse.
“Say that again,” he drawls with a sinister smile.
“It was an honest mistake,” the black-market dealer stutters, tripping over his words. “It was almost indistinguishable from a—”
“Almost indistinguishable…” Sylus confirms. “Almost. Almost.” He’s savouring each syllable— tasting them like wine.
“It would have fooled almost anyone!”
“Almost anyone?” Sylus laughs, and it’s a wicked, dangerous thing. “Well yes, I rather think that’s the point. But it didn’t fool just anyone, did it? It fooled you.”
His smile is gone in an instant, his hand closing around the fake protocore, splintering it with a crack. He drops bloodied, sapphire fragments from his palm, red and blue, red and blue, and they skitter across the hardwood floor like rain.
“Please, Mr. Sylus!” the dealer pleads, desperate. “I’ll do anything! I will! I’ll make it up to you!”
“No, thanks.” Sylus studies his palm as it heals. “I’ve had my fill of fake protocores.”
“Sylus!”
The leader of Onychinus stands, drawing his gun with a customary apathy. Dark energy manifests, twisting around the dealer’s limbs, holding him still, while a lone tendril crawls around his mouth, holding him silent. He’s struggling, but he should know better. He should have known better from the very beginning. With a wistful smile, Sylus levels the gun with his head, and—
Something rings.
His red gaze shoots up, instinctively seeking Luke and Kieran, but they shrug from their station at the other side of the room. The sound is closer than that, anyway. Glaringly more familiar. Sylus’s spare hand goes to his pocket, and he draws out his phone.
“Mmm?” he greets, thumb sliding across the screen as he puts it to his ear.
There’s only one person who calls him at this time of night.
“Where are you?” your voice echoes from the other side of the line.
“That’s a question I prefer not to answer without knowing what motivates it.”
“Wha— Sylus?”
“Yes, sweetie,” he drones.
There’s a moment of silence. “Shit.”
It’s not the reaction he aspires to, but you sound agitated, so he’s going to let it slide. There’s a loud crackle from the speaker, followed by a few, harsher sounds, and he pulls the phone away from his ear, wincing slightly. His eyes are trained on the man at his feet, but he lowers his gun, distracted.
“What are you—” he begins, but then he identifies the sound. It’s a finger— your finger— jabbing away at a screen. “If I didn’t know any better, Miss Hunter, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me.”
“No…” you deny too quickly. It’s still there: the tapping. Like Mephisto, pecking furiously at a locked window from outside. A few more jabs, and then…
The call cuts out.
Sylus scoffs, looking down at his now silent phone in disbelief. He flops back into his chair, tossing his gun onto a side table before hitting the button to call you back. You know he’s not a patient man, but you don’t pick up the first time, and so he has to try again. He can be patient for you— he tells himself— as he thinks up some creative ways for you to return the charity. Speaking of charity…
His gaze drops to the dealer. “Get out,” he sneers.
The man doesn’t have to be told twice. He scrambles to his feet as his blood-dark bindings retract, practically throwing himself towards the room’s exit. Luke pushes open the door, the intense music of the nightclub beating through the gap, but Kieran’s being less helpful. He steps into the doorway, blocking any escape. He feints right. Then left. Behind the masks, both men are laughing.
Eventually Kieran steps aside. He shoves the dealer the rest of the way through the door as Luke kicks it shut, and they exchange a high-five.
Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose. His call connects.
“Hello?” You’re back. “Finally! Where are you? I don’t see you.”
“Still me, sweetie.”
“Sylus?” you actually whine. It’s adorable. “Why is it you? Go away.”
“No,” he lilts tunefully, and then he’s coaxing: “I want to help you, kitten. Won’t you let me help you? Tell me, who are you trying to call?”
Frustration spills from you— fake, exaggerated sobs tearing themselves from your throat. “The taxi, Sy,” you whine again. “The stupid taxi, ok? It’s not here. It’s meant to be here.”
“Where’s here?”
“Ha!” you exclaim like you’ve evaded a masterplan, and not a casually asked, run-of-the-mill question. “No. Nice try, but no. You wanna help me?”
“Yeah.”
“Then leave me alone!”
With— he can imagine— some sort of theatrical flourish, you deliver your phone a final, decisive tap. It beckons a fateful silence. Sylus brings his phone in front of his face, unmoved by the moment’s gravitas. There’s a pop-up on the screen. Kitten: requesting video chat.
He smiles to himself. Then accepts. “Hi sweetie.”
Your face is lighting up his screen, your cheeks flushed, your brow furrowed, and your eyes sharp with determination. “Why can I— wait, why can I see you? Get out of my phone, Sy!”
“My, my,” he tuts, but he’s smiling still, “look at you— the illustrious Miss Hunter. It is a relief to know the fate of Linkon rests in such… reliable hands.”
“What d’you mean?” you mumble.
“You’re drunk.”
“You’re drunk!”
He chuckles. “And there’s that infamous wit.”
You bite your lip as you ignore him, still fixated on trying to end the call. It occurs to him that you will eventually succeed; even a broken clock is right twice a day. “Listen to me, sweetie. Are you alone?”
His tone is sober enough for the two of you, and your exasperated eyes meet his. “Yeah.”
“Then be a good girl and send me your location. You remember how to do that, right?” He carefully enunciates each word of his plan. “I’ll come and get you, but I need to know where you are. Don’t go with anyone else. Wait for me, ok?”
You’re nodding away, the odd ‘mmhmm’ escaping your lips, but you’re not at all listening. He catches on after a minute. Trails off— realises your gaze is too vacant, and your focus? Wandering. You’re cradling your phone with both hands. His view is interrupted as your thumb passes over the camera; you’re… stroking the screen?
“You’re so pretty, Sy,” you murmur breathlessly.
His gaze softens. He sighs, “You’re pretty too.”
Then you make a sound he’s never heard before: you squeak, the phone’s audio almost cutting out. A blush is spreading through your cheeks, so much darker than the alcohol’s afterglow, and gods he wishes your face was in his hands. The vision is short-lived, however, because suddenly you’re gone.
There’s a circling view of a dark street, split by streaks of white light, as your phone careens through the air. It strikes concrete a moment later, stuttering to a stop, and Sylus’s grimace deepens with each jarring crack. Your screen has gone black, but he doesn’t think it’s broken. He’s face down, apparently— subjected to an unexciting view of the pavement.
“Oh, shit!” He hears you gasp.
Though your voice is far away, your phone is in your grasp again in no time. You’re turning it over, peering down at him, tracing the outline of his face with worry. “Sorry, Sy. Are you ok?”
“I’ll survive.” He raises an eyebrow. “You know, if you wanted to throw me around, you only needed to ask.”
His voice has dropped, and he loves watching you notice. You stand from your crouch with a smirk, bringing him with you— a dark idea in your eyes. “Wanna go again?”
Before he can protest, he’s looking at the back of your head. Your arm is stretched behind you, gearing up to send him on another short flight.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupts, panicking briefly, but you’d never detect it with all your wits about you, let alone none. He’s brought in front of your face again, and you’re frowning oh so sweetly. “I asked you to do something, remember?”
“You told me to do something.”
So pedantic. “What did I tell you to do, sweetie?”
You don’t say anything. There’s a short huff as you blow hair from your face, and then you’re concentrating. You have that look he likes: the one you get when you’re whittling away at your paperwork like a good little hunter. The same stubborn resolve, too, that makes you lean over it when he or Mephisto are conveniently behind your shoulder.
Your location comes through with a ping and his smile widens. He’s up in a heartbeat, telling you he’s on his way— that you did such a good job— and that you need to stay on the phone with him, ok? He spins his fingers as he passes between Luke and Kieran, a gesture they’ve long grown accustomed to and can easily translate.
I'm leaving. Clean this up.
…
“So then Xavier, like— well, you know Xavier— he was all, ‘I’ll tell you later,’ but he never did, Sy! Off he went, leaving Nero and I to do all the paperwork, and I asked Nero, and Nero was like, ‘ask Xavier yourself’, and I was like, ‘I literally just did!’, and he just shrugged, and it’s… driving me crazy, you know? Because where does he even go? Tara and I have this bet going, she thinks it’s because he—”
Your anecdote comes to a sudden stop.
“What does Tara think, sweetie?”
“Shh shh shh! Wait a second…”
You clutch your phone to your chest like it’ll somehow suppress Sylus’s voice. You’re sat, leaning back against a chain-link fence, but you rise as a black car pulls up in front of you. The windows are tinted. You squint, leaning forward to try to look through them anyway.
“I don’t like this, Sy,” you frown as you plant a hand on your hip. “There’s a car here.”
“Oh?”
“Shh!” you hiss again. It’s not the only car parked on the street, but it is the only one alive. The engine purrs and its lights are glowing like angry embers, refusing to be snuffed out by the dark. You take a step closer, then the engine cuts out. You take a bigger step back.
“What exactly are you afraid of?” Sylus asks, his tone so thick it’s practically bleeding through your phone. “Is a big, bad man trying to get you?”
“Well I don’t know what they look like, Sy. The windows are tinted, and I— AH!” you gasp.
A strong pair of arms wrap around you from behind, lifting you from the ground. “Got you, sweetie,” Sylus chuckles in your ear as tell-tale crow feathers settle around you. His breath is hot on your neck and it tickles, turning your panicked shrieks to laughter.
“Sylus!” you squeal as you attempt to wriggle free. You don’t think you’re trying very hard.
The man lowers you back to your feet, but his arms stay around you and he dips his head, resting his chin on the curve of your shoulder. “Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi.” For a little word, there’s so much fondness.
“Let’s get you home to bed, ok?”
You nod compliantly with a yawn, swaying a little as his arms retract and you’re having to stand on your own again. He chuckles as he steadies you— placing a hand on the top of your head— and you pivot, drawn by the sound. His crimson eyes find yours and they’re dark with something that stirs you, even with your mind swimming and nothing really making sense. You’re not sure of anything at all, except—
No-one has ever looked at you like that before.
And you won’t remember it tomorrow.
“Come on,” he prompts, nudging you towards the car, and you start to walk, though you’re dragging your feet. “I want to hear all of the association’s dirtiest secrets while I still can.”
“Tara has a crush on the new weapon specialist, you know.”
Sylus blinks, then laughs— a tender, comfortable thing. Completely enthralled. “You don’t say,” he beams.
No, you won’t remember it tomorrow.
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Million Dollar Baby
Tags / cw: drabble, sugar mommy au, miniskirts, suggestive stuff
“Absolutely not.”
You turned your had to look at Abby, a small frown on your face. The minuscule piece of fabric on your waist looked so cute, matching with your thigh highs and Mary Jane’s and cardigan - all of which Abby had bought you. But for some reason, she didn’t like it at all. You knew you shouldn’t be talking back to her, especially because she was paying, but the skirt was just so pretty…
“Why not? It’s the last one in my size…” you made sure to pout as much as you could, looking shy and sad and anything that would make Abby relent and buy you the skirt. She sighed, leaning back in the chair inside the dressing room (a very fancy one you might add, considering her taste in fashion) and put her head in her hands.
“Baby, it’s $200 dollars- no, what am I saying, I’m a fucking millionare-” You giggled, trying to remain as cute as you could in case she changed her mind.
“-it’s a cute skirt, baby…”
Success?
“But it barely covers your ass! How am I gonna let my girl walk around in that, letting everyone see what’s for my eyes only, hm?”
And this time, it was your turn to sigh. Time to pull all the stops, huh.
“But Abbyyy…” You complained, coming over to where she sat and nudging her legs wider with your knee, before sitting down and straddling her lap. It was like hook, line, and sinker, with how easily she melted in your touch. Leaning her neck into your hands as you played with her hair on the back of her neck, burying your face in the other side and giggling softly as she sighed into your embrace. Her hand rested wrapped around your shoulders, as she closed her eyes. If only she saw the mischievous grin, too.
“You know, I don’t think it would be that bad if you were with me when I wore it, ‘n making sure they knew who that ass belongs to…”
You ground your hips down slightly as you said it, feeling her tug on the back of your hair and bite your neck as she murmured your name in warning. Yeah, she was definitely imagining it. The thought of you in public, holding her hand. Everyone watching- no, staring at your cute little ass and knowing it was a privilege to be staring, what with how you belonged to Abby. You were one of the many things only she could have. You smiled, hearing her brain do a thousand turns in though - almost there.
“Please? It’s gonna look so pretty on me, too!” You egged on. And finally, you heard her groan in defeat, as she pushed you up to look her in the eyes.
“Jesus- fine. You win, cards in my pocket.”
You slipped it out as she got up to walk out the change room, opting to ignore the bemused ‘little shit’ that escaped her mouth in a whisper as she left. Quickly, you went to unbuckle the skirt off, beginning to shimmy them down your waist. But all of of a sudden, you felt Abby behind you - breathing hotly into your neck as she grabbed a handful of your ass.
“On second thought, don’t change out of the skirt-” she murmured, “because I’m fucking you with it on when we get home…” you couldn’t help the small pulse of heat that when straight through your pussy. The clench of your thighs not going unnoticed as Abby smirked into your neck, before turning and walking out of the change room.
You swear on your life, this sugar baby gig was just too easy.
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