#l: drabble

[mephisto-reporting]

Jealousy, Jealousy with Sylus

Plot: Reader becomes jealous of Sylus and MC's closeness, distancing herself and seeking comfort in another LI. Sylus notices her growing distance and takes action. Based on this request. Pairing: Sylus x Non MC reader Content Warning: Insecurities, injuries, mention of blood, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort Note: Reader is not the MC of the game. I think I got quite carried away writing this because I am a sucker for angst.

The faint hum of the air condition echoed through the Onychinus base, its opulent, luxurious atmosphere doing little to distract from the knot twisting in your stomach. You stood across from Luke and Kieran, their crow masks tilted slightly as if to gauge your reaction.

"Boss isn't here today," Luke said casually, his hands tucked into his pockets. "He’s in Linkon, Boss man’s got other things to handle."

Kieran, his mask tilted slightly to the side, gave a confused grunt. "But I thought he was meeting with her...?"

Luke raised a brow, correcting him. "No, no, he was meeting with Miss Hunter."

Miss Hunter.

The words hit you like a sledgehammer, even though they shouldn’t have. You were a hunter too, an informant who had been feeding Sylus critical intel on the association’s movements for two years now. But she was different. Special.

Captain Jenna’s star pupil, with her rare Anhaunsen-class Resonance Evol, was someone Sylus had spent weeks trying to connect with, both literally and emotionally. You weren’t blind to the necessity of it; resonating with her was crucial for his goals, ones he hadn’t entirely shared with you but that you trusted him to pursue.

Trusted him. Loved him.

You forced a tight smile. "Thanks for the update. I'll let you two get back to it."

Luke and Kieran exchanged a glance, but you were already walking away, the echo of your boots swallowed by the hum of the base.

The ride back to Linkon was supposed to clear your mind. It didn’t.

The cool wind whipped against your face, but all it did was sting the tears pooling in your eyes. The road stretched endlessly ahead, yet the pressure in your chest only grew. Sylus hadn’t seen you in two months. Two months of unanswered calls and messages reduced to half-hearted responses when they came at all.

You understood why he was focused on her. She was crucial to his plans. She was everything you weren’t: poised, pretty, powerful, and, most importantly, someone he needed.

But understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

The world blurred around you as your thoughts spiraled. You had always known your place in Sylus’ life. You were the informant, the quiet insider who helped him stay two steps ahead of the hunters. Somewhere along the way, though, you had fallen for him. For the man who wasn’t as cold and calculated as others believed. It had been two long years since you started working with Sylus. Two years filled with secrecy, lies, and hidden truths. But over those years, you'd found yourself tangled in emotions for him that you couldn’t shake. Sylus, with his cold authority, his dangerous smile, his complex nature… He was all you could think about. He wasn’t as dismissive as people thought. He had a way of looking at you when no one was watching—a fleeting softness that you cherished, even if you couldn’t be certain if it was real.

And now, it felt like you were losing him.

Your bike screeched to a halt near Meow’s Café. You hadn’t planned to stop, but the sight of the familiar storefront tugged at you. Perhaps a coffee and a moment to breathe would help.

The glass windows glinted under the midday sun, and your breath hitched as you looked inside.

Sylus was there. With her.

They sat at a small table, a deck of Kitty cards spread between them. He was leaning back, his smirk in full display as she laughed at something he said. It was the kind of laugh that reached her eyes, the kind of moment you had only ever dreamed of sharing with him.

You froze, your hands tightening on your helmet.

For a fleeting second, you wanted to march inside and demand answers. To ask him why he had time to play cards but couldn’t return your calls. To tell him how his absence had hollowed you out.

But you didn’t.

He looks so happy... you thought bitterly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

The truth gnawed at you. Every interaction, every ignored message, every unread notification on your phone—it was because of her. Because Sylus had more important things to do. She was the one who mattered now. She was the one who he had to resonate with, had to bond with, had to make fall for him.

And you? You were just a pawn, a tool—forgotten. And there you were. Alone. Watching through a window, the warmth of the cafe contrasting the cold, empty feeling in your stomach. He hadn’t even bothered to let you know he was back. He was with her. You couldn’t bear to watch any longer, but you couldn’t look away either. It felt like the world was spinning faster than you could catch up, and you were left stranded, dizzy, and abandoned.

Instead, you turned away, your chest tight and vision blurred. The world felt suffocating, the weight of your unspoken feelings dragging you down as you climbed back onto your bike.

It was for the best, right?

You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep waiting for him, couldn’t keep fooling yourself that there was something real between you two. He was busy. He had her. And you.. well, you didn’t even know why you bothered anymore.

The ride back to your apartment was a blur of taillights and muffled engine noise. The city’s glow that usually brought you some sense of comfort felt glaring and alien tonight. By the time you made it inside, the suffocating silence of your small space was overwhelming.

For someone who prided herself on being strong and independent, you barely made it to your couch before the sobs overtook you. Hot, angry tears streamed down your face as you clutched a pillow to your chest, trying in vain to keep your cries muffled. It felt as though something within you had been ripped apart, leaving an aching, hollow void that throbbed with every thought of him.

You replayed the image of him at the café in your mind, over and over, as if some part of you wanted to punish yourself further. His smirk. Her laughter. The ease of their interaction. It contrasted so sharply with the heaviness that now weighed on your heart.

Every chime of your phone made you flinch, hope briefly sparking to life, only to be cruelly snuffed out when the screen lit up with messages from others—work updates, pointless notifications, or friends checking in. Nothing from him. Of course, there wouldn’t be.

You wiped at your face, your chest tightening as you scrolled through the last few conversations you’d had with Sylus. They were short, clipped responses. A "thanks" here, an "I’m busy" there. You’d convinced yourself for weeks that he wasn’t brushing you off, that his focus was just elsewhere. But deep down, you knew. You’d always known.

You weren’t as important to him as he was to you.

That realization settled over you like a heavy blanket, suffocating and final. And yet, you tried to convince yourself it was okay. He doesn’t owe me anything, you told yourself, though the thought only twisted the knife deeper. He’s free to choose who he spends his time with.

But it didn’t stop the tears.

The days that followed were a haze of exhaustion and numbness. You threw yourself into your work, spending long hours tracking and confronting wanderers. The physical exhaustion helped, even if just a little. At least when you were in the middle of a fight, the pain in your chest was drowned out by the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Still, the nights were the worst. Alone in your apartment, the quiet crept in like a suffocating fog. You tried to distract yourself—reading, cleaning, even organizing old mission reports. Anything to keep your mind from drifting back to him. But it was impossible.

Each time you saw his name in your contacts, you hesitated. Your thumb hovered over the call button more times than you cared to admit, but the fear of hearing his indifferent voice stopped you every time. What would you even say? That you missed him? That you wanted to see him? That you’d fallen for him, even though you knew it would never be mutual?

No. You couldn’t do that to yourself.

You worked harder, pushed yourself further. Every wanderer you fought became a stand-in for your frustrations, your insecurities. You told yourself that if you could just stay busy enough, the ache would go away. But no matter how many missions you completed or how many late nights you spent staring at your phone, the weight in your chest never fully lifted.

By the end of the week, you were exhausted—physically and emotionally. But you were surviving. Barely. The bell above the door jingled softly as you pushed into the chocolatier’s shop, the rich scent of cocoa and vanilla wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The day had been grueling—hours of chasing leads, a narrow escape from a particularly aggressive wanderer, and not a single bite of food since morning. Your stomach growled in protest, a sharp reminder that you’d been running on fumes for too long.

Rows of meticulously crafted chocolates gleamed beneath the glass counter, their perfect swirls and shimmering finishes almost too beautiful to eat. Almost. You leaned forward slightly, scanning the display, your reflection ghosting over the pristine surface.

Dark chocolate truffles. Raspberry ganache. Caramel hazelnut clusters. The options were overwhelming, and your indecision felt heavier than it should’ve. Your chest still ached from the lingering emotions you’d been suppressing all week. The quiet joy of the shop felt alien, like stepping into a world you no longer belonged to.

Just pick something and go, you thought, your fingers tightening on the strap of your bag. But the choices seemed endless, each one whispering promises of sweetness you weren’t sure you deserved.

"If you’re struggling," a soft, measured voice spoke behind you, "the pistachio crème chocolate is an excellent choice."

Startled, you turned, your gaze falling on a man standing a few steps away. Tall and lean, he exuded an understated confidence that was both intimidating and captivating. Dark hair fell in against his forehead, and sharp hazel-green eyes, softened by gold flecks peered at you from behind thin-framed glasses. His white doctor’s coat was open, revealing a simple black shirt beneath, and he held a small paper bag in one hand.

You blinked, caught off guard by both his suggestion and his presence. "Oh, uh… thank you," you stammered, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt. "I’ll… I’ll try that."

The shopkeeper nodded and carefully packed your selection as you stole another glance at the stranger. There was an air of calm authority about him, a quiet assurance that made you feel oddly exposed, like he could see straight through you.

He waited patiently as the shopkeeper handed you your bag, but just as you were about to leave, his voice cut through the quiet again—this time, more direct. "Chocolates shouldn’t be your first meal of the day."

The statement was delivered without malice, his tone stoic and matter-of-fact, yet it hit like a stone to the chest. Your lips parted in shock, the question forming before you could stop it: How does he know? But before you could say anything, he was already moving toward the door. The bells jingled softly as it closed behind him, leaving you standing frozen in place. The stranger’s words lingered, intertwining with the rest of your messy emotions. Your fingers clenched the small bag of chocolates as you tried to process the brief encounter.

A soft gleam on the floor caught your attention, breaking your spiraling thoughts. A wallet, its sleek leather worn but well-kept, lay just inches from where the man had stood. You knelt and picked it up, your heart thudding as you opened it to check for identification.

The name embossed on his hospital ID was like a jolt: Dr. Zayne. Your eyes widened. Doctor Zayne? The name was familiar—a renowned surgeon whose skills and precision were legendary, often described as a miracle worker. You’d imagined someone older, more weathered, not… this.

For a moment, you stared at the ID, piecing together the puzzle of the composed, enigmatic man who had called you out so effortlessly. You tried the number listed on a card tucked into his wallet, but it rang unanswered, the sterile monotone only adding to your frustration.

"Of course, he wouldn’t answer," you muttered under your breath, chewing your lip as you debated your next move. The idea of keeping his wallet overnight felt wrong, and leaving it here in the shop seemed equally careless.

That left one option.

The hospital loomed ahead as you approached, its towering structure illuminated against the evening sky. Anxiety gnawed at your insides, twisting with every step you took through the sterile white halls. You weren’t sure why you felt so on edge—maybe it was the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that had been haunting you lately, or maybe it was the lingering impression of Zayne’s knowing gaze.

At the reception desk, you hesitated, gripping the wallet tightly as you cleared your throat. "Hi, um, I’m here to return something for Dr. Zayne. He… accidentally dropped this."

The receptionist barely looked up, taking the wallet with a polite but indifferent smile. "Dr. Zayne isn’t in right now. I’ll make sure he gets this when he’s back."

"Oh," You nodded, murmuring a quick thanks before retreating back toward the exit. You thought nothing of this interaction as you left. You did what you thought was right and left the hospital back towards your apartment.

The days blurred together in a haze of work and routine. You buried yourself in assignments from the Hunter’s Association, throwing yourself into dangerous missions with a single-minded intensity. Anything to keep your mind occupied.

Sylus messaged you once during that time, his tone professional as he asked for updates regarding a lead he was tracking. You’d responded quickly, sticking strictly to business. No pleasantries, no banter—just the information he needed. He didn’t press, didn’t call you out for your uncharacteristic coldness. Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and chose not to say anything.

That night, you jogged through the dimly lit streets, your breath fogging in the cool air as you tried to exorcise the restless energy gnawing at you. The rhythmic slap of your sneakers against the pavement was grounding, steady. Jogging had always been your go-to, a way to clear your head and silence the endless stream of "what-ifs" and "if-onlys" that plagued your mind.

You shook your head, annoyed at yourself. There was no point in dwelling. Sylus wasn’t the kind of person to give you what you wanted, and even if he did, could you trust it? Could you trust him?

But no amount of movement could completely shake Sylus from your thoughts.

His voice, his presence—it clung to you, even now.

Why didn’t he ask how I’ve been? Why didn’t I?

The sound of skidding tires yanked you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“Look out!”

Before you could process the warning, a cyclist veered wildly toward you, their momentum too strong to stop. There wasn’t even time to brace yourself. The impact hit like a freight train, and suddenly, you were on the ground, tangled with the bike and its rider. Pain blossomed sharp and hot in your knees as the asphalt scraped them raw.

For a moment, you just lay there, stunned. The world tilted unsteadily, the city lights smearing together like a watercolor painting.

“Hey, you okay?” The cyclist’s voice snapped you back. They were scrambling off you, helmet slightly askew but otherwise unscathed. You shook your head to clear it, wincing as you sat up. You pushed yourself up, shaking the dizziness from your head, and checked on the cyclist who had crashed into you. They were already scrambling to their feet, looking slightly dazed but otherwise unharmed, their helmet and guards having done their job.

“I’m fine,” you managed, even as your knees throbbed in protest. “Are you?”

“Yeah, thanks to the gear,” they said, pulling off their helmet to inspect a small crack along its surface. “Guess it did its job.”

Relief washed over you. “Good. Let me just—”

“Wait.” A different voice cut in, firm but calm. You stood there, still trying to regain your bearings when a figure appeared beside you, moving with a grace that immediately caught your attention. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw who it was. Dr. Zayne. The same man who had crossed your path in the chocolatier's shop just days ago. His sharp eyes locked onto yours, and for a split second, everything else seemed to vanish. His expression shifted from mild surprise to something more concerned as he took in your state.

Without saying a word, he immediately began assessing you, his gaze narrowing at the blood now staining your knees. You winced, feeling the sting of the cuts that had begun to bloom with a fiery intensity, but you were determined not to show it. You were used to pain—used to the sharp discomfort that came with being a hunter. You didn’t need help. You could handle this on your own. You’d always been able to.

But Dr. Zayne wasn’t having any of it.

His voice, low and steady, broke through the haze of your thoughts. "You’re bleeding. Those need first aid," he said firmly, his frown deepening as he glanced at your scraped knees. "Sit. Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute."

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him you were fine, but the words caught in your throat. He wasn’t asking. His tone, though gentle, was authoritative—demanding in its own quiet way. There was something about the way he carried himself, that calm, unflinching presence, that made it impossible to argue.

"I’m fine, I am a hunter." you managed to say, your voice rougher than you intended. "I can handle it at home. Really." You tried to force a reassuring smile

“Is this a hunter thing?” he interrupted, one brow arching skeptically. “Are all of you this stubborn about basic care, or is it just you?”

The words should have been biting, but his tone was almost... patient. Like he was accustomed to dealing with difficult people.

You flushed, suddenly hyper-aware of the sting in your knees and the heat of his gaze. “I’m not being stubborn,” you muttered. “I just don’t want to bother anyone over something so small.”

“Small injuries have a way of turning into bigger problems,” he said, folding his arms. “And I’m not bothered. As a doctor, I’m asking you to wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Without waiting for your protest, he turned and strode off, leaving you no room to argue.

You sat stiffly on the bench, gripping the edge as the minutes dragged on. The ache in your knees was nothing compared to the gnawing discomfort blooming in your chest. Anxiety clawed at you, whispering insidious doubts.

He’s wasting his time on you.He probably thinks you’re pathetic and weak.Why couldn’t you have just gotten up and left?

Your fingers curled into fists, the tension radiating through your body.

The sound of footsteps interrupted your spiraling thoughts, and Dr. Zayne was back, carrying a small first aid kit. He knelt in front of you without a word, his hands steady as he cleaned the cuts on your knees. The gentle pressure of his fingers as he worked felt almost surreal. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just… calm. You found yourself drawn to it, to the quiet that seemed to settle around him.

"You’re lucky," he said, glancing up at you as he bandaged your knees. "That could’ve been a lot worse."

You nodded, the words caught in your throat. There were so many things you wanted to say, things you wanted to ask him, but you didn’t know where to start. So you remained silent, watching as he finished his work, his hands moving with the practiced precision of someone who had seen too many injuries to count.

When he was done, he straightened up and met your gaze. "You should be more careful," he said softly, his voice a little lighter than before, though there was still a note of concern underlying his words. "Next time, don’t run so late at night. You never know what could happen."

You forced a tight smile, the words feeling like they were coming from someone else. "I’ll keep that in mind," you said, your voice quieter now.

Dr. Zayne took a step back after finishing the bandages, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly as he packed the first aid kit. You glanced at him, your mouth opening to thank him, but before you could get the words out, he said, almost in unison, “Thank you.”

Both of you froze, the simultaneous expressions of gratitude hanging awkwardly in the air. A surprised laugh slipped out of you, breaking the tension.

“You first,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “I was just going to say thank you for… you know, helping with this.” You gestured vaguely toward your knees, the bandages clinging to your skin. “You didn’t have to.”

The moment stretched between you, awkward yet somehow comforting. Zayne gave a small, almost amused smile at the simultaneous gratitude, but his gaze softened when it landed on you, his concern still present.

"Thank you for returning my wallet," he said, his tone steady but with a hint of appreciation.

His words caught you off guard. “Oh, right! That. It wasn’t a big deal, really.” You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, avoiding his gaze. “I found it at the chocolatier shop. I figured it was better to bring it to the hospital than leave it lying around.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “I appreciate it. Not many people would go out of their way like that.”

You tried not to let his kindness throw you off, but it wasn’t easy. There was something about Zayne that made you feel... small in a way you didn’t like to feel. He was kind, yes, but that kindness made you wonder if you were deserving of it. Why should you be the one he cared about?

But before you could dwell on that any further, his voice cut through your swirling thoughts.

"Have you eaten today?" His tone was light, but there was an edge of sincerity beneath it, one that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. It reminded you of that conversation in the shop, of how he had so effortlessly read through your tiredness.

The sheepish look that crossed your face must’ve been obvious, because Zayne sighed, the sound so deep that it almost felt like a reprimand. He pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture that was both familiar and surprisingly endearing.

“You’ve got to take care of yourself,” he said, his voice almost too gentle for the weight of his words. “It’s not healthy to go without food, especially if you’re going to keep running around like you hunters do.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him it wasn’t a big deal, but Zayne didn’t give you the chance.

"There’s a diner close by. It’s the least I can do to thank you for returning my wallet."

You shook your head instinctively, trying to backpedal. "It’s really not necessary," you said, but Zayne wasn’t having any of it. His eyes were firm, and there was an undeniable warmth behind them that almost made you feel guilty for refusing.

"Yes, it is," he replied, his tone steady but with a hint of finality. "Now, come on.”

You hesitated for a moment, the unease building in your chest like a brick wall, but the thought of Zayne’s calm, commanding presence made it impossible to say no. So, with a quiet sigh, you relented.

"I’ll pay," you muttered as he led the way, the words almost reflexive. You always felt like you had to pay your way—like it was your responsibility to do so, especially with someone who had helped you, even in the smallest of ways. You were used to standing on your own two feet.

Zayne only gave you a side glance, his lips quirking up in the barest of smiles. "No, you won’t. It’s my thank you, remember?"

The diner wasn’t far from where you had been, a cozy, low-lit place with a soft hum of quiet conversations and the clink of silverware against plates. The familiar scent of warm food—steak, mashed potatoes, and the unmistakable aroma of fresh bread—immediately filled the air as you stepped inside. You followed Zayne to a small booth in the back, the vinyl seats creaking under your weight as you slid in.

You wanted to say something—thank you, maybe—but the words felt stuck, trapped somewhere in the pit of your stomach, along with everything else that had been piling up for weeks. Zayne didn’t seem to notice, his focus already turning to the menu as he gestured for you to pick something.

You wanted to ask him more, to understand him in the same way you understood the empty streets you ran through, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just end up looking foolish. So, instead, you stared at the menu in front of you, unable to focus on the choices, as your mind churned with questions that had no answers.

Zayne ordered for both of you, his voice low as he made his choices, and when he looked at you, you caught a flicker of something—perhaps curiosity, or was it concern? It was hard to tell.

"You should eat more regularly," he said again, as though the words were a reminder he had to repeat for his own peace of mind. You nodded, letting the silence fill the space between you for a moment.

The food arrived, warm and satisfying, and you took a bite, surprised at how hungry you were despite the earlier denials. Zayne watched you for a moment, his gaze softening as you ate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. His concern, his care—it felt too much. You weren’t used to people worrying about you.

But as the meal went on, you found yourself starting to relax, the initial tension loosening from your shoulders. Zayne was easy to talk to, his calm, steady presence settling you in a way you hadn’t expected. By the end of the meal, you felt... lighter.

"Call me Zayne," he said when the check came, his voice quiet but sincere.

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the request. "Zayne?" you echoed, testing the name on your tongue.

"Yes," he replied with a small, patient smile. "It’s easier than 'Dr. Zayne,' don’t you think?"

You blinked, taken aback. “Are you sure? I mean, you’ve earned the title—”

“And I’ll still have it in the hospital,” he interrupted, amusement flickering in his eyes. “But here, it’s just Zayne.”

You nodded slowly, testing the name in your mind. It felt strange, almost too personal. But there was something grounding about it, too.

By the time dessert arrived, the knot of anxiety in your chest had loosened considerably. The warmth of the diner, the steady cadence of his voice, and the shared laughter over a poorly made joke had a way of pulling you out of your own head. For the first time in what felt like weeks, you weren’t obsessing over your failures or doubts.

As you finished your meal, Zayne pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. “Here,” he said simply. “Add your number. In case you ever need anything.”

You hesitated, the gesture feeling far more intimate than it probably was. But his expression was patient, expectant, and you found yourself entering your contact information before you could overthink it. When you handed the phone back, his lips twitched into a faint smile.

“Thanks again for returning my wallet,” he said, his tone lighter now. “And for the company.”

You felt your cheeks flush, but this time, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “It’s not a problem,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

As you stepped out of the diner and into the cool night air, a strange sense of calm settled over you. Zayne walked you to the corner where your paths would diverge, his presence steady and reassuring.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The diner’s warmth lingered even as you stepped into the cool night air. For the first time in what felt like weeks, your chest didn’t feel as tight, the oppressive weight that had been bearing down on you now lifting slightly. You still felt the ache of Sylus’ absence—a hollow, gnawing sensation that seemed to creep in whenever you let your guard down, but it wasn’t as suffocating as it had been. Instead, a new sensation fluttered in its place, tentative and fragile: excitement. It was strange to feel this way, to look forward to the possibility of a friendship formed under such unlikely circumstances. Zayne’s calm demeanor, his steady presence, had surprised you.

As you walked, the sound of fluttering wings caught your attention. Instinctively, your heart skipped, your mind jumping to Mephisto. You tilted your head to the dark sky, half-expecting to see the telltale silhouette of his familiar. But it was just a cluster of pigeons, their wings catching the faint glow of the streetlights as they soared away.

Right. Of course. It was unlikely that Sylus was watching you tonight.

You exhaled, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and forced your thoughts away from him. Zayne had offered you a rare moment of normalcy, and you weren’t about to let your memories of Sylus overshadow that.

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The following weeks were a blur of activity, and before long, you found yourself stationed at an outpost on the outskirts of Linkon. A metaflux surge had disrupted the area, and the temporary makeshift hospital was bustling with injured workers, hunters, and even a few civilians caught in the chaos. The air was thick with tension, the metallic tang of metaflux faint but persistent, a reminder of the unseen dangers that lurked just beyond the safety of the encampment.

Zayne was assigned as the doctor for the outpost, and you often found yourself crossing paths with him. At first, your interactions were brief—a nod here, a shared glance there—but over time, you began to talk. It started with simple pleasantries, discussions about the metaflux readings or the influx of patients, but it wasn’t long before the conversations deepened.

You learned that Zayne had a dry sense of humor, his sharp wit often catching you off guard. He’d tease you about your stubbornness, and you’d retort with a quip about his overly serious nature. Despite his professionalism, there was a warmth to him, a quiet compassion that made him easy to trust. And though you’d never admit it, you found yourself looking forward to those moments of shared laughter, those fleeting glimpses of something lighter amidst the chaos.

But even as your friendship with Zayne grew, Sylus lingered at the edges of your thoughts, a shadow you couldn’t quite shake. The conversations you had with him were sparse and strictly work-related—updates from the Association, bits of intel you passed along to him. It felt transactional, a far cry from the intimacy you once shared. Yet, every time his name appeared on your screen, your heart still raced, betraying the fragile boundaries you’d tried to set.

One evening, a message from Sylus broke the monotony of your routine.

‘Come over tomorrow night, Darling. I have an exquisite wine I’d like you to try—procured it during a recent deal.’

The invitation was simple, almost casual. For a moment, you imagined it—the rich scent of wine filling the air, his sharp yet alluring gaze fixed on you as he poured you a glass. But reality quickly crept in, dragging you back to the present. You couldn’t go. You couldn’t risk it. Not when your heart was still so fragile, still aching in ways you didn’t want to admit.

You stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as your mind raced. The truth was, you wanted to see him. But you knew better. You had to keep your distance—for your own sake, if nothing else.

‘I’m tired..'

You typed, the words feeling hollow as they formed.

'Busy day tomorrow. Maybe another time.’

You hesitated before hitting send, the weight of the message pressing down on you. When his reply came, it was as simple as his invitation.

‘Okay.’

The finality of it hit you like a brick, and for a moment, you felt like your breath had been stolen away. He didn’t push. He didn’t argue. That empty “okay” hung in the air, leaving you with the quiet realization that, once again, you had lost yourself in the haze of someone else’s world.

You tried not to read too much into it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already moved on. That he didn’t care enough to fight for your attention. Instead, it felt like you were just a passing thought, like an aftertaste that wasn’t worth savoring.

Miss Hunter. The words echoed in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay behind your eyelids, but they pressed hard, a sting that never seemed to fully fade. You rubbed your forehead, trying to push away the thoughts. But even as you did, you couldn’t escape the suffocating feeling in your chest—the one that always came when you were reminded of how little you meant to him. You felt foolish, but you couldn’t help it. It was like you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to come back, to pull you back into his orbit with that practiced charm, that voice that made you feel wanted, if only for a little while.

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The dinner with Zayne had been a welcome reprieve. It had been two weeks since you last saw him, the demands of work pulling both of you in different directions. But tonight, seated across from him in a small, cozy bistro, you found solace in the familiar rhythm of your conversations. The mellow lights softened the sharp angles of his face as he recounted a mishap earlier in the week involving a particularly irritable patient.

His dry humor, paired with the subtle lift of his brow, drew a laugh from you—a genuine, light sound that felt foreign after the weight of recent days. For a while, the world outside blurred away. You weren’t Miss Hunter; you weren’t anything other than a person sharing a meal with a friend.

As the meal wound down, Zayne looked at you over the rim of his glass, his expression calm. “You’re doing better than when we first met.” he remarked softly.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Am I?”

He nodded. His calm demeanor always had a way of grounding you, and tonight was no exception.

The meal wrapped up with the two of you trading small updates and light banter. You paid for your half of the meal, Zayne insisting it wasn’t necessary, but you’d insisted back. There was a sense of normalcy here, something you weren’t willing to let go of easily. When you parted ways outside the diner, the night air was cool and quiet. Zayne’s warm farewell echoed softly in your ears as you waved goodbye and headed back toward your apartment.

As you walked, you felt lighter somehow. The stress of the past few weeks hadn’t vanished, but Zayne’s steady presence had reminded you of something important—moments of peace still existed, even in the chaos.

The faint scent of lavender greeted you as you unlocked your apartment door, a hint of the candle you’d left burning earlier. The lights were off, and the air felt too still—unnaturally so. Your heart skipped, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. A lump formed in your throat, panic curling its fingers around your chest.

You flicked the light switch, and the sudden brightness flooded the room, revealing the figure sitting on your couch. Sylus.

You froze. Your body stiffened, caught between fight or flight.

Your yelp of surprise filled the space, your pulse racing as you clutched the doorframe for support. “What—Sylus? What are you doing here?”

He was sitting on your couch, one arm draped casually along the backrest, his other hand resting on his knee. The dim light of the room softened the sharp edges of his face, but his expression was anything but gentle. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, tracked your every movement as if he were dissecting you with just a glance.

“How—what are you doing here?” you stammered, your voice shaky as your pulse raced.

Sylus didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze dragging over you slowly, deliberately. His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken, and it made your skin prickle.

“Darling,” he finally murmured, his voice low and smooth, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You look… exhausted.”

You blinked, still standing frozen by the door. His tone was soft, almost tender, but it was the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers tapped against his knee, that betrayed his underlying tension.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, your voice wavering as you took a cautious step forward. “It’s been a long day. What are you doing here?”

Sylus leaned back, the leather of the couch creaking faintly under his weight. “A long day,” he echoed, his lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yet you had time for dinner.”

“I…” you faltered, scrambling for a response. “It was just…”

“Just dinner,” he interrupted smoothly, his tone unreadable. “With… someone else.”

The air felt thick, charged with a tension that made your skin prickle. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat. His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression still calm but his body language telling a different story. The way his fingers drummed against his knee, the slight clench of his jaw, the flicker of something dark in his gaze.

Your heart pounded, your thoughts racing. Why was he here? What did he want? And why did his presence—his very existence in your space—make your chest ache in that familiar, suffocating way?

“I didn’t think…” You stopped yourself, your voice trembling. “You didn’t say you’d be coming by. You can’t just—”

“Can’t just what?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft as he rose from the couch, his movements fluid and deliberate. “Show up to see what’s wrong?”

Your breath hitched as he closed the distance between you, his height and presence suddenly overwhelming. “Nothing’s wrong…”you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that so?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you’ve been avoiding me, Darling.”

The accusation hung in the air, sharp and unyielding.

“I’ve been busy…” you said weakly, your voice lacking conviction.

“Busy,” he repeated, his gaze flicking over you again, this time with something close to disdain. “Too busy for me, but not too busy for… him.”

Your hands fidgeted at your sides, your breath coming in shallow bursts. You wanted to move, to put distance between you, but your legs felt rooted to the spot. “I didn’t think dinner with a friend would..”

“Friend?” he interrupted, the single word slicing through your sentence. His lips curved into something that might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, the anxiety swirling in your chest mixing with something else—something raw and painful that you didn’t want to name. The memories of your last exchange with Sylus came flooding back—the curt messages, the unspoken finality of his “okay.” You had tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you didn’t need his validation. But standing here now, under the weight of his gaze, you felt every crack in the fragile walls you had built to keep him out.

“I don’t understand what you want from me,” you said finally, the words trembling as they left your lips.

His eyes softened slightly, but the tension in his posture didn’t ease. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something, something important, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a gesture so gentle it felt almost foreign.

“Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability that made your chest ache.

Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you. The words echoed in your mind, repeating, twisting, until all you could hear was the raw edge of betrayal laced in his tone.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter, a little too loud in the quiet of your apartment. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you felt the space around you grow smaller. You couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. All you could feel was the heat of anger building inside of you, raw and unrefined.

“That’s rich,” you scoffed, finally managing to find your voice. “That’s really rich, coming from you of all people.”

Sylus blinked, a subtle flash of surprise crossing his face, but it quickly masked over. His lips tightened, his brow furrowed ever so slightly, but it wasn’t enough. You had to push, you couldn’t hold back now. The words were tumbling out before you could even stop them. Your breath hitched, a strangled sob lodged somewhere in the back of your throat, but you refused to let it spill. You wouldn’t let him see you break—not like this, not in front of him. You knew the truth. He knew the truth. It hurt, yes, but you weren’t the one to blame.

“You've been treating me like a stranger for months,” you continued, your voice trembling with anger you hadn't fully realized was there. “Barely responding to my messages, not answering my calls, and when I do see you, it’s like you can’t be bothered. You don’t even see me.” You felt the weight of every unreturned message, every unanswered call, every promise left in limbo. “I’ve had to hear from Luke and Kieran that you’re in Linkon. But you couldn’t even make time to see me.”

You felt the ache deep in your chest, that familiar, suffocating knot forming. He didn’t deserve your pain. Not anymore. You wouldn’t let him have that. Not this time.

You took a shaky breath, suddenly feeling raw, exposed. “You don’t have to feel obligated to check on me, Sylus,” you said, your words clipped and cutting through the thick silence between you. “You don’t have to feel pity for me. I know where I stand. I know my place in your life.”

His expression, that unreadable mask, cracked for the briefest of moments. His lips parted, his gaze flicking to your face, then back down to the floor. His jaw clenched. But his eyes… They weren’t the same as they’d been earlier. The hardness was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous, something even more intimate. The storm was gathering, but it wasn’t just in the air—no, it was inside him too.

“You know where you stand?” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it, a slight tightness you hadn’t noticed before. He took a step forward, his body closing the space between you, like a wave of raw energy crashing toward you. His proximity only made your pulse race faster, but you couldn’t back down. Not now.

“I’m just an informant, right?” you bit out, every word feeling like it sliced through the night air, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You don’t have to pretend you care, Sylus. So don’t stand there with that look on your face like I’m some important thing you need to check on.”

The air between you grew heavy, thick with unsaid words and stifled tension. Every inch of your body was telling you to get away, to shut down, to stop this before it tore you apart. But your feet felt heavy, stuck in place. Sylus’s presence was like gravity, pulling you toward him.

"You think that's all you are?" he murmured, his voice dangerously low, like the calm before the thunder. The way he said it made your heart stutter in your chest. It was both a question and an accusation or a challenge.

But there was something else in his voice. Something you couldn’t quite place. His eyes were intense, too intense, and they searched yours like he was looking for the answer. The truth.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he continued, his words clipped, as though they were difficult for him to say. “But I couldn’t....couldn’t make sense of it. Of you.”

It was the first time that he seemed genuinely vulnerable, and it left you breathless and confused. You had always wondered if there was more beneath his cold exterior. You had always told yourself that he cared. But you had never dared to confront him.

His hand was close enough now to reach out, his fingers barely brushing the edge of your wrist. The air between you was still thick with everything unsaid, everything unhealed. And yet, despite the words that had been thrown between you, there was something undeniably magnetic in the tension. The ache in your chest, the rawness, the feelings of betrayal—they didn’t wash away just because you said them out loud.

God, you hated him for this.

But part of you yearned for him. That part that still felt tethered to him, despite the distance.

Sylus’s fingers hovered over your wrist, his touch like fire against your skin. For a moment, the storm between you calmed, leaving only the faintest echo of it behind. The weight of his gaze, the force of his presence—it seemed to drown out the rest of the world.

He said nothing for a moment, his lips parting as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. His eyes darkened further, not with anger now, but with something you couldn’t quite define.

You took a breath, your body suddenly feeling too small beneath his gaze. The storm was still inside. You had to move away. Your heart pounded as if it were trying to escape your chest, desperate to flee from whatever was stirring inside you. You couldn't—no, you wouldn’t—let yourself get caught up in whatever this feeling was. You were not some fool, ready to throw everything away for the temporary pull of his presence. You knew better than that. You had to.

Every instinct screamed at you to retreat, to put some distance between you and the mess of emotions bubbling under your skin. His sharp gaze was enough to make your knees tremble, and it took everything in you not to look back, not to let him see the quiet devastation that flickered inside you.

“You need to leave… Sylus.” You whispered. You staggered back a few steps, your breathing shallow, desperate. Your feet felt like lead, yet you forced yourself to walk away. You turned your back to him, willing your legs to move, hoping to escape before you got sucked into whatever dark vortex of feelings he was drawing you into.

He didn’t move. Instead, you heard the familiar click of his boots against the floor as he took a single, deliberate step forward. “Why?” His voice, low and curious, sent a shiver down your spine. It was almost too intimate, as if he were searching for a piece of you, trying to understand what you couldn’t explain.

You didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to see the quiet confusion on his face—the faint flicker of disappointment that stung like salt in an open wound. You couldn’t let him see your weakness, couldn’t let him know how badly it hurt to be around him, how badly it hurt not to be around him.

“Is it so you can run back to your precious ‘friend’?” The words dripped with something unspoken, something that made your stomach twist.

You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not when his voice—that voice, the one that threaded through the air like silk—was digging into your mind like this. The word echoed in your ears, almost mocking you, and you felt something fragile snap inside you. The weight of the years you’d spent keeping distance, of guarding your heart against him, against whatever he made you feel, started to unravel. But you couldn’t let it.

You took another step away from him. One more step, you told yourself. Just one more. You didn’t need this.

Dark tendrils wrapped around you as you move, pulling you back. He was using his evol to pull you back. You didn’t need him pulling you in again. But then it came. That touch. He pulled you to him, forceful yet intimate, and your breath caught in your throat. You were too close. Too close to the edge of losing yourself, of falling into his presence.

His hands...no, his fingers—snaked around your waist before you even knew what was happening. You gasped, body going stiff in surprise, but his grip tightened, pulling you back into him. You tried to keep moving, tried to pull away, but it was useless. His hold was ironclad, his presence consuming. His grip tightened slightly, but there was an almost comforting pressure there, a subtle reminder that despite the dispute between you, there was something undeniable between the two of you.

“Why are you running?” His voice was a whisper against your ear, the words smooth like silk, but there was something jagged beneath them—something urgent, raw.

You struggled to hold yourself together, but the more you fought it, the more it pulled—this unbearable need to lean into him, to give in to the chaos that his proximity stirred in you. You knew you shouldn’t, but everything in you wanted to. You felt the ache of wanting something you couldn't have, the sting of the distance you had put between you and the thing that was somehow both poison and relief.

His hands tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your ribs in a movement that sent a jolt through your entire system. The words you wanted to say, the reasons you needed to get away from him, all felt so small and pointless now. How could you possibly explain this? This tension, this pull? How could you say that being near him felt like the most excruciating thing in the world, but also the only thing that made you feel alive?

“You’re not just an informant to me,” he breathed, his words slipping under your skin, curling into the tight spaces of your chest. “I didn’t realize I was hurting you this much. That you’d want to distance yourself from me...” His tone softened at the end, but it only made everything worse. The tenderness in his voice—his tenderness—was like a dagger in your side, making the blood in your veins freeze. You wanted to say something, anything, but all you could hear was the deafening rush of your own heartbeat. You tried to stay composed, but the words were caught in your throat, and your body was still pressed so tightly against his, your breath shallow, your pulse thudding painfully against your ribs.

Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t you just say it—say that you couldn’t let him get close again? That you couldn’t survive another wound, another aching, empty feeling in your chest because of him? But the way his hands tightened, the warmth of his body against yours, made everything you were feeling a little too real.

You could feel his heartbeat against your back, the rhythm in sync with your own, and the pull of him was growing stronger. You could feel your anxiety bubbling up, the gnawing fear at the pit of your stomach. Was this just him toying with you? Was he trying to pull you into his world of darkness and manipulation? Or did he really care?

Your head was spinning. The emotions warred within you—anger, confusion, guilt, and something else. Something that made your heart race faster and your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

“Let me go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the storm that raged around you.

But you didn’t pull away. You didn’t push him off.

Sylus' grip on you tightened, his arm like a steel band around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His chest rises and falls against your back as his breath brushes against your ear, warm and heavy. It’s as if he’s afraid, like if he lets go for even a second, he’ll lose you forever. You can feel the tension radiating from him, but also something softer, something desperate.

“No, Darling,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with emotion, his tone possessive, as though the very idea of you slipping away shatters him. “You’re not going anywhere and neither am I.”

"You’re going to stay," He pulls you even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks again, quieter this time, but laced with something raw and vulnerable. "...and you’re going to listen to me. I won’t let you walk away from this."

You can hear the flicker of something beneath his words—regret. And then, his lips ghost over the sensitive skin of your neck, lingering just a little longer than necessary. He slowly spins you around, to face him. His voice softens, almost apologetic. “I know I was a dick. I know I didn’t respond to you, and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know how to handle it… handle us. It confused me, and instead of facing it, I pushed you away.” His breath catches slightly, and you feel his chest tighten against your back.

His hand moves to cup your cheek, tilting your face slightly toward him, his thumb brushing over your skin as though it’s a promise, an apology. The weight of his gaze is intense, but there’s also something tender there, something that wants to pull you back in, closer. “I know you’re still hurting, darling. I see it. And I... I’ll spend a lifetime making up for it, because that’s what I want. A lifetime. With you. Not as some informant or some... thing, but as my beloved. You. By my side. Always.”

He pauses, letting his words hang in the air between you. His voice drops, the quiet sorrow of his confession sending a twinge of guilt through you. "I don’t have the right to ask this of you, I know," Sylus continues, his voice thick with emotion. "But seeing you push me away… It’s harder than I ever thought it would be. Harder than I want to admit." He presses his forehead lightly against your temple, his breath shaky. "I’ve never needed someone the way I need you, and I didn’t know how to tell you that. But I do. I need you."

You can feel him tense slightly, the shift in his demeanor telling you that his thoughts have turned darker. His voice lowers, the jealousy evident in the way he speaks, though it’s wrapped in a softness that almost makes it harder to bear.

"And Dr. Zayne... I can’t stand the thought of him being so close to you," Sylus adds, his voice low and thick with a possessiveness that unsettles you in its intensity. "It kills me, you know? Watching him with you, hearing you laugh like that with him, as if I don’t even exist." His arm tightens again, almost painfully, as if he needs to remind you, remind both of you, where you truly belong. "I know I have no claim on you... but... I can't help but feel like there’s a part of you that wants him in a way that... I can't compete with." His voice hardens, jealousy dripping from every word. "It eats at me, knowing he has a part of you that I’m fighting for."

"Sylus..." Your voice cracked slightly as you repeated his name, your breath hitching, caught in the tension between you. His name felt heavy on your tongue, like it was both a question and an answer. You had never said it so quietly, so vulnerably. The memories of earlier came rushing back—him with her, that delicate smile he gave her, the way she leaned into him just a little too comfortably. It had burned in your chest, the jealousy creeping in with a venomous ache.

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, too fast to gather, too painful to hide. "I felt the same... when I saw you with her," you confessed, swallowing thickly. "I felt so... so useless, Sylus. When I saw you with her, it felt like... like she was everything you needed. Better than me. And that... it broke me, Sylus. I felt like I wasn’t enough, like I wasn’t... worth it.”

The words stung, bitter and unrelenting, but the weight of them was finally lifted as you let them spill out. You felt exposed, naked in your insecurity, but somehow, it was all you could do to stand there and wait for him to respond. You could feel the weight of it, of how small you’d felt in that moment, how unworthy you had become in your own eyes. The self-doubt gnawed at your insides, each thought of her with him twisting like a knife in your gut.

Sylus’s expression softened, his features melting into a tender sadness, as though he were seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. His hand reached out slowly, almost hesitantly, as if afraid to shatter the fragile space between you. His touch was a gentle comfort, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his voice a low whisper, "Darling, you're none of that... none of it, I swear."

You shook your head, feeling the tears threatening, but you couldn’t let them fall, not yet. His words were kind, but the ache in your chest was still there, an unhealed wound.

He continued, his voice steady but thick with something deeper. "I didn’t know you felt that way... about her, in the same way I feel about Zayne." His gaze met yours, and for the first time tonight, it wasn’t uncertain. It was so gentle, so soft, tender. "But you need to know, you're it for me, Darling…" he murmured, his fingers curling around yours, grounding you in the quiet storm of your emotions. "Yes, I want help from her, but..." He paused, as if weighing his words carefully, "...I need you more." His words were a balm to the wounds that had festered within you, but the tenderness in his eyes was what finally reached you. His hand slid down to your shoulder, his thumb grazing the skin there. His warmth surrounded you, and you let yourself sink into the comfort of his words. The jealousy, the insecurity that had burned so fiercely in you when you saw him with her, melted in the face of the tenderness he was offering now.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself as your heart raced, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming. “Zayne… Zayne’s just a friend,” you said, your voice fragile but firm, “someone who helped me... helped me see past the stuff in my head. After everything, I just... needed someone to remind me that I’m not broken.”

Sylus's eyes softened even more, the depth of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. He nodded slowly, his expression filled with understanding. The tension between you didn’t disappear entirely, but it was now laced with something more tender. More real.

“You’re not broken, Darling.” he repeated, and there was a quiet strength in his voice, something that made you believe him more than you ever had before. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed... and more.”

"I... I’m sorry," you whispered, a lump in your throat as you looked up at him. "I never wanted to make you feel like I didn’t care. I just... I was afraid you’d choose her over me."

Sylus’s fingers brushed against the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours. "You never have to apologize for that, Darling." he murmured, his voice warm, his breath mingling with yours. “It was my fault and I accept that.”

The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of your breathing, as Sylus stood before you, his face drawn with intensity. The flickering light from the lamp cast soft shadows across his features, but his gaze... his gaze was sharp, focused entirely on you.

"I love you, Darling" he said, his words lingering in the air as though they were the first time he had allowed himself to say them out loud. "I’m in love with you," he confessed, his voice steady despite the raw emotion that tinged it. "I’ve been in love with you for a while now, and I’ve tried to deny it. Tried to hide it from you and myself, but I can’t anymore. I won’t. I love you, and I need you to know that."

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught in your throat. Everything in you froze, then splintered. The confession, so pure, so vulnerable, hit you with a force you hadn’t been prepared for. You stood there, unable to move, a mix of surprise and relief flooding your chest.

He loves you. Sylus. The one you had longed for, yearned, and hoped for in silence. Your heart stuttered in your chest, the world around you growing impossibly still.

"I…" you whispered, voice trembling, and you had to stop, had to steady yourself before the words could spill from your lips. "I’ve love you too," you said, your voice barely more than a breath, but it carried all the weight of everything you had kept inside. "I’ve loved you, and I never told you because I was afraid. Afraid that I was asking too much. Afraid of the rejection. Afraid that I wasn’t enough."

Sylus’s expression softened, his lips curling into a frown as he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hands reached for you, but not in the way you had feared or expected. They were gentle, his touch a plea for understanding. "Oh, darling," he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you ever felt like you needed to hide it from me."

He reached up, brushing his thumb along your cheek, and you flinched slightly, your emotions suddenly overwhelming you, raw and untamed. "We’re both idiots," he continued, his voice almost tender with the weight of the admission. "We’ve been skirting around each other, afraid of saying the one thing we both needed to say."

Your laugh came out soft, almost fragile, the tension in your chest breaking for the first time since Sylus had walked into your home. It was a quiet sound, but it was the first time you’d laughed all night, the first time you’d allowed yourself to feel something other than fear or uncertainty in the past few weeks with him involved. But that laugh didn’t last long. As soon as it came, the tears followed, the ones you had been holding back for so long, finally slipping free. The dam you had built up crumbled, and before you could stop them, hot tears streamed down your face. before you could even reach up to brush them away, his hand was there, steady and warm against your cheek.

"Don’t," you whispered, your voice thick with the ache you could no longer hide. "Please, don’t look at me like this. I’m—"

"Stop," Sylus interrupted softly, his hand holding yours gently, his gaze unwavering. "Don’t hide from me. I want to see all of you… everything you’ve been hiding. I know you think I don’t see it, but I do." His eyes locked onto yours with such intensity that you couldn’t look away. "I see it when you think I’m not watching. I see the way you pull back, the way you hide the parts of you that you think I can’t handle. But I am looking. I’ve always been looking. And I don’t want you to hide anymore. Not from me. And I’m here and I want all of you."

His words were a medicine to the parts of you that had been bruised, the parts that had feared being exposed, vulnerable. But in his eyes, there was only love. No judgment. No pity. Just... love. And it was enough. It was more than enough.

The tears that had slipped down your face slowed, but they didn’t stop. You didn’t try to wipe them away this time, allowing yourself to be seen for the first time in ages. The sobs that followed were soft but trembled with relief, with something finally breaking open inside of you.

Sylus’s arms were around you in an instant, pulling you close, holding you in the kind of embrace that made you feel as though you could finally breathe, as though the weight of everything you had been carrying could finally be set down.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, almost broken. "I’ve been so scared, Sylus. Scared of this, of being cast away... of losing you."

"You’ll never lose me, Darling." he murmured, his voice firm and unwavering as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

You tilted your head back slightly, your face still damp with the remnants of the tears that had fallen, and through your wet lashes, you searched his face. Sylus held you close, his arms wrapped around you in a way that made you feel safe, even as the doubts lingered in your heart. You wanted to believe him, but the fear, the uncertainty, was still there, buried deep beneath the surface.

He must have seen it in your eyes, the way you still hesitated, the uncertainty you couldn't quite shake. Sylus made a half-frustrated sound in the back of his throat, his hands tightening around you for a split second, before they slid up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek again, a tender, pleading touch, before he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a sudden, urgent kiss.

The kiss was unlike any other. It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t soft. It was intense, filled with desperation, as though he needed you to understand just how deeply he felt for you, just how much you meant to him. His hands cupped your face, holding you as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment, as if the world had stopped turning just for you. His lips pressed against yours with a kind of fire, but it wasn’t angry, no. It was passionate, desperate in its own way, like he wanted you to feel how important you were to him, how much you had been wanted, loved.

Your hands trembled as they reached up, gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, wanting to bridge the distance between you, as though the kiss itself could erase every lingering doubt in your heart. Your breath hitched when you felt his pulse quicken under your touch, his heartbeat matching the frantic pace of your own. Each breath you took seemed to echo in the stillness of the room, mingling with the heat of his kiss, our lips moving together with a quiet urgency, the world beyond the two of you fading into a distant blur. You felt everything—every brush of his fingers, every subtle shift of his body against yours, the way his chest rose and fell beneath your palms, how his breath felt against your lips as if he couldn’t get close enough to you.

Your chests rose and fell together, the world spinning around you. You could feel the heat of him, the urgency that still lingered in his touch, the way he kept you close, almost as if he were afraid to let go.

Breathing became an afterthought, both of you gasping for air when the kiss broke, but neither of you pulled far enough away to lose the connection. Sylus’s forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispered, voice still heavy with emotion. “Every day, from henceforth, I will work to make sure you never feel the need to doubt yourself. Not in my life. Not with me." His words, slow and deliberate, sank deep into your heart like a promise he would keep.

The intensity of the moment hung between you both, the room still, save for the soft sound of your breathing as you both slowly came back to reality. But in his eyes, you saw nothing but certainty—certainty that you were enough. That you always had been.

His hand found yours again, fingers weaving with yours, and he gave it a gentle squeeze, as if the simple touch was a quiet reassurance.

"You are everything to me," he murmured, his voice steady now, grounding you as much as his embrace. "And I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, absorbing his words, his warmth, his certainty. In his arms, you could feel the truth of his promise, somewhere deep inside, the doubts began to fade.

For the first time in a long time, you believed him. And when he kissed you again, this time softer, it was like the beginning of something new.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

[lalunanymph]

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. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ when it comes to putting you back in your place, no one does it better than sylus

⋆｡°✩ tags: sylus x fem!reader, established relationship, d/ry humping, t/easing, s/ucking him off through his sweats, m/istress kink, whiny!sylus, r/estraints, b/dsm, o/rgasm control, t/ease and denial, dom!reader (for like, a little while) -> sub!reader, p/leasure dom!sylus, noncon (reader ties sylus up first), o/ral sex, petnames (baby, kitten, little dove), s/ir kink, b/egging, r/uined orgasm

⋆｡°✩ dawn says: SYLUS DAY TOMORROW !! may all the sylus wanters be sylus havers 🙏🏼 also tags were glitching on me so i had to change up the warnings format SORRY :')

"Hmm... what's this?"

Sylus blinks the sleep from his eyes to find you straddling his thighs, a smirk in place.

It's not like the Onychinus leader to ever let his guard down, but give the man a break—he's exhausted after trying to escape a raid last night.

And instead of letting him sleep, what does his precious little lover do?

That's right—she's got him all tied up to their bed.

His brows furrow, and he tugs on the knot, frustration growing alongside his respect. The knots were a solid 10/10; he could barely move if given a chance.

"Little one, what is this?" He tries to sound understanding, concerned, even.

You snicker. "What does it look like, Sy?" The pretty manicure you got on his card makes him pause. He barely blinks, taking in the sight of your hands sliding down his bare chest. He thinks the red and black combination suits you very, very well indeed.

Blood-red eyes narrow and his jaw ticks. "I would say you're playing with fire, kitten. Let me go—now."

It's an order—one you don't listen to.

"Say, Sy," you casually drape yourself all over him, enjoying his squirming. "Your neck is very sensitive, isn't it?"

Your finger trails from his jaw right to his jugular, hovering over the strip of skin.

"Shit, no," he cusses, flinching back from your touch. "Don't even think about it—"

Your lips replace your finger, trailing hot kisses down his neck. Sylus swallows down an embarrassing gasp, hands turning to fists above his head.

"Kitten, I'm warning you."

But, you don't listen to him—you never do.

Your mouth moves from his neck down to his chest, circling over his well-built chest. Your hair tickles him, trailing after your mouth that moves from chest to stomach down to his pelvis. So dangerously close to where he can feel you the most.

"Kitten, I'm serious here." His voice is a low growl, shooting a dirty thrill up your spine. "Stop teasing me and let me go."

You hum, moving your teasing little mouth to band of his sweatpants. Sylus' abs constrict the second he sees your naughty tongue lick a strip across his happy trail and he swears Devil horns appear on your head.

You grin, running your hand down the seam of his inner thigh.

"Sy," your tone is innocent, though a lustful demon is controlling you. "You're naked underneath those sweats, right?"

The 28-year-old underground leader is no idiot. He can tell when a kitten is itching to stretch her claws.

"Don't even think about it," he warns. Except, you're already doing it.

You touch the impressive bulge, proof that he was not immune to your teasing.

Oh, if only the Hunters Association could see you now. Sylus aches all over thinking about how he's gone off the deep end and ruined you—Linkon's shiniest Hunter—all for the sake of satisfying his dirty games.

The old you would never have found the guts to tie him up to his own bed and suck on him through his sweatpants. She would never have the nerve to be such a little slut.

But, he's changed you. For better or for worst, he can't decide.

Especially not right now when you straighten and he finally notices you in his black silk shirt, buttons sloppily done like a child did them, the too big collar slipping down to expose your shoulders.

Shit. An unwilling groan slips past his clenched teeth when you straddle his lap again and he sees you have no panties on. Fucking hell... she's out for my blood.

"Y/N," he growls your real name now, dead serious. "No more games. Untie me right this instant—fuck."

You grind down on his still clothed bulge, blinking your eyes innocently.

He growls, shaking his head. "I'm the one who ties you up. Or, have you forgotten, kitten?"

A tinkling laugh reaches his hot ears. "You sound like you're not enjoying yourself when this—" you reach for his dick and squeeze it, ignoring his hiss of pleasure. "—is proof that you are."

Oh. He narrows his eyes, licks his lips. You're going to get it this time.

But, your hand on him feels too good, and Sylus can't deny that a sick, twisted part of him is loving this.

His arms tense, tugging on the rope, his expression a cross between ecstasy and pain.

"If you beg me, I'll suck you off," you promise.

A hollow laugh. "Beg you? Beg. You? Shit, a-ah—no way. I'm not giving in. Not gonna give into you. I'm not—" He chokes on a moan. You're fondling his tip through the scratchy material. "Fuck. Fuck. Okay. Okay. Please?"

His voice goes quiet at the end, and you hum.

"Please, what?"

Sylus bares his teeth. No fucking way were you being dead serious.

You grin, twisting your wrist. "Say it, Sy. Please, Mistress."

His jaw ticks, glare deepening. You think he's going to give in—his surrender right at the tip of your tongue.

Suddenly, he starts to laugh. "Oh, Y/N. Sweet, sweet little kitten. You forgot something. Wanna see it?"

You stare at him in confusion, not sure what he's hinting at.

Sylus' smirk deepens, and he exhales another diabolical chuckle.

"You forgot to loop the tie, you foolish little Hunter."

Before your fast reflexes can kick in, his super fast ones have you pinned to the bed, beating you at your own game. The ropes you restrain him with are now around your wrist and you're tethered in the same spot you once had him in.

Pink dusts his cheeks, and Sylus is breathing hard like he's run a marathon. His frosty locks are a mess, but nothing is as terrifying as the sneer on his face.

It burns through you, leaving you breathless when he presses his face closer; you can physically smell the triumph radiating off him.

"What was it you said just a few minutes ago? Ah." His voice drops to a hush whisper; deep baritone caressing the shell of your ear as his hitched breathing teases you, drawing you deeper into the pit of your mistake.

Rubbing in your face how wrong you are for trying to play the master manipulator himself.

"Call you 'Mistress'? Make me beg? Oh, my little dove." He yanks the knots tighter and you yelp at the bite of pain. Sylus leaves enough room for you to wiggle around and make sure the blood still flows, though there's no other give.

Once again, you're trapped under him.

"I can smell your fear," he mocks, raising a brow. "It's so... addictive."

Returning the favor, Sylus nudges your chin up. "Lift your face up, baby. Lift it."

His mouth touches the nape of your neck, dragging towards your pulse point, your jaw, and back to your collarbones, leaving hot and wet kisses everywhere he can reach. Your sweet sounds are addictive, driving him crazy.

"You kissed me all over my body," he drawls in that seductive accent.

Another wet kiss on your shoulder. Sylus takes his time to unbutton the shirt you stole from him, humming under his breath. You flinch once your chest is exposed, and his smirk deepens.

"No way to escape for you now, kitten."

"Sylus, I'm sorry," you blurt out, but it's too late. He's already decided on your punishment.

"Tch." Clicking his tongue, he stands, looking ravishing in just his low slung, gray sweatpants. "I'll be back, little dove. Wait for me."

You can't see where he's disappeared to, only hearing him come back with more loops of rope.

"What's that?" you squeak.

"Nothing for you to worry," he hums, grabbing your ankle and fastening it with a round of rope, attaching it to the bed post. He does the same with your other ankle, and you're truly spread out for him with no way to escape.

Caught in his web you spun of your own stubbornness and greed.

"Sy—"

He shushes you, bringing a dark material right to your face and you tremble when you realize what it is.

"I told you that you have nothing to worry about, little dove," he murmurs, fingers working deftly to secure the blindfold around your eyes.

Darkness encases you, and you're tied to his bed, spread-eagle and helpless.

The bed dips beside you, and you feel the heat of his body hovering over yours.

"Now, what did you do to me a few moments ago, little dove? Oh, right." He grabs your face, tilting your head back. "You kissed me all over my neck."

His mouth resumes its carnal path across your sensitive skin, your hips bucking whenever a bite of pain from his teeth grazes you.

"My chest."

Sylus mouths at your collarbones, smearing hot kisses down your clavicles, over your breasts, stopping to suck and tease your nipples until you cry out in pleasure.

"Oh, I forgot how sensitive your sweet buds are," he murmurs huskily, pinching your nipples until they swell and throb. "What else did you do, hmm? Oh, yes..."

The marks of heat move down your body, right to your tummy; his kisses loud and lewd.

"Mhm, you kissed me right over my stomach..."

"Sy." Your whimpers draw another evil smirk on his handsome face. He can tell you're crumbling in real time. "Please."

You have no idea what you're begging for. But, Sylus hears you loud and clear.

"Don't worry, little dove. I won't tease you like how you teased me." His voice is magnetic, drawing you deeper into his web with his husky baritone and deep whispers. "Not... like... this..."

As he speaks, he caresses your stomach, loving how it flexes and twitches when he moves his touch right to your inner thighs.

"Do you want me to eat you out, kitten?" Sylus hums, and you fight back a shiver at the possessive undercurrent in his question.

"Yes," you admit, unable to help yourself. Your hips quiver, a moan falling past your mouth when he presses a languid kiss onto your inner thigh. "Yes, please."

"Please, what?" he taunts, drawing circles on your hips with his thumb. "Ask me nicely and I might oblige, little dove."

This is Sylus in his element—on top, domineering and controlling all the ropes. You have no choice but to give into him if you want to feel the barest hint of pleasure that he's holding back from you.

"Sir," you gasp, flinching at the bite of his fingernails digging into your plush thigh. "Please, Sir."

The second the word leaves your mouth, he's all over your drooling cunt.

Sylus eats you out in broad, languid strokes, focusing on your clit; using his tongue to play with it, bathing it with tender mouthfuls of praises and degradation all in one.

You wanna come, baby? Wanna mess up my face?

In another breath, he pushes a finger past your quivering pussy, curving it upward to hook on your softest spot. Your hips drive forward, a yelp perforating the heavy air.

No, kitten. You can't come. You can't—oh, fuck.

Sylus drinks in your taste, spreading your shaking thighs further apart. His broad palms trickle up your chest, cupping your heaving breasts and playing with your stiff nipples. He pinches them just as his tongue slips inside your tender heat, nose rubbing against your clit.

Tears stain the blindfold, your mouth hanging wide open in ecstasy. Sylus wishes he could paint a picture of you looking this wanton and needy.

You can't come, baby, he murmurs in between your folds. I won't let you. You've been such a bad girl. I'm gonna edge you until you can't think. Ah-ah. No cumming. No, no. He grounds you back down onto the mattress with those large palms, stopping you from grinding on his face.

I'm gonna ruin every orgasm you have—don't think I don't know when you're coming, baby. I know you. I can taste you. I know when you're close.

Your body is taut as a bow, teeth gritted and nails digging crescent indents into your palms.

Every time you climb towards the point of no return, Sylus drags you back down; backing away from your pussy, leaving you squirming and desperately writhing on the bed for minutes on end until your orgasm fades away—only to restart the entire process again from square one.

"Now you feel my pain, little dove?" He wipes your tears away, humming lowly. "It's not nice to tease people, isn't it?"

Point taken. You mumble his name, and twist your head as if trying to search for him. "Sylus, please. I wanna come."

Oh? This delights him. You're finally breaking down. You want to come, little one? Then, beg.

Your hips clip all needy against his, and your mouth puckers into a frown.

"Sy—"

He grabs your chin, holding you fast as his lips barely touch yours. Beg me.

Please. You lick your lips, tasting nothing but him. Please, Sy. Please, please. Make me cum.

He's back between your thighs, a fiend for your pussy. Sucking, licking, moaning and breathing deeply—it's erotic and obscene, salacious sounds bouncing across the walls. Your head is spinning, the entire room tunneling into one singular sensation of his tongue deep in your cunt.

Those slender, calloused fingers are back on your nipples, bringing you to the brink of insanity. You've bitten your lips hard enough to draw blood; your hips buck, and you're begging for him to give you a reprieve without a second thought.

Please, Sir. Please. Please make me come. I can't—I need it. I need you.

Yeah? A ghost of his chuckle caresses through your folds and you think he's going to relent.

Going to give you what you want, so you try again.

"Please?" You're so close it almost hurts. Your thighs are cramping, arms straining, back about to break with how tautly you're struggling in his restraints. "Please? Please, Sy. Please."

"Mhm," he murmurs, and you think he's going to give in. Finally going to let you climax after stringing you along for what feels like hours.

"No."

He kisses your clit as tears of frustration trickle down your face.

Sylus was never going to give you what you wanted—not when he already has you in the palm of his hand.

— scenario inspired by one of my fave y2f audios <3 feedback and reblogs are appreciated <333

©️ lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, or translate across other sites. do not copy my sentence structures, plot or characterization.

[potaetopic]

whew, im grinning so bad

xnxx (m)

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: pwp smut, drabble.

word count: 1.4k

warning(s): swearing, handjob, sub!jimin if you squint really hard. || unedited 

a.n: it’s a drabble so this one is short but i hope u enjoy it nevertheless!

Knuckles tapping lightly against the bathroom door remind Jimin that he’s not at his apartment and he’s definitely not alone as he would be on any Saturday morning. The previous night was spent at his best friend’s apartment; participating in nostalgic activities such as playing Monopoly, building forts, and listening to whatever pop music local radio stations insisted on playing thirty times in a row.

Jimin stood before the familiar bathroom’s sink and mirror and stared at himself, still wearing his pajamas from the previous night: a white t-shirt and plaid pants. He was only about to brush his teeth and shower afterwards, so it wouldn’t be an issue if someone were to—

“Come in!”

Keep reading

[sylusdoll]

bf sylus board

a/n: who else spent all their sylus myth funds on the caretaker event and now theyre doomed > <

[comatosebunny09]

Slow lovemaking in the morning with Sylus.

He’s settling in for bed while you’re waking up. He doesn’t want you to go. Not when you feel so warm and right, curled up against him like this. He abhors the sun. But he won’t deny how it works in your favor, golden sunbeams peering through the curtains to swath you in its ethereal glow.

You get up for a shower, but he won’t have that. He hauls you back into bed by your waist. Tickles you, and you giggle so bewitchingly while you squirm, he’s laughing with you. Two lovers rolling around in the sheets, wishing the moment could last for eons.

You’re too beautiful not to savor. To let go. So, he kisses you. On your temple first, then your cheek, nose. He saves the best for last, diving in for a taste of your lips, and you’re as sweet as sugar here.

He’s addicted. Drags your hips back to notch your pelvis against his, and he groans hoarsely into your mouth at the contact. Grows hard against the cleft of your ass as you languidly grind against him. You know what you’re doing. He’s sleepy, and you’re taking advantage of his weakened defenses. But he’ll bite.

He holds you by the hip, his other set of fingers molded to your jaw, angling your head back so he can watch you—the pretty way your lips purse, how your lashes bow when he slides his cock between your full thighs. They’re still moist from your earlier escapades. From the naughty dreams you must’ve had, and he bites his lip when you moan so pretty for him as the ridge of his cock head bumps your clit. He shudders. God, you’re addicting.

Finally, he sinks into you. And the union is devastating. So much so, he ducks to place his forehead in the hollow of your shoulder. You always feel so good, swallowing him to the hilt like that. So good for him, the shape of you molding to accommodate him and no-one else.

He’s panting. Trying his damnedest to stay still while you adjust to the intrusion. You ruin him. Utter destruction on legs, but he’ll never tell you that aloud. You roll your hips when you’re ready for him. He moves without a second thought.

The sticky glide of your cunt. The obscene squelching sounds it makes when he sluggishly ruts into you. It’s all so much, and yet not enough. His grip on your waist is crucial. He’s holding you in place while he fucks into you from behind, your cute whimpering spurring him on.

Limber fingers wrap around your neck. Apply enough pressure not to cut off wind, but just enough to bring your pulse pounding against his palm. He breathes, hot and ragged, against your hinged-open mouth. The rhythm of his hips quickens. You feel so good. He could die, buried inside you.

He drags his teeth over the space behind your ear. Fucks into you like he’ll never see you again, the clop of skin on skin saturating the air. He eases a hand down the curve of your stomach to find your clit. Rubs it in meticulous circles, chanting obscenities into your ear. Wants you to cum with him, a fizzy feeling pooling in his stomach. You take him so well. Treat him so good. He’d give you the moon and the stars in a hand-basket if he could.

He doesn’t know how long you’ve been at this, fucking like two lazy beasts in heat. Doesn’t care because you’re suddenly quaking around him. Shuddering, his name the sweetest supplication on your lips. He keeps your legs spread, thrusting into you, helping you ride over the cresting waves of your orgasm with a finger in your clit.

You drag him into the whirlpool with you. Over that slurry edge of pleasure, his teeth grit as he floods the warm channel of your sex with gooey globs of white. He pushes into you until he’s too sensitive to move. Doesn’t pull out, even as his cum scorches down the inner cut of your thigh to saturate the sheets.

He wraps virile arms around your waist when you both come down. Moors you to him, nuzzling into the dip of your shoulder with a content smile to his lips.

“Sy,” you laugh, reaching back to drag comforting fingers over his scalp. “I have to get up for work.”

He hums something raspy. Something sleepy, something satisfied. Holds you tighter, murmuring against your ear, sleep toddling in.

“Just five more minutes.”

And, of course, five minutes turn into ten, then twenty. And you’re calling in sick an hour later, because you don’t want to leave the safety of his arms, either.

[potaetopic]

damn, the last line.. caught me off guard fr

Hello! I was wondering If I could request? Yandere bts whoever you choose, where their darling has never cum before, experiencing it for the first time with them and overstimulation, getting dumb off of dick 🥰

yes we can! it wouldn't be us if we didn't add at least a little yandere to it

two sentence horror story

it's been nearly five years since you last saw seokjin... @sweetempathprunetree @darkuni63 @momnomnom @chimmy-licious

halloween masterlist

word count: 2.309

warning: dirty talk, humiliation kink, slight sadism, restraint, bound/gagged, pussy slapping, possessive/jealous seokjin, oral (f receiving), spitting, edging, yandere/dark themes, fingering, squirting,

it's been nearly five years since you last saw seokjin.

Seokjin likes to think that he’s graced you with his presence. That you are lucky to have him - lucky to have someone so successful, handsome and rich. You were lucky to be his girl, someone who he spoiled with nice clothing and jewelry. He took you on expensively lavish vacations and dates. You ate only the finest food and drank the best wine the world has to offer. You didn’t even have to work, not while you were his girl and he had it - because that meant that you also had it.

But you did work, much to Seokjin’s dismay. You were a woman that didn’t need him to be dependent, no matter how many times he would place his credit card in your hands, you only ever used it on useless things such as gas for your car - the same car he wishes you’d get rid of all together. It wasn’t luxurious and it didn’t fit the look for someone like you - his girl.

Seokjin didn’t appreciate your lack of respect for him. Your refusal to quit your job, stating that you worked hard to get where you were at. So what? Thousands of girls would drop everything to be beside him like you were, and yet everything he did never appeared good enough for you. You didn’t need him like other women would’ve - and that is what upsets him. There was no control over you. You had your own money, car, home - what was he truly useful for if you didn’t need him for anything?

Seokjin had been lenient with you. Even as the months passed and the relationship grew, he had yet to bed you. He learned that you had little experience during one tipsy conversation and that’s all he needed to know to understand now. You couldn’t submit because there was never a reason to - no other man gave you what he could. You wouldn’t submit to a man that couldn’t even make you cum - how comical. 

“J-Jin…”

Seokjin hums, head snapping to your direction. You were always so beautiful to him. You didn’t have to try hard to catch his attention. Your glow was as bright as the sun, radiating off of you heavenly.

Seokjin could say he was a bit of a sadist. It’s another reason why he isn’t quick to bed you - you couldn’t handle then what he had it store for you now. He marvels at your oiled, naked skin, arms wrapped tightly behind you while your legs are spread apart widely, ankles tied beneath the bed post. 

“Remember how you told me you never came before?” Seokjin questions, learning against the bed frame to look down upon you. “That ex boyfriend of yours only cared about pleasuring himself, huh?”

Seokjin notes how you’re confused, wondering why he’s bringing this up now out of all times. 

“I saw you talking to him. It must be awkward working with an ex.” Seokjin’s tone is dangerously calm as he speaks, eyes glaring holes into your face for a reaction. “Is that why you don’t want to quit?”

You’re taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. “I have to talk to him. He’s my coworker.”

Wrong.

Seokjin slaps his hand against your bare pussy harshly. You jump at the impact, eyes widening. “J-Jin-”

Seokjin slaps you again, and again. Each slap is harder than the last. You don’t notice the moans coming between your lips and just how wet you were becoming. Shivers erupt through your skin and it feels taboo just feeling this way; getting pleasure deprived from pain. 

“You’re soaked.” Jin chuckles, fingertips ghosting across your bulging clit. “I don’t believe you.”

You knit your brows in frustration - both sexual and irritable. 

“You and him had dinner.” 

The prints of Seokjin’s fingers place themself firmly against your clit. He rubs in slow, taunting circles.

“I-I…what?” You moan, hips buckling, arms squirming in the restraints. You’re unsure why you allowed him to have you in such a position. It was brought up randomly when you had come to his home and you’d admit that you were curious. 

“I-I…what?” Seokjin mocks, rubbing along your clit more roughly. “You aren’t a dumb bitch, Y/N. You know what I’m speaking of.”

Seokjin never spoke to you like this, but it was hard being upset when he was pleasuring while doing so. You bit your lip to suppress a moan. 

“A work dinner.” You pant, recollecting the only time you had seen the man outside working hours. “You followed me?”

Of course he had. Seokjin scoffs. You were his girl after all - someone he has graced his presence for. He allowed you into spaces other people could only dream of being in. 

“Have you ever been eaten out?” The question catches you off guard and causes you to grow hot with embarrassment. 

Seokjin hums upon your head shake and now he grows hungry, mouth salivating at the thought of tasting you. 

“Though you do not deserve it,” Seokjin lowers himself between your legs, eyes set right on your wet clit. You squirm once more, humiliated by him being so close to you. “I’ll just have a little taste.”

“Jin- oh!” your words are caught in your throat when you feel him - his tongue wet and warm against your clit. It flickers back and forth at a steady pace.

As for Jin, his nose touches the top of your clit as he dives deeper to have a taste of you. Having complete control over you is an added bonus while getting the chance to finally taste you. His tongue laps between your folds as your thighs quiver.

You gasp when Jin leans back to spit, then suckle onto your clit once more. He looks up, eyes watching the way your head falls back as you continue to moan.

“I-I think I’m gonna-”

“No.” Jin pulls back, lifting himself up and away from your clit. You shivered, feeling your high come crumbling down to a disappointing halt. “What do you two talk about?”

You swallow thickly, eyes flickering open. You’re panting as you speak. “N-Nothing but work.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” Jin tilts his head. His fingers are dangerously close to your clit once more. “There has to be a reason why you keep going back to work.”

You want to scream that it’s because it’s your job and you need it, but your mouth is shut. Jin fingers enter you swiftly and now he’s pumping inside of you. “You’re so wet that I was able to slide right in.”

Your walls clench around his fingers selfishly, wanting more and more. The pleasure is one you have not felt in a while - and even then it wasn’t like Seokjin’s. Your juices are coating his bedsheets, but he doesn’t care. The sight of you is utterly filthy and worth it.

“You’re going back to see him.” Seokjin’s thumb rests upon your clit as he pumps, rubbing in circles. 

Your eyes are clenched shut and your moaning increases. “Does it feel good, Y/N?” Jin teases - he knows it does. 

“Y-Yes!” you sigh. “So good.”

Jin removes his fingers from inside of you and slaps your clit harshly. You scream, tears lining your eyes. Your high once again came down, disappointed at the lack of pleasure.

“Why should you deserve to feel good?” Jin questions, his tone dark. “It’s not like you deserve it.”

Your eyes blink a few times to look at Jin. He appears serious, waiting for you to respond to him. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” you murmur to him, hands clenching in the restraints. 

Seokjin scoffs. “I want you to tell me why I should let you cum?”

You swallow. “You were the one that wanted to make me cum.” you hiss. You were growing frustrated with the man. He was hell bent on showing you how pleasurable sex could be and not one-sided - but now all it appeared to be was him questioning you about an ex you cared little about.

“Aw, feisty.” Jin cackles.

“If this is what you meant then maybe I could go to my ex.”

Your ears are ringing seconds after you snap at Seokjin, your cheek stinging. The room is eerily silent.

“You…” Seokjin’s tone is deep. The deepest you’ve ever heard it become. 

“Jin-”

Another slap across your cheek, and then another. You don’t manage to speak before Seokjin hovering above you onto the bed.

Seokjin pulls off his pants, underwear going right along with it. He has been lenient enough but your words angered him. To say such a thing to him when he’s allowed you to do what you wanted the entirety of the relationship was a slap to the face.

“I wanted our first time to be enjoyable.” Seokjin says. He spits at your clit once more - not because he needed to. No, you were wet enough, but because spitting on you was what he liked doing to show that you were his - he likes to say it’s a way to mark his territory. 

“Seokjin.” you attempt, but you’re squirming upon feeling the tip of his cock rubbing against your clit. 

“If you cum along the way, that’s great for you.” Jin murmurs, cock now at your hole. He’s entering you slowly.

You widen your eyes at his words. Where was he going with this?

Jin snaps his hips inside of you. You scream out at the sudden impact. He removes himself just to do it again - this time grinding so deep that you swear you could feel him in your stomach.

Jin’s left hand grips your thighs while his right clamps down onto your mouth and just beneath your nose. Your eyes bulge at the sensation of him fucking you. He had no mercy, snapping his hips so roughly that the bedframe slams against the wall behind you.

“And to think I was going to let you keep that little job.” Jin chuckles and shakes his head. There’s already a white ring around his cock. “You’re creaming, baby. You’ve never been fucked this good, huh?”

Your throat groans a response, unable to do a proper one. Your eyes are rolling now, stomach churning. Your walls are clenching around him, suching him in for more.

“But after what you’ve said,” Seokjin pries your mouth open, entering his fingers inside. Your tongue swirls around this, tasting your juices. “I’ll never allow you out of here.”

Your mind isn’t registering his words - after all, you assume this was just roleplay. Men were into weird stuff. Instead you were busy groaning beneath him, toes curling. There’s drool dripping out of your mouth and down Seokjin’s wrist, but he doesn’t go to remove himself inside of you.

“Look at you!” Jin laughs, snapping his hips harder. “Cock drunk. You don’t even know what I’m saying.”

“P-Please let m-me cum!” you gurgle out. You could feel the familiar high bubbling once more, this time even more intense then the last two, 

“Why should I?” Jin removes his fingers from your mouth to cup your cheeks roughly. He was still pissed - and rightfully so. He was already upset that you were a whore enough to have dinner with your edx (colleague or not) and now you were begging him to have you cum?

“Please, Jin!” you feel hot tears pour from your eyes, so far gone that you don’t even realize that you’re crying from pure pleasure. 

Jin’s nails dig into your cheeks so deep that he notices that they begin to draw a pinch of blood. He growls low, feeling his own high coming.

Jin spits on you once more before capturing your lips in his, allowing a few more sloppy thrusts before he’s about to cum. He removes himself from you, cumming right onto your twitching clit, admiring how his cum drips off of you.

“I’ll let you cum, whore.” Jin murmurs, allowing four fingers inside of you now. The stretch causes you to scream once more, but he doesn’t care. He’s pumping inside of you without a care. 

You should be upset. You were being degraded and called out your name - you had spit running down your face. But you weren’t. You were far gone from your sanity, and the only thing you wanted now was to cum like he promised. 

“You don’t understand me now, Y/N.” Jin murmurs to you, eyes fixed on your soaking pussy. “But you’re not leaving. In due time you'll understand.”

“I-I’m cumming…!” you bite your lips, eyebrows knitting. 

Seokjin chuckles darkly, free hand going to rub your clit to bring you closer to your high. He feels you clench around his even tighter, head falling back against the headboard. 

Your juices squirt out, soaking him in the chest. It’s long and accompanied by a low shout.

Your breathing slows as your body twitches. You were feeling exhausted.

“Can you take these off?” you murmur after a few minutes of trying to compose yourself. 

Upon not hearing a response, your eyes blink open to find Seokjin.

“W-What-”

Your eyes are burning and now you’re screaming at the top of your legs. You pull at your arms to shield your eyes, but you are unable to. Your head thrashes back and forth in an attempt to get away.

“Now you can’t work if you can’t see.” Seokjin says in between your screams. “If you can’t see, then there’s no one else to look at.”

You’re crying, but even then it hurts. Your vision is blurred until it goes completely black.

“Now I can take care of you like I intended in the beginning.” Seokjin’s voice is now calm - peaceful. The one you recalled since becoming entangled with him. “Behave, or I’ll have to hurt you again. And I don’t want to do that, Y/N. I love you.”

it's been nearly five years since you last saw seokjin.

He reminds you every day that if you misbehave, he'll take your hearing next.

[saintobio]

the biker's book club, feat. l&ds sylus.

pairings. sylus, fem!reader genre. fluff, smut, biker au, 18+ tags. petnames (kitten), unprotected sex, spitting, hair-pulling, consensual filming, creampie, dirty talk, possessiveness, violence, slight yandere themes, impregnation notes. ik he’s probably into cafe racers but the sportbike enthusiast in me thinks biker!sylus is the m*tthew w*ods of l&ds, booktok/biketok girlies iykyk

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who collects liter bikes like they’re toys; he’d usually get rid of them as soon as he gets bored, but his current favs are his black & red edition fireblade, m1000rr, and superleggera v4.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who got famous on booktok overnight after posting a video of him riding his bike through the tunnel with a half-buttoned shirt. the view offered a peek on his toned chest and abs, leaving the rest to an innocent girl’s imagination. the comments on that post are wild, and the views went up to 2 mil in a day.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who broke numerous girls’ hearts literally a day after that post, revealing that he already has a backpack (you) and that his sunset and midnight rides are exclusively booked for his girlfriend.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who eventually taught you how to ride your own bike, gifting you a white N400 on your birthday—a bike he calls “too slow” for him, but is actually fast enough for a beginner like you.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who once chased a car for nearly rear-ending you on a red-light. as soon as he saw how the car almost hit you from behind, the loud and chilling roar of his bike bolted you in surprise as he accelerated to chase after the car, breaking the asshole’s side mirror, and teaching him a ‘lesson’.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who always keeps a possessive eye on you, always riding within his acceptable distance because the last time he allowed you to ride ahead of him, some guy on a Ford 150 tried to ask for your number, calling you a hot biker girl he hopes to have a ‘good time’ with. that didn’t end well for the poor guy, because the interaction was cut short when sylus revved his bike, lane splitting between you and the car, and running over the guy’s outstretched arm along the way. he might’ve broken a bone or two, who knows?

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who owns a springfield .45 gun, and claims he has no problems shooting another guy’s head if they dared touch even a single strand of your hair. he’s a very territorial individual and would not think twice on committing a crime if it meant protecting what’s his.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who’s hated by his neighbors, both because of how loud his bike gets in the morning, and how loud his girl can get during the evening. he doesn’t care though, because the sound of your moans were actually music to his hears. he swears he has to hear them every night or he won’t be able to sleep well.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who gets very kissy and touchy whenever you two arrive at home, unable to keep his hands to himself while you’re still parking your bike beside his. his lips would go straight to your neck, placing feathered kisses on your skin, tickling you with his warm breath as he tells you, “you know you’re mine, right?” of course you’d say you’re his. and he always follows up with a reminder, “good, because i’d kill any son of a bitch who tries to steal you from me.”

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who loves to fuck you raw, rough, and fast. he always had you gripping on the sheets, or scratching his back, or screaming out his name in a salacious escape to release your earth-shattering, mind-blowing orgasm. he always had your legs shaking, your body twitching, your breasts bouncing with each slam as he doesn’t stop pounding into you even after you came. he adores the sight of your beautiful, begging face each time he buries his hardened cock inside of your sweet, sweet pussy. “my kitten’s being too needy, huh?” he’d whisper to your ear before meeting your hips with another satisfying thrust. “always a slut for me.”

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who likes to spit on your mouth, pull your hair, and slap your bum. they’re some of his many kinks, and he can get nastier if he wants to, but he’d often say he’d rather save the best on your wedding night.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who enjoys filming your extremely erotic moments together, claiming that he needed to revisit those videos for when he misses you. his favorite content seems to be when he’s cumming inside of you, shooting every drop of his thick seed straight through your womb. kitten, you’re so tight, he’d think to himself. he goes even crazier for the view whenever he pulls out and sees his own semen dripping out of your swollen entrance.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who makes you breakfast the next morning after a long, passionate night. he always seems to cook the perfect pancakes, like he had specifically mastered the skill after you told him that pancakes were your favorite choice for breakfast.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who proudly displays you on social media, and bluntly rejects every girl who’d leave thirsty comments on his posts. he gets a little too sassy for their liking, but he doesn’t really give a damn about hurting another girl’s feelings if it were to protect yours.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who lets you ‘break’ his masculine ego by allowing you to paint his nails, give him skin care, or place cute, tiny, heart-shaped clips all over his hair whenever you were in the mood to. he’d just stare at you the whole time, amused at how you’d treat him like your own ken doll.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus whose immediate response when you told him you’re pregnant was “do you think it’s a baby girl?” there was no ounce of surprise in his eyes, no scintilla of worry at the thought of being an unexpected father, clearly, because he should already see it coming especially with how sexually active you two are. he really wants a baby girl, too. and a boy next. so while you were nearly horrified at seeing your positive pregnancy test thinking he’d ask you to terminate it, his calm and loving reaction to your unexpected baby was what made you realize that there was nothing else you could ever want in a man.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who, on the very next day, asked you to try and test start your bike because he thinks something’s ‘wrong’ with it. you hurried to check your bike, of course. little did you know, the keychain strapped onto your key had been replaced, now with a new, embroidered keychain bearing the words, “marry me?”

[sluttsumu]

high for this - zayne

i just can’t stop thinking about dr. zayne.

personally i love a man with a phd but something about him is so inviting. behind that stoic demeanour is a stone cold freak, a pleasure dom if you will.

zayne is the best partner really; who else would be suitable enough to turn you out, other than a man whose studied the human body his entire career.

—

“no moreeee—” you drag, knees buckling around the vibrator he held right on your clit.

you’d been going at this for 30 minutes, and this little experiment of his is driving you nuts.

seeing how much he can repeatedly make you cum had been on his mind, he couldn’t help but put it to the test in the most efficient way.

“another one,” he repeated for about the fifth time. “you can give me another one sweetheart.”

he watched how your body reacted, how your breath hitched, voice cracked, muscles spazz, even they way you beg for him to stop just to want more in the end. it was quite analytical for him, but that’s just what comes with the job.

“i— ah— gonna cum, fuck! ‘m gonna cum— again..”

your incoherent babbles put a small smirk on his face, not that you can see it considering he’s seated behind you, toying with your pretty pussy in his lap.

“high on all that dopamine,” a slender hand reaches to your throat squeezing just enough to make you feel a little dizzy. “let’s give you some more yea? since you’ve been so good for me.” the euphoric bliss of reduced blood flow, and lack of oxygen to the brain — or more commonly known as asphyxiation.

you could feel the tightness in your head as your eyes roll back, a single tear streaming down the side of your cheek as your hips bucked, cumming for the fifth time in his lap.

as long as zayne had you in his grasp he’d give you the best orgasms until you found your favourite way to cum for him.

© SLUTTSUMU 2023

[mephisto-reporting]

Husband?

About: How does he react when you accidentally call him your 'husband'? Pairing: Reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus (Seperate) Note: Reader and the men are in a relationship. My inbox is open for prompts and requests :)

RAFAYEL

The evening was going smoother than expected, considering Rafayel had dragged you along to one of his many gallery showings. He had made a big deal about how you should be the one showing off his work to the public, claiming he didn’t want to deal with the “art-snobs." Yet, the second you both arrived, he quickly preoccupied himself on his phone, leaving you to handle most of the small talk.

One of the visitors, a curious older woman, was admiring a painting of his, a chaotic burst of color with soft hints of golden light. You were discussing Rafayel’s "creative process" (whatever that was—he hadn't told you much before retreating to his phone), when she asked how long you’d been working with him.

“Oh, it’s been a while now. It’s honestly amazing seeing him grow like this—my husb—” You froze mid-sentence, realizing the slip just as it left your mouth.

"Husband?"

The word hung in the air for barely a second before you felt Rafayel’s presence shift. His head shot up like a bolt of lightning, his playful, cunning eyes locking onto yours. You could practically feel his grin before you even dared to glance over. You didn’t even need to turn around to feel his gaze burning into you, practically shouting, Oh? Husband, you say?

“Husband, huh?” Rafayel drawled, pocketing his phone and sauntering toward you with that signature smirk of his. “I didn’t realize we were making things official tonight. If I’d known, I’d have worn something even more dazzling.”

You flushed, attempting to stammer out a correction, but he was far too pleased to let you off the hook that easily. He leaned casually against the gallery wall, one arm crossing his chest as he dramatically placed a hand over his heart.

He gently took your hand in his, his dramatic flair dialed up to maximum as he pressed an exaggerated kiss to your knuckles, clearly relishing the moment. "I mean, I can’t say I’m surprised. Who wouldn’t want to marry someone as charming as me?"

The visitor chuckled awkwardly, clearly not sure whether to stay or go, but Rafayel was already having way too much fun. “Of course, as your loving husband,” he continued, drawing out the word in a singsong voice, “it’s only fitting that I’m showered with even more attention now, isn’t it? I expect lots of praise, darling. I mean, just look at me." He struck a faux thought-provoking pose, tilting his head and flipping a lock of his perfectly tousled hair.

You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but at the same time, his antics made you laugh. “I didn’t mean to—"

"Oh no, no,” he interrupted, wagging his finger playfully. “You can’t take it back now. The word’s out, Miss Bodyguard. You’ve called me your husband. That means you’re stuck with me. Forever.” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Does this mean I get to cheat at board games forever too?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you playfully swatted at his shoulder. “As if you needed a reason to cheat more!”

Rafayel laughed, that familiar bratty grin plastered across his face. “Well, if I’m your husband now, I think it’s only fair I get first dibs on everything. Cards, claw machines—oh, and don’t forget, I demand the comfiest seat when we binge-watch our shows.”

Despite his teasing, the warmth in his eyes made your heart skip a beat. You could see the genuine delight he took in your slip-up, how pleased he was at the thought, even if he’d never admit it outright.

“Fine, fine,” you sighed dramatically, playing along. “But don’t expect me to let you win at everything, ‘husband.’”

Rafayel beamed, and for a moment, that bratty, carefree mask of his slipped, just a little. He tugged you closer, his voice softening as he murmured, “Deal.” Then, just as quickly, he switched back to his usual, cheeky self. “Now, let’s go, wife. You’re required to be by my side while I survive this boring night. ”

Shaking your head, you laughed, unable to hide the smile creeping onto your lips. “You’re impossible.”

The woman, watching the scene unfold with a warm smile, laughed. “You two make quite the pair.”

“Oh, we do, don’t we?” Rafayel quipped before lowering his voice just enough for only you to hear, leaning in ever so slightly. “You’ve really outdone yourself, calling me that in front of witnesses. Now they’ll all expect a wedding invitation.”

Your face burned as you tried to shush him, but he was loving every second of it. He tilted his head, his hair catching the light as his smile softened into something more genuine, the bratty exterior fading just a bit. “Still… I can’t say I hate the sound of it,” he murmured, brushing a finger lightly under your chin before pulling back with a playful wink. “I might just get used to hearing it.”

You could only manage a huff of exasperation, but deep down, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter at the way his teasing had just a hint of sincerity behind it.

Rafayel, always dramatic, and yet somehow, just when you least expected it, a little bit sweet.

ZAYNE

You and Zayne were in the middle of your usual weekly grocery run, efficiently dividing and conquering your list to save time. He’d taken off towards the produce section while you headed for the rice aisle. As you browsed the different varieties, a middle-aged man beside you struggled with lifting a heavy bag of rice.

"Need a hand?" you asked, stepping in to help. The man smiled gratefully as you hoisted the bag into his cart with ease.

"Thank you, young lady," he said, rubbing his wrist. "My arthritis is flaring up today. Getting old’s no fun."

You offered him a sympathetic smile. “No problem at all. My husband’s a doctor, actually. I’m sure he’d tell you to take it easy on that wrist."

The man nodded in agreement, offering you one last thanks before heading off. You turned back to your cart, completely unaware of the word you had just let slip—husband—or the fact that Zayne had returned in time to hear it.

You felt him step up behind you, his presence calm yet undeniably magnetic. When you finally glanced over, he was standing there, hands in his pockets, a small, amused smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"Husband, hmm?" he said softly, his tone more curious than teasing. "That's... new."

You froze for a second, eyes widening as you realized what you’d said.  You opened your mouth, the words tripping over each other in a rush. “I didn’t— I mean, it just—slipped out. We’re not actually—I mean, obviously, we’re not—” You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, and no amount of backpedaling was helping.

Zayne didn’t seem in a rush to let you off the hook. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining with an ease that made your heart stutter. “You know,” he said, voice as calm as ever, “if this is your way of bringing it up, there are smoother ways to do it.” His teasing was subtle, barely perceptible if you didn’t know him well, but it was there in the gentle tug of his smile.

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Zayne, I didn’t mean to—”

But Zayne, ever level-headed, merely took your hand in his, his thumb gently brushing against your knuckles. “Relax,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “It’s not like I mind the idea.”

Your heart skipped a beat at that, and you looked up at him in surprise. There was a softness in his usually stoic gaze, the kind that made your stomach flip. He continued, his voice measured but affectionate, “Seems like the next logical step, doesn’t it? My parents have been asking me when I’m going to take that step with you for a while now.”

His calm tone made the statement feel both casual and monumental at the same time. “Wait, your parents…?” you started, blinking as your brain processed this new information.

“Mhm,” Zayne replied, still holding your hand as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “They’ve been pretty vocal about it, actually. But I’ve been waiting for the right moment.”

The right moment. Those words hung in the air, and you could feel the weight of what he was saying. He was serious—calm and casual, as always, but serious. Your breath caught, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade into the background. It was just you and Zayne in that grocery aisle, hands linked, talking about a future you hadn’t even realized you both wanted.

“Only if you wanted to, of course,” he added, his thumb still tracing soft circles on your hand. “I wouldn’t do anything unless we both agreed.”

You stared at him, a smile slowly spreading across your face despite the initial shock. “You’re really suggesting this now? In the middle of a grocery store?”

Zayne smirked, his usual pragmatic self. “Well, we’re already talking about it. Might as well make use of the time.” He glanced down at your joined hands, his tone softening again. “Besides, I think it’s worth discussing what our future looks like, don’t you?”

Your heart swelled at his words, and the warmth of his hand in yours was enough to make you feel grounded, no matter how your emotions were spinning. “Yeah,” you said, smiling as you squeezed his hand gently. “I think it’s definitely worth talking about.”

Zayne leaned in closer, his lips brushing your temple in a rare public display of affection. “Good,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet kind of affection that made your chest tighten. “We’ll talk more later.”

He pulled away just as smoothly, picking up the cart with a practiced ease, as though he hadn’t just suggested the two of you start planning your future together. His eyes twinkled, a subtle tease hiding behind that usual calm exterior of his.

“And for the record,” he added, as the two of you moved on to the next aisle, “I wouldn’t mind hearing you call me ‘husband’ again.”

Your cheeks heated again, but this time, you didn’t bother trying to hide your smile. “Guess you’ll have to earn it first, doctor.”

Zayne chuckled softly, that familiar, grounded confidence in his voice. “I’ll be sure to work on that.”

SYLUS

The desert sun was relentless, and you could feel its heat pressing down on you as you stood beside Sylus, waiting to be seated inside the restaurant. He had dragged you out of Linkon on one of his mysterious ventures—no explanation, no warning, just the two of you thrust into the desert with little more than his cryptic directions. And while Sylus might have thrived in the N109 Zone's shadowy world, he was decidedly out of place here in the glaring sunlight,already starting to show hints of discomfort.

You glanced over at him, squinting slightly under the bright light. His expression was carefully controlled as always, but you noticed how his hand twitched subtly as if annoyed by the heat. The two of you had been waiting to be seated inside for a while now, and you decided it was time to speed things up.

Catching the attention of a passing waitress, you waved her over, putting on your best expression of concern. “Excuse me, my husband and I were hoping to be seated inside. I’m feeling a little faint under the harsh sun,” you said smoothly, the lie of you feeling faint rolling off your tongue with ease.

The word husband had slipped out so naturally, you didn’t even realize your mistake until the waitress nodded sympathetically and promised to get you a table indoors right away. As she walked off, you felt a cold gaze slide over you, and you turned to see Sylus staring down at you, one brow raised, a slow, dangerous smile creeping across his face.

“Husband?” His voice was smooth, but there was a teasing lilt beneath it. “Did I miss a wedding, wife?”

Your breath caught in your throat. "Wait—no, I didn't mean—" You started to stammer, heat rising to your cheeks, but before you could backtrack any further, Sylus’ arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer to his side. His grip was firm, possessive, and you could feel the smug amusement radiating off of him.

“I like the sound of that,” he murmured, leaning in just close enough for you to catch the scent of the desert air still clinging to his clothes. His lips ghosted near your ear, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Maybe this is a sign I should make it official.”

You swallowed hard, heart racing as you tried to keep your composure. “Official?” you echoed, your voice coming out a little more breathless than you intended. “What—what are you talking about?”

Sylus’ smirk widened, his amber eyes gleaming in the sun. “Oh? Cat got your tongue, Sweetie?” he teased, his tone dripping with amusement as he let his fingers trace a light circle on your hip. “You seemed so sure a moment ago, wife. But now? Speechless.”

You blinked, trying to gather your wits, but the sheer cockiness in his tone was making it hard to think straight. “I…I was just…helping us get a table,” you protested weakly, trying to pull away from his grip, but his hold only tightened.

“Oh, I’m sure you were,” he drawled, clearly reveling in your flustered state. “But now that you’ve set the bar so high, don’t tell me you’re going to back out on me. After all, you made quite the declaration back there.”

“I wasn’t—” You huffed, narrowing your eyes at him as you regained a sliver of your usual confidence. “You know it was a slip-up, Sylus. Don’t start getting ideas.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Ideas? Sweetie, I live for ideas.” His grip loosened just enough to let you step back, but the way he looked at you made it clear he wasn’t about to let you wriggle out of this one easily. “But let’s be honest, you didn’t hate it. Calling me your husband.”

Your face flushed again, but this time, you managed to meet his gaze without faltering. “I didn’t hate it,” you admitted, folding your arms, “but don’t go thinking you’ve won. I’m not about to sign any papers just because you liked hearing it.”

Sylus tilted his head, the playful smile never leaving his lips. “We’ll see about that, kitten” he said, the threat—or promise—hanging in the air between you as the waitress returned to guide you inside.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. “Please, Sylus. You couldn’t handle being married to me.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning in with that infuriating smirk. “Oh, I think I could handle you just fine, sweetheart. You’re the one who might need to keep up.”

You shot back, “Keep up? I’d be carrying you the whole way.”

“Careful, Sweetie. That sounds an awful lot like a challenge.” He chuckled, his hand brushing against yours again. “Now that’s a tempting thought.”

“Tempting? Try exhausting,” you quipped.

As you walked beside him, you felt his arm brush against yours, and the sensation lingered far longer than it should have. Sylus, of course, said nothing, though the smug expression never quite left his face.

This was clearly far from over. And judging by the glint in his eye, Sylus was going to make sure you never forgot your little slip-up.

XAVIER

The café was quiet, filled with the soft murmur of patrons and the comforting smell of fresh pastries. You and Xavier had settled in for a peaceful afternoon, your table already adorned with a delightful array of treats. He had requested a simple drink—no whipped cream. The barista returned, placing his drink in front of him with an impressive mountain of whipped cream on top. Xavier, as calm and indifferent as ever, simply blinked at it, showing no signs of complaint. He wasn’t going to say a word about it, but that didn’t mean you were going to let it slide.

Excusing yourself, you raised a hand and called over a passing staff member. “Excuse me,” you began, with a polite smile. “My husband asked for no whipped cream on his drink, but it looks like there’s some here by mistake. Would it be alright for us to get it changed?”

The words tumbled out so smoothly that you didn’t even realize your slip-up until the staff member nodded apologetically and hurried back to fix the order. It was only when you turned back around that you saw Xavier sitting there, looking unusually... stunned.

He was blinking slowly at you, his expression softened by a hint of confusion and—was that amusement? “Husband?” he repeated, his soft voice barely more than a murmur.

Your face flushed as you fumbled for an explanation. “Oh, no, wait—! I didn’t mean—” You stammered, desperately trying to backtrack. “That just slipped out! I meant to say…uh my boyfriend? Partner? Date? Not—well, not husband, obviously…”

Xavier continued to blink, his face now showing just a little more expression than usual. The faintest curl of a smile played on his lips, and he tilted his head, considering your words. “I must’ve missed that chapter in the 'Guide to a Healthy Relationship,'” he said in that calm, unruffled way of his. “I didn’t know we’d moved on to the husband-and-wife stage.”

You groaned inwardly, burying your face in your hands. “I swear, it was an accident. Just ignore what I said.”

But Xavier was clearly in no mood to let it go. “So, dear wife,” he continued, completely unfazed by your protests, “do you think we’ll have matching mugs in our future? Maybe get a nice house, with a small garden and a picket fence?”

You shot him a playful glare, but the way he was looking at you made it impossible to stay annoyed. “Very funny,” you muttered, though your lips were twitching at the corners, betraying your amusement.

“I think it has a nice ring to it,” Xavier said, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying this far more than you expected. “I wonder how long it would take for people in the association to start sending us wedding gifts. Or perhaps they'd just send weapons... you know, as a gesture of goodwill.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t think wedding gifts are really their style, Xavier.”

“Hmm, you’re probably right,” he said thoughtfully, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But you did call me your husband in public. Shouldn’t we at least play the part now?”

Your cheeks were burning, but you couldn’t resist playing along with his ridiculousness. “Fine,” you said, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. “But just so you know, dear husband, you’ll be the one doing the dishes.”

Xavier chuckled softly, the sound rare and surprisingly warm. “As long as you take care of meals. A fair trade.”

You were about to retort when the waitress returned with Xavier’s newly corrected drink—this time, free of whipped cream. She set it down with a smile, glancing between the two of you as if she’d picked up on the playful atmosphere. “Here you go,” she said. “No whipped cream this time, sir.”

Xavier’s eyes glinted as he thanked her with a nod, and after she left, he looked back at you with a satisfied expression. “See? Husband perks,” he teased, taking a sip of his drink.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile spreading across your face. “You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he said, the teasing lilt in his voice gentler now. He took your hand under the table, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But... thank you,” he added after a beat, his voice softer and more sincere. “For speaking up for me.”

You blinked at him, momentarily thrown off by the gratitude in his tone. “Of course,” you said, squeezing his hand in return. “That’s what wives do, right?”

Xavier let out a soft laugh. “I suppose so,” he murmured, his lips quirking into a rare, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat.

In that moment, with his hand in yours and the gentle teasing in the air, it was easy to forget the world outside the café. Just the two of you, playing pretend—but maybe, just maybe, something more.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

[potaetopic]

yes, i do enjoy this v much. thank you for making my morning better

LOVE ME | JJK

୨୧ I guess I'm just a sucker for love.

this is a part of my drabble series, read more here!

Jeon Jungkook is so dead.

You don't care about the fact that you're barging through the men's locker room or that fifteen pairs of eyes are on you as you walk past them and right up to a smug face that lights up when it sees you.

"Hey, baby."

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms as you come to stand right in front of him. The height difference has your head tilting up.

"Did you like the flowers?" he asks, throwing a shirt on over his head. His hair is wet from a shower, that along with the smell of his soap is making being mad at him all the more difficult.

"Yes, they were beautiful. Thank you," you grumble, feeling your goal slipping away from you with every word.

You'd barged in here, flustered after what had happened just mere moments before, but Jungkook had a way of distracting you and making you lose all rationality.

Jungkook was captain of the hockey team, and you'd come to watch his game like the proud girlfriend you were.

Never one to parade your relationship around, not many people knew that you and Jungkook were dating. He was popular and major-league bound, so you weren't the only one with his name and number on your back, so you weren't worried about being called out.

However, someone had other plans.

At the beginning of the game, someone had handed you a bouquet of flowers, with a suggestive note from Jungkook detailing what he wanted to do if he won. You rolled your eyes despite the smile on your face and pocketed the note.

After three periods on the edge of your seat, Jungkook scored the game-winning goal. Everyone in the stadium had erupted in their seats, screaming and cheering, and just as the noise had started to simmer, Jungkook lifted his hockey stick and pointed it right at you, yelling out 'I love you, baby!'.

The stadium had erupted again.

Your cheeks had never been so hot, thankfully the stadium had cleared out not long after the whole incident.

You immediately went down to the change rooms to give him a piece of your mind. You were lucky that you'd barged in when all the guys had at least boxers or more on.

When Jungkook first saw you, he was surprised, but a part of him knew you would have something to say about his declaration of love on the ice.

Your fire was one thing he loved about you most.

When you came storming in, looking like you were ready to tear him a new one, he was smitten. He didn't care if his friends were watching, or the fact that he knew they would give him shit for it later, Jungkook didn't care.

When you're in front of him, little else matters.

"Did you enjoy pulling that little stunt?" you ask, resolve already crumbling as Jungkook wraps his arms lazily around your waist, holding you flush against him.

"I did, actually," he replies smugly.

"I got to tell the world that I'm in love with you."

Ugh, you hated his charming words.

"Now all your fangirls will be after me," you joke, deciding to abandon your fake annoyance. It's not like you were getting anywhere anyway.

"You don't need to worry about them. You know you're my dream girl."

By now, the rest of the guys have moved on, deciding to give you two some privacy as they finish getting changed. Not that you're paying them any attention when Jungkook is right in front of you.

"You're so cheesy, Jeon Jungkook."

Your words carry a teasing tone to them, despite the butterflies that erupt in your chest at just how much his words affect you.

The smiles on your faces are identical as Jungkook leans in for a kiss.

"What can I say? I'm just a man in love."

short lil drabble for you guys, let me know if you enjoyed it :)

🏷️ : @moonstar127 @royallyjjk

[syllikins]

You can't convince me that Sylus doesnt know anything.

He knows how he looks. How he says certain words. How he manipulates any situation to sound disgustingly nasty with and without context.

Sunscreen? Ear cleaning? Alright bud.

Day to day life with Sylus would be him making regular things oddly sensual for the hell of it because he likes seeing you embarassed. Before and after the 2 of you start dating he was already making you all tingly by helping you fold clothing or something. Just reminding you he is a man and he knows the 2 of you have some serious unspoken chemistry and sexual tension no matter how you try to shake it off.

"Its hot, help me unbutton my shirt."

He just wants to show off.

Help him apply some lotion?

He just wants your hands running all over his slutty waist.

You're onto him. And he pretends to be so innocent.

"But i just wanted your help" he practically pouts in his voice as he feigns ignorance.

Yeah whatever Sylus.

You love it though. You get to grab and feel a man like that? Where is the dotted line?

Help him fix his tie? This is just a little turn on for him.

Now he doesn't think it goes well with his outfit so he needs you to take it off.

You look so cute when you're frustrated.

Now he can gently caress your face as he whispers in your ear about how cute you look with your little attitude as you practically tear the tie off him and tell him to quit pestering you. But no need for you to be upset right? The tie has other uses.

He has to punish you for snapping at him about how difficult he was being earlier. But he really needed your help though?

Now you can't stop cumming from his fingers.

"Sylus- wait...i'm sorry.." you whine

You're terribly overstimulated.

"Hmm?" Like he didn't understand what you just said.

Aw too bad.

Your hands are bound by that acursed tie.

© syllikins 2024

[lalunanymph]

KITTEN, BEHAVE ☆

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ there are consequences to teasing your biker boyfriend...

⋆｡°✩ semi-public s/ex, fem!reader, biker!sylus, reader wears a skirt, reader's a nasty gal <3, undertones of dom/sub (sylus is one kinky mf), finger sucking, finger gagging, petnames (kitten, baby), fucking on his bike (hehe), c/um countdown, unprotected s/ex (wrap it up babes), sylus matches our freak perfectly, based on this thot i had

⋆｡°✩ dawn says: i've been a nasty girl ive been a nasty girl nasty nasty (sorry zayne)

Sylus isn’t one to find beauty in the mundane but the wind whipping past his frosty locks and your arms wrapped tightly around him makes him feel like he’s on cloud nine.

“Kitten, are you alright?” he calls over the lashing breeze. 

His leather jacket is ridiculously thick, but even through the material, he can feel the heat of your cheeks seeping through.

You always flush whenever he calls you your favorite pet name, and Sylus forgets that just like a kitten, you can be just as playful. 

A slender hand tipped with French nails slides down his torso, leaving blistering heat in its wake. The thin compression shirt he’s wearing under his jacket can barely fight off the warmth of your palm bleeding past the material and onto his skin.

His heart doubles in speed, and in response, he revs the N-907 Ultrabike, its wheels kicking up more dirt and dust. Linkon City speeds into a blur, White Coves’ beaches in the distance and to his right, Bloom Forest spreads her velvety green arms open for adventurous outdoor lovers to play in. 

Your hand trickles down his abs, stealing his attention back to your whims, and he smirks behind his visor when he feels your dainty, pretty little palm resting on the front of his pants.

Looks like the little kitten wants to play a dangerous game.

Two can play the same. 

Sylus pretends to ignore you, and he can tell it only frustrates you more when he remains stone cold and unmoving; a statue you’re trying to thaw.

Your free hand creeps under the hem of his shirt, and thank fuck the wind is too loud because a groan slips past his clenched teeth—it would be absolutely embarrassing if you heard it. His mind works doubly hard to focus on not crashing the bike, maneuvering it down the winding steep roads.

“I thought you said you wanted to take me for a ride,” your voice touches his heated ears, innocent and alluring. 

“Isn’t that what we’re doing, kitten?” He tilts his head back slightly and hears your snort. 

Your antics will never cease to amaze him. Whatever possessed you to be bold also eggs you on to be audacious. Your hands travel further up his shirt, pressing right onto his broad pecs and you smirk when you feel the bike wobbling slightly under his control.

“Kitten,” he hisses. “Stop it.”

But, you don’t listen to him. You never do. 

This insolent prey. He tries his damndest not to buck his hips when you start to rub his bulge, merciless with your teasing. Your other hand reaches up to his neck, where his favorite leather collar sits prettily on his defined clavicles, and tug on it, earning another hiss.

The bike skids to a stop and you’re not sure how you ended up pushed against the pillion seat, Sylus looming over you. He kills the engine and kicks down the stand, the sudden deafening silence exacerbating your heavy breathing. 

“Wait,” you squeak, and he shakes his head.

“No more waiting. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” 

Looking around in a panic, you notice that he’s parked the bike under a secluded shade of trees, next to an empty strip of road. 

This was the same route you took to the edge of the N-109 when you were given the mission to retrieve Sylus a few months ago. 

“Familiar, isn’t it?” He reads your mind with a dark chuckle. 

Those ruby red eyes bore into yours with the grace of a predator provoked, and you, his favorite prey, will finally get what you’ve been asking for. 

“I think it’s high time we recreated some memories from the first night we both saw each other,” he drags his palm up your bare thigh, making you shiver. “It’s a good thing you’re in a pretty little skirt, kitten,” he hums, pushing the hem of your leather mini skirt—a gift from him—out of the way. 

Sylus inhales sharply when he notices the micro thong you’re wearing which barely covers anything, his nostrils flaring.

“Insufferable.”

“Sy,” you whine, unsure what he's waiting for. It's never like him to play with his food.

The press of his bigger body on top of yours cages you to the pillion seat, the friction burning when he unceremoniously drags you closer to him. 

Those intense eyes seem to devour you, and for the first time since you’ve been together with him, you see a shadow of his villainous evil in them. 

“Is this what you wanted?” 

Is this what you’ve been begging for? 

Sylus wraps a hand around your throat in broad daylight, not caring for morals or decency when he squeezes. Hard.

Your eyes roll back into your head, regret streaming in for how you teased him earlier. 

“A-ah—” you choke lightly. “Was jus’ tryna play around.” 

Sylus ignores your whimpers, a bored look on his face as he loosens his fingers, letting you suck in a wheezy breath. 

“Little hunters never learn their lessons, do they?” 

He smirks unexpectedly. 

“Remember that night you tried to tame me during our interrogation? In the end, I was the one who had you screaming, didn’t I, kitten?” 

You did remember—of course, you did.

The shine of your boots spreading his kneeling thighs apart. Leather collar around a pale strip of throat you just wanted to suck on and leave a mark. His smug leers, those glowing ruby eyes that shone like dying embers when he finally snaps off the handcuffs you placed him in and pins you to the ground for a taste of your own medicine.

As much as you hate to confront the truth, it stares you down with an impassive face and dark eyes—a truth that breaks the delusion that you were the one in control when it came to Sylus. 

He touches your thighs, spreads them further. Bright sunlight speckles through the trees, casting webs of shadows across his crooked nose and high cheekbones. 

Sylus takes his time to peel your thong off, and you bite down on your lip to muffle a whimper.

“What? Don't tell me you're all shy now?” 

He snorts in amusement at your attempts to be innocent, prying your lower lip free, stroking the curve of your plush mouth with his thumb until you relent and suck on his digit docilely. 

While you’re not inexperienced when it comes to such carnal submission, it’s the first time you’re doing it outside of the bedroom where anyone could stumble upon the both of you. 

The thought makes your thighs tense and your needy pussy clench down on thin air, something that Sylus doesn’t miss.

“You like this, huh? Being slutted out so publicly… it turns you on to be so open to me.” 

He continues to push his thumb around your mouth; pressing down on your gums, flicking the tip of your tongue, inspecting the ridges and juts of each pearly white tooth. Intentionally drawing out your humiliation. 

Satisfied with the oral inspection, he removes his thumb, swiftly stuffing your protests with two thick fingers. 

“You say ‘no’, but I can smell that sweet little cunt getting wetter,” he murmurs, flitting his dark gaze right to your folds flushing readily with need; right to that cleft which houses his favorite hole.

Lewd doesn’t begin to cover how Sylus can treat you in bed. Outside the sheets, he’s content to play the role of your partner and friend, tagging along on your adventures and explorations. 

But the second he has you trapped in his bed, he becomes a different person. 

Meaner. Assertive.

Downright cruel. 

“Do you want me to touch you?” He goads, locks of silver hair falling across his damp forehead. Sweat dews across your chest, and you feel the heat of shame rising in you.

Sylus, I was just joking, you try to argue, but he’s not hearing it. 

“Didn’t seem like a joke when you were pawing at my cock earlier, kitten,” your lover hums, unable to take his half-mast red eyes off of you.  

He slots a hand between your thighs, and you swallow a cry when he drags your thong to the side, spreading your wetness around roughly with his thumb. Sylus rubs tight circles on your aching clit, forcing you to slap a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans.

“Ssh,” he whispers when you give a tiny, choked cry. Sylus takes this chance to nuzzle your neck, inhaling your scent like a starved man. “We don’t want anyone to find us out, don’t we, kitten?” 

Evil, evil man. You bite on the inside of your palm to keep quiet when he lifts one leg to wrap around his narrow waist, effortlessly tugging his zipper down and freeing his cock. 

“One single sound and I will stop, do I make myself clear?”

There’s no choice but for you to nod. Sylus doesn’t waste a single second once he’s got you all nice and wet for him, grasping the base of his girthy and veiny length, stroking it a few times to make sure he’s hard and ready for you.

The thick tip breaches past your tight ring of muscle, and you bite down on a sharp gasp, squeezing your eyes close.

His breathing is getting heavier, and he curses the second he bottoms out in your tight heat. 

The bike begins to shake with every clean stroke, his thrusts making your toes curl and heels dig into his back. Luckily, the pillion seat is wide enough to accommodate your shaking bodies; never imagining for a single second that your lover would be boldly fucking you on it in the middle of a dangerous zone.

But, Sylus has always been like this—addictive, painful.

Dangerous. 

How he fucks you is no different. 

The blunt head touches the deepest spot inside of you, and you’re helpless to do anything but cling onto him like second skin, muffling your whines into his broad shoulder.

“Looks like the little kitten is enjoying her cream,” he murmurs, trailing his gaze down your body taking him so well. 

The veins on the back of his hands stand out, drawing your attention to him dragging the front of your blouse down, tucking your bra cups under your heaving breasts. 

Sylus’ mouth wraps around one turgid bud, sucking it till it’s shiny with his spit and throbbing from oversensitivity. 

He repeats the same motion on your neglected nipple, savoring your hitched breaths and muffled whines. 

Your thighs start to shake, and you turn your head to the side. 

Look at you, he coos and grabs your chin, forcing you to gaze at the spot between your thighs where he’s fucking into you. Look at how well you’re taking me. 

You’re so wet that droplets of white are trickling down your inner thighs, frothing into stickiness where his cock is rutting shallowly inside of you. 

“Sy,” you moan softly, eyes glossing over with tears of pleasure.

He loves how needy and pathetic you look for him with your swollen, parted mouth and tight nipples just begging to be pinched or flicked.

A furrow creases between his brows, drops of sweat trickling down his jaw. 

You surprise him by leaning forward, flattening your tongue and lapping it right up, shameless in your desire for him. 

“Naughty girl,” Sylus purrs, his red eyes darkening to an impossible black until you’re sure not a shred of your sweet boyfriend remains. Two thick fingers part your mouth open, sliding down your welcoming throat until he’s knuckle-deep in you.

Sylus chokes you out as his other hand trails down your body towards your clit, rubbing the flushed nub until your hips buck and you cry out; a master at bringing your body closer to the pleasurable brink. 

The tears beading in your lash line finally freefall down your face, triggering his devilish satisfaction. 

Returning the favor, Sylus licks them clean, chuckling cruelly at the arousal turning you cross-eyed. 

He loves it when you look this fucked out, and one day when you’re comfortable enough, he hopes you’ll relent to him taking a picture of that messed up, pretty face for his safekeeping.

Baby, you gurgle around his fingers. I’m close… 

Yeah? He goads. Gonna break for me? Come on this cock? Make a mess? Fuck—do it baby. Mess me up. Make me feel so good because that’s all you’re good for, huh? 

He grits his teeth, fighting back the cresting pleasure, needing you to come first.

Come on, baby. Come with me. Five… four… three… that’s it, baby. You’re so close, aren’t you. Don’t come until I reach zero. Fuck—that pussy’s so tight. Two… one… fuck, fuck. 

High strung keens are escaping past the cracks of his fingers stuffed in your mouth, your entire body shaking violently that Sylus thinks you’re being wrecked by an internal earthquake.

Zero. Zero. Fuck, baby. Come for me. Come on, give it to me. Give me that sweet cum. Yeah, that’s it, that’s it—

He grunts, his patience breaking, flooding inside of you in waves of heat; filling you up to the brim.

In this moment of weakness where anyone targeting him can put a bullet right through his head, Sylus thinks that if he dies right now, he would do so happily in your arms.

His forehead gently thumps onto yours and you must be as fucked up as him because you push his hair back, scratching his scalp lightly.

Your sculpted, 6’2 menace of a lover who’s seen death and destruction since the day he could speak, groans and nuzzles your cheek like a weak puppy. With every version of Sylus that you have seen before, this will always be your favorite one—where he’s comfortable enough to kiss you affectionately, bringing you down from the high.

He hums. “Satisfied?” 

Sylus would never say he loves you out loud—that’s not in his nature.

But, his actions scream louder than words when he adjusts your rumpled clothes and gives you a peck on your cheek.

“Do you still want to visit that mad scientist or should we scrap it for another day?”

The implicit invitation tempts you. 

A boring lecture or a whole day spread out on my sheets, kitten?

“Let’s go home,” you choose the latter, and Sylus tries his hardest to hide his smug smile when you refer to his penthouse as your own home.

“Of course. But, for the sake of not violating any more public decency laws, you better keep your paws to yourself until we get home, kitten.”

Proving your disobedience and your unwillingness to learn your lesson, you sink two fingers under his collar, dragging him close enough for your lips to touch. 

“That depends on if you can get us home fast enough, Sy.”

He takes it as a challenge, a grin touched with a hint of lunacy splitting across his face.

“Is that a challenge, sweetheart?” 

“No, I—”

He pulls you into a kiss, devouring your breaths until your lungs are filled with nothing but him, him, him. 

His fingers in your hair, an arm wound tightly around your waist so his favorite prey can never escape him. Sylus breaks off the kiss, ruby eyes like two bloody pools when he stares at your warm cheeks and puffy mouth. 

“You should know I always—always—win our petty bets.”

— feedback and reblogs are appreciated luvs <33

©️ lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, or translate to another site

[potaetopic]

when i just woke up from my 15-minutes nap, to be greet by this? ure making me softer than a puddle

pairing: yoongi x reader word count: 2.4k genre: roommates to lovers summary: You knew your roommate could cook, and could cook well. You’d never expected him to hand-feed you one of his creations at 7pm on a Tuesday night, though. tags/warnings: kissing, domestic!yoongi

A/N: It's been a while! Hope everyone has been keeping well xo. Also laugh at the title of this fic because I'm hilarious.

The first time he does it, it shocks you. 

He’s cooking across the kitchen as you do your schoolwork at the table, and then suddenly he’s interrupting you with a spoon to your lips, one hand underneath it so as not to spill the broth on you or on the floor. You’re so surprised that all you can do is open your mouth as he feeds you the soup he’s been working on, his eyes expectant and waiting as though he hadn’t just spoon fed you intimately in the middle of your shared kitchen.

Your mind fills startlingly quickly with painful thoughts of domesticity, and pushing them away feels like the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. 

Watching Yoongi cook. Cuddling with Yoongi on your couch after you’ve eaten dinner together. Doing... other things with Yoongi. Doing things to Yoongi.

You’d moved in with Yoongi months ago on a friend’s recommendation. You’d only met him briefly a couple of times, but he was friends with your friends and you were both looking for a room off campus for your last year of school, so it had worked out well. You’d always thought he was cute from the few times you’d met, but hadn’t thought anything more of it until you’d gotten to know him through late night talks and grumpy mornings. You definitely have a crush on the handsome dark-haired, brown-eyed man now – he’s smart, has the funniest dry humour, and he can cook. 

That last one had been a huge blessing for your tired evenings after class, though you’d never expected him to hand-feed you one of his creations at 7pm on a Tuesday night.

Contrary to how you’re suddenly feeling with him so close to you, spoon still mid-air after leaving your mouth, the man in front of you doesn’t seem fazed at all. He just waits for your response, raising an eyebrow when you’ve long since swallowed and haven’t spoken, and you’re suddenly jarred into action. 

“Oh,” you sputter. “That’s really good, Yoongs.”

Though all you’ve offered him in your daze is the barest minimum of a compliment, he still smiles, pleased. 

“Thanks,” comes his easy reply. “I’m trying something new.” With that, he moves back to the stove, and you’re left completely dumbfounded. 

Due to some kind of strange, unspoken agreement, taste testing for Yoongi becomes a bit of a habit after that.

Now that school is done for the summer for him, Yoongi has a lot more free time. He either spends it making new music, sleeping in, or cooking something new for the two of you. Every night when you come home from your summer classes, he’s hard at work in the kitchen making dinner. 

It’s become so natural. You come home and settle down at the table, where he intermittently feeds you spoonfuls of the dish in progress as you study, pausing your work for a minute or two each time so you can try to guess what he’s making. You guess wrong, he teases. You guess right, you’re rewarded with a soft smile that does wonders to your insides.

You’re so desperate for your new little domestic routine that you start planning brunch dates with your friends instead of dinner dates so that most of your evenings are free to run home. The nights that you are forced into commitments, you still come back to a container full of whatever Yoongi had made that night in the fridge, always packaged neatly for you in a plastic container to take to campus for lunch the next day, and always topped with a simple, Yoongi-esque note. A smiley face, an exclamation point, five exclamation points when it’s something extra good. 

If you’re honest with yourself, you’re a little bit scared by how easy it is to be with him like this. To let him care for you like this. It’s comforting. It’s warm. It’s you and Yoongi, the same as you’ve always been, except that now it feels like a whole lot more. It feels like everything you’ve ever wanted.

And it’s terrifying. 

You’re not sure what to do about it, and what’s worse is that you have no idea if he’s felt the shift, too.

You wake up one morning after a drunk escapade had forced you out of the house the evening before, your head pounding but the rest of you surprisingly unscathed. As you swallow down an Advil from the bottle on the nightstand beside your bed, you register noise from the kitchen, and your eyebrows furrow. 

You find your phone amongst the rumpled sheets, wincing at the bright light of the screen. 9:13am. What was Yoongi doing up so early on a Saturday? You're suddenly hit with the smell of cooking, and you climb out of bed in confusion, leaving your room to follow the scent down the hall.

You enter the kitchen, brows furrowing when you find him just as you’d predicted – by the stove. His back is to you, and you really can’t figure out what he’s doing at this hour. He spares you a quick glance over his shoulder when he hears you walk in. 

“Morning,” he offers.

You hum in response, still confused as to the reason for his early morning kitchen adventure, but you can’t help but take a second to admire the expanse of his back in the white t-shirt he’s wearing. You barely register the apron tied around his waist, even though it’s unusual of him to wear one (“I like the danger”, was what he’d told you once when you’d suggested maybe not cooking while wearing a white t-shirt and no apron). You think nothing of it, though, too preoccupied now with admiring the way his butt looks in his favourite black track pants. 

“What are you making at this hour?” You finally ask as you slide into a chair at the table.

He sends you another glance before responding, “Banana French toast.”

You blink. 

You’d been expecting something extravagant. Yoongi never makes breakfast - he much prefers to sleep in – so you’d assumed he’d had a crazy, wacky idea for something amazing that couldn’t wait. But instead, he’s just told you that he’s making your favourite breakfast, a simple dish that requires very little effort on his part. One you could easily have made yourself. You’re even more confused now – not only does Yoongi hate mornings more than anyone else you know, he also hates not challenging himself.

“You texted me last night that you wanted your favourite French toast when you woke up.”

He seems to have noticed your prolonged silence as he quietly offers up an explanation. You register his words for a minute before you wrack your brain. Unfortunately, your memory of the night before is hazy at best. You remember texting him that you were on your way home, but that was it. 

“Oh,” you say after a moment. “I don’t remember.”

“Yeah,” he turns around now, eyes finally meeting yours. He pauses before he adds, “You asked for some other stuff, too.”

The quiet, slight teasing tone of his voice makes your heart start to pound hard against your chest, and it takes all the strength you have in you not to scramble back to your room to check your phone. Panic begins to ease its way into your veins, and you feel lightheaded (not from your hangover, either). You’re desperate to know what other dumb shit you said… but you really don’t want him to know just how desperate, so you stay put. Completely frozen in your kitchen chair, at Yoongi’s mercy.

“Do you want me to give you a recap?” As if reading your mind for the second time that morning, he speaks again. His face is serious, but his eyes are teasing as he gazes at you.

“I don’t know…” you begin slowly. “Do I?”

He lets out a soft laugh at that. “It’s up to you.”

You let it all simmer for a moment. Apparently, you’re silent for too long again, and so Yoongi takes matters into his own hands – again. You look up in surprise as he slides his phone across the table to you before returning to the stovetop. You hear the click of the stove as he turns it off, but you barely register it. Your eyes are on his phone screen, heart thrumming in your chest as you see he’s opened a text thread for you to read. 

Y/N: immmm so so so drunk!! Y/N: m’y little chef can u pls make me my FAAAVoueite French toast tomorroe?? When I wake up Y/N: i love You. I’m in looooove with u Y/N: and your food. Both you and the food are equally yummy ;) Yoongi: damn, how much did you drink? Y/N: :))))))) Y/N: so is that a yes?? I want yummy food and yummy Yoongi when I wake  up!!! Yoongi: of course it’s a yes haha Yoongi: yummy Yoongi, huh? Y/N: 🥵🥵 Y/N: OMG!!!! can u wear my flower apron while u make my French toast you’d look so cute Yoongi: haha, anything for you  Yoongi: get home safe 

You can’t breathe. There’s no way you’d outed your crush on Yoongi through a drunk text. You wish for the floor to swallow you whole. You can feel his eyes on you as you process, and you don’t know what to do. You’re frozen.

“I’m so sorry,” you finally manage. 

There’s a pause. “Why’s that?” 

You look up to see that he’s still looking at you, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. His voice is teasing still, and he’s got a soft smirk on his face. You don’t know what to say, so you look back down, re-reading the traitorous text thread. You finally shove the phone back in his direction, your head falling down dramatically to rest on the table. 

“Y/N.”

You let out a whine in response, and he has the audacity to chuckle. 

“What do you think of my outfit?”

At his words, you slowly lift your head, eyes landing on where he still stands by the counter. As you scan his figure, it abruptly dawns on you that he’s most definitely wearing the apron you’d mentioned in your drunken texts, and your wide eyes fly to his.

He smiles, raising his eyebrows as he asks, “Do I look as cute as you imagined?”

Was he joking? Was he teasing you? Was he mocking you? Your cheeks are flushed crimson as you reply, “Don’t be an asshole.” Your voice comes out weaker than you want it to, but you can’t help it. You feel faint.

“It was a serious question.” Okay, so he’s definitely teasing you. 

You’re on your feet now, and you feel dizzy. “I’m not really hungry anymore,” you mumble as you turn to leave. You’re terribly hurt and confused by his response, and you think you need to lock yourself in your room forever. Also, you need to move out.

“Y/N,” he calls, and you stop, but you can’t find it in you to turn back and face him. “I'm sorry. I promise I’m being serious.” Pause. “Can you look at me?” You finally do, gaze meeting his slowly, and he searches your face. It’s quiet for a minute before he asks softly, “Was that just drunk you talking? Or did you mean what you said in those messages?”

“Yoongi...”

“Did you mean it?” He repeats.

You know you can’t lie to him, so you cave, nodding as your eyes squeeze shut. “Yeah. Sorry.” You wait with baited breath. 

Then he says, “Are you just not going to acknowledge that I did everything that you asked for in your text?” 

Your eyes fly open. You feel like you’ve been hit by a bus as you suddenly realize that he’s right. In your embarrassment, you’d overlooked that. 

“Y/N...” He’s got a smile on his face now. “If you were wondering, I think you’re pretty yummy, too.” He emphasizes the word, and your eyes lift abruptly back to his. Goosebumps shoot across your skin as you search his face, the soft smile on his face entirely genuine.

He’s telling the truth.

Your voice trembles slightly as you confirm what he’s saying. “You do?” 

He hums affirmatively in response, eyes intent on yours. “I do. Always have.”

The weight of all that you’ve both just acknowledged is suspended in the air between you as you stare at one another. 

“Wanna date me?”

It’s such a Yoongi way of asking, such a blunt, to the point question, but you know it’s taken a lot for him to say it out loud. He looks nervous now, as the words linger, and you can’t help the smile that’s begun to grow on your lips. And then you’re crossing the kitchen in quick strides, nearly slipping in your haste to reach him. 

He’s ready for you, hands finding your waist as your hand reaches for the back of his neck, pulling him in before you can second guess yourself. For a brief moment, you panic, wondering if you’ve been too forward, but then he‘s leaving you with no room to wonder as his hands slide to your back, pulling you even closer. He finishes what you started, his mouth on yours in seconds, and your eyes flutter shut.

Your French toast is forgotten on its plate as you push against him, his back against the counter. You chase his mouth as he separates from you briefly, earning a laugh from him as he turns your bodies so that now you’re the one with your back against the marble. His mouth finds yours again, and you let out a pleased hum. His knee is between yours as he pulls you closer and closer, until your bodies are flush and he’s effectively kissed you breathless. When you part again, your eyelids are hooded, a shaky breath escaping your lips. His forehead moves to rest against yours, and you’re satisfied to find he’s just as breathless as you. 

“Yummy,” he mumbles, his nose brushing yours. It’s such a cheesy thing to say – you can’t help the obnoxious giggle that escapes you. He laughs, too, and you can’t help but press a soft kiss to his mouth again. 

“Delicious,” you return, and Yoongi smiles against your mouth.

“Definitely five stars on the Michelin ranking.”

Tagging some loves as always :) @taegularities @tae-bebe @textsfrombangtan @reliablemitten @jeonqkooks @parkdatjimin @sunshinerainbowsbts @taejinnies @jungkool @taeshobipop @sweetpjm @xjoonchildx

[cosycafune]

HE'S ALWAYS WATCHING...

sylus has issues with your absence. therefore, he takes matters into his own hands — cooling the aching from the wound you leave behind. acts: aftermath of intimacy, confusion, angst, and stalking.

a/n: I’d write more for him, but they need to release him first.

Precise, Sylus distributes his crow — searching for a vacant you. Not an ounce of your soul remains before him, just the crumbled up bed sheets you had left beside him. To him, he felt slight unease. Yet, a cruel grin contains his lips — falsifying his usually stoic front.

Calculated, crowded by solitude, Sylus looks around the room. An odd surging clings to his caged heart. Everything in Sylus longed to let his heart burst out of his chest, to chase you until the world’s destroyed. However, you slipped away again.

Searching for you through his crow, Sylus finds himself rendered helpless — stained with the sin of your departure. An uncomfortable sensation tints him, causing Sylus to angrily glance at your tattered side. To think that you’d leave, not wishing him a goodbye or something valuable he could hold.

How could you sleep with him and flee?

“Of course,” Sylus’ voice strains mildly before composure consumes him.

Though he’s nude, written with love bites, scratches, the essence of your intimate love, he still feels alone. Even as his discreet crow finally picks up on you, he’s still left with the scenery of you smiling. Smiling, smartly dressed — waving goodbye in ways you couldn’t do so with him.

He’s always watching…you.

—

do not copy, modify or claim my work as your own. all rights reserved; cosycafune. 2024.

—

[sylusdoll]

bf zayne headcanons ♡︎

suggestive if you squint

- always kisses your head and cheek when he sees you

- loves when youre holding his arm

- constantly checks on you throughout the day

- at the end of every shift he always wants to hear from you, he either calls you or asks to meet up if possible

- very protective of you

- a cuddler! before bed he wants you in his arms, his arms wrapped around you, and you’re just laying on him, blanket covering you two.

- always looks you in the eyes when talking which makes you nervous

- he takes yalls relationship very seriously

- when you get upset with him at some of the things he says he takes a mental note and never makes the same mistake

- doesn’t hestitate to apologize when hes in the wrong

- when you’re angry with him, his chest feels closed up and needs you to look at him or talk to him and wants to talk things out as soon as possible

- he admires you when youre distracted

- he pats your head when he feels soft for you

- when hugging you, he always places a gentle kiss under your ear

- when hes had a rough day at work, his hugs tend to be longer, and tighter.

- blushes when you pull his ear or pinch his cheek.

- sometimes you cup his face with both hands to admire him, his face heats up but he doesn’t loose eye contact

- when he comes over he always brings fruits of your favorites

- his hands are always cold and the warmth of your hands when holding his makes him feel fuzzy.

- youre always on his mind when working

- has a pic of you in his wallet and smiles to himself when he sees it everytime he opens his wallet

- pinches your cheek when you tease him

- you gave him a pin, and he wears it everyday to work

- he calls you dear, honey, my love, my star.

- he gave you a promise ring, and treats it like a wedding ring

- likes to clean off your makeup for you esp after you had a long day

- on date nights, he always puts your heels on for you, and lightly kisses your thigh

- gets jealous, if he notices someone stare at you, hes gna kiss your forehead lightly to let the person know you belong to someone, and youre just confused on why he randomly did that

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

authors note: been a heavy zayne girl these past two days.. sorry sylus 😓

©sylusdoll 2024

[comatosebunny09]

misunderstanding | sylus

summary: it was all because the shopkeep got a little handsy. a little too comfortable, purring his name like that. he shrugged her off; did you not see that part? genre(s): romance, angst warning(s): alcohol, drunk reader, self-esteem issues, insecurities, language, short and sweet notes: inspired by that one scene from fifty shades of grey.

Imagine calling Sylus while you’re drunk off your ass.

When you’ve thrown back one too many long islands, and while your friends are all inside, shacked up with their significant others and happy. You toddle outside for some fresh air and a break from your own head.

His voice breaks through the static, all heavy with sleep. But he answers so quickly because you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder. Been brief with your texts, ignoring his phone calls, and going out of your way to avoid running into him. He’s given you your space—minus Mephisto perched outside your window each night, watching you like a hawk.

“Hello?” Sylus husks, bed sheets rustling in the background as he maneuvers himself to sit up.

Somewhere far off, you feel bad for waking him. He already sleeps like shit. But you have liquid encouragement on your side, so you shove that guilt down, down, down in favor of poking the proverbial bear.

Your words are all blurred together, and you can barely keep your eyes open as you prop yourself up on a safety bollard, holding your phone to your ear with two hands.

“Why don’t you like me?”

“I—What?”

You swallow thick. Feel the world swirling and your body teetering, but you press on.

“Why don’t you like me, Sylus? Am I not your type? Is it ‘cause I’m not rich? Not skinny?”

He laughs, all incredulous on the other end. You imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose in the stillness of his bedroom, disbelieving of the shit spilling from your mouth. And so early in the evening, too.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Me. I mean, am I annoying?  I kinda am. I talk a lot. But that lady—the one from before. That shopkeeper chick. She was really hot. Like, supermodel hot.”

Your name comes out in an exasperated sigh. “That’s what this is about?”

You confirmed his suspicions. Why you’ve been playing keep-away. Ever since you accompanied him a few weeks back to gather some intel from a verified source, you’ve been acting distant. All because the shopkeep got a little handsy. A little too comfortable, purring his name like that. He shrugged her off. Wordlessly put her in her place. Did you not see that part?

Sylus doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

“No, no, wait. Lemme finish. She seemed more your type. Like the kinda chick you’d be into, ya know? You two’d be like Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

He groans, and this time, you picture him hanging his head low. His long fingers splayed over his face in exhaustion.

“Where are you? Have you been drinking?”

“Mind your business,” you say around a hiccup.

And you’re catching yourself on the bollard, giggling stupidly at how pathetic you must look. Trying to catch your footing like a baby fawn.

“Only had one or two. Maybe three or six. I’m a big girl. A big, un-pretty girl, according to Mr. Sylus.”

A car honks in the distance. You barely stir from it, eyes shuttering as your head falls onto your arm roosted on the bollard.

“Where are you?” Sylus prods again.

There’s a little more urgency this time. A little more concern lurking beneath the tenor of his voice, and the sleep’s almost completely vanished from it.

“Out.”

You burn hot. Sway as the alcohol thickens in your veins. Something of a smile twitches your lips. For a second, you’re convinced he actually gives a shit about you.

“Sweetie, please. I don’t have the patience to entertain your mind games today. And stop putting words into my mouth. Not once have I ever referred to you as ‘un-pretty.’”

You snort. Stumble away from the bollard to lean against a brick wall. It’s cold and raw against your bare back. The world’s a pretty bokeh of light around. Maybe you did have a little too much to drink.

His voice drops an octave. Skates between sincerity and something dulcet; doting.

“You’re anything but. You’re gorgeous. Breathtaking. Incredibly resourceful and infuriatingly kind. You’re tough. And you don’t talk too much. In fact, I wish you would spend more time talking about yourself.”

Your lips crook with a smile. Your eyes begin to water. Your cheeks are warmer now, and you’re not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the words spuming so effortlessly from the other end of your phone.

You hear fabric rustling. Hear his mattress creaking and things being jostled about in the background. Drawers. Clothes. Shoes clicking against marbled tiles.

“Tell me where you are,” he asserts. “I’m coming to get you.”

“No, no, no!”

You wave your hand dismissively like he can see. You feel bad enough having dragged him down with you. Having dredged up your insecurities and projected them onto him like that. No reason to make him leave the sanctity of his bed to entertain your foolishness.

“It’s cool, Syl. I’ll catch a cab.”

“I’m not asking,” he clips in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

You swallow, suddenly feeling cold sobriety creep in. Metal jangles through the static. Keys. Car keys. A door shuts, followed by an engine stuttering and drawing a breath in. He taps a few buttons on his console. Releases a sigh.

“I’m on my way. Stay where you are. Don’t go running off with any strangers, alright, sweetheart?”

Something warm spills into your tummy. You slide down the wall onto your ass, holding your head in your hands with your phone propped to your ear using your shoulder.

“Sylus, really. You don’t have to do that. I’ll be good—”

“I want to,” he insists. Already peeling out of his driveway and zooming through the streets of the N109 Zone. “Stay on the line. Don’t hang up. I’ll be there soon. Promise.”

You sigh at your own stupidity. At your own pitifulness. Making him come play knight in shining armor like that. All because you couldn’t hold your liquor. Your tongue. Though, you can’t stifle the tiny ping of hope resounding in your head.

“Okay. I’ll wait. But can we get ice cream when you get here?”

He chuckles, the sound of it brassy yet comforting through the drunken slurry of your brain.

“Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

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